Orders, Decorations and Medals

A fine Second World War Murmansk convoys D.S.C. group of six awarded to Lieutenant W. G. Ogden, Royal Naval Volunteer Reserve, whose wartime experiences as skipper of H.M. Trawler Lady Madeleine on the North Russia run are recorded for posterity in his published memoirs My Sea Lady

Distinguished Service Cross, G.VI.R., reverse officially dated ‘1942’, in its Garrard & Co. case of issue; 1939-45 Star; Atlantic Star; Italy Star; Defence and War Medals, M.I.D. oak leaf, together with a set of related miniature dress medals, generally good very fine (12) £2500-3000

D.S.C. London Gazette 25 August 1942.

Mention in despatches London Gazette 11 June 1942.

William Greame Ogden was awarded his D.S.C. in respect of his command of the H.M. Trawler Lady Madeleine during Murmansk convoys in the period March-May 1942. The largest of the ocean-going trawlers converted for anti-submarine duties in the 1939-45 War, the Lady Madeleine certainly had her fair share of adventures, so too her C.O., who says in his published wartime memoirs that he ‘nearly lost his life a hundred times and escaped death in hospital by the merest fraction ... The thing that carried me through was the amazing bravery and toughness shown by others.’ He begins, however, by explaining how he originally served in the Auxiliary Air Force:

‘Ever since I wore my first sailor suit I longed to go to sea and had not my father died in my early youth I was booked for the Royal Navy. However, as an only son, my mother persuaded me to stay at home and become the man of the house. This meant that instead of going to Osborne and Dartmouth and so to sea, I went to Eton and Cambridge and ended up in our family tobacco business. Suspecting a war with Germany in 1937, I joined No. 601 Squadron to train as a fighter pilot, but at Munich time I was over thirty and so became redundant. I then joined the R.N.V.R. and when the balloon went up, found myself in the Admiralty, but I didn’t stay there for long - I went to sea.’
Indeed, for on ‘a cold blustery morning in February 1941’, he arrived at Belfast dockyard to assume command of the Lady Madeleine, in which ship he would serve until early 1943, a period in which he would see much action on the North Russia run. And his leadership during convoy P.Q. 16 in late May 1942 was most probably the main catalyst behind the award of his D.S.C. The following extract - a description of a very close shave - is taken from his published memoir, My Sea Lady:

‘At 1420 the Empire Lawrence was hit and pulled out of her place in the convoy. I could not see how badly damaged she was, so I took Lady M. over to help take off her crew if necessary. When I was nearly alongside, I noticed that her port-side life-boats were hanging vertically down the side of the ship, so I yelled to her captain and asked if he wanted my boats in the water. He shouted back something which I shall never know, for at that moment Geoff and I heard the cruel whine of bombers, and, looking aft, saw three of them diving on us. I heard the swish of falling bombs, but couldn’t move our ship. The next thing I remember is that Geoff and I were rolling about on our backs on the deck of the A./S. bridge and the sky was fall of strange shapes. We were covered with falling wreckage and enveloped in suffocating brown smoke. I thought we had been hit. When, minutes later, the smoke cleared away, there was no sign of the 12,000-ton Empire Lawrence. The first thing I did was to light my pipe - I wanted to know if I was still alive. An oily pool - fringed with wreckage and bodies - and the shattered remains of a life-boat were all that remained of the Empire Lawrence. Lady M. was untouched, although we were lying with our engines stopped, the length of a cricket pitch away.

We heard afterwards from Hazard, who was just astern of us, that when they saw Lady M. emerge from the smoke cloud, her gay camouflage bright in the sunshine, they could hardly believe it. Onslow in Ashanti thought we were gone, for he signalled incredulously: “Do you need assistance?” I answered: “Empire Lawrence sunk, am picking up survivors.” We had but a few yards to move to pick up the survivors. Some were terribly wounded, and our own lads jumped over the side to help get them inboard. Fortunately, trawlers have little freeboard, especially in the waist, and, the sea like a millpond, I was able to manoeuvre Lady M. alongside the badly wounded, who were unable to move, and get them aboard. Our sea-boats collected others. Sixteen in all, including the Radar Officer, who was apparently unharmed. We agreed afterwards, when making out the report of the loss of the Empire Lawrence, that of the six bombs aimed at her at least three must have been direct vertical hits and that they knocked the bottom out of her. She had sunk in a matter of seconds.’

