'I Wish I Had Your Wings' E-Book

Angus Mansfield

• Herausgeber: Spellmount
• Kategorie: Geisteswissenschaft
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 259

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2016

Beschreibung

In August 1942, British launched Operation Pedestal in an attempt to deliver supplies to the stricken island of Malta, an Allied base which had been under Axis blockade for months. From 9–15 August a convoy of some 50 ships ran the gauntlet of Axis bombers, submarines, E-boats and minefields. Of the original fourteen merchant vessels, only five reached Malta Grand Harbour. In The Spitfire Pilot and the Sea Captain, Angus Mansfield relates the experiences of two men involved in Pedestal, Captain David Macfarlane of MV Melbourne Star and his nephew David Mejor, one of the Spitfire pilots who fought to protect the convoy. Told using their log books, letters and papers, this is the story of one family's contribution to a relief operation that cost over 400 Allied lives, but which has gone down in history as one of the most important British strategic victories of the Second World War.

Leseprobe

Cover illustrations: Front, top: No. 132 Squadron, Peterhead, Scotland, 1941 (J.G. Mejor); bottom: Melbourne Star arriving at Valletta Harbour (Author’s collection).

First published 2016

This paperback first published 2025

The History Press

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Gloucestershire, GL50 3QB

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© Angus Mansfield, 2016, 2025

The right of Angus Mansfield to be identified as the Author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without the permission in writing from the Publishers.

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ISBN 978 0 75096 688 7

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Contents

Foreword by Allan Scott DFC

Acknowledgements

Prologue: Early Morning 13 August 1942

1 John Mejor: Early Days

2 David Rattray Macfarlane: Early Days and First Convoy to Malta, Operation Substance, 1941

3 Malta and the Struggle for Survival

4 Malta, May to August 1942: The ‘Dog’ and Sheer Bloody Exhaustion

5 Operation Pedestal

6 Rest and 2nd Tactical Air Force to D-Day

Epilogue by Sally Keyes

Bibliography & Sources

Foreword

It is incredible how in times of danger, sincere and lasting friendships are formed. So it was with Johnnie and myself during the Battle of Malta. We flew daily in combat, often as a pair against the bombers and fighters attacking the island, and became firm and lasting friends.

Johnnie was a forceful character, pugnacious and fiery, with a wicked sense of humour which he retained even in the dark days of Malta. His laugh was infectious but he was not the sort to take rubbish from anybody. Always a pleasure to be with – his habit of twirling his moustache springs instantly to mind – it is a renewed pleasure for me to see him again in the pages of this book.

This book describes in detail the Malta convoys of 1942 and portrays graphically the bravery of the merchant seamen who were constantly attacked before reaching the island.

Allan Scott DFC

Acknowledgements

My third book has taken several years of research and I am indebted to a great many people in helping me, but most of all to Sally Keyes, John Mejor’s daughter and David Macfarlane’s great-niece, who was brave enough to allow me to write her dad’s and her great-uncle’s story. I hope she feels that I have been able to tell it accurately and to do them both justice.

I have been able to use Johnnie’s log books and papers, together with family papers from David Macfarlane that Sally was willing to share with me.

To anyone I have inadvertently omitted, I apologise in advance.

I have interviewed several pilots who flew with Johnnie Mejor and who were also in Malta at the time of Operation Pedestal.

Before his death, I had already been in touch with Jack Rae in New Zealand, who was able to recall his time on the island, having flown into Malta from the American aircraft carrier USS Wasp as part of the same Operation Calendar as Johnnie Mejor on 20 April 1942, and in turn gave me permission to use quotes from his own book Kiwi Spitfire Ace, published by Grub Street several years ago.

Geoffrey Wellum flew his Spitfire into Malta from HMS Furious as part of Operation Bellows and the wider Operation Pedestal on 11 August, just after HMS Eagle had been sunk. Having flown into Malta, he joined 1435 Squadron along with Johnnie Mejor. He is still alive and well and living in Cornwall, and gave me permission to use quotes from his book First Light, now a bestseller. Penguin Books were also good enough to give me permission to use the same.

