“WHAT ON EARTH IS THERE TO TALK ABOUT?” – AN ACT OF WARTIME HEROISM FORGOTTEN, AND REMEMBERED

 

 

(Author: Alon Shapira, Vol. 79 * No. 1 * Winter 2024)

 

 

‘What on earth is there to talk about? There were dozens of chaps that did far more than I could ever have done – they should get the publicity, not me”                                                                                                                   Bernard Friedlander

 

Introductory note

A remarkable piece of history long known to Jewish Affairs was recently offered to the UK’s Jewish Chronicle (JC). The article was entitled ‘Revealed’ as its subject, Bernard Friedlander’s George Medal in 1947 had never been reported in the venerable journal. JC Editor Jake Wallis Simons did not respond to the submission. In contrast to the inexplicable omission in the 1940s, his reason is discernible. It is best disclosed in concert of South African, New Zealander and British testimonies, which altogether reveal that Friedlander’s heroism was not uniformly known or recalled by fellow survivors, compatriots and allies alike, and in some cases revised and usurped, while his being Jewish was almost entirely ignored. These startling lacunas are reflected in the historiography, now further illuminated by Friedlander’s hitherto unknown archive, where the significance of his being Jewish also comes to the fore.

 

 The Bernard Friedlander story

On 23 November 1941 Lance-Corporal Bernard Friedlander of the 3rd Transvaal Scottish was among a large number of members of South Africa’s Union Defence Force (UDF) taken prisoner by Axis forces in North Africa during Operation Crusader. The capture took place during the battle of Sidi Rezegh, near Tobruk, Libya. The POWs were transported 450 km to the port of Benghazi destined for camps in Italy. 

On 8 December 1200 South Africans, about 500 New Zealanders and a similar number of British POWs were loaded on VM Sebastiano Venier. A modern Italian-made vessel, this had been sold to a Dutch company (which named it Jason) and then seized by the Italian authorities and renamed after the German invasion of the Netherlands in May 1940. It was escorted by a small Submarine Destroyer, Centauro. The journey was a hazardous one as by this time British intelligence, using the Enigma machines, were able to decode enemy messages and, unlike hospital ships, prisoner transports were unmarked. The following afternoon, the ship was torpedoed by a British submarine HMS Porpoise five miles off the Greek coast, near Methoni on the southwest tip of the Peloponnese. More than 400 men were killed, both from the blast and the aftermath. The Italian captain and some of his crew fled in lifeboats, leaving a German engineer to steer the stricken vessel close to shore, grounding on a reef.  

Jason, with over 1500 prisoners still aboard, pounded by heavy seas at Methoni, off the south-western Greek coast.

After a failed attempt by British seamen to swim ashore with a line, Friedlander volunteered, diving into the icy waters during a tempest. Over the next 90 minutes he succeeded in hauling the rope ashore. A cable was then attached and pulled to shore, and by this means many hundreds of prisoners and all the wounded were taken to safety. The rescue lasted over two days, during which the ship was fortunate to avoid a second, unsuccessful torpedo by the returning Porpoise. That task was completed two days later by another submarine, HMS Torbay. By then the injured had been transported on a hospital ship, and the rest incarcerated seven miles north in the dungeons of the castle in Pylos. The most precise numbers are that 431 died, 230 were injured and 1769 survived.

Jewish Affairs first reported Friedlander’s heroics in August 1943, when he was still a POW; and again, two years later, in August 1945, shortly after Friedlander’s repatriation and the announcement of his being awarded the George Medal. To accentuate the contemporaneous omission in the JC, the award was first announced on 20 July 1945 in The London Gazette listings from the Central Chancery of the Orders of Knighthood: ‘The KING has been graciously pleased to approve the award of the George Medal in recognition of conspicuous gallantry in carrying out hazardous work in a very brave manner’ – ‘No 214876 Lance-Corporal Bernard Friedlander, 3rd Transvaal Scottish Union Defence Force’.[1]

To further underline the peculiar lacuna in the JC at the time, Friedlander was decorated by King George VI in Pretoria on 31 March 1947. Though ‘Royalty in South Africa’ was briefly reported in the JC on 4 April 1947, there was no mention of the George Medal ceremony, which as expected, was reported in South Africa, though not in JA.[2] 

The Friedlander archive

Recently Friedlander’s daughters Sheila Suntup and Judy Mindel donated their father’s archive to The Chaim Herzog Museum of the Jewish Soldier in World War II in Latrun, Israel [see APPENDIX]. The compilation is a small treasure of documents, photographs and other news clippings. It includes an article from an unnamed journal ‘Most Thrilling Experience’ recounting Friedlander’s parents departing for Pretoria for the George Medal ceremony, and two photographs of Friedlander being decorated by His Majesty the King. The jewel in the crown is Friedlander’s wartime diary. The material is largely unknown and markedly affects the historiography till now.

The archive’s initial revelations are the first reports of Friedlander’s heroism by two South African medical orderlies, Lewis Myers and L.E. Wooley, who were repatriated early in 1942 and 1943 respectively. Myers was reported in three papers in June 1942, but it was a year later that the latter’s ‘Gallant Rescue by South African Jewish Corporal’ was published in Jewish Affairs. In the same month, Woolley swore an affidavit with a list of seven supporting names. The wording, closely repeated in The London Gazette, suggests its source was Wooley’s affidavit, sworn to a military Warrant Officer in Pretoria on 16 August 1943.

The first dated article, ‘Springbok’s Courage’, is just seven months after the incident on June 14, 1942, in the Sunday Times Johannesburg. ‘Lewis Myers, an exchange prisoner of war now in Johannesburg.’ briefly recounted the incident. In two longer articles, one for The Port Elizabeth Advisor, titled, ‘Port Elizabeth Man’s Amazing Wrecked Prison Ship Valiant Struggle in Heavy Seas to Save His Fellows’, Myers referred to his ‘close chum… who was willing to risk his life’.

