Swan Song for the 'Little'Ships

A B-Type Fairmile Motor Launch of the type used on the Saint-Nazaire Raid, courtesy of Bundesarchiv via Wikimedia. For the raid the dinghy amidships would have been removed as, supposedly were the depth charges (not done in every case). The forward 'pop' gun would in almost all cases have been replaced by a quick-firing 20mm Oerlikon cannon as was the case aft. On each side of the deck amidships were fitted extra fuel tanks - see http://operation-chariot.org/mlchariottri,.html

The term 'Little Ships' was coined in 1943, by journalist Gordon Holman who travelled to Saint-Nazaire on board MGB 314. It's a rather ‘familiar’ term for vessels which could hardly have been less well-suited to the job they were asked to do in the heavily defended estuary of the mighty River Loire. Constructed of wood, fuelled by high-octane petrol, slow and poorly-armed, the Motor Launches stood little chance against either enemy ships they might meet en-route or well-protected shore-defences. Given the distance to be travelled, extra fuel tanks had to be mounted on deck, and in an attempt to improve the anti-aircraft defences of the 20th and 28th Flotilla boats, a single 20mm Oerlikon cannon was mounted forward of the bridge, and a second on the after deck. Ammunition for these was in short supply and had to be shared between the various ships. Supplementing these light cannon were an assortment of Lewis and Vickers light machine-guns mounted either amidships and/or on the bridge structure. Steering was hydraulic, which meant that shrapnel or shot piercing the pipes could leave the boats reliant on only their clumsy tiller-steering. In the case of the single gunboat, although similarly constructed, there was more speed, but less range which meant she had to be towed. She was also much better armed, with a Vickers 2-pounder forward, and a Rolls-Royce 2-pounder aft. Amidships she was equipped with two power-operated .5" turrets. Failures and hydraulic leaks, however, soon reduced her firepower to the forward gun only. While a second MGB would have been most welcome, the fleet instead also towed a 70' MTB which had been adapted, but not used, to attack the battle-cruisers Scharnhorst and Gneisenau, in Brest. She carried two motorless torpedoes high on the foredeck, each packed with 1,800 pounds of delayed-action explosives, but had to be almost upon her target before these could be used effectively.   Added at the last moment, the four MLs of the 7th Flotilla, armed with twin torpedo tubes abaft the bridge, retained their antiquated Hotchkiss 3-pounder forward.

Now in the year 2026 it remains almost impossible to even conceive of sensible people sending such ill-suited ‘ships’ to what would most likely be their certain destruction. Not only were they sent, however, but they were expected, having disgorged their Commando parties, to mill around amidst an inevitable maelstrom of fire, while waiting to carry survivors home again. To add insult to injury, as it looked until almost the last minute that a destroyer might not be provided, Ryder and Newman between them devised a plan to carry out the raid with MLs alone - something which - as you will read in the accounts to follow - would have invited a certain costly tragedy.

In the early years of the conflict, therefore, the Germans had their lethal Schnellboote (‘E’ boats), while the Americans had their fast and heavily armed PT (Patrol Torpedo) boats, as captained in the Pacific by one Lt John F Kennedy (yes, that Kennedy!). We did have fairly effective gunboats, but these were precious animals, only one of which was spared for Chariot. Interestingly its Captain, Dunstan Curtis in his after action report remarked upon what might have been had more gunboats been added to the attacking force. But, in the cruel accountancy of war, gunboats were seen to be precious assets, whereas the cheap and vulnerable MLs were not. 

The sometimes harrowing accounts to follow, indicative of the suffering of the ML crews, are based primarily on my own interviews with survivors - veterans few others had ever bothered to visit and talk to. And what stories they had to tell…….

What follows is the story of Motor Launch 306, based on my own interviews with survivors, along with the hard graft of good old fashioned researching through thousands of records. A.I. played no part in it. BTW, I make no apology for its length; given what the guys had to go through, the very least we can do is listen to what they had to say.

