Beyond Endurance: An Epic of Whitehall and the South Atlantic

by Nicholas Barker

  I wrote: ‘Everyone was willing that submarine to the surface and as a bunch of amateurs we succeeded where many others would have faltered.’

  For an organization which is supposed to be the ultimate in professionalism we really did very badly on advice from our Submarine Command. It would have been very helpful, for instance, to have been instructed on the layout and content of the tanks. The Santa Fe had been a fairly typical example of the Guppy ‘breed’ which as a class had been scattered throughout many of the world’s navies.

  In the aftermath of the incident when the Argentine submariner, Artuso, had been killed, a diving team from HMS Brilliant had disabled her by blowing off the rudder, thus damaging the propulsion system. Subsequently the submarine sank alongside the jetty. We knew that, with her full outfit of torpedoes, mines and charges she was a serious hazard and the sooner we took her out of the area the better. We first used the Typhoon, an MOD tug, assisted by Endurance’s diving team to pump out as much water as possible. But the pump was not really strong enough and the effort was temporarily abandoned until we could supply better equipment. She was sitting on the sea bottom, with just the fin showing at a 15 degree list to port. The time had now come to raise her.

  The salvage began on 28 June. We used portable pumps and pumps from Salvageman which was lashed alongside the Santa Fe. At first we tried pumping out through the upper conning tower hatch, but were thwarted by the water level being below the lip of the hatch. The lack of any plans meant that we had to rely entirely on folk memory for what we might encounter below. We erected a coffer dam and constructed it round the hatch so we had a watertight area and a place where we could insert a pump. Little by little we managed to take the water out of the conning tower but it was days later before we reached the control room. We could not be sure even then which valves controlled which tank, a necessity if we were to blow air into the tanks or take out fuel and water.

  The first man into the control room had a particularly unpleasant welcome. Among other débris there was an oily mass of rotten food and the body parts of a man shot at close range. Next we pierced the main ballast tank from the outside by means of a cox’s gun, a handy piece of equipment which makes a hole and then seals it. The idea was to use air from the tug to blow the water out. Here we had at least a limited success. Having more or less dried out the control room, we managed to get into the galley accommodation by removing the sight glass in a door, producing a bore of water into the control room! By trial and error we managed to block that too.

  We used crowbars to prise our way into different compartments off the control room. At each stage we managed to create a new flood which in turn had to be sealed. Several of the compartments contained fuel oil sludge and more rotten food floating on the surface of the water.

  We also found an extensive collection of armaments which included torpedoes, mines, boxes of small arms, ammunition and charges. Four homing torpedoes were found tossed like scurvy victims on bunks. There were more torpedoes in the after racks, torpedoes on a false deck and torpedoes in the tubes. All appeared to have their detonating devices inserted. The one empty tube probably represented an attempt to sink one of our ships, possibly ourselves! We found a brass plaque on the door of another tube informing us it contained a mine. Was this an accelerated scuttling device or a booby trap for the British?

  After days of further pumping we discovered that LP air was still available in the submarine’s LP system. By cross-connecting it to the blow panel it was finally possible to blow the main ballast tanks. Now that the bow and safety tanks were filled with air the Santa Fe rose three or four feet. Our divers confirmed that she was off the bottom at the bows and only just aground aft of the conning tower. We were getting there. More pumping brought the reward of another rise of two feet. Then we moved aft and started again. There was a great cheer as the submarine rose to the surface. She looked like an injured dolphin with a list of about 25 degrees to port. But she was buoyant! We felt she was probably towable but to avoid the risk of capsize she was lashed to the side of Salvageman. Further pumping and plugging improved stability but there was one worrying leak in the motor room which defeated us.

  On 15 July an expert team arrived from UK to inspect the Santa Fe which was now more or less dry. We all recognized the most worrying problem – a lot of TNT explosives were rapidly drying out and becoming increasingly unstable. Through our efforts the Santa Fe had become a floating time bomb. My instinct was to destroy her on the spot but it would be difficult to control the explosion. If all that TNT went up much of the base area would evaporate and the base itself could require an aviation licence.

  Our only option was to tow her away and ground her. Warrant Officer Green, one of our team of experts, advised against any further salvage operations. I bowed to his experience but it was all bloody frustrating. It had taken a hell of a lot of effort to get as far as we had. Our divers had logged record times for the number of dives within a month. One of them, Knocker White, had been underwater for 726 minutes, which was in itself a new record. But all this seemed to have achieved was a mounting fear of being blown to Kingdom come.

  We decided to beach Santa Fe in a position near Hestesletten, approximately four miles away. This was a gently shelving beach so we could take the tug in, still lashed to the submarine, then let the Santa Fe go to drift up onto the beach. At least that was the theory of it. I can’t say I was particularly confident that it was going to work.

  I went with the Salvageman. I felt I had to offer something in the way of falsely confident smiles, and anyway if the sub and tug were to blow up it was my duty to be with them. Endurance stood by fairly close as we were all towed inshore by Yorkshireman. It was not an operation that any of us particularly relished.

