Halfway across we overtook a convoy of 72 ships, to steam slap through the middle and fly the signal ‘Bon voyage. Churchill.’ He enjoyed it so much that he asked for an encore, so we doubled back and came through again, with all the ships hooting. There was a brief call at Iceland and then course was set for Scapa, the voyage in general continuing uneventful. Not in the Gunroom, however. The first evening out we entertained the three Chiefs of Staff to drinks. Very friendly and interesting, they did not know it, but were really acting as a sort of aperitif. I was aiming higher, having put out feelers about Mr Churchill visiting the Gunroom. The next day there came a message to say that he would be delighted and would bring Sir Alexander Cadogan, Lord Cherwell, H.V. Morton and Howard Spring.
The Gunroom was given a special scrub and when the appointed hour arrived we awaited the great man with some trepidation. I met him in the passage and led him into an expectant but unusually abashed semi-circle. With a drink in his hand he darted amused glances round him—after the initial pleasantries conversation was not exactly humming—and then said ‘I know what you boys want; you’d like to ask me questions!’ There was a chorus of ‘Yes sir!’ ‘Very well—pull up a chair.’ We pushed an armchair into the middle of the ante-room and clustered round. Questions came thick and fast. Was America going to come into the war? Were the Germans likely to overrun Russia? What did he think about this, what did Mr Roosevelt say about that…?
Hess, Hitler’s deputy, had landed in Scotland by single-seater aircraft just before we left; nothing but the bare fact had been given out and the whole country was agog to know more. ‘What is the truth about Hess?’ I asked. He replied that Hess thought we were ripe for peace negotiations and that he would be able to return to Hitler with the UK on a plate. ‘Where is he now, Sir?’ Mr Churchill named some prison. ‘What is he doing?’ ‘Writing voluminous memoranda to me.’ ‘Do you read them?’ ‘No!’ rasped Mr Churchill, ‘there’s better use for paper like that!’ At the ensuing guffaws he grinned impishly round at his delighted hearers. There is no doubt that an impudent schoolboy streak, particularly appealing to the young, was one of his most endearing traits. I said once: ‘When are we going to start bombing civilians?’ and he whirled round on me and stuck his lips out so that the cigar looked like a 16-inch gun and said ‘What d’you think we’ve been doing for months?’ At this I said lamely that I thought we still at least kept up the pretence of military objectives, at which Churchill said ‘Civilians are military objectives!’ and grinned all round. I asked him whether the Japanese were expected to come in against us. ‘No, I don’t think so’ he said, and then added ‘if they do, they’ll find they’ve bitten off more than they can chew.’ The inquisition went on and Sir Alexander Cadogan said that he had never heard the Prime Minister asked such awkward questions, or answer so directly. We found him (Sir Alexander) and, indeed, all of them, most affable, doubtless hand-picked by the Prime Minister for this Gunroom ordeal. The next day he went through it all again in the Wardroom (word must have got out!) but we felt we had drawn first blood.
The morning of August 18 saw HMS Prince of Wales off Scapa Row and at action stations. There was no cause for alarm, however, just a full-scale demonstration of the ship’s firepower for ‘the Prime’s’ benefit as 14-inch salvoes, 5.25-inch salvoes and hundreds of rounds of close-range ammunition were loosed in impressively noisy abandon. The free world nearly lost its champion, though, because a UP bomb (an unreliable device that descended by parachute and was soon discontinued) became entangled in the rigging just above Mr Churchill’s head and took some getting down.
The ship anchored in the Flow and a destroyer came alongside to take the Prime Minister off. He made a farewell speech to the ship’s company—all gathered forward—about the historic occasion in which we had played a part; at the finish he brought out a cigar at which a great roar went up. When the destroyer accelerated away the Captain called for three cheers and for the second time in days, the sound rolled out and back from nearby hills, a fitting curtain to a memorable time.
A charming postscript was the receipt of a copy of Churchill’s book World Crisis, with ‘From Winston Churchill—Question time in the Gunroom!’ on the flyleaf.
*The three binoculars could be moved within the limits of ports about 18 × 12 inches. The glass of these soon became caked with salt and they were normally left open.
†One normally fired by salvoes, ie, only half the guns in each turret firing at a time. This doubled the rate of fire.
