Orders, Decorations, Medals and Militaria

The remarkable Second War 1942 B.E.M. group of four awarded to Gunner R. R. Whiteside, Maritime Royal Artillery, who survived the wreck of S.S. Chumleigh, 5 November 1942, and although ‘only 4 ft 11... was a really “tough guy”, a Liverpool Docker’ whose courage and fortitude came out in the Arctic wastes. Over the course of 7 weeks he helped to keep alive his remaining 9 crew mates, despite them suffering from starvation, exhaustion and frostbite, having been washed ashore on Norwegian archipelago of Svalbard in the Arctic Ocean

British Empire Medal, (Military) G.VI.R., 1st issue (Gnr. Raymond R. Whiteside, 1821455, MRA.); 1939-45 Star; Atlantic Star; War Medal 1939-45, generally good very fine (4) £1500-2000

B.E.M. London Gazette 30 November 1943:

‘Three gunners of the Maritime Royal Artillery played a gallant part, sustaining their dying comrades; they were Sergeant Richard Allen Peyer, Gunner James L. Burnett and Gunner Reginald Whiteside.’

The above award was given for Whiteside’s heroic endeavour when his ship S.S. Chumleigh was lost in enemy action, 5 November 1942, and for his part in the crew’s subsequent extraordinary battle for survival over seven weeks within the Arctic circle. ADM 199/2143 provides a lengthy report from the Chumleigh’s skipper, Captain D. M. Williams and the 3rd Officer D. F. Clark, which gives the following detail:

‘We were bound from Hvalfjord, Iceland to North Russia with a cargo of 5,000 tons of Government Stores. The ship was armed with a 4” gun, 1 Bofors, 4 Oerlikons, 2 twin and 2 single Marlins, 4 P.A.C. rockets and 2 F.A.M.s. The crew, including 9 Naval and 9 Army gunners, numbered 58; 29 men are missing, 1 R.M. gunner was drowned, 4 died in the lifeboat, 15 died ashore, leaving 9 survivors - myself, 3rd Officer, 1st Radio Operator, an Able Seaman, 4 Army Gunners and 1 Naval Gunner. All confidential books, including wireless, were thrown overboard in weighted boxes.....

At midnight G.M.T. on the 5th [November 1942] we received a message from the Admiralty to steer a Northerly course as far as, I think 77 degrees N., in any case well to the Northward, in order to round the South Cape during the hours of darkness. Owing to the weather being so heavily overcast, and being unable to check up on my compasses, I hesitated to carry out these instructions until 0500 when I altered course to the Northward, as instructed. At 1100 that morning we were spotted by a Blohm & Voss seaplane, which circled us without attacking, then flew off...

At 2330 on the 5th November, in a position 10 miles south from South Cape whilst steaming at 7 knots, on an Easterly course, we struck a reef. There was a heavy snowstorm raging, it was hazy with poor visibility, and there was a moderate swell with a Southerly wind force 2/3.... The vessel was firmly struck amidships on the reef with the stern almost out of the water, and the bow well down, the fore deck being almost awash, and owing to the swell I was afraid she would break her back....

We sent out a wireless message reporting we were aground and approximately 1 1/2 hours after striking the reef I gave orders for the crew to take to the lifeboats and lay off.’

Despite taking to the boats, Williams did re-board the Chumleigh in a failed effort to re-float her. He and the crew abandoned the ship for the final time, under fear of her breaking in two owing to the swell, at 4am on the 6th November.

ADM 199/2143 takes up the narrative:

‘We were all in the boats and away from the vessel, but we seemed to be inside a horseshoe shaped lagoon with heavy seas and breakers all round us. As it was difficult to keep the boats from being driven on to the reefs, I told the men to remain alongside the ship until daybreak. At the first signs of daylight we sighted an opening and all three boats pulled clear; directly we were outside we sighted 5 German aircraft approaching which circled our boats without attacking, then flew over the ship, diving to masthead height to drop a number of bombs... two were direct hits on the vessel... After the attack they flew off and disappeared.’

Williams decided to make for Barentsburg, about 150 miles distant, but it quickly became apparent that not all of the three lifeboats were equipped to make the journey. The complement of the smaller boat of the three was divided between the two larger lifeboats, and they proceeded with 28 in Williams’ boat and 29 in the other under the command of 3rd Officer D. M. Clark. Hugging the coast they proceeded through heavy seas and gale force winds, and lost sight of each other on the 8th November. Reunited on the 9th, both lifeboats were shipping water and struggled to proceed in the high latitudes which only offered a few hours of twilight rather than actual daylight.

