Valor Friday

In my studies on the topic of military valor, I’ve become acquainted with the various awards issued by our allies, or at least their top-level decorations. I’ve become quite familiar with the British (and by extension Commonwealth) awards and decorations. The British system is complex, with both civil and military medals as well as other honors such as membership in orders of chivalry, knighthoods, and even the award of noble titles.

Despite the complexity, I felt confident that I’d heard of all their honors, but I recently came across one I’d never heard of. The world famous insurance market Lloyd’s of London issued a few medals of their own. The company dates back hundreds of years, and thier medals similarly date back to 1836, almost 200 years ago.

The Lloyd’s Medals, of which there were four, were awarded by Lloyd’s for heroism or meritorious service. As Lloyd’s is perhaps best known for their association with shipping insurance, it should be little surprise that the awards focus on those in the Merchant Navy. The Lloyd’s Medal for Saving Life at Sea dates from 1836, the Medal for Meritorious Service to 1893, the Medal for Services to Lloyd’s to 1913, and in 1940 they added a War Medal for Bravery at Sea.

It’s the latter medal, instituted in 1940 at the height of the British stand against Nazi Germany, that today’s subject is a recipient. The rabbit hole that led me here, also had me sitting mouth agape as I read about the heroism of this young man.

Donald Owen Clarke was born 5 March 1923. As with most men of his generation, he answered his country’s call to arms as they faced their most existential crisis in the Nazi Blitz that had already streamrolled over most of Europe. Clarke didn’t join the armed forces, but he took to the seas as an apprentice with the Merchant Navy in 1939.

The Merchant Navy, at the time the largest civilian-owned and operated fleet in the world. At this time they accounted for 33% of the world’s ship tonnage. As Britain is a relatively small island with few natural resources, the country relied on these merchantmen to continue the fight against Germany.

In response, the Germans engaged in a very successful tactic of unrestricted submarine warfare. In naval terms, unrestricted warfare means they attacked any enemy flagged ships, whether the ships were military targets or not. With the transport of large amounts of war materiel, virtually any ship was indeed a military target, even if civilian flagged and crewed.

To combat the threat of Nazi U-boats, Merchant Navy ships would travel in convoys, often with a military escort to provide cover and engage the enemy directly. Merchantman ships were also outfitted with defensive armament, usually with a small contingent of military personnel to man them.

Clarke’s ship was the MV San Emiliano, a fuel transport ship working for Eagle Oil (later Shell Oil) crossing the Atlantic. Sam Emiliano had similarly entered service in 1939, so she was a new ship. At more than 8,000 tons displacement, the 436 foot long ship was crewed by 48 men.

In May 1941, while at the Mersey Docks in Liverpool, England, Clarke’s ship and others were taken under fire by German bombers. This was during the Liverpool Blitz, the sustained bombing campaign of the Nazi Luftwaffe. The bombing killed about 4,000 people from 1940 to 1942, but was overshadowed by the better known London Blitz. As an important and busy port, Liverpool was heavily targeted.

On at least one occasion, San Emiliano was tied to a burning shore fuel depot when the Germans started bombing. San Emiliano’s Captain Tozer ordered the crew to abandon ship while he alone took on the task of sailing the ship away from the shore. The Fourth Engineer volunteered to stay to run the engines and Clarke, though just an apprentice by rank and experience, also volunteered to help.

During an attack the next day, one of the dock workers fell in the water. Despite not knowing how to swim himself, Clarke unhesitatingly leapt into the river to help the man to safety.

For his bravery, Clarke was given multiple honors. The Liverpool Shipwreck and Humane Society awarded Clarke with their Marine Medal (their highest award for bravery) in silver (a gold version of the same medal is their highest honor), he received a cash award from the Mersey Docks and Harbour Board, and he received a Commendation for Brave Conduct from the King. This latter award at the time was just a certificate, but before war’s end a dedicated badge was designed for a recipient to wear. It’s awarded for gallantry entailing risk to life and meriting national recognition. If we’re comparing to an American award, it’s most closely analogous to a Bronze Star Medal w/ “V”. Clarke’s captain, James Wilfred Tozer, also received a King’s Commendation for Brave Conduct at the same time.

By August 1942, Clarke had 27 Atlantic crossings under his belt. He was only 19 years old, but had already seen a lot of the war, both ashore and at sea. His final trip would be his last.

At about 0342 hours on 9 August 1942, San Emiliano was sailing alone about 450 miles west of Trinidad, off the coast of South America. Without the protection in numbers found in a port or convoy, San Emiliano was a tempting target for a Kreigsmarine U-boat skipper.

U-155, a Type IXC submarine, had been commissioned into service not quite a year before (23 Aug 1941 to be precise). U-155 was on her fourth war patrol, under command of Korvettenkapitän (Commander in English) Adolf Piening. Her previous patrols had been very successful, sending tens of thousands of tons of Allied ships and cargo down. Piening had gained some fame for avoiding Allied patrol craft in the area of the Bay of Biscay. The “Piening Route” hugged the French and then Spanish coastlines.

While dedicated to serving his country, Piening had seen enough war. After torpedoing and sinking MV Empire Arnold, the Arnold’s chief officer, rescued by U-155, told Piening that he thought their attack of the transport was bad business and wished the war were over. Piening is said to have replied, “So do I.” U-155’s fourth patrol was Piening’s first with the boat, and they sunk 10 ships totaling more than 43,000 tonnes.

U-155 lined up in those early morning hours of 9 August, with San Emiliano a sitting duck. Two torpedos were let loose, both hitting the mighty tanker. The explosions rended metal and ignited the ship’s flammable cargo.