*Bismarck was 823 feet long, Prinz Eugen 655 (Hood 860 and Prince of Wales 700); I cannot be sure but think my two colleagues also considered it was the Tirpitz.
*An account by an officer in the Prinz Eugen says: ‘The Prince of Wales now suffered heavily under the now concentrated fire of eight 38-cm, eight 20.3-cm, six 15-cm and at times six 10.5-cm ’.
*Sadly killed shortly afterwards in a firefighting exercise at Scapa.
*Lieutenant Commander C.G. Rowell (later lost in the same aircraft crash that killed Admiral Ramsay).
†Now the famous actor.
*As seen from the Bismarck:— ‘I heard a shout, “ She’s blowing up! ” The sight I then saw was something I shall never forget. At first the Hood was nowhere to be seen; in her place was a colossal pillar of black smoke reaching into the sky. Gradually at the foot of the pillar, I made out the bow of the battle cruiser projecting upwards at an angle, a sure sign that she had broken in two. Then I saw something that I could hardly believe: a flash of orange coming from her forward guns! Although her fighting days had ended, the Hood was giving a last salvo. I felt great respect for those men over there ’. (Kapit ä nleutnant Baron von Müllenheim-Riechberg, who was Control Officer in the Bismarck’s after director, ie, Beckwith’s opposite number. From Battleship Bismarck.)
*Told to me by Captain Russel Grenfell, author of The Bismarck Episode.
4
Prince of Wales and Repulse
We found to our embarrassment that, if previously envied for her lucky embroilment with the Bismarck, the Prince of Wales was now the ‘Daily Mirror Ship’ (all the papers having been full of the Placentia meeting and the resulting Atlantic Charter) and one took care to provide intriguing tit-bits only when asked.
The usual sorties for practice shoots and other exercises were renewed and on return from one of these, late in the evening, the Captain tried a new approach to our buoy. It was a failure; the bow ‘payed off’ in a sudden breeze and as there was insufficient room to manoeuvre on the spot we had to go out and come in again from the normal direction. This lost an hour or more, washing out a much anticipated run ashore to the fleet canteen after a gruelling spell. To the surprise of many Captain Leach apologised to the ship’s company over the loudspeaker, explaining that he had tried to save time but muffed it. This seemed to me unnecessary, even a mistake, but it went down very well indeed with the troops, especially the ‘HOs’ (‘Hostilities Only’; ie, non-regulars). Doubtless he understood what I cannot have at the time—that these new, half-trained and civilian-minded seamen who now formed the majority of the ship’s company should be treated with greater consideration than their hardened messmates who were used to taking the rough with the smooth.
The ‘Daily Mirror Ship’ was not left kicking her heels for long. On September 15 she embarked Vice-Admiral A.T.B. Curteis and sailed for the Mediterranean to come under the orders of Admiral Somerville (now flying his flag in the Nelson), Confirmation soon came that the object was to force an important, mainly troop-carrying, convoy through to Malta in what was called Operation Halberd. Though just such an assignment had been successfully carried out in July, the Mediterranean was no longer a British preserve and both surface and heavy air attacks could be expected. Particularly around besieged Malta British ships were furthest from their base but the reverse applied to our enemies. It was therefore with a considerable sense of anticipation, that we found ourselves in blazing sunshine, surrounded by blue sky and blue sea, steering east, no
t far from the convoy and its close escort.
All was quiet for two days, most of which were spent at Repel Aircraft Stations, searching the sky endlessly with only the occasional diversion when Ark Royal turned into wind to fly off or land on reconnaissance aircraft or fighter patrols. Then suddenly (it was the morning of the 27th) she warned of enemy aircraft in the vicinity, speed was increased, and as one watched and waited, the tension grew. All at once it was ‘Alarm Port!’ and there they were, dropping down—not my side—to come scudding in over the sea. The port close-range weapons started up, the reassuring pomperty-pom, pomperty-pom of the ‘Chicago pianos’ mingling with the Oerlikons’ more staccato chatter. All ships were acting independently—turning towards—to avoid torpedoes. On the starboard side it was difficult to keep one’s attention on the clear sky with all this going on behind. There was a buzz of excitement and, succumbing to temptation, I darted across the small Air Defence Position in time to see a big splash subsiding. We had shot one down. The line had hardly been re-formed before there was another attack on the port side, the big ships turning again to avoid the bubbling tracks. Again the Prince of Wales shot one down.
