The Great War at Sea: 1914-1918

by Richard Hough

  This is how Vice-Admiral Sir Francis Pridham, one-time President of the Ordnance Board (1941-5), explained the system of checking:

  The shells were manufactured in ‘Lots’, of four hundred, each Lot being subdivided into Sub-lots of one hundred. When a Lot was brought forward by the shell maker for Proof, two shells were picked out at random from Sub-lot No. 1, to be tested at an armour plate of specified thickness, at a specified striking velocity and at a specified angle of impact. If the first shell fired succeeded in penetrating the plate whole, the full Lot of 400 shell passed into service. If this first shell failed the second from the same Sub-lot was fired. If this was successful the full Lot of now 398 were accepted. If the second shell also failed, the Sub-lot was sentenced ‘Reproof’ and the shell maker was given the option of withdrawing the whole lot from Proof or allowing the remaining 300 to proceed to Proof Needless to say they generally chose the latter. Proof then commenced with the next Sub-lot.

  Now suppose that there was in fact as many as 50% dud shell in a Sub-lot, then the chance would be three to one against two successive failures! Mathematical deduction shows that there is an even chance that a Lot of Shell which has been accepted as a result of the above system of Proof: may include from 71% to 84% duds.

  The Ordnance Board’s Professor of Statistics, having been given the results of Proof firings of the heavy shell then in the Fleet, calculated that from 30% to 70% were probably dud shell but that the data from these Proof firings was insufficient to enable him to give a nearer approximation.

  The irony and the tragedy for the Navy is that although they suffered political cheeseparing like everyone else, for the fraction of the cost of a new dreadnought, comprehensive trials could have been carried out that would have reveaaled this weakness long before the war. But like secure bases for the Fleet, effective AP shell was sacrificed on the altar of dreadnought numbers. Jellicoe’s insistence upon opening fire at long range for fear of the efficiency of German torpedoes unfortunately only served to show up the deficiencies of British shell. When fired at ranges under 10,000 yards hits by British AP shell had a devastating effect.

  German shell was by no means wholly reliable either. The proportion of duds was much higher than expected by the British. After action against Hipper during the Lowestoft Raid five weeks before Jutland, Tyrwhitt wrote to his friend Walter Cowan, ‘The more I see of their shell, the less I think of their efficiency… so I don’t think you need worry much about the brutes, if only you can set about them.’(9)

  There is good reason to believe that British armour was superior to German armour, although statistical evidence is insufficient to form a reliable judgement owing to the short duration of time in which the two main fleets were in action. German armour of 10 and 11 inches thickness was pierced by British heavy shells, but only once was British armour above 9 inches penetrated by German shell.

  German instruments for night fighting were vastly superior to British, and all German lenses, and the range-finders themselves, proved superior. The British were at a severe disadvantage with their coincident range-finders in poor visibility, which applied almost throughout the engagement. This is the first reason why the Germans were quicker onto the target, and gave the impression (especially to those at the receiving end) that their gunnery was superior. It was indeed impressive, but when, for instance, the battle-cruisers’ duel warmed up, so did British gunnery. The reason for this was that with the British ‘bracket system’ for finding the target by spotting a short or over before firing the next salvo until a straddle was achieved led to slow firing at the outset. The Germans used the ‘ladder system’ in which salvoes were fired in rapid succession at ranges increasing by several hundred metres and nearly always found the target more rapidly, although they could lose it again just as quickly in face of enemy evasive action. Also, under intense fire and adverse conditions the Germans tended to lose their concentration relatively earlier and more seriously than British gunners. For example, between 7.10 p.m. and 7.30, records show only two hits on the British Fleet and thirty-five on the German capital ships.

  Ship for ship, and class for class, there was little to choose between the men o’war engaged at Jutland, although the priorities applied by British and German architects revealed themselves to the advantage of one side or another: British superiority in speed in the battle-cruiser engagement was highly advantageous, and the overall greater weight of shell had a damaging moral and material effect on the Germans. Even the fastest German dreadnoughts could not have intervened in the ‘run to the south’ as the 5th Battle Squadron succeeded in doing. On the other hand, German ship resistance to shellfire probably saved the Seydlitz, Derfflinger, König, Grosser Kurfurst, and Markgraf from going to the bottom, and the failure to sink German ships had a demoralizing effect on the British gunners, even though a number of them thought at the time that they had done better than the results later showed.

