The Kilo Rescue November 1963 by Kate Jones

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“They were all great men.”
The Kilo Rescue, November 1963
by Kate Jones

In November 1963 the crew of The Mumbles Lifeboat William Gammon performed an outstanding service in appalling weather conditions. It was a service that saved ten lives and for which the RNLI awarded Coxswain Derek Scott a Silver Medal. This is the story of that incredible rescue. It is a story of courage, gallantry and skilful seamanship battling force-10 winds, extremely rough seas and the most dreaded danger on board ships – FIRE!

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The Call-out

The weather off the Welsh coast during the night of the 17^th – 18^th November 1963 was atrocious! Force-10 winds gusting up the Bristol Channel whipped waves into mountainous peaks and treacherous troughs. With torrential rain, hail, thunder and lightning it was, in the words of The Mumbles lifeboat coxswain: “One of those black holes of a winter’s night when everyone is in bed with a pillow over their heads not wanting to know about the outside world.”

When the telephone rang in the early hours of 18^th November in Derek Scott’s house ‘outalong’ at Southend, the lifeboat coxswain knew the call probably meant only one thing. He was right. On the other end of the line was Captain Clarence Mock, Honorary Secretary of the lifeboat station. “He told me,” Scott recalled, “that a ship was on fire and in big trouble and asked would I go out to her?

Before going to bed the previous evening Scott had heard a forecast for hurricane-force winds. He had listened to coastguards talking on the short wave radio about a ship named Kilo, on fire off the southern coast of Ireland. After checking to see if there “was anything in the offing” Scott had been told that there was not – because of the forecast there were no ships in his area - so he went to bed. Within a few hours the situation out at sea changed – dramatically for The Mumbles lifeboat.

The Kilo, on fire

The 571 ton Dutch coaster Kilo, of Amsterdam, was on her way from Liverpool to Rotterdam. She was carrying a mixed cargo of cotton, machine tools, barrels of grease, Scotch whisky, acetone and gas cylinders in her hold. On the deck were ninety 40-gallon drums of sodium. Battered by the storm as she headed through the Irish Sea, the Kilo was 35 miles south of the Smalls lighthouse (off Pembrokeshire) near the entrance to the Bristol Channel, when her crew realised fire had broken out.

Fire on board a ship (with engines, liquid fuel, electrical equipment and combustible cargoes) is an extremely high-risk situation, and the Kilo’s fire was very serious indeed. A barrel of sodium had punctured and ignited. The fire spread to other drums which, once they reached a certain heat, exploded like giant fireworks sending blazing sodium and metal from the drums high into the air, showering the ship’s deck and surrounding sea. The crew, unable to get near the blazing drums to heave them overboard, desperately tried to sluice the sodium off the decks but this, and the huge waves breaking over the ship, only made the fire burn more furiously and threatened the volatile cargo in the hold.

At 7pm on the 17^th the Kilo’s master, Captain Hoogeveen, radioed that he would be altering course, no longer making for Rotterdam but heading up the Bristol Channel to Swansea or Barry. In Derek Scott’s words “The Dutch skipper couldn’t run for Ireland, although it was a lot nearer, because it meant sailing into the face of the storm. The ship’s bridge, steering and all the accommodation were at the stern and the fire would have engulfed the whole crew, numbering 10. His only choice was to run before the weather towards England which meant the flames would be blown away from the bridge.”

Coastal Command Search & Rescue and Lifeboats from Padstow and Tenby

Nothing more was heard from the Kilo for a few hours but a general alert was broadcast to all vessels in the vicinity to keep a look-out and report. An RAF Avro Shackleton of Coastal Command Search and Rescue took off from RAF Mawgan in Cornwall. Looking down on the sea, white with phosphorescent foam, the aircraft crew could see mountainous waves. They looked, they reported, like monstrous blocks of flats!

Meanwhile, around 10pm, the Padstow lifeboat, Joseph Hiram Chadwick, a 52-footer, had launched. They had been given a position for the Kilo some 45 miles north-west of their station. The winds were strengthening, rain and squalls of hail lashed the lifeboat, and visibility was very poor. But just before midnight the Kilo radioed again and gave her position as 14 miles north of Lundy. The Padstow coxswain, realising their chase was hopeless, turned for home.

