PART 1 :The rescue – etched on my mind forever.

[Mike Newton]

Here I start to try and describe the rescue and the two weeks the Vietnamese were on Wellpark. As a lowly second trip cadet I was not party to everything that happened so the following is my own experience, complemented by detail and my impressions of what happened else where. I apologise if in any way part of my description is not completely correct as a result. .......................

My mind drifted for a moment, drawn to the glass of ice cold water sat on my desk. The water tilted within the glass and then shuddered as the ship around it rolled on the wave and vibrated to the cavitation of the propeller. I glanced towards the black porthole. I had tightened the dogs on it earlier when the roll of the ship coincided with a high wave and momentarily our cabin view looked underwater, down into the ocean. I was a little weary. With the warm air and physical nature of our work I knew I should get some sleep before my duty watch started on the ship’s navigation bridge at midnight.

But I had to finish my Correspondence course. As only a second trip deck cadet, training as a Navigation Officer, I was almost the lowest of the low, and it was important my study at sea was completed on time. “Wellpark” was only three days from arrival in Kaohsiung and my work would have to be posted back to Nautical College in Glasgow on the other side of the world for marking. As luck would have it, we had speeded up a few days earlier from our normal cruising speed to our maximum of 15 knots, so that the ship could meet its dry-dock slot in Korea and still connect into a lucrative string of cargo charters thereafter. Dammit: I had even less time to finish my studies!

I could have excused myself. As I had just written in a letter to my mother it had already been a very eventful trip, a real experience for a young man keen to see the world. The journey itself from my home in the extreme north of Scotland to the south of Argentina had involved no less than seven separate flights over three days. And the weeks at sea crossing the lower latitudes of the South Atlantic, watching the albatross glide for days, before we moved into the warmer Indian Ocean and relaxed in its sunshine, had made it seem more like a cruise. After the enormous waves we endured around South Africa we had time for fun after work, playing games on deck and organising our Crossing the Line Ceremony. Later we had passed through the Sunda Straights, passing tropical islands on both sides. Here we watched brightly coloured sailing boats dart between the islands, flying fish, and plumes of smoke erupt from a huge volcano. We were a happy ship and we were on a journey that had now taken us into the South China Sea.

It was 7.53 pm on Sunday 1st October when I had just focussed my mind back on my Correspondence course that suddenly the ship’s emergency alarms rang, and my life changed forever.

Immediately the tannoy blared, “This is not a drill!”. Still wearing my jeans and T-shirt, I scooped up my helmet and lifejacket and headed from my cabin, out through the water-tight door on to the main deck and up the two steel staircases to my emergency station on the poop deck next to the port lifeboat. All over the ship, cadets and men rose from what they were doing. Some were in the shower, some in the laundry, some eating, some relaxing and some fast asleep. All rose as one and ran to take up their posts at the three main emergency stations: by the port and starboard lifeboats and on the ship’s bridge.

As we gathered at our post, of course we were intrigued. What was happening? It was pitch dark outside and we could see nothing. Were we in danger of sinking and in trouble ourselves? Was there a fire on board? We relaxed as word filtered round it was a fishing boat that had fired off a distress flare, and we had time to laugh at the first-trip cadet who arrived at the emergency station in slippers and pyjamas.

And then we saw it…well, our keen eyes saw a flame, just a brief glimpse, distant in the black of the night out on the starboard (right) side of the ship. A roll was called and the senior cadets were selected to climb up into the port lifeboat with three officers, as we attended to removing the covers off the launching equipment and unshackling the boat for lowering.

40 minutes had elapsed from the sighting of the flare and the call to emergency stations, when we were ordered to lower the lifeboat to the water. Wellpark had closed in on the boat in distress but from where we were we could no longer see it. At 171 metres long, and a laden weight of over 40,000 tonnes, Wellpark had slowed but was still pushing into the waves at around 7 knots. In the wake of tropical storm ‘Lola’ the sea’s swell was high, there being roughly 15 feet (4.5 metres) between the peaks and troughs of the waves. Quickly the lifeboat was lowered until the tops of the passing waves ran below its hull. On a given signal the fore and aft quick release buckles were pressed to drop the boat onto the top of a wave. But disaster! The release buckle holding the front of the boat did not release, and the falling wave threatened to leave the rescue craft hanging vertically, and hurl its crew into the dark waters.