  The British had a high respect for the Derfflinger, the newest German battle-cruiser, and had expected her sister ship Hindenburg to be present. It was as well that she had not yet completed her trials. If the Derfflinger was the best battle-cruiser present at Jutland, credit for being the best battleships must go to the Barham, Valiant, Warspite, and Malaya. Their guns were much feared by the Germans and their speed proved of decisive importance in the ‘run to the north’ as well as earlier, and their robust construction and armour protection (to German standards) stood up to ferocious and accurate enemy fire. After suffering mechanical failure in her steering mechanism, the Warspite received at least thirteen heavy shell hits. But she had only a few casualties and remained in fighting order although Evan-Thomas ordered her home because of her now restricted speed and unreliable steering.

  Of the pre-dreadnought ships present, the Germans lost one of six (Pommern), the British three of eight (Defence, Warrior, Black Prince). None should have been present: they all belonged to an earlier era of naval warfare.

  All the German ships present were coal-burners, and many had reciprocating engines. All the British dreadnoughts were turbineengined and the most recent were oil-fuelled. The standard of efficiency and reliability in both German and British fleets reflected highly on the marine engine of its time and the engineer branches.

  The weakness of British reporting was a great handicap to Jellicoe, whose own record was not faultless: for example the Iron Duke’s failure to inform Beatty that Scheer had reached Horns Reef. Time and again the inability of British commanders, whose job it was, to transmit information was shown up. There were notable exceptions, and the work of Goodenough and Alexander-Sinclair was a fine example of courage as well as intelligent scouting. One reason why Jellicoe was both disappointed and angry at the poor service he received (‘Why doesn’t anyone tell me anything?’) was that too much was expected from the signals branch. Equipped as the fleet was with short-range and long-range W/T (in the bigger ships), semaphore, searchlights, as well as the traditional signal flags, it was thought that messages must get through, however adverse the conditions. This proved not to be the case, and was another example of placing too much reliance on the matériel and too little on the human clement. Aerial antennae were carried away, wireless sets damaged by shock and vibration or shellfire, transmissions jammed by the Germans. Searchlights, too, were shot out and even the most powerful were sometimes unable to penetrate the dense smoke and haze. Signal halyards were shot away, flags were impossible to read at long range and difficult to see at short range in the uncertain visibility. The lot of the signalman was not an easy one, and though there were some duffers – especially Beatty’s Seymour – most were bright and efficient. Their disappointing performance overall was the consequence of expecting too much and inability to anticipate how difficult it would be on the clay.

  The failure of ship commanders, whose first function was not scouting, to report sightings to the flagship was caused by the rigidity of the system, the discouragement of initiative, the belief that ‘father kno
ws best’, and Jellicoe’s failure personally to impress the importance of reporting on his subordinates. Although the GFBOs stated that ‘reports of sighting the enemy should reach the Admiral without delay’, Jellicoe also emphasized that ‘W/T should be reserved for messages of the first importance’. Was the distant sighting of a dim, unfamiliar silhouette ‘of the first importance’? Captains tended to be on the safe side and judge not; although on more than one occasion that night the shape was that of a crippled German battle-cruiser ripe for the picking.

  The ‘father knows best’ attitude was typified by the flag-captain of the Barham, Arthur Craig, who wrote, in defence of his reticence, ‘It is certainly doubtful whether the various observations of enemy ships made by ships of our battle fleet ought to have been reported to the C.-in-C. I was on the bridge all night with my Admiral [Evan Thomas], and we carne to the conclusion that the situation was known to the C.-in-C…. A stream of wireless reports from ships in company with the C.-in-C. seemed superfluous and uncalled for.’(10) ‘Never imagine that your C.-in-C. sees what you see’, Jellicoe lectured, but that was in 1934, eighteen years too late.

