DORIC STAR  ~  December 2nd, 1939

ON the outbreak of war on September 3rd, 1939, the 5,600 ton steamer Ionic Star, completed in 1917, lay at Rio de Janeiro. Wrecked in the Irish Sea on October 17th, she was the first war loss sustained by the Blue Star Line.

When war was declared the Doric Star, a 12-knot, 10,000 ton steamer built in 1921 and commanded by Captain William Stubbs, was on passage from the Panama Canal to Auckland, New Zealand. Laden with a full refrigerated cargo of mutton, lamb, cheese and butter from New Zealand and Australia, with a quantity of wool in bales in the ‘tween decks, she sailed for England by way of the Indian Ocean and the Cape of Good Hope. Noon on December 2nd, 1939, found her in the South Atlantic on her way home some 1,200 miles from the Cape of Good Hope and 660 miles roughly East by South of St. Helena.

Two months previously, actually on October 1st, the Admiralty had passed a message to all British merchant ships at sea warning them that a German raider might be operating off the east coast of South America. This was the result of the British Steamer Clement, of the Booth Line, having been sunk 75 miles south-east of Pernambuco, Brazil, on September 3rd. The next day American press reports announced that one of the Clement’s lifeboats had been picked up by a Brazilian coasting steamer, and that another had come ashore at Maceio, south of Pernambuco. The captain and chief engineer, it was stated, had been taken on board the raider, which, as we know now, was the pocket-battleship Admiral Graf Spee.

Having thus advertised herself the Graf Spee steamed east, and during October sank four more British ships on the trade route to the Cape. Their officers and crews were made prisoners, the bulk of them being transferred to the notorious Altmark, with which the Graf Spee was working. The last of that batch of sinking’s, the Trevanion, was on October 22nd, not far from St. Helena.

Thereafter the Graf Spee disappeared until November 15^th  when, having cruised for a time east of the Cape of Good Hope without success, she broke north and sank the small tanker Africa Shell at the southern end of the Mozambique Channel. The captain was made a prisoner; but the rest of the Africa Shell’s crew were allowed to make for the shore in their boats. It was on November 16th that the warning went forth that an enemy raider was at large in the Indian Ocean. On this same day the Graf Spee held up and released the Dutch cargo liner Mapia to the southward of Madagascar. Again the raider’s captain, Langsdorf must have known that these incidents would soon be reported. No doubt he hoped the news would cause a still further dispersal of the Allied naval forces already carrying on the hunt in the South Atlantic. Accordingly, he doubled back into the South Atlantic, and on November 28th met the Altmark in that lonely part of the ocean near Tristan da Cunha, and replenished his oil fuel and stores. All captains, chief officers, second officers, chief and second engineers, and radio officers were transferred from the Altmark to the Graf Spee by motor launch.

On December 2nd, homeward bound from the Cape, Captain Stubbs and the officers of the Doric Star must have known that one or more raiders were operating. All the same, it cannot have been anything but a very unwelcome surprise when at about 1.0 p.m. on that calm afternoon with its long ocean swell, a heavy shell splashed into the sea and exploded within 100 yards of the Doric Star. “A couple of minutes later a vessel was sighted about a point on the port quarter,” Captain Stubbs wrote later.

“At about 1.10 p.m. a second shell exploded within 200 yards off the starboard bow, and the overtaking vessel was seen to be a battleship.”

Those shells were fired at extreme range, before the Graf Spee’s hull was visible. What Captain Stubbs saw was the top of her tall control tower showing over the clear-cut rim of the horizon.

Some of the prisoners in the Graf Spee lived in a small central room immediately beneath the aeroplane. They had heard the ‘plane catapulted oft and the pilot, apparently, had first sighted the Doric Star and reported back by wireless.

