The Partition of British India in August 1947 was one of the most significant and traumatic events of the 20th century. It split the Indian subcontinent into two nations: India and Pakistan. People fled their homes, some with bags, others with nothing but their stories. In the princely state of Jammu and Kashmir, lived its king, Maharaja Hari Singh, a Hindu man ruling a Muslim-majority kingdom, uncertain of his next step. What followed in the days, months, and years ahead would shape generations.

Shubh Samant explains.

Hari Singh Bahadur, Maharaja of Jammu and Kashmir from 1925 to 1952. Photo, circa 1931.

A Princely State in Limbo

Hari Singh had hoped for independence. He dreamed of neutrality, of sovereignty untouched by the religious lines hastily drawn by the English. But dreams, like borders, are fragile. 

In October 1947, Pashtun tribesmen from Pakistan’s North-West Frontier Province invaded Kashmir. Singh, desperate for support, signed the Instrument of Accession to India. Indian troops were airlifted in, and the first war between India and Pakistan began. The United Nations intervened in 1949, brokering a ceasefire that created the Line of Control. But it was no peace, just a pause. Kashmir was now divided: Pakistan held Azad Jammu and Kashmir and Gilgit-Baltistan; India retained the lush Valley, Jammu, and Ladakh.

 

Geopolitical Turbulence

As the Cold War deepened, Kashmir became a pawn on the global chessboard. India held it up as a symbol of secularism - a Muslim-majority region in a Hindu-majority nation. Pakistan, meanwhile, viewed it as the unfinished business of Partition. The two nations fought again in 1965, and once more in 1999, across the icy heights of Kargil. 

In the 1960s, Chinese troops quietly moved into Aksai Chin, adding a third player to the equation. Decades later, the China-Pakistan Economic Corridor, cutting through Gilgit-Baltistan, would draw in global economic and strategic interests even more deeply. 

Then came August 5, 2019. The Indian government, under Prime Minister Narendra Modi, revoked Article 370, stripping Jammu and Kashmir of its special status. That day began with a blackout in Srinagar, no internet, no phone calls. The move was hailed by some as a bold step toward integration; others condemned it as a constitutional betrayal. Either way, it marked another fracture in a long-fractured land.

 

Socio-economic Fallout

Conflict has long stalked Kashmir’s streets. Checkpoints, barbed wire, and the green of military fatigues became part of everyday life. Tourism, the crown jewel of the region’s economy, faded like the reflections in Dal Lake.

Weaving workshops in Pulwama were once filled with laughter and the rhythmic tapping of looms. Now, they stand mostly silent. Schools have been shuttered repeatedly, either from curfews or fear. Hospitals are understaffed, and joblessness eats away at the young. In the 1990s, the insurgency that took root claimed lives and futures. Among its victims were not just militants and soldiers, but teachers, musicians, shopkeepers – and the truth.

One of the deepest wounds remains the exodus of the Kashmiri Pandits. Families were forced to become refugees in their own nation, fleeing amid threats and violence, leaving homes, temples, and history behind. 

The insurgency that began in 1989, fueled by local discontent and cross-border terrorism, led to tens of thousands of deaths and the mass exodus of Kashmiri Pandits from the valley. Many have lived as refugees within their own country for over three decades, unable to return to their ancestral homes.

 

Recent Escalations

In April 2025, a terrorist attack in Pahalgam, Indian-administered Kashmir, resulted in the deaths of 25 Indian tourists and one Nepali national. The Resistance Front (TRF) claimed responsibility for the attack. India accused Pakistan of sponsoring the militants, though Pakistan denied its involvement.

In retaliation, on May 7, 2025, India, under 'Operation Sindoor' launched missile and air strikes on nine alleged militant camps in both Pakistan and Pakistan-administered Kashmir. The strikes, lasting just 25 minutes, marked the deepest India has struck inside Pakistan since the 1971 war.

The conflict escalated rapidly, with both nations exchanging missile and drone attacks, resulting in civilian casualties and raising the risk of war between the nuclear-armed neighbors. A ceasefire was announced on May 10, 2025, following an agreement between India and Pakistan, said to have been mediated by U.S. President Donald Trump.

The recent conflict has also had political ramifications. In Pakistan, public support for the military surged, with Army Chief Asim Munir promoted to Field Marshal, solidifying his position as the country's most powerful figure.

 

What’s Next?

For any lasting resolution, the voices of the Kashmiri people, Muslim, Hindu, Buddhist, and others, must be central. Economic development cannot replace political empowerment. Peace requires more than ceasefires; it demands recognition of historical grievances, a commitment to justice, and above all, the willingness to listen.

 

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References

· Schofield, Victoria. Kashmir in Conflict: India, Pakistan and the Unfinished War. I.B. Tauris, 2003.

· Bose, Sumantra. Kashmir: Roots of Conflict, Paths to Peace. Harvard University Press, 2003.

· BBC News. “Article 370: What happened with Kashmir and why it matters.” August 6, 2019. https://www.bbc.com/news/world-asia-india-49234708

· The Diplomat. “Kashmir After Article 370: Repression and Resilience.” January 24, 2020. https://thediplomat.com

· Human Rights Watch. “India: Revoke Abusive Laws in Kashmir.” August 5, 2020.https://www.hrw.org

Posted
AuthorGeorge Levrier-Jones

On May 29, 1927, a tall, determined young man climbed into a small, custom-built monoplane at Roosevelt Field, New York. Thirty-three and a half hours later, he landed in Paris to the roar of thousands, having completed the first solo nonstop transatlantic flight in history. Charles Augustus Lindbergh, a previously little-known U.S. Air Mail pilot, had achieved the impossible in his aircraft, the Spirit of St. Louis. The feat not only made him an international hero overnight, but it also ushered in a new era of aviation.

Terry Bailey explains.

A crowd at Roosevelt Field, New York to witness Charles Lindbergh's departure on his trans-Atlantic crossing.

The roots of a flying dream

Charles Lindbergh was born on the 4th of February, 1902, in Detroit, Michigan, and grew up in Little Falls, Minnesota. His father, Charles August Lindbergh, served in the U.S. House of Representatives, and his mother, Evangeline Lodge Land Lindbergh, was a chemistry teacher. From an early age, Charles showed an interest in mechanics, often dismantling and reassembling household appliances and automobiles. His fascination with flight began in earnest when he saw his first aircraft at a county fair.

In 1922, Lindbergh enrolled in flying school in Lincoln, Nebraska, eventually becoming a barnstormer, (a daredevil pilot who performed aerial stunts at county fairs). Later, he enlisted as a cadet in the U.S. Army Air Service and graduated at the top of his class in 1925. However, with few military aviation opportunities in peacetime, he became an airmail pilot on the challenging St. Louis to Chicago route. This job demanded precision flying under dangerous conditions, and it cemented his reputation as a disciplined and fearless aviator.

 

A bold vision and a plane named for a city

The Orteig Prize, a $25,000 reward offered by hotelier Raymond Orteig for the first nonstop flight between New York and Paris had remained unclaimed since 1919. In the mid-1920s, several well-financed teams were preparing to attempt the feat, often with multiple crew members and multi-engine aircraft. Lindbergh, however, believed a solo flight in a single-engine aircraft would be lighter, simpler, and more likely to succeed.

He approached several aircraft manufacturers, and eventually, the Ryan Airlines Corporation in San Diego agreed to build a custom plane in just 60 days. Financed by St. Louis businessmen who supported his dream, Lindbergh named the aircraft Spirit of St. Louis in their honor.

The design was based on Ryan's existing M-2 mail plane but heavily modified. The plane had an extended wingspan for fuel efficiency, a 450-gallon fuel capacity, and a powerful Wright J-5C Whirlwind engine. To save weight and increase fuel storage, Lindbergh removed unnecessary instruments and equipment, including a forward-facing windshield. Instead, he used a periscope for forward vision, and the gas tank was placed in front of the cockpit for safety, pushing the pilot's seat far back into the fuselage.

 

Across the Atlantic: A flight into legend

Lindbergh's takeoff on the 29th of May, 1927, was fraught with tension. The overloaded Spirit of St. Louis barely cleared the telephone lines at the end of Roosevelt Field. He then flew for over 33 hours, navigating by dead reckoning, flying blind through fog and storms, fighting fatigue, and enduring freezing temperatures. Despite these hardships, he reached the coast of Ireland, then continued over England and the English Channel to Paris.

On the night of the 21st of May, he landed at Le Bourget Field, where 150,000 cheering spectators rushed the plane. Lindbergh became an instant global icon, dubbed the "Lone Eagle." He received the Distinguished Flying Cross from President Calvin Coolidge, and the adoration of a world stunned by his courage and skill.

 

Later Life: Shadows, innovation and redemption

After his historic flight, Lindbergh became a leading voice for aviation. He toured the United States, Latin America, and the Caribbean in the Spirit of St. Louis, promoting aviation and strengthening diplomatic ties. He married Anne Morrow, the daughter of U.S. Ambassador Dwight Morrow, in 1929, and taught her to fly. Together, they pioneered new air routes, including surveying paths across the Atlantic and over the Arctic.

However, Lindbergh's life took a tragic turn in 1932 when his infant son, Charles Jr., was kidnapped and murdered in a case that gripped the nation. The media frenzy drove the Lindberghs to Europe, where they lived for several years. During this time, Lindbergh toured German aircraft factories and met Nazi leaders, becoming impressed with German aviation technology. His visits later sparked controversy, especially after he accepted a medal from Hermann Göring in 1938, an honor he never publicly returned.

As World War II loomed, Lindbergh became an outspoken non-interventionist, aligning with the America First Committee. He feared the destruction of Western civilization through war and opposed U.S. involvement, leading to a public backlash. President Franklin D. Roosevelt criticized him, and Lindbergh resigned his commission in the Army Air Corps Reserve.

Yet after Pearl Harbor, Lindbergh quietly redeemed himself. Though denied a military commission, he served as a civilian consultant with several aircraft manufacturers and flew combat missions in the Pacific Theatre as a civilian advisor. He helped improve the performance of the P-38 Lightning and demonstrated fuel-conserving techniques to American pilots, flying more than 50 combat missions, including in dangerous bombing raids.

 

Postwar Legacy: From controversy to conservation

After the war, Lindbergh's focus shifted toward science and conservation. He supported medical innovations like organ transplantation and championed environmental causes, particularly wildlife conservation and protecting indigenous cultures. He became an advocate for the World Wildlife Fund and spent time in Africa and the Philippines working on environmental issues. His 1953 Pulitzer Prize-winning autobiography, The Spirit of St. Louis, helped restore his public image and remains one of the most acclaimed aviation memoirs ever written.

Lindbergh died on the 26th of August, 1974, in Maui, Hawaii. He was buried on a quiet hillside in Kipahulu, overlooking the Pacific Ocean, far from the clamor of the world that once celebrated him as a demigod of the skies.

Charles Lindbergh's solo transatlantic flight remains one of the defining moments of the 20th century, a triumph of individual courage, mechanical ingenuity, and the limitless potential of flight. The Spirit of St. Louis now resides in the Smithsonian National Air and Space Museum in Washington, D.C., a silent testament to one man's dream and the age of aviation it helped to launch. Beyond his controversial years, Lindbergh's broader legacy, as a pioneer, science advocate, environmentalist, and visionary, endures. His flight not only proved the viability of long-distance air travel but also inspired generations to look beyond the horizon, toward a future once thought unreachable.

In conclusion, Charles Lindbergh's 1927 transatlantic flight in the Spirit of St. Louis was far more than a remarkable feat of endurance and navigation, it was a moment that changed the trajectory of modern history. At a time when aviation was still in its infancy, Lindbergh's daring journey from New York to Paris captured the imagination of a generation, bridging continents not only physically but also symbolically. It marked the beginning of aviation's transformation from experimental novelty to a vital global industry. His courage, technical skill, and belief in the possibilities of flight inspired a wave of innovation and ambition that would soon make air travel commonplace and bring the world closer together.

Yet Lindbergh's legacy is a complex one. He soared to mythical heights in the eyes of the public, only to later face scrutiny and controversy due to his political views and personal choices. Nevertheless, he managed to reinvent himself repeatedly, shifting from heroic aviator to wartime advisor, and finally to a thoughtful advocate for science and the environment. This lifelong pursuit of progress, often shadowed by contradiction, revealed a man who was not only a symbol of 20th-century advancement but also deeply human in his flaws and evolutions.

