Death in the Sun The story of the sinking and subsequent discovery of a French submarine, told by Reg Vallintine. Research and photographs by Zareh Amadouny.
Dawn skimmed the ripples of the Eastern Mediterranean. As the sun rose over a calm sea that morning of June 25, 1941, it was difficult to remember that a World war was going on. France had fallen to the Nazis and the French Navy under the "Vichy" government was now at the disposal of the "Axis" powers, Germany and Italy. The French submarine "Souffleur"(or Blower) together with her sister submarines, the "Caiman" and the "Marsouin," had spent several weeks patrolling off the coast of the Lebanon. Their mission was to prevent the Allied troops, particularly the British, from getting reinforcements or supplies by sea. The commander of Souffleur gently eased up his periscope. There was no sign of the enemy and, after exchanging sonar signals, the Caiman and the Marsouin set course Westwards.Through the periscope , Souffleur Captain could make out the huge city of Beirut in the distance.
For those interested
in a more recent color photo,click image.He swung round and the low lying coast nearby came into view. There was no sign of life. Souffleur had been submerged for a considerable time and there was a need to surface to recharge batteries &emdash;both electrical and human! "Blow, 2, 3, and 6," he ordered. "Stand by to surface". The long dark shape broke the surface like a great whale rising from the depths. Two hundred and fifty feet of silent death lay rolling gently on the surface. The French sailors clambered gratefully out of the conning tower savouring the warm sun and fresh air. Although far from shore, two of them decided on a swim. They knew the Mediterranean well and, after testing the current, swam strongly away from the submarine. They looked back along the surface admiring Souffleur lines.
No one knew that at that moment other eyes were also sizing up "Souffleur". Commander Rimington of H.M.S. Partheon was checking the lines of the French submarine. The hunter was hunted! With a great explosion the first torpedo hit "Souffleur". All was chaos, shouts, cries, and roaring water. And then there was silence. A wave subsided as "Souffleur" took her last plunge.
The two French sailors treading water watched in horror and then began fearfully to swim for the distant coast. When they staggered ashore, they knew that they were the only survivors of the crew. Forty-five officers and men had forever.
She was slowly forgotten until nearly 25 years later : two divers, Zareh Amadouny and Raimond Abdelnour, became interested in the story. Lebanese aqualung divers can still almost be counted on the fingers of two hands, but what they lack in numbers they make up for in ability.
Raimond is one of those quiet, calm divers on whom you feel instinctively that you can rely in a tight corner underwater. He is the intellectual of the Lebanese diving scene and one of the most knowledgeable divers I have met.
Zareh is a slighter figure with a constant smile. He is a qualified instructor, expert underwater photographer and veteran of expeditions to the Red Sea.
They quizzed the local sponge divers and fishermen trying to overcome their suspicion that they were trying to steal their living. The stories they heard were contradictory and resulted in many months of fruitless searching. Finally, the evidence pointed to Souffleur having gone down off the village of Khalde, South of Beirut. More searching, and finally success a never-to-be forgotten moment when they first saw the dark lines of the wreck outlined against the white sand bottom.
Not so long afterwards, I was in the Lebanon for a short visit. I dived along the Lebanese coast with Raimond and the other members of the "Clam" Diving Club exploring Byblos, Tabarja, and the fabulous old ports of Tyre and Sidon.Before long Raimond began to talk of the submarine and, just before I was due to leave, the weather became calm enough to try to reach her. It was 30 years all but a few days since she went down.
It is a typical small diving expedition. We charter a tiny open Lebanese fishing boat with just enough space for three to "kit up" on board.Staggering down the beach, we load up, and the sand is so hot that it burns my feet. The old, wizened boatman swings cylinders and weight belts aboard as though they are matchwood and we are away over a sea of blue silk. Raimond and Zareh relax in the sun although Zareh is unusually serious. He has forgotten his photographs of Beirut and the coast taken from the site. These form his "marks" for finding the wreck. He peers through field glasses and the heat haze towards Beirut far astern of us. I feel that the chances of finding the wreck way out "in the blue" are lessening.Abeam of us, VC10s and Boeings rear into the air from the new airport and turn out to sea over our heads. The boatman produces a battered bottle of arak, radiates bonhomie, and takes little further part in the proceedings. Raimond takes over the tiller from him and follows Zareh's instructions. We head further out towards the horizon &emdash;a search for a needle in a haystack! At a sign from Zareh, Raimond cuts the engine and we lie, rolling gently in the deep clear bottomless blueness.
It is sheer ecstasy to fall backwards into the coolness of the sea after the sweating preparations on board. I put on my mask as I sink, bubble the water out, and watch the others close towards me under the boat. Watch bezels are set, and Zareh leads the way down. Blueness is in all directions as I "fall" effortlessly, feet first, with my fingers pressed into my mask. I watch the needle of my depth gauge move gently round . . . 20, 30, 40, 60, 80 feet, and suddenly a sand bottom appears far below. This is 'the moment of truth'! I write on my slate: "Bottom visible, 80 ft at 01". Zareh takes an instant decision and points the direction. We follow, not very hopefully, spread out widely on each side of him. On this huge feature less plain of sand you could lose fifty submarines!
Two minutes later a dark mass is looming up and we shout into our tubes. I drop down, take out my mouthpiece and blow mock kisses in the direction of Zareh. He bows formally, covered in self satisfaction. I sink further and write: "Standing on the deck of submarine at 105 ft at 05". It looks enormous as we swim along the hull and pick out the depths keeping planes below. Raimond explains their function with hand movements. Then a small turret comes into view and, suddenly the high conning tower with its machine gun pointing upwards.
Left: The Souffleur leans at an angle of 45° to port in 125 ft of water off the coast of the Lebanon.
Center: The conning tower of the Souffleur. The bow light and machine gun are clearly visible.
Right: A torpedo lies alongside the sub. She was armed with four torpedo tubes in the bow and four in the stern.
Zareh snaps with his Nikonos as we hang on to the gun. I come upon a steering light firmly fixed to the superstructure. I join up with Raimond and we enter the gaping hole where the souffleur broke in two. Struts and bars, rubber gaskets and a vent with a moray watching. Are there still bodies in the sealed section? Raimond emerges with two cigalles de mer the prehistoric-looking crawfish that the Americans call bulldozers. We join up with Zareh and swim towards the stern.
I write: "Bottom time 16 minutes, depth 120 feet", and signal a questioning thumbs up sign to Zareh. He nods and we rise with the submarine spreading out below us in the clear visibility. The sinister conning tower looks like a great stern face under a helmet. Slowly it disappears and we are in the blue again, alone with our streams of bubbles; 70 - 50 - 30 - 20 and we "flatten out". We hang happily together decompressing, comparing decompression meters, depth gauges and watches as we wait. The mood is jubilant.
After five minutes we creep upwards again and break surface. Our distant fishing boat alters course towards us. Its white hull cuts the water beside us and we pass up cylinders and weight belts. We still do not feel like leaving the water and lie on our backs on the smooth surface joking about sharks. It is one of those moments that divers savour. It does not really make any difference if you are off the North tip of Lundy, or the Farnes, or the Caymans of Gan. It was a great dive and that's what diving's all about.
Meantime, Souffleur lives on.
Reginald VALLINTINE.