GALICIAN

A SOUTHAMPTON ship's crew survived to tell the tale of near disaster in the First World War because some German naval commanders were reluctant to attack British liners with women and children on board.

The officers were anxious not to offend public opinion and the atmosphere created was of a "gentlemen's war'' which, sadly, was to be only too short-lived.

An intriguing example of this, involving the Southampton-bound Union-Castle liner, the 6,757 ton Galician, occurred in the South Atlantic in the first month of the war.

She left Cape Town on July 28, 1914, in the last fragile days of peace. A 13-year-old ship, she was the last of the G-class vessels ordered by the old Union Lines towards the end of the previous century.

Within a few days of departure, war was declared and Captain E.W. Day, the Galician's master, was ordered to keep clear of the Canary Islands in case German cruisers had already moved in.

He plotted a new course 60 miles west of the normal route but the additional steaming badly reduced the stocks of coal on board.

By radio Captain Day asked if coal was available in Tenerife and, more important, if the track to the island was clear. He was assured on both points.

Little did Captain Day and his crew realise that these messages were overheard by a German raider lurking just over the horizon. She was a former transatlantic liner, Kaiser Wilhelm der Grosse, which once held the Blue Riband. Now she was painted all black and armed with six 10.5cm guns.

Aboard Galician, on August 15, lunch had just been finished when a four-funnel ship was sighted, steaming on a parallel course. She flew no flags and gave no indication of what she might be.

Soon the newcomer closed the gap, ran up the German ensign and signalled to Captain Day that if he used the radio his ship would be sunk.

Two German officers and a party of armed sailors crossed to Galician as passengers were paraded on deck.

The Germans sabotaged the radio and inspected the ship's papers and after two hours left, even taking with them cigarettes and tobacco presented by passengers in appreciation of their courteous behaviour.

However Galician's troubles were not over. She was ordered to steam ahead of the raider and to keep all lights extinguished for the night.

The passengers' worst fears grew when the raider ordered all effects to be assembled on deck and for the life-boats to be provisioned.

Soon after dawn, another message came from the German ship and when it was read to the passengers there were tears and cheers of relief.

The German commander had signalled: "I will not destroy your ship on account of the women and children on board. You are dismissed. Goodbye.''

Captain Day replied with a message of thanks.

The two ships quickly parted company. Galician headed for Tenerife, where Captain Day's reports alerted the authorities to the fact that raider was operating in the South Atlantic.

HMS Highflyer, a cruiser, was ordered to search, and found the Germans loading coal at Rio de Oro on a desolate part of the Sahara coast. The raider was disabled by gunfire and subsequently scuttled by her crew.

Meanwhile Galician had reached Southampton, where she was renamed Glenart Castle and transformed into a hospital ship.

She was torpedoed without warning on February 26, 1918, at the entrance to the Bristol Channel when sailing from Newfoundland, Canada.

It was a bitter winter's morning and only 33 of the 186 crew and military staff survived.