 

Today, the Spirit of St. Louis is preserved in the Smithsonian, remaining a timeless emblem of daring and discovery. Lindbergh's flight endures as one of the greatest individual achievements in the history of human exploration, a single man, alone in the sky, flying across an ocean into an uncertain future. It was a journey that redefined what was possible and lit the way for the age of aviation, spaceflight, and beyond. In spirit and legacy, Lindbergh continues to remind, that great leaps forward often begin with a solitary act of courage.

 

Notes:

The kidnapping and murder of Charles Lindbergh's infant son

The kidnapping and murder of Charles Lindbergh's infant son in 1932 was one of the most notorious crimes of the 20th century, often referred to as "The Crime of the Century." On the evening of March 1, 1932, twenty-month-old Charles Augustus Lindbergh Jr., the firstborn child of famed aviator Charles Lindbergh and his wife Anne Morrow Lindbergh, was abducted from the nursery of their secluded home in Hopewell, New Jersey. A homemade wooden ladder had been used to reach the second-floor window, and a ransom note demanding $50,000 was left behind. Despite the efforts of local and federal law enforcement, and even the involvement of organized crime figures who offered to help locate the child, the search proved fruitless.

Over the next two months, a series of ransom notes were exchanged between the kidnapper and an intermediary, Dr. John F. Condon, a retired schoolteacher who volunteered to act on behalf of the Lindberghs. The ransom was ultimately paid, but the child was not returned. On May 12, 1932, the decomposed body of Charles Jr. was discovered in a shallow grave just a few miles from the Lindbergh estate. The child had been killed by a blow to the head, likely on the night of the abduction.

For more than two years, investigators followed leads and examined ransom bills marked for identification. In September 1934, a break came when a gasoline station attendant in New York City recorded the license plate number of a man who paid with a marked bill. The plate led police to Bruno Richard Hauptmann, a German-born carpenter living in the Bronx. A search of Hauptmann's garage uncovered more than $14,000 of the ransom money, a plank matching the ladder used in the kidnapping, and handwriting samples that appeared to match the ransom notes.

Hauptmann was arrested and charged with kidnapping and murder. His trial, held in January 1935 in Flemington, New Jersey, became a media sensation. Prosecutors presented forensic evidence tying him to the ladder, the ransom notes, and the cash. Hauptmann maintained his innocence, claiming the money had been left with him by a now-deceased friend. Nevertheless, he was convicted and sentenced to death. After numerous appeals failed, Hauptmann was executed in the electric chair at Trenton State Prison on April 3, 1936. The case, while officially closed, continues to fuel controversy, with some critics suggesting that Hauptmann was framed or did not act alone. Nonetheless, it left an indelible mark on American legal history and led to the passing of the "Lindbergh Law," which made kidnapping a federal crime.

On a hazy summer morning in 1909, a lone monoplane soared over the white cliffs of Dover, trailing a roar that startled grazing sheep and sent onlookers scrambling toward the coastline. At the controls was a mustachioed French engineer named Louis Blériot, whose daring flight across the English Channel etched his name into aviation history. Blériot's achievement, flying 35.4 kilometers, (22 miles) from Calais to Dover in 37 minutes, marked not only a personal triumph but a milestone in humankind's conquest of the skies.

Terry Bailey explains.

Starting the engine prior to the crossing.

A boyhood shaped by invention

Louis Blériot was born on the 1st of July, 1872, in Cambrai, a town nestled in northern France. His father, Clémence Blériot, was a prosperous manufacturer, and young Louis was given an excellent education. He demonstrated a keen interest in engineering from an early age, constructing toy boats and tinkering with mechanical devices. After completing his studies at the prestigious École Centrale Paris, Blériot worked in the electric lighting business and became a successful inventor, patenting the first practical headlamp for automobiles, an innovation that earned him considerable wealth.

However, electricity and automobiles, while fascinating, couldn't match the allure of flight. Like many others captivated by the exploits of pioneers like Otto Lilienthal and the powered flights of the Wright brothers, Blériot became obsessed with the dream of powered aviation. He began investing his time and fortune in designing and building flying machines, many of which ended in crashes, disappointment, and lessons learned the hard way.

 

The long road to the channel

Blériot's early attempts at flight were fraught with failure. Between 1900 and 1908, he constructed a variety of gliders, ornithopters, and powered aircraft with names like the Blériot I through Blériot VIII. Most were unstable, underpowered, or mechanically unreliable. Still, his persistence was unwavering. Working with the brilliant engineer Raymond Saulnier, Blériot refined his designs until he produced a breakthrough: the Blériot XI.

The Blériot XI was a revolutionary aircraft for its time. A monoplane with a tractor configuration (the propeller at the front), it had a wooden frame covered in fabric, a 25-horsepower Anzani engine, and bicycle wheels for landing gear. Its simplicity, light weight, and maneuverability made it superior to many of the Wright brothers' inspired aeroplanes. On the 25th of July, 1909, Blériot would stake everything on this machine.

 

Channel challenge

The English Channel had long symbolized natural and political division, a waterway that had thwarted would-be conquerors from Napoleon to Hitler. However, to early aviators, it represented something more: a daring challenge and a test of the aircraft's reliability, pilot skill, and human courage.

Newspaper magnate Lord Northcliffe, publisher of the Daily Mail, offered a £1,000 prize (about £120,000 in today's money) to the first aviator who could fly across the Channel from France to England. Several tried, but one, Hubert Latham, was even poised to win until an engine failure plunged him into the sea.

Blériot seized the opportunity, at dawn on the 25th of July, 1909, with a bandaged foot from a previous crash, he took off from Les Barraques near Calais. He had no compass, and the weather was overcast. Guided only by instinct and glimpses of the English coastline, he flew at altitudes varying between 250 and 1,000 feet, enduring winds, vibration, and the ever-present risk of mechanical failure. As he neared the English shore, he spotted the chalk cliffs of Dover and descended toward the designated landing site near Dover Castle.

 

A flight that changed everything

Blériot's landing was less than graceful, he broke a propeller blade and damaged a landing gear strut, but he had succeeded. The flight took 37 minutes, and the world took notice. Crowds rushed to greet him, cheering him as a hero. King Edward VII sent congratulations, and the feat was celebrated in newspapers across the globe. The military implications were not lost on observers, particularly in Britain, where some newspapers warned, "England is no longer an island."

Blériot's Channel crossing was more than a publicity stunt. It was a clear signal that powered flight had arrived, not just as a novelty, but as a practical and transformative mode of transportation. It spurred interest in aviation across Europe and North America, inspired new generations of aircraft builders, and helped lay the foundation for modern aerospace engineering.

After the crossing.

A legacy in the skies

After his Channel triumph, Louis Blériot became a household name. He capitalized on his fame by founding the Blériot Aéronautique company, producing aircraft for civilian and military customers. His factory became one of the largest and most respected in pre-war France. During World War I, Blériot's designs played a key role in training pilots and conducting reconnaissance missions.

Blériot continued to promote aviation throughout his life, but he never undertook another flight as iconic as his journey across the Channel. He died in Paris on the 1st of August, 1936 at the age of 64, but his legacy endures. The Blériot XI that he flew that day now rests in the Musée des Arts et Métiers in Paris, a silent witness to the courage and innovation that helped usher in the age of flight.

In today's world of supersonic jets and space travel, it's easy to overlook the audacity of that moment in 1909. Yet, Louis Blériot's journey across the English Channel remains one of aviation's most compelling tales, a testament to human ingenuity and the timeless urge to conquer the impossible.

Louis Blériot's flight across the English Channel in 1909 stands as one of the great inflection points in the history of aviation, a moment when dreams gave way to possibility, and possibility transformed into reality. His journey was not just a triumph of machinery and engineering, but of resilience, vision, and the indomitable human spirit. From the workshops of northern France to the windswept cliffs of Dover, Blériot's life traced the arc of invention against a backdrop of skepticism, risk, and relentless trial.

Blériot's achievement symbolized far more than the successful crossing of a geographical barrier. It shattered the illusion of natural frontiers and awakened the world to a new age, one in which flight was no longer bound to the pages of fantasy or the cautious experiments of isolated inventors. His monoplane, fragile by today's standards, became the vessel through which the modern world first glimpsed the potential of powered flight to connect nations, reshape warfare, and redefine what it meant to explore.

The legacy of that 37-minute flight reverberated through the 20th century and beyond. It inspired the early aviation industry, influenced military strategy, and encouraged a generation of pioneers who would take flight higher, faster, and farther. Blériot's crossing was a catalyst, one that propelled aviation from curiosity to cornerstone, from daring to indispensable.

When looking back on that hazy morning over a century ago, it is done so with the understanding that Louis Blériot's courage helped lift humanity off the ground, literally and figuratively. The flight was the first wingbeat in a world that would soon stretch skyward and, eventually, toward the stars.

 

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Notes:

Ornithopter

An ornithopter is a type of flying machine that achieves flight by mimicking the flapping wing motion of birds, bats, or insects. The term comes from the Greek words ornithos, (ὄρνιθος), (bird) and pteron, (πτερόν), (wing). Unlike conventional aircraft, which use fixed wings and thrust-producing engines or propellers, ornithopters rely on oscillating or flapping wings to generate both lift and propulsion. This method of flight is inspired by nature and is known as biomimetic engineering, where the designs are modelled after living organisms.

The concept of the ornithopter dates back centuries. One of the earliest known designs appears in the notebooks of Leonardo da Vinci, who sketched several flying machines based on the idea of human-powered flapping wings. However, due to the limitations of human muscle strength and materials available at the time, none of these early concepts were able to achieve practical flight. It wasn't until the development of lightweight materials and miniature motors in the 20th and 21st centuries that small, functioning ornithopters became feasible.

Modern ornithopters range from small remote-controlled models used in research or hobby flying to experimental drones to surveillance devices. Some are powered by tiny electric motors and are capable of highly agile flight, similar to birds or insects. Engineers and scientists continue to study ornithopters to better understand natural flight and to develop innovative solutions for aircraft in environments where traditional fixed-wing or rotary systems are less effective, such as in confined or turbulent spaces. Though they are not yet widely used for commercial applications, ornithopters hold promise in the fields of robotics, aeronautics, and even space exploration.

Al Capone was born in Brooklyn, New York in 1899. As a young man he moved to Chicago and became involved in prostitution, gambling and, in the 1920s, bootlegging rackets. He became rich enough to buy a mansion in Florida and a bullet-proof car but was convicted of tax evasion in 1931. He served time in federal prisons, notably Alcatraz prison in San Francisco Bay before being released in 1939 after it had become clear he was losing his mind as a result of a case of untreated syphilis. He died of a heart attack at the age of 48, a relatively young man. Besides these basic facts, most other claims about the world’s most famous gangster are fictional. Among the false or unsubstantiated claims frequently made about Capone include the following: He was ‘the boss’ of Chicago; he founded the ‘Outfit’ – an organized crime organization based in Chicago; he orchestrated the St Valentine’s Day Massacre; and finally, he was a participant in a ‘conference’ held in Atlantic City in 1929 that established a nationwide crime syndicate.

Michael Woodiwiss looks at these claims.

Al Capone in 1930.

Capone was never the boss of Chicago rackets, let alone the boss of Chicago. The historian Mark Haller has done the most thorough analysis of Capone’s business activities.   The group known to history as the Capone gang,’ he wrote, ‘is best understood not as a hierarchy directed by Al Capone but as a complex set of partnerships.’ Capone, his brother Ralph, Frank Nitti, and Jack Guzik formed partnerships with others to launch numerous bootlegging, gambling, and vice activities in the Chicago Loop, South Side, and several suburbs, including their base of operations, Cicero. These various enterprises, Haller continued, ‘were not controlled bureaucratically. Each, instead, was a separate enterprise of small or relatively small scale. Most had managers who were also partners. Coordination was possible because the senior partners, with an interest in each of the enterprises, exerted influence across a range of activities.’ Like other criminal entrepreneurs, Capone did not have the skills or the personality for the detailed bureaucratic oversight of a large organization. Criminal entrepreneurs are ‘instead, hustlers and dealers, for whom partnership arrangements are ideally suited. They enjoy the give and take of personal negotiations, risk-taking, and moving from deal to deal.’  Haller’s analysis helps to explain why Capone’s removal as a criminal force in Chicago made no difference to the extent of organized crime in the city. There was no ‘Outfit’, although Chicago gangster businessmen after the Second World War might have used the word to describe their loose associations. The Belgian comic strip artist, Herge, basing his research on the hyperbolic claims in Chicago newspapers, referred to Capone as the ‘Boss of Chicago’ in Tintin in America (1931) and many thousands more in True Crime books, documentaries, movies and TV shows simply repeated similar assertions without substantiation.

