Not surprisingly, the Captain had been temporarily dazed. It was indeed fortunate that he escaped unhurt. He now went to the microphone at the back of the bridge and spoke to the ship’s company. He said it had been a very hard decision to break off the action as no British Naval officer likes to retreat, but he had decided to do so because of the poor state of the ship’s guns; the Bismarck was clearly at the peak of efficiency; and he did not think it worth continuing to pit the ship against such odds when she was by no means the last card the Commander-in-Chief had to play— King George V, Repulse and the carrier Victorious being only a few hours’ steaming away.
If the Prince of Wales had stood on much longer things would certainly have gone hard for her. Though Colin McMullen was disappointed when the action was broken off—as any gunnery officer who was straddling the enemy would be—he knew in his heart of hearts that the Captain was right. After the first salvo there had always been one or more guns adrift though the Vickers technicians, who were still on board, had done sterling work, first on one, then on another. In fact there was not really a soul on board who did not agree with the skipper, but I expect he went through a trying time until first Rear Admiral Wake-Walker and then Admiral Tovey confirmed the correctness of his decision. The latter showed true understanding when he eventually sent the following signal:
P.O.W. (R) C.S.I From C. in C. HF
1858B/2.
I wish to congratulate you on the very efficient and effective part you took in the recent operation against the Bismarck. Knowing your Captain as I do, I was always confident that he would take, as he did, exactly the action I would have wished had I been in company at the time. It is a very fine start to what I am sure will be a very great commission.
On going below to do the sketch I found to my alarm that the whole of the middle deck cabin flat aft, which contained my cabin, was submerged as a result of damge on the waterline. In fact there were nearly 2,000 tons of water in the ship, all adjacent watertight doors were closed and there would be no access until we returned to harbour. However, it was a small personal price to pay. Having completed the sketch to the Captain’s satisfaction I joined the little knots of officers who were swapping experiences here and there.
If we in the after 14-inch director had had a rough time, poor Terry and the crew of his 5.25-inch director had fared much worse, both from the blast of ‘Y’ turret and shell splinters, though luckily there was only one casualty. Luckier still were the shell handing room crew—and one man in particular—of a 5.25-inch turret. An 8-inch shellfrom the Prinz Eugen came in, ricocheted up and went round and round the cylindrical wall of the barbette without exploding. It came to rest on the deck and, weighing nearly 200 lb, was manhandled over the side with some difficulty. I heard that in the course of its gyration it passed close behind the head of one man, taking off a clean swathe of hair in the process. Not believing this I went to see and found an admiring collection of similar enquirers to whom he was showing himself off with a resigned grin. Sure enough, the whole of his scalp at the back was a delicate pink without a hair on it! A 15-inch shell had hit the aircraft crane, as I had seen, wrecking the radar office and causing a fire on the boat deck, but considering its size did not do a great deal of damage. A Walrus was about to be catapulted to spot our fall of shot when a shell exploded nearby. The catapult officer was just ‘winding-up’—the circular movements of his flag being acknowledged by the pilot with full revs—when the explosion knocked him down. Getting up he saw that the aircraft was full of holes, so ordering the crew out, he catapuled the petrol-laden remains into the sea. But perhaps the most dramatic tale came from ‘Schoolie’, the Instructor Lieutenant in the plot, whose job was to keep a graphic record of everyone’s positions. After the shell had hit the compass platform he called up the voice-pipe but received no answer. Then to his horror, blood began to drip from its brass mouth on to the white paper in front of him.
Those who had seen the Hood actually hit said there was first of all a fire on her boat deck, at the base of the mainmast (Captain Leach is on record as describing it as like a vast blow-lamp), after which she was straddled by a broadside. Immediately a towering column of flame shot up from about the same place to several times the height of the mainmast, and as large bits of the ship flew through the air, her two ends reared up. The flame gave way to a pall of black smoke and they soon disappeared. Terry said he thought he could see the Hood’s internal frames exposed as she rolled over and that the after part of the ship appeared to be a mass of twisted metal. Claude Aylwin could only see, through his turret periscope, hundreds of bits and pieces flying through the air and wondered if they were from the Prince of Wales!*
The ship had heeled over so violently at the moment that I had seen the salvo land alongside the quarterdeck, that ‘Y’ turret shell ring slid over and jammed (it was part of the new system containing the Vehicle’ mentioned earlier) leaving Aylwin with only two more rounds per gun. He thought for a moment we were capsizing as his binoculars showed only water at close range and Rear Admiral Wake-Walker later said he too thought we were going over.