Myers gave a more intimate portrait in the preceding article: Was with Bernard for 3½ months in Greece. Had a rough time as the Greeks have no food so the prisoners did not get much. Bernard and I used to pass the time by catching the lice and recording from day to day how many we caught. One should be proud of Bernard as he was the first S.A. to put his foot on Greek Shore. When the ship was torpedoed, they did not know how to get across, some boys could not swim and they had the sick and wounded to contend with, so Bernard stripped, dived into the sea and swam for a mile or more to the shore to make a lifeline for the boys to get across thus saving a good many lives. The boys treat him as some-thing of a hero, and he deserves to get a medal.

Myers evidently exaggerated the length of Friedlander’s swim, when another ‘protected personnel from field ambulance units’, Driver L.E. Wooley, provided his testimony in newspapers and an Affidavit. Again, three articles, including Jewish Affairs, August 1943. Wooley was more concise on a number of details: ‘A German major took charge’ and ‘The ship finally grounded on a reef about 50 yards from the Greek coast….’ JA emphasised: ‘Lance Corporal Friedlander offered to make an attempt to swim ashore with a line, after one or two other attempts had failed because of heavy seas.’ An unsourced article specifies it was ‘a British soldier’ who failed. ‘L/Cpl “Bull” Friedlander of 3rd Transvaal Scottish then swam to shore with a lifeline to which a heavy cable was attached. “One by one we gripped the cable and hand over hand worked our way to the shore. By the time it was dark, and the Germans and Italians lit fires all over the beach to make sure no one escaped, and stretcher cases were left aboard until the following day when they were rescued.”

Wooley’s most comprehensive testimony was in his Affidavit, sworn to a military Warrant Officer in Pretoria on 16th Day of August 1943, the same month he was repatriated. The essential details: … the ship grounded and, as an intense gale was blowing and waves were breaking over the ship, there was every possibility of her turning turtle at any moment. Several British Merchant Seamen (P.O.W.’s) endeavoured to swim ashore with a lifeline but all had to be pulled back onto the ship without attaining their object, as they could make no headway against the heavy seas. Each was in an extreme state of exhaustion when they were brought aboard again. Friedlander … then volunteered to attempt to reach the shore with the lifeline. After about an hour and thirty minutes, Friedlander succeeded in reaching the shore. A cable was then attached to a lifeline and pulled to the shore. By means of this cable, hundreds of prisoners, including large number of injured, were able to reach the shore and safety.

After listing seven fellow POWs who could confirm his statement, Wooley concludes: “If the Red Cross officials would contact any of the men at present POWs, who were on this ship, they will also substantiate my statement. It was the opinion of all concerned that through L/Cpl Friedlander’s heroic act, most of their lives were saved, as there appeared to be no other means of their reaching shore. Furthermore, all felt that this feat of courage and endurance warranted the highest official recognition possible; more so when it is realised that for fifteen days prior to the event we were all on short rations and that since embarking we had all been cooped up below deck”.

The ICRC Geneva archivist was unable to find a record of Red Cross officials visiting POWs to substantiate Wooley’s statement. However, an unpublished memoir c 1990 by a South African survivor of the torpedo, Coert Nell, who was a magistrate in civilian life, recalls a visit, though not for gathering further statements of Friedlander’s action, but in respect of two of Nell’s friends who died on the ship. Nell would have shared their fate but for a shoelace!

Percy Shaw, who worked with me in the magistrate’s office in Louis Trichardt, and his great friend, Frank Greaves, were members of our little group. Late afternoon we marched under heavy guard to the docks of Benghazi port. On the way there my shoelace broke, and I sat down next to the columns to weld and re-lace it while our group walked on. When I finished and wanted to rejoin them, the guard wouldn’t let me. I tried again and when I tried a third time, the guard who had already warned me not to do it, stabbed me with his bayonet. I jumped back and was not injured. I was now with a column of British POWs and was very anxious to rejoin my group. I realized that it would be dangerous to try again and that it would be better to wait until we got on board and then try. I was embittered and berated the guard for his unapproachable attitude. Alas, one day later I was the only survivor of our group when our boat was torpedoed near the Greek coast. Mrs. Greaves and Shaw did not know how their sons had perished until they heard from me. In the letter to me, dated February 6, 1943, Mrs. Greaves among other things: “You also said that Percy Shaw and Frank Greaves lost their lives at sea on the way up. The most that we can get officially is that he (Frank) is presumed to have drowned. We would be very grateful to you if you could give us any particulars. There have been a couple of accounts in the papers, but they vary greatly and do not agree with Red Cross information.” A representative of the International Red Cross came to see me in my camp in Germany to get further details. After the war, when I arrived at Johannesburg station, there was an announcement over the station’s loudspeakers that Mrs. Shaw was present and very anxious to speak to me about her son’s death. I then met her and gave her all the information I had.

The ICRC visit to Nell was at least 21 months after the incident, following his arrival in Stalag VIIIB Lamsdorf. But that was only a month after Woolley’s affidavit.

Neither Myers nor Wooley mentioned the most startling detail, which did not emerge till four decades later, in an article by Jose Burman, ‘Rescue of the 1800’ (Sea Rescue, Vol 1, Number 4, December 1982). It was sub-headed, ‘This is quite possibly the most lives ever saved by one individual in the history of sea rescue. It is an extraordinary story.’ More so, considering the article’s final paragraph: ‘A German officer witnessed Friedlander’s heroism and recommended the lance corporal for a UK bravery award. He returned to South Africa in time to receive the George Medal … from King George VI at a special parade at Voortrekkerhoogte on 31 May 1947- and how many medals were better deserved?’

Aside from the error in dating of the award on 31 March, Burman failed to mention that Friedlander was Jewish. Thus, whether he knew it or not, a German officer recommended a Jewish POW! Though there are cases of German officers recommending POWs for various gallant acts, it would require extensive research to discover if the case of a Jew is unique. Burman’s failure to expand on this detail seems peculiar, as he records his familiarity with his subject: ‘Bernard was always a powerful swimmer (I recollect him giving me 100 yards start and beating me in 500), but he likes cold water as little as I do.’ Burman and Friedlander’s relationship was noted a decade later by historian Maxwell Leigh in his book Captives Courageous,[3] ‘Friedlander’s cousin, the author historian Jose Burman.’ However, Leigh peculiarly utilized Burman’s article to record that Friedlander’s heroic act took place ‘the next day’ and was preceded by another swimmer, ‘Cyril Crompton’. Leigh’s source was a 1967 biography of another SA survivor of the torpedo, Herbert Rhodes ‘Aussie’ Hammond, For You the War is Over (Haum, 1967). Hammond did not mention Friedlander or a George Medal. Friedlander died in 1986, so he could have known of Hammond’s book, likewise Burman, who died in 1995, may have known of Leigh’s. Yet there is no record of the cousins’ knowledge of either.

