The Custom of the Trade Read online

  Chapter 4

  To a casual observer walking along the coast overlooking Ollesley Bay, it looked as if the Royal Navy had taken a luncheon break from its peacetime manoeuvres and stopped for a picnic. A wide variety of vessels were scattered, apparently haphazardly, in the bay. Some were at anchor, some tethered alongside the larger ships, and others criss-crossing the bay aimlessly or on their way to or from Harwich. Largest of them all was a grey battlecruiser, flying from its masthead a flag of St George on which a single red ball was printed in the top left quadrant. This was the flag of the senior officer in charge of this ragtag assortment of vessels, Vice Admiral Stanley Colville. Since the flag of a Rear Admiral included two red balls and that of a full Admiral none, irreverent sailors mused that the higher an admiral rose, the fewer balls he had.

  It was a bright sunny day with a slight wind from the north, but barely enough to ruffle the sea surface and to keep the white ensigns of the warships flying. The fog of the previous day had completely disappeared, but the sun had yet to penetrate fully the thin haze above. In the centre of the activity, several red and yellow buoys rocked gently with the ripple of the sea, from the midst of which emanated the steady throb of the Siebe twin-cylinder diving pump on board the Chatham Dockyard buff-coloured diving tender. Just above the waterline twinkled the reflection of the wan spring sunshine off the gleaming brass twelve-bolt helmets of the two divers entering the water.

  The two divers checked that the various lines connecting them with the tender were not tangled, including the precious airline connected to the Siebe pump, before giving the signal to their colleagues to continue lowering them into the depths of the waters. The men had been specially selected for the task by the officer in charge of the team, Lieutenant Davies. There was no shortage of volunteers for this hazardous task, but it required a certain type of person to dive at depths greater than thirty-three feet and the senior of the two divers, Petty Officer Brown, was the only member of the team previously to have dived to 100 feet. ‘Buster’ Brown was from nearby Lowestoft and hoped that when his day’s work was complete he would be able to pay a visit to his family. He was not very happy about the selection of his partner for the dive, Leading Seaman Davies, no relation to the officer-in-charge, but also a Welshman, as he lacked deep diving experience and this was a tricky dive. Davies had been selected more for his experience as a telegraphist prior to transferring to the diving branch. Brown nevertheless recognised that so far Davies had proved himself competent, with steady nerves, and he was certainly physically strong.

  As the divers descended ever deeper, Brown looked up to the surface. Visibility was still good in the turquoise world in which he was now immersed and he could see clearly the shimmering hull of the tender. He could also see Davies quite clearly five feet away, dressed similarly to Brown in his canvas and rubber watertight suit, lead boots and brass helmet with corselet whose twelve projecting bolts gave the helmet its name. By contrast, looking down, he could see nothing but inky blackness. Their descent was gently arrested at the prearranged depth of thirty feet. From now on, the deeper they descended, the higher the risk of them suffering from ‘the bends’.

  Brown had heard that this condition had originally been known as ‘Caisson’ disease since it afflicted the construction workers of the Brooklyn Bridge in New York, who worked at great depths below ground to fix the bridge’s foundations. It was caused by a concentration of nitrogen in the body’s tissues when operating at the increased atmospheric pressure of great depths. If he ascended too quickly, then the nitrogen was released as bubbles of gas, causing anything from a rash to pain in the joints and even to death. However, as an experienced diver, he had consulted Professor Haldane’s new tables for ‘staged decompression’ by divers. When the divers commenced their ascent back to the surface, they would ‘stop’ at prescribed depths for defined periods in order to allow the nitrogen to dissipate harmlessly. Even so, there was no way of predicting the physiological impact on individuals and it was still a dangerous business. He was glad the Navy had purchased a number of special chambers in which a diver could be re-pressurised rapidly and then slowly de-pressurised, to simulate a slow and controlled ascent from the depths. So far, he had never had to experience life in one of these chambers and had no plans to do so.

