A Ship Called Oswestry - Part 2

While the second ship to bear the name of Oswestry Grange may have been an adopted member of the family, it met with a similar end to its predecessor, falling foul of one of the most devastating convoy attacks of the Second World War... Convoy SLS 64.



Part Two: The Rhodesian Prince

AS THE first World War ended, the Houlder Brothers shipping company looked to replace the first Oswestry Grange, sunk in a U-boat attack. A new ship, The Rhodesian Prince, was bought and renamed to replace her, but less than four years after Oswestry’s name had been painted across her side, it would face an even more devastating attack than its predecessor.

It was 1937, some 20 years after the demise of the first Oswestry Grange that it’s replacement took to the Houlder supply routes, enjoying just four years of plain sailing. By late January in 1941, enough ships had assembled at Freetown in Sierra Leone, to make up a convoy, but from the outset things looked bleak.

Nineteen of the merchant ships were in such a poor state that they could not maintain the minimum convoy speed of nine knots, but worse still, the navy then announced they could not spare enough ships to escort them.

Convoy SL64 set sail for Liverpool, passing by the navy gunships in port as they headed out to sea, where the 19 slower vessels were soon left behind, leaving the remaining 28 ships to plough on with just a single ocean escort for defence.

A few days in, news reached the crew of Oswestry that convoy HG63, who had started out just a few days earlier, had been attacked. The German submarine U-37 and a squadron of Condor aircraft had sunk six of the ships and damaged a seventh, which had also later sunk, but just when the surviving vessels had thought the worst was over, a large unidentified destroyer had loomed onto the scene, sinking the defenceless Iceland.

The days that followed would have been agonising onboard Oswestry, whose 42 men knew they were being hunted and must have holding their breath as their convoy attempted to slip by unnoticed. Finally there was relief, when two days later on February 19, it seemed the navy had had a change of heart and come to their aid.

The convoy’s log entry read: “06:05 - The Margot sights strange Man o’ War” but it was then that the large unfamiliar ship on the horizon hoisted its battle ensign. It was the Admiral Hipper.


A steely 200m long metal giant, the Admiral Hipper was the first of it’s kind. A new class of German heavy cruiser, designed for the sole purpose of smashing allied supply lines. It was hailed as a new breed of merchant raider, but it’s first outing had not gone well, inflicting only minor damage before engine problems forced the metal monster to limp embarrassingly back to port for repairs. It had remained there for more than a month. Now, finally returned to sea, the Admiral Hipper was out to prove a point.

For Oswestry and the convoy, there was no chance of escape. More than 18,000 tons of German military might was bearing down on the convoy at 30knots. The Hipper carried a crew of 830 and was heavily armed with eight-inch guns as well as 21inch torpedoes, and it was just a few minutes before she was within range and brought her guns to bear.

The Hipper opened fire on the convoy from 3,000 yards. The convoy’s commodore immediately signalled for all ships to alter course, but in their haste the Margot and Blairatholl altered early. It was just what the Hipper had been waiting for and it attacked, destroying first the Warlaby, then the Derrynane, the Westbury, Perseus, Borgestad, Lornaston and finally the Oswestry Grange.

Three ships Derrynane, Borgestad and Lornaston attempted to fight back opening fire on the Hipper, the Borgestad even appearing to hit its control tower, but in return for their display of defiance, the official report describes the three ships as receiving “very heavy punishment.”

The Derrynane and Borgestad were sunk with all hands lost and the Lornaston left badly damaged as the Hipper turned it’s attention back to the merchant vessels, opening fire on the Margot, before the worsening weather came to the convoy’s salvation, forcing the cruiser to break off it’s attack.

Oswestry had been hit in the engine room on her port side, damaging her bridge and shelter deck.

The crew managed to launch the lifeboats and 37 survivors were picked up five hours later, but one boat had been damaged and capsised, drowning five crew. These men are commemorated at the Canadian Halifax Memorial, while George Medals were awarded to the ship’s British, Greek, and Norwegian captains.

It was a desperately sad end for the second Oswestry Grange, while the Hipper would go on to become known as a potent but temperamental killer, deadly at sea, but spending more and more time under repair.


Hitler would eventually become disillusioned with the Kriegsmarine surface fleet and after the Admiral Hipper was used, partly-repaired, to evacuate troops from the Eastern Front, it was scuttled in dock at the Kiel Deutsche Werke yards in 1945, before being broken for scrap in 1948.