North-west of the Isle of Lundy the aircraft searchers located the furiously burning Kilo. Consistently submerged by massive waves the ship looked as if she ‘was taking the ocean on board’. But, throwing off the water, she was driven forward by a fierce tail wind and all the ship’s power the captain could muster. The constant dousing of sea water had no effect on the flames engulfing the ship. The barrels of sodium continued to explode and the deck hatches were on fire. The Kilo was in grave danger of going down and the sea was far too rough to launch her lifeboats. At 1am, now 10 miles east of the Helwick lightship, Captain Hoogeveen radioed: ‘REQUIRE IMMEDIATE ASSISTANCE’.

Meanwhile the Tenby lifeboat, Henry Coomber Brown, had launched. After leaving the shelter of Caldy Island she found herself in waves of 20-25 feet. One heavy sea swept over the lifeboat carrying away the canvas screen door of the wheel-house and buckling the aft cabin door. Notwithstanding, her brave crew pressed on valiantly in the hope of giving assistance.

Three other vessels, Swedish bulk-carrier, Porjus, British motor tanker Chailey and British motor vessel Oreosa were approaching the area to give what help they could.

The Mumbles Lifeboat is Launched

The decision was now taken to launch a third lifeboat and, after Appledore and Ilfracombe were discounted, the Mumbles maroons were fired at 2.48am. The boom of the maroons was drowned out by the noise of a thunderstorm, and crew not on the telephone were woken by police hammering on their doors. Jack Whitford who lived in West Cross did hear the maroons. He “drove like mad” to Southend where he struggled down the pier, bent double to keep his footing in the wind that blasted between the islands of the Mumbles headland

It took a bit longer than usual for the crew to assemble and Coxswain Scott chose an extra man because of the exceptionally tempestuous weather. When the lifeboat William Gammon launched at 3.20am Coxswain Scott, Second Coxswain Bill Davies, Mechanic Jack Gammon, Assistant Mechanic William Tucker, Signalman Joe Bailey, George Parsons, Jack Whitford, Hadyn Randall and Karl Kostromin were all, Scott said, “very relieved to get going – the wait had been terrible!” As the lifeboat shot down the slipway into pitch darkness, gale-force winds and driving rain, the crew braced themselves - literally and mentally. They had no idea exactly what they were going to find – or where!

The first problem was to get round Mumbles Head. Derek Scott described the sea rushing up the Bristol Channel creating a solid wall of water about 20 feet thick. “It was,” he said, “just white and I thought this little craft is never going to go through that.” So he took the lifeboat right out into Swansea Bay, made a starboard turn and, according to crew member Jack Whitford, “went down ‘backside’, avoiding the rocks and the Mixon.” Two weeks previously the crew had undertaken a night exercise to practise such a launch!

The Mumbles lighthouse light was completely obscured by spray; the only navigational aid was the lifeboat compass. Pitching in the huge waves, the 47-foot William Gammon (she was just an open boat) and her crew headed off in the storm towards Helwick

The search by the lifeboat William Gammon

Crew member Hadyn Randall thought it was the worst night he had ever seen. There were hurricane winds and waves with a rise and fall of about 40 feet between the crests and the troughs. “We could hardly stand up in the boat. Derek had one of us positioned on the starboard side and another on the port side so that if anything happened it could easily be passed onto the skipper.” The lifeboat had to climb up the wave to its top, then surf down the other side. Randall had to shout a warning every time he saw a white wave approaching. “But I couldn’t tell him every one, so we came crashing down sometimes, and it was like falling down a lift – coming down a 30-foot wave!”

In these appalling conditions the crew were exhausted from bracing themselves as the lifeboat rose and plunged. They were freezing cold and soaked with water running down inside their oilskins, and filling their boots. It was more than 40 minutes before they found the Kilo - it seemed much longer!

The aircraft crew, having located the William Gammon on their radar scanner, circled and dropped a long line of magnesium flares. The plane waggled its wings and led them towards the blazing vessel. Shortly after 4am the lifeboat crew saw a sight none of them would ever forget.

Racing towards them was the Kilo – a huge ball of fire. Constantly swept by the sea, the exploding drums of sodium shot flames and lumps of hot metal 60 feet in the air like Roman candles. Sodium spilled over her sides like boiling porridge that seemed to form a ring of fire on the surrounding sea. “It was,” the coxswain observed, “the most awe-inspiring monstrous thing I have ever seen.” With the wind, waves and thunder, it was like Wagner’s opera, The Flying Dutchman – “but with a difference!”

Gazing in astonishment at this incredible sight, the lifeboat crew’s relief at having found the casualty was rapidly replaced by the thought, “How are we going to get the crew off?” The whole ship seemed to be on fire.