  Using sign language, he checked with Davies that he was satisfied his equipment was operating properly and in good shape, before signalling to the surface to continue lowering them deeper. Both divers were able to communicate to each other by tugging on their signal rope, but were also equipped with the newly-invented, electrically-powered telephone system connecting each diver’s helmet to an operator on the tender above. Neither diver could speak directly to each other, but the communications system was still under development. Brown knew that some of his fellow divers resented the possibility of interference from above. Divers were independent buggers, but that’s what makes us better than the fish heads. He could see the benefits, both for efficiency and for the divers’ safety, and had established a modus operandi with the diver above that neither would pass any messages that were not vital.

  Earlier that morning the rescue force had established the position of the submarine fairly accurately by the use of wire sweeps beneath the surface. The submarine had confirmed its position and that at least some of the crew were alive by releasing bilge oil to the surface. Brown and Davies now needed to fix the exact position of the sunken vessel and assess its state for salvaging.

  Brown had thought it highly unlikely that they would be lowered directly onto the submarine, as the oil slick would have drifted south with the wind, so he planned to sweep the seabed in a northerly direction by walking along the bottom with a rope between them. They both had powerful tungsten-filament flashlights to assist with the task. A pair of civilian dockyard divers was on hand to continue the search should they fail on this first sweep. Even so, Brown was keen that it should be a naval diver that discovered the submarine first and was eager to set about the search, but he had to contain his impatience. The descent was out of his control and could not be hurried. He took the time instead to appreciate his surroundings.

  It was an odd feeling to be suspended in the relative darkness. There was no sense of gravity or resistance of the water. Unless he communicated above to stop the descent, his body was out of control and he recalled that on his first deep ascent he had experienced a feeling of panic. It wasn’t so bad when one could not see the bottom, but in clear and relatively shallow waters, where the bottom was visible, he had experienced a sense of vertigo and he had almost abandoned the dive. He wondered how the less-experienced Davies was faring. Although he could not yet see the seabed, there was still enough light to see Davies clearly. He offered Davies a thumbs-up signal and it was returned with a nod. It was at times like this that Brown wished he could communicate with his colleague by telephone, to reassure him, but both men were locked in their own silent world, independent of each other.

  All too suddenly, the seabed of sand and shale rose up before them. Brown was pleased to be able to see the bottom as it meant their task in locating the submarine would be much easier. Looking to the surface, he could see nothing but the dim light of the sky. They hit the seabed in a flurry of mud and sand and he signalled to his invisible colleagues above to stop lowering and to give them sufficient slack for horizontal movement. Checking that all was well with Davies, he signalled to him the direction the compass indicated they should go.

  As the divers separated, Brown paid out the light manila line connecting them at their waists. Every five feet of the line was marked with white cloth and, when Brown had only paid out fifteen feet of the line, he lost sight of Davies. He tugged it three times to alert Davies and secured it to avoid them being parted any further. Together, but out of sight of each other, the two men started their slow march northwards, as if in slow motion. It was hard work and their movements were laboured on account of their heavy boots and the resistance of the water. Neither
man could hear any sound other than that of his own breathing. Brown knew that he and the out-of-sight Davies were the only human beings on this section of the sea bed. Their temporary footprints were probably the first ever trodden there by man. It must be like this, Brown thought, for the Antarctic exploration party as each man pulled his share of the sledge behind him, each part of a team, but lost in his own thoughts. One of Brown’s ‘oppos’ had sailed two years earlier on the Terra Nova, as a member of Captain Scott’s expedition team, but Brown had not heard from him for over a year.

  His reverie was interrupted by two hard tugs and two flashes from Davies to his right. It meant he had seen something and Brown crabbed across to join him. At first he could not see what had attracted Davies’ attention, even with the assistance of both their flashlights, but after another ten yards he could at last see a dark shape appear before them to their right. As they approached the shape, it grew in height and then it was clear that they had found their quarry at last.

