Chris Martin's survivor story
Amazingly, Chris's son Fabian, tracked me down, partly by this documentary, searching the web, and wanting to help his Father reconnect with some old friends from his long and illustrious career.
I am so grateful. He connected me with Chris and we had a long exchange of texts and images. This is the story of the sinking of the Arctic Explorer, in Chris's words, after surviving 3 days in a life raft with 18 others, and surviving to tell the story.
This is a direct transcript of Chris's messages.
Of course, I remember sending you one.
But thereafter, I lost contact details.
Also, I'm a survivor.
I can tell you about what I have survived.
Several friends believe in guardian angels, and I am starting to think that way, too.
But any angels round me have had their work cut out keeping me going, and I can't see them giving up now with this cancer treatment.
People are saying they've never known anyone so optimistic.
During the Arctic Explorer contract, I knew there would be lots of downtime, so I took all my scraps of paper with people's addresses on them with me to put on a card index system I had with plastic boxes and knitting needle holes round the edges of the cards to sort them. Mechanical database.
I lost all of those contact details of friends around the World.
I also lost my Photographic gear, Canon F1 and incredible lenses. But they were replaceable.
I had deliberately NOT posted all the photographs I had taken as I was using E6 developing, and North America used C41 or similar.
So when the boat sank, I lost all my slide films.
There was a puzzling thing.
We had a mail box on board in the messroom.
We used to post mail in there for the shore manager to collect and post at the last minute before we left port. They didn't need a stamp.
I had written letters back to UK, but I always put the right stamps and postage on them before putting them in the box, as it was overseas mail.
The manager forgot to collect that mail.
BUT,
My mail got back to UK.
I can only think that someone like you, leaving, saw it, took it ashore, and posted it as it was already stamped.
I had seen a newspaper advertisement for a large red workshop toolbox at a good price.
I ordered it, put a cheque in, posted it in the box, and after I got home weeks later, having toured around, (my mother and girlfriend were both out of the country on holiday, so there would be no-one around home, and I chilled in Canada.) The toolbox turned up.
I still use it.
There's still a lot to tell about the sinking and the time in the liferaft.
THE SISTER SHIP
Another installment.
In the months before going to Canada, I had been on the sister ship "Orion Arctic". Operated by CGG. The French crowd.
She was identical, so much so that on the Arctic Explorer, I would sometimes go to my wrong cabin for the first few days.
We called her the tropical icebreaker, and we all practiced with our survival suits.
When I was to join the Arctic Explorer, she was already working offshore.
I was told that she wouldn't be making a port call for a week or so.
But she was about to start the BP contract, whether I joined them or not.
A bit bullying, but that was the way they were.
So, I boarded a small fishing boat and spent a day or so chasing after them in the West Atlantic.
It wasn't too pleasant, especially trying to get on board from the small boat.
I was rather annoyed, because the Arctic Explorer towered above us, and it was obviously low on fuel and water, and was about to have to go to port anyway.
They weren't.
I had to climb onto the roof of the fishing boat's wheelhouse and jump for the pilot ladder on the side of the Arctic Explorer as it was well clear of the water.
We carried on working for another week, before heading into St John's for resupply.
I asked about the boat being so high out of the water, and was told that at a recent survey CSI (Canadian Safety Inspectorate) had insisted on the load line being set lower to make more freeboard on the vessel for working.
I asked about stability tests, and they said that none were subsequently done.
All this was hearsay from the captain, apart from what I could see and feel in comparison with her sister ship I had just come from.
I was also told there were 40 tons of anchor chain in one of the bottom tanks to give her better ballasting, hence stability.
The Orion Arctic used to carry more fuel, even some as ballast but which could be used as emergency / reserve fuel, more drinking water, and pure boiler water for the steam guns used as the seismic energy source.
The figures were far more than the Arctic Explorer and she sat deeper in the water, riding the weather better.
We filled up, and sailed, working normally, until the next port call in St Anthony.
Except that the BP guy was rather uncomfortable when we crossed the harbour in St John's to the bunkering wharf.
"Does it always roll about like this?"
"We're still in the harbour in calm water."
When we left port into the open sea, he was really bad.
I may have given him some sea sick pills that I carried for just such an eventuality as this was common with the client's representatives.
That was where you came in.
But you left in St Anthony. Fortunately.
St Anthony was another crew change, and resupply port call.
This time, we loaded the ship with supplies for working the high Arctic. Apparently, we could get fuel and water in Goose Bay, but little else. Someone said we had up to 8 tons of soft drinks.
I remember 3 massive Bluewater trucks transferring supplies onto the ship.
We had stuff everywhere.
There were also many cardboard boxes on the top deck with spare streamer cable sections in them and other boxes, as there was no-where else to put them on board.
THE START OF THE SINKING
There was a safety meeting ashore, the evening before we sailed. I raised the subject of survival suits as the sister ship had, even though she wasn't working in cold waters.
I was told not to call them survival suits as relatives could sue if we did not survive, but immersion suits.