“After first sighting the vessel,” Captain Stubbs continues,

“I ordered the Wireless Operator (Mr. William Comber) to transmit the raider distress call, also signalled the engine-room for all possible speed. After the second shot I realised it was impossible to escape, so stopped the engines and ordered the wireless operator to amplify the message and state battleship attacking. By this time I could read the daylight morse lamp from battleship signalling ‘Stop your wireless,’ but I took no notice of this signal As the battleship approached I gave orders to the engine-room to stand by for scuttling, and as it appeared that our distress call had not been heard I ordered Chief Engineer (Mr. W. Ray) to start and scuttle. A few minutes later the wireless operator reported that our message had been repeated by another British vessel and also a Greek vessel, so I countermanded the orders for scuttling, then threw overboard all confidential papers and books, breech of gun, ammunition and rifles, also all papers about cargo. After distress call had been transmitted I ordered the wireless operator to cease transmitting, as the battleship was exhibiting a notice—’ Stop your wireless or I will open fire.’ The Doric Star, a 12-knot ship with one anti-submarine gun right aft, had no alternative but to obey.”

The Graf Spee lowered a fast motor-boat, and the British ship was boarded by a party of three officers and about 30 men. They dispersed to various parts of the ship with drawn revolvers—the bridge, the wireless room and engine-room. The captain was taken to his cabin and questioned, while every hole and corner was closely examined. The wireless room was searched for codes and cyphers, and the radio officer asked if he had sent out his position, to which he replied that of course he had. Asked about his cargo, Captain Stubbs replied that he carried only wool, whereupon the Doric Star’s crew were ordered to remove the hatch covers of two of the holds. The Germans, simpler than usual, saw only bales of wool in the ‘tween decks and were satisfied. (Great was their fury, hours after the Doric Star had been sunk by gunfire and a torpedo, when they discovered she had carried more than 8 tons of refrigerated meat, butter and cheese, just the things they most urgently needed after more than 100 days at sea.)

The crew were given ten minutes to collect lifebelts, blankets, eating utensils and any effects they could carry, and were then transferred to the Admiral Graf Spee in the launch. Like other ships, the Doric Star appears to have been looted of instruments like sextants, chronometers, binoculars, telescopes and even typewriters. One British captain, who had tried to keep his presentation sextant, was roughly informed it was confiscated by the Reich. He was given a receipt for it, as well as for his ship. As for the sextant, no doubt Mr. Churchill would pay for another.

Just before he left the Doric Star Captain Stubbs saw three or four bombs exploded over the starboard side. These did not sink her, for an hour later the Admiral Graf Spee fired seven 5.9 in. shell into her, and finally sent her to the bottom with a torpedo.

The Shaw, Savill and Albion Company’s 8,000 ton steamer Tairoa was intercepted at 6.0 a.m. next morning, December 3rd, about 170 miles south-west of where the Doric Star had been sunk. The prisoners on board the Graf Spee, who now included all the officers and men from the Doric Star, first heard the alarm buzzer calling the Germans to action stations, and then the reports of what sounded like 5.9 inch guns. Next came the “pom-pom-pom” of a heavy machine gun, followed after about an hour by another series of heavy shots. As one of the prisoners—Mr. A. H. Brown, chief officer of the Huntsman—relates : “ We heard later that six shots from 5.9 inch guns and finally a torpedo were fired to sink the Tairoa. At about 9.0 a.m. the captain and some of the officers from this steamer arrived in our room. The early firing had been to stop the radio, but the operator had gone on sending until his machine was eventually hit, though he himself escaped injury. Five of the Tairoa’s crew were wounded, three deck-boys sufficiently to be detained in hospital on the warship for a week. We were now 51 in one small room. Packed, without room to sit, we ate our meals in relays.”

The room measured 17 x 20 feet, with a small pantry and lavatory with washing bowls attached. The food, which was largely synthetic, was not much to boast about, though it was said- to have been the same as that served out to the German crew. Bitterly did the latter regret the frozen meat, cheese, butter and eggs so hastily sunk in the Doric Star. One hears that the German boarding officer incurred the severe displeasure of his captain.

