World War I

by Allan Burnett

  Protection was primitive. At first, British soldiers used face masks made from flannel cloth soaked in chemicals designed to neutralise the gas. Then came a ‘smoke helmet’, which covered the whole head. As the war continued, respirators evolved into more effective gas masks similar to those seen during the Second World War.

  Fire in the Sea

  The enemy was out there, but where?

  Sub-Lieutenant Angus Cunninghame-Graham gripped the handles of his periscope and glared at the ocean. The lens was peppered with smoke dust from his own guns and salt-water spray from the enemy missiles which had landed just a few dozen yards away from HMS Agincourt’s thinly armoured deck.

  Through the muck he scanned the cold, grey sea. He saw dense clouds of mist drifting over thick, foam-flecked waves. Apart from that, nothing.

  Then the view cleared a little and there they were – enormous metal monsters, whose fangs and scales were gun barrels and armour plates, squatting in the distance like sinister shadows of the British fleet.

  But before the German ships’ range could be taken and missiles launched, they disappeared again behind a silvery veil of drizzle.

  Cunninghame-Graham cursed under his breath. ‘Come on, show yourselves,’ he hissed.

  BOOM!

  A cacophonous explosion shook the Agincourt with great violence.

  ‘We’ve been hit!’ shouted one of the men.

  Sweat glowed on the faces of the gun-turret crew as they locked their eyes on their commander. Cunninghame-Graham spun his periscope around, seeking signs of damage.

  A hundred thoughts swam through his head. Was this it? Was this where his career ended – sunk by a direct hit from a German battleship in the icy North Sea?

  Ever since he was twelve years old, when he had started out as a naval cadet, Cunninghame-Graham had looked forward to the chance to do battle. Now his time had come.

  For more than eighteen months, almost since the war had begun, he and the rest of Agincourt’s crew had been based in the Orkney Islands, off Scotland’s north coast. During that time they had prepared meticulously to confront the Imperial High Seas Fleet of Germany’s Kaiser Wilhelm II. It had been a long wait, never knowing whether or not their moment would actually arrive.

  The Agincourt first joined the British Grand Fleet back in late August 1914. When the vessel sailed into the huge sheltered anchorage in the waters of Scapa Flow in Orkney, the place was packed. There were battleships, destroyers, battle cruisers and several other classes of ship – dozens in all.

  The ships’ vast, silvery-grey hulks were intricately detailed on their upper decks with superstructures, masts, chimneys, rigging, flags, tenders, lifeboats, derricks, platforms, and weaponry – including machine-guns and missile-launching gun turrets.

  Lurking below the water lines, out of sight amid forests of barnacles, were torpedo tubes and huge propellers, the latter powered by immense coal-hungry steam-turbine engines.

  The Royal Navy vessels may have been at rest. But not the men who sailed on them. Uniformed figures hurried to and fro under the watching gulls, throwing items overboard or carrying pieces of wooden furniture down the gangways.

  Out went tables, chairs, settees and even the portable organs used in the ships’ chapels. Anything considered a fire risk in the event of the ship being engaged in battle had to go.

  Cunninghame-Graham quietly observed all this activity from the deck of the newly arrived Agincourt. He liked the fact that his own captain had refused to take such drastic measures. Throwing furniture and other comforts overboard would only undermine the crew’s morale.

  At his side was Hoots, his sturdy cairn terrier. The gruff, handsome little dog licked his lips as he watched seabirds landing and taking off from the railings.

  Just then, Cunninghame-Graham’s attention was caught by activity on his own ship. Further along the deck he could hear pails of water being put down with a clang, followed by sloshing sounds and then scrubbing.

  He quietly signalled Hoots to stay put. As he approached the noise, Cunninghame-Graham could see two sailors on their hands and knees with their backs to him, holystoning the decks.

  Cunninghame-Graham smiled. This was a job he recalled doing as a naval cadet. Holystoning meant kneeling down and using a small block of rough sandstone to scour the deck’s teak wooden planks until they shone a pristine white.

  ‘None of the other ships is doing this, so why are we?’ muttered one of the young sailors to the other as he scrubbed away with the salty, wet stone.

