The explosion shook Empire Dryden violently. Water flooded into the ship as she began to sink rapidly. “Instinct said grab a lifejacket and get to the boat deck” David remembers in his written memoirs and he headed to the boat deck where the two main lifeboats were located.
David’s role in lifeboat launching meant he oversaw the starboard boat, but arriving to the boat deck he had found it was already being lowered and cast off, the port-side boat was already gone. David returned to the lower bridge deck where he found Captain Powley, the ship’s Radio Operator; John Wilson Hunter and a few other crewmen attempting to launch a third smaller lifeboat.
Robert, along with David operated the falls to lower the lifeboat into the quickly encroaching sea. The surface was already three-to-four feet beneath them when David was getting ready to jump with Robert ordering him to “get in!” Robert then followed the second officer, presumably keeping within tradition of the captain being last to leave a foundering vessel and they pushed off. Some survivor accounts recall Dryden’s bow had broken off during the attack and sank between three-to-nine minutes after impact.
Their attacker was the Type VII-C U-boat U-572, part of 3rd U-boat Flotilla and commanded by Kapitanleutnant Heinz Hirsacker on the boat’s fourth war-patrol from La Pallice, France.
A5-sized propaganda leaflet that was included in the Powley collection. Believed to be a German-dropped propaganda leaflet intended to “inform” the British public regarding loss of vessels.
Despite the chaos, all fifty‑one crew members managed to abandon ship. As the vessel went down by the head, her stern lifting briefly before disappearing beneath the Atlantic. In a scene reminiscent of Fourth Officer Joseph Boxhall’s account of the Titanic disaster, David recalled their boat passed right under Empire Dryden’s rudder and propeller. They cleared away from the ship and watched Doxford’s yard no. 679 (682 in the Empire class of ships) disappear beneath the waves of the North Atlantic.
The following dark & wet Sunday evening, the crew of Empire Dryden huddled down in their boats, hoping beyond hope to evade capture (or worse) should Hirsacker’s boat decide to surface.
When daylight came, the three boats spotted each other nearby, rendezvousing in good haste. A quick roll call conducted by Powley confirmed all 51 crew made it off the ship safely despite how quickly their vessel sank. The smaller lifeboat had taken on too much water, and was summarily abandoned, its complement being divided between the two remaining larger boats.
The crew now faced a critical decision. They were approximately 200 miles west‑north‑west of Bermuda and roughly 400 miles from the United States coast. Powley favoured heading for Bermuda, believing he could reach the island and summon assistance. Others argued that Bermuda’s small landmass could be missed entirely, while the American coast offered a larger target.
The decision was made to head west toward the United States.
The boats carried limited supplies. A combination of two wooden casks of drinking water, tins of hard biscuits, tins of hard chocolate, tins of fruit and tins of pemmican-”A dreadful paste which seemed to be made of a mixture of fat and sand, actually it was supposed to contain all kinds of good stuff and vitamins” as described by David, were rationed to the crew, according to the Regulations under the Merchant Shipping Act. Water rations were strictly administered at 2ozs at sunrise and sunset.
Transcript of a survivor’s account of the last few days at sea before rescue by City of Birmingham
The weather was moderate on their first two days at sea, making headway via sail to the west. The third day however, saw the wind increasing with the sea becoming “somewhat rough”, with the crew bailing out water when needed. David’s boat deployed their sea anchor, a windsock-like device that kept the bow of the boat into the wind, and towards the incoming waves.
After several days, worsening weather separated the two lifeboats. During an Atlantic squall, David Whittet’s boat lost sight of Captain Powley’s. It was the last time any of the survivors saw their captain.
For the next several weeks, David’s boat struggled to limp on in the face of exposure to the hot sun. The men took turns leaping off the boat into the sea in order to cool off; the sighting of a shark taking an interest in their plight however, soon put a stop to this.
One of the men suggested catching and killing the shark to eat it, fashioning a harpoon out of copper heading for the spear, and fitted onto a long pole that previously was used as an antennae for the emergency radio still on Empire Dryden, now long on the bottom of the Atlantic. David however, on recalling this event, wondered what they would do with the shark if they even managed to get it on board!