To compound the issue, Crompton emerged from the shadows to write his own memoir in 2010, and his testimony of the sole hero was once again merged with Friedlander in a 2018 article by another SA historian, Karen Horn; though in contrast to Leigh, Horn depicts the dual heroics on the same day.

Prior to addressing these entanglements, a year before his death, Friedlander’s last public utterance provides an insight into his character, and with it an ironic pause for reflection. In December 1985, he was reluctantly interviewed by Home Front, the MOTH Magazine:

But even in the company of his fellow Moths, Mr. Friedlander never speaks about his war experience. So tight-lipped is Mr. Friedlander that few people have heard of his heroic deed on December 9, 1941. When approached for an interview, the quiet and reserved Mr. Friedlander shrugged his shoulders and said: “What on earth is there to talk about? There were dozens of chaps that did far more than I could ever have done – they should get the publicity, not me.”

Friedlander’s reserve and his interviewer’s failure to mention Burman’s article leaves us bereft of further possible knowledge about the German officer. Friedlander’s archive reveals the situation may have been different, but for Burman’s intervention. Still, to fully appreciate the significance of the archive, we need to replicate its ignorance, as reflected in the South African survivors and historians noted above.

Methoni, with the entrance to the harbor centre and the island of Sapienza in the distance. The above photographs of the stricken Jason were taken by an Italian officer from the castle sea walls.

‘By some precarious contraption of ropes’: South African testimonies pieced together (inconsistently) by SA historians

In his book, Leigh creates an artificial account woven from Hammond’s 1967 biography and Burman’s 1982 article. When the vessel was close to shore:

Hammond, a strong swimmer, and two companions, Bernie Steenhuisen and Lloyd Storm, decided to strike out for the shore where they were sure that the Greeks would help them to hide.’ They initially contended with ‘icy cold water… covered with thick oil from the ship’s engines’, and ‘after swimming for about an hour they became aware of “acute vibrations”… the result of depth charges’ by the subchaser. To minimize the extremely unpleasant effects of the explosions the three swimmers floated on their backs until the depth-charges ceased.

The cessation was the result, incidentally, of the intervention of Brigadier James Hargest’, a New Zealander also captured at Sidi Rezegh, now a POW on the subchaster, and who ‘remonstrated with the officer commanding the warship for dropping charges in water through which men were trying to swim away from the stricken vessel. His protest was successful.’[4] Hammond and his companions made it to shore but were apprehended by Italians. Soon after they heard ‘a loud grinding crash’ of the torpedoed ship ‘grounding on a reef… about fifty meters from the surf. One of the prisoners, Cyril Crompton swam ashore with the end of a rope which he secured to rocks, and some of his comrades began swinging along it, hand over hand, until the lurch of the ship slackened it and ducked the suspended men in the water. Most of them contrived to cling on, but as the ship settled with a final shuddering jerk the rope twanged taut and catapulted them six or seven meters into the air. Several drowned and this method of rescue was suspended until the next day when it was tried again with more success…. It must have been Friedlander to whom Hammond referred when he said the line-ashore method of rescue was tried more successfully next day. Unlike Hammond, Friedlander was still aboard when the ship grounded.

Leigh then proceeds to utilize Burman’s account of his cousin’s heroics in a fast and loose revisionism, glossing over a number of telling details:

With every swell the ship lifted, then shivered as the sharp toothed rocks ground her keel. ‘Every now and then came the sound of rending metal as sections gouged loose or buckled under the strain. The surf was breaking right over the wreck and water was leaking into the corridors. It was a matter of time before she was torn apart. Tantalisingly near lay the land – a few hundred meters away; but it might as well have been ten kilometres, for the sea between ship and shore was filled with broken waves that dashed in fury on sharp rocks, while the howling wind carried the foam on to the shore. Friedlander, who had been helping with the wounded until the ship struck, was the next volunteer to swim with a line through the wintry sea and surf.’

In his revisionist stich of the records, Leigh relegated Friedlander to a secondary role, and obfuscated the fact that Burman did not describe his cousin’s heroics ‘the next day’. Leigh further overlooked Burman’s notice ‘A volunteer tried to take a line ashore, was overwhelmed, and lost in the surf.’ At that point his cousin ‘volunteered’. Finally, Leigh conveys the ‘German officer’ must have only been present the following day to ‘witness’ Friedlander. The issue was compounded in 2010 when Crompton, who must have been around 90 years old, published his own memoir, acknowledging Hammond’s reference, ‘though my surname is misspelled, as Compton’. Yet, Crompton’s account does not accord with Hammond:

I took off my boots, grabbed the rope, and jumped overboard and swam…. The water was full of oil…. I got ashore with the rope, the other end of which was attached to the ship. This rope was anchored to a rock, and became part of a network of other ropes, down which the men could climb and swing ashore. By this time, it was twilight. Within an hour or two all those able bodied came ashore and were taken into immediate custody by the Italians who had been witnessing the drama from the shore.

Crompton’s seventy-year-old account is picture perfect: no twanging rope, catapulting men, nor drownings, and no suspension of the operation till the next day, with the more successful attempt. His reading list also does not include Leigh’s book, which further indicates that he had no recollection of Friedlander, at least not at the time he wrote his memoir.