Anyway we didn't need them as we were "on the safest boat in the fleet."
There was some discussion over load lines, and ballast. As it was usual to sail with the marks under water as no stability test had been done since the marks had been moved.
But the ship had to be trimmed to satisfy the Harbour Master, before departing.
We sailed early next morning, and the crews were mainly asleep.
I always slept with one ear open, like listening for a small child, but in this case, engines slowing, or the ship turning, could indicate making some navigational or operational manoeuvre that needed noting.
Like slowing and turning to start a new line.
So I woke up.
The boat was heeling to starboard, as if in a hard turn, but continued going over.
Something was very wrong.
I pulled on jeans, a genuine Jersey pullover, no shirt, a thin jacket, and put my shoes on. No socks.
The FIRE alarm bell sounded, and someone shouted,
"Head for the water boys. She's going over.!"
I grabbed my passport, my Swiss army knife, put on a life-jacket, and picked up the spare life jacket, which would have been yours, and left the cabin.
The ship was heeled well over.
I went into the Marisat room next door, and hit the SOS /Mayday button on the set.
The lights illuminated "cable unwrap" which meant it was rotating, trying to find a satellite again.
I went into the corridor and met a guy, ( I'll call him J. I'm not saying names) and asked him where he was going.
"To get my life-jacket."
"Take this!" And gave him the spare.
He put it on and I chased him out.
Under the port lifeboat, they were trying to get the winding handle free, where it was painted onto the davit, with numerous layers of paint.
I went back inside and brought out a massive fire axe.
That shifted it.
The boat had been unfastened, and the davits needed to be pumped out using hydraulic rams, powered by the hand pump, wound with the handle.( now free)
As the davits went out, it was obvious that the boat was going to land back on deck, even with the davits fully out.
I told them to free off everything so it could eventually float free, (but we never saw it again.)
I told them to go for the life-raft and throw it over.
There were 2. One each side.
They threw this port one out.
I shouted
"Pull on the rope, and pull it towards you!
I went aft along the port railings, as the boat was listing 40 to 50° to starboard. The same guy J was in front of me.
The raft inflated the right way up, but was behind the boat.
"Pull it forward!"
In training, I had found it almost impossible to get into a raft alone, from the water, and impossible if the raft were upside down in rough water.
So I needed to be in it.
We were level with the raft, below the helideck.
J was in front.
We ran down the side of the ship crossing the water line and running over barnacles that would normally be under water.
The raft was a few feet out as the boat was slowly turning or the wind was catching it.
J was slowing down, hesitating to make the jump.
My adrenaline was pumping.
I hit him HARD between the shoulder blades yelling,
"JUMP.!!!"
He took off, and landed right on top of the raft, dead centre with me still on his back.
It was one hell of a jump and landing.
We crawled inside the raft.
The canopy was flapping loose.
I shouted to the others to come down holding the rope, so as not to get carried away.
5 did, and I pulled them out of the water, using the waves to assist lifting them.
I had to get them to relax, then watching a wave coming, dunk them in before it, so they rode up into the raft.
It's difficult when they and you are wearing life jackets, and people are in shock, or panicking.
I don't think there was time to panic.
It all went very smoothly.
We were all soaked but didn't have time to feel cold.
Looking back at the ship, people were sliding, falling over the starboard side on the large cardboard boxes with the spare streamer sections inside. They floated as there was air, not oil in them.
The starboard life-raft had been launched.
The life-boat that side was already under water. Unusable.
The life-raft had people in it, but the length of rope meant it was level with the exhaust stacks which punctured the floor.
They cut it free.
We had been pulled forward of the wreckage while collecting people.
When there were no more people between us and the ship, I cut the painter with my Swiss army knife.
The boat started to return upright, and the helideck was level with the water.
I saw the captain step off the helideck into the water.
He was the last person I saw leave the ship.
We tried paddling the raft, and screamed to the captain and others to swim towards us, but none moved.
Paddling with hands got us nowhere, and the wind was about a fresh force 6, with sea to match.
It always looks worse from sea level when you are in the waves.
The ship started to slide backwards towards us.
I was sure the ice bridge atop the mast would catch us and take us down.
The floodlights on it were still burning.
They went out as the ship slid beneath us and the ice bridge went under us a few yards away.
Had I cut the pattern a few seconds later, we would have all been lost.
There was a rush of escaping air.
A few more boxes and bits floated off.
It was quiet, and the ship had really gone.
Next installment when I get a chance.
All the best.
I'm almost writing a book here.
I've never written this before.
I'm mentioning no-one by name, for the sake of the relatives.
Cheers bud.
CAPTAIN WENT DOWN
Going back to my account of the sinking,
Some people note that I said "the Captain went down with the ship".
Also that "he stepped off the helideck calmly into the water, clutching presumably the ship's log".
Both are true, as I recall.
When everyone who was mustered, were off the deck, and the wheelhouse, either into life-rafts, onto boxes, or in the water, the vessel righted herself on an even keel with the helideck just level with the water.
He could do no more to save us.
