The fact that the torpedo bombers seemed to bear charmed lives was partly because most of our pom-poms suffered stoppages at critical moments due to shells becoming separated from their brass cases, a fault of manufacture. All the ammunition at the guns had been changed only days before but the same occured with the fresh supply. The high level bombers were fortunate too. Japanese records provide a postscript to the effect that in the final run over the sinking ship no less than five aircraft were hard hit (by only two turrets). Dick Beckwith and a Gunner’s Mate did sterling work bringing another turret into action by hand, but it was only of value to morale.
I saw nothing to be ashamed of in the whole action, with the minor exception of my friends under the table; but then one would have been surprised otherwise. Contrary to a vague but hurtful insinuation by a civilian writing over a generation later, the ship’s company was well disciplined and its morale high; in addition succour was on the spot and well handled, the weather was kind and so was the victorious enemy. The forbearance exhibited by the Japanese airmen in not impeding rescue work was discussed by all. Most settled for the theory that the recently untried Japanese Navy, the élite of their forces, wished to create a humanitarian tradition. But subsequent atrocities such as the wanton shelling of unarmed craft that had been stopped and the machine-gunning of men in the water raise doubts, and perhaps the strange mutual forbearance was just a curious accident played out by the men on the spot.
The pros and cons of the whole operation were debated back and forth but all were agreed that the Admiral could not possibly have kept us inactive while the enemy landed. Force Z’s disastrous sortie was in the proud tradition of Admiral Cunningham’s ‘It takes the Navy three years to build a ship. It would take 300 to rebuild a tradition’—and no one should take that from Tom Phillips.
There remains the question of not asking for air cover that fateful morning. It is thought that he originally considered that this would be arranged automatically by the Chief of Staff and that the breaking of wireless silence was therefore unwarranted. The official view (in as much as the History of the War at Sea is official) appears to be that this was expecting too much of Admiral Palliser, especially since he had not been advised of the diversion to Kuantan. Of course there was no merit in wireless silence once the enemy knew where we were.
There had, in fact, been a very near miss on our last night. At the time that the Electra had sighted a flare (dropped in error by a Japanese aircraft over their cruiser Chokai), the enemy fleet, approaching from the north, had turned away. This was only minutes before contact would have been made. With our radar and bigger guns things would probably have gone our way in a night action, but had it been inconclusive other meetings with the numerically superior Japanese fleet would have been only a question of time.
It was on the public at home, where the outlook was already grim, that the blow appears to have fallen hardest. Many people have said that the loss of the Prince of Wales and Repulse was the worst news of the whole war, and Mr Churchill’s personal anguish as he answered the early morning call from a hoarse Admiral Pound is easily appreciated. At the time I could not help remembering his pronouncement to me on the Japanese: ‘… if they do they’ll find they’ve bitten off more than they can chew!’
*Lieutenant G.T.B. Sheridan, RM, had relieved Tom Baker-Creswell, who was to take part in the Anzio landings and subsequent fighting ashore, so putting the Royal Marines’ Per mare per terrain very much into practice (as indeed the others were to do in time).
*In all the millions of words written about the fall of Singapore I am sure too little weight has been put on the debilitating effect on newcomers of its damp heat, which many need months to get used to. In my opinion it is not surprising that our PMO (Principal Medical Officer, Surgeon Commander F.B. Quinn) was to report: Though the morale of the ship’s company was good I am of the opinion that the men were fatigued and listless and their fighting efficiency was below par’.
*Fitted at Cape Town.
*One has read since that nearly all the enemy aircraft concerned were hard hit; they looked, and must have been, very robust.
*I put this in the personal report that most of us were required to write later (it came to be mentioned in the confidential book on the action) and then forgot it until reading many years afterwards in a Japanese account, that a submarine, which had expended its torpedoes, was in fact a close witness of the scene.
*It is now known that there were two more squadrons of Japanese aircraft in reserve. A total of 96 aircraft were used that day, most of which took part in the attacks.
