Edward Nolan and the Andalucia Star

I've received a request for information from a great grandchild of a surviving crew member of the Andalucia Star.

The Blue Star Line passenger and cargo ship was torpedoed and sunk by a German U-Boat off the West African coast on 6th October 1942.

The note says: "My great grandfather Edward Nolan survived the sinking. 

I've been trying to find more information about the sinking but with no success.
He was a fireman on the ship so was very lucky to survive.
If anyone has more info please let me know."

So, if any of you reading this posting can help Edward Nolan's great grandchild, please send any information you might have. I will endeavour to post it on this blog.

Thank you.

Photos: Paul Coleman

Paul Coleman, London, January 2011

Toasting the Andalucia Star's brave crews

Out of the blue I recently learnt that another little girl - three-year-old Gillian Ash - was rescued from the sea after the Blue Star Line cargo ship, the Andalucia Star, was torpedoed and sunk on 6th October 1942 during the Second World War.

Gillian Ash fell from the same tipped lifeboat as Jill McNichol, the five-year-old girl whose rescue I've detailed in previous postings. Gillian's mother plucked her from the cold choppy Atlantic and pulled her up into a lifeboat. 

I received details about Gillian Ash from Mary Godward, whose uncle George Godward was on his way to England as a volunteer on board the Andalucia Star when it was torpedoed three times by a German U-Boat submarine - U-107 - and sunk with three lives lost. 

I'll highlight more details about Gillian Ash's rescue story in future postings. But for the moment, I just want to say how pleasing it was to receive the following apt and timely note today from Jill McNichol.

Jill kindly wrote:

"My father always phoned me and we would drink a toast today to the Andalucia Star, her brave crew and all who sailed on her during her many voyages. 

Join me in a glass of anything you like. 

All the best and cheers, Jill."

Sixty-eight years ago, Jill was crossing the Atlantic on the Andalucia Star with her father, S.G. Bicheno. According to one account, Mrs L.A. Green, “an elderly stewardess”, switched on a red light on Jill's lifejacket before lifting the little girl into a lifeboat with other women and children. 

Most of the lifeboats had already been safely lowered but, as another survivor Douglas Gibson later recalled, one of the lowering lifeboats went down bow first, throwing many of its occupants, including Jill (and also Gillian) it seems, into the sea. "The bar steward and an elderly stewardess were crushed between the ship and the lifeboat and killed,” said Gibson. 


William Wheeler, the Andalucia’s lamp trimmer (the ship's lighting technician), heard little Jill’s cry for help and then spotted her red light switched on earlier by Mrs Green. Wheeler immediately dived into the water, swam through wreckage for a distance of 600 yards to Jill and supported her for 30 minutes before helping Jill into the lifeboat. 

"Daddy was getting into a lifeboat when the third torpedo struck," says Jill. "He was very lucky not to have been killed on the spot."

Early October is a poignant moment for Jill and possibly other Andalucia Star survivors and their descendants dotted around the world. "Daddy, every year when he was alive, would phone me on the anniversary of the sinking and we would drink a toast to the ship and her brave crew," says Jill.

So, earlier today, rummaging inside a kitchen cupboard, I found an old bottle of Sauvignon Blanc from New Zealand and two ancient dusty cans of Fosters lager. I opted for the bottle of wine and pondered how a single event nearly 70 years ago continues to echo through the decades and connect with successive generations.

So, I raise my glass to my grandfather, Leslie Coleman (1906-81), who sailed many times as a crew member on the Andalucia Star - and I'll join you, Jill, in the toast you and your father so thoughtfully invoked: 

"To the Andalucia Star, her brave crew and all who sailed on her during her many voyages...we remember and salute you."

Paul Coleman, London, October 2010

Thanks to Jill McNichol.

Postscript: Survivors of the sinking of the Andalucia Star

I am grateful to Caroline Brechin for contacting me with news of more survivors of the sinking of the Andalucia Star by a German U-Boat in October 1942.

Caroline says: "My great uncle,Robert Cruickshank, his wife and child, Dolly Baxendale and Jacquelyn Cruickshank,were on board this ship, He had emigrated from Aberdeen Scotland and volunteered in Buenes Aires. All three survived."


