Auction Catalogue

25 & 26 March 2014

Starting at 10:00 AM

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Orders, Decorations, Medals and Militaria

Washington Mayfair Hotel  London  W1J 5HE

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Lot

№ 1116

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26 March 2014

Hammer Price:
£15,000

The outstanding Second World War anti-U-boat operations D.S.O., D.S.C. group of nine awarded to Captain G. A. G. “Tony” Ormsby, Royal Navy, who, having been decorated for early anti-U-boat operations in 1939, added the D.S.O. to his accolades for destroying a brace of U-Boats in 24 hours in February 1944 - fine work that led to a fascinating secret report and prompted Sir Max Horton to state “This is how it should be done”: in the interim he had also been awarded the Royal Humane Society’s Medal for gallantry in the famous “Altmark incident”

Distinguished Service Order, G.VI.R., 1st issue, silver-gilt and enamel, the reverse of the suspension bar officially dated ‘1944’; Distinguished Service Cross, G.VI.R., the reverse officially dated ‘1940’, hallmarks for London 1939; Naval General Service 1915-62, 1 clasp, Palestine 1939-1939 (Lt. Cdr. G. A. G. Ormsby, R.N.); 1939-45 Star; Atlantic Star; Burma Star; War Medal 1939-45, M.I.D. oak leaf; Coronation 1953; Royal Humane Society Medal, bronze (Lt. Comdr. Gerald A. G. Ormsby, D.S.C., R.N., 16 Feb. 1940), together with Royal Life Saving Society Medal of Merit, silver, the reverse inscribed ‘G. A. G. Ormsby, 1924’, in its fitted case, the whole contained in an old Gieves Ltd. leather case, with gilt initials ‘G. A. G. O’ to lid, mounted as worn where applicable, generally good very fine or better (9) £6000-8000


D.S.O. London Gazette 6 June 1944:

‘For outstanding leadership, skill and devotion to duty in successful actions with U-Boats, while on convoy escort duty in the Atlantic.’

D.S.C.
London Gazette 1 January 1940:

‘For outstanding zeal, proficiency, skill and energy in successfully combating enemy submarines.’

Gerald Anthony Gore Ormsby was born in September 1909 and entered the Royal Navy as a cadet at Dartmouth in 1923, where he was awarded the Royal Life Saving Society's Medal of Merit.




Early career-punitive expedition

His first seagoing appointment was as a Midshipman in the cruiser H.M.S. Kent on the China Station, followed by service on the African Station in the cruiser Carlisle in the early 1930s. This latter commission, as related by his obituary in the Daily Telegraph, included time ashore as part of an unusual punitive expedition:

‘In 1932 he joined the cruiser
Carlisle for service on the African station, where he was involved in an affair which caused something of a stir. Tshekedi Khama, the Regent of the Bamangwato tribe of the Bechuanaland Protectorate (now Botswana), was an African chieftain of rather too independent views to suit the British colonial authorities. In September 1933 he broke the law of the Territory by ordering a white man to be flogged after a dispute concerning a native woman with whom the white man had been living. The High Commissioner was on leave, and the Acting High Commissioner, the C.-in-C. Africa station, Admiral Sir Edward Evans (Evans of the Broke) dispatched what amounted to a Naval Brigade on the Victorian Navy pattern. Nine officers, including Ormsby, and 150 sailors and marines from Carlisle, with three howitzers, six Lewis guns, 100 rifles and supplies for three weeks, travelled 1,100 miles up country by train, lorry and, finally, on foot. Evans himself arrived in state to hold a formal hearing under a fig tree, attended by a contingent of tribesmen, who were overawed by the regal trappings of the Royal Marines. The tribesmen had been relieved of their guns by Carlisle's sailors, who gave them all a cloakroom ticket so that they could reclaim their firearms later.  Khama was deposed, but later reinstated.’


Anti-Submarine Warfare Specialist - early D.S.C.

