I survived the Lancastria
By Harry Harding - 10/08/2010
Last month in Mature Times, in his memories of Dunkirk, one of our readers recalled seeing the Lancastria shortly after it was bombed in St Nazaire harbour – when several thousand men tragically died. Harry Harding has good cause to remember that terrible day: he was one of the fortunate survivors – just seven of whom still survive - of Britain’s worst maritime disaster. This is Harry’s poignant story.
Is there is anyone, asked your reader Mr A Cole, who remembers the tragedy of Her Majesty’s Troopship Lancastria, bombed and sunk at the estuary to the Loire on the 17 June 1940 whilst taking part in the evacuation of the last of the BEF through St. Nazaire.
Yes, there are still around those who witnessed and/or survived the events of that fateful day described by the then Prime Minister, Winston Churchill, as being the greatest maritime disaster ever; and, following so soon after Dunkirk, he slapped a prohibition ban on publication, a ban which, somehow, he later forgot to lift.
Not until it appeared in one of the New York’s newspapers a month later did the British press take up the story.
The writer of the letter states that some 2,000 perished in the tragedy. Wrong.
At least 4,000 (some estimates as high as 9,000) went to a watery grave, but the true figure will never be known. There is a website - www.lancastria.org.uk - which gives the whole story, including stories by survivors, who are now rapidly declining in number.
In St. Nazaire there is a memorial to the disaster and an annual commemoration at which some of the survivors and relatives attend. The reception by the locals, particularly the schoolchildren, has to be seen to be believed. On this side of the channel, the only official mention of the tragedy is that at the Merchant Navy Memorial at Tower Hill, which contains the names of the crew of the Lancastria.
On the anniversary date of the disaster, the 17th June, a little flotilla assembles in St. Nazaire and proceeds to the site of the sunken wreck; and, at precisely the hour of the attack, a commemoration service is held. The little vessels circling the buoy which marks the site all fly the Tricolour. Not a Union Jack to be seen.
Those who survived have been making those pilgrimages to St Nazaire many of the last 70 years now, and this year was officially our last. I, sadly, was unable to go to this year’s event but the BBC came to my home and recorded my memories of the event and these, I believe, will be broadcast in the near future.
We who witnessed and survived the dramatic events of that sad and fateful day know exactly what happened. But we have yet to learn as to why it was allowed to happen.
“Christ almighty, we are being bombed”
“As we boarded, we were given Board of Trade lifejackets, and so we were lucky. And on the afternoon, which was very warm, I remember hearing over the tannoy that the canteen would be selling bottles of Bass.
I joined the long queue snaking up and down the gangways and saw those at the head of the queue bringing back these small bottles and thought to myself: ‘God, is it worth it, suffering here in the heat. I think I’ll go up on deck. And that is a decision I have never regretted all my life.
I saw these two, slowly rotating propellers and saw three bombs descend and said to myself: “Christ almighty. We are being bombed.”
I could see they were going to strike the ship somewhere, and I buried my head in my lifejacket. There was debris all over the place. And, despite the explosions, everything seemed to be eerily quiet. I still have the watch I was wearing, and it still shows the time I decided to jump overboard – five past four.
In the portholes I could see bodies wedged – dead or alive I don’t know. And behind the bodies, hands – whether pushing the bodies out or pulling them out of the way to make escape possible. And behind that, the flames. And I said to myself: “If there is a hell, it is there.”
I saw the Lancastria upturned, and there must have been thousands clinging to it in the last minutes of their lives. I also remember, as far away as I was, there were thousands of voices singing – ‘Roll Out The Barrel’ and ‘There’ll Always Be An England’.
And for years afterwards I could not stand the sounds of those songs. And the next sight I saw was… nothing. Thousands of men had gone to a watery grave. I will always remember that. I cannot forget that.”
Harry Harding
Pictures: Lancastria Association of Scotland