He had already saved us by his actions steering the ship to keep her afloat as long as he did.
His job was done.
He had given us a fighting chance.
As far as I recollect 44 years later, he appeared on the helideck, walked to the stern, and stepped off the helideck, serenely into the water.
We were shouting at him to swim to us.
There was no movement.
He could have died then from thermal shock.
Seconds later, the vessel slid backwards directly towards us, with the rear-facing floodlights on the mast still shining.
Then they went out as the vessel slid underneath us.
I really thought that the ice bridge up the mast would hit us and take us down.
It missed us by metres.
As the vessel slid at an angle towards us.
The sea was full of bubbles, escaping from the dying ship.
There were puffs of steam from the exhaust stacks, and down she went. Captain Jack was no-where to be seen.
I don't know if many people actually saw the vessel go.
I think I said,
"She's gone."
It was very quiet.
But we were no longer in the shelter of the ship, abd we were looking for people in the raw waves around us, which were making things very difficult, cold and wet. As well as smashing us into each other.
Waves were breaking over us and we were being tumbled against each other.
We didn't manage to get any reaction from people in the sea, and they made no effort to grab the quoit and line I threw close to them.
That in itself was problematic, as the line had been coiled like a washing line and was like a coiled spring attached to a fairly light Quoit.
By the time I had seen a person, I was throwing the Quoit and line into the wind.
Maybe had the line gone over their shoulder, one might have grabbed it.
They could have been paralysed with the cold shock already.
They certainly would have passed away peacefully, despite the hectic activity around.
Then we managed to team up with the other raft.
We transferred all the survivors and the emergency cardboard tube of kit to our raft.
I tried to tether it to ours when empty, I thought it would make us a bigger target, should anyone come looking for us, but it was partly deflated, full of water, way to heavy and was pulling us apart, so I let it go.
Then, we focused on bailing and keeping the sea out, until we were hit by a big one, which caught us just wrong.
I hope that throws some light on the apparent inconsistency, as best as I can remember now.
Bless you Jack and thank you.
"They who go down to the sea in ships and occupy their business in great waters;
These men have seen the works of the Lord, and His wonders in the deep.
For at His word, the storm wind ariseth, which lifestyle up the waves thereof.
They are lifted up to the heaven, and down again to the deep."
Psalm 107 : vv 23 to 31.
I'm tired now, a I had a bit of a bad day yesterday, but I'm fine now.
Keep smiling.
THE SINKING
I've just come in from an evening with the Railway and settled down with a German beer brewed in March for the Oktoberfest.
I'll tell you about that some time.
So 7 of us were in the raft and the ship had gone.
People were in the water, along with debris and cable boxes with people on them.
The wind was blowing us towards them, as the ship had dragged us upwind.
The captain had steered the ship so that the wind and sea were holding the ship up for a while.
Hence, our raft was towed upwind of most people, with just a life jacket, were making no effort to swim. Despite us screaming at them. They were probably too shocked and cold.
We were blowing with the wind, but had put our sea anchor out to slow us down. (Like a windsock at an airfield.)
But it had no swivel in the line and simply wound itself up and collapsed inches from the raft.
We drifted past people in the water.
I had a Quoit on a string coiled like a washing line.
I uncoiled it and threw it at each person in turn.
The line was like a coiled spring and I was throwing into the wind.
The quoit was
landing inches in front of each person, and we screamed at them to grab it.
Not one made any attempt to.
The faces of those guys in the water haunted me at night for years.
I could see them looking up at me as I tried to go to sleep.
I hated night-time and trying to sleep.
Also, the nightmares.
The life-rafts have 4 sacks under them, we call elephant's feet. These are supposed to hang down and fill with water and help keep the raft upright.
We paddled over to the other raft, and they towards us, as we had both blown out of the debris field. But they were deflating, from encountering the exhaust stacks.
I tossed the quoit over, and they caught it.
We pulled the rafts together and got 12 people out of their waterlogged raft, as well as the cardboard tube with emergency kit in it.
We tried to tie the rafts together to make a larger target should anyone come looking for us.
Being waterlogged and heavy, it was ripping the two rafts tethering points, and there was a good chance that we would get punctured.
So I cut it loose.
Now there were 19 of us in a 20 man raft and very full.
The raft was very unstable without the elephant's feet.
We caught a wave just wrongly.
The raft folded in half with a massive rush of air out of the over-pressure valves.
We were all folded into the middle like a human Taco shell.
I got everyone to sit around the edges, with a big pile of legs and feet crossed in the middle.
The raft was as floppy as a used condom, and full of water.
I actually thought it had split or punctured.
I got people to look for the pump and the inflation valves.
The cook found the valves behind him and someone found the pump.
The pump was a small rubber hemisphere with a flat base. The sort of thing you might inflate an airbed with.
We passed it to the cook, who said, "Chris, We've got a problem."
I didn't need him to tell me that!!
What he was saying was that the fitting on the end of the pump hose was not compatible with the inflation valve.
They passed it to me and I cut it off with my trusty Swiss army knife. A dangerous thing to have in inflatable raft.
