Lieutenant-Commander Margaret Brooke MBE
“Braving frigid waters, displayed courage in attempt to save the life of another nursing sister”
By: Sean E. Livingston, CNTP Co-Founder and Author
Margaret Martha Brooke was born on April 10, 1915, and spent her youth on the family’s remote Saskatchewan farm. From an early age, three things were abundantly clear about Brooke: she was hard working, bookish, and deeply caring. People commented on her empathetic nature – she always prioritized the needs and welfare of her family and peers. She was also conscientious. No matter what she was doing, be it chores, school work, hobbies, or playing a game, she strove to do her best. It was in these formative years that she discovered a passion for helping others and eventually decided to make a career of it. After high school, she attended the University of Saskatchewan, keen on finding a vocation that aligned with her goal. She wound up in household science, a relatively new discipline which focused on promoting healthy, medically guided, diets. After completing her bachelor’s degree, she accepted a dietetic internship at Ottawa Civic Hospital and became a certified dietician.
Moving to Saskatoon, she began her practice, but when Canada entered the Second World War, Brooke considered if her skills could be of greater use to the military. Driven by patriotic feelings and a strong desire to aid the war effort, she concluded that she wanted to serve her country. There was, of course, an obvious obstacle – women were not allowed to join the military. However, political lobbying by various groups successfully persuaded the Federal government to change their policy, and by 1941-42, women were finally accepted into the armed forces (Women at War).
Brooke’s opportunity came when she received an invitation to attend a recruiting session at her local Naval Reserve division, HMCS Unicorn. She enlisted on the spot and, after passing her interview and medical, was made a nursing sister and given the temporary rank of Sub-Lieutenant (the RCN didn’t have a specific “dietician” trade, so a nursing sister was the next closest thing). Before the end of the year, Brooke would serve at numerous naval hospitals across the country and Newfoundland, unaware that her name would soon become entrenched in Canadian history.
On October 13, 1942, Brooke boarded SS Caribou in Sydney, Nova Scotia, along with another Nursing Sister, Sub-Lieutenant Agnes Wilkie. Both had enjoyed two weeks of well-deserved rest on the mainland and were heading back to the naval hospital in St. John’s. Caribou would stop at Port aux Basques where the two would travel the rest of the journey on land. Before departure, all ferry passengers were made to attend a safety briefing on the main deck, led by the master of the vessel, Benjamin Tavenor. He reviewed emergency procedures and ensured all were familiar with safety equipment, including assigned lifeboat stations. 73 civilians, 118 uniformed members, and 11 children were aboard in addition to Tavenor’s crew of 46 (heritage-nf site). Upon returning to their cabin, Brooke and Wilkie decided to find their lifejackets and practice placing them on a few times (Barris 250). They then spent some time chatting before finally turning-in for the night.
Caribou slipped her moorings and proceeded out of port to join her awaiting escort, the Bangor-Class minesweeper, HMCS Grandmère. Once in formation, they pressed into the dark, moonless night, and by 2030hrs, passed the anti-submarine defence boom at the entrance to North Sydney harbour (Barris 249). Lieutenant James Cuthbert, commanding Grandmère, paced the ship’s open bridge, doing a poor job at hiding the annoyance on his face. He felt that Caribou was both moving too fast and producing too much smoke – a slower, stealthy approach would be safer and prevent the exhaust from streaking into the sky. Although the moon wasn’t present this evening, a keen sentry might still spot the ship’s smoke on the cloudless horizon. Better to arrive late and avoid attracting unwanted attention.
Additionally, Cuthbert didn’t like being positioned behind the vessel he was supposed to protect. Although the practice for a single escort was to follow astern, at 2,500 yards off the ferry’s starboard quarter, he felt too far to adequately guard Caribou. Making matters worse, his ship hadn’t been fitted with proper equipment. Although Grandmère did have ASDIC (sonar), it was designed for mine detection and limited to ranges up to around 600 yards. It also couldn’t perform 360-degree sweeps, meaning the ship could only find a submerged U-boat if it were dead-ahead and very close. It might not have bothered Cuthbert as much had the minesweeper been fitted with radar. U-boats attacked on the surface, diving only to escape after launching torpedoes. Decent radar could, in the right conditions, provide adequate warning, but Grandmère had yet to be fitted with one. So, from his vantage point, Cuthbert felt like a sheepdog using the sheep as a shield. He’d much rather his minesweeper lead the way but, in the end, followed procedure.
