#ramageandferguson — Public Fediverse posts

Finest yacht in the world: the thread about the Leith-built “Iolanda”

Today’s Auction House Artefact is a 1909 painting of the beautiful yacht Iolanda, cruising off Naples, by the artist Antonie de Simone. She was built in 1908 by Ramage & Ferguson in Leith for the wealthy American railroad and shipping financier (and yachting fanatic) Morton F. Plant, and had a long and interesting life

Iolanda, from “Steam Yachts” by Erik Hofman, 1970

At this time if you wanted one of the biggest and best steam yachts in the world you went to Messrs Cox & King of Pall Mall in London to design it, specifically their naval architect Joseph E. Wilkins. And once you had your plans you likely went to Ramage & Ferguson in Leith to have them built. The Iolanda was the largest of the vessels that came out of the Cox & King-Ramage & Ferguson partnership, being 310 feet long (94.5m) and displacing 1,823 tons (1,654 tonnes). Described as “probably the finest yacht in the world“, she could make 19 knots on her 3,500hp steam engines and with her bunkers filled with 600 tons of coal she could cruise for 6,000 nautical miles. To lengthen her endurance, she was also rigged as a schooner and could proceed under sail power alone.

Iolanda, by Antonie de Simone, 1909

That’s a very big and very fast yacht by the standards of the day – as much as now – indeed she was the tenth largest yacht on Lloyd’s Register in 1913 and the third largest in private ownership (behind that of the Vanderbilts and of Gordon Bennett of the New York Times). This was the third in a series of such yachts that Plant had gotten from Cox & King – the others being the Venetia and the Vanadis. She was crewed by a compliment of 70 and had a capacity for 80 passengers. The interiors, as you might expect, were the finest that money could buy, a Queen Anne style. Her fittings included three electrical generation plants, a 3,000 feet long (914m) string consisting of 1,500 red, white and blue lamps that could be strung from the masts, a desalination system that could produce 15 tons of fresh water per day, a special system to chill the seawater in her plumbing for cold baths and an infirmary with its own X-ray machine.

The interior of the Iolanda, from Yachting Magazine, October 1908

Morton Plant, whose sailing schooner was named Elena after the Queen of Italy, named Iolanda after the Italian Princess Royal. He was particularly proud of how big his new steam yacht’s funnel was. To demonstrate its size and to mark the occasion of the launch of the hull in Leith in February 1908, he held a party luncheon inside it for 100 guests (the funnel at this times till being on its side on the quayside). Plant. On his arrival back in the US at New London on August 29th 1908, he flew a 220-foot long pennant from the masthead.

The Iolanda in 1912

In 1909, Plant and his friends began a 33,000 mile cruise around the world that would take almost a year (including the visit to Naples as seen in the painting). He wrote and published an account of this voyage in 1911, sensibly titled The Cruise of the Iolanda. He returned from this global jolly on July 5th, 1910, but had already grown tired of his new toy and soon put it on the market. It was bought in 1911 by Mme. Elizabeth Tereshchenko, a friend of Plant and a wealthy member of the Ukrainian upper class, who spent most of her time in Cannes.

Plant and friends on deck on the Iolanda, from “Cruise of the Iolanda” by Morton F. Plant.

The Iolanda came complete with her Norwegian captain, Charles A.K. Bertun. On the outbreak of WW1, Bertrun and the yacht were stuck in Norway. As the property of an allied nation (the Russian Empire), she was secretly chartered to the British Admiralty and Bertun escaped with her to England on the pretext of going to Bergen for dry docking. The Royal Navy commissioned the yacht as a patrol vessel – work which her size and speed well suited her to. For this purpose she was given a couple of 3″ guns, and seems to have had an uneventful war.

Cross-sectional builder’s model of the Iolanda displayed at the New York Yacht Club.

