Birkenhead, England //
Coming up for air
Adventures of the German submarine U-534
Date July 2007
Posted August 2010
Posted August 2010
A few months back myself and a few others gained entry to a German submarine base in La Pallice, France. Several years earlier the opportunity arose to explore a vessel much like those that would've berthed there. Unfortunately this one, a type IXC/40 U-boat, is far from operational - in fact, since these photos were taken it has been chopped into sections for exhibit by the local rail and bus operator. Despite this contraversial end to the vessel's life, it's history is colourful. It is unlikely U-534 ever visited the La Pallice pens, but it did birth at one point in their Lorient counterparts, as recorded at the comprehensive uboat.net website. The boat's story we'll take the baton on 5th May 1945, as WW2 drew to a close...
The five tired, frightened but brave figures stood, waiting, as their crippled submarine drifted down to the sea bed. Somewhere above them the other 47 members of their crew were clinging hopefully to their life jackets awaiting rescue by an Allied ship. Down below, however, things weren't looking so good. The aft torpedo compartment had suffered badly from the blast of a depth charge, dropped from the sky by Liberator bomber 'G' for George, and now the submarine was partly flooded.
Amongst the trapped submariners was the boat's cook, Karl Gernhardt. Perhaps one of the most stressful jobs of all was preparing meals for 52 men in a tiny galley, smaller even than what you'd find in the cheapest of city-centre apartments. Remaining calm, Karl found the escape apparatus and ensured everyone was prepared. This was a very real possibility that they had trained for as new Kriegsmarine recruits, and now they were preparing for the ultimate test, where remaining composed would determine whether they lived or drowned.
Opening a valve, the compartment was flooded, equalising the pressure both sides of the hatch. With brute strength and determination, the locking wheel was wound and the hatch released. Pushing it open, the men swam out of the submarine. Reaching the surface, they were reunited with the rest of the crew. There were three casualties - one from exposure and two from decompression sickness. For the survivors, now prisoners, and for the submarine, almost totally full of water on the sea bed, the war was very definitely over. The vessel remained where it lay for nearly 50 years until a Danish publisher decided to embark upon the task of raising her.
The obvious question to ask is why bring up this one? Possibly because a little mystery surrounds U-534s final voyage. In May 1945 the wireless operator received an important communication from Admiral Doenitz, himself commander of the U-boat fleet and German head of state after the suicide of Hitler in the Berlin Reichstag. The message informed the captains of all the remaining U-boats that they were to surrender to the Allies by 0800hrs on 5th May. Herbert Nollau, the U-boat's commander since it was commissioned in 1942, made the decision to surface and head for Norway with no surrender flag flying. This was observed and communicated to RAF Coastal Command, and Liberator bombers were quickly despatched to intercept.
So why the decision not to surrender? Why head for Norway at such a desperate hour as the Third Reich fell apart? Rumours and theories suggested that perhaps the boat had been carrying a high-ranking Nazi leader away from Germany, or was perhaps transporting gold. Unfortunately Captain Nollau had taken his own life shortly after the sinking of the submarine, and so the real story will probably never be known.
On Monday August 23rd, 1993, U-534 surfaced for the last time. Dutch salvage team Smit-Tak had used a giant steel sling to lift the boat, and as she broke the waves once more the progress was watched by 8 members of her last crew and 4 members of the Liberator bomber that had sunk her. Before any real investigation could be undertaken, tons of silt, mud and dangerous explosives had to be removed.
Searches of the vessel did not produce any gold or diamonds, nor any evidence of high-ranking Nazis. One of the former crew members was asked by the salvage team if he knew of unsual. He said that there was nothing sinister going on with their boat, and that it was likely they would've surrendered in Oslo. Thankfully a home was found for U-534 in Birkenhead, close to where the World's first ever submarine was tested. Liverpool played a significant role in the Battle of the Atlantic, so it seemed a fitting location for the boat.