The attempted rescue

The Kilo stopped. None of her crew wanted to risk their lives jumping into a lifeboat rising and falling some 40 feet. So Coxswain Scott steered towards the fire-spitting ship and stationed members of his crew forward to help take off the Dutch crew. But, as the William Gammon came alongside, the ferocity of the flames forced the lifeboat crew back to the safety of the cockpit. On the first run-in a heavy sea took the lifeboat beneath the curve of the Kilo’s counter and Scott was forced to overshoot. On the second run-in, the Kilo was caught by waves that caused a huge explosion of deck cargo and for a moment the lifeboat appeared to be surging towards the burning deck. It was only by rapid and correct use of the helm and engines that the coxswain was able to keep the lifeboat clear.

The lifeboat prepared for a third rescue attempt but miraculously the flames suddenly died down. Captain Hoogeveen hailed Coxswain Scott to say he would not abandon ship. He would instead try to reach Swansea Bay. Which he did – with the William Gammon in hot pursuit!

Safety in Swansea Bay

At around 5am, the still-blazing Kilo roared down the length of Mumbles foreshore to beach off Oystermouth with the lifeboat alongside and the Swansea pilot cutter, Seamark, equipped with fire pumps, standing by. There was no point using the pumps as the water would only cause more explosions, especially as the cargo in the hold was now well and truly on fire showering debris over the adjacent William Gammon. The Kilo’s crew, anticipating that the next explosion in the depth of the hold could be very dangerous, decided it was time to leave.

Second Coxswain Bill Davies attached the new nylon rope (“our pride and joy” said Scott) to the Kilo. The ten men slid from the searing heat into the lifeboat, dark figures illuminated by the flames behind them, and Coxswain Scott hurriedly pulled away to safety. It was far too dangerous to pull off the rope, but instead of it breaking as the lifeboat backed away the nylon stretched like a giant piece of elastic and had to be cut off. Just then the Tenby lifeboat appeared out of the darkness, having at last caught up with the ‘Flying Dutchman’!

The Kilo re-floated on the rising tide but with no anchor down she was in danger of drifting out into the bay. Fortunately a sudden burst of torrential rain smothered her fires sufficiently to allow her master and chief engineer back on board. They were able to re-start the engines and with assistance from Seamark and the William Gammon the badly damaged Kilo was able to enter Swansea docks. The boat was a mess but ten lives had been saved.

Afterwards

The lifeboat William Gammon had sustained considerable damage during the rescue so went away for repairs. A new nylon rope was needed too! Her temporary replacement was the ex-St David’s lifeboat, Sŵn-y-Mor. The Tenby lifeboat was also damaged.

For this service Derek Scott was awarded the RNLI’s Silver Medal for Gallantry. The Thanks of the Institution Inscribed on Vellum were accorded to The Mumbles crew and Letters of Appreciation were sent to the crews of the Padstow and Tenby lifeboats.

In January 2015, whilst researching for The Mumbles Lifeboat Station History book, I interviewed Jack Whitford, then aged 92. As the only surviving member of the lifeboat crew who had been on the William Gammon that night in November 1963, he wanted very much to tell me about it. His description of the Kilo rescue brought the story alive for me. Speaking of Derek Scott, he described him as his ‘life-long hero”. It was, he said, “a privilege to get on the boat”, and he knew all the lifeboat crew very well – “they were all great men.”

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Acknowledgements

Not surprisingly a great deal has been written about the Kilo rescue. The sources for this account are the following:

The Mumbles Lifeboat Station Returns of Service, 1962-64, West Glamorgan Archive Service; The Lifeboat, RNLI, March 1964; Wreck and Rescue in the Bristol Channel, Grahame Farr; The Men of Mumbles Head, Carl Smith; Growling Over the Oceans, Deborah Lake; The Floating Inferno, Sunday Express, 22/7/1973; Interview with Hadyn Randall, broadcast on 3/7/1985 (courtesy of Helen Upton); Interview with Derek Scott by Colin Morris on ‘Heart to Heart’, broadcast in November 1979; Interview with Derek Scott by Barry Cockcroft, published in 1995; Interview with Jack Whitford by Kate Jones on 21/1/2015.

Last, but by no means least, are the paintings of the Kilo Rescue by Derek Scott, courtesy of Pat Scott. They tell the story better than mere words.

©Kate Jones, September 2021

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