Orders, Decorations, Medals and Militaria

A fine ‘Yangtze Incident’ Naval General Service Medal awarded to Stoker Mechanic K. Winfield, Royal Navy, one of Amethyst’s notable characters, who played a prominent role throughout every stage of his ship’s torturous journey. From alerting the crew to the preliminary Chinese bombardment on the morning of 20 April 1949; keeping up the morale of the ship’s complement by ‘stringing-up’ Mao Tse-tung in June; to his stoic behaviour during the Amethyst’s break-out in July. At the end, exhausted and full of joy, ‘Winfield saw that, around him, some of Amethyst’s men were crying, quite openly and without shame. Then he put a hand to his face and discovered that his own cheeks were wet. He didn’t care. He didn’t care at all.’

Naval General Service 1915-62, 1 clasp, Yangtze 1949 (D/KX 782557 K. Winfield. Sto. Mech. R.N.) toned, very fine £2800-3200

Kenneth ‘Scrumpy’ Winfield was the son of Mr and Mrs L. Winfield of 28 Benham Close, Chesham, Buckinghamshire. He joined the Royal Navy after the Second War, and was one of the “Few” who served in Amethyst throughout the entire Yangtze Incident. He was frequently involved in activities on board as illustrated by the following extracts taken from Yangtze Incident by Lawrence Earl, including the preliminary bombardment from the Communist shore batteries, 20 April 1949:

‘Until half-past eight activity on board the ship went along the well-worn channels of routine. Lieutenant-Commander Skinner had been supplied at Hong Kong with intelligence which enabled him to calculate that Amethyst was now approaching a sector of the river heavily gunned on the Communist-held north bank.

Engineroom Artificer Leonard Williams, a thirty-year-old Felixstowe man, went on watch in the engine room at eight o’clock, taking over from Engineroom Artificer Gerald Graham.

“The order has come down to increase from a hundred and eighty to two hundred and sixty revolutions at half-past eight,” Graham said.

This meant Amethyst’s eleven-knot economical cruising speed would be raised to a more urgent sixteen knots. At eight-thirty the ship would be passing a Communist battery, and the increase in speed was merely a precautionary measure....

Stoker Mechanic Samuel (”Paddy”) Bannister, a pink-faced Belfast boy of twenty-one, was eating breakfast of beans on toast and tea with Owen Aubrey, Kenneth Winfield, and some other shipmates. They were idly discussing their scheduled arrival at Nanking later that day....

All was well... At half-past eight, still at breakfast, Bannister happened to glance out of a starboard port. He was just in time to see a giant mushrooming of water not more than twenty yards from the ship.

“What the...” he said, and excitedly ran over to the port for a closer look.

At that moment Winfield yelled from the other side of the ship, “Hey! Somebody’s shooting at us!” His deep voice carried a note of surprise.....

By a quarter to nine the danger seemed well over. Winfield, who had rushed to the upper deck to see what was going on, felt sufficiently reassured to return to the mess-deck to take a shower-bath.’

And during the negotiation period for the release of the Amethyst in June:

‘The Communists were always there, with their eyes on Amethyst and their guns pointed at her; and the men on the ship knew it. They could feel the eyes, even when they couldn’t actually see them, and they could feel the uncomfortable threat of the guns.

One evening in June Winfield, Hawkins, Brown, and George Maddocks were lounging about on the quarterdeck, singing songs that reminded them nostalgically of home, and then falling silent for a while. After a spell they would snap out of their unaccustomed quiet mood by joking and laughing and pulling one another’s legs. Then they returned to singing their homesick songs. This was often their programme of an evening...

At about ten o’clock, when it had become quite dark Winfield snapped a match alight against his thumbnail and applied it to the end of a fresh cigarette. He inhaled once, deeply, and released the smoke in a thick cloud, and suddenly the pleasant quiet of the night was spoiled by the nasty, menacing whine of a bullet, and, a split second later, the sharp crack of a rifle. The shot was well over their heads, but the men were taking no chances. Soon the deck was quite bare.

Down on the mess-deck Winfield grumbled, “Them Commies are getting to be real show-offs. They just wanted to show us who’s boss.”

“G’way,” Maddocks snorted. “The Chinks don’t like us at all: that’s the trouble. I bet they think a good Englishman is a dead Englishman.”

The stokers brooded over the incident. They were glad, of course, that the shot had passed high overhead, but, in an obscure way, this calculated miss began to rankle as an insult. Winfield and Hawkins, particularly, tried to think of some way to take vengeance. A few evenings later they hit upon an idea which satisfied them.

They borrowed a boiler-suit from the engine room and stuffed it up with rags to look like a guy - complete with boots and gloves and a pillow for a head. Where there was still plenty of daylight they took it up to the quarterdeck, near the ship’s bell and in full view of the shore.

They waited until a group of Communist soldiers had gathered to watch them from the shore. Then Winfield pinned a cardboard sign on the dummy’s chest. It read simply, in large block letters (which, incidentally, it was probably fortunate the Chinese could not read), MAO TSE-TUNG.

Hawkins cleared his throat ponderously. He pronounced sentence on the guy. “Mr Mao Tse-Tung,’ he said, “we find you guilty of crimes against the British Navy, and sentence you to hang by the neck until you are dead.”

He fastened a rope round the neck of the guy, and threw the other end of the rope over the crosspiece that held the ship’s bell. Then he pulled on the rope and tied it in place, with the effigy of Mao swinging easily in the light breeze.