Those of us on the disengaged side were beginning to feel out of things. The port pom-poms began again, followed immediately by the cease-fire gong, its steady, raucous message going unheaded. Consternation. An aircraft coming in behind the Italian torpedo planes and fired at by both Rodney and ourselves had not been recognised as a Fulmar fighter and it too was shot down. At last it was ‘Alarm Starboard!’ with several aircraft coming in fast. They seemed to be the same type as met in the Douglas, the red, white and green stripes showing clearly as they dropped their torpedoes and wheeled away. We hit one twice in the tail but it stayed up, floundering like a wounded pheasant. It was hard to feel quite the hatred one did for the Germans and I found myself half wishing the fellow luck in getting home.
There were further attacks on my side, all successfully avoided, during one of which a Fulmar was on the tail of a Savoia Marchetti and firing steadily, shot it down right abreast of the Prince of Wales (unimpeded by us, thoroughly chastened by now). Shortly after this the destroyer Duncan—a sister ship of the Douglas—reported that she had picked up two British airmen, presumably our birds, which was good news. Legion also reported that she had picked up two Italian airmen. All this time Ark Royal had been acting independently of the rest of us, constantly turning into wind to operate fighters, and had worked her way out some distance on our starboard beam. She suddenly opened up and we saw she was having a private battle with enemy planes that were probably taking advantage of a landing-on period. The firing died down and with relief we saw she was unharmed, her fighters—and also her reconnaissance Swordfish—being keys to the whole situation. We did not appreciate it at the time, but the former had had much success some distance from the fleet, the Italians that attacked it being those who had managed to get through.
It all seemed a piece of cake. But cake can crumble and although it was not as bad as that, there were some long faces soon. It was early afternoon when an attack by three torpedo bombers developed on my side. One made for the Nelson ahead of us and its torpedo could be clearly seen to drop. A minute later, engrossed, I heard someone say the Nelson had been hit and when I could look my old ship was certainly slowing, had a slight list to starboard and was down by the bow. It transpired that luck was certainly not with her as, having turned to comb its track, she was hit right on the stem by a ‘fish’; a few feet either side and her bow wave would have deflected it. However, she enjoyed a measure of revenge—shared with the destroyers on the starboard wing of the screen—as between them they accounted for the last of the three aircraft. A quarter of an hour later there was a concentrated attack on the port side which had the close-range weapons banging away again and the ship heeling to sudden helm for the umpteenth time, but nothing for either side to claim.
We were not properly back in station before an RAF aircraft reported two Italian battleships, four cruisers and 16 destroyers, 80 miles ahead of the convoy, steering so as to close it. Within moments Admiral Somerville had ordered Vice Admiral Curteis in Prince of Wales to take Ark Royal and Rodney with two cruisers and half a dozen destroyers under his orders and move out to give battle. Ark Royal was to launch a torpedo attack (her Swordfish were already coming up the lifts) while the damaged Nelson would follow as best she could.
We went to action stations which sent the AA supernumeraries like myself back to their proper quarters and, settling down beside Beckwith and Sheridan* in the after director, it certainly looked as if we were heading for some excitement, probably much more prolonged than on the last occasion. Again, one found oneself fidgeting with spotting knobs, adjusting headphones and making trite conversation. The difference was the bright sunshine (most of us were lobster red by this time) instead of the cold, inhospitable Atlantic. It did not seem quite right to be hell-bent in such pleasant conditions. Perhaps the Italian Admiral thought so too, because soon all was anti-climax. The enemy turned for home, our torpedo bombers failed to find them and at 17:15 we were recalled.
The convoy got through to Malta with the loss of only one ship (all her troops were taken off), the result of a moonlight action. Several Italian submarines attacked us on the way back to Gib, necessitating emergency turns, retaliatory depth charges and the sinking of one of them by Legion and Gurkha. Admiral Somerville came on board on arrival but to some an equally welcome visit (though Guns found it embarrassing) was that of the unfortunate Air Defence Officer of the Nelson who had been sent over to find out ‘how we did it’, ie, shot down aircraft. The ship’s first encounter with hostile aircraft had certainly gone well. The whole operation had, in fact, exceeded all hopes and the double success provided yet another fillip to the confidence and already high spirits of the Prince of Wales. She sailed later that evening to arrive at Scapa on October 6.