*When I told a member of Armitage’s family of our conversation on the Admiral’s bridge, I was surprised to be told that he was a very good swimmer. ‘Presumably he was pulling your leg’ this person said, ‘it was a habit of his’.
†To become Admiral Sir Henry Leach and First Sea Lord.
*He was to write ‘I found dodging the torpedoes quite interesting and entertaining until in the end they started to come in from all directions and they were too much for me’.
I saw Bill Tennant several times after the war but we never discussed that December 10. It was not a day we wished to remember. Youthful to the end, he became an Admiral, KCB, and Lord Lieutenant of Worcestershire before dying in 1963.
5
Fall of Singapore
My Midshipmen were sent, lock, stock and barrel, to the cruiser Exeter, except one lucky fellow, David Cremer. He had jumped into the water as the ship went down and broken his ankle on some floating object. Hauled into a boat, he had lain on the bottom and been trampled on, ending up in hospital for some time. So he missed the ship and also three and a half years in captivity. HMS Exeter sailed from Singapore to be sunk three months later off Java, her survivors being taken prisoner by the Japanese. I was to meet two of the others, Peter Anson and David Roome*, doing refresher courses after the war and to hear some wonderful stories of courage in adversity.
For a day or two I was left to my own devices except for the settling in of the two ships’ companies. Some, including myself, went to the Fleet Shore Accommodation (FSA), a fine new barracks of airy, white blocks, widely dispersed on a grassy hill overlooking the dockyard. Others were accommodated in a hutted camp, presided over by Dick Beckwith who appeared one day in the mess with a grim photograph handed to him for censorship. It showed the Prince of Wales bottom upwards, a minute or two before she went; hundreds of men were clearly visible standing upright or sliding into the water. He confiscated it as being bad for morale.
What news we could obtain of the fighting in the north was not reassuring. But it was far away—about 400 miles— the enemy still had the advantage of an attacker’s initiative, and everything would surely be all right. On the morning of the 14th I was wondering idly what was to become of us, when Sub-Lieutenant Kempson, RNVR and I were told to get ready for a trip up north. Kempson was a very large, competent, good-natured fellow with curly reddish hair and a strong face that reminded one immediately of his father, the headmaster of Dartmouth.
No-one seemed to know much about our mission except that two RNVR Subs and about 20 ratings had gone up the day before to run ferries between Penang, which apparently was an island, and the mainland. I was to take charge of the party, bringing with me a third crew. Kempson’s duty was unspecified. A brief glance at a map revealed that Penang was off the west coast and about level with the fighting. After drawing revolvers, mine a huge .45 that soon wore a sore place on my boney hip, we joined a coaster and darkness found her hugging the coastline northwards.
Approach to Penang coincided with that of a reconnaissance aircraft, recognised as Japanese, but it paid us no attention. Fires could be seen burning in the town as the ship anchored and on the way by car to the municipal buildings it was clear that there had been a recent heavy air raid. Houses were smouldering and bodies still lay where they had fallen. We were taken to the Senior Naval Officer, Penang, Commander Charles Alexander, who was on a verandah
at the back with some officials. Grey and sparse with an overall sand-coloured tan that denoted a good spell in the tropics, he exuded a calm, authoritative aura that made a strong impression. He told me that three large, steam-driven ferries were the main communication with Butterworth on the mainland; their native crews had deserted as soon as the Japanese had started bombing; Naval crews were already operating two. There had been a partial collapse of essential services and general alarm on the part of Asiatics. It would be best if henceforth the ferries were to run only by night, the crews resting in their commandeered bungalow by day. Information from the front line was sketchy but he would keep me informed; we were believed to have adequate food for the present. He turned to Kempson and I made off.
The sun was in full blast as, having disembarked at the wooden landing stage at Butterworth, I walked inland to find myself in an obviously well-to-do European residential quarter. Large ‘bungalows’, in reality solid two-storey houses, mostly white with tiled roofs, stood well back in their own grounds. Gardens were beautifully cared for but something was wrong. For a moment I could not put my finger on it and then realised that the whole place was deserted. There was no movement and no sound except the incessant scraping of crickets.