Morton Plant died on 5th November 1918, just before the end of the war. His obituary noted his long list of yachts and membership of the New York, Atlantic, Corinthian (Philadelphia), Indian Harbour, Larchmont, Sea View, Royal Thames, Royal St. George and Royal Forth Yacht Clubs. When the war ended a few weeks later, Captain Bertun took possession of the Iolanda on behalf of the Tereschenko family and took her back to Leith to Ramage & Fergusons to be refitted and repaired after war service. On the death of her owner now exiled in Cannes and Monaco – she passed to Elizabeth’s son, Mykhailo Tereshchenko. Mykhailo was Russian Foreign Minister in November 1917 when he had been rounded up by the Provisional Government and locked in the St. Petersburg Citadel. He escaped from this imprisonment in 1918 and fled to Norway with the 42 carat Tereshchenko diamond, the largest blue diamond in the world. Legend says that this diamond is cursed, and this was responsible for the fall of Imperial Russia and the Tereschenko dynasty.

Photo of Mikhail Ivanovich Tereshchenko from the first edition of “Ten Days that Shook the World” (1919)

The family needed money to finance their life in exile on the French Riviera, so sold the Iolanda to the yacht brokers Camper & Nicholson in 1921 for use on the hire market. In 1927 she was purchased by Moses Taylor Pine Jr. of the National City Bank in New York. Like Morton Plant before them, the Moses Pines made an inaugural cruise and published an account of it (Diary of Happenings Aboard the Steam Yacht Iolanda, Being a More Or Less [principally Less] Veracious and Plain Account of the Adventurous Voyage Undertaken etc. etc.) Moses died, I believe, the following year, but his wife kept the yacht on for her own use. In 1939 the Admiralty once again came calling on the Iolanda, buying her off Mrs Moses through an intermediary, Mrs G. J. Guthrie Nicholson of Newport Rhode Island, reportedly for only $5. She was commissioned once again into the Royal Navy, this time as the submarine tender HMS White Bear. Her principal duties were to escort submarines heading out on, and returning from, patrols into their home bases.

HMS White Bear during World War 2, Imperial War Museum photo © IWM FL 4085

On Nov. 30th 1942, White Bear left Holy Loch in company with the submarine HMS Tuna – which she escorted as far as Wolf Rock off Cornwall – before the latter set a course for the Gironde estuary to drop off 6 Royal Marine Commandos for Operation Frankton – the Cockleshell Hero raid.

1955 film poster for the fictionalised account of Operation Frankton – “Cockleshell Heroes”

White Bear was refitted as a survey vessel in 1944 and posted to the East Indies Fleet, stationed at Colombo. She was fitted with a large and modern printing plant so that the newly surveyed charts could be sent straight to the fleet.

The printing room on HMS White Bear

She returned to the UK in 1947 and was sold, first to Burwood & Co. of London. She was scrapped in Holland in 1958 at the age of 50. A number of artefacts survived, including her clock, the ship’s bell (which sold in 2018 at auction for £1,116) and her figurehead.

The figurehead of the Iolanda, a 1928 photo

Note to readers: unfortunately in April 2026, a third-party plug-in more than exceeded its authority and broke many of the image links on this site. No images were lost but I will have to restore them page-by-page, which may take some time. In the meantime please bear with me while I go about rectifying this issue.

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The many lives of the “Rovenska”: the thread about a Leith-built steam yacht

This thread was originally written and published in June 2023.

Today’s Auction House Artefact is this brass trivet stippled with “HMS Rovenska 1917“. So why was there a Royal Navy ship named for an obscure Croatian fishing village and why does this have anything to do with my usual subject matter? Read on.

Brass trivet for sale, “HMS Rovenska 1917”

The clue is in the photo in the bottom right corner of the auction listing – before she was His Majesty’s Ship, the Rovenska started out life as a steam yacht of that name and was launched in Leith by Ramage & Ferguson on March 2nd 1904, yard no. 192. This is a thread about the many lives of this vessel.

The Rovenska at Cowes in 1911 dressed for a naval review. Source: Heritage Images

The luxurious, 198 feet long ship was designed by Cox & King in London. It was a Miss Pratt, most likely the daughter of Cox & King director Gustavus Pratt, who had named Rovenska at the launch in Leith. She displaced 650 tons, and was powered by a triple-expansion steam engine that made around 1,000 horsepower. The newspapers at the time reported she was “luxuriously fitted throughout“:

The yacht has exceptionally good accommodation, which includes handsomely-fitted dining room, drawing room and smoking room in the deck house range on main deck, and has a promenade deck above, extending full width of vessel on each side and for about two-thirds of the length. The interior accommodation is fitted in choice selected hard woods with tasteful decorations and furnishings throughout.