  Of Jellicoe, one of his biographers has written that ‘it is impossible that he did not realize the extent to which the whole long chain of command with its memoranda, orders and instructions, might build a wall of reticence which only the exceptionally strong, independent character would break through’.(11)

  Beatty recognized how damaging to the Fleet the over-elaborate system had proved to be, and was determined on reform. In his post-Jutland Battle Cruiser Orders he stated that it had been proved ‘again and again that nothing is more fatal than “waiting for orders". The Senior officers may be closely engaged, their signal apparatus may be destroyed, or for many other reasons they may be unable to issue orders by signal. It therefore becomes the duty of subordinate leaders to anticipate the executive orders and act in the spirit of the Commander-in-Chief’s requirements.’

  German signalling worked well, and it was particularly strong on recognition signals. The British system was ‘practically nil’, Jellicoe admitted later. The Germans picked up our night code recognition signal, passed it through the Fleet, and as a result on several occasions extracted themselves from tight corners by using it.

  The worst signalling failures were perpetrated by the Admiralty, and Jellicoe was right to distrust what he was told and vent his spleen about what he was not told during the night. After the Admiralty passed to Jellicoe the 10.41 p.m. signal, which the C.-in-C. had discounted, between 11.15 p.m. 31 May and 1.25 a.m. 1 June a number of German signals, all of paramount importance to Jellicoe, were intercepted by Room 40, decoded and passed to OD. The first, when Jellicoe was steering south confident in the knowledge that Scheer was also on a southerly heading and to his west, was a report from Scheer that he was steering SE by S. Then the commander of the 1st Torpedo Division was heard to order all the flotillas to assemble at Horns Reef at 4 a.m., or steer a course round the Skaw into the Baltic.

  At 11.50 p.m. OD were informed that Scheer reported his position at 11 p.m. as 56 15N 5 42E, course SE 3/4E, which would have told Jellicoe that both his position and heading meant he was making for Horns Reef. Scheer’s 1.20 a.m. position clearly showed that he had crossed over behind the Grand Fleet’s course to the north of Jellicoe. This crucial fact was confirmed by a further signal five minutes later.

  Not one of these signals was passed to Jellicoe, and he was right to describe these errors as ‘absolutely fatal’. How could such criminal negligence have come about? It is not easy to depict clearly and certainly what happened in the Admiralty on this the most important night in its long history. But a picture can be built up from knowledge of the workings of Room 40 and OD and relations and communications between them. This has been valuably supplemented by information obtained from James when he was retired and elderly but possessed of a clear memory and incisive mind: by 1917 he was at work in Room 40 as a thirty-six-year-old commander. Oliver was Chief of Staff, and like Jellicoe he did not sufficiently trust those working under him and ran a one-man band. His DOD Jackson, was an officer not remembered for his sharpness of intellect. Then there were several duty captains, officers who were either unfit for sea service or were awaiting a ship; and none of them was encouraged to show what initiative he had.

  That night, in accordance with procedure, decoded German signals from Room 40 were sent to Oliver, or in his absence, to his deputy, the DOD, or one of the duty captains. It seems that Oliver, either for all the time or some of the time, was taking a break when these signals came in, and that – perhaps because of his absence too – they did not pass through Thomas Jackson and therefore went direct to Allan Everett, a forty-eight-year-old captain who was naval secretary to the First Sea Ford, and during these crucial hours duty captain. It might be thought that interest alone would bring the professional head of the Royal Navy to the OD in the midst of this most critical battle. But Admiral Henry Jackson (not to be confused with his subordinate) appears to have had such confidence in his Chief of Staff that he made only intermittent visits; Captain Jackson was resting or elsewhere; and thus Captain Everett carried the final burden of responsibility. He had much else on his mind. OD was buzzing with signals and this officer had little or no experience of German operational signals. Nor is there any reason to believe that he was an exception to the generally distrustful view taken of Room 40 by OD. The signals were put on file, and it is likely there was a failure to draw attention to them when more senior officers had returned to their posts later.

  A combination of lethargy (Henry Jackson), failure to depute (Oliver), lack of intelligence (Thomas Jackson) and lack of initiative (Everett), all suffering under the weak and inflexible organization of OD, resulted in the failure to inform Jellicoe of the whereabouts and destination of his enemy before it was too late to catch him.