I shaved the hose down until it went in the valve.
I made a papier-maché mess from a handful of cardboard tube and sealed round the connection like putty.
People had to take turns holding the mess in place as others pumped.
It worked, and after a long time, we had 2 tubes inflated.
Something must have happened with the elephant's feet as they started working a bit.
We found the baler to empty the water.
Useless.
It was an A4 or smaller, sheet of rubber folded and stitched at the sides which needed two hands to push the sides in to open it, then it had to be tipped over the side without spilling too much.
Absolutely useless.
More water came in while emptying it.
The canopy was a single skin, held up by an inflated tube as a roof joist.
It was elasticated around the edges and this elasticated edge pushed over the upper sausage ring of the raft.
Every wave that hit us, beat on the canopy and pushed it off that upper tube / sausage. Then filled the raft again.
We had to hold the canopy in place and use someone's boot to bale the water out and tip it out of the Lee side.
We couldn't get the double layered floor to inflate, so there was no insulation from the cold sea. I found out later that it was punctured on the outer skin.
FIRST AND SECOND DAYS
The first day we were all numb, and talked a bit about what had happened.
Many were sea-sick from the motion of the raft and from shock and fright.
It got dark.
There was a light on top of the canopy, which should have come on automatically.
It didn't.
Chasing the wiring, there was no sea water battery.
Looking at the check list, it had been removed when the raft was last serviced, and never replaced.
As it got towards midnight, some aircraft were seen flying overhead.
We had 4 red rocket flares. 2 from each pack.
I fired one up towards a passing aircraft, feeling sure it must have seen it. It seemed to go around it.
With hindsight, it would never have been nearly high enough.
Another aircraft a bit lower, another flare.
But who is going to take much notice on the Canadian coast of a vessel firing red rockets at midnight on the 3rd / 4th of July?!!
We saved our other 2 rockets.
We were already huddled together and spent the night tossing about on every wave, baling water with the boot, which was also used for peeing in, and vomit.
Not a pleasant night, and I don't think anyone slept.
There was almost no talking.
The next day the weather was just as bad, although only about 5 or 6.
Bad enough in the raft.
We opened a can of water and poured some into a tiny measuring cup.
Drink 4 ml and pass it on.
I made everyone drink it.
The water was 7 years old and the cans had been frozen several times.
They were blown out at the ends. There was also a small bar of chocolate stuff, which we all had a bit of.
The first day, it's a rule that no-one eats or drinks anything, as it is wasted when they are sick.
So the second day was rather subdued.
Little talk, and our legs were getting sore from rubbing in the central heap.
We had to keep taking the bottom few legs out and put them on top of the heap to ease cramps and restore some circulation.
It was very cold and very unsavoury, sitting in that "soup" of sea water, vomit, and everything else.
I kept poking my head out of a snorkel in the canopy, but that involved kneeling and balancing on other people.
A few people may also have peeped out.
There was nothing to see, even from the top of a wave.
In fact it was quite frightening.
So we drifted into another cold, wet, frightening night.
The sea temperature had been about minus 1°C as we had been working that area, with the Labrador current and chunks of ice in the form of bergy bits and growlers floating around us.
Some of us were not very well dressed.
Condensation rained down on us continuously as the canopy tightened and stretched.
By now this condensation had rinsed the inside of the canopy somewhat, and by running my finger along it, I could catch sort of relatively clean droplets of water off my finger, to drink.
Some others followed my example.
It tasted very rubbery, and stank of a Wellington boot.
The raft was made by Dunlop.
This blends on to a previous portion of the story.
More tomorrow, maybe.
Goodnight here.
Not a problem.
I've told the story several times in pieces but never written it down like this.
People can't really appreciate what it was like, not having been there.
But you are probably the nearest to having been there but for a day or two, and relate to it better than most.
For one young lad, it was his first trip at sea.
It didn't last very long.
It's actually very therapeutic.
I have many more memories of my life, some even more frightening.
Most great and exciting.
The nightmares lasted several years, and it was very simple how they stopped. But that's probably in the final epistle.
You have my permission to use as much or as little of the story as you wish.
Collect all the pieces and make a reasonable account.
Others may be able to add their experience.
You will need to adjust the order to make sense.
However, I have read a book by Iby Knill.
She starts it aged about 16, goes so far, then reverts to up to 16, then resumes from where she left off.
Very effective.
If ever I wrote a book, I would do similar.
Hers was,
"The Woman without a Number."
THE THIRD DAY
On the third day, the weather was calmer.
We still didn't know if anyone was looking for us.
Looking out of the snorkel in the roof, I saw a strange thing. Among the debris from the boat, most of which had sunk, there was a very large, stripey object floating with gulls jumping on and off it.
It looked like an upturned boat, but we couldn't tell the size, or how far away it was.
We speculated it could have been the upturned aluminium vegetable boat, that had been on the top deck and was used for storing vegetables.
Air temperatures in St Anthony were a balmy 4°C when we were there, the sun had been shining and people were celebrating by wearing shorts.