Capone’s notoriety reached a peak on February 14, 1929, St Valetine’s Day. At a garage at 2122 North Clark Street, seven of the associates of North Side gangster George ‘Bugs’ Moran were waiting for a shipment of illegal liquor. A Cadillac drew up and five men, two in police uniforms, got out and entered the garage. They disarmed the Moran men, who assumed it was the inconvenience of a routine raid and did not object. They were lined up against a wall, as if for a search, and then suddenly sprayed with machine-gun bullets. No one survived.  Capone was in Florida at the time but was soon thought to be responsible. The murders remained unsolved.

 

Atlantic City and the ‘Conference’ that Wasn’t

The Atlantic City gangster “conference” story began life as a credible account by Al Capone of a trip he made to the New Jersey resort in May 1929. The newspaper and magazine reports of this visit at the time were based almost entirely on Al Capone himself as a source. There have been countless reconstructions since, in books, articles, television documentaries and Martin Scorsese’s TV series Boardwalk Empire, yet Capone remains the only credible source for the story.

Capone was arrested for carrying a gun in Philadelphia on May 16, 1929, a day after he had been in Atlantic City, and told police investigators the following: 

I have tried hard to stop all this killing and gang rivalry. That was my purpose in going to Atlantic City. It was a peace conference. I engineered it. Some of the biggest men in the business in Chicago were there. ... “Bug” Moran, leader of the north side gang, ... and three or four other Chicago gang leaders were there [emphasis added]. We talked over our trouble and at the end agreed to sign on the dotted line, bury the past and forget warfare for the general good of all concerned. 

This was reported on 18 May in the Atlantic City Daily Press, the Philadelphia Inquirer, the New York Tribune and the Los Angeles Times. So, that was the word on the Atlantic City “conference” from the only known witness consulted. Capone and three or four other Chicagoans talking about peace.

The exaggeration of Capone’s account began with the publication of a book by Walter Nobel Burns, The One-Way Ride: The Red Trail of Chicago Gangland from Prohibition to Jake Lingle, in 1931. Burns upped the number of conference attendees to “about 30 veterans” of Chicago gang wars from the “North, South and West Sides” of the city. Other journalists would by then have taken note that Burns’ inflation of the numbers was not challenged.

The fictionalization of Capone’s account had already begun in November 1929 with the publication of a short story by Damon Runyon in Cosmopolitan magazine. Runyon was by then one of the most popular American authors, turning out mainly tales of low-life for the publication group owned by William Randolph Hearst. In the story “Dark Dolores,” his narrator relates how he was “persuaded” by “Dave the Dude” to catch a train to Atlantic City to attend a “big peace conference” to settle a gang war going on in St. Louis between three rival mobs. It would have been clear to readers that St. Louis stood for Chicago and that one of the mob leaders, “Black Mike” – “an Italian with a big scar on his face” – stood for Capone. The popularity of Runyon’s stories would have assured that the ‘conference’ entered popular consciousness.

After Runyon’s story the fictionalization process took a big step forward with the printing of a photograph in the New York Evening Tribune on January 17, 1930. It showed Capone walking next to the political boss of Atlantic City, Enoch “Nucky” Johnson. The picture looks fake – Capone’s wearing heavy winter clothes, Johnson’s in light summer clothes. However, the alliance between corrupt politics and gangdom implied by the juxtaposition of the nation’s most notorious gangster with a machine politician chimed with the dominant perspective on organized crime at this time. 

There was little more published about the Atlantic City “conference” until Hickman Powell’s Ninety Times Guilty in 1939. Powell was the first author to claim that Runyon’s imaginary “interstate” conference was actually true. He wrote: “In May 1929, Al Capone went to a peace conference in Atlantic City,” and elaborated that “The last year had been bloody. There had been the killing of Frank Yale in Brooklyn, the Valentine’s Day massacre in Chicago, and various minor killings.” “Frankie Costello, the slot machine man,” he continued, “who has never been one to encourage violence, arranged the meeting and spent twenty-five thousand dollars of his own money on it. Various gang chieftains were entertained for several days at the Hotel President.” Powell does not mention a credible source for these claims. He did not have to – True Crime books and articles weren’t required to reference their sources.

Powell went further than merely paraphrasing a fictional account. He sowed the seeds of what became the mainstream interpretation of organized crime history, supported by most writers, film directors and – most damagingly – by the US government. “The aim of the Atlantic City conference,” he claimed, “was to establish peaceful co-operation in the underworld instead of warfare.”

 

Consolidating the “Conference” Legend

On December 10, 1940, the Hearst newspaperman Jack Lait made a reference to the mythical Atlantic City meeting, as he praised the efforts of the IRS against “syndicate” criminal and corrupt politicians. “There’s a convention in New York ... Its [sic] a gathering of top gangsters and racketeers of the nation. Such get-togethers are not uncommon. They have been held in Chicago, Miami, Atlantic City, Phoenix, Providence and other points.”

It must have been a lengthy New York convention since he repeated the column almost verbatim on July 22, 1949 – nine years later. The only difference was a subeditor’s correction to Lait’s omission of an inverted comma in the first version: “It’s a gathering of gangsters and racketeers ...” The federal policing agencies were singled out for praise as the only answer to such evidence of nationwide organization and super-government among hoods: 

And a shudder of fear has the mob geniuses shaky. They haven’t forgotten what happened to Al Capone, “Lucky” Luciano and “Nucky” Johnson ... They know that whenever the Feds really try, they can get these malefactors of great stealth, for they are all venal and vulnerable, they have influence beyond calculation, but when the G-boys are ordered from up above to close in, nothing can help them. 

 

This was the first time the politician Johnson was mentioned in connection with the Atlantic City “conference,” albeit indirectly, and it was not as the host in the way later writers embellished the story.

In 1950, the year after the second of Lait’s reports on the alleged conference, Senator Kefauver read and later endorsed a book that Lait co-wrote with another journalist, Lee Mortimer: Chicago Confidential. Kefauver was preparing for an influential investigation of organized crime. The federal policing agencies were singled out for praise by politicians and journalists alike as the only answer to such evidence of nationwide organization and super-government among hoods.

Lee Mortimer was another newspaper columnist for the Hearst newspaper chain who specialized in scurrilous stories about celebrities. The Confidential books feature the two main preoccupations of post-war America—communism and organized crime—in an amalgam of racial and political bigotry. The only evidence they provide about the American Mafia indicates that the concept originated in the paranoid imagination of reactionaries. The Mafia, according to Mortimer and Lait, was

The super-government which now has tentacles reaching into the Cabinet and the White House itself, almost every state capital, huge Wall Street interests, and connections in Canada, Greece, China and Outer Mongolia, and even through the Iron Curtain into Soviet Russia.

 

The organization is ‘run from above, with reigning headquarters in Italy and American headquarters in New York’. It ‘controls all sin’ and ‘practically all crime in the United States’, and is

an international conspiracy, as potent as that other international conspiracy, Communism, and as dirty and dangerous, with its great wealth and the same policy—to conquer everything and take over everything, with no scruples as to how.

 

Kefauver’s senate investigation into organized crime encouraged rather than discouraged such hyperbole.

 

Mafia? 

In 1959, Frederic Sondern, a journalist who relied on agents from the Federal Bureau of Narcotics (FBN) for his sources, made the claim that not only were Atlantic City “conference” gangster delegates from across the whole of the United States, but that they were all members of the Mafia. The ‘Mafia’ at this time was thought to be a single centralized organization of Italian-Americans that allegedly controlled organized crime in America.  In Brotherhood of Evil: The Mafia, he claimed: 

… Capone issued invitations to the senior capi Mafiosi of Chicago, Detroit, New York, Philadelphia and several other big centers to meet in Atlantic City in May 1929. ... It was the Atlantic City gathering that made underworld and Mafia history ... The Sicilians listened as Capone explained a project on which he had been working for some three years – a nationwide syndicate and organization, not only for bootlegging but gambling, prostitution, labor racketeering and various kinds of extortion as well ... At Atlantic City a series of peace treaties for the Chicago, New York and other areas was hammered out and ratified – without documents and signatures but with a validity that lasted a long time. It was the fundamental design and unwritten constitution of the modern American Mafia.

 

Sondern had taken Hickman Powell’s imaginative reconstruction of the Atlantic City “conference” and made all the significant participants Italian American in line with the FBN’s propaganda contention that organized crime in the US was controlled by a single Italian entity.

In 1965, one of America’s best-known journalists, Walter Winchell, added his prestige to the Atlantic City “conference” mythology. Winchell was in a sense the voice of the “gangbuster” since he was the narrator of the popular Untouchables television series. In his syndicated column, he wrote:

It was Capone who organized the nation-wide crime syndicate ... In May 1929 the mob chiefs gathered in Atlantic City at Capone’s invitation ... There they organized their operations on a more business-like level ... They operated like any big business ... Recognized leaders, standard rules of procedure and periodic meetings. ... If the black flag of the underworld were to unfurl atop one of the tallest skyscrapers in New York it would be a fit symbol of how the Mafia has gained control of that building and many other real estate holdings.  

 

By this time most of the American law enforcement community, as well as the rest of the America media, shared the kind of interpretation articulated by Winchell, and given official sanction by President Lyndon Johnson’s Commission on Law Enforcement and the Administration of Justice in 1967. “Today,” according to the Commission’s report, “the core of organized crime in the United States consists of 24 groups operating as criminal cartels in large cities across the Nation. Their membership is exclusively Italian, they are in frequent communication with each other, and their smooth functioning is insured by a national body of overseers.”

The report offered very little historical substantiation for its claims besides the following short paragraph:

The present confederation of organized crime groups arose after Prohibition, during which Italian, German, Irish and Jewish groups had competed with one another in racket operations. The Italian groups were successful in switching their enterprises from prostitution and bootlegging to gambling, extortion, and other illegal activities. They consolidated their power through murder and violence.  

 

The only known source for a “history” that implied that only immigrants participated in organized crime was Sergeant Ralph Salerno of the New York Police Department. Dwight Smith, a colleague of Salerno, has detailed the ways in which Salerno provided as much historical and analytical substance as the commission required in its efforts to justify a large increase in policing resources and powers to combat what it saw as a security threat to the United States. Accuracy was not the commission’s concern.

The commission’s work culminated with the Organized Crime Control Act of 1970 that was significant nationally and internationally in establishing a widely accepted template for organized crime control.  In a book published in 1969, Salerno and his co-writer, John S. Tompkins, confirmed an acceptance of Atlantic City “conference” mythology. After detailing Capone’s conviction and imprisonment on tax evasion charges in 1931 and the shootings of John Dillinger and other bank robbers, they asserted that, “Unnoticed during all of the hoopla about sending Capone to prison and the FBI’s war on crime, major crime itself was organized at a meeting in Atlantic City in 1931, and the details worked out over the next few years.” By moving the mythical meeting from 1929 to 1931, the authors had managed to prevent the only known source for the alleged convention or conference – Al Capone – from attending it altogether.

By the 1970s there was no limit to the imagination and deceit of True Crime writers when it came to descriptions of the Atlantic City “conference.” In 1971, Hank Messick devoted six pages to the event in Lansky, a biography of the Jewish American gangster businessman who founded something Messick called the National Crime Syndicate. Lansky, Messick claimed, was the real inspiration for the gathering of mobsters – not Capone, Luciano or Costello. Messick embellished the story in three ways. First, by adding claims and details on Enoch Johnson. Instead of being just being the subject of the probably doctored photograph walking along the city’s Boardwalk beside Capone, Johnson now “ruled a criminal-political empire” in the resort who could be depended upon to “entertain the boys in style.” Second by making up conversations between Lansky, Luciano and others that happened four decades earlier and could have no other source than Messick’s imagination. Finally, giving the names of long-dead ‘gang chieftains from all over the U.S.A.’

 

The Last Testament of Lucky Luciano

Messick’s imaginative reconstruction of the conference was soon outdone by Martin Gosch and Richard Hammer in The Last Testament of Lucky Luciano (1975). The book project was initiated by Gosch, Hammer was a crime journalist brought in later. Gosch was usually described as a film producer, although confidence trickster is a better description.