Hammond and Crompton’s problematic accounts duly taxed the ingenuity of the most prolific contemporary South African WW2 POW historian, Karen Horn. In 2018 she published an article, “A sudden sickening sensation”: South African prisoner-of-war experience on board the San Sebastian, December 1941. Similar to Leigh, Horn got herself caught in a ropey tangle. Firstly, in some private free associative elliptical way, she failed to note the date the ship sailed, then ‘On the morning of 9 Dec 1941 the men were allowed on deck’, yet she thrice misdates the torpedo, lastly, ‘about 15:00 on 12 December when the ship was hit by a torpedo from the British submarine HMS Porpoise’, with fn. Leigh as the source. But he wrote, ‘ship sailed on Monday 8 December’ and torpedo ‘afternoon of the second day’. Secondly, though Horn’s title quote is drawn from Hammond, like Crompton, she omits Hammond’s account of the hauling of the rope, as recounted by Leigh, which she glosses over and with it, Burman’s article. It leads her to piece the evidence for the rescue from four sources, still contriving to miscue one, linked to her erroneous dating of the incident.

Horn initially records a number of versions as to who took control of the ship: ‘These discrepancies… are probably an indication of the immense confusion following the submarine attack. In all likelihood different individuals assumed control in different parts of the ship; some tried to restore order; others were determined to save themselves.’ She further reflects on the matter in her account of the rope:

In Whittaker’s depiction, an unidentified South African POW swam to shore with a rope still attached to the ship, allowing many others to reach safety. Schwikkard, though, knew the man as Bernie Friedlander and describes how he: … ‘took a long rope from the deck, and bravely lowered himself into the sea. He was able to attach the rope onto some rocks below, and this enabled the rest of us to slide down the rope, wait for an incoming wave, drop in front of it, and get carried to the shore by the wave. I got ashore in this way.’

The fact that Friedlander was recommended after the war for a George Medal with the support of a German officer, may also provide some verification of Schwikkard and Robinson’s claims that a German officer or engineer took control when the Italian crew abandoned their ship ….… it would seem that Friedlander was not the only POW who swam to shore in an effort to secure a system of ropes to save others. Cyril Crompton describes how being a strong swimmer as a result of his childhood river swimming experience in Natal, volunteered for the job. Securing his rope to a rock, it “became part of a network of other ropes down which the men could climb and swing ashore”.

Once ashore, the POWs were faced again by Italian soldiers who searched the drenched survivors and confiscated personal effects, a loss that embittered Schwikkard because his pocket watch, a gift from his mother, was taken. When those still on the ship saw what was happening to the survivors on shore, they decided to remain where they were, perhaps hoping somehow to avoid recapture and extend their brief period of freedom. Schwikkard’s brother was one of those who remained behind, choosing the food and drink in the galley over the Italian looting on the beach.

When Robinson started thinking about leaving the ship it was dark and raining, so he decided to remain on board. He believed that he was in danger of drowning whether he stayed on board or tried to go ashore by the “precarious contraption of ropes”. During the night he gave medical assistance to the wounded and in an effort to comfort them, invented a story that the Italians had radioed for a hospital ship and that it was on its way to collect them. In actuality, according to Whittaker, a hospital ship did indeed come for the wounded. An Italian doctor boarded the ship the day after the attack and made arrangements for the injured men to be evacuated. Robinson himself remained on the ship until the last of the wounded were removed. Once all the patients were on their way, the rest of the POWs were removed from the ship by Italian soldiers.[5] Ignoring Hammond, Horn conflates Friedlander and Crompton, and quotes the latter without specifying that he exclusively referred to himself as the swimmer. Yet, she conveys the dual rescue was on the very day of the incident (’12 Dec’ according to her) and the wounded and the rest removed the following day.

The dating of Horn’s four testimonies, a) ‘Immediately following the war, a narrative report from a Mr. Whittaker is the most contemporaneous.’ b) ‘Bernard Schwikkard’s oral testimony and his memoirs 1999. The author interviewed him in 2010, some eleven years later. A comparison between these two versions from the same man, provides an opportunity to analyse the effect of memory on his historical narrative.’ c) Crompton’s memoir published in 2010 and d) Norman Robinson’s In the Bag, co-authored with Peter Ogilvie (1975).

In contrast to Leigh, Horn does not note that Robinson was another medical orderly repatriated in 1943, when he wrote his memoir, Missing Presumed Prisoner, published in 1944. Thereby, Horn overlooked that she was utilizing a source earlier than Whittaker, and that Robinson revisited his memoir three decades later, in conjunction with his fellow survivor of the incident, Ogilvie, who added illustrations. At the front of the book, Robinson notes his preceding publication ‘thirty years ago’. Crompton also noted it in his bibliography, as did Leigh. Leigh further serves to expose Horn’s failure to note Robinson’s dating of the incident: ‘For the injured who could not make their own way ashore by swimming or by lifeline, and those who remained aboard to care for them a fatigue party was organized to cook meals. An Italian doctor who went aboard on the Tuesday made arrangements for the removal of those who had not yet gone ashore and the transport of the injured by hospital ship to Italy. According to Robinson, the last of the injured were not taken off until the Thursday morning.’ Tuesday was thus the day of the incident, and Thursday 11 December.

Leigh also uses Ogilvie’s illustrations. Ogilvie records that during his captivity, he used his artistic skills in forging documents for the Stalag VIIIB Lamsdorf Escape Committee. Leigh printed Ogilvie’s illustration of ‘the deluge of seawater rushing in through the torpedo hole.’ Ogilvie’s next illustration was of Robinson’s description, ‘Men were being taken ashore by some precarious contraption of ropes’ (see illustration from the book, below). However, Robinson & Ogilive did not record anyone responsible for the hauling of the rope to shore. We are left with the most disquieting concern, neither Robinson & Ogilvie, nor Hammond & Crompton, recalled Friedlander, or anyone receiving a George Medal, which suggests they were oblivious of it. Leigh and Horn, who mention Friedlander’s award resulting from the German witness, fail to address that he reportedly only noticed one man hauling a rope. Thus, if the German had witnessed others, it is reasonable to believe that he would have equally recommended them. Furthermore, Horn like Leigh did not even contemplate the significance of a German officer recommending a Jewish POW, which begs the question as to whether they were aware Friedlander was Jewish?