I said it looked like a giant hamburger, with its guano topping.
That set off food speculation.
"Hamburger"
"Steak and chips"
"Seal flippers"
"Cod cheeks" and a raft of other happy thoughts.
That lifted spirits.
I also cheered people up with singing the inane song, "Always look on the bright side of life." From Monty Python (google it), people started joining in, but hadn't a clue what it was about.
That made everyone feel better, and we were in quite good spirits with the improved weather.
I didn't say anything, but the wind had blown us further offshore.
In my head I could visualize the coastal cliffs, and knew that should the wind change, and we were to be blown against them... Game over.!
One guy had an electronic watch, which had got sea water in it.
The alarm played Beethoven's "für Elise" incessantly in single notes.
We threatened to throw it over the side, but it stopped as more water got in.
He was very protective of it, saying his mother had given it to him, so we let him keep it, but wrapped up to baffle the noise.
It stopped soon after as more water got in.
We heard a noise, and I looked out.
We were located by a Buffalo, which circled round us and dropped orange smoke.
A chopper came out later and put a SARTech (Search and Rescue Technician) guy down to us.
He only spoke Canadian French and was retiring next day, if I remember correctly.
"We get 12"
I interpreted to everyone, and we were elated that just about all crew were accounted for.
None of us knew how many had actually sailed with us.
What he meant was that the chopper could take 12 people, but to take more, he would have to dump firefighting and rescue gear.
We (I) selected the people in the worst medical or mental state to go.
12 went off with the chopper and 7 of us and the SARTech stayed. 8.
While the chopper was winching people up, the downdraught was calming the water, but pressing the roof/canopy down.
The raft was skipping around with only 8 inside.
The chopper left, but the Buffalo didn't.
We waited.
Some time later, we heard the chopper return.
We could hear the twin rotors above us.
The sea went calm again. But the roof didn't cave in.
I discussed with the SARTech whether it would be better to get out onto the roof of the raft like an open boat, as the chopper's downdraught had been tossing us around, and if there were only him and me in at the end, it could well flip over and we would be trapped inside.
Better to be in the water.
He said he didn't know, as he had never had to do it before for real.
I looked out of the snorkel.
All I could see was red.
The guys were asking me what I could see.
I said I needed my eyes to adjust.
RED?
Were my eyes bleeding?
I couldn't touch them.
Were they playing tricks after days of orange light?
I looked up and saw 3 faces looking down at me from the sky.
We had died.!
I couldn't tell the lads.
Then one said,
"TAKE THE ROPE BOY, AND DON'T LET GO."
It was difficult to hear over the noise, and I don't think they heard it inside.
They knew it was the chopper.
I reached under the edge of the canopy and grabbed the rope.
I reversed inside with it.
I showed them the rope, and they asked what it was.
"It's a rope." I said rather unnecessarily.
"And there's a boat out there!"
"Where's the chopper?"
"It's a big red boat!"
The crew put a scramble net over the side and we climbed up.
The SARTech last.
It was great to be on a boat again.
The Coastguard crew were so happy, as were we.
The crew on the CCGC "Grenfell" were brilliant after they had picked us up.
I went up to the wheelhouse in a blanket and explained what had happened.
"Are there any more?"
They recovered the liferaft.
It was in a bad shape, as the gas bottles had chaffed through one of the two staps holding them to the raft.
Had the other strap chaffed through, the bottles would have hung free, probably ripping off the Y connector from the raft, deflating it.
The general opinion was that it would not have lasted another day, or any kind of weather.
Another ship had found 2 bodies further away.
We went round carefully in the debris field picking up bodies and debris.
Am I boring you with all this?
There's a lot to fill in. Around the sinking, trying to get the boats out, getting the liferafts, cable boxes, and lots, once on board "Grenfell" and even the enquiry.
AND importantly, I would like to say something about the people of St John's and St Athony.
They were great and so supportive.
Do you want more?
There's a lot that was never in the public domain, as the enquiry was more about answering questions.
I won't name names of people who didn't survive, as the relatives don't need it stirring up again.
I was the last to see many alive, and dead, identified bodies, and protected them from the press photographers.
One quotation printed in the newspaper was something like.
"By unspoken, but unanimous assent, we all just assumed Chris would take over." (Sic)
What could I do?🤷🏻♂️
I couldn't magic up a boat, or chopper.
They made me out to be a bit of a hero.
One just goes into autopilot in such a situation.
I don't remember sleeping, but think I must have had a nap on the Grenfell, while we headed back to port.
I think I lived on adrenaline for about 4 days.
That's me.
Keep smiling.😊
I warned you I could talk until you say STOP!!😉
THE GRENFELL RESCUE
Hi.
Continuing.
We were on the "Grenfell."
We went round picking up bodies.
Some were wound in the new streamer sections, which floated well after the cardboard boxes had dissolved.
In the raft, people from the starboard raft talked about seeing others sliding across the deck on the cardboard boxes and into the water.
They must have died peacefully in that cold water.
