A Great War anti-U-boat operations D.S.M. group of three awarded to 2nd Hand J. H....

A Great War anti-U-boat operations D.S.M. group of three awarded to 2nd Hand J. H. Crumpton, Royal Naval Reserve, who was decorated for his gallant deeds in the Sea King – ex-Q-ship Remexo - in June 1917, when she successfully attacked with depth charges and sank the UC-66 off the Lizard Distinguished Service Medal G.V.R. (SD.3186 J. H. Crumpton, 2nd Hd. R.N.R. “Sea King” English Channel, 12 June 1917); British War and Victory Medals (SD.3186 J. H. Crumpton. 2nd Hd. R.N.R.) mounted court-style for display, nearly extremely fine (3) £1,200-£1,600 (3) £1,200-£1,600 --- Importation Duty This lot is subject to importation duty of 5% on the hammer price unless exported outside the UK --- --- D.S.M. London Gazette 31st July 1919: ‘For services in action with enemy submarines.’ Note: Award delayed as destruction of submarine not confirmed until May 1919. Jesse Henry Crumpton was born in Rochester, Kent on 25 June 1883, and enrolled in the Royal Naval Reserve in November 1915. He saw no seagoing service until the following year, when he served in H.M. Trawlers Moray and Lorna Doone, following which, in May 1917, he joined the Sea King (Ex-Q-ship Remexo) under Lieutenant-Commander Godfrey Herbert, D.S.O., R.N.; the latter had already gained notoriety for his uncompromising command of the Q-ship Baralong, not least in her close encounter with the U-27 in August 1915. Of Sea King’s subsequent action against the UC-66 in the Channel on 12 June 1917, Keeble Chatterton’s Amazing Adventure takes up the story: ‘Admiral Luard, the Senior Naval Officer at Falmouth, had received a report that night of a submarine's presence somewhere near the Lizard and ordered Herbert's flotilla off to sea. This sudden alteration of routine, after coming into port and stand-off, was something of a surprise. Men were below taking their well-earned rest and looking forward to a walk ashore in the morning. “I immediately sent a signal to prepare for sea,” Herbert still remembers, “but had some difficulty getting the orders to my friend Buchanan in the Sea Sweeper. After several attempts failed, I fired my revolver at his waterline, which quickly did the trick and we sailed on time.” Through the dark and still summer’s night they all four steamed out past old Pendennis Castle, Helford River’s mouth, the Manacles, and so to the Gaunt Lizard. “We spent a gorgeous middle-watch in perfect weather, and at sunrise I thought to myself how many City workers would have given £10 a minute to be yachting with us.” The dark hours passed, and the dawn of a beautiful day revealed the channel in its kinder mood with shipping going up and down on its lawful occasions. No submarine, however, in sight! Perhaps just one more of those numerous yarns which never came to anything? None the less, you could never be sure, and it was generally supposed that somewhere between the Lizard and Kynance Cove U-boats were fond of going to rest on the bottom. So long as she was down below with engines stopped these four Trawlers would only waste their hours. Besides, the sun had risen, it was time the enemy rose likewise and did something. So Herbert decided to wake him up. “At 4.30 a.m.,” he relates, “I dropped a baby depth charge on a known submarine resting ground not far from Kynance Cove, with the objective of stirring to life any somnolent Hun and incidentally, desiring some fresh fish for breakfast.” During the forenoon, all four trawlers were keeping watch south of the Lizard, listening keenly with their hydrophones. So far nothing had been seen, nothing heard. The Sea King and her sisters seemed to have been brought on a fool’s errand. But at 11.30 a.m. when 2½ miles south east of the headland, “I spotted about 400 yards away, two or three points off my port bow, the periscope, stanchion, and jumper stay of a submarine travelling westward at about 4 or 5 knots. Having seen that stay, I could judge her course much more easily than if only her periscope had been visible. I concluded that her captain had probably just been taking a bearing from the Lizard, and as I turned towards him he dived. At once I hoisted in the Sea King a signal to turn eight points, though this was not taken by all the flotilla. But we all wasted not a second letting-go 16 large depth charges and 64 smaller ones. “It was an exciting moment whilst these were exploding. There was very little time for any signals, and the manner in which the whole flotilla dropped their bombs was admirable. No one could tell exactly where the enemy existed: all I knew was that she lay very near, and it was a barrage which did the trick. Every charge detonated perfectly, all explosions were very heavy, and one sent up water three times the height of any others.” As the tide off the Lizard has, at its maximum, a velocity of 3 knots, a fresh breeze blowing against this soon kicks up a nasty sea. For most of the year there will be found off here a rough tumble of waves and unpleasant jobble: the worst conditions for hydrophone operations. This forenoon, however, the tide was running at about 2 knots to the eastward, and everything remained calm under the favourable weather. To leeward of the enemy there rose up a quantity of oil. The depth charges had beyond all questioning, burst the submarine, set off her mines and torpedoes. Not one German body came to the surface. “The Admiralty instructions,” adds Herbert facetiously, “were very carefully designed to prevent more than one large depth charge being ready at any given moment. Whilst each of us had four, the official orders were that one of these big types was to be ready on deck, but the remainder below unprimed. However, I realized that such levels of precaution were not warranted and, consequently, we all kept our big charges primed and ready “in case”. During the general melee which followed my signal ordering a turn to port, we somehow managed to have one collision, through a helmsman’s misunderstanding, but the damage was very slight. After the sea had regained its calm from the underwater disturbance, we stopped our engines and listened on our hydrophones. It was ideal for hearing any movement, but nothing came through, not a sound reached us. Had she survived, our expert listeners would certainly have detected her under way. The depth at this spot was 40 fathoms, so she could not have rested on the bottom voluntarily. Finally, after hanging about the locality during several hours, we returned to Falmouth, were I reported the affair to Admiral Luard.” Months passed, the Armistice came and went, and at the end of May 1919 - almost two years since the event - an official letter reached Herbert from the Lords of the Admiralty “that it is now known that the submarine in question, UC-66, commanded by Herbert Pustkuchen, was destroyed with the loss of all hands.” This announcement set every doubt at rest, although as a submarine officer himself he had been convinced all the while that the German perished utterly. During the year 1917, Herbert had been at last promoted to Commander, and now for his Lizard victory received a Bar to his Baralong D.S.O. Lieutenant Buchanan was awarded the D.S.C. and two of the crew the D.S.M.’ And one of them was Crumpton, who was demobilised in March 1919.