‘Fresh in his mind: Bernie and Jose, 1941 – 1982

The cousins Friedlander and Burman, according to Sheila Suntup, ‘were of an age and had lots of contact growing up together.’ ‘Jose Lionel Burman had served as a Lieutenant in the Union Defence Force. He saw service in Libya during World War Two.’ He became a solicitor and historian, a prolific author, and amongst his numerous publications, a couple on shipwrecks. Thus, he also provided advice regarding his cousin’s records. Friedlander had kept a diary during his captivity. However, the extant 29 page ‘diary’ seems more like a memoir.

Sheila explains, ‘Bernie had to leave his diary behind when he was liberated. He mentions on the last page of his diary: “Next day two of us left the unguarded camp to go on a recce. I left my valise behind which had my diary which I had kept from Italian days…”. – He wrote this one immediately on his return while everything was still fresh in his mind. Later typed up from several notebooks he kept.’ Moreover, ‘he did attempt to write a book based on his diary.

Bernie submitted the draft book to his cousin in 1963 – Jose’s reply is dated March 1963. Jose critiqued it very comprehensively, acknowledging that he believed that “you definitely have something”, also that he found the dialogue very authentic, and his accounts really gripping, but thought he’d have to change his entire approach and style which would have basically required a total rewrite. I have Jose’s letter on receiving the script, and his comments. In Bernie’s own words Jose “reckoned it wasn’t worth continuing with” so he abandoned the project.’ Thus, it also confirmed that ‘Jose would definitely have had all the details contained in his draft book.’

A reader’s knowledge of the family relationship is highly significant, more so, as there is one particular aspect of Friedlander’s writings that demands special attention. The first half of the diary is dominated by the plural ‘We’. The first direct reference to himself and use of ‘I’ is on p 16. Thus, Friedlander’s account of the ‘ordeal’ is jarring, as he refers to a ‘South African’, and the reader has to be familiar with his role, especially in the wake of Crompton Hammond, seemingly usurping Friedlander’s role.

Re Crompton’s claim, Sheila told me: ‘I cannot comment on my father’s thoughts… He hardly ever talked about his war experiences and no account in either his diary or draft book of other attempts. Much the same re. his feelings on receiving the George Medal – but am sure he was quietly very proud. — As for writing in the third person, he was always reluctant to discuss his heroism and probably found it easier to talk about it in this way…. Going through drafts of the book Bernie attempted to write… his personal account of the swim/rescue… gives much more firsthand detail than his diary does. (Once again, he talks about this in the 3rd person as “Harry”.) In his diary he gives the sketchiest account of the swim, which is fleshed out with much more detail in his book, including borrowing another’s lifebelt and skinning his legs and arms on the rocks approaching shore, and of course the help given by this Greek youth in getting him ashore and securing the rope, also giving up his own jersey to try and warm him.’

The Greek youth is also mentioned by Burman. However, Burman records a number of details not noted by his cousin: the name of the ship, ‘San Sabastian’, and ‘Brigadier James Hargest’ on the ‘escort corvette’, which conveys that Friedlander was familiar with these details post-war. Conversely, preceding Friedlander’s endeavor, Burman records the volunteer who drowned, not mentioned by Friedlander. Lastly, Burman records his cousin’s swim took ‘nearly 90 minutes’, a detail that manifested in Wooley’s testimony. The overriding issue is that Burman, like Woolley and Myers, recounts Friedlander’s deed on the day of the torpedo, and the various accounts of the preceding attempt ended in failure. Thus, it becomes clear that Leigh used Hammond’s reference to Crompton and the more successful attempt ‘the next day’, purportedly recounted by Burman, to artificially splice them together, which creates the false impression of Friedlander’s secondary role.

In view of all the kerfuffle, interestingly, Friedlander does not record anyone preceding himself. His testimony is also remiss of a few basic details, the name of the ship and submarine, date of the incident, length and duration of his swim. The following excerpts from his ‘diary’ begin following the Italian captain and his officers abandoning ship in a lifeboat five miles from shore, when ‘a German engineering officer takes over….’:

We are on the shores of Greece.

More men are now on shore to stand with the lone figure, dressed only in under pants and vest, now soaking wet, being guarded by three of the occupation troops with tommy guns at the ready. It’s nearly dark now. The cries of the men who have fallen from the rope and are drowning rend the air. Others are being battered against the rocks and seen no more. No help is given by the Iti garrison, they are too busy rounding up the half drowned half-starved and shivering survivors ….

It is daylight again. Men are still coming in from the ship….

In the book draft, the additions noted by Sheila, with greater description and contemplation:

Burman describes the ordeal:

Stripping to his vest and pants, he was given a cork jacket, and the rope. A couple of seconds hesitation, and then he jumped overboard. The intense cold of the water was the first shock. As he surfaced, he was almost swamped by the broken waves that filled the cove but struck out strongly for the shore. Numbed by the fierce cold and buffeted by the heavy seas, Friedlander was thankful that the ship formed a lee protecting him from the worst of the wind and the heavy surf. As the water-logged line fed out, so it hampered him increasingly, and he was pulling a dead weight that was yet a live enemy in the grip of the waves. Soon he passed the point of ‘no return’ – if he weakened now, they could not pull him back to the ship alive. He gritted his chattering teeth to forge ahead. Friedlander had been battling the heavy seas for nearly 90 minutes, and he was beginning to weaken, to flounder under the weight of the line, when he sensed the rocks ahead. One last burst and he was clawing desperately at the wet rock, trying to lift himself higher before the next wave sucked him back out to sea. Then he was lying above the water level, coughing and spewing while strong hands pulled him higher. He looked up and saw a young Greek who bent down and untied the rope from his waist. Between them they dragged the heavier line ashore and made it fast. Then the rescue began as man after man passed down the lifeline to the safety of the rocks. Nearly 1800 men came off the wreck (the death toll being 430) and most of them owed their lives to the brave deed of the young South African.

We are left to reflect on Burman’s discouragement of his cousin to complete and publish his memoir. It is hard to fathom, especially given the most obvious solution, that Burman would have offered to ghost-write his cousin’s memoir. The greatest loss for history leaves us bereft of the knowledge of the German witness, and we can only wonder how a Friedlander memoir may have influenced following ones. The issue again came to the fore shortly after Burman’s article, but this time outside the confines of South African intrigues.

