The Great War at Sea: 1914-1918

by Richard Hough

  For a time, Room 40 was a law unto itself with responsibility to none, not even the Cabinet, the War Stall or the Naval Intelligence Division (NID). However, Ewing worked closely with Intelligence and its brilliant chief, Captain William Hall (‘Blinker’ for his mannerism). Hall established wireless direction-finding stations along the east and south-east coasts of Britain, which by taking cross bearings enabled the position of any ship using wireless to be located with great accuracy. Together with the cipher codes and charts, the Royal Navy possessed a potentially war-winning silent weapon. Messages were deciphered in Room 40, Hope would sift and interpret them, his conclusions went into a red envelope which was then rushed by messenger to the OD.

  The Germans soon discovered that the enemy was reading their signals but believed that by frequent code and key changing, they could outwit him. Ewing’s department was quite capable of dealing with that German precaution, and was greatly assisted by German unrestrained use of W/T.

  Writing many years later as a retired admiral, James recalled the remarkable work of Room 40, Britain’s ‘principal war-winning weapon’ as he termed it, when he was a young commander: ‘The Germans originally changed their general cypher once a month but soon changed it to every 24 hours, which they no doubt believed would defeat attempts to find the key. They also changed their submarine cypher about (I think) once a week. The certain way of defeating cryptographers was to introduce a new signal book, and this they did from time to time. Shortly after I joined Room 40 the signal book was changed, and it was quite wonderful how the cryptographers slowly, from the wavelengths of signals and the DF [direction finding] bearing of the senders, built up a signal book.

  Twice we had the good fortune to obtain the new book. The first time from a sunken submarine; the second time from a Zeppelin. The Zeppelins, being under naval command, used the Navy signal book and ciphers.

  The Germans must have known when we were deciphering their signals. They knew that our fleet must have sailed shortly after [actually before] their fleet in order to meet their fleet on the Dogger Bank and off Jutland; and no doubt many other movements of our ships which were evidence that we were reading their signals.

  It was the heavy wireless traffic in the Bight that warned us if the High Seas Fleet was sailing: – orders to outposts, orders to open the gate at Wilhelmshaven, orders to minesweepers, etc. And one other very important factor: a single word was sent out on all waves when the HSF was about to operate in the North Sea. Their submarines had to be told.

  The Germans towards the end of the war did reduce their wireless traffic, but by this time the clever fellows in Room 40, by studying the wavelengths, length of signals and DF bearing of senders, were able to maintain a steady flow of Intelligence to Operations Division and C.-in-C. Grand Fleet.’(2)

  German intelligence was skilful and accomplished, too, but British Navy use of W /T was severely restricted and the Germans consequently had much less to chew on. Within the Navy and in Fleet Street, the success in anticipating German movements was ascribed to the British intelligence network in Germany, and to luck.

  When the German battle-cruisers under the command of Admiral Franz von Hipper began tip-and-run raiding on 3 November, two days after Coronel, Room 40 was not yet fully operational. This first raid was a minor affair, a minelaying operation with the bombardment of Lowes toft no more than a brief diversion. A British gunboat and destroyer were fired at, too, but succeeded in escaping, as Hipper did after the completion of the minelaying. Fisher judged correctly that this was no more than a precursor of what was to come. He had always recognized the likelihood of raids of this kind, using very fast ships taking advantage of the typical poor visibility in the North Sea. The War Staff would be heavily dependent on Room 40 for giving advance warning. On the evening of 14 December, Ewing’s secret machinery went into action successfully for the first time. Using German ciphers, it built up for the NID a picture of the full strength of the 1st German Scouting Group of five battle-cruisers, together with light cruisers and destroyers, clearing the Jade the following morning, raiding Harwich and the Humber at dawn on the 16th, and then racing for home.

