The Ron Penhall Collection

The unique Great War M.M., Second World War PQ. 17 convoy D.S.M., Lloyd’s Bravery Medal, and Malta convoy B.E.M. group of eleven awarded to Chief Steward H. J. Carswell, Merchant Navy, late Royal Artillery, who, having survived the remarkable passage of the Pampas to Malta during “Operation MG. 1” in March 1942, served aboard the only C.A.M. Ship (Catapult Aircraft Merchantman) to sail in PQ. 17, which vessel similarly endured five days of continuous air attack: in the event, her “Hurricat” pilot, Battle of Britain veteran F./O. “Dickie” Turley-George, never took to the skies, and she was one of a handful of ships to come through this ‘most shameful episode in naval history’

Distinguished Service Medal, G.VI.R. (H. J. Carswell, Chief Steward); Military Medal, G.V.R. (960016 Bmbr. H. Carswell, R.F.A.); British Empire Medal (Civil) G.VI.R., 1st issue (Horace Joy Carswell); 1914-15 Star (930 Gnr. H. Carswell, R.F.A.); British War and Victory Medals (930 Bmbr. H. Carswell, R.F.A.); 1939-45 Star; Atlantic Star; Africa Star; War Medal 1939-45; Lloyd’s War Medal for Bravery at Sea (Chief Steward H. J. Carswell, M.V. “Empire Tide”, 4th July 1942), together with a Merchant Navy silver and enamel lapel badge, the M.M. and Great War trio official replacements of 1939-45 War vintage, generally good very fine (12) £10000-12000

This lot was sold as part of a special collection, The Ron Penhall Collection.

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Horace Joy “Harry” Carswell was born in London in December 1894. Called up with the Terriers in 1914, he served on the Western Front with the 47th (London) R.F.A. from 1915-17, where he was shot through the thigh at Ypres, operated on at Poperhinge Hospital and survived to receive the Military Medal. After the War he joined the Orient Line and then went to India, where he managed hotels for nine years. But with the call of the sea still strong, Carswell rejoined the Orient Line, and subsequently the Nelson and Royal Mail Lines, the outbreak of hostilties finding him serving as a Steward aboard the Highland Chieftain. Transferring as a Chief Steward to the Pardo in August 1940, he next removed to the M.V. Pampas, in which ship he witnessed extensive action on the Malta run 1941-42, not least in the course of convoy MW. 10 (code name “Operation MG. 1”) in March 1942.

“Pampas”: Lucky to survive “Operation MG. 1” to Malta

A full account of the extraordinary punishment meted out to Pampas during - and immediately following - this important convoy is contained in an article by Graham Knight, published in The Review, Winter 1998 edition (The Journal of the Naval Historical Collectors & Research Society), from which the following extracts have been taken:

‘During the afternoon of the 23rd [March 1942] a torpedo bomber came in close to the Pampas, the gunners after aft, the cadets, on the bridge, and the troops with their Bren guns let go with all they had. The combined fire of the Pampas and the Talabot was effective. The raider swerved past the stern of the Pampas towards the Talabot, went into a quick turn, and dived into the sea. Another torpedo bomber attacked the Pampas at close range, received a direct hit on the nose from the 12 pounder gun and fell shattered into the sea. The score to the Pampas that day was certainly one and a half, and possibly two enemy aircraft destroyed.

As night came down the ships’ companies were glad to see darkness fall and the gunners, having manned their guns for twelve hours, could relax at last. In accordance with a pre-arranged plan the convoy scattered at dusk. The intention was that a destroyer should remain with each merchantman. The Pampas by now was rolling and pitching in the heavy seas and was taking on board a great deal of water.

Captain Ingram’s report says “Having evaded the enemy, the next consideration was navigation. So many alterations had been made it was difficult to fix the ship’s position so that a course could be set. By careful judgement, calculation, and, I suppose, some element of luck, we set course for the point of arrival. During the night a few minor incidents occurred. The steering gear went out of action, constant use of the helm hard over one way and hard over the other, so frequently, to avoid topedoes, had finally told. We lost sight of our escort and never saw him again. With the log carried away and the echo sounder no longer functioning due, I think, to damage from the machine-gun bullets hitting vital parts, our navigation was therefore of the ‘By guess and by God’ variety.”

