Capt. John Treasure Jones

Capt. John Treasure Jones became a well-known media figure in the mid-1960s following his appointment as the last Master of the famous Cunard liner, RMS Queen Mary. He has been described as one of the 20th century’s most distinguished mariners, in war and in peacetime. His forebears were men of the sea, who had captained sailing ships, and he elected to follow in their tradition.

He was born on 18 August 1905, on a farm outside Haverfordwest, Pembrokeshire.

In 1917 he gained a scholarship to Haverfordwest Grammar School.

Early years at sea
In 1921, not yet 16, he signed on for a four years apprenticeship with JC Gould Steamship Co Ltd of Cardiff. He first joined the SS Grelgrant, a 4,785 ton tramp ship, and later transferred to SS Grelhead.

Having completed his apprenticeship, he attended Nautical School in Cardiff.

He then joined Hall Bros of Newcastle in 1926, serving first on the tramp ship SS Ambassador and then on SS Caduceus.

In August 1929 he joined The White Star Line as a Junior Officer first on SS Euripides out to Australia and then on SS Delphic. The Great Depression set in and shipping fell on bad days. In November 1930 the Company sent him to do twelve months Reserve training in the Royal Navy, after which he was laid-off.

In November 1932 he managed to obtain employment as an Assistant Superintendent Stevedore with Rea’s Ltd, working with the Leyland Line ships at the Canada and Huskisson Docks in Liverpool. The Leyland Line was sold to T&J Harrison Ltd and the job petered out.

In July 1934 he returned to sea with the Blue Funnel Line, in SS Machaon and then SS Rhexenor.

In 1937 he joined the Cunard White Star Line in the RMS Lancastria and by the time the war had started he was Senior Third Officer in the RMS Britannic.

He had joined the Royal Naval Reserve as a Probationary Midshipman in 1923. On completion of his apprenticeship in 1925, at age 20, he did six months training as a Midshipman in HMS Hood, followed by HMS Velox and HMS Ajax.

In August 1929, at 24, he was promoted to Lieutenant RNR.

From 1930-31 he served six months afloat in the Aircraft Carrier HMS Glorious and four months in the Destroyer HMS Viscount on the Mediterranean Station.

In August 1937 he was promoted to Lieutenant Commander RNR.

War Service
From September 1939 he served as navigator of the Armed Merchant Cruiser AMC Laurentic (formerly SS Laurentic (1927) of the Cunard White Star Line). On 4 November 1940 she was torpedoed and sunk, 300 miles west of the Bloody Foreland in Ireland, with the loss of around 50 lives.

The following month he was appointed Commander of HMS Sunflower, a new Flower Class Corvette, which was employed escorting Atlantic Convoys. On 17 December 1942, while escorting convoy ON-153, HMS Firedrake (H79), of the escort commander, was torpedoed by U-211 and sunk. HMS Sunflower picked up 27 survivors in 60 foot high waves and took over command of the convoy escort, for which the Captain was Mentioned in Dispatches.

Torpedoing of HMS Firedrake

"Around 11pm I sighted a flare or star-shell on the starboard side of the convoy. I immediately tried to report it by Radio Telephone to the Senior Officer in Firedrake, but could raise no reply from him. It dawned on me that he had been torpedoed. As I was next in command of the escort group, I told Alisma, who was next senior to me, that I feared Firedrake had been torpedoed and that I was proceeding out in that direction to investigate. By now it was blowing a gale (Ed. other sources have stated that it was, in fact, a force 12 storm) and the seas were becoming quite high, making things difficult to detect any object by radar. After searching for a short while I could find no trace of Firedrake. There were now only two escorts with the convoy and two slowly rejoining from astern after picking up survivors. I decided I must return to try and protect the convoy and must leave my group mates from Firedrake to their fate. This was a difficult decision to make, but I really had no option as protection of the convoy was our first duty. I was returning to the convoy when another star-shell was observed astern of me. Again I turned round to investigate in that direction and after searching for a while, picked up a small radar contact. I proceeded at full speed to attack it only to find, as I came closer, that it was not a U-boat on the surface, but the floating after-end of the Firedrake. I closed with it to find that there were about 30 crew on board. It was now blowing really hard and the seas were (60 foot) high. I told them that I would try and come alongside and get them off. Would they put what fendering they could over the side to help protect my ship as much as possible. This Athey started to do. I asked them if they thought they could keep afloat until daylight. They replied ‘yes.’