  ‘I’ll wager none of the other crews get turned out of their hammocks at 5.40 in the morning, either,’ grumbled the second lad as he too rubbed and scrubbed with a well-drilled rhythm. ‘In that boat next to us they don’t wake till 7.15! What a life!’

  ‘Pride of ship is good for morale,’ said Cunninghame-Graham.

  The two sailors spun around, startled, and instantly stood bolt upright and saluted.

  ‘Aye, aye, sir! Good morning, sir!’ they barked in unison.

  Cunninghame-Graham, in a swift but relaxed motion, saluted back. ‘The captain believes this war’s going to be a long one and I think he’s right,’ he said. ‘We’ll have to maintain standards if we’re going to defeat the Kaiser, will we not?’ he added with a smile.

  ‘Aye, aye, sir!’

  He instructed them to carry on, then whistled and called, ‘Hoots!’ Man and dog went below deck to get ready for breakfast.

  While the vessel awaited battle orders, all sorts of preparations and methods of killing time were devised. Holystoning was only one of many tasks. The ship was painted and repainted to ward off rot and rust. A pier was built on the barren shoreline of Flotta, a small island inside Scapa Flow off which the Agincourt was anchored. And the whole fleet co-operated to build recreational facilities on Flotta, including football pitches and a golf course.

  Deck-hockey matches and sailing regattas were held; officers were allowed ashore for shooting and fishing provided they could be back at short notice. Competitions kept everyone on their toes and made sure crews worked together effectively – such as a race to see which crew could be first to deliver a fried egg from their ship to the bridge of the flagship, HMS Iron Duke.

  Besides fried eggs, food was good and plentiful. One ship was turned into a canteen with a special shop for officers, reminiscent of the exclusive Fortnum & Mason grocery shop in London, where all sorts of luxuries could be bought, from local island lobsters to pâté.

  Then there were the serious battle preparations, including target practice. This required the Agincourt to weigh anchor and sail into the Pentland Firth, the stormy body of water that lies between Orkney and the Scottish mainland.

  Cunninghame-Graham was put in charge of the tugboat that was to be used for gunnery practice.

  The Agincourt’s gunners were supposed to set their aim five degrees off target so that the missiles would land safely astern of the tug. On one occasion, however, a gunner failed to set his aim correctly and his shots began falling dangerously close to the tugboat. Cunninghame-Graham frantically signalled that the firing needed to stop before the tug was hit. Even though the missiles were only practice projectiles, they were filled with almost 400kg of sand and could easily have smashed through the tug’s deck.

  Three other aspects of naval life in Scapa Flow kept everyone on their toes. One was coaling the ship. Every single officer and seaman, except the captain, took part in this back-breaking task.

  Hundreds of bags of coal had to be filled up by hand in the hold of a waiting coal freighter and then hoisted aboard the Agincourt. The bags were then emptied down chutes into coal bunkers below deck ready to feed the engine boilers. Sandwiches, lime juice and cocoa kept everyone going until the job was done.

  Another challenge was stormy weather. Hurricane-force winds are not unusual in the Northern Isles and the heavy seas often made the Agincourt’s patrols, when she and other vessels went out into the Atlantic or North Sea in search of any hostile German
activity, extremely arduous.

  Then there was the fear of being asleep in your hammock or bunk when a German U-boat submarine slipped into Scapa Flow and torpedoed the ship’s hull. To ward off such stealth attacks, all entrances to the anchorage had to be kept secure with antisubmarine nets, minefields and patrols.

  So there was plenty to keep the crews busy while they waited for their chance to do battle.

  Finally, just as hopes were beginning to fade of ever actually facing the enemy, the day came when the entire fleet was ordered to put to sea and sail south-east towards Denmark. Neither Cunninghame-Graham nor the rest of the Agincourt’s crew realised it at first, but this was to be more than just another routine patrol.

  It was still light at 9pm on Wednesday, 30th May 1916, when the Grand Fleet began steaming out of Scapa Flow. As the last vessels slipped out of the ancient anchorage, the flagship Iron Duke took up the rear, lingering as long as possible before breaking telephone contact with the shore in case of new information or a change of orders.