  The submarine was to be beached with the main hatch and all doors open. As we were moving we tried to empty the motor room and blow the main tanks to give Santa Fe a little extra buoyancy for what we sincerely hoped would not become a Viking funeral. Just ahead of the beach we cut all the lines and let her drift. She waddled, but, stubbornly maintaining her 25 degree list, finally planted herself on the rocks. We lost all the pumps but I certainly wasn’t going to risk recovering them. After 24 hours the submarine’s list had reduced to perhaps 15 degrees and the after end of the casing had settled just below the water-line. We believed that the water would rise to sill level in the accommodation area and this should be enough to ensure stability. More importantly, the TNT would soon become soaked and safe.

  Chapter 12

  HOMEWARD BOUND

  Finally we were sent the signal to proceed to Stanley. The passage to the Falklands was so rough that we had to cancel our stores transfer with Regent. We did catch a glimpse of the Carrier Task Force as it passed a few miles to the north. We exchanged signals and congratulations with my old friend Captain (now Admiral Sir) Jeremy Black of the Invincible. The tugs were still in company with us but as they had a very low freeboard they behaved more like submarines heading into this heavy sea.

  Then, on Monday, 19 July Endurance arrived in Stanley. The familiar landscape was crowded with supply ships for the Task Force crammed into all the harbour berths and overflowing into the outer harbour. Overhead there was the constant clatter of helicopters. On shore we could see the streets laden with military vehicles and teeming with men in a wide variety of uniforms. It was a far cry from the peace and quiet we had left behind.

  Endurance was given the most heart-warming reception. Sir Rex Hunt, newly styled as Civil Commissioner, gave a party for the officers and senior rates at Government House. I called on Admiral Reffell who by now had relieved Admiral Woodward. He was flying his flag in the Bristol and I went there for lunch. I could not resist reminding him of the conversations we had had the previous summer which of course did little to endear me to him. But I saw him as the sort of man who could take it on the chin. I expected something at least conciliatory, perhaps even apologetic. I have to say I was disappointed. He brushed ever
ything aside with some mumblings about ‘priorities being priorities’.

  I also called on Major General Thorne, known as ‘the jumping bean’, who had relieved General Moore as the leader of the land force and had become the Military Commissioner.

  During the early days of the invasion, the Argentines had captured our rather expensively fitted out survey launch James Caird. In South Georgia we had commandeered a vastly inferior Argentine launch which our splendid Scouse engineers tried to repair. They christened her James Turd. But we refitted her as best we could with a salvaged engine and some bits and pieces we had ‘borrowed’ from the Argentines. Finally we gave her a paint job which featured her name in gold lettering in the stern. The James Turd was then ceremonially presented by Endurance to Rex Hunt. I believe she was used for several years.

  We also took Rex on a sea tour of outlying settlements. First it was Fitzroy, which had been the scene of the disastrous attacks on Sir Tristram and Sir Galahad. But now the bay seemed oddly peaceful. The only signs of the Conflict were some life rafts that had been washed up on the rocks. At Fox Bay, on West Falkland, which the ship had last visited on the way to Cape Horn, the people from both East and West Fox Bay arrived to cheer us and we organized a small celebration for as many of them as we could.

  It was all really going too well and I was beginning to feel rather more at peace with the world. It may be this that caused me to drop my guard. On our return to Stanley I was enjoying a constitutional stroll along the ‘front’ when I was accosted by Jeremy Harris of the BBC. He asked for an interview. At first I was inclined to say ‘no’ but the more I thought about it the more it seemed like an opportunity to express my pride in the achievements and heroism of an exceptional ship’s company. I discussed all this with Rex and his view was broadly similar to my own.

  ‘It’s all over now,’ he said, ‘so I don’t see any reason why you shouldn’t give him a short interview. You’ve come through, and that in itself is quite a story. And Endurance has achieved more than anybody could possibly expect from a virtually unarmed ship. I can see no harm in putting that in the public domain. Do your interview, Nick.’

  I think perhaps if I had been able to make my responses in the same sort of detached and diplomatic way that Rex could have done all would have been well. I was as circumspect as possible. I was asked if I had known if problems were brewing and if I had warned London. I was asked what sort of response I received. I felt that the only way to answer those questions was to tell the truth, although I suspected, even then, that in career terms this was suicide. The interview was transmitted on the BBC’s World at One, on 27 July, 1982.

  We left Stanley at five o’clock on the evening of 23 July. They put on an unforgettable fireworks display for us and horns blared away from every corner of the bay. I took it for what it was – a delightful way of saying a heartfelt ‘thank you’. It did nothing, however, to store up any credit with my boss in the Bristol, Admiral Reffell.

  Our voyage to Chatham was to take almost a month. This was really too much time to reflect on what had happened and what was to be. I had thought a great deal about the people who were important to me during the darker days of war, but this had never been considered in a conclusive way. Perhaps there had not been enough time for that. Perhaps it all seemed too distant. Certainly there had been times when going home had not seemed to be a probability I could let myself consider. But now there were things I had to think through and properly come to terms with. I had told Elizabeth in February about my feelings for someone I had got to know at the British Embassy. I had been at pains to point out that this was not just ‘an affair’ but something much more than that.