Ogden next relates how on the following day the Lady Madeleine picked up survivors from another ship, the S.S. Syros, one of whom, a negro, ‘went straight from the life-boat to the wardroom, polished up all the glasses, borrowed a steward’s white jacket and appeared on the bridge to ask if I cared for a “High-ball” ’ But that most pleasant - and inspiring- moment was quickly interrupted by another very close shave:

‘It didn’t take us long to get the Syros’s survivors aboard, and in about half an hour we set off to catch up with the convoy. Bill Sedgewick, who was officer of the watch, ordered full speed ahead, and just as I was wondering how long it would take for us to regain our station, Bill suddenly yelled “Hard-a-port” down the voice-pipe to the Quartermaster, at the same time pointing his hand to port. I saw two torpedoes running in our direction. Bill’s quick reaction saved us, and we had the relief of seeing the tin fish go fizzing past Lady M’s side. I rang the A./S. alarm. Geoff came tearing up on to the A./S. bridge. I took over from Bill, whose A./S. station was aft, and turned Lady M. towards the direction from which the torpedoes had been fired. Our senior A./S. rating - one Higgins - was a first-class hand and quite imperturbable, and it was music to my ears when he quietly said, “Contact bearing green 20, strong hydrophone effect.” Geoff, listening on the second hydrophone, confirmed this and started the instruments going. He gave the setting for a ten-charge depth-charge pattern and the crew aft reported back, “Ready.” McTavish was, as usual, dancing about the 4-inch gun platform, and I went full ahead towards the U-Boat, guided by Geoff and Higgins. I also warned the engine-room to “give her all you’ve got” and Lady M., thoroughly insulted by such a dastardly attack, tore towards the enemy. Perhaps we were getting more experienced, or perhaps Lady M. took the law into her own hands; the fact remains that we made three text book attacks holding the contact right through. Conditions were good and we let go thirty depth-charges in these attacks. The destroyer Volunteer came back to help in the hunt. After our third attack we lost contact and I turned Lady M. to go back and look for traces of wreckage, oil and the most hoped-for prize of all - a body. We felt very confident, and after some time, when the destroyer signalled us: “Am in large patch of oil, consider you have sunk U-Boat, suggest we rejoin convoy,” we were satisfied.’

Further dangers awaited P.Q. 16 in the approaches to the Kola Inlet, Ogden once again coming under fire:

‘Early on Saturday 30 May, we sighted a skein of high-flying single-engined planes, which we took to be the expected Russian fighters, but they turned out to be forty Ju. 87s from Petsamo, and a vicious dive-bombing attack developed. In the middle of this holocaust, as our gunners joined the A.A. barrage, I noticed a Heinkel 112 seaplane approaching us at sea-level. It just goes to show how wrong one can be, for I thought he was on fire, as there was a red glow under his wings. Seconds later, when his machine-gun bullets began to hit the Lady M’s smoke-stack, I came to in a hurry. At A.A. action stations in Lady M., I was alone on the upper bridge, except for my signalman. We had to grin and bear being shot together. I had a pair of skeleton Lewis guns, which I used as shot guns (Not my Holland and Holland, but lightened to be fired from the shoulder, with pans loaded one tracer to three). I seized my No. 1 gun and opened up. The Heinkel’s tracers were now coming close enough for me to have lit a cigarette from them. There was nothing I could do but to keep firing and reach for No. 2 gun. I yelled to Bunts to lie down. It was like being in a cowboy film. I must say I was more than relieved when the plane swerved off at about 100 yards range, and crashed into the sea with a splash like a leaping salmon. I then had some bomb-dodging to do from the Ju. 87s, but nothing came uncomfortably near us.’

Following two further near misses on the final day of the convoy, Lady Madeleine finally reached the Russian submarine base at Polyarnoe - ‘Never have I been so tired or exhausted, and this was true of all of us in Lady M.’ - Ogden was recommended for the D.S.C., which decoration he received at an investiture held on 23 March 1943. In the interim - infact on his return from North Russia after P.Q. 16, in July 1942, when the Lady Madeleine formed part of convoy Q.P. 13 - he again displayed notable courage, not least for rescuing survivors from H.M.S. Niger and other ships which had fallen victim to a minefield.

Sold with the first part of his handwritten wartime diary notes / memoir, the cover with inscription ‘Book I - U Boat & My Boat, Greame Ogden, 1940-43’, the 70pp. manuscript also containing several original wartime signals; his original M.I.D. certificate, dated 11 June 1942, borders trimmed down; portrait photograph; and a copy of his published wartime memoir, My Fair Lady - The Story of H.M.S. Lady Madeleine (Hutchinson & Co., 1963), a story partly based on the aforementioned manuscript - this with presentation inscription from Ogden to his son, David.