Further on there was the sound of voices and, seeing figures in a garden, I turned in at the drive. There were several steps up to the front door where one of the Sub-Lieutenants now appeared, a fair-haired open-faced fellow called Sheldon from the Repulse. He had hardly said ‘Well, am I glad to see you!’ in ominous tones when the other Sub rushed out in a state of some hysteria. I rounded on him when we were indoors, after which a Petty Officer took me aside to warn that this officer had got the ratings jittery. A pleasant start!
The situation was not one to soothe the nervous. They had moved into the bungalow to find a meal ready on the dining room table and many other signs of headlong flight. Inactivity in the steaming heat, still new to us, was irksome, and we were lying about in sweaty discomfort when, halfway through the morning, a sudden buzz of conversation came from the hall. The men were clustered round a soldier in tropical battle rig but without arms or helmet. Proving to be a Corporal in a County regiment, he said he was one of the few survivors, if not the only one, of his unit. They had been cut off and annihilated in an action a few miles to the north. I questioned him further and received a lurid account of the fighting which had ended with his officer rushing forward and firing his revolver until shot down. He went on to say that the … bastards would be on us at any moment and that if we had any sense we wouldn’t stay another … second. He himself would be on his way to Singapore as soon as he had had some … food. This most unwelcome visitor was a sleek, glib type, rather pleased with the sympathy he had so surprisingly stumbled on. Presumably a deserter, he stayed all day. I should have sent him packing but it is easy to be wise after the event. He may not have been near the fighting; on the other hand one did have the uncomfortable feeling that the garden might suddenly sprout other things than flowers.
We embarked as the sun went down and it was a relief to be doing something. The ferries, though cumbersome two-decker affairs which took in vehicles on the lower deck, presented no technical difficulties. Throughout that night we ploughed back and forth with an endless stream of Europeans and Asiatics, all afraid of being cut off by the enemy, who one learnt was coming closer and closer.
Early next morning Sheldon’s ferry had a breakdown and it was broad daylight before we got it alongside, an anxious business with one eye on the dazzling sky. The two crews, returning to the bungalow together, arrived to the unwelcome news that (for reasons that escape me) we were down to two ferries doing the job of three. Later Commander Alexander telephoned to say that Penang was to be evacuated that night. The army had had another reverse (I think at Gurun) and was retiring a longish way in order to reach ground more favourable for defence; Penang thus lay exposed and whether the Japanese turned up sooner or later was entirely up to them. We were to continue ferrying—mostly army units—until the job was completed, heading south for Singapore when ordered.
The day passed uneventfully except that a Petty Officer, who was very fat and probably came from the Repulse as I did not know him, was found face downwards in a flower bed, sobbing, his nerve having given way. Night found us hard at work. The heavens opened to produce the sort of tropical downpour that was another new experience. The shaded lights of vehicles, reflected in the streams on deck, lit or silhouetted the throng of bewildered humanity, to lend the long night a wild, Wagnerian quality. Very much in keeping, some sepoys sat on their haunches and, swaying in unison from side to side, came out with a dreadful, moaning dirge. ‘What the hell are they doing?’ I asked a shadow at my side. ‘Dunno sir’—it was Petty Officer Aldred—‘but I wish they’d keep it for a funeral.’
It was again full daylight—the enemy ‘air’ having missed a first-class opportunity—before a Lieutenant Commander Hegarty embarked and we were told only one more load, keep them on board and sail for Singapore. Later a small white steamer, full of people, closed to hailing distance and a black-moustached Colonel shouted that we were to make for Port Swettenham instead, a place about halfway to Singapore. Presumably the greater distance at our slow speed was considered too dangerous. There was nothing to indicate the immense influence this Colonel was to have on my destiny.