According to Gosch’s account, Lucky Luciano himself had told him that he was the central player in the Atlantic City “conference.” Luciano had asked him to be his “Mr. Boswell” in 1961, a year before he died. The heart attack happened, appropriately and, in terms of publicity, profitably, when Luciano was meeting Gosch at Naples airport on January 26, 1962. The 1961 deal, according for Gosch, was for Luciano to record his life story to Gosch on tape and for it to be written up and published ten years after his death. According to Gosch, Luciano said he wouldn’t “hold back nothin’” and that the money gained would be “an annuity” for Gosch and his wife, Lucille.

The paperback rights of Last Testament were auctioned for $500,000, a serialization appeared in Penthouse magazine the year before publication and the book was chosen as main selection by both the Book-of-the-Month club and the Playboy Book Club. Its success was based largely on the publisher’s claim that it was the life story of Lucky Luciano as dictated by the Mafia boss himself before his death in 1962. Last Testament, however, was a fake, based mainly on hearsay accounts written by Hickman Powell and others. It quotes Luciano as saying that he was at meetings and events during the time that he was in prison – it even quotes him talking about an event that happened two years after he died. Faking True Crime books was made easier at the time since, as noted earlier, they were not required to have notes indicating the sources of their frequently outlandish claims.  Gosch himself did not benefit from the hoax since he died just before the book was published. There was, however, clearly “an annuity” for his wife.

Gosch and Hammer added several more gangsters to Messick’s list: “Purple Gang” leader, Abe Bernstein, Willie Moretti from New Jersey, John Torrio, and Dutch Schultz, Albert Anastasia, Vince Mangano and Frank Scalise. Gosch and Hammer, like Messick, invented dialogue and put Nucky Johnson at the center of events that followed the alleged refusal of one hotel to let the imaginary group of lowlifes in, “So Nucky picks Al up under one arm and throws him into his car and yells out, ‘All you fuckers follow me!’” Johnson then, according to Gosch and Hammer, laid on “a constant round of parties, with plenty of liquor, food and girls.” This is quite a leap given the only evidence of Johnson’s presence was a photograph showing him in summer clothes walking besides Al Capone in winter clothes on the Atlantic City boardwalk. The Atlantic City “conference” was a good base for a story, however, as the author of Boardwalk Empire (2010), “The true story that inspired the HBO series,” must have realized. He uncritically used The Last Testament as one of his main sources. Biographies of Capone written after The Last Testament reference the book as if it were a legitimate source. Even scholarly criminologists have used the made-up dialogue as if it were real.   

Calling Capone’s meeting with fellow Chicago gangsters in Atlantic City a ‘Conference’ was itself an exaggeration, calling it a conference with gangsters from across the United States setting out to control organized crime throughout the whole country was pure invention. There is no doubt that Italian-American gangsters such as Capone and Luciano in America have been among the most prominent gangsters since the Prohibition years. The dispute is over the identification of organized crime almost exclusively with Italian Americans and the suggestion that organized crime is some sort of alien transplant onto an otherwise pure political and economic system. Thanks to fanciful accounts of the Atlantic City ‘Conference’ and other variations of Mafia mythology, many people, in every part of the world, not just in America, believed that something called the Mafia ran organized crime in the U.S. for decades. By constantly highlighting a centralized super-criminal conspiracy, set up after a series of conferences following Atlantic City, U.S. opinion makers  ensured that people’s perception of organized crime was as limited as their own. The constant speculation, hyperbole, preaching, and mythmaking served to confuse and distract attention away from failed policies, institutional corruption and much systematic criminal activity that was more damaging and destructive than the undeniable criminal activity of the likes of Capone.

 

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References

Michael Woodiwiss, Double Crossed: The Failure of Organized Crime Control (London: Pluto, 2017)

William Moore, The Kefauver Committee and the Politics of Crime (Columbia: University of Missouri Press, 1974).

Frederic Sondern, Brotherhood of Evil: The Mafia (London: Panther, 1961).

President’s Commission on Law Enforcement and the Administration of Justice, The Challenge of Crime in a Free Society (Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1967).

Ralph Salerno and John S. Tompkins, The Crime Confederation, (New York: Popular Library, 1969), p. 275.

Hank Messick, Lansky (London: Robert Hale, 1971).

Tony Scaduto, Lucky Luciano (London, Sphere Books, 1976).

Martin Gosch and Richard Hammer, The Last Testament of Lucky Luciano (Boston: Little, Brown and Company, 1975), p. viii.

Nelson Johnson, Boardwalk Empire (London: Embury Press, 2010).

David Critchley, The Origin of Organized Crime in America: The New York City Mafia, 1891–1931 (New York: Routledge, 2009).

Damon Runyon, Guys and Dolls and Other Stories (London: Penguin, 1997).

Marc Mappen, Prohibition Gangsters: The Rise and Fall of a Bad Generation (London: Rutgers University Press, 2013).

Hickman Powell, Ninety Times Guilty (London: Robert Hale, 1940).

Jack Lait and Lee Mortimer, Chicago Confidential (New York: Crown, 1950)

As inconceivable as it may sound, there was an occasion when two NATO allies were considered in a state of war, albeit limited. It was the only time that that two NATO allies were in a heated exchange and exchanged fire. The incident was called the Turbot War (named after a type of fish which was the cause of this strange altercation). This minor escalation was between Canada and Spain between March 9 and April 16, 1995 and fought over a dispute involving their respective international fishing rights in what Canada saw as their territorial waters. To call it a war may be an exaggeration, but that was the term adopted by the media to create sensationalism. The incident brought no formal declarations of war, but shots were fired in anger by the Canadian Navy upon Spanish vessels and at one point even involved the deployment of the Spanish Navy in retaliation.

Steve Prout explains.

El Vigía, a vessel sent by Spain to protect its fishing fleet. Source: Manuel Luís Soto Sáenz, Cádiz, 11 de Octubre de 2008, available here.

Fishing Rights and Canadian Waters

This article does not intend to delve into the legal complexities of international fishing rights but give an outline of the causes. The Canadians complained that their fishing rights were being violated by various foreign trawlers citing the regulations set by the North Atlantic Fisheries Organization (NAFO). On this occasion Canada accused Spain and Portugal of trespassing and of overfishing in Canadian territorial waters. It was a claim both Spain and Portugal disputed.

The Canadians had an established shipping perimeter two hundred nautical miles from their shores. This perimeter had been agreed in 1982 by the Third United Nations Convention on the law of the sea. It took until November 1994 for an exclusive economic zone finally to be recognized. It would not be enough to resolve the ongoing issues and was either ignored or misunderstood. The EU meanwhile issued a ruling which gave European vessels an increased quota in a disputed zone close to what Canada claimed was within her territorial waters.

The matter of overfishing had been a concern for Canada since the 1970s, but little had been done to address their issues. These concerns were made more urgent by the Grand Banks Fishery collapse, which occurred due to over overfishing of cod over the years. Fishing communities had been devastated and any further damage or a repeat of this over the turbot stocks would not be allowed or tolerated.

The war was named after the type of fish known as Turbot (also known as Greenland Turbot and Greenland Halibut) that was being decimated by the presence of these trawlers. Brian Tobin, a Canadian politician and Director of the Department of Fisheries and Oceans championed the Canadian side of the dispute. Canada claimed that there were over fifty violations of their international waters and their attempts to reach out to the Spanish and Portuguese governments met no response and so the Canadians felt that more assertive action should be taken.

 

The beginning of hostilities

On March 9, 1995, a Canadian air patrol plane spotted the Spanish trawler Estai fishing in Canadian waters. The Canadian Coast Guard and Navy vessels, led by Sir Wilfred Grenfell, were launched and headed towards the Spanish trawler. On spotting the approaching Canadian vessels the skipper of the Estai, Captain Enrique Davila Gonzalez, ordered the crew to cut their nets in a desperate attempt to remove evidence of their fishing activities and attempted an escape.

The chase then developed, escalated, and “shots fired in anger”. The Estai only stopped when the Canadian Coast Guard vessel Cape Roger fired a burst of machine gun fire across its bows and warned that the next shots would be aimed at the Spanish trawler itself. The event was not just isolated to the Estai because other Spanish fishing boats had come to assist the Estai but were repelled by high-pressure water cannons. The Estai was then boarded by DFO officers who discovered numerous infringements of Canada’s fishing laws. A Canadian trawler was used to recover the Estai’s net from the seabed. A number of other infractions by the Spanish crew were found by the Canadians. It was soon found that the net had a much smaller mesh size than Canadian law allowed. The crew of the Estai were subsequently arrested with the trawler being towed back to Canada (the city of St. John’s) where it was displayed. The incident then was widely publicized to the world with the blame being put onto Spain by Canada. The Spanish trawlers attempt to hide the incriminating evidence failed and an international furor followed when Canada seized the vessel which in turn caused the European Union to accuse Canadas of acts of piracy.

The Canadians used the publicity to their maximum advantage. A crowd of over five thousand Canadians gathered to witness the Estai being impounded in St. John’s harbor, with Brian Tobin swiftly arranging a press conference in New York City outside of the United Nations headquarters. Tobin ordered the Estai’s net suspended from a crane while he addressed the world’s media, explaining in detail how the small mesh size meant that the Spanish vessel had been fishing illegally. Tobin was steadfast in his view that Canadian law applied in the waters where the Estai was fishing and furthermore Canada had the legal authority to act against the Spanish vessel and arrest the crew.

 

Spain escalates and the EU is divided

A small drama back in 1995 looked and felt quite different at the time as this affair escalated and caused diplomatic divisions amongst EU states and fellow NATO allies. Britain, for example, backed Canada and other EU states supported Spain, at least from a respectable distance. Meanwhile, in retaliation to the seizure, Spain dispatched a Serviola-class gunboat, armed with machine guns and cannons, to protect the Spanish trawlers operating in the area from the Canadian navy and coastguard. The diplomatic exchanges intensified and became heated. Spain demanded the immediate release of the trawler and the crew claiming Canada had no right to impound the boat or its crew who were Spanish nationals. They did however concede that the net used by the trawler was illegal under Canadian law, but they still maintained that they were fishing outside of Canada’s EEZ in international waters. Canada cited the 1982 Law of the Sea Convention, which stated that they had the legal right to protect fish stocks that straddle their EEZ (Exclusive Economic Zone) and international waters. They asserted that Canadian law applied to all vessels fishing in these waters. The technicalities continued for and against continued.

Canada was further vindicated by an immediate inspection of the fishing catch. The Canadian claims were further strengthened when an independent inspection of the Estai reported that seventy to eighty percent of the turbot catch within the Spanish vessel were undersized or protected species. More damningly the trawler also possessed false bulkhead that revealed secret storage tanks that contained twenty-five tons of the heavily protected American plaice - which had been under a protective moratorium since 1992 due to declining stocks.

For Spain there was more damning evidence of illegal activity that was discovered aboard the trawler. The captain of the Spanish trawler had maintained two differing sets of logbooks recording his catch which was a favorite trick of corrupt skippers who needed to hide from the authorities the fact that they had caught over their quotas. This explains the desperate attempt by the Estai to cut its nets and outrun the Canadian Navy.

 

Europe is temporarily divided

The matter soon involved some of the wider international community. In fact, European countries were split over who they supported in the dispute. Britain and Ireland took Canada’s side. The rest of the European Union supported the Spanish. Meanwhile, the dispute had degenerated into churlish name-calling, with the Spanish claiming the Canadians had behaved like “pirates,” while Canada accused Spain of being “conservation criminals” and “cheats.” British Prime Minister John Major (1990-1997) risked turning the EU community against Britain by reiterating staunch support for the Canadians. When the issue of the EU bringing trade sanctions against Canada was proposed, Major made it clear that Britain would use its veto to block any such sanctions from going ahead.

Many British and Irish trawlers began flying the Canadian flag to show which side they supported in the dispute, which antagonized a European ally and member of NATO. A Cornish trawler, called Newlyn, was challenged by a French patrol boat whom the latter mistook as being a Canadian ship because it was flying the Canadian flag. The French backed down when they realized the ship was British and no further action was taken. What if that had been a Canadian trawler? Now France would have been at military odds with their NATO ally. Thankfully, the incident of the “Turbot War” took on a more proportionate response later, but the incident had a little more milage left in terms of rhetoric and naval mobilization before that resolution was found.

Canada later released Captain Gonzalez and the crew of the Estai, and, once the owners of the Spanish vessel had paid a fine of $500,000, the Canadians released the ship and the crew who then sailed back home. The concluded the matter of the Estai but the dispute continued.