It’s been said that while a shipwreck is bad, a shipwreck of a tanker is worse. The fuel burns, and because it’s less dense than water, it floats on the surface, spreading out from the vessel and simultaneously warding off rescuers while endangering any lifeboats that might make it off the mothership.

Clarke was in his cabin, below decks, when he was roused by the torpedo strikes. He had to force his way out to the deck, already aflame with gasoline. There he found the one remaining lifeboat still intact. The men who’d survived to make it that far were burnt and wounded. For any chance of survival, they’d have to get away from the flaming hulk of their ship, go through the fires of hell she was leaking onto the ocean around them, and not be taken down by the suction as their sinking ship slipped under the waves.

The Chief Radio Officer, Donald Wilfred Dennis, volunteered to give his life for those of his shipmates, by releasing the falls of the lifeboat. To do so, the already burnt and wounded Dennis crawled on his hands and knees along the burning deck of the ship to release the locks. Once released, Dennis had no way to join his men, and died in the inferno. Without his devotion and self-sacrifice, the survivors wouldn’t have made it off the ship.

The first officer’s report says, in part,

To conclude this report, I especially wish to commend First Radio Officer Dennis; in spite of a badly burnt back it was he alone who lowered the port lifeboat away and enabled the rest of us to get away. In doing this he suffered bad rope burns, but this man was very reticent about it and in my estimation he showed great courage and fortitude throughout the whole ordeal.

Clarke, now in the lifeboat, was grievously wounded already. Like most of the men, he was suffering crippling burns. His face, hands, and legs were all badly burnt. Dropping the lifeboat into the water, they had to get away from the ship. Not only was it a navigation hazard and a fire hazard, but there was a hostile U-boat somewhere nearby with the ship in her sights. A followup shot wasn’t just possible, but likely. A sub skipper can’t claim the tonnage if the ship isn’t sent under. A damaged ship isn’t the same prize as one sunk.

Only six men were in the boat when it was dropped from San Emiliano, a few more were taken from the burning water. Not a single man was uninjured.

The sailors in the lifeboat played the boat’s line taught, and turned the boat’s helm away from the San Emiliano. I’m no sailor, but it seems that this would use the tanker’s forward movement to drag the lifeboat along, but the survivors used the boat’s rudder to steer them away to safety.

Once they’d gotten clear of the immediate danger that was their flaming ship, the lifeboat crew cast off the ship’s line. The little lifeboat was carried not further away, but back towards the sinking ship. Perhaps by the force of the much larger vessel going down. Whatever the cause, they were going back toward San Emiliano, not towards safety, which at this point was literally anywhere else.

The lifeboat was going to have to row away. This would take a considerable effort. While there were several men aboard, most of them were too wounded to engage in heavy manual labor. Despite his own mortal wounds, young Donald Clarke took an oar to help his comrades. He was one of just three men able to man the oars.

For two hours the burnt young Clarke rowed without complaint before he finally collapsed in exhaustion. Only once a pause was taken did the other sailors realize just how bad Clarke’s wounds were. The burned flesh of his hands had fused with the wood of the oar, and they had to cut him free. Clarke had rowed just as hard as any of the other men, but he was doing so with the bare bones of his hands. The sheer force of will that must have taken, and the dedication shown to his friends is unimaginable.

Even now that he was free to rest, Clarke thought only of his fellows. Lying on the bottom of the boat, he sung songs to keep the men’s spirits up. Clarke died a few hours later, “having shown the greatest fortitude” as his award citation notes. They buried him at sea.

Only nine men made it off San Emiliano. They lost 41 men when the ship went down. Clarke was the only man on the lifeboat to perish after the sinking. His sacrifice ensured the others would live.

Clarke’s heroism displayed in the sinking of his ship was rewarded with a posthumous award of the George Cross (GC). The George Cross is the highest honor of the British government, ranking with but just below the Victoria Cross (VC). The GC recognizes bravery to the same level as the VC, but not in the face of the enemy. Since it is considered the equal to the VC, the GC is analogous to a non-combat Medal of Honor in the American awards and decorations system. His medal was presented to his parents on 26 October 1943 by King George VI himself at Buckingham Palace. Only 166 George Crosses have been directly awarded (there are a couple hundred more that were converted from earlier medals).

Chief Steward Bennell was given a posthumous King’s Commendation for Brave Conduct. San Emiliano’s master, Captain James Tozer, also received a posthumous King’s Commendation.

Among the ship’s other crew, Chief Radio Officer Donald Dennis received the George Medal for his bravery that night. The George Medal is the second-level decoration for individual bravery not in the face of the enemy, and is comparable to an American Navy and Marine Corps Medal. So too was the ship’s first officer, Chief Officer Thomas Finch awarded the George Medal.

Clarke, Bennell, Dennis, and Finch would also receive the Lloyd’s War Medal for Bravery at Sea. Only 541 of these were ever awarded. Finch would remain in the Merchant Navy, eventually rising to the rank of captain before retiring in 1973.

The U-boat, U-155, would survive the war after completing an astonishing ten patrols. The ship would be scuttled by the Royal Navy shortly after the end of the war, which was the disposition of the vast majority of Germany’s surrendered U-boat fleet. Her captain three of these patrols was Piening.

Piening received Germany’s highest decoration during the war, the Knight’s Cross of the Iron Cross (having previously received both classes of the Iron Cross). He too survived the war. In 1956, when the West German government was rebuilding their military, he returned to the German Navy, this time under a flag without a swastika. He retired in 1969, having risen to the rank of kapitän zur see (Captain in English).

Category: Historical, Navy, UK and Commonwealth Awards, Valor, WWII