He now stationed us on the Norfolk’s port quarter. As she was already on the Bismarck’s port quarter (the Suffolk was on the other side) the three of us were virtually steaming in ‘quarterline disposed to port’, if at widely spaced intervals. Sometime after breakfast Suffolk reported that the quarry was leaving a broad trail of oil and this was eventually confirmed by a Sunderland flying boat. Clearly the Bismarck had suffered damage, possibly serious. The two enemy ships, having been steering SW, turned south about tea-time. What would they do next? Was the Bismarck’s damage serious enough to make her seek shelter and if so would it be Norway or France? A gigantic chess game, or perhaps it was more like ‘fox and geese’, developed. If all went well the Commander-in-Chief could expect to engage the Germans at about 09:00 the next day (May 25) but, as insurance, the Admiralty had been filling the rear squares of the board, in particular by summoning Vice Admiral Somerville’s Force H from Gibraltar— Ark Royal, the battlecruiser Renown and Ed’s recent ship Sheffield.
In our particular square, Rear Admiral Wake-Walker was faced with the same agonising decision that Captain Leach had been. Though his squadron was superior on paper he had seen for himself how the decisive battleship element was unequal and in spite of a goading query as to his intentions from the Admiralty, continued to shadow.
It was about 19:30 when the urgent bugle call ‘Action Stations’ sent those off watch scrambling to our places. The Bismarck, taking advantage of low visibility, had rounded suddenly on the Suffolk and fired nine salvoes. Warned by her radar and helped by the enemy’s surprising inaccuracy, Suffolk was able to escape behind a smokescreen. This brought them both in our direction and Prince of Wales opened fire at about 30,000 yards. No straddles were seen and after half a dozen salvoes, during which two of our guns went out of action, Bismarck turned away and went off westward at high speed. The three British ships were then ordered into line ahead better to repulse sudden attacks, Prince of Wales in the middle with Suffolk leading. This was because of her superior radar which soon discovered that Prinz Eugen was no longer there. She had taken advantage of the distraction set up by Bismarck to accelerate over the horizon and out of the entire operation (to arrive without incident at Brest a week later).
Meanwhile, Admiral Tovey had detached Victorious with a view to her torpedo striking force flying off as soon as in range. Bismarck’s jink to the westward delayed this moment and the aircraft were not launched until 22:30. However, we were still only a little south of the latitude of Scapa Flow and sunset was not until a good time later. I cannot remember if we were expecting them but it was a stirring sight as three sub-flights of the old Swordfish aircraft flew past the ship, having received the enemy’s bearing from Norfolk. Nine aircraft was all the Victorious could muster, she being in a similar unseasoned state to the Prince of Wales. We learnt later they pressed home their attack with gallantry—local rain
squalls helping—and scored one hit without loss; but it burst on the Bismarck’s armoured side with very little effect.
Almost immediately: ‘Alarm starboard! Enemy in sight…’ On anti-flash gear. Round came the director. A quick sweep with the glasses. Yes, there was something. It must be the Bismarck. What else? Norfolk had a flag 5 up—‘Open fire’—but Guns, who had completed his liturgy and only needed to say ‘Shoot’, was instead carrying out a quick-fire dialogue, presumably with the Captain. Guns thought it was not the Bismarck. Evidently the Captain agreed. Personally—though the visibility was bad— I was sure it was the Bismarck (and was in good company as apparently the Admiral was in a state of exasperation that a precious chance of firing at the enemy was being thrown away). No doubt, as so often happens in war, what you want or expect to see you do see. Nothing was done and the spectral ship disappeared. She turned out—I have forgotten how-to have been the US Coastguard cutter Modoc, a sort of militarised merchant vessel that had been searching for survivors from a convoy. Plumb on the right bearing for the Bismarck, she was one of the luckiest ships afloat, lucky at least in the coolheadedness of our Gunnery Officer.