Canada still refused to enter any negotiations until all foreign fishing vessels left the disputed area on the edge of their EEZ. Spain steadfastly ignored this and sent trawlers back to the disputed Canadian waters, this time accompanied by a Spanish navy patrol boat to protect them. Spain also began to prepare a more serious task force consisting of frigates and tankers to head to the area. It was no surprise that in late March talks between the two nations broke down. The naval detachments escalated as Canada began to increase the numbers of its naval and coast guard vessels across the edge of their EEZ, along with a higher number of surveillance air patrols. Brian Tobin also declared that he was prepared to use net cutters to sever the trawl nets of Spanish vessels (in the same way as the Icelandic Coast Guard did to British trawlers in the Cod Wars of the 1970s). It was also reported that Canadian Prime Minister Jean Chrétien had authorized his navy to fire at any armed Spanish Navy ships that sailed in or around Canada’s EEZ.

The pressure built up in Europe as they baulked at the very real possibility of actual conflict breaking out. The EU eventually put pressure on Spain to back down and agree to a deal. Despite Spanish objections they acquiesced, and a deal was reached on April 5. The result was a win for Canada. Spain was forced to leave the disputed zone and Canada’s right to eject foreign fishing vessels from the area, using military force, if necessary, was accepted. Under the deal, Canada refunded the $500,000 fine to the owners of the Estai. And with that, the Turbot War ended.

 

Conclusion

The incident has now been forgotten although it is certain to remain in the memories of the fishing community and the crew of the Estia. Canada understandably needed to protect her fisheries and her industry and showed the level of force that she was prepared to take - and indeed did so to the extent that the international community was also taken by surprise by her uncharacteristically aggressive response. This was understandable given the Grand Banks fisheries collapse just three years before. Canada still felt the severe economic backlash from hardship due to fish stocks collapsing and was not going to allow their turbot stocks to be decimated by foreign vessels in the same way as cod stocks previously. She deserved the favorable outcome.

While the dispute on the surface focused more on fishing rights, beneath the surface the tension from this affair tested for a brief time the relationships between NATO allies. Countries belonging to NATO and the larger European Economic Block were at odds with each other but despite this applying the actual word “war” to describe this affair does appear disproportionate. The level of military engagement was limited. Interestingly we are left with a question: how would NATO have dealt with a quarrel within its own internal structure? The matter has never been tested and hopefully never will be. Of course, the worst-case scenarios would have been highly unlikely as sensible heads would have prevailed over any impasse.

It does go to show that underneath the solidarity of an alliance like NATO there does exist on occasions underlying tensions and altercations but rarely have shots been fired in anger. In 1972 the Cod Wars again concerning fishing rights saw the UK and Iceland also disagree, but no shots were fired in anger and no forces were mobilized. However, the threat of Iceland withdrawing from NATO expedited a climb down by the UK. On both occasions it was not the Warsaw Pact that was the only cause of disquiet for this organization. It was a not so simple matter of troublesome fishing rights. Currently the NATO alliance is experiencing more stresses and strains as the US continues to press some of its European allies to increase spending levels and prove their commitment to the NATO alliance. Nothing has ever erupted and dissipated like the long-forgotten Turbot incident.

 

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Posted
AuthorGeorge Levrier-Jones

On a blustery winter morning in December 1903, amid the dunes and salt-laden winds of North Carolina's Outer Banks, two bicycle mechanics from Dayton, Ohio, changed the course of human history. Orville and Wilbur Wright, driven by ingenuity, science, and relentless perseverance, achieved what millennia of dreamers and engineers had only imagined, the first controlled, sustained flight of a powered, heavier-than-air aircraft.

This is the story of the Wright brothers' Kitty Hawk aeroplane, its meticulous development, groundbreaking construction, and those first exhilarating flights that transformed the world.

Terry Bailey explains.

The first flight of the Wright Flyer on December 17, 1903.

Orville and Wilbur Wright, the sons of Milton Wright, a bishop in the Church of the United Brethren in Christ, and Susan Catherine Koerner Wright, grew up in a household that encouraged curiosity, intellect, and mechanical tinkering. Born in Dayton, Ohio, Wilbur in 1867 and Orville in 1871, the brothers were raised in an environment that valued learning but offered few formal advantages. Their father's wide-ranging library and frequent travels exposed the boys to new ideas, while their mother, who had a mechanical aptitude and built small appliances, served as an early influence on their technical abilities.

Neither brother graduated from college. Wilbur, a bright student, had plans to attend Yale but abandoned them after a family move and a severe injury caused by an ice-skating accident. Orville, more mischievous and inventive as a child, dropped out of high school to start a printing business. Their first entrepreneurial venture involved publishing local newspapers and magazines using a homemade printing press. However, it was their fascination with bicycles, a booming technology of the 1890s that truly set them on the path to aviation.

In 1892, the brothers opened the Wright Cycle Company in Dayton, repairing and eventually building bicycles of their design. The shop funded their aviation experiments and provided them with vital mechanical experience, particularly in precision manufacturing, lightweight design, and balance skills that would later prove essential in building their aircraft. The act of designing bicycles taught the Wrights the importance of stability and control in motion, a concept they would carry into their pursuit of flight.

The success of their bicycle business allowed them to devote more time and money to the growing challenge of human flight. By combining practical mechanical skills with methodical scientific investigation, Orville and Wilbur Wright laid the foundation not just for their own success, but for the birth of modern aviation itself.

 

The dream takes flight

The dream of human flight was ancient, stretching back to the mythological story of Icarus offering metaphorical concepts of humankind's wish to fly, through to Leonardo da Vinci's sketches and designs to the eventual early balloonists. However, no one had yet solved the riddle of powered, controllable flight in a heavier-than-air machine. Inspired by German glider pioneer Otto Lilienthal, the Wright brothers began experimenting in the late 1890s. Their approach was revolutionary: they believed that true flight could only be achieved through the mastery of three axes of control, pitch, roll, and yaw, rather than simply building a large wing and hoping for lift.

By 1900, the brothers had chosen the remote sandhills near the small fishing village of Kitty Hawk, North Carolina, as their testing ground. With steady winds, open terrain, and few obstacles, the site offered ideal conditions. The brothers would make annual trips to test their gliders and refine their designs.

 

Building the flyer

The Wright Flyer of 1903, the machine that would make history was the culmination of years of experimentation and data collection. The brothers were not just inventors but engineers and scientists in their own right. Dissatisfied with published aerodynamic data, they built their wind tunnel in 1901 to test over 200 wing shapes, collecting accurate data to refine lift and drag coefficients. This careful study set them apart from their contemporaries.

The 1903 Flyer, completed in the fall, was a biplane with a 12.3-metre (40-foot) wingspan and weighed about 274 kilograms (605 pounds) with the engine. Its skeletal frame was constructed of spruce wood and muslin fabric. Power came from a custom-built, 12-horsepower gasoline engine designed by their bicycle shop mechanic, Charlie Taylor. The brothers also designed and produced their propellers after discovering that not one of the existing designs was efficient enough; their twisted, airfoil-shaped blades were themselves miniature wings, providing thrust as they spun.

Control was achieved through a forward elevator for pitch, a rear rudder for yaw, and a unique wing-warping system for roll, achieved by twisting the wings using cables connected to a hip cradle in which the pilot lay prone.

 

The 17th December 1903 - A new epoch begins

After several setbacks, including a damaged propeller shaft and unfavorable weather the winds finally cooperated on the 17th of December. At around 10:35 a.m., Orville took the controls for the maiden flight while Wilbur steadied the Flyer's wing. In a dramatic moment captured in one of the most iconic photographs in history, the Flyer lifted off the ground and remained airborne for 12 seconds, covering 36.576 meters, (120 feet).

Though brief, it was an unprecedented triumph: the first powered, controlled, and sustained flight by a manned, heavier-than-air machine. The brothers would make three more flights that day, taking turns as pilots. The fourth and final flight, with Wilbur at the controls, lasted 59 seconds and covered 259.69 meters, (852 feet), demonstrating both control and increased stability. Just after the final flight, a gust of wind flipped and damaged the Flyer beyond repair. It never flew again, but its legacy had already taken wing.

 

Refinements and subsequent flights

The 1903 Flyer was a prototype, a successful proof of concept. Over the next two years, the Wright brothers returned to Dayton and focused on improving their design. In 1904 and 1905, they developed the Flyer II and Flyer III, which offered better stability and longer flight durations. These new versions were tested at Huffman Prairie, near Dayton. By 1905, the brothers had built a truly practical flying machine. The Flyer III, significantly improved in structure and control, could stay airborne for over half an hour.

On the 5th of October, 1905, Wilbur flew it for 39 minutes, covering 24 miles in 30 laps of the field, undeniably proving the potential of powered flight.

However, the world was slow to recognize their achievement. The Wrights, cautious about intellectual property and wary of competitors, kept many of their details under wraps. It wasn't until 1908, when they demonstrated their aircraft publicly in France and at Fort Myer, Virginia, that their genius received international acclaim.

 

A lasting legacy

The Wright brothers' accomplishment at Kitty Hawk was not an isolated marvel, it was the birth of modern aviation. Their scientific approach to flight laid the groundwork for aerospace engineering, and their fundamental understanding of control systems remains central to aircraft design even today. Their humble wooden flyer now hangs in the Smithsonian National Air and Space Museum, revered as a relic of one of humanity's greatest breakthroughs. What began with a 12-second flight in the dunes of Kitty Hawk sparked a century of innovation, shrinking the world, transforming economies, and carrying humankind into the sky and eventually beyond Earth's atmosphere.

"If we worked on the assumption that what is accepted as true really is true, then there would be little hope for advance."

 

Orville Wright

The dunes of Kitty Hawk have long since returned to quiet, but the echo of that December morning in 1903 still resonates across time, reminding us that innovation is born not only of daring but of persistence, intellect, and vision.

The story of the Wright brothers is not merely the tale of two inventors who built a flying machine, it is a testament to the boundless potential of human curiosity and determination. From a modest bicycle shop in Dayton to the windswept shores of Kitty Hawk, Orville and Wilbur Wright transformed flight from myth into reality through a rare combination of mechanical intuition, scientific rigor, and sheer perseverance. Their success was not a matter of chance but the result of disciplined experimentation, bold innovation, and an unwavering belief in the power of their ideas.

In mastering the elusive elements of lift, propulsion, and control, the Wrights solved problems that had stymied humankind for centuries. Their Flyer did more than lift off the sand; it lifted the veil on a new era of possibility. The subsequent revolution in transportation, communication, and exploration owes its origins to that fragile machine and the minds that conceived it.

Today, as jetliners traverse the globe and spacecraft leave Earth's atmosphere, the seeds planted by the Wright brothers continue to bear fruit.

Their legacy lives on in every pilot's ascent, every satellite launch, and every child who dares to dream of flying. Their journey proves that with clarity of vision, courage to defy convention, and the patience to solve one problem at a time, humanity can rise to the challenge of the impossible.

 

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Notes:

Otto Lilienthal: The Glider King who inspired the age of flight

Otto Lilienthal, often called the "Glider King," was a German aviation pioneer whose groundbreaking work in the late 19th century laid the essential foundation for modern aeronautics. Born in 1848 in Anklam, Prussia, Lilienthal was a trained mechanical engineer with a passion for understanding the mechanics of bird flight. He spent years carefully observing storks in flight and conducting scientific measurements, believing that successful human flight could only come through the mastery of natural aerodynamic principles.

Between 1891 and 1896, Lilienthal constructed and tested more than a dozen different glider designs, becoming the first person in history to make repeated, well-documented flights in a heavier-than-air aircraft. His gliders typically featured monoplane or biplane wings made from fabric stretched over a lightweight wooden frame, which he launched by running down hills.

He made over 2,000 successful flights, some reaching distances of more than 250 meters. His experiments proved that controlled gliding was possible and that wing shape and stability were crucial to successful flight.

Lilienthal's most enduring legacy was not just his flights, but his meticulous scientific approach. He published extensive data on lift, drag, and wing camber that was invaluable to later aviation pioneers.

His 1889 book, Der Vogelflug als Grundlage der Fliegekunst (Bird flight as the Basis of Aviation), became a seminal text in the field. Tragically, Lilienthal died in August 1896 after a crash caused by a stall during one of his flights. His final words—"Sacrifices must be made"—echo his belief in the inevitability of risk in pursuit of progress.

Among those who were deeply influenced by Lilienthal's work were Wilbur and Orville Wright, who considered him a guiding light in their quest for powered flight. The Wright brothers once said, "Of all the men who attacked the flying problem in the 19th century, Otto Lilienthal was easily the most important." His courage, innovation, and scientific rigor earned him a permanent place in the history of aviation as the man who truly gave wings to human aspiration

 

Earlier attempts at powered flight

There are several recorded attempts at powered flight before the Wright brothers' Kitty Hawk flight in December 1903, but not one fully met the criteria of a controlled, sustained, powered flight of a heavier-than-air machine with a pilot onboard, which is why the Wrights are still recognized as the first to achieve it.