It’s not that Tavenor was unaware of the danger. In fact, he’d witnessed an escort engage a U-boat the previous day while travelling the same route. Although the warship failed to score a hit, another convoy on-route to Corner Brook was attacked by U106 only nine hours later, possibly the same U-boat Caribou’s escort had chased away. Still, despite this close encounter, Tavenor decided to take the lead and make speed for their destination.
Unfortunately, as fate would have it, Cuthbert’s instincts turned out to be correct.
In the early hours of October 14th, a surfaced U69 moved on-route for the Cabot Strait. Kapitän-Leutnant Ulrich Gräf was recharging the boat’s batteries, which he’d nearly depleted the day before. He’d scored a hit on the Canadian Steam Merchant SS Carolus, sinking the vessel “a mere 275km from Quebec City” (Heritage NF). A swift response from RCN escorts and, particularly, sub-hunting Hudson bombers from the RCAF’s Eastern Air Command, forced the U-boat to dive for cover (Barris 248). The prolonged hunt for U69 meant that Gräf had to remain submerged longer than he wanted, significantly draining his vessel’s batteries. Electric power was essential when under water – it wasn’t possible, nor safe, to run diesel engines while submerged without a way to vent the exhaust (the snorkel wouldn’t be equipped on U-boats until 1944). So, out of necessity, and relatively protected to the naked eye, the slim profile of U69, obscured by swells that easily reached two feet, glided slowly on the surface. Gräf would wait until his batteries were fully recharged before moving back into the Gulf to continue raiding convoys.
Around 0321hrs, a lookout alerted the U-boat commander that he’d spotted something in the distance. According to the vessel’s logbook, a shadow, followed by a smaller one trailing some distance behind, was noted at bearing 300. “Freighter-passenger vessel belching heavy smoke,” came the report, adding “Starboard aft, a two-stacked destroyer escorting.” (Barris 249) U69 had happened across Caribou and her escort.
The ferry, only 60kms from land, was closing on their destination. Tavenor might have felt some relief as they neared the western southern tip of Newfoundland, completely unaware that Gräf was posturing his U-boat to attack. The wolf would wait for his prey to come within range, and Grandmère could do little to warn or protect Caribou from the coming threat it knew nothing about.
Aboard the ferry, Brooke and Wilkie were fast asleep in their bunks, as were most passengers. There was no alarm, nor anything to hint at the torpedo that was speeding towards them just under the ocean’s waves. At 0340hrs, a loud explosion, along with a great jolt of kinetic energy, awoke Brooke. She was actually midair, her body, pillow, blankets and mattress had been flung across the gap between her and Wilkie’s beds, and she was only partially conscious when she landed on her friend. U69’s attack had found its mark, striking the ferry nearly amidships on the starboard side, and forcing the vessel into a dead stop.
Both women guessed what had happened – what else could it have been? Wilkie was first to recover, reaching out to the cabin’s light switch. After a few failed attempts to turn on the lights, she felt along the deck until her hands touched the cold, metallic-ribbed cylinder of a flashlight. Once illuminated, she used the beam to pinpoint their lifejackets. Without wasting time, they dawned their flotation devices and remembered to grab their Burberry coats before exiting the cabin.