By 2007 the museum had closed, it's location to be used as a carpark for apartments inside the old Spillers Mill buildings. For some time the U-boat, now devoid of the protection afforded by the museum, sat on wooden blocks (as pictured above) beside Birkenhead's East Float dock. The fate of the boat was subject of much speculation, until Merseytravel announced their plans to move it to the Woodside ferry terminal. Despite the submarine having travelled all the way to Britain in one piece, this final 2 mile journey required it to be cut into pieces, which are now on static display.
As a send off for the u-boat it was decided to gain access to it, and walk the length of it's hull a last time. This little adventure began in July, with several visits required until it was possible for reef and I to drag ourselves up some ropes and onto the deck. Rain and the constant circling of the police chopper made things a little tricky but eventually the heavy and stiff hatch was levered open and down we descended into an atmosphere thick with the odour of oil, presumably that used to preserve the insides.
Once inside the boat was negotiated from stern to bow, with almost all of it (save for a few curiously preserved patches where air pockets had prevented decay) a rusty mess. The time underwater had not been kind to the ship but it did make for an interesting experience for those of us without the necessary equipment and expertise to dive a wreck of this nature. German typography was visible all over place, often staring out of its corroded surroundings, save for the porcelain dials which were often in perfect condition.
Photographing the insides was made difficult by tiredness and the dirt that seemed to fall of any surface with the slightest touch. Despite this the effort was deemed worthwhile, for with the approach of the cutter's torch such an exploration would no longer be possible.
With dawn approaching the two of us made good our exit, taking care not to lose any fingers in the hatch as it closed, and then hiding by the conning tower as a giant cargo ship was escorted past by two tugs. The last stage of our night's work was to rappel down onto the quayside and de-rig the ropes, already decided that if there was ever another time, we'd use a damn ladder instead.
If the photos above don't convince you about just how grim the task of the U-boatmen was, then remember that statistic from the La Pallice article: three quarters of U-boat crewmen were to meet their deaths during WW2. The men knew the odds were stacked against them, and surely they must have thought about this as they pulled the hatch shut, watching that last glimpse of daylight disappear and wondering if and when they would next be coming up for air.
Thanks to Frank for helping with the initial planning (which involved teaching ourselves single rope ascending in the cathedral graveyard) and also reefdog and TristanJay for their ideas, improvisation and company. Thanks also to Jack Higgins for his excellent novel Thunder Point, which inspired my fascination with the possibility of mysterious submarine escape attempts in those final desperate days of the crumbling Reich. Finally anyone who would like to read about the incredible bravery of a certain few Allied serviceman who made a unique effort to meet the U-boat threat should read The Tin Openers by Kendall McDonald.
The five tired, frightened but brave figures stood, waiting, as their crippled submarine drifted down to the sea bed. Somewhere above them the other 47 members of their crew were clinging hopefully to their life jackets awaiting rescue by an Allied ship. Down below, however, things weren't looking so good. The aft torpedo compartment had suffered badly from the blast of a depth charge, dropped from the sky by Liberator bomber 'G' for George, and now the submarine was partly flooded.
Amongst the trapped submariners was the boat's cook, Karl Gernhardt. Perhaps one of the most stressful jobs of all was preparing meals for 52 men in a tiny galley, smaller even than what you'd find in the cheapest of city-centre apartments. Remaining calm, Karl found the escape apparatus and ensured everyone was prepared. This was a very real possibility that they had trained for as new Kriegsmarine recruits, and now they were preparing for the ultimate test, where remaining composed would determine whether they lived or drowned.
Opening a valve, the compartment was flooded, equalising the pressure both sides of the hatch. With brute strength and determination, the locking wheel was wound and the hatch released. Pushing it open, the men swam out of the submarine. Reaching the surface, they were reunited with the rest of the crew. There were three casualties - one from exposure and two from decompression sickness. For the survivors, now prisoners, and for the submarine, almost totally full of water on the sea bed, the war was very definitely over. The vessel remained where it lay for nearly 50 years until a Danish publisher decided to embark upon the task of raising her.
The obvious question to ask is why bring up this one? Possibly because a little mystery surrounds U-534s final voyage. In May 1945 the wireless operator received an important communication from Admiral Doenitz, himself commander of the U-boat fleet and German head of state after the suicide of Hitler in the Berlin Reichstag. The message informed the captains of all the remaining U-boats that they were to surrender to the Allies by 0800hrs on 5th May. Herbert Nollau, the U-boat's commander since it was commissioned in 1942, made the decision to surface and head for Norway with no surrender flag flying. This was observed and communicated to RAF Coastal Command, and Liberator bombers were quickly despatched to intercept.