Most bodies had been face up in the water, supported by their life-jackets, and the gulls had got to them first.
Not pretty.
The Coastguard crew laid them out on the deck and covered them respectfully with blankets.
I think we had 8.
There were no more around.
The life-rafts were recovered and any large debris items.
You remember the ribbed large floating object.
While we were still in the raft, it drifted quite close to us, and birds were all over it.
It was a dead hump-backed whale, bloated and floating upside down.
IT STANK as it got nearer.
We went in search of the whale, drove carefully into it, and sank it.
Again, that foul smell.
I looked towards the land and I could see a dark shoreline in the mist.
I commented on how close we were to the shore, and what it would have been like against those cliffs.
That didn't fit with the westerly wind.
I looked in the radar and the coast was miles away.
"That's a fog bank.
If you had been out there another hour or so, we would have been in that, and we'd not have found you today, if ever."
A rather sobering observation.
I showered, had a mug of tea, and some soup, while my clothes were magically washed and dried.
The crew were super.
I had a bite to eat and fell asleep briefly as we steamed back to St Anthony.
I was totally unprepared for the next bit.
We tied up.
All sorts of people came aboard,
Immigration, RCMP,
GSI managers, and the press photographers.
The photographers were taking photos, but then they got among the bodies and started pulling off the blankets to get photos of their faces.
I was shocked, horrified, then furious.
They were our mates.!!
In a red mist, I stormed over to a poor RCMP guy and yelled at him that if he didn't stop the photographers, we would throw them and their cameras into the harbour.!!
They stopped.
I don't know if any of those photos ever got out, but I never saw them.
I was absolutely disgusted by the indignity of those photographers, and I've often said that was the worst part of the whole event.
(I understand that's not uncommon stateside.)
I thanked as many of the crew of the Grenfell as I could find, but never saw the SARTech again. Bless him.
I hope he was happy in his retirement.
We were transported to the hospital. And our 8 dead mates went to the mortuary.
They checked us over and treated our legs. Mine were pretty bad, and it seemed that every hair follicle had got infected.
The soup we were sitting in in the raft was pretty foul. Freezing sea water, but urine, vomit, and other substances, then the rubbing in the pile of legs in the middle of the raft didn't help.
I think that was the coldest I had ever FELT, and I've been in minus 25° inside a tent up a mountain in Nepal, but dry. This was continuously wet, moving so none of it warmed up, and I for one was very frightened.
I couldn't show it.
I prayed a lot silently through the whole 3 days.
But, they cleaned the legs up with some magic potions, and we were fine after a few days.
I asked if they could put us all together so we could talk about it all and support each other, as we were used to working as a crew, like a large family.
Apart from the new lad, I knew all of them, some navigators for up to 10 years, as I had stayed on, despite them making crew changes.
I was told we had been put together into the mental ward, which would have been quite appropriate. 😉
We were interrupted by a very familiar sound. "Für Elise" chirped out continuously again.
His watch had dried out.
We pounced on him and it spectacularly, but jokingly, and he protected it, but it was all show.
It was symbolic of us returning to the normal world.
He managed to stop it.
Incidentally, the owner of the boot we used never claimed it back or admitted it was his, that I was aware.
Planes were chartered and everyone except me and a shore manager, flew back to St John's, where friends, families, and press were again waiting.
And of course a rudimentary inquiry.
I knew that my mother and girlfriend were on holiday in Italy and Malta, so would not have heard about it, and I wouldn't have been home for a while, anyway.
So I sent a message home to say that I was absolutely fine, but staying in Canada for a bit of a break, and would see them when they got back.
So, as I knew all the crew, I provisionally identified them, in the morgue despite their condition, and waited in St Anthony for another 2 bodies that a different ship had found and was bringing to St Anthony, and I identified those too.
That spared the crew identifying their mates in that condition.
Tallying up the crew, my maths says there were 32 who sailed.
12 in the starboard raft, 7 in the port raft, 8 bodies picked up by the Grenfell, 2 with another ship, and 2 we believed went down with the ship, as no-one had seen them emerge from their bunks despite waking them. But those 2 had been notoriously difficult to wake on the previous trip.
That means we may have left one of our mates out there somewhere, or did we bring back 9 on the Grenfell?
I'm not sure. Someone will know.
So after thanking all the people who had helped us, I departed with the shore manager on a small Cessna or similar towards St John's.
But the saga was not over for me yet.
More when I get a chance.
If you are still OK with this.
Goodnight.😴
BACK TO ST JOHN'S
So l left you with me, the shore manager, and the pilot flying southwards towards St John's in a small plane, after identifying the last of the bodies.
I had thanked as many people as possible before we took off.
We rose above the clouds and despite bouncing around a little, it was a pleasant flight.
So far!
We were well south of Gander, when the pilot contacted St John's, and they said we couldn't land because of the fog.
The airport was closed.
We started to head to Gander and called them, but they said they were socked in with fog, and we should go north back to St Anthony.
That was a big problem.
We didn't have enough fuel to make it all the way to St Anthony.!