Allan Scott first met Johnnie Mejor in Malta, they flew together with 1435 Squadron and were both posted back to the UK and joined the same Maintenance Unit at Colerne near Bath as test pilots, and, by a strange quirk of fate, the same 122 Squadron as part of the 2nd Tactical Air Force in the build-up to D-Day. They looked after each other in the air and on the ground and became the best of friends. Allan was best man when John and Cecile were married, is currently living in Shropshire and has written his own story, Born to Survive, published by Ellingham Press. He was also very willing to share his stories of their times together and give me permission to use quotes from his book, and has been good enough to write a foreword. When this book is published, he has agreed that he and I will play a game of golf and raise a glass to Johnnie. It will be my privilege, and all the more remarkable as Allan is now 94 and still plays.

The National Archives at Kew and the Caird Library at the National Maritime Museum in Greenwich both deserve a mention, as they willingly help anyone trying to research a project such as this.

The book would also not have been possible without the help of everyone at The History Press, but in particular Shaun Barrington and Jo De Vries.

Finally, a word of thanks to my wife, Sue, who has put up with my absence whilst I have researched and written this book. I could not do without her love and support.

Prologue

Early Morning 13 August 1942

They had made it through the night, but only just. Captain David Rattray Macfarlane OBE had manoeuvred his ship, the Melbourne Star, into position with what remained of the convoy in single line. Rochester Castle was leading, followed by Waimarama, then his ship the Melbourne Star with the Ohio behind him. Port Chalmers was some way behind and had not caught up with them.

On the bridge of the Melbourne Star, Macfarlane peered into the darkness before first light and wondered what else could be thrown at the convoy. Only half the convoy had survived the night and daybreak would bring no relief, only more Axis bombers and, for all he knew, Italian cruisers and destroyers as well. Aboard the depleted escorts and merchant ships of the convoy, haggard and exhausted men stood ready to repel what could be the enemy’s next decisive attack. Very few gave themselves much of a chance. Against everything that the Axis could launch against the remains of the convoy, there seemed little that the remaining ships could do except go down fighting.

Despite the repeated attacks, Macfarlane was aware that the damaged tanker the Ohio was still making decent progress. Supreme efforts were required to hold the damaged vessel on her course. Her deck had been split across the centre almost to her amidships and with every yaw of her helm the buckled metal tore and groaned, threatening to break the entire ship in half. It was necessary to keep a continuous 5 degrees on the starboard helm to compensate for the pull caused by the great gouge in her side. By 3 a.m. the tanker had managed to reach a speed of 13 knots and by dawn she had caught up with the remainder of the convoy.

They had been expecting attacks from the Italian Navy all night; it was a miracle that there had been none. In fact the Italians had withdrawn and steamed away from the convoy because Air Vice Marshal Park, in charge of the RAF on Malta, had sent out what available aircraft he had and ordered them to illuminate the Italian cruisers and regularly return to Malta, to convey to the Italians that a strike force of considerable size and power was on its way. This was followed up by an attack from a single Wellington and an ‘illuminate and attack’ call to non-existent Liberators, which resulted in the Italian cruisers making a course for Palermo.

Good fortune, fortitude and deception had all played their part, but this did not concern Rear Admiral Burrough, who had deployed what was left of his escorts to fight a defensive action against the expected surface attack from the Italians. The force available to him was hardly impressive, however. Other than three minesweeping destroyers, he could only muster a damaged cruiser, HMS Kenya, and HMS Charybdis as heavy ships and four big Tribal-class destroyers, including HMS Pathfinder. HMS Bramham was standing by the abandoned Santa Elisa, HMS Penn was coming up from astern with Port Chalmers while HMS Ledbury was close to the Ohio, but they were about 5 miles astern of the main body which now consisted of the Melbourne Star, Waimarama and Rochester Castle.

1435 Squadron Airborne

Everything now depended on the convoy from the west. Johnnie Mejor squinted into the rising morning sun, wondering when they would receive the order to take off. Malta’s surviving Beaufighters had patrolled what was left of the convoy in the hours of darkness as it slipped through the narrow channel between the coast of Tunis and the western tip of Sicily, but the really dangerous time began now, with the dawn, as the surviving merchant ships and oil tanker with their escorts entered ‘bomb alley’ and the final run to the beleaguered island.