‘A Royal Navy Seaman’, New Zealand: 40 Years Old Collective Memory / Amnesia

A few months after Burman’s article, the strange development manifested in a New Zealand survivor of the incident, Spence Edge in his co-authored memoir No Honour, No Glory (1983). Edge provides by far the longest account of the torpedo incident, following his own considerable research, most notably, discovering the above photographs of ‘the Jason being pounded by heavy seas as she lies hard aground at Methoni, with 1500 desperately anxious POWs still aboard her.’ In an additional photo of Methoni harbour, Edge adds to the caption, ‘The two preceding photographs of Jason aground were taken from the castle seawalls by an Italian Army Officer.’ – Edge also learned from Greeks in Methoni that the Italian captain who abandoned the ship was court-martialed and executed.

In contrast to most South Africans, who refer to the ship by its Italian name, with variations, Sebastiano Venier or Veniero, or San Sabastian; Edge and other NZ sources refer to the ship by its original Dutch name Jason. More significantly, Edge only gathered belated testimonies from his fellow NZ survivors, and one ‘Englishman’ who had immigrated to NZ. Edge & Co did not recall any South African hauling the rope, but an anonymous British sailor. It was not the only anomaly.

The three Royal navy seamen …unknown to most of us, but many prisoners agree that it was one of them who volunteered to swim ashore with a light line tied around his waist.’ Italian soldiers, ‘helped him haul a heavy rope from the ship’. — The navy men were experts at rigging lifelines, but darkness had fallen before the rope was secured in place and ready for use. From a rocky outcrop several meters above the beach, it sloped upwards fairly steeply to a point high enough above the boat deck for men to clear the handrail after they had taken a firm hold with their legs crossed and arms folded over the rope. There must have been much shouting and many urgent cries exchanged between the German and those who were helping him to rig the lifeline, but we heard nothing above the storm. Nor did we feel the anguish of men who feared the rope but were driven to use it by their greater fear of what could happen if they remained aboard.

‘Events later proved that the German had no intention of going ashore, and why we should be anxious for others to do so under conditions dangerous for inexperienced men, remains something of a mystery. It must have been obvious to him that only a very small number of prisoners, perhaps 300 at most, could be evacuated in this way during the night. … it was bitterly ironic that the storm claimed its victims by turning the lifeline into a deathtrap… the rope sagged when the Jason rolled…. this relatively small movement provided ample slack for the rope to drop those into the sea, well short of the beach…. the ship fell back from her roll, to snap the lifeline tight with a sudden whiplash fury. Despite the dangers… the German found no lack of volunteers when he called for men to go ashore by this method…. No one realised that he had mistaken the tempting song of a siren for a call to safety…. few managed more than a meter or two before being caught by the rope’s savage back-lash. Even those who retained a strong hold were often quite literally catapulted into the sea by the wildly flailing line. [Yet], ‘at least 200 prisoners’ traversed the ropes that night, guided by ‘the cheerful British sailors who had apparently taken turns in standing by the lifeline all night.’

The following morning, unbeknownst to anyone:

‘HMS Porpoise had returned…Captain Pizey realised immediately that his target of the previous day was hard aground and badly damaged. A closer study convinced him that the Italians would find it impossible to salvage and sail her again. Since this was his sole concern, he saw no reason to expend another valuable torpedo on a ship already wrecked beyond repair. The big submarine’s periscope vanished beneath the waves…. In her wake, Porpoise left the 1200 men still on board in blissful ignorance of the fact that the shadow of death had again hovered over them for a few brief moments.’

On this second day:

‘…two cutters (smaller boats)’ were used. [But as their] ‘capacity was limited to about 12 men at most’, the ‘Jason could not be cleared in less than twenty-four hours.’ As, ‘the wounded could not be put ashore in the cutter’, the German with medical orderlies organized ‘a stretcher, slung from the lifeline by pulley, in which he proposed to lower the injured prisoners to the beach.’ It was ‘based on the same principle as a “breeches buoy”, except that a hammock, stiffened by wooden slats, replaced the buoy’s normal seat. This stretcher was suspended at each end from pulleys which ran on the fixed line. Two light hand-liners were provided, one to control the stretcher on its descent, and haul it back to the ship; the other to be used by those ashore if a sag in the heavy line checked the stretcher’s run. Since it had been rigged high to clear the ship’s rail, placing injured men gently into the stretcher proved to be a difficult and excruciating task, even when the lift was made by many hands.’

Like Robinson, Edge helped with the wounded, and remained on board with ‘several hundred men’ till the following morning, making land by the cutter.

In a comparative review, firstly, Edge was representative of a four-decades old collective memory or amnesia, that projected Wooley’s reported failure of ‘Several British Merchant Seamen’ as the saviors. Yet, from Hammond’s perspective, it must have been Crompton whom Edge was describing, notably given the ‘whiplash fury’ similarly recalled by Hammond. Secondly, Edge was transparently fictional in his false recollection of the Porpoise’s return the next day, and its failure to fire. A German historian Andreas Biermann documents the true course of events in an article, ‘A Failure of Intelligence? The loss of Prisoners of War on MV Sebastiano Venier, 9 December 1941 (Naval Historical Review of Australia, 2021):

The Role of ULTRA: By late 1941, the ability of the British command to read Italian and German naval and air force messages encoded on Enigma machines, known as ULTRA, was well-developed. Messages were read with very short delays and in time to guide operational decisions and messages that prisoners were to be carried on merchant vessels returning to Italy had been deciphered since 5/12.
Thanks to ULTRA, the departure time and escort arrangements of Veniero were known in London well before her actual departure. Furthermore, the fact that Veniero had 2,000 prisoners on board was also known in London since 0540 GMT on 8 December, when a message confirming this was decoded, Porpoise departed Alexandria for her fourteenth war patrol on 28 November prior to these messages being deciphered in Bletchley Park. While she would have been in contact with her command authorities, and it is likely that sufficient time passed between the message being deciphered and the attack on Veniero to allow for Porpoise to be instructed not to attack merchants moving north, this would have brought with it the risk that such a message would be intercepted or that in the case of capture it would be revealed. Notifying a submarine on patrol could potentially compromise the security of ULTRA. Thus, not having been informed of this fact, almost 33 hours after the signal confirming that Veniero was carrying 2000 prisoners was deciphered in Bletchley Park and over 24 hours after this information had reached the Admiralty and Prime Minister’s office, Porpoise fired her spread of torpedoes. Two days after forcing her to beach, Porpoise undertook another attempt to destroy Veniero, launching a further two torpedoes but both failed to find their target. On 15 December, the submarine HMS Torbay (LCDR Anthony Miers RN) succeeded in torpedoing Veniero, putting her beyond repair. The wreck was broken up in situ in the 1950s.