Towards the end of the 1930s, Ormsby witnessed active service off Palestine and attended Osprey at Portland to qualify as an anti-submarine warfare specialist, and on the renewal of hostilities he joined the Tribal-class destroyer Afridi. And it was in this latter capacity, while also acting as his flotilla’s A./S. officer, that he was awarded his D.S.C., Afridi carrying out three separate attacks in October, all of which resulted in the appearance of significant oil patches. The speed and efficiency in which the attacks were enacted was credited to Ormsby’s excellent training of the flotilla’s A./S. staff.


The “Altmark Incident” - Royal Humane Society Medal

As it transpired, Ormsby would quickly distinguish himself in a more unusual manner, for, having transferred to the Cossack under Captain Philip Vian, R.N., early in 1940, he found himself participating in the famous “Altmark Incident” on 16 February - namely the occasion that Cossack hit the headlines for her part in boarding and capturing the German auxiliary Altmark in Josing Fjord, Norway - the latter’s holds being crammed with some 300 British merchant seamen.

As a result of the unfortunate delays caused by the implications of the
Altmark being in neutral waters, and the presence of two Norwegian torpedo-boats ordered to prevent British intervention, Vian had patiently awaited Admiralty orders before embarking on his desperate mission, but when they arrived, with all the hallmarks of the First Sea Lord, Winston Churchill’s hand upon it, he moved swiftly. Vian’s account takes up the story:

‘Having placed
Cossack in a position from which our pom-poms could play upon Norwegian decks, whilst their torpedo tubes were no instant menace to us, I said we could parley no longer, and must board and search the Altmark forthwith, whether we fought them or not. Kjell’s captain decided that honour was served by submitting to superior force, and withdrew. On rounding the bend in the fjord, Altmark at last came into view. She lay bows inshore, encased in ice, her great bulk standing black against the snow-clad mountains.

Thoughts of the six-inch guns with which the
Altmark was said to be armed were naturally in our minds. Though our own guns were manned we were obviously an easy target, and the enemy’s first shots might well immobilise us at once. There was nothing for it, however, but to go ahead and get to grips as quickly as possible.

The
Altmark Captain was determined to resist being boarded. On sighting Cossack, he trained his searchlight on our bridge to blind the command, and came astern at full power through the channel which his entry into the ice had made. His idea was to ram us. Unless something was done very quickly the great mass of the tanker’s counter was going to crash heavily into Cossack’s port bow.

There followed a period of manoeuvring in which disaster, as serious collision must have entailed, was avoided by the skill of my imperturbable navigator, McLean, and by the speed with which the main engine manoeuvring valves were operated by their artificers.

Lieutenant Bradwell Turner, the leader of the boarding party, anticipated
Cossack’s arrival alongside Altmark with a leap which became famous. Petty Officer Atkins, who followed him, fell short, and hung by his hands until Turner heaved him on deck. The two quickly made fast a hemp hawser from Cossack’s fo’c’s’le, and the rest of the party scrambled across.

When Turner arrived on
Altmark’s bridge he found the engine telegraphs set to full speed in an endeavour to force Cossack ashore. On Turner’s appearance, the captain and others surrendered, except the third officer, who interfered with the telegraphs, which Turner had set to stop. Turner forbore to shoot him.

It was now clear that as a result of her manoeuvres
Altmark would ground by the stern, which she did, but not before Cossack, the boarding party all being transferred, had cast off, to avoid the same fate.

It was expected, with the surrender of the German captain, that the release of our prisoners would be a drawing-room affair. That this was not so was due to the action of a member of the armed guard which
Graf Spee had put aboard. He gratuitously shot Gunner Smith, of the boarding party, in an alleyway. This invoked retaliation, upon which the armed guard decamped; they fled across the ice, and began to snipe the boarding party from an eminence on shore. Silhouetted against the snow they made easy targets, and their fire was quickly silenced by Turner and his men.

In the end German casualties were few, six killed and six badly wounded. The boarding party had none, save unlucky Gunner Smith, and even he was not fatally wounded.