We headed on to St John's, hoping the fog would lift.
It didn't.
We descended towards where the airport should have been, and through a tiny gap in the fog, I saw the house of a friend I had met when in St John's.
We were not far above it, and it looked like hers.
I suppose it could have been another one. But, I was convinced we were going OK for the runway.
I think I said so to the pilot.
We came out of the fog or cloud, and there was the runway about 30 feet below us.
We nudged over a bit and landed.
Very relieved that we hadn't had to do a forced landing in the wild.
Newfoundland is a bit rocky for that, and there are not too many straight, level unobstructed roads to land on either.
There was no reception party thankfully, as the press were concentrating on the other survivors, as we all had to hang around for a short inquiry, to ascertain roughly what had happened.
There were all sorts of stories circulating and people were trying to find out what had happened, who were missing, died, and why.?
Who had seen each one last.?
The people of St John's were fantastic.
They could not have been more helpful.
They made me out to be some kind of hero.
But what could I have done?🤷🏻♂️
I was in the same boat as the others, literally.
I didn't perform any miracles.
And I did have a vested interest in surviving.!🤷🏻♂️😉
Everyone wanted to help.
I don't really remember going round buying clothes, but I must have done.
It was all a whirl of questions, and people recognising me.
One example:
I realised I had lost my British driving licence, and wanted to hire a car.
Swansea in Wales, who handle the UK driving licences, were on strike, so it couldn't be confirmed that I already had a licence.
The locals thought about it and said,
"Take a test here!"
So, George was duly contacted, who said he could help that day.
I did the eyesight test and a provisional licence test. 25 multiple choice questions.
Yes, I passed.
I said I would hire a car for the test, but of course I couldn't without a licence.
George suggested contacting Pixie Driving school or some similar name.
A lovely lady, I think her name was Brenda or Betty, turned up with her automatic car, and we had a practice drive around the test route.
We duly noted the speed limits, and stopped behind the pedestrian crossings at every junction, then crept forward to the cross road.
We observed 4-way stops, and zippered in turn at islands, even turning right on some reds.
A very new experience for me.
I joined George, while B waited.
I drove round with George and he was conscientious but very sympathetic and helpful.
He handed me a sheaf of composite tickets and told me I had passed.
I thanked him.
B dropped me back in town.
I never saw either of them again
Thank you George and Brenda or Betty.
You were a great help.
CALGARY STAMPEDE
The inquiry only lasted a few days, so sadly, I left the lovely people of St John's and flew to Calgary.
IT WAS STAMPEDE.
On arrival I went high up in the offices of BP, where I met several people including I think the VP and the President.
More importantly, I had met Don Seager, the lovely, soft-spoken guy, I had last seen in St Athony several days before, after spending a couple of weeks with him.on the Arctic Explorer.
The VP or the President welcomed me and asked if I had ever been to Stampede.
"No, but I'd like to."
He picked up the phone and said.
" I want 2 tickets for Stampede tonight on my desk by 3.30."
There were spluttering noises from the other end of the phone, that even I could hear.
He hung up.
There were lots of "how are you?" thanks, and "well done"s, and we parted on very good terms.
Don took me out to a block of flats they called Fawlty Towers.
I had a suite on the 16th floor I think it was.
I had bought some cowboy shirts, string ties, shoes etc which I still have 44 years later.
He said he would collect me to go to Stampede.
True to his word he turned up with the tickets at the appointed time.
Just before, the fire alarm had sounded, and I didn't wait.
I was already dressed for Stampede, so I grabbed my keys and went down the stairs rather rapidly.
Don asked what had happened.
I said I didn't know but was getting a bit allergic to alarm bells ringing.
We had a great time at Stampede.
I'd never seen anything like it.
Don was so proudly enthusiastic about it, and explained what it was about.
We eventually returned to the flats, they were still there, and I crashed out sound asleep, still reliving the shows.
Next day I found out that it was a pan on fire several floors below me, which had caused the fire alarm.
Don was coming to pick me up again, but before he did, the fire alarm rang yet again.
I really was getting very allergic to these alarm bells.
I found out later that someone cleaning a floor had accidentally put the end of a brush stail through the fire alarm glass.
Don had his little red(?) MGB, and had his girlfriend Cathie with him.
We drove out to Banff and Lake Louise for a picnic.
Stunning scenery, great company, and the weather was fantastic.
I still have my Lake Louise silver Dollar.
I told them a bit about the vessel sinking, which was quite therapeutic.
We relaxed in the sun, while Cathie demonstrated her balancing skills, or lack thereof, by falling off a rock into the stream.
Much to everyone's mirth and delight.
She was a lovely lass and I'm sooo glad that they married and had children. They make a great couple.
Well the adventure all had to end, but what a beautiful way.
Like the end of a Julie Andrews film, with a Canadian twist.
I flew back to the UK, and the office had told my mother that I was OK, before they told her about the sinking.
Nevertheless, when we met again, we hugged each other so hard that it cracked one of her ribs.!!🫤
I would really like to thank all the people who were so kind, helpful, sympathetic, and tolerant with us, after the sinking.
