Orders, Decorations, Medals and Militaria

‘It has been told me by one who ought to know, that when von Spiegel came aboard the “Prize”, after being picked up out of the water, he remarked to Sanders: “The discipline in the German Navy is wonderful, but that your men could have quietly endured our shelling without reply is beyond belief.” Before leaving the “Prize” he said good-bye to Sanders and extended an invitation to stay with him on his Schleswig-Holstein estate after the War.’

Q-Ships and Their Story, by Keble Chatterton, refers.

A rare Great War Q-Ship “V.C. action” D.S.M. awarded to Ordinary Telegraphist J. Thomas, Royal Naval Volunteer Reserve, who was wounded in the course of winning his decoration for the Prize’s (a.k.a. Q-21) spectacular duel with a U-Boat on 30 April 1917, an action that resulted in the award of the V.C. to his skipper - described by Keble Chatterton as ‘one of the most picturesque engagements of all Q-Ship warfare’, Prize endured terrible punishment before revealing her White Ensign and pouring 36 accurate rounds into her adversary in just four minutes


Distinguished Service Medal, G.V.R. (W.Z. 3417 J. Thomas, Ord. Tel., R.N.V.R., Atlantic Ocean, 30 April 1917), edge bruising and contact marks, otherwise nearly very fine £1400-1800

D.S.M. London Gazette 22 June 1917.



John Thomas was born in Rhondda, Glamorganshire, in December 1894, and enlisted in the Royal Naval Volunteer Reserve in July 1916. Qualifying as a Telegraphist at the year’s end, he was briefly borne on the books of the armed drifter Dreel Castle but, by early 1917, had volunteered for service in the clandestine world of Q-Ships. And it was in this capacity, as the Prize’s wireless operator, that he found himself involved in what Keble Chatterton has described as ‘one of the most picturesque engagements of all Q-Ship warfare’: picturesque it may have been, but for Thomas ‘colourful’ would be a better word - his W./T. office going up in a flash after taking a direct hit.

The Prize was an ex-German three-masted schooner which had been requisitioned by the Admiralty a few days after the outbreak of war and, after being converted for Q-Ship service in early 1917, was placed under the command of a tough New Zealander, Lieutenant W. E. Sanders, R.N.R., already a veteran of two successful actions. And his adversary on 30 April 1917, off the west coast of Ireland, was Kapitan-Leutnant Freiherr von Spiegel in the U-93, one of Germany’s ablest submariners with 11 vessels to his credit. Keble Chatterton’s Q-Ships and Their Story dedicates an entire chapter to the Prize’s career, from which the following extracts offer a glimpse of her ferocious duel with the U-93:

‘The contest could not fail to be interesting, for it resolved itself into a duel between one ‘star-turn’ artist and another. Neither was a novice, both were resourceful, plucky men, and the incident is one of the most picturesque engagements of all the Q-ship warfare. Taking it for granted that this little trader out in the Atlantic was what she appeared to be, von Spiegel closed. Prize's head had now fallen off to the eastward so the submarine followed her round, still punishing her with his shells, to make sure the abandon-ship evolution had been genuine. Two of these shells hit Prize on her waterline - you will remember she was built of iron and steel - penetrating and bursting - inside the hull. One of them put the auxiliary motor out of action and wounded the motor mechanic: the other destroyed the wireless room and wounded the operator [Thomas]. That was serious enough, but cabins and mess-room were wrecked, the mainmast shot through in a couple of places, and the ship now leaking. Such was the training, such was the discipline of these men under their gallant New Zealand captain, that, in spite of this nerve-wracking experience, they still continued to remain on deck, immobile; unseen, until Lieutenant Sanders should give the longed-for word. They could see nothing, they could not ease the mental strain by watching the enemy's manoeuvres or inferring from what direction the next shot - perhaps the last - would come. This knowledge was shared only by Lieutenant Sanders and Skipper Meade as they peeped through the slits of their lair. Several times Sanders crept from this place on hands and knees along the deck, encouraging his men and impressing on them the necessity of concealment.