When Monday 23 March dawned the Pampas was still many miles away from Malta and visibility was poor. Despite this, enemy aircraft found the Pampas at the very crack of dawn and attacked with dive bombers. The first aircraft received a direct hit and blew up. Another aircraft was hit and smoke was seen streaming out of one of the engines. Pampas had now shot down at least three enemy aircraft and dumped two others. An aircraft circling out on the starboard bow suddenly dived and straddled the ship with a stick of bombs, but Pampas’s luck held. The first bomb hit number two starboard derrick, bent it into a ‘V’ shape and bounced overboard under the bridge. The next bomb sailed in over the bridge, hit the funnel, and went over the side between number three life boat which was swung out - neither bomb exploded. The aircraft skimmed so close over the ship that those on the bridge could see the pilot quite plainly. By this time Pampas had sighted Talabot on her port bow with the two escort vessels and followed her into the swept approach channel. A final attack on Pampas was made by three enemy aircraft but no further damage was done.

Of the four ships which had left Alexandria on 20 March, only two, Pampas and Talabot, reached Valetta Harbour ... As the Pampas sailed into Valetta Grand Harbour the cliff road was lined with cheering crowds, many were women and children, some had their hands clasped in thankful prayer, others frantically waved arms and aprons, in welcome to the men who had fought against such heavy odds and brought much-needed stores to the Island.

An immediate start was made with the discharge of the deck cargo. At first everything had to be moved by hand as blocks, wires and tackle had been damaged either by bomb blasts or by machine-gun bullets. New gear was rigged as quickly as it could be provided. Malta was already short of equipment but, by next morning, 24 March, the deck cargo had been discharged and work had begun on number two hold. There were several air attacks that day, but Pampas escaped damage. The next day it became apparent that two newly arrived merchant ships were the bombers’ main targets. There were intense air raids all day, dive bombers screamed down, bombs crashed in and around the harbour, and great spouts of water rose into the air ... Following several near misses during the morning, at 1330 the enemy scored two direct hits on the engine room, and one bomb is thought to have gone down the funnel. The midships accommodation was set on fire, and smoke poured out in a heavy dense cloud. The ship’s fire fighting equipment was put out of action but the crew, undismayed, rigged the emergency equipment. With the help of shore based equipment the fire was eventually brought under control.

Sir William Doby, Governor of Malta, with his wife and daughter, twice visited the ship to encourage those working on her. The air raids continued incessantly. On the last day of march Captain Ingrams states “Then came Tuesday 31 March. It was a bright day, notwithstanding the air raids, because the Band of the Royal Marines cheered everybody up and kept them in fine spirits. The heavier the raid the louder the music. The bombs continued down, the band continued to play, and those indomitable people went on discharging cargo, by day and by night.”

On Sunday 5 April the ship was riddled with bomb splinters from near misses. However, the sides were plugged, she was pumped out and the discharge of cargo continued. On 11 and 12 April, during very heavy raids, the ship was struck in numbers three and five holds, the ship’s back was broken in two places, her decks were badly buckled, with rivets sheared and plates cracked. The hull split and buckled, and oil poured from the ruptured starboard fuel tanks.

On 13 April nobody was allowed on board as the forward part of the vessel appeared to be breaking away from the remainder. The fore part of the ship was up in the air at an angle of 10 degrees. On Sunday 19 April the ship was again hit and set on fire and, as there was no means to get on board, the fire raged all day and well into the night, as the ship slowly settled on the bottom. The end of Pampas came on Monday 20 April at 0900 when there was a heavy raid on the harbour area and a bomb struck number four hold causing heavy explosions which burst the ship asunder. Altogether Pampas had received 18 bomb hits, notwithstanding which 60% of her precious cargo had been discharged.’

Carswell was later recommended for the B.E.M., having joined the ship’s company of the C.A.M. Ship (Catapault Aircraft Merchantman) Empire Tide, a move that transpired to be a case of “out of the frying pan into the fire”, for said ship was enrolled on the strength of PQ. 17, that ‘most shameful episode in naval history’.

“Empire Tide”: PQ. 17’s only C.A.M. Ship

The fate of PQ. 17 has been graphically described by such historians as David Irving (The Destruction of Convoy PQ. 17), and by Richard Woodman (Arctic Convoys), but in terms of more immediate statistics it is worth recording that the convoy originally assembled at Reykjavik on 27 June 1942, a formidable gathering that in addition to the naval escort comprised 22 American, eight British, two Russian, two Panamanian and one Dutch merchantmen. In their holds they carried sufficient supplies to re-arm a good portion of the Stalin’s forces - 297 aircraft, 594 tanks, 4246 military vehicles and over 150,000 tons of other vital military stores and cargo: but most of this equipment never reached Russia, for just a few days later, following Sir Dudley Pound’s fateful order for the convoy to scatter, no less that 23 of these merchantmen were lost to enemy action.