Resistance overcome, Turner was able to turn to the business of the day. The prisoners were under locked hatches in the holds; when these had been broken open Turner hailed the men below with the words: “Any British down there?” He was greeted with a tremendous yell of “Yes! We’re all British!” “Come on up then,” said Turner, “The Navy’s here!”

I received many letters from the public after this affair: a number wrote to say that, as I had failed to shoot, or hang, the captain of
Altmark, I ought to be shot myself.’

In point of fact Vian and his crew were hailed as heroes the land over, Winston Churchill setting the pace with mention of their exploits in an address to veterans of the Battle of the River Plate at the Guildhall just four days after the
Altmark had been boarded:

“To the glorious action of the Plate there has recently been added an epilogue - the rescue last week by the
Cossack and her flotilla - under the noses of the enemy, and amid the tangles of one-sided neutrality - the rescue of British captives from the sunken German raider - your friend, the one you sunk. Their rescue at the very moment when these unhappy men were about to be delivered over to indefinite German bondage, proves that the long arm of British sea power can be stretched out, not only to foes, but also to faithful friends. And to Nelson’s immortal signal of 135 years ago: ‘England expects that every man will do his duty’ - there may now be added last week’s not less proud reply: ‘The Navy is here!’ ”


And amidst all this activity a man was seen to fall overboard from the Altmark and disappear through the ice. And when a fellow crew member said it was a man from Cossack, Ormsby and another officer jumped in to rescue him - he turned out to be a German and already dead. Both officers were themselves very fortunate to survive the freezing fjord waters and their gallantry was recognised by the award of the Royal Humane Society’s Bronze Medal.


Two U-Boats in 24 hours - D.S.O.

Having then served as Staff A./S. Officer in the battleship Warspite in the Mediterranean, Ormsby was given command of a frigate on the Atlantic run - the commencement of three hard years of convoy escort duty in which he took no leave and, when at sea, never had a complete night’s sleep, snatching an hour when he could in a hammock in the chart house.

But such hardship eventually led to spectacular success, namely the destruction of two U-Boats on 18-19 February 1944, during the course of Atlantic convoy ONS29, Having earlier held command of the
Pheasant, Ormsby was on this occasion in command of the River-class frigate Spey and acting as C.O. of 10th Support Group. A number of German prisoners were taken from both U-Boats, and their subsequent interrogation led to a top secret report that appeared in May 1944 - a report that included both enemy and British accounts of the actions. Thus the German perspective of U-406’s demise:

‘The
U-406 was lying in Pen No. 14 of the St. Nazaire shelter during December 1943, when it became known on board that the boat was to undertake a special mission. A G.S.R. expert named Dr. Greven, with the shore rank of Kapitänleutnant, came on board shortly before Christmas, together with two leading telegraphist assistants and several cases of secret apparatus.

The ship's company was told that Dr. Greven was a meteorologist, and shortly before she sailed Korvettenkapitän Sohler, S.O. of the Seventh Flotilla, came on board and gave them a security lecture, telling them that they were going to sea as “guinea-pigs” and that if the trials were successful, they would have helped to bring back the old days of successful U-Boat warfare.

The men’s chief reaction to Dr. Greven’s presence was to repeat the old adage, ‘When a silver-ringer sails with you, the boat is bound to sink’. (In the German Navy officers holding technical shore appointments have silver rank stripes, as distinct from the gold stripes of seagoing officers).

The U-Boat left St. Nazaire in her last patrol on 5 January 1944, and spent about two weeks operating independently while Dr. Greven conducted his trials. They then joined the group of U-Boats to which
U-386 and U-264 also belonged, although this caused no interruption to Dr. Greven's activities.

The group was ordered to attack an Atlantic convoy, and the attack was expected to mature about 18 February. However, on the same morning, the C.O., considering that the fuel remaining, which was reduced to 29 tons, had reached the minimum, signalled Control reporting this fact and requesting permission to return to base.

