Orders, Decorations, Medals and Militaria

An exceptional Second World War clandestine operations D.S.M. group of five awarded to Leading Seaman J. R. ‘Joe’ Houghton, Royal Naval Patrol Service, who served as Coxswain of the trawler N. 51 (MFV 2020) in a number of bold and hazardous operations to the waters off Occupied France, in order to embark or disembark a variety of “mail” and agents, the whole under the auspices of the Admiralty’s top secret “Inshore Patrol Flotilla”


Distinguished Service Medal, G.VI.R. (JX.196094 J. R. Houghton. L. Smn.) official correction to prefix; 1939-45 Star; Atlantic Star, clasp, France and Germany; War Medal, nearly very fine and extremely rare (4) £4000-5000

D.S.M. London Gazette 1 December 1942: ‘For distinguished service.’

Seedie’s Roll states ‘very secret service’.

A better example of Admiralty understatement would be hard to find than the bland entry in The London Gazette that heralded the announcement of the award of the D.S.M. to ‘JX. 196094 Leading Seaman Joseph Richard Houghton, and to five other naval ratings, all of whom were his partners-in-crime in several outings in the disguised trawlers N. 51 and P. 11 to waters off Occupied France in 1942, from whence they returned laden with “mail” and agents, the whole for the benefit of the Naval Intelligence Division (N.I.D. (C.)), the Secret Intelligence Service (S.I.S.), or Special Operations Executive (S.O.E.).

Fortuitously, one of their operations was recorded at length by “Steven Hume”, actually onetime skipper of N. 51 (real name Stevenson Moir MacKenzie), in Blackwood’s Magazine in May 1946, appearing under the title Operation Marie Louise. But it was not until 1996 that the full story of these tough and daring trawlermen could be told in its entirety, for in that year Sir Brooks Richards, himself an ex-S.O.E. Officer who witnessed first hand some of these operations, published his official H.M.S.O. history, Secret Flotillas, a work made possible by him having been granted access to ‘closed official archives’.

Fact, some say, is often stranger than fiction, and this wartime story is rich in events and characters that go a long way to proving it. Other than the usual wartime politics and intrigue that encourage the Intelligence scene’s inter-departmental rivalry, larger than life characters like Commander F. A. Slocum, R.N., Naval Intelligence’s man on the spot, Lieutenants MacKenzie and Lomenech, not to mention agent extraordinaire, “Remy”, regularly loom up on the horizon, their combined expertise keeping the lifeline to France open.

Following the fall of France in 1940, and the setting up of assorted initiatives to maintain contact with the underground in France, it befell the Royal Navy, as it did two Squadrons of the Royal Air Force, to act as transport for agents, supplies and “mail”. To begin with, the former generally employed M.G.Bs or submarines to undertake these hazardous operations, but in the course of 1941 another idea was muted by Daniel Lomenech, a Free French Officer who had come to the Royal Navy via an early submarine ‘pick-up’ , and who was well versed in the habits of the Biscay fishing fleets. His idea was for a trawler to be sent from England to rendezvous with a French one, between which a quick exchange of “parcels” could take place, without having to risk our more valuable submarines, or, for that matter, M.G.Bs. And, unsurprisingly, perhaps, this proposition struck a chord with their Lordships, or certainly those who represented them within Intelligence circles. Accordingly, Lomenech was asked to go in search of a suitable vessel, and in due course he located a 60-foot Concarneau trawler in Newhaven. Then being employed as a patrol ship, with pennant No. 51, she was stripped of her guns and despatched to a Sussex boat yard to be thoroughly “re-Frenchified”.

As it happened, further impetus was found in the pressing need for just such a trawler to collect “Remy”, actually Colonel Gilbert Renault, the creator and head of the Confrerie de Notre Dame (C.N.D.), an important intelligence agency operating in Occupied France. He, too, was sympathetic to the trawler suggestion, having even made similar noises to his S.I.S. contacts in London. And so it was that the ex-N. 51 found her way back home, if only for fleeting visits, the first of which became known as “Operation Marie Louise”.

Anxious to maintain security, but no less keen to employ natural-born seamen, Mackenzie, N. 51’s newly appointed skipper, and Lomenech, his Second-in-Command, opted for a British crew drawn from the Royal Navy Patrol Service, ‘men from Lowestoft, North Sea fishermen who spoke seldom, but who knew the sea from childhood.’ And as it turned out, their choice was inspired. MacKenzie continues:

‘We could not have done better. Few active service ratings would have cared for the cramped quarters, or for the eternal smell of fish and diesel oil which the bilges exuded, no matter what steps were taken to clean them. These men had lived for fishing before the war; they asked for nothing better than to resume their normal lives under naval auspices. In time one or two misfits were weeded out, but right from the start they were a first class crew.