'DEFIANT TO THE END'  The Gallant Last Stand of His Majesty’s Motor Launch 306  ( Copyright James Dorrian 2020)

At a very early stage in the planning for ‘Operation Chariot’ the decision was taken to appoint both Naval and Military Commanders, who would enjoy equal status and whose orders would have the effect, in action, of carrying equal weight.

As a direct consequence separate Naval and Military orders were issued which, although jointly conceived, transpired to be completely different in respect of both the instructions given, and the degree of flexibility afforded to individual Naval officers and Commando party leaders. Physically, the two sets of orders could hardly have differed more, with the comprehensive Military orders clearly demonstrating an attempt to conceive of all eventualities and prepare the necessary strategies; and the much more modest Naval orders reflecting Bob Ryder’s determination - perhaps echoing the tried and tested axiom that battle plans rarely survive first contact with the enemy - to rely far more on “…flexibility, signalling and initiative by the Commanding Officers. The less written the better”.

All well and good, except that on the night radio communication between Ryder, his captains and the Commandos ashore was lost almost immediately, in addition to which Ryder, having acquiesced to Newman’s demand to be put ashore as speedily as possible, ended up alongside in the Old Entrance, on board the gunboat, out of sight of events on the river and unable to signal instructions to his remaining MLs precisely at the point where such personal intervention might have had the greatest effect.

Under punishing enemy fire and essentially left to their own devices because of Ryder’s absence and the destruction of the launch carrying Lieutenant-Commander Billie Stephens, the Senior Officer MLs, some commanders therefore fell foul of a significant missing element in the Naval orders, which was any instruction or indication as to what they should do were their primary landing places found to be compromised. Were they to risk their boats and their complements in order to land their Commando parties elsewhere? And if so where, and what degree of risk would be deemed acceptable? 

Here was exactly the quandary waiting for Lieutenant Ian Henderson’s ML 306, the fifth boat in the port column which, on approaching the Old Mole under heavy fire and finding all approaches blocked by burning MLs, then held off in the waters north of the Mole while he and Commando Lieutenant Ronnie Swayne debated whether they should, or should not, seek an alternative landing place. In the event, and given that no alternatives had been previously identified, meaning that Henderson had no idea what underwater obstacles he might meet in attempting to nose ashore elsewhere, he as ship’s Captain made the decision to call off any landing attempt and instead reverse his course and make for home. 

ML 306 carried fourteen Commandos, in two parties - a Demolition Team from 1 Commando led by Lieutenant Swayne , and a 4 Troop 2 Commando Protection Party led by Lieutenant John Vanderwerve. This Commando group had been tasked with destroying the southern lock-gates and swing bridge in the New Entrance: in fact it was during his vain search for this and other parties failing to land that Sapper Captain Bill Pritchard would later be killed amidst the narrow streets of the Old Town.

Positioned as the 306 was just off the tip of the Old Mole, her Commandos could clearly hear their friends in action ashore and, with the ML as yet largely undamaged, were anxious in the extreme to go to their aid. The forward Oerlikon was out of action, and the ‘Number One’ Sub-Lieutenant Philip Dark had been wounded, as had Sergeant Tom Durrant: but the boat was still an entity capable of manoeuvre and defence, and the Commandos’ reaction to Henderson’s decision to withdraw to the open sea was one of disbelief born of the conflict between two competing ambitions - that of the Commando parties, having come all this way, to be put ashore - anywhere - and that of Henderson to save his ship and crew.  Lance-Sergeant ‘Des’ Chappell’s recollection of this phase typifies the Commando response - “We were bloody annoyed about it. We knew what we had to do and we wanted to do it”. Well aware that others had landed and that demolitions were already under way, Des remembers thinking “..and here we are, going bloody home!”