Description of the Rovenska at launch, from The Scotsman, 3rd March 1904

Why was she named Rovenska? This is because she was the private steam yacht of Archduke Charles Stephen of Austria – an Admiral of the Austro-Hungarian Navy – and his wife Archduchess Maria Theresa, it being Maria Theresa who actually ordered her. The royal couple had their summer palace on the Adriatic island of Lošinj in what is now Croatia, Rovenska being the name of the harbour here. In case you didn’t already know, Ramage & Ferguson in Leith had built up a solid worldwide reputation in the late 19th century for building luxury steam yachts and counted many members of royalty, aristocracy and assorted multi-millionaires on their client books. Cox & King were one of the three principal naval architects who designed ships for them.

Rovenska – the harbour of Mali Lošinj, Croatia, by K. Korlevic

The Rovenska sailed from this island for a few years before becoming surplus to requirements when her owners ordered a newer and larger vessel from Ramage & Ferguson, the Ul.

Archduke Charles Stephen (left), Archduchess Maria Theresa (centre) and family onboard the Ul

At this point the German-born British businessman and philanthropist Max Waechter purchased her for himself, keeping the name. In 1914 she was sold on to Gustavus Pratt, one of Cox & King’s directors and also a yacht broker.

On the outbreak of World War I, Pratt found a new customer for the Rovenska and she was commissioned into the Royal Navy in 1915, still carrying the same name, which was perhaps slightly awkward considering its relationship to the monarchy of a declared national enemy! The Navy gave her flag number 071 and she served as an auxiliary minesweeper in the English Channel and North Sea, for which purposes she was armed with two 12-pounder guns. The Rovenska served in this role until March 1919 (with the end of the war, there were still lots of mines left to be cleared).

After this service ended she was put up for auction and found a new owner – one Guglielmo Giovanni Maria Marconi, 1st Marquis of Marconi – the so-called Father of Wireless. Marconi wanted a luxurious yacht for his own pleasure use, to entertain high-profile guests and clients but also to serve as a floating laboratory, where he could conduct wireless experiments far from land and from prying eyes. He renamed her Elettra (Electra in English).

The yacht Elettra, notice the extra height of masts and many more wires

Elettra was fitted with a generator and wired throughout for electric light as built. Marconi retained much of the original interior and accommodation, but had the masts heightened to carry a large spread of wireless aerials and a laboratory installed, chock-full of his latest gear and with a connecting door to his personal cabin. Until his death in 1937 the Elettra spent a glittering scientific and society career cruising the seven seas.

Painting of the Elettra by Wm. Fellini, from an auction listing by Bonhams-Skinner Inc., 2009

In 1920 she hosted the first ship-board dance where the music was broadcast in by radio, live from the Savoy Hotel in London. That same year, she received the voice of the soprano Dame Nellie Melba at a distance of some 2,000 miles from the Marconi transmitter in Chelmsford. In 1922 she hosted what must be the first “silent disco“, when guests aboard danced to music played to them by headphones and via a hand-held radio receiver.

“A personal dance” on board Elettra in 1922 off Albany, New York state. Dancers are Josephine Young of Riverside, Conn., and J.W. Elwood of New York

She conduct experiments in ship-to-shore, ship-to-ship and ship-to-aircraft voice communication; into short wave transmissions; into radio direction finding; observed radio signals bouncing off the moon. In 1930 Marconi made a 10,000 mile transmission from Elettra while anchored in the harbour of Genoa to a shore station in Sydney, Australia. A few days later he performed the technological feat of remotely turning on the lights in that latter harbour to mark the opening of the World Exhibition, from a switch aboard his yacht. Marconi and Elettra performed another feat in July 1934, when he covered up the windows of the wheelhouse and successfully navigated blind between two buoys off of Genoa using only a radio navigation signal broadcast from the shore for guidance.