Desperately they hung on, until the waters rose once more under the boat. Then it thrust the rear of the boat upwards, slamming a cadet’s head against 100 kilos of lifeboat pulley blocks dangling from the ship. Only his helmet saved him from serious injury. In an instant the Second Officer grabbed an axe and swung at the jammed release catch. The steel rings parted and the boat dropped onto the wave. Quickly the Lister engine was put into gear and the Training Officer swung the tiller, accelerating the boat away from the ship, out onto the waves and into the surrounding darkness.

Up above, there had been excited activity since the Chief Officer spotted the red flare, four points on the port bow. Immediately Captain,Hector Connell, had been called to the ship’s command point on the bridge and all other staff had been called to Emergency Stations by alarm and tannoy. The Wellpark swung her bows towards the point of light in the darkness as the Radio Officer began to relay the distress signal. Hearing the distress call, “Manhattan Viscount”, 40 miles to the south advised she would come to assist. But the Russian cargo ship, “Zoia Kosmodiemanskaia”, and the British gas tanker, “Norman Lady” were much closer and they were going to arrive on the emergency scene much sooner.

Out on the sea, the lifeboat battled its way towards the boat in distress. Although accustomed to a life at sea, many of its crew began to suffer from sea-sickness as the small boat rose and fell on the large waves. Swallowed amongst them they often lost sight of the boat they had been sent to investigate, but the powerful beam of the Aldis signalling light shone from the Wellpark’s bridge wing to guide them. With radio instructions too, it helped show them the way. It was 20 minutes before they got close, and then out of the darkness they saw what appeared to be a grossly overcrowded wooden craft. The lifeboat manoeuvred in close, but had to hold off slightly to prevent being thrown against the larger craft by the waves. Although the crew reached out, the desperate people on the boat held back from jumping into the lifeboat, fearful that their rescuers could not be trusted. There were shouts and cries in the confusion, but amongst it someone demanded of the lifeboat crew what nation they were from. When the reply was given that they were British, Scottish at that, the word rapidly spread and without hesitation the first man jumped across the dark waters to the lifeboat. Quickly, in two more passes, about 15 men leapt from all angles for the boat, many landing heavily on the hard thwarts of the lifeboat as it bucked on the waves. Now the boat in distress was heeling over with the shift of humanity wanting to escape the deathtrap their boat had become. But with shouts of, “We’ll come back” the lifeboat withdrew and headed back to Wellpark. Huddled low in the center of the lifeboat one man told his saviours that there were over 300 refugees from South Vietnam crammed on the distress craft.

Looking down from the poop deck to the returning lifeboat I saw a large number of men and one boy. Having not yet seen the distress craft, I thought, what sort of small fishing boat carried such a number? We had rigged a rope pilot ladder down the vertical side of the ship. The lifeboat nosed in under the ship’s side, which had now been turned to provide some shelter. But still the lifeboat rose and fell on the ship’s swell so that when one man started up the ladder the lifeboat lifted suddenly on the next wave and chased him up the ladder. A man started to climb but only got half way before fear or exhaustion took over. Grimly he hung on before eventually carrying on to the top. We watched, helpless to do more, as one at a time they struggled up towards the ship, terrified one would drop down to the lifeboat or disappear into the blackness of the waves. Exhausted they collapsed to the deck where we sat them against the hatch coaming. The ship's cook and his staff dashed to the ship’s stores to gather blankets and to provide drinks for the rescued. Empty of its cargo, the lifeboat twisted and tossed on the waves and we saw many cadets heaving with sea-sickness. But sick as they were, none requested to leave his post.

Again the lifeboat left the ship’s side and headed off into to the dark. I crossed to the starboard side of the vessel and was on the maindeck as Wellpark tried to move closer to protect the refugee boat. Now the refugee boat moved in to the arc of light provided by the ship’s lights mounted high on her deck cranes. For the first time I saw the boat close up. And my eyes failed to comprehend what I was seeing. Here was this wooden boat 60 –70 feet (20 metres) long, packed from stem to stern with people stood shoulder to shoulder on its deck. Here they were riding out the aftermath of a tropical storm some 148 miles from the nearest land. There was a strong, farmyard type smell and I could hear the roaring of the boats engine. The craft was pointing towards the side of Wellpark, and I could tell its commander was frantically trying to get it to reverse away. Suddenly the boat crested a huge swell and was swept towards Wellpark. It’s pointed bow rose high above the Wellpark’s railings immediately above me. I was entranced, fixed to the spot, knowing I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. There was no escape and any second that boat would crash down on the very spot I occupied. But at the exact moment I thought death would come to me, somehow, the giant mouth of the sea sucked the refugee boat back over the Wellpark’s rails and back into the ocean. With relief I saw the boat pass down the side of the ship and back into the dark behind Wellpark. It was 9.00pm