In spite of having already been wounded, Sergeant Tom Durrant was one who remonstrated particularly strongly with Henderson, the episode recalled by Ronnie Swayne in a 1991 letter in which he states that Tom “…was not far off being insubordinate to Henderson”. The use of the term ‘insubordinate’ is telling indeed, as it implies a defiance of authority generally seen as a punishable offence in the military, and in Tom’s case must have suggested  a very great depth of feeling at being forced to turn back at such an early stage.

But Henderson, as captain, had the final say, and so the boat turned for home well in advance of the schedule laid out for MLs withdrawing which were to be met later by the escort destroyers Tynedale and Atherstone - at that early hour still maintaining a patrol line well off-shore and not expecting to meet withdrawing MLs until about six in the morning by which time they would have positioned themselves in readiness at rendezvous point ‘Y’. 

Alone in the estuary, ML 306, skilfully avoiding German fire, and in spite of moderating its speed, was therefore making for a rendezvous point the ML was destined to find empty of support. In fact as they passed though ‘Y’, the two escorting destroyers were actually sailing away from them on the last leg of their patrol, leaving Henderson with a stark choice - wait, in a potentially dangerous area far too close to shore for comfort, or press on westwards to position ’T’ where, in accordance with orders, they could safely turn north and follow in reverse their original outward course from Falmouth.

Yet again Henderson decided to press on, sailing westwards into what appeared to be the empty night, with most of his Commandos below, leaving only a handful on deck to fill Bren-gun magazines in anticipation of aerial attack at first light. The emptiness was, however, a cruel illusion, given that, only a handful of miles away, a greatly superior German naval force was even then bearing directly down upon them.

This, Korvettenkapitän Moritz Schmidt’s flotilla of five Torpedo Boats - effectively light destroyers - had been on mine reconnaissance with paravanes streamed when instructed to return to Saint Nazaire at maximum sustainable speed. The flotilla consisted of five ships, Seeadler, with Schmidt on board, Jaguar, Iltis, Falke and Condor, each of some 800 tons, armed with three 105mm guns and vastly more powerful than the tiny wooden-hulled ML. As Schmidt records, “…a small boat was sighted in the middle of quadrant 6453 at 0630 hours (0530 British time). When the flotilla turned towards it the vessel was identified as an MGB or MTB (sic). Jaguar, as tactical no. 2 was ordered to destroy the stopped and apparently unready for action boat”.

From ML 306’s side, Sub-Lieutenant Dark had been making sandwiches below when, at about 0530 he was called to the bridge to join Henderson and Swayne in peering out into the darkness where the phosphorescent bow waves of several enemy ships were visible. Hoping they had not been spotted Henderson cut his motors, brought the boat to Action Stations - and waited. However, any hope there might have been of remaining unnoticed disappeared when Jaguar broke away from the enemy formation, illuminated the 306 with a searchlight and began to engage her diminutive adversary with her lighter cannon.

With her forward Oerlikon already out of action, ML 306’s primary remaining weapon was her after Oerlikon, manned by Ordinary Seaman Ralph Batteson under the direction of third officer Sub-Lieutenant Landy. Aside from this, there were only the boat’s Lewis guns and the Brens of the Commandos, and yet the ML directed such a stinging fusilade towards the German ship that Jaguar’s commander Kapitänleutnant Friedrich Paul, was forced to swiftly rethink his hopes of an easy conquest. Given the huge disparity in armament, Paul could at any time have simply stood off and blown the 306 out of the water; however, he chose instead to ram her, thus precipitating an extended firefight whose tragic conclusion - at least for the British sailors and Commandos - was never in doubt.

On board the ML, Batteson, whose tin hat had already been knocked from his head by enemy fire, continued to hammer away with the Oerlikon. From his position he could clearly see Tom Durrant in position behind his Bren and entirely focussed on directing a stream of fire towards the enemy ship.