They stepped into darkness – the emergency lights hadn’t turned on. Muffled voices came through bulkhead and deck, joining clearer ones down the passageway. A panic buzz of desperate passengers trying to get out or locate loved ones. With outstretched hands and flashlight, they fumbled down towards the hatch leading to the boat deck, managing to put on their large coats as they reached the blackout curtains covering the exit. The air outside was cool and the rest of the ship dark – clearly the power had been completely knocked-out. Some flames flickered, the orange light revealing a bit of the damage wrought from the explosion. A large chunk of the starboard side of the ship was missing and, although they couldn’t see it, Caribou was nearly split in half. Shattered porthole glass littered the deck and the ship’s spars were leaning over. Caribou was already beginning to list and fold inwards. People adjusted their stances as the deck began to tilt, and they could hear water rushing into compartments below from the gaping hole in the vessel’s side.
Brooke would later describe it as “one terrified mob”. It was a mad dash for lifeboats, passengers climbing over one another and leaping into them, in some cases preventing the crew from prepping them for launch. When asked, the occupants refused to leave in fear of losing their seat. Most of the lifeboats had been damaged by the explosion, several sinking upon reaching the water due to compromised hulls. The situation was beyond the crew’s control.
Meanwhile, Grandmère was already on the attack. Roused by the explosion, Cuthbert hastily made his way to the bridge as action station klaxons sounded throughout the ship. He wasn’t even mildly surprised by the news.
“I knew it,” he would have bitterly thought.
Lookouts quickly spotted U69 less than 400 yards away. Cuthbert ordered full speed ahead and to ready depth charges for a passing attack, but the explosives would be a back-up. He intended to ram the U-boat before it could escape. However, U69 managed to submerge and evade the minesweeper’s attack.
Water continued to flow into Caribou. In a mere four minutes, the ship plunged beneath the icy waters. Brooke and Wilkie spent too much time trying to get to their lifeboat and were late jumping clear from the doomed ship. Landing in the water, they were still close to the vessel and found themselves caught in the undertow. The suction pulled them, along with everything else floating nearby, into the depths. Brooke didn’t even have time to take a lung-full of air before her face was submerged, darkness washing over her eyes. Water plugged her ears, her body stiffening as the cold intensified, feeling like hundreds of tiny needles jabbing into every nerve. Which way was the surface? She didn’t know, couldn’t think through the pain in her head and growing need for oxygen that made it feel like her chest would explode. Panic took over, her legs kicking as her hands clambered desperately for something, anything to grab. That’s when she realized she was holding onto something, or something was holding onto her. Then her face broke through the surface. Brooke would later write “How we got away from her, I don’t know, but we clung together somehow all the time we were under and when we finally reached the surface, we managed to grab a piece of wreckage and cling to that.”
On the surface, both the cold and sheer weight of their waterlogged coats made it a struggle to swim. A broken, yet still floating, lifeboat appeared nearby, over-turned but with lifelines intact. Brooke quickly made for them, pulling an injured Wilkie along with her. Several other survivors followed, and with great effort, hoisted themselves onto the exposed hull. With the aid of a soldier, Brooke was able to get onto the wreckage. Both then pulled Wilkie out of the water.
A dozen people clung to the boat, alone and in the dark. Bitter cold and exposure took its toll, as well as symptoms of hypothermia. Wilkie soon fell unconscious, forcing Brooke to free a hand and hold onto her comrade to keep her from falling back into the sea. It was no easy feat. Her soaked clothing only made Wilkie all the heavier and the slick, sloped hull, combined with the violent jostling from repeated waves, made keeping out of the water more than a challenge. Adding to that, the survivors had to constantly adjust their weight to keep the wreck from overturning. Even in the dark, they could tell the hull was compromised. If the vessel were to righten itself, it would fill with water and sink, and if that happened, their already dire situation would be much worse.
It was exhausting work, especially as the lifelines were positioned along the gunwales of the boat, now situated at their feet. They had to buckle over to grip them. In such conditions, keeping oneself on the hull, as well as the boat from flipping over, required constant alertness, fatiguing both the mind and body. And Brooke was doing it with only one hand, the other holding onto Wilkie! Hours passed with help nowhere in sight. Brooke kept squeezing her friend’s hand, and every now and then tried to shake her awake, but to no avail. Wilkie remained unconscious, her body limp. The muscles in Brooke’s arm were beyond burning – the whole thing had gone numb. At times she couldn’t even tell if she was still holding onto her friend.