  For a short while, wireless radio chatter went to and fro. Messages were sent in cipher – a secret code – and further disguised by a stream of dummy messages. Once the fleet was actually at sea, however, radio silence had to be maintained so as not to give away the ships’ positions.

  The Agincourt was in the 4th Battle Squadron. As she steamed out into the North Sea darkness fell, and Cunninghame-Graham pondered what lay ahead. He also wondered how long it would be before he got soaked to the skin.

  Although the Agincourt was a state-of-the-art Dreadnought-class battleship and a very steady gun platform, her main deck was extremely difficult to keep watertight in a rolling sea.

  As Cunninghame-Graham made his way from below deck towards his battle station for a night watch, his nostrils filled with the stench of stale salt water. All the ventilators had been screwed shut to try to keep as much of the sea out as possible, but this also meant that very little fresh air circulated between decks. He stumbled along in the dark, bending under hammocks with sailors sleeping in them, with an inch or so of seawater sloshing about underfoot.

  He arrived wet-footed at his battle station, No. 4 heavy-gun turret. On-duty members of his gun crew saluted and exchanged a few words as they went about their business among the guns and machinery in the turret’s cramped compartments.

  In the event of battle, everyone had a specialised task to perform. A team of men worked across several decks to bring up the missiles, or shells, from the shell room below.

  They also brought up the propellant charges needed to fire the shells from another store down below called the magazine. The shells and the charges were then loaded into the guns.

  Meanwhile the sightsetters, directional trainers and gunlayers worked together to lock the guns on target. Everywhere you looked, complex electrical and hydraulic machinery helped make the whole operation run like clockwork.

  Cunninghame-Graham felt a certain sense of relief that they were likely to see action very soon. This was what he and the rest of the crew had trained for.

  As commander of the turret, he would now spend most of his time here, especially if the Agincourt was engaged in battle. He had even had a camp bed rigged up so he could be awoken and ready for action at a moment’s notice.

  ‘Look lively, sailor,’ he said to one of his foretopmen. The young man had stifled a yawn while looking out of the armoured sighting hood above the guns. ‘Don’t you know the penalty for falling asleep on submarine watch is to be shot by firing squad!’

  ‘Aye, sir!’ came the terror-stricken reply.

  ‘I’m just putting the wind up you,’ replied Cunninghame-Graham with a grin. ‘You’re relieved from watch. Good job. Now go and get some food and rest.’

  ‘Yes, sir!’ the young man replied, then, just as he was about to leave, he turned to face his commander. ‘Do you think this time will be different, sir?’ he asked.

  ‘Do you mean, is this just another false scent, or has the Kaiser’s fleet actually been lured out to do battle this time?’ replied Cunninghame-Graham.

  ‘Something like that, sir, yes.’

  At just twenty-three years old, Cunninghame-Graham knew he lacked the wisdom for an accurate prediction, not having been informed himself yet what was actually going on. The fore-topman was not much younger than him, but still he looked up to the officer for some reassurance.

  ‘To tell the truth I have no idea,’ Cunninghame-Graham replied. ‘But the important thing is to be ready for them, come what may.’

  As soon as Cunninghame-Graham had a break, he had an important job to do. He needed to make sure a very special member of the crew was at his battle station, just in case.

  ‘Hoots! Hoo-oots!’ Cunninghame-Graham stood at an open hatch, shouting into the half light of the wet breezy deck.

  The shaggy little dog was on his sandbox. He looked around with his deep, hazel eyes and barked at his master.

  Just then another window hatch opened slightly. ‘What the Devil is this racket all about?’ came an angry voice from within. ‘If I find that blasted dog out there, he’s going overboard!’

  ‘Come!’ hissed Cunninghame-Graham under his breath, beckoning Hoots with both hands.

  Hoots rushed along the deck and into his master’s arms.

  ‘We’ve woken up the Commander again,’ whispered Cunninghame-Graham into his old pal’s soft, hairy ears as he pulled the hatch shut and clambered down the stairs. ‘Let’s get out of sight before he catches us.’