Paul Coleman, London, August 2010.

The Andalucia Star: a survivor's tale, part 3

My previous posting expressed my gratitude to Michael (Miguel) Webb. He'd sent me his his father Gordon's eyewitness account of the German U-Boat attack that sank the Andalucia Star. 

Below, the second part of Gordon F. Webb's letter to his parents (Michael's grandparents) of 1 November 1942, recalls how survivors bobbed around in lifeboats after the Atlantic Ocean had swallowed the sinking Andalucia off the West African coast. They didn't yet know HMS Petunia was coming to their rescue.

Gordon Webb wrote:

"We began rowing and tried to contact other lifeboats. We came across a raft with five men. As the boat was full, we towed the raft.

"Later we saw another lifeboat, Number 2, which was oarless, having capsized. So, the men in the raft were transferred to that boat, leaving only the boat’s carpenter on the raft as he was near dying. 

"We came across another raft with four men who were also transferred to the towed boat.

"Having swallowed a lot of water, I was sick, but felt better after it. Nearly everybody was sick, either with the movement or the salt water.

"When dawn broke, six of the lifeboats were within sight of each other so we made a rendezvous, and having distributed the passengers better  among the boats we set a course for land, about 200 miles away to the E.N.E.

"The day turned out overcast and it rained almost all day, being very fresh for the tropics. We all set sail except boat Number 2 (who had lost all the equipment), which we towed. The wind was SW, so we were fortunate as it took us toward land.

"Our boat was moderately cheerful and almost all the passengers and crew co-operated, but it was hard to sleep and very uncomfortable to sit in one position the whole time.

"Nothing was sighted all day, but we were reasonably certain that the following day something would turn up, so there was no anxiety. I took turn at the tiller from 1930 to 2130 and then slept well till 2.30. 

"I was quite enjoying the adventure by then as it was very much like sailing on the River Plate, only that the boat was rather crowded. At 3.45 whilst talking to the man at the tiller he sighted a shadow that turned out to be our rescuers HMS Petunia. We weren’t long at being picked up and made comfortable on the Petunia in the traditional Navy fashion.

"After searching for a few hours the remaining boats were picked up and to everyone’s relief there was a minimal loss of lives - 4 people, 2 from boat Number 2 that capsized. Chips who died on the raft with heart trouble, and Hayes, a volunteer.

"We arrived at Freetown at 2030 on Thursday with no clothes except the rags we stood in. Some lost money and documents. The work of the authorities here has been stupendous, and we are being looked after very well." 

***

(My grandfather Leslie Coleman, a ship's chief steward, sailed frequently on the Andalucia Star before World War II. He was saddened by the loss of three crew members and a passenger and the sinking of one his favourite ships).

Paul Coleman, London, August 2010

The Andalucia Star: a survivor's tale, part 2

Yesterday's posting expressed my gratitude to Michael (Miguel) Webb. He'd sent me his his father Gordon's eyewitness account of the German U-Boat attack that sunk the Andalucia Star. 

Gordon F. Webb's letter to his parents (Michael's grandparents) of 1 November 1942, recalled the moment he thought he was going to die. Gordon Webb wrote:

"On Tuesday, 6th October, 1942, I was on board the Andalucía Star about 200 miles from Freetown. My watch on the bridge started at 20.00 so I sat down to dinner at 1920 with Wesley, my cabin companion. At 2100 we had not seen anything worth mentioning during our hour of watch.

"I handed my post over to Rudkin and went down to a concert being held in the lounge. The concert ended at 2140. I looked for Alan Cooper in the smoking room but did not find him there.

"I went to my cabin, meeting Wesley on the way. Just before entering our cabin at 2150, the first torpedo struck the ship on the portside, just aft of the smoking room, followed by a second torpedo almost at the same time and place.

"My first impression was of surprise, and I thought that it couldn’t be true. Wesley and I immediately rushed to the cabin. A few seconds after being hit, the lights flickered and then went out.