As Wellpark was turned and moved to offer shelter for the rescue operation, the Russian ship “Zoia Kosmodiemanskaia” moved in perilously close. Her lights were so close, to us it seemed like she was trying to interfere, putting her bow between Wellpark and the refugee boat. Now we were beginning to understand what was happening and who we were trying to help. A Russian ship, from a Communist state might try to‘steal’ the refugees and take them back to Vietnam. If it had seemed like just one more interesting high point on our voyage, now we realized it really was a matter of life and death. Wellpark’s Captain ordered the Russian ship to keep her distance.

Tiny against the ocean, Wellpark’s 25 foot long lifeboat closed on the distress craft once more. This time about 20 men, women and children leapt into the boat. Some clasped the hands of its crew thanking them for what they were doing, kissing their hands in gratitude. This time the ship was closer and we found the lifeboat back on the port side at the bottom of the ladder after barely ten minutes. But now we realized we had to help these people reach the deck. We lowered ropes. Some had the strength to pull themselves up the vertical ladder some of the way; others we had to lift completely as they simply were too weak to climb. Focused on the job in hand I barely noticed the small crowd that was forming on the steel deck behind us. As the last was brought on deck we lowered more fuel to the lifeboat. Some cadets looked up at their colleagues on deck. They were physically weak from sea-sickness, but again they set off once more in to the night.

Up on the bridge the ships engine was stopped, started, slowed and speeded up on over 120 separate occasions as her Captain sought to provide shelter to the refugee boat. Constantly turning, and working to adjust to the erratic manoeuvres of the distress craft, and the ‘assisting’ ships, Hector Connell would later be praised for his masterly seamanship.

Now he commanded Wellpark to follow the lifeboat. As the clock passed 10pm, on the deck we were ordered to get all available ropes from the rope store. This included the large floating polypropylene mooring ropes as well as smaller throwing ropes. We tied the bigger ropes together and passed them down to the lifeboat which took them in tow. It struggled to drag them over the waves and made slow progress to the distress vessel. They signalled that the refugees should tie their boat to the ropes, but the British crew could not make themselves understood. Part by luck and part intentionally, the lifeboat was steered so that the ropes fouled the distress craft’s propeller. Quickly we spun the ropes onto the winches and pulled the boat towards the Wellpark’s side. Passing down ropes we wanted the refugees to fix our ropes to the bitts on their boats deck. But the boat was relatively small compared to Wellpark and as it lifted and fell on the waves the ropes kept breaking or pulling off the fixings on the vessel. In all, working hard as a group of cadets, it took us an hour to get the distress craft tied securely to Wellpark so that the rest of the deck crew could start to haul the huge numbers of men, women and children up from the boat below.

Now I could see the mass of humanity covering every part of the simple wooden boat. So disciplined and trained were we that we acted naturally even though none of us had ever experienced, or trained for, such an event. As we organized ourselves into lifting teams to get the Vietnamese on deck I was tasked with searching everyone as they came on board. Of course I had no training for this. We told the poor people we had to search them, but the refugees did not seem to understand our English, and we resorted to comical sign language in a poor version of charades to eventually convey what we meant. But I was shocked at the reaction I got. The women and children in front of me put their hands in the air, in the way I had only seen soldiers in war films surrender. I was embarrassed and horrified to realize these people were frightened of me. Frantically I urged them to put their arms down, and cautiously they did so.

I was lost to time. But on we went, working under the ship’s floodlights, pulling on the ropes, hauling babies in baskets, children on ropes and helping the adults up the scrambling nets and ladders. I was unaware of what everyone else was doing, we were all doing our bit hidden within the crowd at the ship’s railings as the ship’s catering staff led the Vietnamese down towards the ship’s accommodation. Many just collapsed on to the steel deck where they were, just too weak to go on. Realising how dehydrated and starved these people were, the ships cooks and stewards quickly set about making gallons of soup and coffee and handed out all the bedding material they could. But this was a ship equipped and stored for 50 crew, not a population of 400. So starved and thirsty were the refugees that civilities like handing out portions of food gave way to handing out whole packets of cereals and any other foods that came immediately to hand.