Not long after this there were flashes of gunfire in the distant darkness but we saw no splashes. We then fired two salvoes by radar at long range before the cease-fire gong put an end to further expenditure of ammunition. Night at last descended on Empire Day 1941, a very full 24 hours.
At 04:00, Suffolk, who had continued to shadow independently, signalled the news—to prove so nearly fateful—that contact had been lost with the Bismarck. She (Suffolk) had been zigzagging to confuse both the quarry and U-boats that could be expected, and the former had timed a quick getaway to coincide with the beginning of a starboard ‘leg’. The Suffolk had lost contact several times before at the same juncture and initially thought little of it. But the radar screen stayed clear. Bismarck had gone.
To every player on the British board this was a terrible blow. All calculations were now in the melting pot. There was a reshuffle of the nearest pieces into searching rather than heading-off roles. Norfolk and Suffolk were sent to investigate different possibilities and Prince of Wales directed south to join the Commander-in-Chief (a useful addition as Victorious had parted company so that her aircraft could search in the Greenland area and Repulse was about to leave for lack of fuel). The strangest pair of incidents—more like accidents—then occurred which nearly brought success to the hunted and did bring very bad luck to the Prince of Wales, now nearly in sight of Admiral Tovey in King George V. An enemy vessel—correctly guessed to be the Bismarck—made a long wireless signal which was picked up by our shore stations. This was extraordinary because no warship breaks ‘W/T silence’ unless she has to, for fear of giving away her presence (and if there is more than one listener for obtaining cross bearings—her position). In the present circumstances the Bismarck would be particularly cautious, but we now know that she made the signal because Admiral Lutjens did not realise that the Suffolk, his tormentor for 30 long hours, had been given the slip! The other accident then occurred, levelling the score. The Bismarck’s bearings, received in the King George V, were incorrectly plotted and her new position placed to the north of the last one known.
The immediate effect of this was, of course, to move all the pieces in that direction. The Prince of Wales turned right round to head back for the Denmark Strait, and, like the Prinz Eugen, out of the entire operation. This was because, seven hours later the plotting error was discovered, the Bismarck placed well to the south, and everyone’s courses reversed again. Poor Prince of Wales was by now too far to the north even to try and we set course for Hvalfjord in Iceland, for what would now be called do-it-yourself repairs. Several other ships had to desist for shortage of fuel, a serious consideration that now loomed very large indeed.
J.H.P. (Lieutenant J.H. Persse, 7th Rifle Brigade).
E.G.E. (Lieutenant E.G. Egerton, RN).
A.J.S.B. (Pilot Officer A.J.S. Butter, RAF).
Main armament of nine 16-in guns aboard HMS Nelson.
Nelson having won the Home Fleet Battle Squadron regatta, 1939, Captain W.T. Makeig-Jones receives the silver cock from Admiral Forbes.
Regatta supporters Pay-Midshipman Crawley, foreground, and Lieutenant Commander A.C.C. Miers (later Rear Admiral Sir Anthony Miers, VC, KCB).
Racing at Gibraltar, author nearest camera.
HMS Ark Royal after take-off.
The intrepid aviator.
HMS Douglas looking aft from crow’s nest.
On patrol: the port waist of Douglas.
Destroyers in the pens, Gibraltar.
Italian bombs around Force H.
The ground lost going north was almost decisive and presumably would have been if the Bismarck’s progress had not also been hampered by her own lack of fuel. Of this we knew nothing, but even so the situation in the early morning of May 26 was not quite hopeless, with Somerville’s squadron and the 8-inch cruiser Dorsetshire closing from the south, the battleship Rodney better placed than expected, because Captain Dalrymple-Hamilton (who had been my Captain at Dartmouth) had Nelsonically ignored the order to go north, and a flotilla of our most powerful destroyers under Captain Vian coming in fast from an Atlantic convoy. It was simply a question of whether the Bismarck could be slowed up and brought to action before she came under a Luftwaffe umbrella, or the British ships cried off for lack of fuel.
