Attack at Dawn E-Book

Ron Cope

• Herausgeber: Clink Street Publishing
• Kategorie: Sachliteratur, Reportagen, Biografien
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2015

Beschreibung

On March 1, 1940, Adolf Hitler ordered the invasion of Norway. Having swept across Europe at a terrifying pace, the Nazi assault on Scandinavia was designed to secure the valuable source of iron ore being delivered by rail from Sweden to the Norwegian port of Narvik. To complete the task, Hitler sent ten large, modern destroyers, with 220 Alpine Troops on each. Five smaller British H Class destroyers were sent up the fjord in retaliation by the Allied forces, with little knowledge of what to expect. On April 10, the first battle of Narvik began. Royal Naval Captain, Bernard Warburton-Lee, led his flotilla at midnight into the fjord. They had to navigate the four hour passage undetected, under darkness and in driving snow storms. The harbour - eerily silent on their arrival - quickly erupted into a torpedo attack. Back into the fjord, the destroyers Hardy, Hunter, Hotspur, Havock and Hostile were confronted by five German destroyers, coming from both the front and rear. This resulted in a ferocious sea battle with the loss of Hardy and Hunter and damage to the enemy ships. Those crew members who managed to abandon ship and swim ashore, under bombardment from the Germans, had to endure a ten mile march and pray for safe passage back to Britain in order to survive. Author Ron Cope delivers a comprehensive and gripping account of the Narvik battle, juxtaposing the myriad strategic difficulties encountered by the British Navy, with the vivid and insightful personal accounts of the brave survivors involved, most of whom were under the age of twenty-three. Including first-hand testimony from Cope's own father Cyril, a then twenty-one year old Torpedoman, and documents shared for the first time by the family of Captain Warburton-Lee, Cope presents an arresting account of this crucial British naval victory, as told by the sailors who were there. "Meticulously researched, Attack at Dawn relates the vivid real-life experiences of the British sailors who took part in the extraordinarily bold attack by five British destroyers against superior German forces at Narvik... and the desperate running battle that ensued as they tried to make their escape". John Warburton-Lee, grandson of Captain Bernard Warburton-Lee. V.C.

Leseprobe

Attack at Dawn

Reliving the Battle of Narvik in World War II

Ron Cope

Dedicated to my granddaughter Naomi and her generation.

Acknowledgements

I have to give a big thank you to my publisher ‘Authoright’ for achieving exactly what they said right from the start. A highly recommended team for first time authors.

Imperial War Museum (Collections and Research Department). Audio Recordings Code Numbers as below:

Cope 11586, Pulford 10610, Bourton 10746, Cheshire 16304, Robinson 11286

Proof Readers: My sister in law, Jacqueline Vickery for her considerable support between 2010/15 and Laura Pallett in 2014. They both did a sterling job correcting my many mistakes and keeping me focused. Alison, my wife for her patience over the six years. She can now have her breakfast room and conservatory back, well that is after the HMS Hunter book is published.

John Warburton-Lee, Ralph Brigginshaw, Geirr Haarr, Peter Mitchell (submerged.co.uk), Bob Pearson and Trevor Baker for their fantastic support, now considered friends.

My squash playing partner for many years, Tom Currie, who was there in the beginning when I decide to put pen to paper. Throughout, he has given me outstanding encouragement.

My Dad’s sisters, Auntie Marion and Auntie Vera who will be very pleased to see their brother’s story finally written.

Leo Styles (Australia), Keith Greenslade, (Australia,) Lorry and Lucy Tirchett (Malta), Peter Michell at ‘submerged.co.uk’, Bill Sanders, Hans Houterman (Holland www.unithistories.com) Ian McCleod, Carmel Vassallo (Malta) Nicola Mulryan (Norway) Harry Rogers and Les Smale both of whom have passed away since I started my book.

The additional contributions from; Daryl Harries, John Avery, Mike Newton, Ted Stiles (Canada), Rosemary Barnes, Mike Stanner, Petra and Hakon Kristensen, Dominick Penrose, Gytha Lane-Morrow, Lesley Hood-Bourton, Olwen George, Catherine Mason, Heather McAlpine, Jacqui Harris, Lance Kennedy, Gill O’Rourke, Borg-Anna Sanders, Peter Siddall, David Woolley, Tony Quinn, Alexandro Kopsahilis, Fidelma Rogers, Tony Rogers, Kate Kennedy, Norma New, Di James, David Taylor, Anna Reid, Jill Smith, Richard Smith, Danielle O’Brien, Dr Grafton Maggs, Len Brigginshaw, Andrew Cuthberton, Tore Eggan.

Denis Darmanin, John Mizzi, Paul Aquilina, Mary Leavey, Carmel Grima, (All Maltese Citizens).

National Archives at Kew and Her Majesties Stationary Office. Nick Grant at Ian Allan Publishers for giving permission to reproduce quotes from Peter Dickens book.

Shropshire Star, Express and Echo (Exeter) Oystermouth Parish Journal, Sunday Express (1980), Daily Mail (20th April 1940), Western Morning News, The Packet (Falmouth), Navy News, Times of Malta, Malta Independent, Salford Advertiser, Carrickfergus Times, Middlesbrough Gazette.