Only 16 days later it was evident that something special was afoot, yet again. Ammunition lighters came alongside, we filled up to the brim, stores of all sorts followed and on completion the ship sailed, with Electra and Express, anchoring in the Clyde on October 23. Next day Vice Admiral Sir Tom Phillips, up till then Vice Chief of Naval Staff at the Admiralty, and a full staff embarked. Though nothing was said it was perfectly clear that HMS Prince of Wales was off on a long voyage. No leave was given but, of course, some had duty ashore at the Naval offices at Greenock and I prevailed on Dick Beckwith, whose wife was near, to give her my large Peter Scott print for collection some time later. (I expected to leave the ship on getting my second stripe in December and did not relish the idea of carting this about.) We sailed on the 25th—with the same destroyers; it turned out they were to be our permanent escort—and the Captain soon gave out that Freetown, on the west coast of Africa, would be the first port of call.
A week’s steaming saw us back in whites, the dog watch deck-hockey players stripped to the waist and sunbathers taking their constitutionals up and down the fo’c’s’le. Awaited with some anticipation, Freetown did not disappoint. Jack Egerton, Ed’s father, who was Naval Officer in Charge, sent a car to take me and a load of Midshipmen to a beautiful palm-fringed beach and after dark the bazaar, selling every sort of weird memento, lit by oil lamps and throbbing to native music, seemed to our unsophisticated eyes to be the heart of Africa itself! I bought my girl of the moment a little figure in leopard skin and returned to the boat well content.
Though Captain Leach probably knew the rudiments, it is probable that few on board outside the Admiral and his Chief of Staff, Rear Admiral Palliser, were aware that in the corridors of Whitehall a sort of high level poker game—basically between the Prime Minister and First Sea Lord—was in its final stages. Mr Churchill had wanted for some weeks to send a ‘propaganda’ fleet, with at least one modern battleship, to rattle a cutlass at the Japanese, who were becoming more and more bellicose; Admiral Pound, who was quite unable to send a force of the necessary strength, did not want to invi
te a heavy reverse.
By mid-October the more-or-less-agreed plan was to concentrate the Prince of Wales, the Repulse (ordered to Colombo from Durban, whence she had escorted a convoy) and the new carrier Indomitable. But the latter, working up at Jamaica, most unfortunately went aground on November 3. Illustrious and Furious were being repaired in the States and on November 14 our overall carrier strength was still further reduced when Ark Royal, so often sunk in the German imagination, finally succumbed to a U-boat in the Med. So no carrier was available. If anything had been learnt in the naval war so far it was that a force needed air protection—preferably its own—when operating within range of shore-based aircraft. The Japanese were now in Indo-China, and the RAF in Malaya was weak. One can guess that the argument whether to press on with just the battleship and the battlecruiser must have been unbearably acute. Mr Churchill had his way but it appears that, as a sop to Admiral Pound, the final decision about sending the Prince of Wales on to Singapore was not to be taken officially until she arrived in Cape Town, though it has been said that Admiral Phillips—who of course had been at the centre of all the deliberations—was in no doubt about our final destination from the outset.
The Admiral, who was very small, gave me the impression, in the comparatively short time he was on board, of a somewhat reserved intensity. Perhaps he was just preoccupied, as well he might be, the operation on which we were embarked being nothing but a gamble. Fortunately, the rank and file knew nothing of this; the sudden excursion was all a bit of a lark in the best tradition of the last ten months. True, the question mark that hung ominously over Japan indicated Singapore as our probable destination, but the fact that we had never been given the chance to work up really properly—every exercise period had been cut short by some special development—did not, I think, concern we junior officers much. The Prince of Wales was undoubtedly as efficient as possible under the circumstances; morale, after several successful performances, was high; and above all she was a happy ship.
Alarm Starboard!: A Remarkable True Story of the War at Sea Page 12