The convoy was still hours away from the island, a nightmare journey through the most bitterly contested waters in the world, with the full weight of the Luftwaffe and Regia Aeronautica in southern Italy and Sicily intent on destroying what was left of it. Sometime during the morning, the convoy would reach a point 70 miles from Malta where relays of Spitfires from Takali and Hal Far – every available aircraft – could endeavour to provide a continual air umbrella over the ships. Before that point there was a 40-mile gap between first light and the maximum distance at which the Takali and Hal Far Spitfires could begin to provide cover. The Luqa Spitfires that had been fitted with long-range tanks would fill that gap. Only Luqa had a long enough strip of runway available to get the heavily laden fighters airborne.

Mejor looked at his watch. The squadron would be split into three sections of four aircraft and led by Wing Commander Pete ‘Prosser’ Hanks. Mejor felt a shiver run down his spine – he put it down to the aftermath of the ‘Dog’, an attack on the contents of his stomach from which he had only recently recovered. Mac – Ian Maclennan, a Canadian – had been right about the goat’s milk after all, and Mejor still felt washed-out and in no fit state to fly a Spitfire into action against, possibly, twenty or thirty times their number. He felt shattered.

This morning, co-incidentally, Sykes and Tozer were his fitter and rigger, and Mejor was glad. He enjoyed the cheerful banter of the two airmen, even though he felt grim. At Luqa, in these hectic days of August 1942, it was rare to get the same ground crew twice; the pilots grabbed whatever fighter was serviceable and in the months that Mejor had been on the island, he had done the rounds of just about every blast pen around the perimeter. In his mind he went over the latest situation reports. The convoy was a long way behind schedule at the last report. Suddenly, he pushed himself away from the sandbags, startled by his airman’s excited shout. The airman was pointing across the cratered airfield to G Shelter, where a Very flare had been fired and was tracing its smoky trail through the morning haze. Sykes, the fitter, was already in the Spitfire cockpit and by the time Mejor got there he had the engine running. The airman relinquished his place and helped Mejor to strap himself in, dropped off the wing as Mejor taxied forward and gave him a ‘thumbs up’ for good luck. The other Spitfires were also emerging from their blast pens, kicking up clouds of dust as they wove their way to the runway. Mejor kept his cockpit hood open for take-off and gained a few precious seconds of cooling fresh air.

The Spitfire rumbled forward, swaying slightly as he tried to line up with the centre of the runway and opened the throttle. The tail came up reluctantly as he eased the stick forward and the speed built up agonisingly slowly as the Merlin engine coped with the extra weight of the auxiliary fuel tank. It was the same, he recalled, all those months before, when he had taken off from the USS Wasp to fly to Malta. This time he had slightly more runway to play with but he was almost despairing that the fighter would ever leave the ground when she bounced a couple of times and wallowed into the air, and the controls became more responsive as she steadily gained flying speed.

He pulled up the undercarriage and slammed the cockpit hood closed, turning the Spitfire quickly on the heading that ought to bring them close to the convoy, or what was left of it: 280 degrees magnetic. He formed up with the other Spitfires in formation. Radio silence was to be maintained until they were over the convoy or unless they got into trouble en route. There was no point advertising their presence or movements to the enemy. The squadron flew on steadily for several minutes. Over on the left, a lump of rock emerged from the sea, the island of Linosa. Beyond it was nothing but a vast expanse of the open Mediterranean. They had been airborne for nearly 30 minutes and by now should have been over the convoy. Mejor frowned and glanced at his cockpit instruments; there was nothing below him or the squadron, or anywhere in their vicinity as far as the eye could see. It occurred to him in a sudden, horrifying thought that perhaps they were too late, and that the convoy had already been wiped out.

1

John Mejor – Early Days

John Mejor was born in Antwerp on 12 July 1921, the son of a Belgian engineer and a Scottish mother. His father died when he was only 12 and his mother brought the family to Liverpool, where, pretty much penniless, she ran a sweet shop. John was educated at Bootle Grammar School, where he had a certain affinity with the Flemish headmaster, given his Belgian origins.

Emblazoned on the school badge of Bootle Grammar School was the motto of the town of Bootle: Respice, Aspice, Prospice (look to the past, look to the present, look to the future). We must remember the past: to learn from our mistakes, to take joy from our triumphs and to honour our origins. We must consider the present: to face daily challenges, to enjoy life without taking anything for granted and to be a good example for all. We must look to the future: to build a peaceful world for the next generation, to pass on our knowledge to our children and to be hopeful that tomorrow will always bring a brighter sunrise. The motto would stay with Mejor for the rest of his life.