In the interim, a surrender demand had been made by Jaguar via loud-hailer. This was ignored, and the ML continued to spray the German ship with every weapon that would bear - from the Brens of Commandos such as Tom Durrant, Lance-Sergeant Des Chappell and Corporal Glyn Salisbury, and from the solitary Oerlikon, where the 19-year-old Batteson now had Ordinary Seaman Garner and Stoker Ritchie assisting as loading-numbers.

Another surrender demand was met by a defiant response from Sergeant Durrant - at which point Jaguar bore down on the launch aiming for a collision only narrowly avoided by Henderson’s last-second turn, a manoeuvre which saved the boat, but nevertheless invited an impact sufficient to slew it to one side and toss several members of the complement overboard. Lieutenant Vanderwerve was one of these, as were Ordinary Seaman Rees, Corporals Salisbury and Sinnott, and Private Eckman. Of these, Vanderwerve was not seen again, and Rees was badly wounded in the foot.

With Jaguar now firing at point-blank range, the ML’s list of casualties mounted steadily, with Durrant wounded again and Corporal Llewellyn and Private Tomblin killed. Lance-Sergeant Chappell was wounded in the calf and groin and with the feeling gone from his legs, began to slip towards the water until pulled back by his mates and propped up against the funnel. From this position, right amidships, he continued to fire his Bren until an exploding cannon shell drove splinters down through his steel helmet. 

Greatly angered by the ML’s unanticipated response, Paul now drew away to the point where all of his guns could depress sufficiently to engage such a small target. Glyn Salisbury was pulling Corporal Sinnott back on board when forced to seek shelter from the renewed German barrage. At the point where Des Chappell was wounded by splinters resulting from a cannon strike on the funnel, Glyn was also sprayed with shards of steel all down his back and in his rear. Lying not far away, Ordinary Seaman Shepherd’s leg was badly shattered. The after Oerlikon was knocked out, killing Ordinary Seaman Garner. Sub-lieutenant Landy was hit, as was the Coxswain, Leading Seaman Sargent, at the wheel. Able Seaman Alder, whose preserve had been the exposed Twin-Lewis mounting, was hit and replaced, in spite of an increasing tally of wounds, by Sergeant Durrant who, as a regular during the ‘30s had been trained on just such weapons.

Continuing to circle the 306, it is claimed that Paul then opened fire with his main armament. Certainly his report does not mention this, and records that only 3 rounds of 105mm ammunition were expended - possibly due to a British hit on the forecastle ready-use locker which damaged some of the shells inside. Either way the already wounded Sargent was killed by a direct strike on the bridge, which mortally wounded Henderson and left Dark unconscious on the deck, meaning that Ronnie Swayne was now the only officer of either service fit enough to respond positively to Paul’s final surrender demand, given that further resistance would clearly have served no morally acceptable purpose. 

On the face of it the action was over; however, Paul was wary of depth charges which he was concerned might yet be deployed at the last minute and which could have caused serious damage to his ship. He therefore ordered that if the British were prepared to surrender “…they were immediately to put up their hands, to move away from the depth charges and all were to muster amidships on the port side. This order was carried out”. 

As Jaguar came alongside, her sailors preparing to collect the wounded and search for weapons and secret documents, Ralph Batteson recalls how, over at the Twin-Lewis mounting, Tom Durrant “..was alive, but only just”. A number of casualties lay in, or around, the bridge, amongst them the body of Leading Seaman Sargent, and the seriously wounded Able Seaman Sparkes.

Batteson also recalls going over to assist the semi-conscious Des Chappell, before he was ordered onto the Jaguar and taken down to the ship’s wardroom, now being used to house the British casualties. There he sat next to Glyn Salisbury who was ‘ruefully’ examining his badly damaged watch. Here Ralph records how, in spite of his pain and even while waiting for his leg to be amputated, Ordinary Seaman Shepherd was still able to argue with a German guard over its possession, his spirited response to the guard’s demand that he be given it, lifting everyone’s spirits.