In all, there were now 196 prisoners on board the Graf Spee, the crews of the Doric Star and Tairoa being locked up in a compartment further aft. The congestion, however, was relieved on December 6th, when the Graf Spee again met the Altmark and most of the prisoners were removed to her. There were now 29 in the officers room, which included the captains, chief officers, chief engineers, chief refrigerating engineers, radio officers and one passenger. Among them were Captain Stubbs, Chief Officer S. Ransom, Radio Officer W. Comber, Chief Engineer W. Ray, and Chief Refrigerating Engineer J. C. Hulton, all of the Doric Star.

The prisoners were reinforced the next evening when the British steamer Streonshalh was sunk by gunfire. As Mr. Brown says— “We now knew we were on the South American shipping routes. We now had thirty-one prisoners in our room, and thirty, the Streonshalh’s crew, in a room forward. The three wounded were in our room.”

For four days, the Graf Spee steamed south-westward towards the River Plate. At dawn each day, and again in the evening, the prisoners heard the raider’s ‘plane catapulted off. It sighted nothing. The routine for the captives was monotonous enough. Hammocks were passed into the officers’ room at 9.0 each night, and as soon as everyone was turned in the guard put out the lights. Called at 6.30 a.m., hammocks had to be lashed up and passed outside, after which chairs were passed in. Hot and cold water was available in the lavatory from 6.30 to 7.30 a.m., after which it was shut off until evening. The dreary breakfast came at seven o’clock, followed by an hour’s exercise on deck from eight to nine. Dinner came at 11.0 a.m. and tea at 4.0 p.m., with another hour’s exercise from five to six. The compartment had no portholes; but skylights overhead. The prisoners had two packs of cards and a few of the library books taken from sunken ships. In those two crowded compartments life was wearisome indeed; but it was “heaven,” as someone said, to the existence in the notorious Altmark.

Then came December 13th, and at daylight the aeroplane overhead was ‘revved up as usual. Before it could be catapulted off however, the prisoners heard the urgent alarm signals. The door to their compartment was screwed down and locked, the skylight closed and the steel covers screwed down overall. After a short pause heavy firing began and continued. The prisoners soon guessed the Graf Spee was up against something different to an unarmed merchantman. They could feel the vibration of the ship at high speed, and her heeling over under full helm. She shook heavily at times, though they were unable to tell whether the thudding impacts were caused by the raider’s own guns or the impact of shell striking her.

The Graf Spee was in contact with Commodore Harwood’s three cruisers, Ajax, Achilles and Exeter. It is unnecessary here to describe the battle of the River Plate; but as one of the British captains aboard the Graf Spee said— “You can imagine our feelings when we felt the shuddering blows of shells striking the ship. We knew it was the intention of the attacking ship to blow our temporary home out of the water. We felt that if she succeeded in doing so it would be for the good of the country, and every time a shot hit us we all said, ‘Well hit sir! That was a good one.’ But we felt like rats in a trap shut up in our tiny compartment of twenty feet by seventeen.”

The first definite knowledge they had of direct hits was at about 7.30 a.m., when a shell burst over the officer’s compartment, putting out all the lights except one. The deck overhead was driven down and the fore and aft supporting beam fractured, while one of the skylight covers was carried away and the skylight smashed. Some shell fragments fell into the room; but nobody was hurt.

Heavy firing continued until nearly nine o’clock. Watching the ammunition parties in turn through a small screw hole in the door, the prisoners saw the Germans looked very concerned and glum. Many killed and wounded were carried past during a lull in the action, and some of the Germans were physically sick. Most of the Graf Spee’s crew were lads of between 17 and 22, with a small sprinkling of older men. Some of the youngest had never been to sea before, and had been sent off after a few month’s training ashore. Hit 27 times, the Graf Spee had 36 killed and about 60 wounded.