 

Notable pre-Wright flight attempts

Clément Ader (France, 1890 & 1897)

Aircraft: Éole (1890) and Avion III (1897)

Claim: Ader reportedly flew about 50 meters (165 feet) in 1890 using a bat-like steam-powered aircraft.

Problems: The flight was uncontrolled, unverified, and not sustained.

His later government-funded attempt in 1897 failed publicly, and no successful, documented flights were made.

Conclusion: Ader's craft may have hopped off the ground, but lacked control and documentation.

 

Hiram Maxim (United Kingdom, 1894)

Aircraft: Large steam-powered test rig on rails

Claim: His enormous contraption briefly lifted off its tracks due to high power output.

Problems: The machine was tethered to rails and not free-flying.

It had no meaningful control system or sustained flight.

Conclusion: Important for development, but not a powered, free, controlled flight.

 

Gustave Whitehead (Germany / USA, 1901–1902)

Aircraft: No. 21 and No. 22

Claim: Whitehead allegedly flew over 800 meters (half a mile) in Connecticut in August 1901.

Evidence: Supporters cite newspaper articles and witness accounts.

No photographic proof exists of the flights.

Mainstream aviation historians (including the Smithsonian Institution) remain highly skeptical.

Conclusion: If true, it would predate the Wright brothers, but the lack of verifiable documentation or technical continuity makes it speculative.

 

Karl Jatho (Germany, August–November 1903)

Claim: Jatho conducted short powered hops near Hanover in mid-to-late 1903.

Problems: His aircraft reportedly lifted off for flights of just a few feet high and 60 meters long.

No effective control, and little documentation until decades later.

Conclusion: A promising effort, but not sustained or well-documented enough to challenge the Wrights.

 

Why the Wright Brothers are still first

The Wright brothers' flight on the 17th of December, 1903, at Kitty Hawk is still considered the first successful powered sustained flight of a heavier-than-air piloted machine.

 

Achievements

Controlled, yes

Sustained, yes

Powered, yes

Manned, yes

 

A heavier-than-air flight

It was carefully documented, photographed, witnessed, and followed by repeatable success. Most importantly, the Wright brothers also understood and developed control systems for pitch, yaw, and roll, which no earlier experimenter had solved completely.

 

Final Verdict

It is well known that others attempted powered flight before the Wright brothers. However, as indicated, not one of the other known attempts met all the technical and historical criteria of their first flight. The Wrights' breakthrough was not just a machine that flew but one that could be controlled, steered, and improved repeatedly over a number of ever-increasing time and distance flights, thus ushering in the true age of aviation.

The USS Panay Incident played a crucial role in the timeline of the United States' involvement in international affairs in the late 1930s as the world prepared for the Second World War. Yet today, most Americans have never heard of the incident. It is cited as both the first time American Naval ships had been sunk by enemy aircraft, as well as the first time US ships had been targeted since the conclusion of World War I.

Ryan Reidway explains.

The USS Panay sinking after the Japanese attack.

With three men killed and 48 injured, the incident led, on one hand, to the passage of the March 1938 Naval Act that allowed the expansion of the American Pacific Fleet.[1] On the other hand, it led to increasing anti-war and isolationist sentiment at home. Happening only months after the adoption of the Ludlow Amendment, which restricted the ways Congress could declare war when attacks happened overseas[2]. Although there was initial condemnation and outrage towards the Japanese government in the United States, it seems to have been forgotten in the pages of history.

The USS Panay had been commissioned in 1927 in Shanghai as part of the Asiatic Fleet. It was designed to patrol the Yangtze River to protect American interests in China. It was a shallow draft river boat, with a displacement of between 370 and 500 tons. It could reach speeds of 13 knots and had armor plating on the forward and aft of the ship. It was armed with several.30 Caliber Lewis Machine Guns[3] as well as two 3-inch main guns[4].  Fon Huffman, who is believed to be the last living survivor of the Panay, proclaimed, “It was a good ship. It was a really good ship.”[5]

By the 1930s, the Panay and its crew had become accustomed to fending off pirates who often tried to attack Standard Oil vessels as they moved up and down the river. 1n 1931 According to Lieutenant Commander R. A. Dyer, "Firing on gunboats and merchant ships have [sic] become so routine that any vessel traversing the Yangtze River sails with the expectation of being fired upon. Fortunately," he added, "the Chinese appear to be rather poor marksmen and the ship has, so far, not sustained any casualties in these engagements."[6]

 

1937

Fast forward to the summer of 1937, when the Japanese army invaded China, Western powers, including the United States, looked on with horror and dismay at the brutality of the conflict. After the fall of Shanghai in November of that same year, Japanese commanders set their sights on Nanjing. Fearing for the lives of their citizen, the United States initially ordered all Americans to enter an International Safe Zone that had been set up in the city. But by early December, Chinese Nationalists had abandoned the city, and the American government wanted its citizens out.   

On December 9th, 1937, the Panay’s commanding officer was Lieutenant Commander James Joseph Hughes, and its Executive Officer was Lieutenant Arthur F. Anders, received orders to evacuate all American Citizens from Nanjing. By that night, 15 American citizens, embassy workers, several foreign nationals, and reporters had boarded and joined the 59 officers and enlisted men already on the ship. The Panay remained anchored at the dock on December 10th, despite the carnage of the Japanese onslaught in the city.

By December 11th, Japanese artillery shells were landing too close for comfort, and the order to pull away from the dock was given. The ship slipped away from the dock with American flags flying visibly and proceeded to head up the Yangtze River. It joined a convoy of three Standard Oil ships, the Meiping, Meian, and Meihsia. Those ships had been helping to evacuate employees of Standard Oil, many of whom were Chinese.[7]

Early on December 12th, the Japanese naval officers boarded the ship for an inspection. Commander Hughes replied to the officers, “The United States is friendly to Japan and China alike. We do not give military information to either side.” [8]The Japanese officers left, and the Panay continued down river, eventually anchoring 28 miles north of Nanjing.[9]

 

Attack

Later that afternoon, as lunch was being served, three Japanese bombers bombed the Panay. After releasing their bombs, they came back around and strafed the ship with their machine guns. Battle stations were manned, and the crew of the Panay attempted to fight back. It was in vain as the ship had sustained too much damage, and the order to abandon ship was given. By 3:55 pm, the ship had sunk. Many of the wounded were evacuated from the ship via sampans as there were no lifeboats. As the men tried to escape the carnage, the Japanese planes came back and strafed them again.

When it was all over, three people had been killed and 50 had been wounded[10]. Two of the three oil tankers had sunk, and one had run aground. Desperate to avoid capture by the Japanese forces, the survivors of the Panay proceeded to walk towards the friendly Chinese village of Hoshien. They were later rescued by American and British naval vessels in the area.

Probably the most remarkable thing about the whole incident was that it was recorded. There were a few reporters aboard the ship, including Norman Alley of Universal Press. Remarkably, using his camera, he was able to document the entire event. The footage would later go on to be used in legal hearings between the governments of the United States and Japan, as well as be broadcast in movie theaters around the United States.  A copy of the footage can still be found on the Internet Archive site. In it, there is a narration of the events of that day, including the moments before the attack, the call to arms, the heroic stand, and eventually the sinking of the ship. Viewers will also notice the very visible American flag, which would play a crucial role in the doubts historians have about the official narrative.    

 

Apology

The Japanese government quickly issued a statement apologizing for the incident and claiming it was an unfortunate mistake. While there was an investigation conducted by the American Government, the results showed that the attack was due to “poor field communications and bad visibility”[11]. Ultimately, Japan paid over two million dollars in damages, and while the United States formally accepted the apology in 1938, the American public was outraged. Fear that the American people would demand war forced the United States government to bury the incident and continue diplomatic relations with the Japanese. 

Historians have argued, however, that the pilots of the Japanese bombers would have known what the ship looked like, its position in the river, and would have seen the American Flags flying from the air. In addition, reports later came out that the Japanese military had ordered all ships sailing north on the Yangtze to be destroyed to target Chinese military forces. Documents also show that commanders of the Imperial Japanese Army and Navy argued which branch was ultimately responsible. The last piece of evidence to show the Japanese involvement was the pilot's request for confirmation of permission to attack before bombing the Panay.

Regardless of the reason for the attack, it is surprising in the 21st Century that this kind of incident did not lead to conflict between the nations.  Nonetheless, this tragic event has been forgotten by most despite its revealing nature of the state of events during the run-up to the surprise attack on  Pearl Harbor. Speculation dictates that the events of the Second World War could have been very different if the American government had pushed the issue. 

 

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References

Alley, N. (Director). (n.d.). Norman Alley's Bombing of USS Panay Special Issue, 1937/12/12 [Film]. Universal Studios. https://archive.org/details/1937-12-12_Bombing_of_USS_Panay (Original work published 1937)

Barnett, K. (2016, 06 27). Fon Huffman Remembers the USS Panay Attack 1937. Ken Barnett Design Youtube Channel. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o1yUbW_WkDM&list=PLtJturmrhWAHvT9Hoi9Z4r_vkvacS0Fx6&t=75s

Frank, L. (2023, 08 08). Hidden History: The USS "Panay" Incident. Daily Kos. https://www.dailykos.com/stories/2023/8/8/2172658/-Hidden-History-The-USS-Panay-Incident

HISTORY.com Editors. (2009, 11 09). Rape of Nanjing: Massacre, Facts & Aftermath | HISTORY. History.com. https://www.history.com/articles/nanjing-massacre

Lyons, C. (2015). Attack on the USS Panay. Warfare History Network. https://warfarehistorynetwork.com/article/attack-on-the-uss-panay/

Naval History and Heritage Command. (2021, June 14). The Panay Incident. Naval History and Heritage Command. Retrieved June 29, 2025, from https://www.history.navy.mil/browse-by-topic/wars-conflicts-and-operations/world-war-ii/1941/prelude/panay-incident.html

1937 USS Panay Incident | A Pearl Harbor Preview. (2024, 12). Today's History YouTube Channel. https://youtu.be/EKECgwufjg8?si=kqf-dnGCphliy0hv

Roberts Jr, F. N. (2012, 11). Climax of Isolationism, Countdown to World War. U.S. Naval Institute, 26(6). https://www.usni.org/magazines/naval-history-magazine/2012/november/climax-isolationism-countdown-world-war#:~:text=What%20became%20known%20as%20the%20Panay%20Incident%2C%20in,at%20home%20was%20strong%20and%20tensions%20abroad%20high.

USS Panay (PR-5). (n.d.). Detail Pedia. https://www.detailedpedia.com/wiki-USS_Panay_(PR-5)


[1] (Naval History and Heritage Command, 2021)

[2] (Roberts Jr, 2012,)

[3] (Naval History and Heritage Command, 2021)

[4] (Frank, 2023)

[5] (Barnett, 2016)

[6] (USS Panay (PR-5), n.d.)

[7] (Lyons, 2015)

[8] (Lyons, 2015)

[9] (Lyons, 2015)

[10] (Lyons, 2015)

[11]  (Roberts Jr, 2012)

When the Nazis invaded Poland in 1939, they had to determine how the increasing numbers of Jews would be controlled. Their temporary solution was to section the Jews off into ghettos, and Jewish methods of resistance must be seen in the context of that environment.

Heather Voight explains.

Resistance members captured during the Warsaw Ghetto Uprising.

A cursory reading of a Holocaust textbook would lead most readers to conclude that Polish Jews failed to respond to persecution prior to the Warsaw ghetto uprising in 1943. In order to determine whether the Jews resisted their oppressors, however, the term resistance must be defined. Webster’s New World Dictionary defines the word resist as “to oppose actively; fight, argue, or work against; to refuse to cooperate with, submit to, etc.” According to this definition, the Jews could resist their oppressors in other ways besides warfare, though physical fighting was sometimes involved. Patterns of resistance did not remain static but changed just as the situation of Jews changed. Polish Jews in the ghettos altered their response to persecution as the types of persecution they faced changed, but some form of resistance was ever-present.