HMS Porpoise’s Log records the time of the torpedoes on 11th Dec. 17.06 and 17.18 pm.

It was accurately recalled by Coert Nell. His daughter Jean suggests that her father being a magistrate explains his attention to detail. However, he did not name the ‘prisoner of war who swam to the beach with a thin line’, and his lengthy account is set aside in this brief. Nell departed the ship ‘the next morning’, and in due course learned of events late the following day, after all the living had been removed from the ship:

One POW told me that two days after the boat was torpedoed, he and a few others were taken back to the boat by the Italians to remove identity tags from the corpses and to make a list of them. He then saw that some of the guards were cutting off the deceased’s fingers to obtain their rings. It was late afternoon and while they were still busy, a submarine fired two torpedoes in the direction of the boat.
However, the torpedoes exploded against rocks on this side of the boat and did no damage. When the torpedoes exploded, the guards fled and for a time they were without any guards on board the boat. A day after this incident these prisoners of war joined us at the fort where we were then.

In lieu of Edge’s ‘Royal Navy seaman’ i.e. ‘British sailors’, also noted in the 2006 article, Biermann records Friedlander’s recommendation: ‘A German officer noted Friedlander’s heroism and later his comments were passed to British authorities recommending a bravery award. In 1947 when the King & Queen toured South Africa at a ceremony in Johannesburg King George VI personally decorated Friedlander with the George Medal.’ Biermann adds, ‘Despite Friedlander’s deed, more men are killed as they try to reach land via this escape line. Once on land, survivors of the beached Venier are assisted by soldiers of a nearby Italian garrison.’

In his ‘further reading’ list, Biermann provides a South African source from one of the survivors, featuring Friedlander. It is an undated testimony by Edward Lee Gamble (died 2003), posted by his grandson https://ww2talk.[p. 6]

Four A Coy Corporals, Bernie Friedlander (known to us as ‘Buller’), Tosty Dickson, a corporal whose name escapes me, and I now started making plans as to how we could get ashore. We were all strong swimmers, and finding various ropes lying around, Bernie tied a rope around his waist, and we lowered him into what appeared to be calm water, but it was in fact oil from the bunkers torn open by the rocks onto which the wreck had drifted. We saw ‘Buller’ and his rope being hauled out by people on shore. I followed him with Tosty behind me. The fourth corporal brought up the rear. On shore, Greek farmers took us to a nearby shed while others took over the ropes we had brought ashore.

Gamble’s ending does not accord with Friedlander, who was immediately taken into Italian custody. In sum, Biermann indirectly exposes Edge’s fanciful account of the Porpoise’s return. He also obliquely dismisses Edge’s identification of the heroic British sailor who swam ashore.

When further informed about the South African alternatives, Biermann replied, ‘I wasn’t aware of this level of conspiracy/confusion about what went on. Also don’t think there’s much of anything that can be done to untangle it, but intriguing nevertheless.’ The intrigue is equally applicable in respect of the German witness who recommended Friedlander. Biermann identified Venier had ’15 men’ from another destroyed German merchant ship SS Tinos. ‘One of these would come to play a crucial role in the drama of Venier’s last voyage. It is likely that this unknown officer recommended Friedlander for his award, an unusual event.’

More recently, an Italian colleague of Biermann, Lorenzo Colombo, made a new discovery:

I came across, by chance, a small piece of the Sebastiano Venier puzzle. Third officer Vincenzo De Bernardinis was awarded a War Cross for Military Valor for having helped the second officer, who had taken command of the ship after the captain had fled with part of the crew, helping bring back calm and order onboard and in the subsequent rescue operation. I do not know the name of the second
officer, but I presume he was decorated as well. So, it does seem at least these two officers stayed aboard and helped to save the ship, along with some of the crew and the German engineer who is usually mentioned in the POW accounts. De Bernardinis later perished in the sinking of the steamer Campobasso, one of the very last ships to attempt reaching North Africa, in early May 1943.

This suggests the German Engineer also received a medal. According to Lorenzo Colombo: ‘It is quite likely he got a German medal, indeed, but he may have received an Italian one, too: during my searches I have sometimes come across German servicemembers and merchant mariners who were awarded Italian medals for acts of valor carried out on Italian ships – or even on German ships sailing in the Mediterranean’ The quest for possible identification is still ongoing.[6]

 

[Editor’s note: In a follow-up to this article, the author will consider the curious case of Denis Avey, a survivor of the torpedo incident who was later honored for saving the life of a German Jewish inmate of Auschwitz, but around who’s wartime experiences have arisen many doubts and perplexing questions since his death a few years ago]

 

Alon Shapira is an historical researcher and writer, born in Israel and living in London.

 

 

APPENDIX

The Chaim Herzog Museum of the Jewish Soldier in World War Two

The Chaim Herzog Museum of the Jewish Soldier in World War Two has been built to tell the important and neglected chapter in the history of the Jewish people of the contribution of Jewish Soldiers who helped defeat the Nazi regime.  It honors the 1 500 000 Jewish men and women who were recruited into, or volunteered with the Allied Armed Forces, the Partisans and the resistance movements and it perpetuates the memory of the 250 000 Jewish soldiers who gave their lives during the War. It is situated in Latrun, Israel at Yad la Shiryon, the Armored Corps Memorial Site and Museum. It is important to note that no other nation among the Allied countries contributed such a high percentage of soldiers and no other nation suffered as many casualties in the defeat of the Nazi regime.