The key to all this was the Ark Royal’s aircraft and they were not found wanting. Sighted both by one of her reconnaisance Swordflsh and a Catalina flying boat in mid-morning, the Bismarck was clearly making for Brest or St Nazaire. The chase continued all day. At 19:00 Ark Royal flew off 15 torpedo planes. In bad visibility they first attacked the Sheffield by mistake, which was fortunately unharmed (due to malfunction of the torpedoes’ magnetic pistols); a second attack, armed with contact pistols, reporting no hits. At this Admiral Tovey, still 120 miles to the north-west, prepared to admit defeat. He had already decided to leave the area—for lack of fuel—the next morning. But one of the torpedoes had in fact jammed the Bismarck’s starboard rudder (there were two) and she began to circle to port out of control. Captain Vian’s Tribal Class destroyers carried out individual, bitterly opposed torpedo attacks all night—claiming hits—but daylight did not reveal any damage. When the big ships closed in the Bismarck’s gunnery was initially good, Rodney being lucky not to be hit. Her accuracy soon fell off, however (due to both main directors being put out of action) and by 10:15—pounded by King George V, Rodney, Dorsetshire and Norfolk— the Bismarck was a pulverised hulk, on fire internally from end to end. Another extract from Commander Luce’s letter reads:
Our battleships ran in and started the ball rolling, and she was being hit with the colossal explosions of our heavy shell; the explosions were indescribable; huge flashes all over her and she was burning everywhere. She fought back magnificently, but to no effect, and one by one her guns were silenced. We pounded away, and our little shells could be seen bursting all over her, looking ridiculously small on her huge structure. Every time we hit, the troops cheered like mad. By this time she was silenced, but still looked an impregnable fortress, despite the hammering she had had.
Then started the most fantastic phase of all, which made the most bloodthirsty feel rather sick. We simply could not sink her, and we expected large scale air attack at any moment.
Two battleships and two cruisers steamed around her at close range pumping all they had into her. It was quite appalling. You would never believe the frightful effect of our heavy shell. Colossal flashes inside her, which must have been a shambles long before this, and wretched men running hither and thither on her deck, but she would neither sink nor surrender.
It is simply incredible that any ship could stand half the hammering she took. Our heaviest shell sent water up nearly three times her height, and great chunks of her upper works were blown away. She was finally despatched with torpedoes. A most dangerous and incomparably powerful
ship. Her company were subjected to the long drawn-out sufferings of four days … chase and incessant attacks, and finally had 2½ hours’ agony of what must have been hell on earth.
As Admiral Tovey left for home, the Dorsetshire hit the Bismarck with torpedoes from both sides and at about the same time her internal shuttling cocks were opened. At 10:40 she sank, a little over 100 survivors being picked up.
HMS Prince of Wales anchored in Hvalfjord, Iceland, even as these final moves were being played against the cornered, desperate fox. There were only 50 tons of fuel remaining, a veritable cupful. It was good when we heard that the Hood and our little band of dead, who had been buried at sea with simple ceremony, were avenged; but we were also full of admiration for a gallant foe. How the fortunes of war had swayed first one way and then the other, culminating in that luckiestever torpedo hit on the Bismarck’s one vital spot!
* * *
I discovered later that the slight delay in our opening fire was because the Hood had signalled for concentration on the leading ship. As known, Guns had recognised this as a cruiser and stuck to his right-hand target. Admiral Holland, who could expect the battleship to be in front, obviously realised his mistake soon after, because he made ‘Shift target right’ before opening fire. This does not seem to have reached the Hood’s gunnery officer, because the Hood fired at the Prinz Eugen throughout. We in the Prince of Wales’ two directors were sure of this because none of the former’s splashes were seen. (The Captain of the Prinz Eugen later confirmed that the Hood was firing at his ship, which was narrowly missed by 15-inch shells ‘on all sides’*). Guns, who had been ‘2nd G’ in the Hood, said that with ordinary binoculars (they did not have our very large ones) and the constant spray in their faces, the mistake was only too understandable. Initially, all our range takers except one had been defeated by this spray and fire had been opened soley on information from the 15-ft rangefmder in the forward director (unfortunately, calibrations on the gunnery radar screen ended short of 26,000 yards, so radar was not initially available).
Alarm Starboard!: A Remarkable True Story of the War at Sea Page 9
