Orders, Decorations, Medals and Militaria

Royal Navy L.S. & G.C., G.V.R., 3rd issue, coinage head (K. 61355 N. S. Dawson, P.O., H.M.S. Douglas) minor official correction to ship’s name, edge bruising and polished, about very fine £250-350

Newrick Shipley Dawson was awarded the D.S.M. for services aboard the destroyer H.M.S. Worcester during the famous “Channel Dash” of 12-13 February 1942, when in an extremely gallant, close range torpedo strike, she received several direct hits and sustained serious casualties. The award was announced in The London Gazette on 31 March 1942.

While currently the actual date of Dawson joining the Worcester remains unknown, he was clearly a member of that gallant ship’s company by the time of the “Channel Dash” in February 1942. Her part in that now famous episode is described in detail by J. D. Potter in Fiasco, the Breakout of the German Battleships, for in addition to the V.C.-winning exploits of the Fleet Air Arm’s swordfish strike, Coastal Forces and a flotilla of destroyers put up similar displays of reckless bravery in an effort to penetrate the vastly superior protective screen around the Gneisenau and Prinz Eugen. Indeed few, if any, came closer to the mighty German battleships than the gallant little Worcester, commanded by Lieutenant-Commander Coats, D.S.C., R.N., who was hell bent on delivering a successful torpedo strike from a range of 2,500 yards.

Worcester was the last of the destroyers to attack, approaching the enemy through cascades of water thrown up by near misses from the Prinz Eugen and Gneisenau, whose gunners, due to the close range of the engagement, were able to fire with flattened trajectories: unperturbed, Lieutenant-Commander Coats pressed home his attack, muttering through his teeth, “I am going to sink one of those Damned ships.”

As the range closed, Coats gave the order to turn to port to deliver a torpedo strike, but just at that moment the Worcester took three direct hits and was instantly disabled. Now the German gunners could not miss, four more large calibre shells tearing gaping holes in the destroyer’s side and knocking out her guns, the effect upon her gallant crew being equally devastating. Potter’s Fiasco takes up the story:

‘Nightmare scenes were taking place aboard her. When the shell shattered the lower bridge, destroying the ammunition locker underneath it, the force of the explosion also jammed the water-tight doors of the radio room below the bridge, and the men inside were roasted like turkeys. The helmsman, with a shattered hand, still kept trying to steer. Another sailor next to him in the wheelhouse was a mass of blood and bone. One young sailor in a gun turret had his arm blown off and picked it up sobbing and tried to push it on again. As the gun was still in action, a Petty Officer knocked him unconscious. It was the kindest thing he could have done, but it also prevented panic spreading among the young gun crew, several of whom were also wounded ... ’

It was, as Potter states in Fiasco, 3.56 p.m.: the destroyer action was over after eleven minutes and the shelling of Worcester had only lasted three minutes. But the suffering went on far longer:




‘The Worcester, hit several times by heavy shells, was a smoking shambles and seemed certain to sink. The decks were slippery with blood and the bridge was spattered with brains and chunks of torn red flesh. Blood and trickling green paint from the damaged paint shop flowed round shattered bodies in oilskins about the decks. A sailor came staggering out on deck trying to hold his guts in with his hands ... No one has a clear recollection of what took place on those smoking, bloody decks littered with the wounded hoarsely calling for help. There was terrible confusion and one or two cases of panic. While some men with shattered legs were dragging themselves along the deck on all fours, other wounded lay moaning quietly on the slanting decks. One or two staggered to the rail and threw themselves overboard. They were either trying to save themselves from the sinking ship by reaching the floats or drown themselves deliberately, as they knew they were so badly wounded they only faced a painful lingering death ... ’

Potter also makes mention of Dawson, struggling against the odds in the engine room:

‘The hole in the ship’s side near the engine room, although four feet long, was well above the water line. The sea was still pouring into Number One boiler room, but there was steam in the gauges and the steering gear was undamaged. At the same time, Petty Officer Dawson reported that Number Two boiler was also badly damaged but Number Three was intact ... ’

Without assistance, at Coats’ own request, the much-damaged Worcester steamed slowly back to port, and quite a sight she made when eventually she got there:

‘She struggled into the harbour, listing heavily, full of holes with steam trickling from them. Her broken mast was still leaning against the funnel and her torn, smoke-blackened battle ensign was flying from a broomstick over the bridge, as all the ships in the harbour sounded their sirens. Whistles piped as they cleared lower deck and fell in aft to pay tribute to her. They stood cheering as Worcester drew abreast. When they approached nearer to land her crew also saw lines of sailors and Wrens standing cheering outside Shotley Sick Quarters. The Worcester’s crew did not reply. There were too many dead ... Then the ambulances began taking off the seriously wounded and the four men who had died in the night. Those four were given out as the official number of dead. In fact, they brought the total of dead to twenty-seven. There were only fifty-two unwounded survivors ... Last off the ship was Commander Coats, who pulled down the blackened battle ensign and carried it ashore.’

Sold with a series of photocopied images depicting the horrendous damage inflicted on the Worcester, together with a copy of Captain Coats’ official report on the action. He was awarded an immediate D.S.O.