One of the lucky few to make it home to the U.K., after attracting the attention of the Luftwaffe and U-boats over several days, was the C.A.M. ship Empire Tide, but not before many close-calls and adventures. It is therefore somewhat ironic that the gunner rescued by Carswell on 4 July 1942, during an attack by Heinkel 111 torpedo-bombers of KG. 26, was actually wounded by “friendly fire”, such was the extent of the convoy’s defensive barrage. Nor was the unfortunate gunner the only victim of this lethal cross-fire, for the Empire Tide sustained damage to her rigging and derrick spars, while her gun telephone communications were clean shot away. This was probably the one occasion that her “Hurricat” may have been launched with good effect, but with “friendly fire” pouring over Empire Tide’s bows, it was deemed too risky for F./O. “Dickie” Turley-George to make the attempt (A full and entertaining account of his experiences during PQ. 17 maybe found in Ralph Barker’s history, The Hurricats).

But the majority of the 23 merchantmen sunk during the course of the convoy fell victim to U-boats after they had been ordered to scatter, and in this respect Empire Tide was most fortunate - in fact without the initiative taken by her Master, Captain F. W. Harvey, who on sighting no less than three surfaced U-boats made course for the relative safety of Moller Bay with ‘all possible speed’, she may well have been among those sunk. Just how close she came to meeting that fate maybe gleaned from the operational log book of Kapitain Reche in the U-255:

‘Pinpoint AT. 4876, two freighters disappeared southwards. Have sunk Alcoa Ranger, ex New York, 5116 tones - aircraft. Big merchant vessel broke away to the north-west just beforehand. Am following hard.’

The ‘big merchant vessel’ was none other than Empire Tide, but Reche never caught her as she disappeared into the ‘fog banks and sea-smoke that swirled and fumed about the floes and growlers’, and on anchoring in Moller Bay, on Novaya Zemlya’s south-western coast, where there was a wireless station and small settlement, Captain Harvey sent a message to Archangel requesting urgent medical assistance for the gunner who had been rescued by Carswell in the air battle of the 4th - in due course a Russian Catalina arrived with a woman doctor. But organising the evacuation of his only serious casualty was just the beginning of Captain Harvey’s troubles, for over the next few days significant numbers of survivors pitched up at his barren refuge in assorted lifeboats and rafts, many of them in a seriously bad way.

We can be sure that Chief Steward Carswell was kept busy in such anxious times, for before too long Empire Tide’s new residents had numerically swollen out of all proportion, a position that put Harvey and his crew under great strain - the casualties were quartered in the officer’s smoke room. At length, and with no pressure from Harvey and his crew, many of these new arrivals elected to go ashore, a decision that was duly recorded by Harvey in a signed declaration that rejected all liability for them - such was the tension that had built up over the intervening period. As it transpired, the “campers” had to return to the Empire Tide red-faced, when salvation arrived in the form of a strong naval escort, and on 21 July the Empire Tide set course for Archangel, which port she reached without further incident on the 24th. Then in the second week of September, she undertook the return voyage to the U.K.

Empire Tide’s Master, Captain F. W. Harvey, was awarded the D.S.O., while his Chief Officer, Chief Engineer and Second Engineer were awarded D.S.Cs, and three crew members the D.S.M., including Carswell, and two others the B.E.M. Four of these recipients, again including Carswell, also received the Lloyd’s War Medal for Bravery at Sea. He received his D.S.M. at an investiture held in March 1943, when the King noticed his M.M. riband and asked him about the deeds behind it, but the effects of having been under constant attack in two of the war’s most desperately fought convoys were now catching up with him and he was discharged in the following June: the exact cause of his discharge was given as ‘neurasthenia’ - a nervous breakdown.

Sold with original Admiralty letter of notification for the award of the recipient’s D.S.M., dated 28 December 1942, and a similar communication from the Director-General of the Ministry of War Transport in respect of his B.E.M., this also dated 28 December 1942, together with a newspaper feature from the Folkestone & Hythe Herald, dated 10 December 1966, in which Carswell’s retirement as a local taxi driver is reported, together with an interesting summary of his remarkable service in two World Wars.

Sold with an original copy of the Lloyd’s List & Shipping Gazette entry for his Bravery Medal, dated 3 February 1944 and mounted on cardboard.

Provenance: Spink, May 1975.