If I have forgotten anyone, please forgive me but by all means make contact and the error can be corrected.

Contents

Acknowledgements

Author’s Preface

Foreword

Prologue

Introduction

1. Cyril Cope: Torpedoman

2. The Captain

3. Outbreak of War

4. Calm before the Storm

5. A Day on the Mess Decks

6. Make and Mend

7. The Storm is About to Begin

8. Signals Passed Between D2 and The Admiralty

9. Transit the Fjord

10. The Enemy Caught Asleep

11. Second Attack

12. Dilemma: Do we go in Again?

13. Retreat Into the Fjord and Open Sea

14. Beach or Not

15. Abandon Ship

16. Enemy Try to finish off their Prey

17. Sanctuary found at Petra’s

18. Rescue Mission

19. The Saga of the Secret Codes

20. Ready For Moving On

21. Saviours of Ballangen

22. The Germans Arrive

23. Come on Jack. You’re rescued. It’s time to go home

24. Back Home, for Some

25. Surprise Welcome

26. Survivors Leave

27. Last of Survivors Arrive Home

28. Malta and the Royal Navy in World War Two

29. The War is not Over for Cyril

30. Norwegian Participation Medal

31. Recollections of the German Reunions

32. What Happened to the Hardy Survivors After Narvik

Epilogue

Bibliography

The Author

Author’s Preface

This book is not intended to mislead readers into thinking it is a serious work of naval history. I leave that to those with far more professional abilities than I would claim to have. However, I believe it should be considered as being the first definitive record of accounts from those who were actually involved in the First British Battle of Narvik. It comprises their own experiences regarding how they managed to survive after the battle and also escape capture by the enemy. I cannot vouch that all the accounts are fully factual, although from the sheer volume that I have been able to gather, there must be a lot of truth.

However, I can definitely confirm the crew members of the 2nd Destroyer Flotilla were there and during the ensuing years were still able to describe what they had witnessed. In addition, I have to accept that the information that has been provided by the crew members’ families and friends, passed on either verbally or recorded on paper or tape, is indeed true and correct.

As a mark of respect to the Norwegian people, I would like to point out that on the front cover I have written the phrase “First British Battle of Narvik”. This is because in actual fact the ‘First Battle’ took place the day before on the 9th of April 1940. This was when the German Navy arrived and was confronted by, two First World War Norwegian coastal defence ships, ‘Eidsvold’ and ‘Norge’. The Norwegian Captains having stood their ground the two ships were eventually torpedoed and sunk in the fjord. This resulted in 282 Norwegian sailors losing their lives. However, during the rest of the book I will refer to the First Battle of Narvik as happening on the 10th of April 1940.

Foreword

By Ralph Brigginshaw, Signalman, HMS Hardy

As a remaining survivor of the Battle of Narvik, I was pleased to be asked by the author, Ron Cope, to write a ‘Foreword’ for the events described in this book.

After joining the Royal Navy in 1935 at the age of fifteen with initial training at HMS St Vincent and a period aboard HMS Rodney and HMS Warwick, I was very pleased to be drafted to HMS Hardy, the leader of the 2nd Destroyer Flotilla under the command of Captain Warburton-Lee [Captain D], in early 1939.

After war broke out we served for a while in the Mediterranean and the South Atlantic, based at Freetown. In February 1940 we were suddenly and urgently ordered to return to the United Kingdom. After a short leave we were then sent north and eventually arrived in Scapa Flo.

From there the author then explains the action and aftermath when five destroyers of the Royal Navy eventually met ten larger destroyers of the German Navy. This was in the snow covered fjords of North Norway in the early hours of the 10th of April 1940; as related by members of HMS Hardy’s ship’s company.

I would like to thank Ron for all of his work and patience in bringing this story to life in a very interesting book.

Crawley, Sussex

January 2015.

Prologue

After the battle, two Norwegian men were walking along the road overlooking the fjord near Narvik. One was a former medical corps soldier. They were searching to see if there were any poor souls from the aftermath that may have been swept ashore. After a while they saw two bodies on the rocks below. When they reached them they found that one was a young German sailor and the other had an HMS Hardy identity tag. He was Hugh Mantle from South Wales who was aged eighteen. Both killed or drowned in action. Their bodies were taken into Narvik for identification and burial.

You could just imagine those two Norwegians’ thoughts at the time, “What a pointless waste of two young men’s lives.”

April 1940.

Introduction

My interest in the sea began very early in my formative years and this, along with my Dad’s stories of his time in the Royal Navy, probably later led to my following in his footsteps.

The nearest popular seaside towns to Manchester were either in North Wales or the Lancastrian resort of Southport. As a youngster I remember being taken there on a number of occasions, travelling either on the train or by Charabanc or ‘chara’ as it was then known. These trips were usually on Bank Holidays or ‘Wake Weeks’ with my Gran Sarah Ann Murray, her sister Auntie Lizzy (Whewell) and other family members. All the passengers would be in a happy frame of mind because it was holiday time. En-route there would be sing songs and copious bottles of beer drunk by the men on the back seats.