CLICK HERE FOR PART ONE - The Oswestry Grange

CLICK HERE FOR PART THREE - Tiger Bay

A Ship Called Oswestry - Part 1

Between 1902 and 1970 four ships criss-crossed the Atlantic, running the gauntlet of the allied supply lines in two world wars, ferrying passengers to Australia, bearing witness to the passing of New Zealand’s greatest leader and even taking a starring role in a Hollywood movie, before being sunk by German naval forces. What linked these ships was their name... Oswestry.


Part One: The Oswestry Grange

The first Oswestry Grange was one of two ships built by shipbuilders Workman Clark in 1902, more than 6,500 tons of steel, shaped into a single funnelled, four masted steamer, 450ft long and capable of 13knots and with accommodation for 39 passengers. Oswestry took her place on the Federal-Houlder-Shire Line service travelling from Britain to Australia and New Zealand.

It was a boon time for the service and as one of its flagships, Oswestry transported dignitaries including New Zealand’s greatest and longest serving prime minister, Richard John Seddon. It was just before setting foot on Oswestry in 1906, that Seddon returning from Australia, sent a famous telegram to the Victorian premier, “Just leaving for God’s own country,” he wrote. Seddon would never see New Zealand again, dying onboard ship the following day, but his description of the country has endured to this day.

In 1912 Houlder Bros disposed of most of their Australian trade and Oswestry was sold on to the Union Steamship Company of New Zealand as the freighter Roscommon. It was during this same period that German high command placed an order for a new batch of their feared U-boat submarines, and while Oswestry was put to work on the supply routes, U-53 was being quietly assembled in Germany’s Germaniawerft Kiel shipyard.
It was finally ready for launch on February 1, 1916 under the command of Hans Rose and would cross paths with Oswestry just once, but with deadly effect.

The sub soon developed a fearsome reputation. Germany had hoped to use submarines to slip supplies past the Allied blockades and had fitted out the weaponless Deutschland and Bremen subs to carry cargo. The ballast tanks of U-53 were specially adapted to carry extra fuel so it could escort the Bremen, but Lt Rose instead put this extra range to more devastating use, emerging unexpectedly just outside US territorial waters and sinking five ships in an attempt to intimidate the Americans. Meanwhile, the cargo carrying Bremen, departed for America, but disappeared en-route.



Early on the morning of August 21, Oswestry was one of 19 steamers attempting to slip unnoticed out of Northern Ireland’s Lough Swilly. It was a tense time, and the fleet began the long process of manouevering from single file into convoy formation, unaware of the submarine below stalking it’s prey. It took almost seven hours to move the convoy into position, but at 11.30am the formation was complete and with a sense of relief, the ships finally began to get under way.

Suddenly alarm bells rang out as the destroyers picked up three torpedoes, headed straight for the ships. There was no time to react. The first torpedo struck the Devonian at the head of her column, a second skimmed past the lucky Vasari just behind her, but the third of U-53’s torpedoes found its mark, striking the second ship on the portside column... Oswestry was hit!


The convoy’s Destroyers immediately launched a counter attack, protecting the stricken ships from further assault, but U-53 was gone, the assassin slipping silently back out into deep water and making good its escape. Five of Oswestry’s crew were killed in the attack, but miraculously, 80 made it to safety, abandoning ship and reaching land.

Captain Trant of The Devonian later spoke of the danger of assembling such long lines of vessels, sometimes up to 12miles in length: “The hours spent forming the convoy had given the submarine ample time to prepare for the attack,” he said, “resulting in the loss of two large and valuable merchant-vessels.” It was a sad end for the first ship to bear Oswestry’s name.



U-53 would prove to be one of the German’s most potent convoy killers, sinking almost 100 ships before it was eventually surrendered and broken up in 1918, but ironically, while the submarine’s earlier attack on a US port had succeeded in intimidating the Americans, it ultimately did not have the effect its commander had hoped.

The Americans had been surprised when the weaponless sub Deutschland slipped the British blockade and suddenly appeared in Baltimore with cargo to trade, but it was the devastating surprise attack by U-53 far beyond a U-boats’ normal range, that would spur the Americans to channel even greater resources into their naval forces.

CLICK HERE FOR PART TWO - The Rhodesian Prince

CLICK HERE FOR PART THREE - Tiger Bay