The document, 641(c), is merely a certificate giving the total sinkings by U-boats during the war (1939 to 1945) as 2,775 British, Allied, and neutral ships totalling 14,572,435 gross registered tons.
My Lord, it is perhaps worth considering one example not quoted in the above reports of the ruthless nature of the actions conducted by the defendant’s U-boat commanders, particularly as both British and German versions of the sinkings are available. I turn to the next document, “The sinking of S. S. Sheaf Mead.” That is Document D-644, which I put in as Exhibit GB-192. If I might read the opening paragraph:
“The British S. S. Sheaf Mead was torpedoed without warning on 27 May 1940. . .”
THE PRESIDENT: This is the German account, is it not?
COL. PHILLIMORE: This is actually in the form of a British report. It includes the German account in the shape of a complete extract from the log.
THE PRESIDENT: It bears the words, “top secret”?
COL. PHILLIMORE: Yes, My Lord, this was at the time a top secret document. That was some while ago.
“The British S. S. Sheaf Mead was torpedoed without warning on 27 May 1940, with the loss of 31 of the crew. The commander of the U-boat responsible is reported to have behaved in an exceptionally callous manner towards the men clinging to upturned boats and pieces of wood. It was thought that this man was Kapitänleutnant Öhrn of U-37: The following extract from his log for 27 May 1940 leaves no doubt on the matter and speaks for itself as to his behaviour.”
Again turning to the relevant extract from the log, on the second page, the time is marked on the document as 1554.
“Surface. Stern is underwater.”—referring to the ship which has been torpedoed—“Stern is underwater. Bows rise higher. The boats are now on the water. Lucky for them. A picture of complete order. They lie at some distance. The bows rear up quite high. Two men appear from somewhere in the forward part of the ship. They leap and rush with great bounds along the deck down the stern. The stern disappears. A boat capsizes. Then a boiler explosion. Two men fly through the air, limbs outstretched. Bursting and crushing. Then all is over. A large heap of wreckage floats up. We approach it to identify the name. The crew have saved themselves on wreckage and capsized boats. We fish out a buoy. No name on it. I ask a man on the raft. He says, hardly turning his head, ‘Nix Name.’ A young boy in the water calls, ‘Help, help, please!’ The others are very composed. They look damp and somewhat tired. An expression of cold hatred is on their faces. On to the old course. After washing the paint off the buoy, the name comes to light: Greatafield, Glasgow, 5,006 gross registered tons.”