  This was valuable, but like most intelligence, incomplete and not wholly accurate. The German squadron cleared the Jade early on 15 December, as predicted. The Admiralty’s counter-plans were complete. Poised to cut off and destroy Hipper’s ships were Beatty’s four battle-cruisers, the 2nd Battle Squadron of six super-dreadnoughts from the Grand Fleet under Vice-Admiral George Warrender with a flotilla of destroyers, Rear-Admiral W. C. Pakenham’s 3rd Armoured Cruiser Squadron of four ships, and Commodore William ‘Barge’ Goodenough’s First Light Cruiser Squadron of six of the fastest and most modern 6-inch-gunned light cruisers. Keyes with eight of his submarines off Terschelling, hoped to get a torpedo into one or two of Hipper’s big ships on their way home. Warrender, as the senior admiral, was in command. Jellicoe’s wish to bring down the whole Grand Fleet was denied by the OD. But he remained in overall command and selected the rendezvous for Warrender’s forces (in spite of Churchill’s subsequent claim that it was the Admiralty’s choice), and it could not have been better. Warrender’s destroyers were soon in touch with German destroyers and light cruisers, and in heavy weather and darkness began a close-range action.

  Reports of the contact were wrongly interpreted by both sides. Ingenohl deduced that the whole Grand Fleet was out and in close proximity, and dreaded above all a night destroyer attack. His initiative in coming this far – halfway across the North Sea – had not been authorized by the High Command, and he turned tail and made for home at best speed, while ordering Hipper to continue with his bombardment. Warrender, however, judged that he was in the presence of only light German forces and set off on an easterly course at 18 knots, having no idea that he was pursuing the whole High Seas Fleet with his six battleships and Beatty’s four battle-cruisers.

  For almost one hour, British naval supremacy – and the outcome of the war – were finely balanced. Ingenohl had only to turn west again, and within twenty minutes, and in fine clear weather, he would have had the British Battle Cruiser Squadron and six prized battleships at his mercy. But by 9 a.m. the opportunity had slipped through his fingers. Operating in two groups, Hipper’s battle-cruisers had opened a bombardment of Scarborough, Hartlepool, and Whitby. Signals arrived in the Lion’s wireless room in quick succession, and just after 9 o’clock confirmation was received from the Admiralty. Beatty and Warrender immediately reversed course. It seemed as if they had the Germans in a trap. For his part, Hipper had no grounds for uneasiness. Ingenohl had told him nothing, not even that he was hastening home. Hipper thought he had a clear line of retreat, and soon after 9.30 a.m. shaped course for Germany.

  ‘Subject to moderate visibility we hoped that a collision would take place about noon’, wrote Churchill of this nerve-wracking morning. ‘To have this tremendous prize – the German battle cruiser squadron whose loss would fatally mutilate the whole German Navy and could never be repaired – actually within our claws…’(3)

  From the northern fastness of Scapa Flow, Jellicoe ordered dispositions that would ensure that Hipper would not escape, sent the 3rd Battle Squadron of eight pre-dreadnought battleships down from Rosyth as further reinforcement and ordered out the rest of the Grand Fleet.

  The springing of the trap was complicated by minefields and a part of the Dogger Bank which was shallow enough to amount to a navigational hazard. And yet only a glance at the charts suggested the impossibility of Hipper’s escape. Even when the weather began to close in after 11 a.m. optimism and excitement in the forces which expected an imminent clash remained high.

  At 11.25 a.m. Goodenough in the Southampton sighted an enemy light-cruiser and destroyer force which was acting as Hipper’s advanced look-out. The Commodore ordered three more of his cruisers to close, and the Birmingham as well as the Southampton were soon exchanging a sharp fire with the enemy.

  At this point, with Hipper only some fifty
miles distant, Beatty committed a catastrophic signal error. He was within visual touch with two of Goodenough’s light cruisers which were not yet engaged. The enemy had been reported as a single light cruiser with destroyers. Believing that the Southampton and Birmingham were sufficient to deal with these, and requiring the services of the Nottingham and Falmouth himself, he signalled by searchlight, ‘Light cruisers – resume your position for look-out. Take station ahead five miles.’

  As the names of the light cruisers were not included, and the wrong call-sign had been used in any case, Captain C. B. Miller of the Nottingham quite properly repeated the signal to his Commodore. Reluctantly, Goodenough obeyed and with the Birmingham broke off contact and resumed his screening position ahead of Beatty.