Caricature of Marconi switching on the Sydney lights from 10,000 miles away by the flick of a switch, by Harry Clark, from the Sydney Mail, April 2nd 1930

When Marconi died in July 1937 the yacht was bought by the Italian Government (apparently on direct orders of Mussolini) who intended to turn her into a floating museum at Ostia. The outbreak of war with Britain in June 1940 caused this plan to stall and she was moved to the safer port of Trieste. Here she languished until 1943 when Italy signed an armistice with the Allies. At this point, she was requisitioned by Nazi Germany, now at war with the Kingdom of Italy, for use as a patrol boat. Her new owners did allow Professor Mario Picotti from the University of Trieste the concession of removing Marconi’s priceless radio equipment for safe keeping to the depths of the fortress of Castello di San Giusto.

The Castello di San Giusto, Trieste

The Germans renamed her NA-6 and armed her for use patrolling the Dalmatian coast. They fitted her with 15mm and 20mm machine canons for this purpose, as well as altering the masts and funnels. On January 22nd 1944, she was either attacked by Allied aircraft or torpedoed by a submarine (depending on which you believe), and run aground by her captain to stop her sinking. The damage observed on the remains of her hull suggests that it was an aerial attack as it is not consistent with torpedo attack (thank you to Andrew Bonifacio, curator at the Museo del Mare in Trieste for this information).

Painting by Antonio De Simone which appears to show the Elettra being hit by a torpedo. From an auction listing in 2022 by Cambi.

With the end of the war she became the state property of Yugoslavia, in whose waters she had sunk. In 1959, permission was granted by Marshall Tito himself for the Italians to survey the wreck with the possibility of salvaging it. This took place in 1962 and her remains were returned to Italy. All attempts at restoration failed however and after languishing for 15 years the decision was made to cut her up into smaller pieces for exhibit. Her elegant bow, complete with wartime damage, now graces the centre of a roundabout in a science park in Trieste.

Bow section of the Elettra – Science park area at Trieste

The engine and boiler rooms were sent to the Naval Museum in Venice, where they are now on display.

https://www.flickr.com/photos/136891509@N07/51721080834/

After the war, the Marconi Wireless Company in the UK acquired a new research vessel – suitably named Elettra II – which was a converted WW2 torpedo boat. This vessel visited the harbour of Granton in May 1951 and gave day trips to employees of local shipping companies. In 1962, this stopgap vessel (which was found to be too weighed down by radio equipment to be very seaworthy) was replaced by the purpose-built Elettra III, launched in Berwick upon Tweed. This is now in private ownership in the USA. The fourth, and final Elettra was ordered in 1999 by the Italian Navy – a brand new, 3,180 tonne research and surveillance vessel. She entered service in 2003, almost exactly 99 years after the yacht that would become the first Elettra was launched in Leith.

Italian Navy research vessel “Elettra”, 2013, La Spezia, CC-by-SA 3.0, Jorge Guerra Moreno

Note to readers: unfortunately in April 2026, a third-party plug-in more than exceeded its authority and broke many of the image links on this site. No images were lost but I will have to restore them page-by-page, which may take some time. In the meantime please bear with me while I go about rectifying this issue.

If you have found this site useful, informative or amusing then you can help contribute towards its running costs by supporting me on ko-fi. This includes my commitment to keeping it 100% advert and AI free for all time coming, and in helping to find further unusual stories to bring you by acquiring books and paying for research.
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#Lochend #Logan #Restalrig #StMargaret

København: the thread about the mysterious disappearance of an enigmatic, Leith-built sailing ship

This beautiful ship is the København. She plied the world’s oceans training young men and boys to become sailors, moving cargoes from port to port until one day, some seven years after leaving her builders in Leith, she disappeared and was never seen or heard from ever again. Her fate remains a mystery to this day.