Rather than go to university, Mejor enlisted in the RAF Volunteer Reserve at the age of 18 in the summer of 1940, at the height of the Battle of Britain, when there was such a shortage of pilots, and began his flying training at No. 22 Elementary Flying Training School (EFTS) Cambridge, completing it at No. 8 Service Flying Training School (SFTS) Montrose in Scotland.

Those passing simple examinations left for flying training. Some went to the United States or the Commonwealth, while the remainder were shared between Elementary Flying Training Schools, with No. 22 at Cambridge, using the Miles Magister and Tiger Moth trainers and a unit operated by Marshalls Ltd of Cambridge using civilian instructors in RAF uniform, where his aptitude for pilot training was assessed and considered suitable. They lived in requisitioned houses just outside the airfield, with very basic amenities and poor food. They did their day flying training at Bottisham airfield, about 5 miles east of Cambridge, sharing it with an Army co-operation unit of Tomahawks. Mejor had only been there a few days when he saw a Tomahawk do a flat spin that went in nose first. He was told the pilot lived but lost both his legs.

The course at Cambridge lasted about two months and formed the first of three parts of their flying training, which would take about six months in all, at the end of which, in theory, they would be ready to join an operational squadron. They were supposed to do a minimum of about 50 hours of flying in each element or at each training school, but flew in atrocious conditions much of the time. Low cloud, poor visibility and high winds were not unusual and gave him a good grounding.

He then reported to No. 8 Service Flying Training School at Montrose. Formed on 1 January 1936 at Montrose in No. 23 Group, it was transferred to No. 21 Group on 1 January 1939 and renamed No. 8 Service Flying Training School on 3 September that year. It was equipped with Harts and Oxfords for both single- and multi-engine training, but on 24 June 1940 it was re-classified as a single-engine (Group 1) school flying the Miles Master. All flying schools in existence prior to the start of the war were re-designated Service Flying Training Schools at the outbreak of war.

The Master was the newest of the RAF’s advanced trainers, having been introduced shortly before the war. It was similar to the Hawker Hurricane in looks but not in performance. The Master was fitted with a Kestrel engine of some 75hp, so getting airborne was spectacular because of the kick from the extra power, and the aircraft swung due to the engine torque before it lifted into the air. Mejor quickly had to master the handling characteristics and technique required to get the best out of the aircraft. He practised straight and level flying, climbing, gliding, stalling – being wary of the sudden drop of the nose with the resultant loss of height, which was much more than he was used to – and then more practice, medium turns, take-off into wind, powered approaches and landings. It was the surge of power that he remembered.

The Wings examination proved straightforward and he was awarded his Wings on 9 July 1941.

A couple of weeks later, Mejor was posted to No. 7 Operational Training Unit at Hawarden, a few miles from Chester, where he would learn to fly Spitfires. Prior to the Second World War, aircrew completed their operational training on their squadrons, but once war had broken out and operations had begun, it became obvious that this could not be carried out by units and/or personnel actively engaged on operations. At first, squadrons were removed from operations and were allocated the task of preparing new pilots and/or crews, but before long these training squadrons were re-designated Operational Training Units. Over the next month, Mejor concentrated on formation flying, dogfighting, aerobatics and circuits and bumps, together with firing his guns and practice interceptions. By 10 November he had completed the final leg of his training at No. 57 OTU and his course was finished. Assessed as average, he was posted to the newly forming 132 Squadron at Peterhead on the North Sea coast of Scotland, 30 miles north of Aberdeen. Initially they were equipped with Mk I Spitfires but soon moved up to the Mk II, and by early 1942 to the Mk V. The 132 Squadron was a cosmopolitan squadron, with Mejor from Belgium, a couple of Canadians – Bill MacRae and Wally McLeod – and Free French, Polish and one Czech pilot, as well as a Rhodesian and of course a few British, including the flight commanders and their new squadron leader, Alfie W. Bayne DFC.