  This movement coincided with Hipper’s alteration of course from east to south-east in order to support his recently engaged light forces. Still ignorant of the danger he was in, he turned east again at about 12.15. Half an hour later, and in rain squalls and low cloud, he headed north on the first leg of a precautionary detour.

  Beatty was furious at Goodenough’s loss of contact. ‘I do not understand how the Commodore could have thought that the signals made to Nottingham and Falmouth applied to him’,(4) he complained later. But he had not yet given up hope. At 12.25 p.m. Warrender had signalled that he had sighted enemy light forces. Presuming that these were the same ships Goodenough had recently engaged and were a part of Hipper’s screen, he turned east to cut him off before he could get too far. But this was a new German light force, widely separated from the German Admiral. If Beatty had continued west he would almost certainly have met Hipper. But his luck was out – or was it? Without Warrender, who could readily be outpaced by the German battle-cruisers anyway, how would Beatty have fared four against five? Certainly, one of the German ships, the Blücher, was really a hybrid battle-cruiser with only 8.2-inch guns. But Hipper’s other four ships were at least a match for the Lion, Queen Mary, New Zealand, and Indefatigable.

  Later that day, with the weather now very nasty and visibility right down, it became evident that a great opportunity had been missed earlier when Warrender’s and Beatty’s forces were close together and within a few minutes of contact.

  The abortive operation ended on a sour note, full of recrimination and frustration. ‘The more we heard the more bitter was our disappointment at the failure of the previous day’, Lieutenant Filson Young of the Lion wrote. ‘The accounts of the horrible casualties to women and children in the bombarded towns were particularly affecting; the shelling of defenceless towns was something new in naval warfare, and the Admiral’s mortification at having been so narrowly thwarted in inflicting punishment on the raiders was intense.’(5)

  Beatty blamed Goodenough and wrote to Jellicoe asking that he be removed as Commodore and replaced by Captain Lionel Halsey of the New Zealand. Goodenough was ‘entirely responsible for the failure’. This conflicts with Beatty’s later judgement, which confirms the correctness of Jellicoe in ignoring Beatty’s plea. Goodenough was a supremely good commander of light cruisers. The true guilt for the ambivalent signal from the Lion points to Beatty’s flag-lieutenant, Lieutenant-Commander Ralph Seymour, whose business it was to translate Beatty’s intentions. He was the interpreter for his admiral who was deeply engaged in bringing his squadron into successful action and upon whom the whole future of the nation might rest. A flag-lieutenant’s job was to select the wording and then the suitable flag, wireless signal, or morse message, to express it. It was Seymour who ought to have been sacked after the Scarborough Raid fiasco, not Goodenough. Instead, he was retained at immeasurable cost to the Navy and the country. ‘He lost three battles for me!’(6) glumly confessed Beatty, whose retention of the services of this officer, not even a trained signalman, remains a complete mystery.

  Captain john Creswell brings a balanced eye to bear on the subject: ‘Goodenough was so close to Beatty, [he wrote] that the latter must have seemed to be in tactical command, so to speak, and for all Goodenough knew. Beatty might have had some important reason for ordering the light cruisers to get ahead… The whole of this business has been much coloured by the fact that at the time, and for years afterwards, Beatty assumed that the German light cruisers were fairly close ahead of their battle-cruisers, and that if Goodenough had stuck to them, they would have led him to the latter. It is possible that if Goodenough had ridden the Germans off they would not have sighted Warrender and warned Hipper of the danger. But that is by no means certain. I reckon that the fault lay entirely with Beatty and Seymour, but the result would probably have been the same anyway.’(7)

  At the time, many officers would not have agreed with this final judgement; and it is understandable that a missed opportunity of action against an enemy intent upon avoiding a full-scale fleet action led to so much anger and acrimony. Jellicoe was deeply resentful at being overruled in his wish to throw in the whole Grand Fleet. It is difficult to see how Ingenohl and Hipper could have got clean away if Jellicoe had come down from Scapa Flow in strength – and there was no impediment to this except that the weather was too bad for his destroyers to have kept up.

