The 1947 Mumbles Lifeboat Disaster:
a collection of three memories
The S.S. Samtampa
Peter Dover-Wade Remembers
I remember well the night of the storm and that on hearing of the tragedy, my friend and I, both sixteen year old naval Cadets and keen cyclists, decided to ride over to Nash Point near Porthcawl, to see if we could see anything. How we ever found the site, I can’t remember, but I knew we’d arrived when amongst the sand dunes imprinted on the sand in oil, were the outlines of bodies. We could see the S.S. Samtampa aground and nearer the shore upside down on the rocks, the Mumbles lifeboat with oil everywhere.
The day of the funeral, being naval Cadets we paraded as a unit and followed the very long RAF wing transporter, which bore the eight coffins of the gallant lifeboatmen. I have a recollection of the vehicle breaking down and of ropes being produced for us to pull. We made our way to Oystermouth Cemetery, where the burials took place, but those details are lost in my memory.
Every time I visit that part of the cemetery, I pay my respects to those brave men, who were prepared to give their lives to save others during that terrible storm of 23rd April 1947.
Pat Symmons Remembers
My fiancé and I were coming back to Mumbles on the train that evening from his parents’ house in Danygraig. The weather was so bad that the sea was coming right over the top of the train. The driver decided in the circumstances to stop at West Cross. A little later, he decided to resume the journey as the wind was abating a little.
Over several days, the lifeboat had been called out twice to the Santampa, which was in serious trouble near Porthcawl, but once the news came through that the lifeboat crew themselves were in danger, my father, Percy Hore, a Coast Guard, who was later awarded a B.E.M., went in a car with Commander Hurst, Head of the Cambrian Division, to Porthcawl, but when they arrived, the wind was so bad, it nearly tipped the car over. They then helped to try and rescue people, but they were all dead, having been covered in oil and suffocated. My father recovered the body of his friend, William Gammon, the Coxswain. Dad, also covered in oil, did not come home until early the following morning and subsequently had to claim for a new uniform as his was ruined. I think the youngest member of the lifeboat crew was Mr.Allen, who was only in his 20s.
I remember the day of the funeral.
It was raining as the procession wound its way along the Mumbles Road and up Newton Road to the cemetery.
A few days later on 3 May, we got married in All Saints’ Church. There were no flowers to be had in the village, due to the disaster and the Vicar, Rev. Wilkinson kindly rang up the nursery at Blackpill and obtained some pink rose buds. Outside the Church, while we had our photographs taken, the yard was still strewn with the remains of the petals and leaves from the wreathes of a few days before.
Carl Smith Remembers
A small boy, not then three years old, was puzzled when his father, who had been a member of the church since a lad, arrived home later that afternoon with Rev. David Wilkinson, curate of all Saints' (photo). The two were in their cassocks but soaked to the skin and dripped pools of water round their feet. After a glass of grannie's rhubarb wine, the curate made his way home to Norton. It was another ten years before the child understood the significance.