  The submarine was lying at an angle, buried in the soft bottom of the seabed from the bows to the hydroplanes. Abaft the hydroplane the starboard side of the hull was rent open, as if by a giant tin opener. Brown estimated the huge gash to be perhaps ten feet long and two feet wide at its broadest point. He had never seen a submarine from beneath the waterline before and he marvelled at its size. It was like an iceberg with most of its hull hidden beneath the water. It seemed rather pathetic now, lying there motionless, a once powerful machine now rendered useless by the natural elements. Brown had visited many wrecks and always found them sad places. They were inevitably associated with tragedy. What had once been home to sailors of his ilk had been transformed into a rusting, lifeless hulk, and very often he had also come across the bodies of the men who had once proudly sailed the vessel. This time it was different and it was strange to think that within the hull of the whale-like submarine there was life, or so he hoped.

  He alerted the telephone operator at the end of the line and then he and Davies walked right up to the hull. Both divers were under strict instructions not to enter the submarine for fear their lines might become snagged. In any case, neither had any wish to do so. It was easy to imagine the floating corpses they might come across. Now it was time for Davies to use his previous expertise to justify his selection for the dive. Brown watched him withdraw a large spanner from the bag slung over his shoulder. Taking care to avoid dropping the spanner, Davies struck the hull three times. Brown was disappointed that there was no response. The two divers walked a further ten yards down the submarine’s side towards the stern and Davies repeated the signal. Perhaps twenty seconds later they heard three bangs against the hull further aft. This was welcome proof of life on board.

  *

  The sound of knocking on the hull was not at first recognised by the oxygen-starved and carbon dioxide-poisoned men on board D2. Fortunately, the watchkeeper had the presence of mind to rouse the First Lieutenant from his hammock. Richard descended to the deck gingerly. He knew he was exhausted and that any sudden movement could be dangerous. Looking around the other members of the resting crew, he noted the trails of vomit starting to trickle forward from beneath the hammocks of many of them. It was an hour since he had last checked on the health of the men and at least three were seriously ill. If they were to attempt escape, then they had little time left before their strength deserted them. He heard for himself the second set of strikes on the hull from outside and immediately recognised its import. Picking up a nearby hammer, he repeated back the signal and called for Signalman White to join him. The commotion drew the attention of most of the men, but some seemed past caring. Almost immediately, Richard’s banging was answered by further regular tapping on the hull, clearly a message in Morse code. White listened to the tapping intently and then translated it for all to hear.

  ‘“H-O-W-M-A-N-Y-S-O-U-L-S”. It’s not easy to work it out, sir. Whoever’s signalling seems a bit out of practice.’

  Richard wasn’t quite sure how to take the remark. Surely it was not professional pedantry in these circumstances, or maybe it was an attempt at a joke. He couldn’t be bothered working it out.

  ‘So would you be, wearing great gauntlets underwater, White. So let’s keep our replies simple, shall we? Send, “Thirteen all together aft”.’

  The message was quickly answered.

  ‘Message understood, sir, and we are told to standby,’ White translated.

  Richard used the delay to check the health of his men. Even in the gloom of the reduced lighting, it was obvious that all were breathing with difficulty. They also had flushed skin and some were twitching uncontrollably. It was now nearly eighteen hours since the collision and, although he guessed they might hold out another six or so hours, there were other factors to consider. Undoubtedly, the best hope for them all would be if the whole submarine could be lifted to the surface, but he had no idea how long that could take or even if it was possible. The only other option was to escape through the after-hatch or through the conning tower. This presented several risks, but their chances would be increased if they escaped immediately, since their health was already deteriorating. Moreover, they needed it to be light on the surface if they were to be pulled out of the water. He decided it was time he briefed those above on their current situation.