  Fisher agreed with Jellicoe, but for once was sufficiently discreet not to say so to him, although he spoke openly on the subject to others including Maurice Hankey, Secretary of the Committee of Imperial Defence (CID). ‘Lord Fisher said that in his opinion a great mistake had been made’, Hankey wrote to Balfour. ‘He said that he had been overruled, but that the First Lord had afterwards confessed to him that a mistake had been made in not utilising the whole of Jellicoe’s Fleet.’ He added surprisingly, ‘Fisher, I find, frequently disagrees with statements made by the First Lord at our War Council. I wish he would speak up.’(8)

  Fisher spoke up elsewhere and to others: ‘All concerned made a hash of it.’ But to Jellicoe he confined himself to offering cheer, and encouragement, something he felt obliged to do more and more frequently. ‘The great thing is not to be downhearted!’ he wrote to him on 17 December. ‘Had you heard the Prime Minister last night (at our secret War Council) talking of Beatty missing the German battle cruisers yesterday, you would have thought that England’s last hour had arrived! It was bad luck for us to be so very close indeed to all the German ships, and in such immense superiority, and for the thick weather to save them from us in the very jaws of death!… But the same thing exactly happened to Nelson in the West Indies, and he also did not take the right turn!’(9)

  Ironically, the German Navy, too, bewailed lost opportunities. ‘On December 16th, Ingenohl had the fate of Germany in his hand’, Tirpitz cried. ‘I boil with inward emotion whenever I think of it.’ Captain Magnus von Levetzow of the battle-cruiser Moltke wrote scornfully that Ingenohl had retreated in the face of ‘11 British destroyers which could easily have been eliminated… Under the present leadership we will accomplish nothing.’(10)

  When Churchill learned that if Ingenohl had not turned about the High Seas Fleet shortly before it might have made contact with Warrender and Beatty, he declared that the British squadrons had not been at risk because they could always refuse battle against this overwhelming strength and escape with their superior speed. He did not, however, match this hypothetical evasion with Hipper’s ability to flee from Warrender’s super-dreadnoughts.

  The less restrained British Press reflected the public’s double anger, at the Germans for perpetrating a crime that contravened all humane considerations and the Hague Agreement to which Germany was a signatory, and at the Navy for allowing them to get away with it. At the Scarborough inquest on the dead – and there were 86 fatalities and 424 wounded in that town – the Coroner asked, ‘Where was the Navy?’ Newspaper headlines echoed this question, and followed up with words that would have been even harsher if they had known how precisely informed the Admiralty had been about German movements leading up to the raids. The more responsible Press, like the Observer, took a steadier view of the raid: ‘The best police force may firmly preserve general order, bu
t cannot prevent some cases of murder, arson and burglary.’(11)

  As a sop to public opinion, the Admiralty moved Beatty’s battle-cruisers from Cromarty south to Rosyth in order supposedly to improve the chances of catching ‘baby-killer’ Hipper (his new soubriquet) next time. And it was from this anchorage on the Forth, again guided by the sure ears and eyes of Room 40, that Beatty emerged and shaped course south-cast again in pursuit of his adversary. This time he was not to be deprived of success.

  Admiral of the Fleet Sir Arthur ‘old ‘ard ‘cart’ Wilson had been asked to return to serve on the Naval War Staff as a supernumerary at the time of Fisher’s reappointment. Everyone, even Churchill, recognized the irreplaceable value of his knowledge and experience. For his part, this selfless old man was only too willing to serve in any way useful to the Navy, which had been his whole life (he had never married), and he looked for no position nor pay for his services. He just got on with his work, and operated well with Oliver, who wasted as few words as he did, and no lighthearted ones. They made a dour couple. But there could have been the shadow of a smile on their faces when at around midday on 21 January 1911 they entered Churchill’s office with important news. ‘First Lord,’ said Wilson, ‘those fellows are corning out again.’

  ‘When?’ asked Churchill.

  ‘Tonight. We have just got time to get Beatty there.’(12)

  Churchill had been visiting Fisher who was laid up with a cold. How he would have loved to be present to hear this news’

  A signal was flashed to Beatty at Rosyth: ‘Get ready to sail at once with all battle cruisers and light cruisers and sea-going destroyers. Further orders follow.’