Nostalgia: Brixham’s brave on the last voyage of Caroline Moller

During the Second World War, the Royal Navy operated several key rescue tug bases across the United Kingdom to support naval operations and safeguard maritime routes.

Two significant establishments were located at Harwich in Essex and Campbeltown on the Mull of Kintyre in Scotland.

Harwich, situated on England’s east coast, was home to HMS Badger, a major Royal Navy shore establishment commissioned on 13 September 1939. Located at Parkeston Quay (now Harwich International Port), HMS Badger served as the headquarters for the Flag Officer in Charge (FOIC), Harwich, and was responsible for overseeing naval operations in the area.

The base supported a variety of vessels, including minesweepers, destroyers, submarines, and motor torpedo boats, making it the largest base for small craft in the United Kingdom during the war.

Facilities at HMS Badger included oil storage tanks, signal offices, bomb disposal units, salvage and rescue tug services, engineering sheds, and minefield control posts.

The base played a crucial role in operations such as the Dunkirk evacuation and the defence of the east coast against enemy attacks. HMS Badger was decommissioned on 21 October 1946, but its operations room remained active as an emergency port control centre for the Harwich area.

On the west coast of Scotland, Campbeltown on the Mull of Kintyre served as the headquarters for HMS Minona, the Royal Navy’s Deep Sea Rescue Tug Service base.

Established during the war, HMS Minona was responsible for coordinating the rescue and towing of damaged ships from Atlantic convoys into safe harbours across the UK, from Scapa Flow to Portsmouth. Campbeltown’s strategic location made it ideal for supporting operations in the Atlantic, and the base provided administration, rest, and recreation facilities for the crews of rescue tugs.

The town also hosted HMS Nimrod, a training school for anti-submarine detection systems, further emphasising its importance in naval operations.

Geographical Context

While both Harwich and Campbeltown were pivotal to the Royal Navy’s rescue tug operations, they were located on opposite coasts of the United Kingdom:

Harwich: Situated on the east coast in Essex, England, facing the North Sea.

Campbeltown: Located on the west coast in Argyll and Bute, Scotland, on the Mull of Kintyre peninsula, facing the Atlantic Ocean.

These bases were not in close proximity but were strategically positioned to cover different operational areas—Harwich focusing on the North Sea and English Channel, and Campbeltown on the Atlantic approaches.

Start of the 2nd World War, 1 September 1939

My father was a naval reservist and joined the war, travelling up to the Rescue Tug Base, Harwich, on 16 February 1940. He signed his T124T contract on 19 February 1940. He then went to Campbeltown – HMS Minona; there was not much time for training.

They were given a uniform, and they relied on their experience at home on their fishing boats to get them started.

For a while he was on the HMRT Deucade. From there he went on to Caroline Moller. The ship's records show he was leaving the Caroline Moller for shore leave on 12 August 1942 and then going back to the ship on 28 August 1942, where he served until the ship was torpedoed off Cromer on 7 October 1942.

There were quite a few Brixham men on that ship at that time; out of the 35 men on board that day, about half were killed. This is my father's story.

Prologue: The Sea’s Last Line of Defence

They weren’t in the headlines. They didn’t return home to cheering crowds. They weren’t even recognised properly by the Admiralty.

But when a ship went down in flames or limped toward land with a broken spine, it wasn’t destroyers or battleships that came to its rescue. It was the rescue tug. Crewed by men called Tattie Lads—a name born in the cold, oil-stained guts of war—they were the last hope in a hopeless sea.

Among them was Petty Officer George Maddick of Brixham. This is his story—and that of the Caroline Moller, a tug that went to the bottom in silence, carrying sixteen brave men with her.

Chapter One: Brixham’s Son

George Maddick was born in 1913, in the rugged fishing port of Brixham. The sea was his inheritance. By the time he was ten, he knew how to rig a sail and splice a line blindfolded. Brixham boys were raised tough, raised salty.

He joined the Royal Naval Reserve before war ever broke out. So, when the war came in 1939, he was already ready. On 19 February 1940, he signed the T124T agreement—volunteering for duty aboard vessels supporting the Navy but staffed by merchant seamen. He was sent to Harwick in Essex.

That agreement would send George into a war that would keep him away from home for nearly seven years.

He would not set foot in Brixham again until 1946.

Chapter Two: The Tattie Lads

They weren’t sailors in the traditional sense. They weren’t soldiers either. The men of the Rescue Tug Service were something in between—and something braver altogether.

Drawn mostly from the Merchant Navy, fishermen, and civilian seafarers, these men became known as the Tattie Lads. It was a nickname at first, a bit of black humour—they were often cold, dirty, and patched together like old jackets. But it stuck. And it grew into a badge of honour.

The Admiralty gave them little recognition. Officially, they belonged to no one. They even adopted the motto Filius Nullius, “sons of no one.” But if you were clinging to a life raft in burning oil, you didn’t care about paperwork. You wanted a Tattie Lad to haul you out.

George was proud to be one.

Chapter Three: Enter the Caroline Moller

George was posted to a Saint-class tug, originally launched as St Mabyn in 1919. Renamed Caroline Moller, she was a sturdy 444-tonne rescue tug, fitted with a 12-pounder gun and a reinforced hull. She wasn’t built for speed but for endurance.

She served wherever the fighting was thickest. Hauling broken destroyers. Dragging crippled freighters home. George became her backbone—calm, steady, and utterly reliable.

He wasn’t the oldest aboard, but his authority was natural. He didn’t bark orders—he led by example. His shipmates trusted him. When the alarms sounded, they looked to him.

And that trust would be tested to its breaking point.

To be continued…