By February 1942, the N. 51 was in as good shape mechanically as was ever was likely, although her speed was worryingly slow at 6 or 7 knots. Having recently been moved to Dartmouth, she now sailed for the Scillies, which would remain her ‘home port’ for the coming months. And in the secluded anchorage between Tresco and Bryher, in the shadow of Cromwell’s castle, her warpaint was applied, ‘blue hull, brown upperworks, and a French name and number.’ Meanwhile, a date in April had been set for a rendezvous with the trawler carrying “Remy”, five members of his family, another agent and some mail. Much to the disappointment of all concerned, however, a message arrived from France asking for a postponement. Not to be outdone, having come so far, MacKenzie requested a trial-run reconnaissance off France, and was delighted to be given the go-ahead for “Operation Pillar West”. Thus it was, on 20 April, that the N. 51 edged her way out of harbour. MacKenzie takes up the story after a good first day at sea:

‘That night we hove-to and rocked in the long Atlantic swell until dawn, when we closed the coast to make a landing near Concarneau. The landing itself was to show what could be done with impunity on the German back door-step. We went ashore on a small islet half a mile from the mainland and photographed the shoreline from Concarneau itself to Port Manech entrance, sailing in and out in the ship’s dinghy, while the N. 51 patrolled up and down a couple of miles offshore ... From time to time convoys passed along the route from Brest to Lorient. Minesweepers and patrol boats formed the escort, driving relentlessly through the busy fleets, but paying no attention to the craft around them. In the blue sky over Penmarch itself white puffs of smoke showed where an A.A. battery was holding a practice shoot, and through the glasses one could see the target plane towing a drogue. We might have been in Lyme Bay for all the attention anyone showed us.’

After more photography the following day, trawler and crew returned safely to the Scillies, this first voyage having brought confirmation of their ‘highest hopes’. Meanwhile, they continued training for any number of eventualities:

‘We carried out exercises on shore, held revolver and small-arms shoots, perfecting our drill. In our disguise as an innocent fishing boat there was no room or opportunity to mount a proper gun, so we relied on the surprise element, together with Sten-guns, grenades and pistols, in case we should be hailed for examination by a German fishery patrol boat. We had practised such a surprise attack with an M.L. in which only the Captain knew our intentions. The result had given us confidence, and much assistance in deciding where best to conceal guns and grenades.’

One month later to the day of her first sortie into the unknown, the N. 51 set off on her second attempt to rendezvous with “Remy” and his family, but after waiting at the correct place for longer than was comfortable, a disappointed MacKenzie ordered the Coxswain to set course back to the Scillies. It turned out that their contact had been detained in port as a result of an R.A.F. raid.

Finally, however, on departing for a third attempt on 16 June 1942, everything went to plan, although, as MacKenzie explains, not without moments of anxiety:

‘We reached the position with half an hour in hand, and proceeded to steam up and down as though we were trawling ... A little after six, black smoke appeared on the southern horizon, quickly followed by the appearance of five German corvettes steaming up the convoy route towards us. We held our course, watching them anxiously, for they would pass all too close. Or would they pass? Was this a trap? Had Remy been caught and our plans uncovered? As the corvettes came on, Jasper [Lawn], the Cox’n, nudged my arm and pointed towards the islands. A tiny white sail had appeared there, too far off to identify but clearly making out to sea. The excitement grew intense; the corvettes lent the final touch of colour to the situation. We reached the end of our run and turned, letting them overtake us to starboard, between us and the islands. They passed us belching black smoke, the nearest less than a cable distant. We could see the Captain examining us through glasses on the bridge, watched the German sailors idling on deck: holding our thumbs we turned our backs on them. Then they were past, the casual inspection over. We watched the white sail tacking to and fro till the corvettes had disappeared. At last it steadied on a seaward course, making directly for us. We let it approach until we could identify it; everything fitted the description we held ... We made our signal, identified ourselves and went alongside.’

But instantly MacKenzie became concerned when only three people were to be seen in the small trawler. Where were “Remy’s” wife and children? And it was only as the two vessels were in the process of tying-up that they emerged, much to the amazement of the N. 51’s crew who could not believe that they could be so well hidden in ‘such a cockleshell of a boat’. This was as well, for a little earlier the Germans had stopped and inspected her. The lengthy procession included “Remy”, clutching an eighteen-months-old baby, followed by his wife, three other children aged between five and eleven years, and a man with several suitcases. Rapidly they were helped on board and within five minutes the N. 51 had cast off and set course for home:

But two shocks awaited the happily united agent-runners and their human cargo:

‘At one moment in the afternoon [on the following day], off the Ile de Sein, an armed trawler came up from astern to pass us close on the port side. As luck would have it, we were on top of a line of unattended trammel nets. While she passed we stopped to haul them in, and were busy picking the spider crabs from them when the officer of the watch swept us with his glasses from the bridge.’

And:

‘The last and nastiest shock came at about ten in the evening. We were passing Brest well to seaward when we were sighted by three destroyers steaming parallel to the coast some five miles to the starboard. In a craft purporting to be an innocent French fisherman we felt a little conspicuous at this particular moment, making our maximum speed northwards with dusk coming on. As though to confirm our worst fears one of the destroyers broke away from the flotilla and headed towards us. For five minutes - or was it five years? - she held her course, gathering speed. We waited hopelessly for a challenge to blink imperiously from her lamp. Then she turned away and stopped. Exercises? We did not wait to see. The sky ahead was turning grey, and it grew darker every minute. Thankfully we watched the darkness surround us, and set about getting up the Lewis guns. From dawn onwards we should be in British waters, no longer in disguise, and allowed to hit back if necessary.’

