Five: Captain P. B. Hewison, Merchant Navy, whose command, the S.S. Langleeford, was torpedoed off the Irish coast in February 1940: prior to departing the scene of his victory, the U-boat captain handed the survivors a sack containing medical and other supplies, all of which assisted them in making their way to the mainland in open boats - in point of fact the survivors agreed he was ‘a very decent sort of chap’

British War and Mercantile Marine Medals 1914-18 (Percival B. Hewison); 1939-45 Star; Atlantic Star; War Medal 1939-45, generally good very fine (5) £300-350

Percival Bolam Hewison was born in Newcastle in April 1897 and qualified as a 2nd Mate (Steamships) at South Shields in February 1918, during the course of his services in the Mercantile Marine in the Great War. Having then added to his qualifications with a 1st Mate’s Certificate in October 1919, and Master’s Certificate in January 1922, he enjoyed command of several ships on the Atlantic run between the Wars and was serving as Master of the steam freighter S.S. Langleeford on the renewal of hostilities.

But, as related in an official report submitted by his Chief Officer in February 1940, his latest command was to be short-lived, the Langleeford falling victim to the U-26, Kapitain Heinz Scheringer - he who was ‘a very decent sort of chap’ - in convoy HX-18, off the west coast of Ireland, on 14 February 1940:

‘I had been looking in the direction in which the explosion occurred not three seconds before it happened, and I came to the conclusion that the U-boat had been so close to us when it torpedoed us that the bubbles did not get to the surface. It seemed to me they had blown the bottom out of the ship, since nothing seemed to go up in the air at all.

After the ship had completely sunk, the U-boat broke surface and came towards us. They signalled for the Captain [Hewison], but he refused to go towards them, but in answer to their question he told them that he had not used the wireless. The Captain now asked me to go instead, so I took my boat right alongside, two or three feet from the U-boat.

When I got alongside the U-boat, the U-boat Commander, by means of an interpreter standing at his side, asked me the name of the ship, where we were from, what the cargo was, and if we had any provisions in our boats. I told him that we had the usual ship’s biscuits, water and condensed milk. The interpreter asked me if any men had been killed by the torpedo, and I said, “Yes, two.” When the interpreter told the Commander he pulled a face as though to signify that it was a pity.

When they asked me “Have you enough?”, I replied that I thought so. “Have you any bandages?” I said “No”. “Any tobacco?” I replied “No.” There was a silence for a while, then the Commander hauled a sack out of the conning tower and told me that they were giving me some cigarettes. When we opened the sack afterwards, we found that it contained two bottles of rum, 200 cigarettes, six boxes of matches, a large package of bandages and a 10lb. box of ship’s biscuits ... The interpreter, who was not in naval uniform, but wore a sort of forage cap similar to that which our Army wears, asked me if I were the Captain, and when I told him I was not, he said “Tell your Captain we torpedoed you without warning because you had a gun” ... The U-boat Commander said nothing about the War, and expressed no political views of any sort. We decided amongst ourselves afterwards that he was a very decent sort of chap ... ’

And of their subsequent journey in open boats to the Irish mainland:

‘My Captain [Hewison] and I then held a discussion from our two boats - there were 18 men in his and 14 in mine - and divided up the German provisions between us. All these things bore German labels, even the rum, although it was Jamaica Rum, and good stuff at that. The cigarettes were a mixture of Turkish or Virginian, the matches bore a German label, also, but they weren’t much good. The bandage, wrapped in a watertight dressing, consisted of a piece of cotton wool with gauze on top and a length of bandage about 12 feet long. We used all this up on various minor injuries the men had sustained. We pulled the boats out and set off for Ireland ... We picked up the Captain’s boat about two miles away from us, and at about 10 o’clock on Thursday morning we sighted land. The last we saw of the Captain’s boat was about 12.30 on Thursday, when it was about three miles astern of us. At that point we were heading for the West Coast of Ireland and were about 15 miles from land ... We had to bale the boat out in the morning and at intervals; I had expected to drift only three or four miles during the night, but in the morning we could see no land at all. The wind was E.S.E. We started again at 7 o’clock and about 5.25 p.m. we landed at a little village called Ross, near Loop Head ... When I got ashore I thought the Captain’s boat had already been landed, but they told me he had not been reported along any of the coast of Ireland, so they sent out aircraft to look for the boat. They went out at 12.30 p.m. and returned at 5.00 p.m. when visibility had gone, but although they had searched 50 miles they had seen no sign of the boat. At 6 p.m. the police reported that a boat had landed at Ballyheige, with 14 men in it, and this, fortunately, proved to be the Captain’s boat ... ’

Captain Hewison never returned to sea, and Kapitain Heinz Scheringer spent most of the remainder of the War as a P.O.W., the U-26 having been scuttled after being severely damaged by depth-charge attacks and a Sunderland of No. 10 Squadron in the following month. He was repatriated in May 1947.