All the Canadians were eventually posted out, and the Free French and Polish pilots (with whom Mejor had a particular affinity, given his Flemish background) became part of their own national squadrons. For the eight months he was with 132 Squadron, it never left Scotland and not a single gun was fired in anger. The only time they saw an aircraft with black crosses was one day in November when a Junkers Ju 88 popped out of low cloud, dropped a string of bombs on the camp, killed one pilot on the ground with machine-gun fire and escaped into cloud without being detected by radar, leaving them questioning the reliability of their low-level radar. It was guarding against this kind of hit-and-run attack that had them frequently scrambled, in pairs during the day and singly at night, to intercept anything approaching from the east without a functioning IFF (Identification, Friend or Foe), the early transponder. Everything they intercepted turned out to be friendlies, all with their IFF off. They were a mixed bag, from Whitleys to, on one occasion, an early B17 in RAF markings.

Hit-and-run raids usually took advantage of low cloud cover, ideal for the Germans but not for the RAF. It has been said that Scotland is second only to the Aleutian Islands for bad flying weather, at least in winter, and the locals claimed that this was the worst winter in living memory. When the runways were not snowed in, it was routine to be scrambled into ceilings as low as 300ft. With no navigational radio, they depended on radar to vector them back down out of cloud, preferably over the sea. From there they were on their own. None of them had had any previous actual instrument time, only dual under the hood, and none in Spitfires. They were ill-prepared to quickly become virtual all-weather interceptors and paid the price. In a very short time at least six pilots were killed, about 25 per cent of the squadron. Two spun in out of cloud; two collided in cloud; one missed the field and hit the mountains not far to the west. Another, on a night scramble, failed to acknowledge repeated orders to return to base and was last seen leaving the radar screen in the direction of Norway, which he had insufficient fuel to reach.

No. 132 Squadron, winter 1942. (J.G. Mejor)

There were also lighter moments. Many RAF fields were designed like an overturned saucer, probably to improve drainage, so that on landing the Spitfire always ended up going downhill. At low speed, the Spitfire’s rudder was ineffective and without a steerable tail wheel, differential braking was needed to steer. Loss of brakes could mean trouble. One night Bill MacRae landed a bit long, probably overused the brakes to slow down, and they faded. He switched off and sat helpless as the Spitfire slowly rolled downhill, veering toward the side of the runway. First one wheel dropped off into the mud, swinging the machine around, so the second wheel followed. The tail rose high but dropped back before the propellor could hit the ground. He was lucky, but several others were not. Paul, one of three Free French pilots they had, lost his brakes one night and ran off the end of the runway. When they got to him, his aircraft was balanced, vertically, with the spinner and propellor imbedded in the mud. Paul was looking down at the ground from his lofty perch, repeating over and over ‘sheet, sheet’, to everyone’s great amusement.

Pilot officers Arthur Russell, John Mejor and Bugs Burgess, 132 Squadron, 1942. (J.G. Mejor)

The boredom and monotony of operations in the middle of winter in Scotland led Mejor to answer a call for volunteers for a special operation involving ‘hazardous service’, with no idea of what it would be. He boarded a train to Glasgow, then to Greenock, from where a van transported him to a well-guarded wharf, whereupon he set eyes on the huge form that he later learnt to be the American aircraft carrier USS Wasp. This massive ship was there courtesy of President Roosevelt, being his answer to Winston Churchill’s urgent plea for help with the transport of Spitfires so desperately needed for the defence of Malta. Malta would be Mejor’s next stop.

2

David Rattray Macfarlane: Early Days and First Convoy to Malta, Operation Substance, 1941

David Macfarlane was born in Auckland, New Zealand, in 1895 and first went to sea as a 15-year-old with the Union Steam Ship Company in 1910.

He joined the Blue Star Line in August 1915 as third officer of the Brodstane and was promoted to second officer on the same ship before joining the steamer Brodmede as second officer in 1917. He was on board when the ship was torpedoed and shelled by a German submarine in September 1917, but she was able to make her escape and reach Gibraltar safely.

The Blue Star Line had been formally registered in 1911 and the first ships were registered with Lloyds Register of Shipping between 1912 and 1913. Prior to the First World War, seven refrigerated ships sailed under the Blue Star Line banner, carrying eggs and other perishables to England from China. By the First World War it had twelve vessels, all their names starting with ‘Brod’ after Evelene Brodstone, who later married William Vestey. A considerable profit was made over these years with the carriage of beef to supply the Allied armies in France and it was for these services that William Vestey was honoured by becoming a baron.