Final fitting out in dry dock at Leith, dated 1921. This was probably to give her bottom a final inspection and coat of paint before handing over to her owners, as described in the Edinburgh Evening News in September of that year. © Edinburgh City Libraries

Despite appearances, the København was a creation of the 20th century; a five-masted Danish sailing barque and one of the largest sailing vessels ever built. Her primary duty was the training of officer cadets for the merchant marine. There is a tradition in a number of European countries, continued to this day, of carrying out such maritime education on purpose-built sailing vessels. To help pay her running costs she also served as a general cargo ship, long after steam had displaced sail as the primary motive power at sea. The early history of this ship is slightly confusing. She was part of an order for the Leith yard of Ramage and Ferguson by A/S Det Ostasiatiske Kompagni (the East Asiatic Company) of Copenhagen in 1913 for three large sailing barques with auxiliary motor power. This particular København, yard number 242, was to have have four masts but war intervened before she could be completed. After lying incomplete for 2 years her hull was purchased by the British Admiralty in 1916 and quickly completed as an oil storage hulk, named Black Dragon and towed to Gibraltar. Sold in 1922 to the Shell oil company, she remained in service there until 1960.

The modelmakers loft at Ramage and Fergusons in 1906. The three vessels being worked on are all large steam yachts of the type the yard was renowned for. © Edinburgh City Libraries

After the war Det Ostasiatiske Kompagni ordered a replacement ship of the same name from Ramage and Ferguson. This new København – yard number 256 – would have not four but five masts, displaced 3,960 tons gross, was 130m long (426½ feet), 15m wide (49⅓ feet) and had a draught of 8.2m (27 feet). Those masts were nearly 58 metres tall (190 feet) and could spread 5,200 square metres (56,000 square feet) of American cotton sails. For times when the wind was lacking or for manoeuvring in harbour she had a 4-cylinder, 650hp diesel engine specially imported from Denmark which could propel her at 6 knots. She could carry 5,200 deadweight tons of cargo or 8,100 cubic metres (288,500 cubic feet) of grain. On account of her size and towering masts she gathered much local attention; taking a walk to observe progress became the done thing to do about the burgh. She was launched – mastless – on March 24th 1921, watched by a large crowd that had assembled to see her huge white hull slide into the dock basin.

The launch of the second København, contemporary newspaper photograph from the Daily Record

The Great Dane, as the British press came to call her, was the largest sailing vessel ever built in the United Kingdom (excluding Brunel’s sail-assisted steamship Great Eastern. Two other Clyde-built ships were marginally longer, but København had a greater displacement.) She was the last of only seven 5-masted barques that have ever been built and ranks in the top 20 largest sailing ships – by length and displacement – ever built.

After launch and fitting out at Leith Docks, 1921. The masts are stepped but there remains much work to be done © Edinburgh City Libraries

She was fitted with a generator to power electric lighting throughout and a wireless (radio) set with a 400 mile range. Her regular complement was 26 officers and men along with somewhere between 45 and 60 cadets, aged between 14 and 20. In addition to her master, her crew included 4 mates, a doctor, 2 engineers, 3 cooks, 2 boatswains, a carpenter, a sailmaker and a wireless operator. At the the rear – the “poop” – of the ship, was her main saloon, captain’s and officers quarters, staterooms, wireless room and infirmary. The rest of the crew and the cadets were accommodated in a deckhouse amidships. At her figurehead she had a sculpture of the 12th century Danish warrior bishop and founding father of the nation, Absalon.

Close-up detail of the proud figurehead of Absalon on the prow

She left Leith for her trials in the Firth of Forth on September 28th 1921 under the command of Commander Niels Juel-Brockdorff of the Royal Danish Navy. Again large crowds assembled to watch the spectacle; it took four tugs to tow her out from the shipyard stern first before turning her around so that she could begin to move under her own power.

The København was brought carefully down the harbour, and the spectators had an opportunity of seeing to great advantage the graceful lines of the ship, its fine figurehead, and other decorative effects. Flags were fluttering gaily from the mastheads, and altogether an exceedingly pretty picture was presented as it passed down between the piers, its size contrasting strikingly with that of the attendant tugs.

Report on the departure in The Scotsman, 29th September 1921

After trials she headed straight to sea and on to a welcome in her home port of Copenhagen before embarking on a circumnavigation of the globe during which time she sailed 38,326 miles, not returning home until 7th November the following year. The ship was now gone from Edinburgh and Leith, but not forgotten. For the next few months one of the most popular shows at the Synod Hall on Castle Terrace starred the København as a feature in Poole’s Myriorama; a panoramic picture and special effect show.