With no way to shelter or cool off from the sun, exposure became the newest concern for survival, along with thirst. Several men suffered from salt‑water boils, one of which was lanced with a penknife heated over a flame. The Chief Engineer, John Urwin at the age of 70 who returned to the service when the war broke out became delirious. Some men had to be restrained as they looked to sea water for hydration, a death sentence as any shipwrecked mariner would know. With fresh drinking water becoming so tight now, the water rationing was reduced to just one ounce a day.
Passing ships were sighted, but none stopped. Flares were fired. Smoke signals sent aloft. Each time, hope faded as vessels disappeared over the horizon. For more than two weeks, Whittet’s boat struggled westward.
Eventually, another ship was sighted; a “fairly large vessel” approximately 10 miles away. Another orange flare was fired upwards and in a desperate act, the men doused a lifejacket in kerosene and set it ablaze, sending a plume of smoke across the sea.
The ship they had sighted was the American-liner City of Birmingham on a run from Savannah, Georgia, USA-bound for Bermuda.
The vessel that rescued Empire Dryden’s survivors, the City of Birmingham, also fell victim to U‑boat attack. On 30 June 1942, she was torpedoed twice by U‑202, commanded by Hans‑Heinz Linder, while sailing the same route between Norfolk, Virginia, and Bermuda.
The twenty-six survivors were pulled on board, having spent 16 days at sea. They were hosted by the “most considerate” American crew. They were reintroduced to water gradually and given medical treatment, sweets, oranges, and ice cream—rare luxuries in wartime.
Empire Dryden crew list
Photo of survivors, possibly taken in Bermuda after they were landed ⓒ Sunderland Echo
Empire Dryden’s crew later found out the Captain of City of Birmingham had chose to ignore protocol and putting his crew and ship at great risk to the U-boat menace, came to the rescue of the stricken British crew.
Three days later, City of Birmingham arrived in Bermuda, where the men were landed in Hamilton on 8 May.
In Bermuda, the survivors were cared for by private citizens, hospitals, and the Bermuda Sailors’ Home. Naval and civilian authorities interviewed the men, attempting to reconstruct the loss of Empire Dryden. It was over the course of these enquiries the survivors were expecting news of Robert Powley and the other half of Empire Dryden’s crew had been picked up by search & rescue efforts.
No news came.
After exhaustive searches, Empire Dryden’s owners wrote to Mary Powley to inform her that her husband and twenty‑four crewmen were presumed lost at sea. Captain Robert Powley was thirty‑five years old.
Second Officer David Whittet later theorised that Powley’s lifeboat, hindered by a fouled sea anchor, may have capsized in heavy seas. Whittet would return to Sunderland after the war to meet Mary Powley and offer what comfort he could.
David Whittet in his later years, then living in Canada. © The Ontario Star
As for the man who sank the ship, Kapitänleutnant Heinz Hirsacker was later found guilty at a military tribunal in occupied Paris on a charge of cowardice in the face of the enemy. Party officials were dissatisfied with what they perceived as a lack of initiative in pursuing Allied merchant shipping, including his request for new orders rather than proceeding through the heavily defended Gibraltar Strait—a route known to be exceptionally dangerous for U‑boat crews.
Facing execution by firing squad, Hirsacker took his own life with a service pistol loaned to him by a crewmate. U‑572 herself was sunk on 3 August 1943 by a U.S. Martin PBM Mariner north‑east of Trinidad during a depth‑charge attack. All forty‑seven crew members on board were lost.
When I now hold Robert Powley’s documents and personal effects, they are no longer simply archival items. They are tangible links to a man who was lost at sea and never returned, and to the family who waited for news that did not come. These objects carry the weight of lived experience—of duty, leadership, and sacrifice.
This article is dedicated to Captain Robert Powley, David Whittet, and the entire crew of Empire Dryden: those who survived and those who did not. Their story stands as a testament to the courage of merchant seamen and to the enduring importance of preserving and sharing their histories.
