Mama Mia, I Know That Boat

This feature article originally appeared in AFLOAT Magazine and is the latest edition of Foul Bottoms with John Quirk exploring maritime history, naval adventure and seafaring stories.

How is it possible, I hear you ask, to spend eight years of your life in the seventies without hearing a single ABBA recording or even knowing of their existence? Simple. I was in the US of A at the time where, as one of the characters in The Blues Brothers proudly announced, they have both kinds of music: Country and Western.

This gap in my cultural education was overfilled as soon as I arrived here. Watching Mama Mia, the ABBA based movie, brought another recognition. Although it appeared she now sported tin masts, and the name Fernando, those sweeping overhangs reminded me of Tai Mo Shan. I read of her voyage from HK to UK in one of the excellent Mariners Library books during school days, but some of the story was unknown until more recently.

In 1932, five British Royal Navy submariners clubbed together to have a yacht designed and built. They went to H.S.Rouse, Vice Commodore of the Hong Kong Yacht Club to design a 54 foot ocean racing ketch. Tai Mo Shan was 54′ overall, 44′ LWL, 12′ beam and a whopping 9’2″ draft. She was named after the highest peak in HK and massively built by the Hong Kong and Whampoa Dock Company from the best of prewar timbers. Teak planking, camphor and ipol frames and with her 9 ton keel displaced 25 tons. About as much as an old Bristol Channel pilot cutter of the same LWL. The yard was renowned for its yacht’s strength and durability. They also built Tzu Hang, Brigadier Miles Smeeton’s yacht which notoriously pitchpoled off Cape Horn. Twice.

Bering Sea

The five sailors were given leave by the navy on half-pay, seven shillings a day, that’s over ten pounds a week, to sail home to Dartmouth via an unusual route. No sunny Pacific Islands for these guys. They chose the Northern Route, right up via Japan, the Kuriies, the Bering Sea, thawing out in California, the Panama Canal and West Indies. They said they could not afford an engine, nor a proper dunny but they stowed 16 hand-sewn sails aboard. I remember reading at the time that the navy was rather generous in donating radio equipment. Strange without an engine to top up the batteries, I thought. There was no mention of a generator. They would have had the old lead-acid car type batteries which would have heaved ashore for recharging but they may have had the old bicycle type charger. We had one when building the lodges. As well as keeping fit by running between two sites, I had to pedal a bike-type contraption to pump up the motorcycle battery powering our WW2 era phone.

They used military grade short wave wireless telegraphy provided by the Navy’s Signal School, with vacuum valves which allowed a small transmitter to bounce signals off the earth’s ionosphere. These could reach thousands of miles in good conditions. All communications about Japanese shipping and shore bases were sent in Morse using encryptions from the Navy Code Books.

There was no antenna or radio masts showing, just a fine copper wire from the top of the main mast to the mizzen.

Bahamas

When dragging a 9 foot draft in an engineless yacht through the Bahamas, you can guess what happened. A sudden wind shift near Crooked Island put them ashore while under sail.

They asked at a poverty-stricken village if they could borrow some shovels to dig the ship out of the coral. These islanders were so poor, they only had one shovel between them and they used this for funerals. An arrangement was worked out that the shovel could be used but was not allowed to get wet. They were concerned about it rusting away. So, with this single shovel and with a few islanders recruited with payments of stores, tobacco and small cash donations they worked for 14 days, reportedly using their hands to dig their way out. They could only work at low tide, (didn’t want to get the shovel wet,) and laid out a kedge in their dinghy. I still don’t get this. Aground with nine feet draft, how are you going to dig her out unless you are really, really good at holding your breath? The tidal range in the Bahamas is about three feet, with a maximum of four, it’s not like grounding in the Bristol Channel where we could always count on a 46 foot spring tide for a lift.

But apparently, on the next high tide, they hoisted the sails to lean the ship over and reduce the draft, heaved on the kedge and sailed their way to freedom.

Phillip Francis suffered a poisoned leg, so they sailed to Bermuda where the large naval base hauled the yacht, replaced the damaged copper sheathing and repaired the steering gear and the hospital took care of the injured leg. The Atlantic crossing back to UK took 29 days.

Just have a look at the crew list and their achievement in WW2.

In Kenya, I had architectural clients like this. They were bored with UK living, so after the War, they came out and started businesses and built comfortable houses to suit an African lifestyle.

Lt Commander James Salt, the yacht’s navigator, became a proud father in 1940, the year he was made captain of the submarine Triad. Tragically, this was lost with all hands in a furious point blank duel with the Italian submarine Enrico Toti. His son, James was commanding HMS Sheffield in the Falklands which was sunk by an Exocet missile from a French built jet. You may remember that UK and President Reagan asked the French not to supply these weapons to Argentina. James became a Rear Admiral. Commander Philip Francis skippered submarines HMS Spearfish then Thrasher (not Thresher) and was renowned for ice-cold nerves and accurate attacks on enemy shipping at very close range. DSO and bar, which meant he won it twice.

Lt Commander Martin Sherwood, the author of the book, remained involved in espionage work but found time to head off into the North Atlantic and collect a DSO for his work in escorting convoys.

Lt Surgeon Bertie Omaney – Davis, definitely a name for the guest list of pre-War country house weekends, DSO for tending the wounded in warships and bombed out Naval bases.

And Vice Admiral Sir Robert Ryder, VC, decorated with the highest military award for organising what has since been called ‘The Greatest raid of All’. This deserves an article on its own.

This feature article originally appeared in AFLOAT Magazine. To explore more stories like this, browse the AFLOAT Magazine archive or view the latest edition of AFLOAT Magazine.