Painting of the København at sea by Peder Christian Pedersen. CC-by-SA 4.0 Hesekiel

In October 1925 she came close to catastrophe when she caught fire in the English Channel en route for Melbourne from Danzig with a cargo of timber. The fire started in the cabins at the rear of the ship, destroying much of her fine wooden fittings, but she was able to to put safely into Plymouth. After repairs she was able to carry her load to Australia without further ado. In 1927, en route from Liverpool to Chile via the Panama Canal, she lost a propeller blade on the Pacific coast of South America and had to put into Calloa in Peru to repair.

København in dry dock in Australia, photo from the Edwardes Collection of the State Library of South Australia

On September 21st 1928, the ship departed the Danish port of Nørresundby under the command of Captain Hans Anderson carrying a shipload of chalk and cement for Argentina. It would prove to be her final departure from home. Arriving safely in Buenos Aires on November 17th 1928, she then waited in that port for 4 weeks for an onward cargo for Australia. None was forthcoming and so the captain decided to leave empty for Melbourne, where he could load with wheat, and departed on December 14th. Depending on the source there were either 60 or 70 souls aboard, including 45 cadets, on a trip that was expected to take around 45 days. Eight days later she passed the Norwegian steamer William Blumer some 900 miles to the west of the islands of Tristan da Cunha and the two ships exchanged signals, København indicated that all was well and the cadets were preparing to celebrate Christmas as they passed south of the Cape of Good Hope. This proved to be the last time she was ever seen or heard from ever again.

The last voyage of the København (approximate) showing the route east from the River Plate, across the South Atlantic and southern Indian Ocean to Australia.

However there was no immediate cause for concern. Captain Anderson had a reputation for taking a “minimalist” approach to using his radio and sailing journeys could easily take far longer than scheduled if the winds were unfavourable. Thus when København did not arrive in Melbourne on schedule nobody raised any alarm. By February 1929, the East Asiatic Company was sufficiently concerned to begin making enquiries with Lloyd’s of London for any information concerning their now long overdue vessel, but it was not until early April 1929 that they finally raised the alarm. The British Admiralty were approached for assistance and the search and rescue operation which now followed has been called “the longest, farthest reaching and most costly in the history of maritime service“. The Admiralty spread the word amongst British shipping and arranged for the Liverpool firm of Alfred Holt and Company to diverted their steamer Deucalion from Cape Town to make a search of potential landfall in southern latitudes on which the missing Dane could either have become bound or wrecked upon. These were the remote Price Edward Islands, the Crozet Islands and Kerguellen. The Admiralty also lent an experienced navigator, a high-powered wireless set and two operators to man it. The East Asiatic Company dispatched their own motor vessel, Mexico, to make her own search.

København , photo from the Edwardes Collection of the State Library of South Australia

In May, news was received from the searching steamer Halesius out of Tristan da Cunha that an English preacher on that island, Philip Lindsay, claimed that he and others on the island had sighted, on January 21st, a five masted sailing ship with a white band round its hull approaching the islands. This apparition came from the south and her first two masts were seen to be broken. It then disappeared from their view towards a part of the island that was inaccessible. Objects were later found washed up on the shore but they could not conclusively be proved to have come from København. Lindsay told The Times:

The sea was rough for our boats and we could do nothing but watch her gradually crawl past and run inside the reefs to the west of the island. She was certainly in distress. She was using only one small jib [sail], and her stern was very low in the water. I estimated that she was within a quarter mile of the shore when we last saw her.

Philip Lindsay, eyewitness

The Halesius made a search of the rocky and unpopulated Gough Island to the south of Tristan, but found nothing and so carried on her way. The master of Halesius put his ship into Montevideo on June 22nd and caused a minor sensation when he was quoted by the press as having found the ship’s wreckage. He had, however, made no such claim and it was a reporting error that had mixed up facts. On the same day it was announced that the Australian steamer Junee, in Sydney, and the Norwegian motor ship Lars Risdahl, in Cape Town, had both been chartered by the East Asiatic Company to carry on the search in the Southern Ocean. They were also diverting the Mexico to Tristan to make a thorough investigation of her own, just in case.

