John Kean - SS Thistlegorm: WW2s Greatest Shipwreck

Preface

Table of Contents

A Hard Days Work

The First Interview

Eagles and Lions

Sunrise in Ras Mohammed

Glyn Owen at Sea

Thistle Origins

Watching Thistlegorm

Briefing Time

A Close Encounter

John Whitham at Sea

Something in the Sky

Ray Gibson at Sea

The Strike

Getting a Grip

Glyn Owen - Under Attack

Dive One

Ray Gibson - Under Attack

In for a Pounding

Angus Macleays Story

John Whitham Under Attack

Dive Two - Into the Past

Dennis Gray - Under Attack

Fallen Eagles

Glyn Owen - Going Home

Ray Gibson - Going Home

John Whitham - Going Home

Dennis Gray - Going Home

The Undersea World

The Sharm el Sheikh Story

The Bomb Collector

End of the Line

The Mast

Saving SS Thistlegorm

The Fifth Survivor

A Day to Remember

Contributors

Epilogue

SS Thistlegorm Facts and Figures

About the Author

Hardback Edition

Also by the Author

Contact the Author

Acknowledgements

It will be another hour and a half before Miles Rogers will see sunrise, such are the daylight hours during October. He reaches over and presses the snooze-button on his tiny, but high-pitched alarm clock beside his bed. Cursing it, he decides to turn the thing off altogether, knowing that to risk a lie-in might mean oversleeping and leaving ten, very annoyed diving guests, standing on the jetty waiting for their overdue guide to appear. Not worth it. He heaves himself up, wipes his sleepy eyes and heads towards the kitchen looking back at his little black cat, fast asleep on his bed, curled up in a ball without a worry in the world. He will sleep for hours, however, Miless day has just begun and it will be a long and demanding one.

Miles is a Sharm el Sheikh divemaster. A few hours from now, he will be 100 feet underwater guiding a group of divers around one of the most famous shipwrecks in the world.

A look into the bathroom mirror reveals stubble and a mop of hair that could do with a comb. He shaves to make himself feel more awake or at least look more awake. Divemasters have a small selection of tricks to beat the early morning blues, but nothing was better than that first cigarette.

Outside his house, in the Sharm el Sheikh residential suburb of Hadaba, the dive centre minibus beeps its horn. Its time to go. Miles carries his hot mug of coffee into the front passenger seat and turns down the music. Music, of course, being a loose description of the B-side of some dodgy cassette-tape that hotel managers like to play in their reception areas. This tape is old, worn, plays at half speed, and sounds like a cry for help from a wounded desert dog. Ibrahim complains.

Its bad enough during the daytime, Ibrahim, never mind at four am!

He scoffs, and drives off through the deserted streets in the direction of Naama Bay for the first of his two pick-ups. Four guests are staying at the Hilton and the remaining six up at the old Tivoli on the hill. It will take a good half hour before reaching the Travco jetty in Sharm where they will board their boat for the long trip to Shab Ali out in the Straits of Gubal.

Good morning, everyone, shouts Miles, his smile revealing a set of pearl-white teeth. A few guests stir from their seats and notice the tall divemaster standing with his clipboard looking suspiciously more awake than they are. He chuckles inwardly, knowing only too well that his sprightly demeanour is the result of a badly needed cigarette and a timely shot of caffeine. Time to rock n roll, folks! One by one, they rise to their feet and follow Miles out to the car park where Ibrahim had dared to turn the up the volume by a fraction of a decibel. Hes quickly on his case so he gives up and turns it off altogether.

They arrive at the Tivoli where only five guests are present. Perhaps number six has a hangover, or just changed his mind at the last minute. Hes already prepaid 120 Euros to dive the wreck. Itll be an expensive lie-in. Miles picks up the telephone receiver on the front desk and dials room 157.

Good morning, Mr Wreck Diver, your carriage awaits.

Drop dead you

Now, now! Thats not in the brochure youve got five minutes and then were gone.

OK, OK, Ill be right out.

Finally, number six appears, to a slow-hand clap. The unshaven, dishevelled guest, plucked unceremoniously from his slumber crawls into the minibus and grumbles something about Being on holiday. He neednt worry too much for as soon as he has his tank set up he can sleep the whole way there, until, of course, a very brave crewmember wakes him up for a breakfast that he probably wont want.

The Travco jetty is surprisingly busy for four-thirty in the morning, a long line of sleek white craft stretch the length of the floating marina. Most are safari boats getting ready for their next seven-day trip at sea. They will take on board about ten tons of water, a mountain of food for the three meals a day and a complement of up to 16 guests who, with any luck, will all get on with each other. Each boat has a compressor to fill the empty tanks after dives until well into the evening when the silent hush of the generators die down and the final sleepy guest heads for his cabin. Miles was a safari guide for two years before opting for the less demanding schedule of daily guiding. Sometimes, he wasnt so sure that hed made the right choice especially on days like today. At least on safari he could lie in until seven-thirty.