As there was a big possibility of badly damaging my ship and putting her out of action by trying to go alongside in these seas in the dark, I decided to wait until daylight and would stay in close company with them. Not long afterwards however they reported from the wreck that the forward bulkhead was collapsing and they were taking in water and sinking. In a very short time there was a rumbling and what was left of the Firedrake disappeared beneath the seas. We now did our best to pick up the crew that had been aboard. This was no easy task in these seas. We put scrambling nets over the side for them to climb up. They were mostly on buoyancy nets with their inflated lifejackets keeping them afloat. It was useless to steam head-up-wind to them as I was pitching so much. I did try this to start with, but without success. In fact, I think my bow came down on some of them. What I did do was to go across wind and sea, get to windward of them and let my ship drift down on top of them. This worked, but one second they were down under my bilge-keel, and the next being almost washed aboard over the bulwarks. It was at that moment that my crew would grab them and haul them aboard. Some of my crew went down the nets to help those up the ship’s side who were unable to climb up due to exhaustion or injury. By these means we got on board two who were unconscious; they were lying in the buoyancy nets with their lifebelts on. One proved to be dead but the other we revived.

I found out from the survivors that Firedrake had been struck just abaft the bridge in the boiler room and that she had immediately broken in two. The fore part capsized, trapping everyone who was in that part of the ship, which was almost all of the crew. It was only those who lived aft or were on duty there who survived.

During all this we had to keep a good look out visually and by radar for a lurking U-boat. I remained there until daylight and searched down-wind for two hours in the hope that I might find some more survivors, even the forepart of the ship floating. But I found nothing and set course to rejoin the convoy as it was essential that I rejoined again before dark."

In 1943 he was promoted Commander RNR and commanded HMS Wellington, HMS Bayntun (K310) (one of the first Captain Class Frigates built in Boston, Mass. for the Admiralty) and then HMS Dart, in command of 49th Escort Group in the Mediterranean.

In June 1945 he was promoted Acting-Captain RNR as Divisional Sea Transport Officer of the Netherlands East Indies, based in Java, Batavia.

He was demobbed in March 1947 but remained in the Naval Reserve.

He was promoted to Captain RNR on 31 December 1949 and retired from the service in 1960.

Post-war Service
He re-joined the Cunard Line in March 1947, serving in RMS Samaria, Scythia, Britannic, Georgic and Queen Elizabeth.

In February 1954 he was appointed Staff Captain RMS Queen Mary, until he was given command of RMS Media in May 1957, followed by RMS Sylvania, then Saxonia, in 1959.

From December 1962 he was Master of RMS Mauretania (1938), until November 1965, when he delivered her to Ward's shipbreaking yard in Inverkeithing, Fife in Scotland.

Final Docking of RMS Mauretania

"Before I could enter the channel, it was essential that I pumped out our tanks to get the ship’s draft down to a maximum of 26 feet. When the time came to start entering the channel, the Chief Officer and Chief Engineer reported to me that there was a leak somewhere in the ballast pipeline and that they had been unable to pump some of the tanks out. The result being that my draft was still 28½ feet. At this draft it was impossible to enter as we would stick in the channel. This was the highest tide for a month and from now the level of the tides would start falling. I gave instructions to try and get the ballast pipe wrapped and bandaged, and endeavour to get the remaining tanks out by midnight. I would try and enter on the next tide at 1 in the morning.

I consulted the ship’s broker regarding the terms of the delivery conditions and he informed me that it was my company’s obligation, and thus mine, to deliver the ship into berth in order to fulfil the Contract of Sale. In other words, the ship was Cunard’s until I put her in the berth and if I stuck in the channel, I would be responsible. This put me on a bit of a spot. The Pilot assured me that the bottom was soft mud and that I would be able to push the ship through, say, six inches to a foot of it. Then, to make matters worse, the Managing Director of Ward’s nearly threw a fit when I said that I proposed to attempt it in the dark. He told me “This is the biggest ship we have ever tried to get in here and we have never taken one in the dark."