The Halesius in her former guise as the Lord Cromer in 1912, whose sensational attribution to have located the København was unfounded. © National Museums Liverpool MCR/39/17

The intensive search continued for the next two and a half months. The Mexico returned to Cape Town in the middle of July and her master spoke to the London Daily News. He told the reporter that it was his belief that the ship had washed up on the lonely desert coast of southwestern Africa and that he was refuelling before heading off on that particular search course. Every coastline and grid square was combed before the company reluctantly called off the operation on September 9th 1929, some nine months after the København had last been seen. She was officially declared missing by Lloyd’s of London on January 1st 1930. But as hope dwindled, interest in the disappearance was if anything even more widespread with the passing of time and lack of evidence.

Various theories for her imagined loss were advanced. Had she collided with ice floes and been abandoned by her crew? But ice was unlikely to have been encountered if she had passed Tristan da Cunha, so had she become lost and icebound in the Southern Ocean? Some said that the observers on Tristan were mistaken; they had not seen the København at all. No, the much more rational explanation was that they had seen the renowned South Atlantic ghost ship, the Phanton Barque. Did the København capsize in a sudden squall under her immense spread of canvas due to the lack of a heavy cargo in her hold to provide a low centre-of-gravity? This would certainly have given no time for lifeboats to be launched. Others said the ship had simply been swallowed by the ocean, it was well known amongst mariners who had sailed in the Southern Seas just how the mountainous seas and roaring winds could do such a thing. Yet others thought she would still be afloat, drifting aimlessly in the oceans, “a plaything of wind and current, a toy of unmerciful Neptune“, just waiting to be discovered.

Public interest inevitably began to wane but in April 1934 a Captain Soderlund, of the Finnish-flagged grain ship Lawhill which had just arrived in Adelaide, told newspapers that he had sighted wreckage from the København floating in the Great Australian Bight but had failed to retrieve it. Then in September 1934 the New York Times reported that a message in a bottle that had been picked up by a whaling ship on the Bonvel Islands. The message reputed that the ship had been blown into the Antarctic and the crew and boys put ashore on the ice, to watch their ship be driven by the winds to her destruction. It quickly transpired that the “diary” entries found in the bottle were copied out of a Spanish novel by a Danish journalist who passed them off as genuine.

We know our boys are dead, but it is terrible not to know how and why and where the tragedy happened. Perhaps, too, there are some who cherish a faint hope against their better judgement that some day they will come back

A statement from the parents of the lost cadets, reported in the Daily Herald, October 4th 1934

On 11th December 1934 the Belfast Telegraph reported that a Norwegian yacht, the Ho Ho, and her four man crew had arrived in Montevideo after a year long voyage across the Atlantic to search up and down the coast of South America for any signs of the København. Only three days earlier it had been announced that Ramage & Ferguson had gone into voluntary liquidation after years of financial suffering in first the post-war shipbuilding recession and then the Great Depression. One of the last ships completed by them had been the Mercator, a three-masted sail training ship for the Belgian government.

Denmark still has a national sailing training ship, the Georg Stage. Somewhat appropriately, this 1935-built ship visited Leith Docks in April 2022 and tied up alongside Ocean Terminal: a shopping centre built on the site of the Ramage & Ferguson yard.

Georg Stage arriving at Leith in April 2022, with the former royal yacht Britannia and Ocean Terminal in the background © Self

Note to readers: unfortunately in April 2026, a third-party plug-in more than exceeded its authority and broke many of the image links on this site. No images were lost but I will have to restore them page-by-page, which may take some time. In the meantime please bear with me while I go about rectifying this issue.

If you have found this site useful, informative or amusing then you can help contribute towards its running costs by supporting me on ko-fi. This includes my commitment to keeping it 100% advert and AI free for all time coming, and in helping to find further unusual stories to bring you by acquiring books and paying for research.
Or please do just share this post on social media or amongst friends and like-minded people, sites like this thrive on being shared.

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