  While Jellicoe was unquestionably the victim of poor intelligence in this (and other) cases, he had only himself to blame for the possible loss of earlier vital intelligence which might equally have swung the tide of battle decisively in his favour.

  The reason why Jellicoe sent the Campania home was not only his fear that she might be torpedoed or that she would be too late for the action; if he had had greater confidence in her usefulness he would no doubt have risked the U-boats or sent a couple of destroyers to protect her. The Campania had been with the Grand Fleet since April 1915. Early trials had not been very successful. The seaplanes’ floats broke up in a rolling sea. The experimental wireless had proved unreliable. Then came the first successful take-off from the flight deck with a seaplane fitted with a detachable wheeled trolley. After being threatened with withdrawal, the old ex-liner was now sent to have her flight deck lengthened so that two-seater reconnaissance aircraft could take off into wind and a reconnaissance balloon be flown from her stern. She rejoined the Fleet at Scapa Flow in April 1916, and on 30 May was proving her worth on exercises with her three Short seaplanes, three Sopwith ‘Babys’ and four Sopwith Schneider seaplanes. With these ten machines and an effective flight deck for rapid take-off, the Campania had a first rate capability for launching spotting and reconnaissance machines and fighters to attack roving Zeppelins. But Jellicoe’s rating of her usefulness was not high, and this was confirmed by her obscure anchorage and his failure to learn that she was not with the Fleet until 2 a.m., three hours after she should have sailed.

  Like any pioneer enterprise, the Royal Navy’s Air Service was supported by enormous enthusiasm and determination to succeed. If the Campania had a first rate capability for launching spotting and around 6 p.m. when Jellicoe was in such sore need of information on the bearing, course, and distance of the High Seas Fleet it is scarcely conceivable that none of her aircraft could have learned some intelligence of use to the C.-in-C. and transmitted it back to its mother ship. The eager young pilots, it is certain, would have flown fearlessly and Scheer’s anti-aircraft protection was negligible. The aircraft had a speed of 50-60
m.p.h and a duration of four hours, longer than that of many seaborne aircraft in the Second World War. The ceiling was low, visibility poor, some of the intelligence might have been inaccurate, but some of it must have given Jellicoe more information than he was receiving from elsewhere, which had been almost nil up to that time.

  More than three hours earlier, at 2.40 p.m., Beatty, also in great need of information on the enemy, had ordered the little Engadine to send up a seaplane. Without the benefit of a flight deck, it took twenty-eight minutes to move from its hangar, hoist out, start up, and take to the air. Twenty minutes later Flight Lieutenant Frederick Rutland and his observer George Trewin, confirming Admiral Scott’s prediction that no fleet would be able to hide itself from the aeroplane’s eye, were reporting: ‘Three enemy cruisers and five destroyers distance from me 10 miles bearing 90 degrees steering course to the NW.’ Two further valuable and specific signals followed, informing the Engadine of the turn to the south of Hipper’s 2nd Scouting Group. Rutland was still transmitting details of numbers when a fuel pipe broke and he was forced to land on the sea. He carried out repairs on the spot, took off and returned to his mother ship, concluding the first-ever aircraft reconnaissance flight against an enemy fleet in action. Rutland wanted to take off again but was refused permission. ‘We could have been of great use if we had gone on again’, he wrote later. ‘It was the fault of the Navy entirely that we were not employed to better effect.’

  It does not diminish the importance of this single flight that Rutland’s intelligence’ did not get through to Beatty due to poor signalling, and that the Galatea was, fortunately, able to pass on the burden of the messages a few minutes later. Jellicoe’s failure was that, while regarding successful spotting and reconnaissance and especially attacks on Zeppelins as useful, he did not want with him (as Rutland wrote) ‘any unit that had not been proved 100% efficient’. It is safe to assume that Jellicoe was thankful to be relieved of the burden of that big almost defenceless 20,000-ton ex-liner with her unreliable machines. These aircraft, however, could have been of inestimable value to him, and if the Campania had been sunk the loss would have been negligible. As it happened, the Engadine proved her worth in a second capacity, towing the crippled Warrior and taking off all the survivors when she sank.