We said goodbye to the effective old ferry at Port Swettenham and returned to Singapore by rail. I had to kick my heels at the FSA for a time while one after another the spare junior officers disappeared on exciting assignments up country. They manned motor boats and made themselves generally useful in the creeks and mangrove swamps on the left flank of the army. When their boats were put out of action they made themselves useful ashore. Now and again one would appear at the FSA, bearded and dirty, to collect stores and have a bath, the centre of envy on the part of the rest of us. Though having the whale of a time, one and all had the same story backed by tired eyes and a sad resignation; it was impossible to move by day without attracting bombs or bullets from the air. There did not seem to be any British fighters. Nearly all movement was done by night. The enemy had tanks in considerable numbers and we had none. Some of the harder-pressed units who had to fight all day and every day were at the end of their tether. In addition, the Japanese—who seemed to have abundant reserves—were proving frighteningly adept at jungle warfare and in places that we had apparently deemed impassable. Here the speaker would hitch up his holster, give us ‘base wallahs’ a pitying appraisal and disappear again. Dickie Pool was one of these, at last realising his ambition to command a small, fast craft. Kempson turned up once or twice but I never got round to asking him exactly what he had been doing. Sadly, he was later reported missing and did not survive.
A boost to morale was provided by my promotion to Lieutenant, celebrated by the receipt of a lot of white uniform, ordered on our arrival and forgotten. This was followed by another bonus. The Captain of the Dockyard feared an attack by parachutists. Since it was the heart of the Naval Base and thus the biggest single plum in Malaya, this was quite on the cards and I was delighted to be told to form a special anti-parachute force, some 150-strong, with top priority in men, equipment, transport and anything else required. To be known as the Naval Guard, we would come directly under the Captain of the Dockyard and on reporting to him I received yet another pleasant surprise; it was Captain T.K.W. Atkinson, who had been my popular Commander in the Nelson.
A Warrant Officer was appointed second in command, there was a Chief Gunner’s Mate plus several other senior rates and, having armed everyone to the teeth and drawn a huge American saloon for myself and lorries for the remainder, I got down to field training and small-arms practice. Sentries, who were visited at all hours, were placed on the many strategic points of the area, discipline was very strict and morale high. About the worst punishment my men could have was to be thrown out of the Guard and returned to the main pool. However, no parachutists obliged, the only time I had
my pistol out in anger was to fire (slightly high) at some looters in a deserted machine shop, and our only casualty was an AB who lost a finger (very neatly, he was only away for ten days) when the lorry roof support he was holding swayed against a tree.
To improve the less than shining hour, news came that Borneo had fallen. Anthony Terry and I had managed to get to Singapore for a fling on Christmas Eve, but it was not a success. There were big parties in the various hotels, where everyone tried to produce the right sort of spirit, but it would not take off. Hong Kong fell on Christmas Day after a brave defence, followed shortly by news of terrible atrocities there. Meanwhile the Japanese advance in Malaya continued relentlessly. From about January 7, and due to successive British airfields falling into enemy hands, serious bombing of the Naval Base took place most forenoons, on and off from 09:30 to 12:00. Either the dockyard, the FSA or the oil fuel depot at nearby Senoko received attention. Fortunately, shelters at the FSA were well constructed and adequate for the bombs that rained down. Night raids—sometimes three times a night—soon became commonplace. They were usually directed against the city or Keppel Harbour to the east of it, but not always, and as the bombers came first over the Naval Base, sleep was a desultory affair (especially for one who was paying several calls on sentries in addition). Low-level incendiary or machine-gun attacks were made by lone aircraft on occasions, usually against Senoko, which miraculously escaped until three tanks were hit about January 18. The off-duty Guard were rushed there to lend a hand to the hard-pressed dockyard fire brigade, but we could not do a lot. The gasometer-like tanks were blazing, making approach difficult and sending up dense black smoke that blotted out the sky so that one moved about in an eerie red gloom. The fire brigade, Malays under British officers, were magnificent. The dockyard itself was not too badly damaged, bombs falling mostly on roads or open ground, though at least one big machine shop received a direct hit. By this time hardly any native labourers would work in the dockyard and it became oddly silent.
Alarm Starboard!: A Remarkable True Story of the War at Sea Page 16