I told him that as the tides were reducing, it was essential I did not miss another or we would be at anchor for a month, and, at any rate, there was always a first time for anything. Furthermore, that the small leading-lights marking the channel were, in fact, a damn sight better to see than the couple of thin white posts they had as day markers. He then stated that he did not think the tugs would help me in the dark, as they were afraid of running aground. I said “Ask them and if they are willing and I can get my draft down, we are going in, in the dark.” The tugs said they would come, so I decided to have an hour or two’s sleep before the operation; I instructed my officers to call me at midnight and that I wanted to know the draft at the same time. It appears that Ward’s representative and the broker could not believe that I was serious and asked my officers; they told him that if said I was going, then I would go.

Midnight came and I had managed to sleep a little. My Chief Officer told me that they had done all they could and emptied out all the tanks possible, but that our draft was still 26½ feet. This set me a poser. About half way there was a patch of only 26 feet in the channel and, about a ship’s length from the berth, there was only 23 feet of water. This meant that I would have to push the ship through 6 inches of mud half way in and 3½ feet just before reaching the berth. I consulted my local Pilot again and he assured me it was soft mud. So, I decided to go, realising at the same time that, if I stuck, I would have to shoulder all the blame.

Instead of making any tugs fast, I instructed two to go in ahead of me and two to remain astern of me to follow me in. This way I would have two tugs each end of me if we did stick. I did not want them to make fast, as I knew the ship would steer better without them and that I could control her better with engines and rudder.

We lined her up in the channel nicely and then the forward tugs belched forth smoke and, for a while, I lost sight of my leading lights. This really worried me, but we somehow kept to the channel until we sighted them again. Then came the first shallow patch. The ship started to sheer but by quickly steering with helm and engines I was able to correct it. The first obstacle was over. There was dead silence on the bridge except for my orders. I was naturally going in very slowly. Then we came to the final obstacle. As the ship ran into this mud-bank she quickly started to slow up. I ordered ‘Full Ahead on both engines’ and she started to gain headway again. The wall at the head of the small dock loomed up close ahead and as the ship cleared the mud bank she quickly started to go ahead. I gave the order ‘Full Astern’ on two engines and pulled the ship up with about 200 feet to spare and about 20 feet off the berth. We were there. All I had to do now was have the tugs push her alongside the berth, and make her fast. The Chief Engineer phoned up and said I could not use the engines again as his condensers were full up with mud. This did not worry me one bit as I would not need them again and they certainly would not turn again in the ship. I had completed my part of the contract. I had delivered her into the berth.

This was the first ship I took to the scrap yard and I never wanted to take another ship to such a place."

He was briefly the Master of RMS Queen Elizabeth and then in command of RMS Queen Mary from December 1965 until she was handed over to the City of Long Beach, California on 11 December 1967 after being sold to the City earlier that year.

Treasure Jones retired in August 1968, aged 63, after a career of 47 years, of which he served almost 43½ continuous years at sea.

He died on 12 May 1993, just three months short of his 88th birthday, at Chandlers Ford, outside Southampton.

Recognition
His decorations and medals were:
 * 1939-45 Star
 * Atlantic Star
 * Africa Star with Bar for North Africa 1942-43
 * 1939-45 War Medal with oak leaf for Mentioned in Despatches (twice)
 * Coronation Medal and
 * Reserve Decoration with Bar.

In 1968 the University of Wales conferred on him an Honorary Degree of Doctor of Law.

In 1978 was granted the Freedom of Haverfordwest, his home town,.

On the Final Voyage of Queen Mary in 1967 he was awarded:
 * Honorary Member of the Panama Canal Pilots Association
 * Honorary Pilot of the Port of Long Beach
 * First Honorary Port Ambassador of the Port of Long Beach