Let's talk about Simon. Ship's cat for HMS Amethyst. Survivor of the 1949 Yangtse Incident and the only cat ever to be awarded the Dickin Medal, the animal equivalent of the Victoria Cross.
Simon was born on the streets of Hong Kong, most likely sometime in 1947. His early life was spent scavenging for food in the dockyards.
This was how he met 17 year old Ordinary Seaman George Hickinbottom of HMS Amethyst, when the ship stopped there to resupply in early 1948.
Hickinbottom was rather taken with the young malnourished tuxedo kitty, and decided that Amethyst's lack of a ship's cat needed addressing.
To avoid the possibility of disagreement with this plan, Simon was smuggled aboard under his tunic, past the watch.
Unfortunately for George, he was quartered close to the Captain's cabin. Which Simon very quickly realised was better kitted out for long snoozes.
Indeed Simon discovered that upturned captains' hats were particular comfy. To the surprise of Lt Cdr Griffiths, the ship's captain.
The secret out, Griffiths (who was luckily a cat lover) agreed that Simon could take up post as Ordinary Seacat, with one caveat:
To quote George:
"He warned me that if he saw any muck on board, he'd have me up on a charge"
Simon quickly became a respected member of the crew. He was a keen rat hunter and a regular in the mess area where his party trick was plucking ice cubes out of people's drinks with a claw.
In late 1948 Lt Cdr Skinner assumed command. Luckily he was a cat lover too. Simon stayed
Simon's rat hunting became a particularly huge benefit for a ship that was constantly plagued by them due to its station.
Skinner and Simon also formed a close bond. With Captain's cabin (and hat) privileges soon reconfirmed.
In 1949 HMS Amethyst was ordered to steam up the Yangtze and relieve HMS Consort, which was standing as a guard ship for the British Embassy at Nanjing during the Chinese Civil War.
Mistaking her passage for an American naval intervention, Amethyst was heavily shelled by the PLA
Salvos ripped through the bridge and elsewhere, killing Captain Skinner and the whole bridge crew. Amethyst slewed and grounded. The wounded radioman managed one message:
"Under heavy fire. Am aground in approx. position 31.10' North 119.20' East. Large number of casualties"
With about 50 men dead and wounded on Amethyst, the shelling stopped. Any attempt to refloat or move, however, provoked more shelling and sniper fire.
A stalemate now ensued, as the British rushed ships to assist and negotiations with the Communists began.
Ordinary Seacat Simon had been in the Captain's cabin when a shell hit it, sending shrapnel flying. Badly wounded in back and legs, his whiskers singed off, he dragged himself to safety in a gangway to wait out the shelling and seems to have lost consciousness.
Negotiations dragged on. Amethyst was stranded. The most seriously wounded were evacuated to the far bank, and Lt Cmdr Kerans, the Naval Attache from Nanjing arrived to take command.
After a few days, Simon was finally found after he dragged himself onto deck, wounded and weak.
Simon was rushed to the temporary sickbay where the relief medical officer worked hard to remove the shrapnel and patch him up.
The operation was successful, but weak and with his heart failing, Simon was not expected to survive the night.
Somehow Simon survived. The remaining crew took turns nursing him, as much in hope as expectation.
A few days later Simon was left alone briefly as the crew gathered to commit their lost colleagues to the water.
When they turned, they found Simon had joined them at the funeral.
As the stalemate dragged on into weeks, Simon became a vital part of the crew once again.
Stranded with few supplies, rats became an increasing problem for the ship. Despite the crew's efforts to stop him, Simon resumed hunting them in spite of his obvious pain.
When not hunting rats, Simon would spend most of his time in sickbay, where he would purr, knead and head-boop wounded and sick sailors, before curling up next to them and snoozing.
For a young, scared crew he became more than a ship's cat. He was a talisman.
Lt Cmdr Kerans was NOT a cat man. On arrival, he ordered that if they made it out, Simon should be put ashore.
In June, Keran himself fell seriously ill and was confined to sickbay with a high fever.
He awoke to find Simon purring alongside him.
The ashore order was revoked.
With the situation becoming desperate, morale worsened as the Amethyst prepped for a desperate dash to the sea.
It was now that Simon finally managed to catch the largest rat on the ship, which had plagued the crew for months, lifting everyone
Kerans promoted him to Able Seacat
On the night of 30th July 1949, Amethyst successfully made a break for the sea.
In the aftermath, the crew insisted Simon deserved an Amethyst Campaign medal as much as the crew. Keran agreed. One was unofficially issued to Able Seacat Simon.
Repairing in Hong Kong, the ship received a message from the Armed Forces Mascot Club suggesting Simon qualified for the Dickin Medal.
This is the highest award for gallantry or devotion that can be granted to animals serving with the British Armed Forces or Civil Defence Units.
The award was confirmed on 10th August 1949, when Able Seacat Simon of HMS Amethyst became the 54th (and only feline) recipient of the Dickin medal.
A collar in the medal's ribbon colours was sent to Hong Kong and issued to Simon as an honour guard was stood.
The citation read:
The plan was to issue the Seacat with his full medal on the ship's return to the UK, in December 1949.
But Simon's health was still poor. During quarantine on arrival in the UK, Simon developed acute enteritis.
Vets fought to save him. Crew members took turns to stand watch.
Simon quietly passed away in his sleep on 28 November 1949, as a member of Amethyst's crew stood watch over him. Just as he had stood watch over them.
Devastated, but proud of their colleague, the crew organised a full burial with honours.
Simon was placed gently in a specially made casket, draped in a Union Jack, and buried with full naval honours in the Pet Cemetery in Ilford, attended by the crew he loved and who loved him back.
You can visit him there today.
This thread is in memory of Simon. 1947 - 1949.
His memorial stone reads:
IN MEMORY OF "SIMON"
SERVED IN
H.M.S. AMETHYST
MAY 1948 — SEPTEMBER 1949
AWARDED DICKIN MEDAL
AUGUST 1949
DIED 28TH NOVEMBER 1949.
THROUGHOUT THE YANGTZE INCIDENT
HIS BEHAVIOUR WAS OF THE HIGHEST ORDER
As usual, if you enjoyed this history thread then you can buy me a Friday coffee (or beer) here! But please don't feel you have to!
Boris Johnson's press conferences/committee appearances make a lot more sense once you accept that he will literally say whatever he thinks will get him out of the room quick enough.
There's no grand plan to the shite he spouts in front of a camera or committee.
His staff's sole goal with their briefing notes is to try and channel him into making as few promises, and spouting as little bollocks as possible, before he makes his hasty exit.
It's why he visibly reverts to grumpy eton schoolboy mode the moment a follow up question is asked.
He gave you his hopefully distracting answer already. HOW VERY DARE YOU make him have to try and think of another one, delaying his exit even longer.
Since I seem to be in a tunnels Twitter mood today, here's a picture I grabbed of the Tunnelers' Memorial in France.
It's relatively hard to find, but is near Bethune. /1
It's somewhat obscurely located, because it sits above the place where William Hackett of the 254th Tunnelling Company died, earning a posthumous Victoria Cross.
Hackett was part of a mixed team that were working on a tunnel gallery when a German counter-mine exploded, bringing the tunnel down on the men inside.
After 20 hours of frantic digging, those outside the blast range managed to dig a tiny tunnel through to the trapped survivors.