Meanwhile, closer and closer drew the submarine, but the latter elected to remain dead astern, and this was unfortunate, for not one of Prize's guns would thus bear. Then there was a strange sound aft. Everyone knows that the inboard end of a patent log fits into a small slide, which is screwed down on to the taffrail of a ship. Suddenly this slide was wrenched and splintered, for the enemy had got so close astern that she had fouled and carried away the log-line in her endeavour to make quite sure of her scrutiny. U-93 then, apparently convinced that all was correct, sheered out a little and came up on the schooner's port quarter only 70 yards away, being about to send her quickly to the bottom.

Thus had passed twenty long, terrible minutes of suspense on board the Q-ship, and it was five minutes past nine. But patience, that great virtue of the really brave, had at length been rewarded. Through his steel slit Sanders could see that his guns would bear, so “Down screens!” “Open fire!” and up went the White Ensign. Covers and false deckhouses were suddenly collapsed, and the Prize's guns now returned the fire, as the pent-up feelings of the crew were able to find their outlet in fierce activity. But even as the White Ensign was being hoisted, the submarine fired a couple more shots, and the schooner was twice hit, wounding one of the crew who had rushed below to fetch from the bottom of the ladder a Lewis gun. Von Spiegel was now evidently very angered, for putting his helm hard aport he went full speed ahead to ram the schooner, and with that fine bow he might have made a nasty hole at the waterline, through which the sea would have poured like a waterfall. But he realized that he was outside his turning circle, so put his helm the other way and tried to make off. It was then that a shell from the Prize's after gun struck the forward gun of the submarine, blowing it to pieces, as well as the gun's crew. The second shot from the same British gun destroyed the conning-tower, and a Lewis gun raked the rest of the men on the deck. The third shot from Prize's after gun also hit so that she stopped, and as she sank shell after shell hit, and the glare was seen as of a fire inside the hull. At 9.9 p.m., after the Prize had fired thirty-six rounds, the enemy disappeared stern first. Lieutenant Sanders could not use his engines as they were already out of action, and there was practically no wind, so he could not go to the spot where she had last been seen.

The darkness was fast falling, and the panic party in the boat rowed over the scene to search for any survivors, and picked up three. These were Von Spiegel, the submarine's captain, the navigating warrant officer, and a stoker petty officer. Covered by Skipper Brewer's pistol, these were now taken on board the schooner. But Prize herself was in a bad way. Water was pouring through the shell-holes, and, in spite of efforts to stop it, the sea was gaining all the time. Had it not been calm, the vessel would certainly have gone to the bottom. Von Spiegel, on coming aboard, offered his word of honour to make no attempt to escape, and undertook that he and his men would render all assistance. His parole being accepted, captors and captives set to work to save the ship.’

After an eventful voyage, including an unprompted fire, the badly battered Prize made port, and Their Lordships moved swiftly to recognise the extraordinary gallantry of her crew: Sanders was awarded the V.C., his Number One the D.S.O., two R.N.R. skippers the D.S.C., and the remainder of the crew D.S.M., the wounded Thomas among them. He was also the recipient of £25 prize money.

By way of postscript, amazing though it is to relate, the U-93 actually survived her ordeal, her second officer nursing her back to Emden - he was personally decorated by the Kaiser. And five other men were particularly grateful for this officer’s gallantry and skill - the Master and four of the crew of the S.S. Ikbal, embarked in U-93 following the loss of their ship.

Sadly for the Prize and her gallant ship’s company, a less fortuitous outcome beckoned, for she was lost with all hands in an encounter with the U-48 in the autumn of 1917, a fate that surely would have befallen the gallant Thomas but for his wounds.

He subsequently served in Emerald and Golden West, and was demobilised in March 1919; sold with a file of research.