Events took a turn for the worst on the night of the 9th, despite the spasmodic running of the motor on one of the boats, ‘It was very cold, and most of the time we were shipping water, the sails and our clothes were frozen stiff and there was 2 “ of ice on the outside of the boat... the Steward became delirious, we wrapped him in a spare coat and an extra blanket, but he died during the night. At daylight on the 10th we got the motor going and set a course to the Northward. In the afternoon we sighted Prince Charles Foreland at the entrance to the Ice Fjord and I altered course towards it, but before we could reach the Fjord the motor froze up and refused to start again. That night the donkeyman became delirious and later I became unconscious which lasted all next day, so the 3rd Officer, Mr Clark, took charge from that time on.’

Clark now takes over the report:

‘We were all very weak and I think most of us were suffering from frost bite without realising it.... Nobody wanted anything to eat, but all of us craved for water... on the 11th we had drifted out to sea... Quite soon I saw what I thought was an entrance to the land, and as it was bitterly cold and we all so weak, we decided to get ashore if possible to find shelter from the biting wind.... We could not find a way in, but fortunately for us, during the darkness, we were washed right over a reef and at 0200 on the 12th November the boat was cast up on the beach.’

The Indomitable Whiteside

Fortunately for surviving members of the crew they were cast up within 20 yards of several wooden huts. One more man died on the beach, before the remaining crew members managed to drag themselves up to the huts. Williams regained consciousness, and continues with his report:

‘After reaching land, and the comparative comfort of the hut, I recovered in a few days and was able to take charge; most of the men had swollen feet and hands and could do very little, but the four Army gunners were practically unaffected by frostbite and it is really due to them that we survived at all. One man, Whiteside, was a really “tough guy”, a Liverpool Docker in peacetime, only 4 ft 11, and he suffered no ill affects at all. Lance-Sergeant Peyer was also fairly well most of the time, and these two, assisted sometimes by another Army gunner, Burnett, looked after us, nursing the men who were ill, going out to collect firewood, and generally running things.’

Clark and Peyer made two unsuccessful attempts to reach help at Barentsburg, and ‘thirteen men died during the first three or four days from frostbite, gangrene having set in, and from exhaustion from exposure. They seemed to give up hope, and then died.... Whiteside, Peyer, and another man, made a third sortie, going in a North-Easterly direction up the Fjord, and they discovered a small hut in which was a sack of flour and some tins of corned beef and cocoa, which they brought back for us.... There were dozens of boxes of matches in the hut, fortunately for us, and two primus stoves. There was a little oil for those, and Whiteside and I managed to get the petrol tank out of the lifeboat.... We also found some tins of what proved to be whale blubber preserved in oil, and we lived on that for about 5 or 6 days, each man having a small portion, and we drank the boiled oil, although it was not particularly nice.

Whiteside and I made a sortie to try and reach Barentsburg, again without success, and towards the end of December the situation was becoming desperate. Mr Clark and Able Seaman Hardy were both in a very bad condition, they were suffering from gangrene, as were several of the others, their feet and hands were discharging, and smell was awful. Another man died on Christmas Eve. I therefore decided to make a final attempt to get help, or die in the effort, so Whiteside, Peyer and myself set out. We covered about half the distance when Whiteside, for the first time, broke down and refused to go any further. Peyer was not very keen either, so I turned back with them, and it was as much as we could do to reach the hut; we collapsed upon on arrival.

On the 2nd of January, Whiteside went out to collect firewood, as he was still in comparatively good condition, but soon came rushing back into the hut, leaving the door open, absolutely terrified. I could get nothing out of him, and we thought that we were about to be attacked by bears. A little later two figures appeared; they were two Norwegians, wearing white camouflaged suits, who were on a patrol and trapping expedition from the Garrison at Barentsburg. They divided the food in their rucksacks between the 9 of us, also cigarettes, then set off to fetch help from Barentsburg accompanied by Whiteside, who walked the entire 12 miles back without assistance, and one of the Army gunners, Burnett. This man was not in such good condition and had to be carried the last part of the journey.’

It took two rescue parties with sledges to bring the survivors back to Barentsburg, with the final members of the British crew leaving the hut on the 4th January 1943. Whiteside and the crew, ‘remained at Barentsburg until the 10th June. We were kept in bed for about 2 months, gradually getting better... We returned to the UK in H.M.S. Bermuda and H.M.S. Cumberland, which brought stores to Ice Fjord, and a party of 40 or 50 Norwegians to relieve the Garrison, the latter returning with us. We landed at Thurso on the 15th June, receiving the kindest possible treatment whilst on board the Cruisers.’

Whiteside, Burnett and Peyer were all awarded the British Empire Medal upon their return. Their gallant actions are also recorded at length in several publications including Britain At War: The Royal Navy, and Heroes of the Merchant Navy.