For the wounded, however, some in extremis, the situation regarding medical supplies was grim given that Jaguar had no doctor and German medical supplies were strictly limited. Fortunately, the British officers carried syrettes of morphine, and fortunately also there was no priority of treatment based on uniform, all casualties being treated solely on the basis of greatest need. C.E. Lucas Phillips writes of how, In a further example of the humanity which coloured what could in other hands have been a very unpleasant situation, Kapitänleutnant Paul “…invited Swayne to his cabin for a drink, and when Swayne refused, said, ‘I don’t want to question you’. Thinking it might be best not to offend an enemy obviously so well disposed, Swayne agreed”.

For the grievously wounded Tom Durrant there was simply no hope, Swayne recording that on board Jaguar he “…was in a state of shock and great pain. He made no complaint and we did what we could for him. The German sailors…were attentive and kindly. I think we doped him heavily in the end. The last I saw of him was when he was being carried ashore and they took him to the hospital where he died”.

With the ML secured, Paul writes that: “After about ten minutes I proceeded at 3, later at 5 knots, to tow the boat away. 5 minutes later muzzle flashes could be seen on the starboard bow (Note: this was the engagement between Tynedale, Atherstone, and the remaining ships of Schmidt’s flotilla) Thereupon I proceeded at greater speed. At 7 knots the tow lines parted and the gunboat (sic) drifted astern. I went astern, took my crew aboard, some of whom were gunnery ratings, and left the boat drifting. A smoke buoy was left to mark the position of the boat (later recovered by German forces). I decided not to sink the MGB (sic) because there were still three severely wounded on board and because I did not want to betray my position by my own muzzle flashes.” 

In order to avoid a meeting with the British destroyers and, freed of the dragging tow, Paul then set course for the coast at 26 knots, soon arriving in the harbour of Saint-Nazaire. Here, well within sight of the battered HMS Campbeltown, the British wounded were transferred onto a lighter for passage ashore, their departure from Jaguar marked by the signal honour of Paul calling his whole ship’s company to respectful attention.

In spite of this unexpected tribute, here was a moment for desperately sad reflection as the stretchers were laid out on deck. For the naval and military complement of ML 306 there beckoned only the bleakness of unknown years as prisoners of a Germany seemingly triumphant everywhere. Adding to the gloom as they shortly thereafter climbed, or were assisted, onto a high quayside close to the bridge and lock-gates which had been their intended target, was the dispiriting knowledge that Campbeltown was still intact after all this time and instead of posing an immediate threat, had apparently become a major attraction for the crowds of inquisitive German personnel now roaming her battered decks. 

And then, in a single, shattering second, everything changed as the old destroyer finally exploded, her immolation a defining moment in the lives of all present, instantly reversing the status of the apparently vanquished British forces.

Suddenly - indeed shockingly, after such a prolonged delay - all the pain and suffering that had gone before had meaning and purpose. Now, at least for those in a condition to take on board this new reality, it was, finally, over - and they had won.

(A note on sources: passages attributed to Korvettenkapitän Moritz Schmidt and Kapitänleutnant Friedrich Paul are taken from their after-action reports, and the quoted comments from Sir Ronnie Swayne are drawn from a 1991 letter of his to Patricia Holmes. Captain Ryder VC’s comment about plans derives from a post-raid account, and other quotes have their origins in the much more comprehensive accounts - ‘Storming St. Nazaire. by James Dorrian; ‘St. Nazaire to Shepperton’, by Ralph Batteson; and ‘The Greatest Raid of All’ by C.E. Lucas Phillips).

Tom Durrant received a Victoria Cross for his gallant stand at the ML's guns. The recommendation that he receive his country's highest award came from none other than Captain Paul, of the Jaguar, the very ship he had beeen engaging so selflessly, see - http://operation-chariot.org/personnel-18.html

The 306, which had been left adrift, was later boarded by a German crew and taken into German service, as below.

                                                Sergeant Tom Durrant, VC, RE