  *

  Similar thoughts were being aired in the Admiral’s cabin of HMS Indomitable above. Admiral Colville was chairing a meeting that included Captains Keyes and Young, two senior medical officers and the officer-in-charge of the diving team. The Honourable Stanley Colville, aged just fifty, was young to be a Vice Admiral, but he was an experienced and competent seagoing officer. Nevertheless, the technical aspects of submarine salvage were beyond his knowledge. More than ever he wondered why men would exchange the relative comfort and safety of life in surface ships for the squalor, hardships and physical dangers of life in submarines. Submariners tended to keep themselves to themselves, but the few he had encountered looked unhealthy and continually grubby, suffered from poor teeth and had a tendency to discuss ‘shop’ in the mess. Apart from some brief service in a corvette and a gunboat, his seagoing career had been in battleships and cruisers, and he enjoyed their magnificent firepower and the formality and efficiency of life on board. He had just been briefed on the news that the stricken submarine had been located by divers, but had news of his own for the officers attending the meeting in his cabin.

  ‘Gentlemen, I have just received a signal from the Admiralty to inform me that there is no prospect of a salvage vessel arriving on scene before tomorrow forenoon. The Foreign Office has reported that the German salvage vessel Vulkan is in Kiel and cannot be here before the arrival of the Ranger. It rather limits our options.’

  The news was received with a low groan from those present, but Captains Keyes and Young were not surprised, it seemed. Colville eyed each of the men present in turn before continuing.

  ‘Although I am conscious of your advice that it would be better to lift the submarine, I assume we are in agreement that time is against us and we have no option but to instruct the submarine survivors to manage their own escape?’

  Colville’s fellow officers received the news glumly and it was one of the medical officers, Fleet Surgeon Macneish from the Royal Naval Hospital at Haslar, who first responded, in his soft Highland accent.

  ‘I agree, sir. The air in the submarine must be nigh on eighteen hours old and the men will be suffering from hypercapnia by now. That’s carbon dioxide poisoning. They’ll be feeling sick, if not actually vomiting, and very lethargic. Not only will the sickness affect their judgement, and particularly that of those making decisions, but it will be sapping their strength to the extent any physical exertion could even cause cardiac arrest.’

  ‘Captain Young, you are the salvage expert. How long do you think it would take to raise the submarine once your ship is on scene?’ Colville asked.

  ‘Given fair weather, sir, perhaps nine hours. Now we have located the
wreck, the divers can start rigging the steel lifting hawsers, but none of the floating cranes here at present has the capacity to lift something of five to six hundred tons deadweight. We do have another option, but it may still not work.’

  ‘Well, let’s hear it anyway, Captain.’

  ‘We could use the divers to plug the hole in the submarine’s hull and then try to pump out the flooded compartment. If we were successful, then the crew could blow their ballast tanks and rise to the surface of their own accord. It would, however, take several hours and unless we obtained a good seal it may fail.’

  ‘What do you think, Keyes? You’re the submarine expert here.’ Colville gestured to Keyes to take the floor.

  ‘I’m sorry, gentlemen, but I think it too late for that. A submarine needs power to drive itself to the surface, as well as negative buoyancy. We obviously don’t know the state of the battery, but it must be pretty low by now. Moreover, there is the crew to consider. It needs some skill and expertise to surface a submarine, even under normal conditions. We don’t know who is alive, anything of their mental state, nor what other damage the boat might have suffered. Our medical expert just said it. The men will be seriously ill by now and the longer we leave them down there, the less chance they have to help themselves. I say, tell them to make their own escape as best they can whilst it’s still daylight, and we will then make further decisions based on who gets out and who doesn’t.’ Keyes sat down, deflated.

  ‘And how would they go about escaping the submarine, Keyes?’

  ‘Not without difficulty, sir. It’s never been done. As the latest class of submarine in service, this type has been fitted with an “after conning tower” specifically for the purpose of escape, but it has never been proved. In their favour, though, I know they carry the Hall-Rees escape apparatus, designed by my predecessor jointly with Fleet Surgeon Rees. Some commanding officers elect to land them, but Lieutenant Johnson thought them good for morale.’