 

Smuggling Food as Resistance

The Jews in Polish ghettos had every intention of surviving the war. In order to accomplish this, they needed more food than the meager Nazi provisions. Food supplies to inhabitants of the Warsaw ghetto each had a caloric value of 220, 15% of the normal daily requirement. Jews acquired the food they needed through smuggling. Adam Czerniakow, leader of the Warsaw Judenrat, a council of Jews created by the Nazis to carry out their orders, estimated that smuggling accounted for 80% of the food available in the Warsaw ghetto. Many smugglers were women and children who managed to circumvent the Nazi guards. Renia Kukielka went out of the Jedrzejow ghetto with her sisters to trade lace placements for coins that were used to buy food. Other young women served as couriers, smuggling out food and medicine.

Regardless of who did the smuggling, it was a dangerous task. Abraham Lewin, who kept a diary while in the Warsaw ghetto, wrote about children going over to the Aryan side to get potatoes. “There are some Germans who show a little mercy for these unfortunate children and pretend not to see, turning away deliberately, and the children dart with their little overcoats bulging…There are also vicious guards who hit the children with murderous blows…more than one child has fallen victim to their bloodlust.” Yet the Jews continued to engage in smuggling despite the bloodshed. The Nazis hoped the Jews would starve and thus disappear, but children and adults bravely resisted by smuggling food.

 

Music as Resistance

The people in the ghettos also continued to participate in cultural activities such as concerts. Though the Nazis didn’t allow Aryan music, Jewish musicians in the Warsaw ghetto still played to large audiences, which sometimes included Poles on the Aryan side of the ghetto. Not everyone thought these performances were appropriate, however. In his diary, Adam Czerniakow wrote, “Many people hold a grudge against me for organizing play activity for the children, for arranging festive openings of playgrounds, for the music, etc. I am reminded of a film: a ship is sinking and the captain, to raise the spirits of the passengers, orders the orchestra to play a jazz piece. I had made up my mind to emulate the captain.” Czerniakow understood that culture should continue regardless of what the Nazis did. Other ghettos also held concerts, including one of Poland’s most isolated ghettos in Lodz. Musical concerts in the ghetto resumed two months after deportations. Despite the loss of family and community members, Jewish creativity went on.

 

Religious Observance as Resistance

In defiance of the Nazi order which forbade all public religious practices, religious life for Jews in the ghettos simply went underground. Warsaw ghetto diarist Chaim Kaplan wrote, “Public prayer in these dangerous times is a forbidden act..But this does not deter us. Jews come to pray in a group in some inside room facing the courtyard, with drawn blinds on the windows.” Given their followers’ unprecedented circumstances, some tenets of Jewish law were modified. For example, people could not keep the sabbath because the Nazis forced them to work. Rabbis also permitted the consumption of non-kosher food because the preservation of life was more important than dietary laws. Though they had to practice their religion differently, the Jews did not surrender their beliefs.     

 

Education as Resistance

In addition to religious practices, the Nazis banned education in the Warsaw ghetto and others. Nevertheless, students and teachers found ways to meet. As early as 1939, teachers received bread in exchange for teaching groups of 4-8 children for a few hours. Unfortunately, there is no information on the number of these groups in the Polish ghettos because of the secrecy involved. As Chaim Kaplan explained in his diary: “It is possible that the ban against study also applies to such small groups, and if questions were asked they would have to be stopped. But no one asks questions. The matter is done quietly, underhandedly. There is no other solution.”

Education wasn’t limited to younger students. High school and college age students helped to organize education for themselves in consort with their teachers. A Zionist youth movement organized an illegal high school in the Warsaw ghetto which existed between 1940 and summer 1942. It wasn’t a high school in the traditional sense since teachers travelled to the students’ apartments. Yet by spring of 1942 the school had 120 pupils and 13 teachers. Courses included math, history, biology, philosophy and literature. There were also university level courses in education and medicine. In spite of the Nazi ban on education, teachers and students were determined to provide knowledge that students would need if they survived the conditions of the ghettoes and the eventual deportations.  

 

Writing as Resistance

Jews in the ghettos also used writing to keep the world and each other informed about the Nazi’s plans to exterminate the Jews. Jews sometimes escaped from concentration camps to the tenuous safety of the Warsaw ghetto. They told the inhabitants of the Nazi’s plans to kill them all. Courier girls who initially smuggled food and medicine began to smuggle underground writings.

In addition to communicating within the Polish ghettos, coded postcards from courier girls were sent to Jews outside Poland. Frumka Plotnicka wrote, “I am waiting for visits from guests: Machanot and Avodah should be coming here.” Machanot and Avodah were Hebrew words for camp and work. “Pruetnitsky and Schitah lived with me.” These are Hebrew words for pogroms and destruction. By using words the Nazis couldn’t decode, Jews in Polish ghettos warned others about their fate.

One of the most lasting ways that Jews defied the Nazis was by documenting their experiences. Secret archives were established to preserve the history of life in the ghettos. The Oneg Shabbat of Warsaw was established by Dr. Emanuel Ringelblum. He persuaded people like former teacher Abraham Lewin to contribute their accounts. Part of Lewin’s diary was discovered in a milk pail after the war. The partial diary covers late March 1942 to January 1943. Lewin wrote in June 1942, “We gather every Sabbath, a group of activists in the Jewish community, to discuss our diaries and writings. We want our sufferings, these ‘birth pangs of the Messiah’ to be impressed upon the memories of future generations and on the memory of the whole world.” Lewin’s diary entries got shorter whenever deportations to the death camps were increased. For example, he struggled to describe his heartbreak when his wife was deported in August 1942. “I have no words to describe my desolation. I ought to go after her, to die. But I have no strength to take such a step.” Although Lewin often found it difficult to write about the actions of the Nazis, his diary and others like it testify to the horrors of the Holocaust.   

 

Violence as Resistance

 Although much of Jewish resistance prior to the Warsaw ghetto uprising was nonviolent, this was not always the case. For example, in fall of 1942 Jews in the town of Lubliniec were ordered to gather in the market and undress. Naked Jewish women began attacking the officers, biting them and throwing stones. The Nazis ran away. The headline in the Jewish Telegraphic Agency’s report read “Jewish Resistance in Poland: Women Trample Nazi Soldiers.” A bit later in the year, an armed act of violence by Jews in Krakow occurred. On December 22, 1942, 40 Jewish men and women fighters descended upon three coffee houses and bombed a Nazi Christmas party. Others threw grenades into another café. Their efforts killed at least seven Nazis and wounded many more. The Jewish resistance leaders were killed but others still bombed targets outside the city. Most importantly, Jews who used violence to resist inspired those who became part of the larger Warsaw ghetto uprising.

 

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References

Batalion, Judy. The Light of Days: The Untold Story of Women Resistance Fighters in Hitler’s Ghettos. New York: HarperCollins, 2020.

Bauer, Yehuda. A History of the Holocaust. Danbury, CT: Franklin Watts, 1982.

Dwork, Deborah and Robert Jan van Pelt. Holocaust: A History. New York: W.W. Norton and Co., 2002.

Lewin, Abraham. A Cup of Tears: A Diary of the Warsaw Ghetto. Edited by Antony Polonsky. New York: Basil Blackwell Inc., 1989. 

Posted
AuthorGeorge Levrier-Jones

The Bay of Pigs Invasion was a failed US-supported landing on Cuba against Fidel Castro’s Communist Cuba in 1961. Here, J.J. Valdes considers Britain’s involvement in the affair.

Bay of Pigs Invasion: The flagship Blagar, near the Cuban coast, April 16, 1961.

“Speak in English,” Bob Hines, radio operator at the airport tower in Grand Cayman, kept telling the Spanish-speaking pilot of the Douglas B-26 Invader circling overhead. There was no scheduled arrival of a plane on that early morning of April 15, 1961, so Hines was perplexed about the identity of the unexpected flight. Hines spoke some Spanish and could understand that the pilot was asking for landing instructions. Unable to get the man to communicate in English, he gave him instructions in Spanish as best he could and the plane finally landed.

The radio operator, who was working alone in the tower at the time, then went out to meet the plane on the tarmac. The pilot, in military garb, was the first to exit the aircraft, which bore Cuban air force markings. “Give you this,” he said to Hines, holding two pistols in his outstretched hand. Hines took the pistols then, deciding that this was something for the government to handle, summoned the islands’ Immigration Officer (also the Chief of Police) and Administrator Jack Rose.

 

Cayman Islands

The Caymans, consisting of Grand Cayman and two other smaller isles, came under British rule in 1670. In 1961 the territory was administered as a dependency of Jamaica, where the governor resided. Jack Rose, a former Royal Air Force (RAF) fighter pilot during World War II, was the island’s resident administrator.

Rose quickly arrived at the airport. The Cubans were demanding to be flown to Miami and at first Rose assumed that they were defectors from that country. But in fact, the unexpected arrivals were Cuban exile pilot Alfredo Caballero and navigator Alfredo Maza. They were part of a force trained in Central America by the Central Intelligence Agency (CIA) for an invasion of Cuba intended to topple Fidel Castro. Their plane was one of three B-26s that had attacked San Antonio de los Baños airbase, near Havana, as part of pre-invasion strikes on three of the country’s main airfields. Caballero had discovered en route to Cuba from Nicaragua that there was a malfunction with the plane’s droppable fuel tanks. Despite his flight leader’s order to turn back, he had opted to continue with the mission. However, his fuel situation had become critical on the return trip, forcing him to divert to Grand Cayman.  

No one had bothered to inform Rose about the possible arrival of such visitors and he was “far from pleased to see them” because he “smelt trouble.” Adding to his foreboding was the fact that one of the plane’s rockets had apparently misfired and was still attached under a wing. The Cuban crew offered no cooperation in addressing the dangerous situation. Rose, therefore, called on his old RAF skills to remove the device and other ordnance from the plane with help from ground personnel and an American tourist onlooker who had been a bomber crewman.

Rose’s next order of business was to contact the governor in Jamaica, Sir Kenneth Blackburne. As there was no telephone connection at the time between Kingston and the Caymans, messages had to be exchanged via radiotelegraphy. Blackburne, it turned out, was as surprised as Rose by the incident and had little to offer. This left Rose in a crux regarding “what attitude to adopt in practical and propaganda terms.” He thought it prudent “to try to keep the lid on what had happened.” Thus, in addition to requesting local ship owners to refrain from radio chatter about the B-26’s arrival, he arranged for the postmaster to hold off all outgoing mail for a time.

 

Lack of knowledge

Even the highest levels of the British government had apparently not been informed by the Americans of their plans for an invasion of Cuba, let alone that an airstrip on British territory had been designated as an emergency landing alternative. British Prime Minister Harold Macmillan, despite his close association with President John F. Kennedy, had been kept in the dark about such plans when he had visited Washington in early April. The American strategy seemed to have been not to involve the British authorities pending the advent of actual emergency landings on the Caymans. If the British then decided to intern any landed aircraft, the Americans considered raising the specter that Cuba and other nations might view the planes’ presence there as indicative that the islands were being used as a launch base.

As it happened, however, the British government proved most cooperative. During the evening, Rose received a radiogram from Sir Blackburne informing him to expect “a visitor” during the night who “should be given every courtesy.” Around midnight, a transport aircraft with no landing lights approached the dark runway (which lacked an illumination system) at low level. Upon touching down, the “visitor” and several other CIA men deplaned. The leader of the group introduced himself and, over the course of their conversation, revealed to be intimately acquainted with assorted details about Rose’s life. The rest of the group consisted of aviation technicians who immediately set to work on the parked B-26.  

After sizing up the situation, the lead CIA man indicated that he needed to phone Washington. He initially thought Rose was joking when the latter informed him that the island had no telephone connection to the outside world. Arrangements were then made via radiogram for a charter plane from Jamaica to pick up the American in the morning and fly him there so he could make his call. Afterward, he returned on the plane to Grand Cayman. Rose came to find out that, to pay for expenses, this fellow carried a case containing stacks of US paper currency, “neatly packed just as one sees them in films or television as ransom money.”

Events took a precipitous turn on April 17 when the disembarkation of troops at the Bay of Pigs began. Throughout the day, the invasion force received air support from B-26 bombers arriving over the area from Nicaragua in staggered fashion. The aircraft, which lacked tail guns, were often engaged in lopsided aerial battles by fighter planes from Castro’s air force. By day’s end, two more B-26s had arrived at Grand Cayman. One, piloted by Marío Zúñiga, diverted there in the early morning low on fuel after engaging in a dogfight with, ironically, a British-made Hawker Sea Fury. A number of the prop fighters had been inherited by Castro from former Cuban dictator Fulgencio Batista. Another B-26, piloted by Antonio Soto, arrived in the early afternoon after having one of his engines shot out by a T-33 jet.