"I put on my life jacket, picked up my emergency bag and raincoat, and walked up the passage to the lounge. On my way there I heard Mrs Cruickshank crying that her husband was trapped, so I tried to batter down the door; but a few seconds later he walked out with their child. The place I had been battering was the cabin wall.

"I passed through the lounge on deck and down to the main deck by the portside door, as the starboard door was jammed. By this time the ship was righted again but was sinking by the stern. My most vivid impression was of the sickening smell of the cordite from the torpedoes.

"I crossed the deck to the starboard side to our lifeboat – Number 1 - and waited there till we were told to board it. Once we were in, the boat was slowly lowered till we touched the water; then the falls were let loose.

"Fortunately the sea was calm and the rest of the passengers and crew were slowly lowering themselves into the boat which was riding in the water still attached to the painter.

"It was 2210 and the Andalucía Star was slowly settling in the stern when the third torpedo struck the starboard side, just ten yards in front of us.

"I thought my last moment had come when the lifeboat heaved out of the water and nearly turned over. The explosion raised a big column of water that came roaring down on us, mixed with meat and cork from the refrigerating chamber where the torpedo had struck.

"Our boat was half filled with water, but still floating when we loosened the painter and started rowing away from the sinking ship. We rowed away astern of the Andalucía Star, and then round to the portside where we waited till the ship sank.

"She slowly turned over on the portside and her stern disappeared under the water until her bows were the only thing showing. 

"All traces of the Andalucía Star were gone at 2240."  

(More to follow in my next post...Part 3).

(My grandfather Leslie Coleman, a ship's chief steward, sailed frequently on the Andalucia before World War II. He was saddened by the loss of three crew members and a passenger and the sinking of one his favourite ships).

Paul Coleman, London, August 2010

A Christmas message from the Ocean

Seventy-five years ago an Ocean Letter wireless telegraph was the only way my seafaring grandfather, Leslie Coleman, could wish Happy Christmas to his wife Win, my grandmother.

On 18 December 1934 the telegraph operator on board Les' ship, the Andalucia Star, bound for South America, transmitted his Christmas greeting by wireless to the Kaisar I Hind that was heading back to Blighty. Les' Ocean Letter (above,click on to enlarge) was printed and then sent to Win on Christmas Eve by registered post from the Kaisar I Hind's first port of call - although I'm not sure exactly when Win received it at their Turnpike Lane home in north London.

It's touching that Win and Les, both now passed away, lovingly kept their Ocean Letter telegraph in pristine condition. How many texts, emails, e-cards, social network postings and blogs will still be cherished 75 years from now?

Paul Coleman, London, December 2009.

All at sea

Sons who try hard to please their fathers sometimes get hurt.

Back in the late 1970s, I remember my father John buying a special birthday present for his father, Les.

John reckoned that Les would really appreciate his gift - an enlarged and framed sepia photograph of the S.S. Andalucia Star, one of several merchant ships on which Les had voyaged across the world during the 1930s.

Grandad Les always enjoyed telling me, his only grandchild, about his life and times aboard the Majestic, Almeda Star, Doric Star and the Andalucia Star (above, click on ship to enlarge). He'd regale me with exciting tales of Tenerife, Montevideo, Buenos Aires, Pernambuco and Rio de Janeiro.

As chief steward (photo below) on the Andalucia, Les looked after some famous people, including former Prime Minister Lloyd George. He recalled the Great Britain rugby team practicing on deck for their 1936 Argentina tour.

Most of all, Grandad Les spoke of happy times spent with his colourful and mischievous shipmates.

He’d often pipe up with ‘When I was at sea…’

Understandably, my Dad anticipated his dad would be chuffed to receive the Andalucia Star photo.

But Les’ birthday smile disappeared when he opened his gift.

Les blurted a muted thanks to John but the image of the old ship had clearly upset him.

A rejected and hurt son pressed his father to explain.

‘I’d rather not say right now,’ Les replied sullenly.

In the 1970s, Dad didn’t have the web to do instant research into the fate of his father’s ships. Even if he had, not even Google searches find submerged emotions.

