AAFTER being twice torpedoed by German U-boats and surviving almost two weeks marooned in a lifeboat with only a compass and hope, battling malaria in a makeshift clinic in Sierra Leone, and bravely carrying dangerous cargoes around the world without convoy, Gordon Clare, 88, saw plenty of action during the Battle of the Atlantic in the Second World War.

And all as part of the Merchant Navy – a courtesy title bestowed on civilian ships to reflect the contribution they made to victory in the First World War.

The peacetime MN was a collection of ships carrying the red or blue ensign, owned by British shipping companies with civilian crews.

At the start of the 1939-45 war, it came under the control of the Ministry of War Transport, and experienced seafarers were directed to return. The merchantmen paid a heavy price for their loyalty. More than 35,000 lost their lives.

Gordon, known affectionately as Tats to his three grandsons, Fraser, James and Alastair, and eight greatgrandchildren, does not often talk about his experiences at sea, but after the 70th anniversary of the end of the Battle of the Atlantic was marked recently, he has been persuaded by family to become more vocal about his involvement.

Born in Bolton in 1924, Gordon now lives in Borrowby, North Yorkshire, with wife Pam and close to daughter Pamela and son-in-law Mark. He has a son, David, who lives in Lincolnshire with wife Amanda.

Gordon said his first trip to sea was when he was still a “little boy” of 17, and he describes that first mission as being uneventful – which was lucky as his ship was carrying a dangerous cargo of iron ore. But his second trip was a bad one.

“I was on one of three ships leaving Lisbon, Portugal, early in the morning, and we crept out in darkness with a cargo of iron ore again heading to Gibraltar.

“When the two ships were sunk, we were forewarned, and the torpedoes aimed at us were spotted in the phosphorescent trail so the ship was able to avoid them, and we escaped.”

Gordon, who was the ship's radio officer, added: “If we were lucky, we would be able to move the ship in time if we spotted the torpedo fast enough – but we would only have a chance if it was aiming for one end of the ship. If it was aiming for the middle, then there was no chance. I was sitting in the radio room and knew the other ships had gone. I was sending messages to other ships but I knew it wouldn’t do any good.”

Gordon’s next voyage, on the SS Wallsend, was illfated from the start.

“We were carrying a deck cargo of aircraft in packing cases, but soon after leaving Liverpool in mid-November we were diverted to Glasgow to deal with a problem and missed the convoy, so we went to Loch Ewe to await the next one – only to break down and be left at sea as a straggler,” he said.

“Now unprotected, we were directed to go to Takoradi in West Africa in a slow trampship with the knowledge that the route would be through known concentrations of U-boats. “I think we all knew it was inevitable that we would get hit.

When the Wallsend was more than 200 miles from the nearest land – the Cape Verde Islands – she was hit by a single torpedo, taking out the side of the ship that contained her only motorised lifeboat.

Gordon said: “The ship could only afford one lifeboat with an engine and that was gone, so we got on the other boat, which had a mast and sail.

“The submarine came to the surface and the captain started asking lots of questions – nicely at first, but we told him we were all stokers and able-seamen and he wanted our captain or chief officer.

“He started getting angry – I was determined that if he started shooting I would jump over the side of the boat and hang on to the guide rope.

“Our captain admitted who he was to save the rest of us – I only found out years after the war had finished that he had survived and become mayor of Newcastle.”

Once the German captain had his prisoner, he let the rest of the remaining crew go, pointing vaguely to the east towards the nearest land – which would in fact have been Africa, not Cape Verde, which was closer.

Gordon said if it were not for Wallsend’s chief officer, Walter Charles Wright, they may not have survived.

Darlington and Stockton Times: The lifeboat
The lifeboat

“He saved our bacon – he was truly remarkable,” said Gordon.

Once left alone, the crew started to check if anyone was missing.

There was a suggestion among the crew that those missing could be on a life raft, and there was hope they would be found the following morning when it became light.

The next day they did find the raft – but it was empty.

Gordon said he can't be sure exactly how long they were on the lifeboat for, but thinks it was around two weeks before someone spotted land, and later the welcome sight of islanders coming through the surf to guide the exhausted and hungry crew through the waves.

After surviving on just two ounces of water a day, plus a couple of ship’s biscuits and a type of “revolting”

preserved meat called Pemmican, the men were starving.

And because once a ship had been torpedoed the crew were classed as “not working”, Gordon ended up with just 11s 4d (56p) for his ordeal. He was taken to St Vincent before a Portuguese mailboat arrived to take the remaining crew to Freetown in Sierra Leone.

He said: “We joined many other British survivors all wanting to get shipped out.

But malaria struck us down and we endured treatment entailing being injected with quinine from a syringe about the size of a bicycle pump.”

Once he recovered, Gordon was picked up by a British ship and managed to get home unscathed despite more U-boat threats.

He added: “I got my 11 and fourpence after signing for it. I muttered a cynical thank you.”