  Hoots wiggled his black nose and snuffled his agreement.

  Down below deck, Cunninghame-Graham gently put Hoots into his ‘battle station’ – a small compartment where he would be relatively safe.

  ‘So what do you think, Hoots?’ whispered Cunninghame-Graham after the dog had settled down to rest on a blanket next to his water bowl. ‘Are we going to get a real battle?’

  But Hoots was already asleep.

  The answer to the question came at 2.30pm the next day. A signal was given from the flagship to raise steam for full speed ahead.

  On the bridge of the Agincourt, the pilot turned the handle on top of the engine-order telegraph to ‘Full Ahead’ and a bell rang out from the large clock-shaped device.

  This signal from the bridge was electrically relayed down to the engine room, where the order was acknowledged by the handle on their engine-order telegraph being turned to the same position. As teams of muscular sailors in vests shovelled extra coal into the blazing boiler furnaces, the ship surged forward to its maximum speed of 22 knots.

  Even though the rest of the crew were cooped up in their individual quarters and could not easily see the bigger picture, they had a good idea what the sudden increase in speed meant.

  Half an hour later another signal came from the Iron Duke: ‘Assume complete readiness for action in every respect!’ Orders were then fired off to every part of the Agincourt by telephone, telegraph and metal speaking tubes, known as voicepipes.

  ‘Strike down the hammocks!’ All bedding and other inflammable objects in the cabins and decks were put away as a fire-safety precaution.

  ‘Rig the hoses!’ This meant hosepipes had to be tied to the decks and turned on so that, in the event of a fire, the water would help douse the flames.

  ‘Bring up the ammunition!’ Below No 4 turret, and all the others, the shells and propellant charges were removed from the missile stores and magazines, and hoisted up ready for the gunners to use.

  At around 3.30pm Agincourt intercepted signals that the fleet’s battlecruisers, sailing independently of the main fleet, had engaged the enemy.

  ‘This is it,’ said Cunninghame-Graham to his turret crew. ‘It looks like we’re going to get our chance to face the Kaiser’s fleet in battle.’

  At 4.45pm another signal was communicated around the ship. ‘Enemy battle fleet sighted steering north.’

  When the gun crew heard this, they all cheered. It was certain now that the Germans had sailed into a fig
ht with the main British fleet – and they were going to get one.

  All the gun crews then went for dinner in shifts to make sure every man was well fed and able to concentrate. The crew’s canine mascots were also fed and watered. Cunninghame-Graham looked in on Hoots with a piece of fish, which was gratefully devoured. The Agincourt and her crew were all set for the fight ahead.

  Then, just before 6pm, they closed up to the enemy.

  ‘Action stations!’ Every man in the turret’s upper and lower decks sprang into position at the sound of this command, poised to load, calibrate and fire the guns.

  Cunninghame-Graham put his nose up against his observation periscope at the top of the turret and looked out to starboard. He could see the 5th Battle Squadron, along with the battlecruisers, well engaged in combat – but he could not make out the enemy ships. In the misty weather all he could see was the flashes from their guns and the explosive plumes of spray as their missiles fell around the British ships.

  At 6.15pm the remaining British battle squadrons were deployed. The Agincourt was ordered, along with all the others, to change course and engage in the fight.

  At last the sinister, dark silhouettes of the German High Seas Fleet came into view. The Agincourt began preparations to open fire.

  A gunnery officer in a lookout post high above No 4 turret spotted one of the enemy ships. He then used a machine called an Evershed to relay the ship’s position down to the men in the turret, where the information appeared on a dial.

  Cunninghame-Graham and his men checked the position, then rotated the turret so that the gun barrels were pointing in the right direction.

  But there was a problem. And it wasn’t with the Germans.

  Lying between the Agincourt and the enemy ship were some British ships of the 1st Cruiser Squadron, apparently intent on glory by taking on the enemy without a thought for the rest of the British fleet. Cunninghame-Graham and his men watched impatiently, trying to work out what was going on.