No reply was received to the first signal, and it was repeated, not once, but twice, which caused serious misgivings among the men, who ascribed their subsequent sinking to the fact that one or more of the signals had been d/fd.

From about 1039 onwards, the C.O. received several reports from the hydrophone ratings of suspicious noises and went into the hydrophone room to listen himself. However, he dismissed the noises as emanating from the gambolling of porpoises and retired to his bunk, ordering the hydrophone ratings not to bother him any further with such nonsense.

The noises continued on and off at intervals, and the crew was by no means reassured by the C.O’s lack of interest in them. At about 1500 the U-Boat came to periscope depth, and the First Lieutenant made the routine observation of the neighbourhood. However, the Engineer Officer was having some difficulty in keeping the boat trimmed, and the periscope was lowered without anything of note having been observed.

After about 20 minutes the porpoise noises were again heard, and suspicions as to their real nature intensified. However, before any definite steps could be taken, there was a tremendous explosion under the boat aft, which shot the watch below out of their bunks and sent the U-Boat to the surface, out of control, from a depth of 50 m. (164 ft.).

Complete panic reigned. All the lights were out, the engine rooms were wrecked, the switchboards flew from their mountings, and there were several small water entries. Dieterichs leapt for the conning-tower ladder in his under clothes and was the first man on the bridge, shouting the order to abandon ship as he ascended.

The Engineer Officer remained long enough to open the vents before he joined in the general scurry. No attempt was made to man the guns and the crew abandoned ship immediately.

Dieterichs endeavoured to justify his precipitate exit by counting the members of the crew as they appeared up the hatch, which the crew claimed he could have done equally well from the bottom of the ladder, where he could at least have remained in control of the situation.

Fire had been opened on the boat by the destroyers of the escort group immediately she surfaced, and a further series of depth-charges was fired at the boat.

Dieterichs was hit by a bullet during the course of his arithmetical activities, and was not seen again by the crew.

H.M.S.
Spey picked up 45 survivors, but four of these died on board. Some of the remainder had a grand-stand view of the sinking of U-386 the next day, which, with the knowledge gleaned on board Spey that four other U-Boats had almost certainly been sunk, gave rise to considerable alarm and despondency.’

Then follows an account from the British perspective:

‘At 1530, ten Mark VII depth-charges were fired (setting C.).  After the charges had exploded, the U-Boat broke surface in the middle of the pattern 500 yards astern on even keel. Fire was immediately opened with the port bridge oerlikon and very shortly afterwards all weapons that would bear joined in. The U-Boat was lying apparently stopped and down by the bows. Despite withering fire, several ratings were seen to abandon ship and a certain amount of return fire was experienced.

Spey did not believe that the U-Boat had been mortally damaged and altered course across her bows to lay another shallow pattern. Only half this pattern was fired, however, as the shambles made by the gunfire could be seen and there were a number of men in the water to leeward. Rother closed and opened fire, which was checked by Spey.

The U-Boat remained afloat for about ten minutes, becoming increasingly down by the bows, and there were several unexplained explosions which were taken to be scuttling charges, or in two cases when they sounded distant to be "Gnats" exploding at the end of their run.
Spey's whaler managed to get alongside and the First Lieutenant and one rating scrambled on board. There was one dead rating on the gun platform and the commanding officer was lying seriously wounded in the stomach alongside the conning-tower hatch. The First Lieutenant got down to the control room, finding the inside in complete darkness but free from fumes. At the bottom of the hatch was a large bag possibly containing books, but it was too heavy for him to get up the conning-tower. He therefore climbed up again to get a line, the rating on board being fully occupied securing the whaler and keeping an eye on the wounded captain. The First Lieutenant had barely gained the open air when the boat began to sink, and he and the rating jumped clear and swam to the whaler.’