Winfield, also mock-solemn, said, “And may God have mercy on your soul.” Then he added, “If you’ve got one.” ‘

Winfield is also mentioned in the book, during Amethyst’s long awaited dash for freedom in July 1949:

‘They waited, down in the engine-room, for the word to start engines. They waited silently, sweating already, and eager to get it over with, since it had to be done. Williams kept thinking of what happened on the way up-river.
“If we can just get past Rose Island,” he thought, the memory of things past unreasonably stuck in his mind, “we’ll be all right.”

Word came down from the bridge to start the port engine. The ship was alive again for the first time since April.
“It was a fine feeling,” Winfield said later. “It’s like being in a graveyard to be in a dead ship.”

Winfield was on the voice-pipe taking orders direct from the bridge. When the order came down for half ahead on both engines he knew that they had turned completely and were on the way down.

They had not been hit. They had made the turn. The men in the engine room exchanged pleased glances. Williams held his thumbs up and grinned.’

Travelling further along the river, the Amethyst came under fire from the shore batteries once again:

‘Winfield, at the voice-pipe in the engine-room, heard the firing. Keran’s shout whistled down to him.
“Make smoke!”
A moment later Winfield heard a loud, only slightly muffled explosion that seemed to come very near to where he stood. Amethyst shuddered. Black smoke poured down the fan-shafts into the engine-room, and Winfield looked around him wildly, thinking, “We’re hit! We’re hit!”

The faces of the men in the engine-room were tilted almost prayerfully towards the deck. They looked bloodless and blank with surprise. Somebody shouted down the hatchway: “It’s all right mates! It’s our own gun.” The faces looked down to their work again, wearing relieved little smiles.....

Reports came up from the engine-room that Amethyst was flooding badly from the one waterline hole, right in the stern, which Garns and Saunders had been unable to repair. Pumps were put into action to keep the water in check. Kerans prayed: “Dear God, don’t let it flood so badly that it will put paid to my steering.”

Down in the engine-room Winfield was bathed in sweat. It poured out of his scalp and down his brow into his eyes, making them smart with the salt. Near him a crew mate fainted with the heat. The temperature close to the voice-pipe was 170 degrees Fahrenheit; in the boiler-room 130 degrees; on the manoeuvring platform, 125 degrees. Winfield left the voice-pipe while a mate took over; he rushed up to the galley. He got a can of tea from Griffiths and took it down to his mates in their sweating, steaming hell. There were only eleven men in the engine-room, fewer than half the normal complement, but before that night was over they would have drunk ten gallons of tea. The moisture ran out of their pores in never-ending rivulets, and they had to get it back into their bodies somehow; so they drank tea.’

As the Amethyst made it to the mouth of Yangtze, and H.M.S Concord hove into sight:

‘A couple of minutes later some one yelled exuberantly down the hatch, “Concord in sight!”
Williams did not try to hide the quaver in his voice. “All right,” he said. “We’ll go up, one at a time, and have a look. Winfield, you take it first.”

The cool air hit Winfield like a wall of water. He stepped out on to the quarterdeck and looked round. Concord was very near to them now. He could see the grinning, excitedly pleased faces of her crew, welcoming Amethyst back to the fleet. A great cheer swelled across the water. Then Concord turned, her bow pushing into the wide, safe mouth of the river towards the near-by open sea.

Winfield saw that, around him, some of Amethyst’s men were crying, quite openly and without shame. Then he put a hand to his face and discovered that his own cheeks were wet. He didn’t care. He didn’t care at all.’

Winfield was presented with his Naval General Service Medal by the King at Buckingham Palace, and was honoured by Chesham Town Council with a special parade and presented with a watch by the Mayor. He also had a role as an extra in the film Yangtse Incident, The Story of H.M.S. Amethyst, starring Richard Todd.

Winfield died in April 1982, and was buried at sea:

‘The special service for Ken Winfield, of Britannia Road, and his 20 year-old-son, Martin, took place about three miles offshore near Portsmouth and was conducted by a Royal Navy padre who served on SS Uganda, the hospital ship during the Falklands war.

Mr Winfield, a founder member of Chesham and Amersham Royal Naval Association, was 53 when he died in April of this year. His son died in May.’ (newspaper cutting included with the lot refers).

Sold with the following related items and documents: Royal Navy Sailor’s Cap, with H.M.S. Amethyst Tally, named inside to ‘H. Winfield’; a gentleman’s stainless steel wristwatch by Baume, reverse engraved ‘To Kenneth Winfield As A Memento Of Amethysts Epic 1949 From the Townspeople Of Chesham’ [sic]; a Naval Message received by recipient, worded ‘Sto. Whitfield Warship Amethyst Singapore. Radio. “Congratulations on your escape. We are proud of you.” Mum & Dad’; a number of original photographs from recipient’s service, including from his time on the Amtheyst, as well as some official photographic images; a large number of contemporary newspaper cuttings relating to the Yangtze Incident, mostly local publications which mention the recipient by name, but also from the South China Morning Post; Certificate for the Coronation Review at Spithead, 15 June 1953, named to recipient as serving in H.M.S. Protector; recipient’s sketch book from his time at the Mechanical Training Establishment, Devonport, with various technical drawings and notes; a framed and glazed commemorative roll, incorporating a picture of H.M.S Amethyst, of those who were killed during the attack on the Amethyst; a copy of C. E. Lucas Phillips’ Escape of the Amethyst and George Hickinbottom’s The Seven Glorious H.M.S. Amethyst’s 1793-1956, and other ephemera.