  But at the same time I was immensely proud of the marvellous efforts that Elizabeth had made in maintaining and co-ordinating a network of information and support for the Endurance wives and families. This had not always been easy. On two occasions the Argentine Broadcasting Service had reported that Endurance was a smouldering wreck. Even though this ‘news’ was quickly contradicted it had already found its way to several homes and Elizabeth had taken it upon herself to give the necessary reassurances. From what I heard later I know she did this terribly well. And, more remarkably, she accepted these responsibilities in the knowledge that her own marriage was almost certainly over.

  My wife was not talking about divorce. Her approach had been to send me a number of emotional letters and tapes, the main thrust of which was asking me to reconsider. There were indeed many questions to which she deserved answers, something which I knew would be difficult to provide partly because I did not fully understand my own feelings, but I knew I wanted to cause her as little pain as possible. Since the Conflict began, and communication became more difficult, I have no doubt that she felt every bit as isolated as me. I knew just how difficult that could be.

  My other concern was for the children I adored. How was I to tell them that the marriage was to end? How could I explain that the ‘returning hero’ no longer wanted to live with their mother?

  One decision I made was that for the first month at least there would be a semblance of normality. Elizabeth was at least to take her rightful position as the wife of the Captain of the only ship to return to the Medway. It would be as if nothing had happened. I knew she wanted this and was entitled to it. And the public would see what they expected to see. That was the way it had to be.

  I believe Elizabeth still thought there was chance of reconciliation. I could not entirely disillusion her about that at a time when my children, and indeed the families and children of a whole ship’s company were so eagerly awaiting our return. Nothing should get in the way of that rejoicing. We were all looking forward to what seemed certain to be perhaps the greatest day of our lives.

  The British Embassy had effectively closed immediately after the invasion and the Ambassador had returned to the UK with most of the embassy staff. All that was left behind was a scratch team under a newly arrived First Secretary who had run British interests under the Swiss flag. A small staff had stayed and toughed it out. That cannot have been easy either. After the Conflict Anthony Williams was given a suitably grand office within the FCO. As an additional reward for his astute diplomatic touch in Argentina he was provided with a similarly suitable support staff which included some former Buenos Aires officials.

  Rex Hunt was treated rather differently. His office was more of broom cupboard dimensions and his staff was similarly downsized. I have no doubt that all this had much to do with Sir Michael Palliser who was then Head of the FCO. Anthony Williams had been highly regarded for many years and Argentina was hardly a significant blip on his record. Rex, however, had not only come to the FCO through the Commonwealth Office, but he had, on occasions, voiced opinions that confirmed the opinion that he could not properly be regarded on quite the same basis as Anthony Williams.

  I am truly sorry if Rex was tarred with Barker brush but I do not believe that was particularly the case. But clearly both of us had issued warnings that were ignored and the carrot and stick principle was being applied ahead of the enquiry. And I had already done enough damage through the Jeremy Harris interview.

  I knew now that Endurance was a name that had entered into a wide public consciousness. Her rôle had been heavily reported up to the invasion itself, but then, naturally enough, other matters had taken precedence in media attention. We thought that there may have also been an attempt to steer attention away from Endurance because she was carrying all special forces. There was some sense in that. But later a rather different picture was beginning to emerge. There can be no doubt there was deliberate attempt to give the ship as little publicity as possible; this was not unconnected with the fact she had proved to be of greater value that anyone in Whitehall cared to admit.

  There was little rejoicing in these same corridors of power when in October the following year the Endurance was awarded the Wilkinson Sword of Peace for 1982. This award is given to those who, in the view of the donors, have done most to
further international peace and goodwill. Interestingly, this had nothing to do with our military rôle. It was, in fact, a recognition of the worth of the ship over many years in the South Atlantic. The citation made specific reference to the work of the ship on behalf of the British Atlantic Survey and the Scott Polar Research Institute.

  Honours and promotions followed, but I felt increasingly incredulous. Rex Hunt and Anthony Williams received knighthoods, at least one of which was hugely deserved. And there were knighthoods and plum jobs for any number of Whitehall ‘warriors’, including Ure and Fearn.

  The odd thing was that only three captains of Corporate ships, including the two aircraft carriers, were promoted to Rear Admiral. Was that jealousy? Or were they just not good enough? I found it staggering that someone with the experience of Mike Clapp, who was Commodore in charge of the Amphibious Warfare Force, was never promoted. It was a dreadful waste of experience and know-how.

  On the way home we stopped for a few hours at Ascension Island. The senior civil servant in charge invited us up to his house on what is known as Green Mountain. It is the only patch of grass in the whole of the island and it features a tree. It is an odd thing to realize that for almost six months none of us had encountered such a phenomenon. I made the best of this short encounter with civilization. I played a few holes of golf on the brown course. I also received two letters from Admiral Sir John Fieldhouse. One was extremely congratulatory but the other was a harbinger of what I was to face at home. Part of the first letter read:

  I trust it will be long remembered how you kept the White Ensign flying down south and provided a British presence when all else was in enemy hands and how then you have since done so much to re-establish our presence. You are to be congratulated on a most marvellous performance during the past months. Well done and a happy run home.