It was ten minutes past midnight when the last refugee was pulled from the decrepit craft below. Now Wellpark slowly made way forwards. A large mooring rope was passed down to the lifeboat who landed two crew onto the craft. Unable to find a suitably strong fixing point they moved down in to its stinking hull and found a large beam to secure the tow rope to. As the lifeboat returned to the Wellpark’s port quarter, we cut the refugee craft free of the ropes binding it to the side of Wellpark so it would drift astern and take up its position on tow. But now the lifeboat struggled against the swell to pick up the falls so it could be lifted on board. Time and again the lifeboat approached but could not safely reach the ship for fear of being lifted by a wave to crash against the dangling pulleys. The sea seemed to have become rougher and it took until almost 2.00 a.m to hook up the lifeboat. Up it came, with its tired crew, but one of the davits jammed leaving the boat slewed on its mountings. We secured it there, allowing the crew to dismount awkwardly. There was a sober quietness, everyone was so exhausted. As Wellpark started to get back on course and up to speed. we started to gather our ropes and equipment back up. All around us the Vietnamese were quiet, lying on the ships deck in darkness, now the ship’s deck lights had been switched off for navigation.

I got changed into my uniform and climbed up to the ship’s bridge to start my watch at 4.00am. I took up position as lookout on the starboard bridge wing, looking down on the sleeping refugees curled up on top of No.5 hatch. Although our games nets enclosed the area, there was no protection from the elements, but the night was warm and humid. Some large waves started to come on board, rolling down the deck on the port side, as the ship rolled. The Captain ordered the ship to slow a little to protect the exposed people. From my high view point, I looked down and marvelled at the numbers of people, so quiet and peaceful. Were they dreaming sweetly, enjoying the luxury and safety of Wellpark’s steel decks? Or were they unconscious, utterly drained by their experience? I was tired too and I had to keep active to stay awake. Occasionally I looked back into the darkness behind the ship where the refugee boat snaked from side to side across Wellpark’s wake.

Suddenly there was a loud cracking noise, and I saw the black bulk of the refugee boat suddenly fall apart and disappear in to the dark. Just the stem post and a few beams remained attached to the rope, and they danced on the waters churned white by Wellpark’s propellor. The refugee boat had been lost at sea forever.



A summary of the next two weeks to come soon

[Thuy Pham AKA Bich Thuy]

Mike,
Your recollection of that night is unbelievable! You now have a second career as a writer. :)
Thank you for your tireless and continuous effort in keeping this website lively.

Thuy

[Carmel Fenton]

Mike

Really amazing account of the night, I think the words etched on your mind forever are so true, my Dad the same as you would re-live the rescue over and over again, telling us detail about the rescue, describing how special the people rescued were, how much fun the children were but most importantly understanding just what the rescue meant to both the vietnamese and crew. I think the rescue is etched on the hearts of the crew and only those that were there will ever understand the true meaning but with your help, the memories of Dad's stories and Jo's film it makes me incredibly proud to know I have a connection with the acts of bravery, kindness and friendship.

[Craig Holmes]

Good effort, Mike. Did you research some of the stuff retrospectively? I can't remember anywhere near as much about the night of the rescue. You've done a good job.

I do recall that two of us senior cadets were ordered to stay on deck and 'supervise' preparations for the reception of survivors but I don't recall much supervising, just working to get as many people on board as possible. I recall being required to search people (for firearms) initially, but then I think we all realised that the survivors just needed some basic humanitarian assistance and that what the main task became. Most came on board with only the clothes they were standing in, I think. I recall lifting any number of infants and small children on board with a heaving line attached to a red adidas sports bag.

I also recall the chaos on deck when we started turning back onto the track towards Kaoshiung. She rolled heavily a few times and I remember shepherding many away from the ships side as they careered towards it thorough being too weak and tired to walk along the deck in a straight line against the roll of the ship.

It will be fascinated to hear the Vietnamese personal stories that lead to our meeting on the high seas that night. The whole saga of the exodus from Vietnam to successful re-settlement in various other countries. Interesting stuff. 30 years on it has finally awakened my curiosity!