Decades later, and some years after both Grandad Les and Dad passed away, I drifted across a clue on the web to possibly explain Grandad Les’ terse reaction to the picture.

Built and launched in September 1926 by Cammell Laird’s shipbuilders at Birkenhead, the Andalucia Star - a 15,000-ton steamship - took to the seas as one of the Blue Star Line’s ‘luxury five’ liners. The others were the Almeda Star, Arandora Star, Avelona Star, and Avila Star.

When Les was part of her crew, the Andalucia was a refrigerated passenger, cargo and mail liner.

On 26 September 1942, the Andalucia Star set off for Liverpool from Buenos Aires by way of Freetown on the West African coast. On board were 170 crew and 83 passengers including 22 women and three children. Captain James Hall’s ship also carried 5,374 tons of meat and 32 tons of eggs.

On 6 October, at about 10pm, the Andalucia was steaming at her full speed of 16 knots without lights about 180 miles south of Freetown.

She was spotted by Harald Gelhaus, a 27-year-old German from the Lower Saxony town of Göttingen.

Gelhaus, the Kapitänleutnant (Lieutenant Commander) of U-107, a Type IXB U-Boat submarine, ordered the firing of two torpedoes.

The devices struck the Andalucia abreast of two of her holds.

The explosions ruptured the hull, causing the main engine to flood.

Captain Hall gave the order to abandon ship.

All lifeboats were lowered and rowed away – except for lifeboat Number 2. Whilst being lowered, this lifeboat fell forward, tipping its occupants into the freezing, darkened sea.

This cost the lives of a steward and a stewardess. One of the last acts of stewardess Mrs. L.A. Green was to switch on the red lifejacket light of a little girl, aged five. After the lifeboat tipped, it was this red light that enabled another crewman William Wheeler to spot the little girl. Wheeler swam 600 yards through choppy, oil-strewn waves to save her. 
Green, thrown into the sea by from Number 2 lifeboat, was sadly never found.

Incredibly, only one of the Andalucia’s passengers died during this lethal U-Boat attack. Another crew member suffered heart failure and also died.

Meanwhile, Gelhaus ordered another attack.

A third torpedo detonated so violently on the ship’s port side bow that it ripped out the starboard side also (click on link to see Trickett's painting of torpedo hitting the ship).

At about 10.25pm, the Andalucia Star sank to the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean.

Six hours later, the H.M.S Petunia picked up the survivors and took them to Freetown.  

Family letters show Grandad Les was posted to Liverpool to join the Doric Star in August 1937, just over five years before Gelhaus issued his orders to fire. The Doric was sunk by the German battleship Admiral Graf Spee south of St Helena on 2 December, 1939 although Grandad Les - thankfully - wasn't on its voyage from New Zealand.

I can only speculate how devastated Les must’ve felt on hearing about the Andalucia’s violent end.

Probably, Grandad Les keenly felt the loss of two former colleagues, Mrs Green and the other steward.

Possibly, he felt guilty for escaping their fate.

After all, Grandad Les had lost two older brothers in the trench warfare madness of World War I, a conflict that began when he was just eight.

The Andalucia Star was just one of 39 ships destroyed by U-107. The submarine itself was sunk on 18 August 1944. A Royal Air Force Sunderland aircraft dropped depth charges close to the sub as it lurked in the Bay of Biscay. All 58 crew were lost.

However, Gelhaus escaped their fate. He wasn’t on board. By that time, he’d also been posted elsewhere. Haphazardly, I can only guess Gelhaus felt sad when he learnt of U-107’s demise.

Gelhaus died in December 1997, aged 82, one of 144 U-Boat men who’d received the Knights Cross of the Iron Cross, the highest award given by Hitler's Third Reich for 'successful military leadership' during World War II.

I'm left with one thought. The Cross showed how Gelhaus had pleased his 'Fatherland' but did the Cross help Gelhaus please his father?

My grandfather Les' 1935 Christmas card to his wife Winifred, my Nana. (Click on photo to enlarge).

Interested in the Blue Star Line? Visit Fraser Darrah's excellent website.


Paul Coleman, London, December 2009.