So why the decision not to surrender? Why head for Norway at such a desperate hour as the Third Reich fell apart? Rumours and theories suggested that perhaps the boat had been carrying a high-ranking Nazi leader away from Germany, or was perhaps transporting gold. Unfortunately Captain Nollau had taken his own life shortly after the sinking of the submarine, and so the real story will probably never be known.
On Monday August 23rd, 1993, U-534 surfaced for the last time. Dutch salvage team Smit-Tak had used a giant steel sling to lift the boat, and as she broke the waves once more the progress was watched by 8 members of her last crew and 4 members of the Liberator bomber that had sunk her. Before any real investigation could be undertaken, tons of silt, mud and dangerous explosives had to be removed.
Searches of the vessel did not produce any gold or diamonds, nor any evidence of high-ranking Nazis. One of the former crew members was asked by the salvage team if he knew of unsual. He said that there was nothing sinister going on with their boat, and that it was likely they would've surrendered in Oslo. Thankfully a home was found for U-534 in Birkenhead, close to where the World's first ever submarine was tested. Liverpool played a significant role in the Battle of the Atlantic, so it seemed a fitting location for the boat.
By 2007 the museum had closed, it's location to be used as a carpark for apartments inside the old Spillers Mill buildings. For some time the U-boat, now devoid of the protection afforded by the museum, sat on wooden blocks (as pictured above) beside Birkenhead's East Float dock. The fate of the boat was subject of much speculation, until Merseytravel announced their plans to move it to the Woodside ferry terminal. Despite the submarine having travelled all the way to Britain in one piece, this final 2 mile journey required it to be cut into pieces, which are now on static display.
As a send off for the u-boat it was decided to gain access to it, and walk the length of it's hull a last time. This little adventure began in July, with several visits required until it was possible for reef and I to drag ourselves up some ropes and onto the deck. Rain and the constant circling of the police chopper made things a little tricky but eventually the heavy and stiff hatch was levered open and down we descended into an atmosphere thick with the odour of oil, presumably that used to preserve the insides.
Once inside the boat was negotiated from stern to bow, with almost all of it (save for a few curiously preserved patches where air pockets had prevented decay) a rusty mess. The time underwater had not been kind to the ship but it did make for an interesting experience for those of us without the necessary equipment and expertise to dive a wreck of this nature. German typography was visible all over place, often staring out of its corroded surroundings, save for the porcelain dials which were often in perfect condition.
Photographing the insides was made difficult by tiredness and the dirt that seemed to fall of any surface with the slightest touch. Despite this the effort was deemed worthwhile, for with the approach of the cutter's torch such an exploration would no longer be possible.
With dawn approaching the two of us made good our exit, taking care not to lose any fingers in the hatch as it closed, and then hiding by the conning tower as a giant cargo ship was escorted past by two tugs. The last stage of our night's work was to rappel down onto the quayside and de-rig the ropes, already decided that if there was ever another time, we'd use a damn ladder instead.
If the photos above don't convince you about just how grim the task of the U-boatmen was, then remember that statistic from the La Pallice article: three quarters of U-boat crewmen were to meet their deaths during WW2. The men knew the odds were stacked against them, and surely they must have thought about this as they pulled the hatch shut, watching that last glimpse of daylight disappear and wondering if and when they would next be coming up for air.
Thanks to Frank for helping with the initial planning (which involved teaching ourselves single rope ascending in the cathedral graveyard) and also reefdog and TristanJay for their ideas, improvisation and company. Thanks also to Jack Higgins for his excellent novel Thunder Point, which inspired my fascination with the possibility of mysterious submarine escape attempts in those final desperate days of the crumbling Reich. Finally anyone who would like to read about the incredible bravery of a certain few Allied serviceman who made a unique effort to meet the U-boat threat should read The Tin Openers by Kendall McDonald.