Brigadier General Zvika Kan Tor, director of the museum, has devoted his retirement to establish the Museum. In his words “While the world was fighting for its freedom, territories and borders, the Jewish people were fighting for their survival”.

The Museum is named after the sixth president of Israel, Chaim Herzog who himself partook in the war. Having joined the British Army, he operated primarily in Germany as a tank commander in the Armored Corps. He was commissioned into the Intelligence in 1943 and participated in the liberation of several Nazi concentration camps as well as identifying a captured German soldier, Heinrich Himmler.

The South African Jewish community played a prominent role in the war. 10 000 Jews volunteered with the Allied Forces, and they represented the highest proportion of volunteers in comparison to any other group. 

During the Covid pandemic, I was contacted by Brigadier General Zvika Kan Tor to help assist the museum in documenting the Jewish South Africans who partook in the war effort.  A website had been developed to honor all those who partook in the war. At that time, only a handful of South Africans had been commemorated. To date, more than 3 000 South Africans have been commemorated on the website ranging from Privates to Major Generals. All the South African soldiers who died in the war have been honored, as well as those who received awards and decorations such as Officer of the Most Excellent Order of the British Empire (O.B.E.), Member of the Most Excellent Order of the British Empire (M.B.E.), the Military Cross and the Distinguished Flying Cross. Many incredible stories have been uncovered of these brave men and women. A major problem in collating profiles has been the lack of awareness and knowledge of families whose parents fought in the war. In many cases, some of the soldiers only told their families of their experiences many years after the war and many did not inform their families at all of their experiences.  

I originally visited the museum site in August 2021. At the time the building was still under construction. The garden, which is unique in that no green foliage is present, was in the process of being planted prior to the Shmita.  The Museum has subsequently been opened to the public and is a state-of-the-art museum. There is an exhibition hall devoted to the Allied Forces – USA, British and Commonwealth Forces, an exhibition hall devoted to the largest tank battle ever fought at Kursk, an exhibition hall devoted to the Ghetto fighters and partisans and finally the establishment of the State of Israel and the Israel Defence Force. 

Naomi Schamroth (Data Collator Chaim Herzog Museum of the Jewish Soldier: nrapeport@global.co.za

NOTES

[1] A report of TLG ‘Recommendation’ is on file at The National Archives, Kew, London.

[2] JA Editor David Saks comments, ‘After 1945, Jewish Affairs morphed into a monthly cultural-intellectual journal that published only full-length articles and ceased to carry shorter news items. However, there is a record in the book South African Jews in World War II (SAJBD, 1950).’ Another who checked the JC and could not find a reference to Friedlander receiving the George Medal’ is Naomi Rapeport Schamroth. Since 2020, she has been a data collator of the South African Jewish Soldiers for The Chaim Herzog Museum of the Jewish Soldier in World War II in Latrun, Israel. The JC did not report the Museum’s opening in June 2023. It’s one preceding notice was of the impending opening of the Museum, back in November 2016, with ‘a new group, The Association of Jewish War Heroes, working closely with the Association of Jewish Ex-Servicemen and Women (AJEX), to launch a UK-wide campaign to collect stories and memorabilia from Jewish men and women who served in the British army during the Second World War.’

[3] Leigh, Maxwell, Captives Courageous: South African Prisoners of War, World War II, Ashanti Pub., 1992

[4] Brigadier James Hargest wrote in his memoir: ‘I urged him to stop dropping depth charges and compel the crew to return to the ship… He acted at once, and desisting from further depth charging, sailed close up to the boats and ordered the crew to return. To my relief they went, and the ship headed for land.’  [James Hargest, Farewell Campo 12 (1945). The Italian navy’s historical office in Rome, (Ufficio Storico della Marina Militare) holds the Report by the captain of the sub-chaser Centauro. Captain Corrado Fucci’s two page report was on 13 December 1941, four days after the incident. The report incorporates 13 points. Three of them, 8, 9, and 13, expose Hargest’s testimony as a fabrication, in which he romanticized his heroic role. 

[5] Historia, 63,1, May 2018, pp 112-129. Quoted pages, 120, 122, 123.

[6] UPDATE LORENZO COLOMBO’S RESEARCH ON THE CREW OF THE VENIER: In addition to the prisoners, at the time of her loss the Sebastiano Venier was carrying 167 Italian troops and crew and fifteen German civilians, the latter being merchant mariners, former crew of the sunken steamer Tinos. The naval crew, under the command of Lieutenant Cirillo Cadenasso, consisted of one officer, five petty officers and thirteen ratings; military personnel onboard also included an Army officer serving as military commissioner, a medical officer, and six carabinieri (Italian military police) commanded by a non-commissioned officer, likely tasked with guarding the prisoners, as well as Army gunners and an unspecified number of soldiers on passage to Italy. The merchant crew would have numbered around 40-50 men.

After the torpedo hit, Cadenasso and most of the crew hastily abandoned ship in the lifeboats, but the second and third officers and first and second engineers remained aboard with some of the crew and helped the prisoners and the German engineer mentioned in most accounts to run the ship aground. A total of fifteen crew and military personnel were later awarded the War Cross for Military Valor for their efforts in saving the ship and rescuing the wounded, including ten members of the merchant crew (third officer Vincenzo De Bernardinis, second engineer Vincenzo De Maria, radio officer Renato Malusardi, boatswain Mario Ranieri, waiter Pathos Marchionni, leading fireman Mario Furlan, electrician Remiro Zemolo, and engine ratings Giuseppe Roberti, Luigi Roberto Castagneto and Giuseppe Scotto D’Apollonio), one member of the naval crew (gunnery sergeant Francesco Runco), and four Army personnel who manned the anti-aircraft guns (sergeants Giuseppe Esposito and Emanuele Pinzone, corporal Leopoldo Sarno, and artilleryman Luigi Reca). The second officer and first engineer, as well as the German engineer, were most likely decorated as well, but as of now it has not been possible to find their names.

Eleven Italian crew and soldiers lost their lives, including three members of the merchant crew (third engineer Orlando Stokelj, greaser Salvatore Di Donna, and storekeeper Angelo Morelli) and one member of the naval crew (gunner Graziadei Cazzani). There were no casualties among the fifteen Germans.