Finally, that afternoon, the Scillies hove into view, and the N. 51 made a previously agreed rendezvous with an M.G.B., handing over her grateful passengers for the final stage of their journey. The occasion was brightened by the skipper of the M.G.B., who brought his boat in at speed, the ‘martial crash of a Sousa march’ belting from the loud hailer. ‘This’, noted Mackenzie, ‘was the end of a venture, a fittingly dramatic end to a voyage full of excitement.’ He further noted:

‘The N. 51 was left to herself at the anchorage to resume the drab grey of an auxiliary naval trawler. How many times she changed colours in the succeeding months and years I would not like to guess. Suffice it to say that link had been forged; it endured for more than two years!’

Indeed the future of what Captain Slocum had decided to christen the “Inland Patrol Flotilla” was assured, not least when it was discovered that among the secret mail landed with “Remy” was a blueprint of the coastal defences that the Todt organisation had planned for Normandy.

Meanwhile, another French trawler, to be named P. 11, had been found and fitted out, but she was too small for a crew to live aboard. Consequently, she was manned by P. 51’s crew when embarked on operations off France. As stated by Sir Brooks Richards, they carried out the first of these outings in August and in September, on both occasions under the command of Lomenech.

The August trip, which lasted for five days, involved the P. 11 making a rendezvous with a cutter-rigged crabber from a small fishing port close to Le-Guilvinec. A successful exchange of S.O.E. stores took place in the vicinity of Ile-d’Yeu, but two promised C.N.D. agents failed to make their appointment. And the September run to a rendezvous off the Glenans Islands cast another shadow on events, the skipper of the French boat complaining of the recent introduction of stringent Nazi security at his home port at Concarneau, so stringent, in fact, that he was not prepared to embark “Remy” and another agent who had come out on the P. 11. Nonetheless, a successful exchange of mail took place, and Brooks Richards, who was on board P. 11 for this operation to see how Lomenech worked, found ‘his confidence, courage and local knowledge extremely impressive.’

Lawn also made a brace of additional trips in P. 51, in “Operation Grenville II” in October, when “Remy” was delivered back to his trawler with the usual mail, and again in November, in “Operation Grenville III”, when another C.N.D. agent was successfully embarked.

In the following month, the gallant Coxswain and his fellow ratings from the N. 51, Leading Seaman J. R. Houghton, Engineman J. “Jock” Fryirs, Stoker J. L. Paris, Leading Cook E. Nash and Telegraphist F. R. Mankelow were all gazetted for D.S.Ms, while Daniel Lomenech, Lieutenant, R.N.V.R., was awarded the D.S.C. He would add a Bar to his decoration for similar activities in the following year. MacKenzie, meanwhile, another “Wavy Navy” man, seems only to have been awarded a Croix de Guerre, but far greater “prize” was forthcoming in the form of Miss Sykes-Wright, Commander Slocum’s auburn-haired secretary, who accepted his proposal of marriage - and a D.S.C. did eventually arrive in March 1945. Houghton and his fellow ratings received their well-earned decorations at an investiture on 9 February 1943.

Joseph Richard Houghton was born at Slaidburn, Yorkshire, on 13 August 1915. He volunteered for service in the Navy on 28 May 1940, for the period of hostilities only, and was posted to Europa, the Royal Naval Patrol Service depot at Lowestoft. He reportedly spent the next 12 months in Iceland and came back with the convoy which brought home the Prime Minister. From June 1940 to August 1941 he served aboard the minesweeper Whitethorn, before returning to Europa once more. In November 1941 he transferred to H.M.S. Forte, the Coastal Forces Base at Falmouth, for special service in Le Dinan (a.k.a. N.51 and MFV 2020). He remained attached to N.51 until January 1945, when he moved to H.M.S. Mount Stewart, the Naval Special Operations training base at Teignmouth, for six months. In October 1945, he was assigned to Fée des Eaux (MFV 2025), another Concarneau motor-trawler that Lomenech had originally found with Le Dinan, part of the Inshore Patrol Flotilla established to meet the needs of S.O.E. operations. Joe Houghton was finally released from the service as a Wartime Petty Officer in the R.N.P.S. on 26 November 1946.

Sold with original Certificate of Service, a Route Order to attend Investiture (9 February 1943), National Identity Card, and a hand-written testimonial from Lieutenant John Garnett R.N.V.R., dated 20 December 1942, ‘Leading Seaman Houghton has been under my command for seven months. During this time he has performed as Cox’n of MFV 2020 with nine ratings under him. At all times he has been satisfactory. Owning a fishing boat of his own in Peace Time makes him fully able to handle and look after an MFV. His victualling has never caused any complaints. He leads the men under him in a way that willingly gets the most possible out of them. I recommend him unconditionally for the rating of Petty Officer (P.S.)’