I send my love to you and the families of those whom we couldn't rescue but who live on in all our memories.
I will add some notes about this, tomorrow, but if you want to know anything specific just ask.
You can use or publish any or all of this, as long as by editing, you don't change the meaning or context.
Goodnight.
THE BLOOD STORY
Hi
Yes it was another friend over therein Halifax who had a very weathered red MGB. Another had very shabby black Z28 Camaro. It was almost Easter, and the roads around there were icy especially in the villages where there was no salt on the roads, because people were using well water. That despite the rubber, diesel, and oil fron the breathers of those great big rigs hauling trailers around.
The Z28 just didn't want to move around on ice, or stay on the road.
As you say, I am blood group O+, the universal donor. Out in the Persian Gulf, there was always a shortage of blood and Australians passing through would sell their blood to finance their walkabouts. Some was very dodgy.
They were keen to have my blood, but the haematologist sent it to the lab to get it checked.
"Have you ever had, malaria etc?"
"Yes and filaria, amoebic dysentery, cholera, dengue fever, sandals fever," and I reeled off a load more.
I was about to give it free. The results came back and the Haematologist said,
"It's like a zoo in there, and if we gave it to anyone, it would kill them."
Incidentally, I have had so many vaccinations for smallpox, polio, dyphtheria, meningitis, pneumonia, shingles, Typhoid, Rabies, Tetanus, Japanese Encephalitis, and many more which give lifetime immunity, that I asked a phlebotomy if my blood could be used to immunise other people with the whole cocktail, as it was full of antibodies.
A Haematologist heard and said she would be willing to have my blood anytime, and simply top up the flu, Covid-19, Tetanus, etc as needed.
I think they may have a different opinion, now!
A video interview is not impossible I'll talk to some people here.
I made one a month ago for the BBC Making a Difference Awards.
Your grandfather's life through and after the Great War would be an interesting project.
I visited the Menen Gate, (Menin we call it) last year in time for the Last Post ceremony they perform at 8pm every day.
The only time they stopped was when the Germans were actually occupying Ypres, but as soon as they were chased back into Menen, the ceremonies resumed.
Even with bullets cracking past.
My daughter Sophie is back in the UK with her Squadron of troops, and they should be clear from their base by tomorrow evening.
She is planning to go to a historic railway on Sunday, and may call in on me on her way back up north before continuing with Amazon on Monday. She has ¼ of the UK sites.
From Daventry up to the Scottish Border.
It's a big job, and she only turned 30 this June 30th.
I'll be volunteering on an historic Railway tomorrow, if this storm passes, then picking my grapes for a friend to try to crush for wine in the afternoon. They are only small bunches of small, sweet, black grapes, abd squash well for wine.
No use for much else, and they have seeds. But they are a very hardy Russian variety.
The main aim is to pick them when they are ripe enough, but the birds haven't realised they are. After a very dry summer and rain in the autumn with sunny spells, they are ideal.
We are all inundated with pears and now apples. The blackberries were first and fantastic.
Then the plums, greengages and damsons. A great year for fruit in my rather overgrown garden.
The wildlife love it.
Especially the hedgehogs and grass snakes.
And the birds eat out of my hand.
ADDITIONAL NOTES
Hi Don and Cathie.
I have just gone through your original film etc on your web-page and I REALLY LOVE IT.
It all seems to come genuinely from the heart.
Were I you, I would not CHANGE any of that.
I would simply make updated notes if you want to, pointing out that since making it, more information has come to light through me, who is very much alive ( or just hanging in there, thanks to our NHS and a greater power and a flight of overworked guardian angels, who somehow have kept me alive through all sorts of situations.)
Having been contacted by my son, who trawled through the WWW to find you, and put us in touch after 44 years.
I'm still as mad as ever, and although I am nominally retired, I am involved physically in many charities, and organisations.
Historic museum railways, heritage canals, schools, nursery groups, community groups, churches, villages, especially with a red suit this time of year, and a hi-vis orange suit for chainsaw and other work, when not dressed in red.
I am slowed down in my adventures these days by my cancer and its treatment, which is rather inconvenient.
The ship had a gross registered tonnage of 991 tons, (some say 993, but that's immaterial.)
The vessel sank on July the 3rd.
Midnight on the 3rd / 4th July, is not the best time to be firing red flares if you want people to take notice.
We owe a lot to so many people who came together to help us.
The Buffalo crew,
The Chinook crew,
The SARTech,
The "Grenfell" crew.
The hospital and rescue services.
The RCMP, who got a grip on the situation and Press photographers in St Anthony.
All the lovely people who were so helpful to us in St Anthony, St John's, Calgary, and I must mention specifically George at the test centre, and was she Brenda, the lady from Pixie driving school St John's? While DVLA in Swansea were on strike)
Everyone I've directed to the original site love it.
Cheers bud.
Well done, thank you from all of us who survived, and those who didn't, but are still with us in spirit.
Well done in your research.
Proud of you.