Meanwhile, Grandmère continued her pursuit of the U-boat. They had dropped a six-charge “diamond” pattern of depth-charges, followed shortly by another three-charge pattern, but after two hours, and ever mindful of possible survivors in the icy Atlantic, Cuthbert gave the order to disengage at 0630hrs. He would later state “I should have gone on looking for the submarine, but I couldn’t. Not with women and children out there somewhere.” (Barris 255)
The sun started to break over the horizon, illuminating the small group huddled on the turtled and punctured lifeboat. Beyond exhausted and nearly frozen stiff, Brooke’s grip on the unmoving Wilkie finally faltered. “I did manage to hold her until daybreak,” she would retell, “but then a wave pulled her right away from me.” After so many hours fighting to save her friend’s life, Brooke was forced to see Wilkie vanish among the waves.
“It was so terrible to see her go.”
Of 4,480 nursing sisters that served during the war, Wilkie was the only one lost as a result of direct enemy attack. As for those aboard Caribou,136 perished. Among the survivors were 57 military personnel, 49 civilians, and 15 crewmembers. Leonard Shiers, merely fifteen-months old, was the only child to survive. The sinking of the ferry was of no strategic value to Nazi Germany – it wasn’t a heavily laden merchant vessel replete with fuel, munitions, or other war supplies. If anything, its destruction only strengthened its adversary’s resolve.
It would have been so easy for Brooke to have let Wilkie go. Nobody would have blamed her – it was an emergency. At any point during the night, she could have freed her other hand and focused on keeping herself alive. But instead, Brooke chose to risk her own life and save her friend. It was a valiant act, one that could have easily doomed her, a point not lost on naval command. On January 1, 1943, the London Gazette announced that Brooke had been made a Member of the Order of the British Empire (MBE), military division, for her bravery in attempting to save Wilkie’s life. It was the highest decoration for gallantry a woman could be awarded at the time. The citation read: “After the sinking of the Newfoundland Ferry S.S. Caribou, this Officer displayed great courage whilst in the water in attempting to save the life of another Nursing Sister.”
Brooke continued to serve in the RCN after the war, promoted to Acting Lieutenant in 1946 and posted to the hospital in Esquimalt. On January 1, 1948 she was made a substantive Lieutenant and then moved to the naval hospital in Halifax. She continued back and forth between both coasts, and on April 1, 1957 was made a Lieutenant-Commander. She retired in 1962 and returned to the University of Saskatchewan, earning a doctorate in Paleontology and authoring several related papers. In 2015, on her 100th birthday, Brooke received some surprising news – the second of Canada’s Arctic and Offshore Patrol Vessels would be named after her, making her the first woman, as well as first living person, to have a Canadian warship named in their honour. She passed away on January 9, 2016, in Victoria B.C.
Brooke’s Awards and Decorations:
A complete record of Brooke’s honours has not yet been made available, but in addition to her Member of the Order of the British Empire, she would have also received the Canadian Volunteer Service Medal, British War Medal and, likely, the Canadian Forces Decoration (CD). It’s also possible that Brooke’s received other honours during her time in the navy. A full listing of honours, including dates, will be provided once verified.
Sources:
https://www.heritage.nf.ca/articles/politics/caribou-sinking.php
https://www.thecanadianencyclopedia.ca/en/article/margaret-brooke
http://www.navy-marine.forces.gc.ca/en/navy-life/brooke-bio.page
https://novascotia.ca/museum/wrecks/wrecks/shipwrecks.asp?ID=826
Barris, Ted. Battle of the Atlantic: Gauntlet to Victory. Harper Collins, 2022
https://www.blatherwick.net/documents/Royal%20Canadian%20Navy%20Citations/B%20-%20RCN%20-%20WW2.pdf
https://www.veterans.gc.ca/eng/remembrance/classroom/fact-sheets/women
Prepared By:
Sean E. Livingston, Co-Founder CNTP and Author Oakville’s Flower: The History of HMCS Oakville