Between the wars, Macfarlane served on several of the Blue Star Line vessels, including his first command as captain of the Celtic Star, and while peacetime brought a slow-down in promotion, his undoubted ability and winning personality still ensured his promotion to master by the time he had reached his early 30s. The Blue Star line ships were amongst the fastest of their time.

Lorraine Vines, a passenger aboard the Imperial Star on a journey from Australia to England before the Second World War, recalled her journey on board the ship:

The Imperial Star was one of the newest of the Blue Star Line fleet, she had a good turn of speed and with favourable conditions covered nearly 420 nautical miles in a day. Because of her speed, she had to seek the cover of darkness when overtaking a Royal Mail passenger liner; it was considered ‘infra dig’ for a cargo vessel to travel faster than His Majesty’s mail. Her Captain was David Macfarlane, who was later to become a much-decorated Merchant Navy Commander following the famous convoys to Malta. We occupied two double cabins, each with a bathroom. Our baths were of salt water but each day our steward would bring us large jugs of warm water to help wash off the salt. The fare to London was £60 per person or £110 return. There were twelve passengers, who were pleasant if not memorable. We sat at the Captain’s table. On the second day out of Sydney, Captain Mac took Judith and me on a tour of the ship, first of all for’ard where we could lean over and watch the beautiful bow wave made by her clean-cut lines. From there he took us aft to have a good look at her length. I expressed a fear that I might not make a good sailor. Captain Mac explained that was why he [had] taken us to the extremes of the ship, where we would experience the most motion; having passed this test without a qualm, he said we should have no worries. Being almost fully laden with cargo, we were fairly low in the water so our only movement was that of pitching, a much more comfortable feeling than a roll.

By the outbreak of war in 1939, Macfarlane was still in command of the Imperial Star and had an early introduction to the perils of conflict when, on the homeward leg of his voyage from Australia and approaching Britain, a surfaced U-boat attacked. The Imperial Star was armed with a 6in gun aft, a heavier weapon than that carried by the German submarine, and the Germans broke off the engagement and submerged, only to resurface and resume the engagement. Thanks to her superior speed and skilful seamanship under Macfarlane, the Imperial Star was able to make good her escape.

His next voyage was in command of the Auckland Star, which had been fitted out at Belfast when the war began. With the surrender of France at the end of June 1940, the German Navy – Kriegsmarine – acquired the use of strategically important west coast French ports and had soon established several U-boat bases along the Bay of Biscay. The northern bases of Brest, Lorient and Saint Nazaire were ideally situated for attacks on shipping using the south-west approaches to Britain and Ireland. Again sailing alone and on the homeward journey from Australia to Britain, the Auckland Star sailed from Townsville, Queensland, in May 1940 and called at Sydney, Cape Town and Cape Verde. She had reached a position 90 miles south-west of Ireland early in the morning of July 28 1940. As she had no escort, she had been steaming at her full speed of 16.5 knots and ‘zig-zagging’ when she was torpedoed on the port side between No. 5 and No. 6 holds. Chief Officer Farnell had just entered the wheelhouse when the first torpedo hit. He was adjusting his night vision when an almighty crack and a violent shudder shattered the solitude of the morning. Captain Macfarlane soon joined his chief officer on the bridge as he gave orders to stop engines. The Auckland Star started to settle at once and, unable to control the flooding and with the ship well down in the water aft, Captain Macfarlane was reluctantly forced to give orders to abandon ship some 30 minutes after being struck by the first torpedo, telling his officers to stand by until she sank. Not content with seeing the ship go down, the impatient U-boat commander, Otto Kretschemer, in U-99 torpedoed her again, this strike hitting the engine room, hurling debris high into the air, followed by a third torpedo when she was still afloat some 75 minutes after the first blow, hitting the ship close to No. 2 hatch. About a quarter of an hour later, at about 5.30 a.m., the Auckland Star rolled over to port, threw her bow in the air and sank by the stern, taking with her the large cargo of nearly 10,700 tons of refrigerated meat and general cargo, including lead, steel, hides, wheat and other refrigerated products. A distress signal had been sent out.

Left behind were four lifeboats with the entire complement of the crew of the Auckland Star