 

In retrospect

Both Rose’s and Hines’s oral accounts, recorded more than three decades after the events, are imprecise in various respects, including the total number of B-26s, each carrying a two-man crew, that diverted to Grand Cayman. Whereas they both claim that a total of four planes arrived, CIA documents indicate that only three did, including Caballero’s on the 15th. The three aircraft were flown back to Nicaragua by CIA personnel as soon as each was made airworthy. Meanwhile, the six Cuban exile crewmen they had carried were issued civilian clothes and flown out on regular air service flights to Miami. Zúñiga and Soto arrived back in Nicaragua in time to join the invasion’s most devastating air support mission late on the afternoon of April 18. Caballero, however, was transported by mistake to Retalhuleu, the CIA’s airbase in Guatemala, and remained there until the invasion’s collapse on April 19.

Both Administrator Rose and Governor Blackburne subsequently received letters of commendation for their handling of the affair from the British Permanent Under-Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs, Sir Frederick Millar. However, Rose was “given to understand” that if the matter had attracted any adverse publicity, he alone would have been assigned blame for the incident.

The role of British territory in the CIA’s Cuban invasion has largely remained hush and been little publicized over the years. Radio operator Hines declared in his 1995 oral account that he “was the only person allowed to take pictures [of the landed planes], on word that I would not publish them; I have never published them.”  To this day, the pictures have never come to light.

 

 

Author J.J. Valdes’s recent book about the 1961 Cuban invasion is Besieged Beachhead: The Cold War Battle for Cuba at the Bay of Pigs. Available here: https://www.amazon.com/Besieged-Beachhead-Cold-Battle-Cuba/dp/0811776794

 

 

Sources

Beerli, Stanley W. “Transmittal of Documents.” Memorandum to Lt. Colonel B. W. Tarwater, USAF (Attachment C), April 26, 1961. https://www.cia.gov/readingroom/docs/DOC_0000252273.pdf.

Lesley Hines. “Interview with Lesley (Bob) Hines.” By Heather McLaughin. Cayman Islands National Archive Oral History Programme (16 February 1995; finalized transcription: 16 April 1997)

Pfeiffer, Jack B. Official History of the Bay of Pigs Operation. Vol I. Central Intelligence Agency, 1979.

Jack Rose. “Interview with Jack Rose.” By Heather McLaughin. Cayman Islands National Archive Oral History Programme (18 May 1999; finalized transcription: 22 July 1999).

Sandford, Christopher. Harold and Jack: The Remarkable Friendship of Prime Minister Macmillan and President Kennedy. Amherst, New York: Prometheus Books, 2014.

Valdés, J.J. Besieged Beachhead: The Cold War battle for Cuba at the Bay of Pigs. Essex, Connecticut: Stackpole Books, 2024.

Wells, Davis. A Brief History of the Cayman Islands. Dover, UK: The West India Committee, 2018. eBook.  https://www.cigouk.ky/downloads/Cayman-Islands-e-book-October2018.pdf.

Wise, David, and Thomas B. Ross. The Invisible Government. New York: Random House, 1964.

Posted
AuthorGeorge Levrier-Jones

It lies just beneath the surface—literally and figuratively. A rusting American Liberty ship, broken-backed and quietly corroding off the coast of Kent and Essex, barely three miles from Sheerness. To many in the southeast of England, the name Richard Montgomery is familiar, even faintly iconic. Its skeletal masts still protrude from the Thames Estuary at low tide like a warning, or a forgotten monument. But beneath those masts lies something altogether more sobering: over 1,400 tons of unexploded ordnance. The wreck is a wartime time capsule that, by all reasonable estimates, has the potential to unleash the largest non-nuclear explosion on British soil since the Second World War.

Richard Clements explains.

The wreck of the SS Richard Montgomery. Source: Christine Matthews, available here.

The story of the SS Richard Montgomery has never truly gone away. Locals have lived in its shadow for decades. Teenagers are warned off from daring swims. Journalists periodically revisit it. The government monitors it. Yet in recent months, the Richard Montgomery has once again found its way into headlines. With new sonar scans, rising concerns over corrosion, and questions about how long inaction can remain the official policy, this long-silent threat has begun to murmur again.

 

A Wartime Wreck with a Dangerous Cargo

The SS Richard Montgomery was built in Jacksonville, Florida, in 1943—one of over 2,700 Liberty ships constructed at speed to fuel the Allied war effort. She arrived in the Thames Estuary in August 1944, destined to join a larger convoy headed for Cherbourg, where her cargo—thousands of tons of munitions—was to support operations in liberated France. At the time, the estuary’s Great Nore Anchorage near Sheerness served as a gathering point for vessels awaiting safe passage.

While anchored there, the Montgomery’s mooring reportedly dragged or failed, and the vessel drifted onto a shallow sandbank known as Sheerness Middle Sand. Grounded and listing, the ship’s structural integrity was compromised. Efforts to refloat her proved unsuccessful. Salvage teams began offloading the munitions, but before the operation could be completed, the ship’s hull split amidships.

An estimated 6,000 tons of ordnance had been on board. Roughly half was safely removed. The remainder—some 1,400 tons by official estimates—remains inside the forward holds to this day. The cargo includes high explosive bombs, anti-tank devices, and aerial munitions, many of which have become unstable with time. A wartime manifest is believed to exist, though details have often been redacted in public summaries. Over the years, surveys have confirmed the presence of explosive material, but exact specifications are rarely disclosed in full.

The wreck was declared a dangerous site, and further salvage was ruled out for fear that disturbing the remaining cargo could trigger an explosion. Instead, the area was marked with buoys, designated an exclusion zone, and subjected to regular monitoring—a policy that has continued into the 21st century.

 

Living with the Risk

For most residents of coastal Kent and Essex, the Richard Montgomery is less a mystery than a fact of life—an ever-present silhouette on the horizon. Its masts, protruding from the water like the ribs of a fossilized beast, have been visible for generations. Schoolchildren grow up hearing about it. Locals give it a wide berth. And yet, for something that holds such destructive potential, it remains curiously normalized.

Signs near the shoreline warn of exclusion zones. Maritime charts mark the wreck with bright symbols. Navigation buoys flash their silent signals to passing vessels. But on land, conversation about the ship is often casual. It has become, over time, one of those shared local oddities—like a long-standing crack in the pavement or a tree that leans the wrong way. Everyone knows it’s there. Most choose not to think about it too much.

The British government has kept a close, if quiet, eye on the wreck. Annual surveys by the Maritime and Coastguard Agency check for structural shifts. A Department for Transport report in 2022 reiterated that the risk of explosion remains low so long as the site is left undisturbed. But concerns do resurface. In 2020, the Ministry of Defence released footage from a sonar scan showing the ship’s hull deteriorating, fueling public speculation.

There have been no shortage of ideas over the years—from controlled detonation to encasing the wreck in concrete. None have gained traction. Each option, it seems, carries greater risk than simply leaving it alone. Successive governments have opted for cautious monitoring rather than intervention, a decision often criticized as kicking the can down the road. Yet the wreck persists, and so does the uneasy status quo.

For those who live nearby, this balance between familiarity and latent danger is strangely British in character. Not quite forgotten, not quite feared, the Richard Montgomery remains part of the local backdrop. As one long-time resident in Sheerness once quipped to a reporter, “If it hasn’t gone up by now, it probably won’t—will it?”

 

Back in the Headlines

After decades of relative obscurity, the Richard Montgomery has once again captured national attention. In early June 2025, Kent Online confirmed new flight restrictions imposed over the wreck—pilots are now prohibited from flying below 13,100 feet within a one-nautical-mile radius, following expert advice aimed at further reducing risk. This no-fly rule, in effect until further notice, applies to all aircraft except emergency or coastguard flights.

The news wasn’t confined to regional outlets. National broadcasters followed with commentary on broader safety concerns, describing the wreck as “a forgotten time bomb” in one headline. Security experts noted that the estuary’s proximity to major shipping lanes—used by LNG carriers and container ships—heightens concerns not only of accidental detonation but also of potential sabotage.

Despite the growing attention, subsequent government statements have maintained a cautious posture. The Department for Transport confirmed that structural deterioration is ongoing, but insisted the risk remains low provided the site remains undisturbed. Meanwhile, maritime exclusion zones are still enforced and the wreck continues to be monitored by the Maritime and Coastguard Agency.

 

Managing a Legacy: Proposals and Precautions

Over the decades, a variety of solutions have been considered for the Richard Montgomery. Options have ranged from full ordnance removal to structural reinforcement or burial in concrete. However, none have been pursued—primarily because the danger of disturbing the wreck is considered greater than leaving it alone.

The Maritime & Coastguard Agency, the Department for Transport, and the Ministry of Defence have stuck to a policy of passive containment. The site is clearly marked and monitored, with exclusion zones for shipping and—as of June 2025—a no‑fly zone prohibiting aircraft below 13,100 feet within a one‑nautical‑mile radius.

The remaining cargo, estimated at around 1,400 tons of high explosives including bombs of various sizes and white phosphorus smoke devices, remains buried in the forward holds beneath silt and collapsed steel. As long as the wreck remains undisturbed, the official assessment describes the threat as low, though not negligible.

While public imagination often oscillates between a catastrophic detonation and a safe cleanup, reality demands nuance. These wrecks are treated more like dormant geological faults—stable under current conditions but potentially volatile if tampered with.

 

Lessons from the Deep: The SS Kielce Case

A comparable cautionary example comes from the English Channel, with the Polish freighter SS Kielce. The Kielce sank in 1946, carrying munitions when it collided with another ship off Folkestone. The wreck settled in some 90 feet of water—well over twice the depth of the Richard Montgomery, which lies at approximately 50 feet.

In 1967, efforts to dismantle the Kielce ended badly. The Folkestone Salvage Company placed demolition charges on the hull and inadvertently detonated remaining munitions. The blast created a crater in the seabed over 150 feet long, 67 feet wide, and 20 feet deep. It registered as a magnitude 4.5 seismic event—detected across Europe and North America—and shattered windows and roofs in Folkestone, several miles away.

It is worth noting that despite its deeper waters and lower explosive payload, the Kielce explosion still caused significant damage. In contrast, the Richard Montgomery sits in shallower water—its masts still visible above the low tide—and holds far more ordnance. Its proximity to densely populated areas and strategic infrastructure such as Sheerness docks and Thames shipping lanes makes its situation uniquely sensitive.

The Kielce disaster remains a sobering historical precedent. It underlines the unpredictable dangers of attempting salvage operations on munitions-laden wrecks, and supports the reasoning behind official efforts to keep the Montgomery undisturbed.

 

Conclusion – Between Memory and Responsibility

The SS Richard Montgomery is more than a rusting wreck—it is a persistent testament to wartime legacies and the decisions we make to contain them. Its silhouetted masts serve as a stark reminder that beneath the Thames isn’t just history, but latent danger.

The Kielce incident teaches us that intervention—even cautious, professional intervention—can have unintended consequences. That wreck lay deeper and held fewer explosives than the Montgomery, yet when disturbed, its blast shook communities and created seismic ripples around the world.

The Thames wreck lies closer to shore, holding much more volatile material. It is not merely passive decay; it is a hazard managed by surveillance, exclusion zones, and measured restraint. While erosion and rust continue their slow work, the official approach remains surveillance—not removal.

In the end, the Richard Montgomery reveals much about our relationship with the past. It sits—watched, measured, contained—but unresolved. An explosive time capsule in shallow water, it tests the limits of prudence. As history recedes into memory, this wreck stands as a powerful symbol of the care and caution we must exercise in the aftermath of war.

 

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References

Daily Express. “Warning over UK ‘Time Bomb’ Ship Loaded with 1,400 Tons of Explosives.” Daily Express Online, June 2025.

Department for Transport. Annual Report on the Condition of the SS Richard Montgomery Wreck Site. London: UK Government Publications, 2022.

Kent Online. “New No-Fly Zone Introduced over Richard Montgomery Wreck.” KentOnline, June 4, 2025.

Maritime and Coastguard Agency. Wreck Monitoring Report: SS Richard Montgomery, 2023.

Smith, Roger. “The Kielce Explosion of 1967: Lessons from a Wartime Wreck.” Maritime Historical Review, Vol. 11, No. 2, 1998.

BBC News Archive. “Underwater Blast Rocks Channel: Wreck Detonates during Salvage.” BBC News, July 1967.

Folkestone Salvage Company Records. “Case File: SS Kielce,” National Archives Reference FS/1967/072.