And hardly had the last of the German survivors been pulled from the water than
Spey gained another contact, sinking in another text book attack the U-386, on this occasion employing gunfire in addition to depth charges. The German account of the action states:

‘It was the general opinion in
U-386 that the “old fogeys” at the German Admiralty should come and take a crack themselves, as they seemed to show a complete lack of understanding of what U-Boats were up against nowadays ... The plans for attacking the convoy had received a last-minute setback as the convoy had altered course, and the German aircraft could not find it. It was only at about 0300 on 19th February that they started to make homing signals.’

It was not long before
U-386‘s crew realised that the attack on the convoy was to be no sinecure. Distant depth-charge explosions began to be heard as early as 0600, and continued at intervals during the whole of the forenoon and the early part of the afternoon.

During the whole of this period,
U-386 remained submerged, coming occasionally to periscope depth, with the crew in a state of increasing trepidation.

About 1430 screw noises were heard, and one vessel appeared to pass almost immediately overhead. There was a sudden violent explosion below the boat aft, putting the main motors out of action, wrecking the lighting system and causing a considerable water entry. The C.O. ordered full speed on both motors, but on learning that they were out of action, ordered the tanks to be blown. The U-Boat surfaced at a steep angle more or less out of control.

An attempt was made to man the guns, but heavy fire had been opened on them, and the C.O. gave the order to abandon ship. In the confusion the Engineer Officer was heard calling for a fire extinguisher, and several survivors thought that the acid in the batteries had been spilt as a result of the steep surfacing angle and that chlorine gas was being developed.

Several of the men had already abandoned ship when the Diesels were started, and the U-Boat began to gather way. However, further bursts of fire from the attendant destroyers caused a change of heart, and the rest of the crew jumped overboard.

U-386 sank rapidly by the stern, and shortly after she had disappeared there was a considerable under-water explosion, which survivors assumed to be caused by the batteries. Several of the 18 survivors felt the effects of the pressure for two or three days after being picked up by H.M.S. Spey.

And once again the British perspective:

‘The U-Boat broke surface at a range of about 800 yards at a very steep angle, bows first. Fire was immediately opened with starboard bridge Oerlikon and all armament that would bear joined in shortly afterwards.
Spey then passed close ahead and straddled the U-Boat with a pattern of depth-charges.

During the approach there was quite a lot of return fire from the enemy, but no damage of importance was caused. They showed considerable courage in attempting to man their guns in the face of a hail of Oerlikon and pom-pom fire and several 4 in. direct hits. After the second pattern six or eight men were seen to abandon the U-Boat and
Spey checked fire, thinking she had given up, turning to port under full wheel close to her. She was only half-way round when the U-Boat started to go ahead again at speed, apparently on her Diesels, although she was still down by the stern and badly knocked about by gunfire.

Spey at once opened up again with everything she had, while the U-Boat succeeded in getting inside her turning circle. The guns made excellent shooting, especially the 4 in., which scored many more direct hits, and in a short time, with the U-Boat still forging ahead at good speed and becoming increasingly down by the stern, another party of men came pouring out of the conning-tower hatch in great haste. Finally the bows reared right up out of the water, and the boat then disappeared below the surface.’

Sir Max Horton, not renowned for his generosity in praise, was moved to inscribe on Ormsby’s official report: ‘This is how it should be done’. He was awarded an immediate D.S.O.

Final fling

In the summer of 1944, Ormsby took the frigate Taff out to the East Indies, and was mentioned in despatches for his subsequent leadership of the 60th Escort Group (London Gazette 13 February 1945 refers). The Group was credited with the destruction of an enemy submarine in the Indian Ocean in August 1944.

“Tony” Ormsby, ‘an unassuming man, calm and amazingly diligent’, was placed on the Retired List in 1959, having latterly served on the N.A.T.O. staff near Paris. He died aged 83 years.


Sold with the recipient’s full dress bicorne hat, epaulettes and belt, in their
Gieves fitted velvet tin case, the lid inscribed ‘G. A. G. Ormsby, R.N.’, together with four sets of standard uniform shoulder boards and a peaked cap.