Nobody came to see if any of the prisoners were wounded until nearly eleven o’clock, when a German officer outside shouted to ask if they were all right. They replied that they were and wanted some coffee. None was available, for British shell had demolished the galleys, bakeries and provision rooms. After about half-an-hour’s delay a “dixie” full of limejuice and water, with four loaves of black bread, were passed into the room and the door locked again.

The Exeter, badly damaged and on fire, with all her guns out of action and a loss of 61 killed and 23 wounded, had disappeared to the south-east at slow speed, doing all she could to repair the damage and make herself seaworthy. But all through the rest of the morning and afternoon the Graf Spee was shadowed by the Ajax and Achilles. Both ships had expended a great amount of ammunition, and now that the Exeter had gone, Commodore Harwood could not risk further prolonged day action with his greatly superior opponent. The Graf Spee carried six 11-inch guns and eight 5.9’s. The Exeter mounted six 8-inch, and the Ajax and Achilles eight 6-inch each. It was the Commodore’s intention to close in after dark, and to finish off the business with guns and torpedoes.

It was soon clear that the Graf Spee was making for the River Plate, and the Ajax and Achilles continued to shadow. Just after sunset the Graf Spee fired three salvoes at the Achilles, to which the British cruiser replied. The German fired more rounds between 9.30 and 9.45; but they were merely intended to keep shadowers at a distance.

As the hammocks were still piled up in their room, the prisoners had turned in. The Graf Spee anchored off Montevideo shortly after midnight, and to minutes later an English-speaking officer came in and stood among the hammocks. “Gentlemen,” he said, “For you the war is over. We are now in Montevideo harbour. Today you will be free.”

We couldn’t believe it at first,” one of the captains told me some months later. “You see we’d been asleep. Then we noticed that the engines had stopped. Someone hoisted himself up and looked through the broken skylight, and there, sure enough, were the harbour lights of Montevideo.” There were cheers, and a babble of excited conversation. There was no more sleep that night so far as they were concerned. That same afternoon they were again free men. With them were Captain Stubbs and the four officers of the Doric Star already mentioned, including the Radio Officer, Mr. W. Comber.

It is known that the Doric Star’s repeated wireless signals on sighting the Graf Spee on December 2nd were relayed from ship to ship and became known to Commodore Harwood, between two and three thousand miles away on the other side of the Atlantic on December 3^rd . His three cruisers were scattered over two thousand miles, and concentration was vitally necessary if the raider, a pocket battleship, were to be met and brought to action with any hope of success.

As the Commodore, who by that time had been promoted to Rear-Admiral and awarded the K.C.B., wrote in his despatch of December 30th, 1939 (published as a Supplement to the London Gazette of June 17th, 1947):

“The British ship Doric Star had reported being attacked by a pocket battleship in position 19° 15’ South, 5° 5’ East, during the afternoon of 2nd December, 1939, and a similar report had been sent by an unknown vessel* 170 miles south-west of that position at 05.00 G.M.T. on 3rd December.

“From this data I estimated that at a cruising speed of 15 knots the raider could reach the Rio de Janeiro focal area a.m. 12th December, the River Plate focal area p.m. 12th December or a.m. 13^th December and the Falkland Islands area 14th December.

I decided that the Plate, with its larger number of ships and its very valuable grain and meat trade, was the vital area to be defended. I therefore arranged to concentrate there my available forces in advance of the time at which it was anticipated the raider might start operations in that area.”

The concentration of the Ajax, Achilles and Exeter was effected by 7.0 a.m. on December 12th. At 6.14 a.m. next morning smoke was sighted, and the Exeter was ordered to close and investigate it. Two minutes later she reported “I think it is a pocket battleship,” and at 6.18 a.m. the enemy opened fire, one 11-inch turret at the Exeter and the other at the Ajax.

We know the rest, and the final outcome of the Battle of the River Plate. What one wonders is if that battle would ever have been fought if it had not been for those earlier wireless signals from the Doric Star and Tairoa a full 3,000 miles away to the eastward.

*The Tairoa

Extract from Blue Star Line at War by Taffrail