However, the highlight was a week’s holiday on the Isle of Man, staying at Mrs Youdall’s small hotel in Douglas. Before arriving there with my parents, sister Edith, and brother Cyril (fourteen months older), plus a number of our extended family, I had the first opportunity to test my sea legs. I was about four years old and the voyage by ferry was not to my liking: I was sick for most of the time! Although, happily, on arrival at the port, the smell of smoked kippers were soon forgotten and the holiday began in earnest.

It must have been an enjoyable time, but in addition to the experience of sea sickness, another memory that comes to mind is of an incident at the boating lake on Douglas promenade. Cyril and I had been able to talk our Dad and Mam into buying us toy sailing yachts, which we were able to push by a rod into positions of manoeuvrability around the lake. Unfortunately, after awhile, having thought I had managed the skill of utilising the direction of the wind, I became too ambitious. This resulted in my stretching too far into the imaginary ocean and consequently I fell fully dressed into the water. To this day I can still recall going under, struggling for breath and then people around the side of the lake appearing in a panic and trying to haul me back onto dry land.

We can all remember frightening events in our younger years which are forever ingrained in our minds. But my experiences were not as life threatening nor was I in a situation as dangerous as having to fight by oneself for survival. As you will read later this was the case for many of the sailors in battles at sea.

These relatively minor incidents on the Isle of Man would soon become irrelevant to me, when my Dad became the proud owner of a motorbike with a side car and then later a Wolseley car. These cars were used by the police in the TV programme ‘Fabian of the Yard’. Looking back now it was obvious for nostalgic reasons that Dad as well as Mam (although this was in the war years) always hankered to return to Devon. This will be become clearer later. Suffice to say, that in the 1950s after the war, similar to my parents, people were beginning to enjoy many improvements in their lifestyles. Package holidays abroad came later but in the meantime, with improved roads and the ability to own your own transport, they were able to go further afield.

The journeys down to Devon and Cornwall from Manchester, although long and tiring, provided me with opportunities to visit the August Bank Holiday’s ‘Navy Days’. The crowds were absolutely enormous. Remember this was the 1950s so Devonport Dockyard would then be full of all types of warships and submarines on show. Even better you could join the queues to go on board for a guided tour around the vessels. The smell of machinery oil, galley cooking and men living in close quarters was unique. There were also brilliant displays around the dockyard and on the lawns in HMS Drake barracks. Frogmen in large tanks waving as you stopped to look in awe. That is if you were not frightened of the divers in masks. And to top it all, the marvellous Royal Marine band marching up and down, in precise formation, going through all their stirring repertoire of tunes.

With my Mam on Plymouth Hoe 1952. Destroyer entering harbour. In thirteen years time I would be doing the same procedure. Ron Cope Collection.

On one occasion we spent some time visiting one of Dad’s old shipmates, Harry Lambert, in Plymouth. Harry and his wife put us up for the night, it was a little crowded and I had to sleep on a camp bed in the lounge. I have vivid memories of Dad and Harry reminiscing about their time during the war in the Navy. I pretended to be asleep not wanting to miss their conversation about what were to me at the time some amazing stories.

I am sure that all these events and memories in my earlier years went towards forming a close interest in not only the Royal Navy but also in its impressive history. Like most boys reaching their teenage years, my life outside of school consisted of playing football and then in the summer months cricket. We would kick a tennis ball around the road, stopping to let the odd car go by. A goal would be scored when your accuracy skills enabled you to hit the telegraph pole or street lighting post. Time passed quickly and before you knew it, light failing, it was time to go back home.

Unlike today, where it appears that a considerable amount of time is taken up by staying indoors, with computer games or watching the unlimited number of television programmes. Then there were only two TV channels and they did not begin till four o’clock in the afternoon with ‘Watch with Mother’. Finishing around ten o’clock in the evening but not switching off until ‘God Save the Queen’ ended. So we had to make our own entertainment or fantasise about being Duncan Edwards and winning the Cup or Gary Sobers hitting sixes out of the ground. Or playing ‘Monopoly’ or practising flicking cigarette cards against the bedroom wall before the next day at school when we had to be on top of our game. Otherwise we could end up losing a lot of our most precious collection. (The object of the game was to flick one of your cards on top of your opponents, then you win all the cards laid on the floor.)

There were no ‘health and safety’ issues in the Junior School, the teachers had gone home, before disagreements resulted in us sorting out our differences by a good old fight. We walked relatively long distances to and from school in short trousers without being escorted by a parent.

The big day came at the age of eleven when I moved to the ‘grown up’ secondary school. I felt this was a big step but it was not long before I settled into the new regime. However, it would be at least another year before I was given my first pair of long trousers. At least they were brand new, rather than ‘hand me down’ jumpers and shirts from my older brother Cyril.

Around this time, in my early teens, I had moved on from reading the comics ‘Beano’ and ‘Dandy’ to the more sophisticated editions of the ‘Lion’ and ‘Eagle’. With regard to the latter, once in awhile it printed a feature on its namesake the famous aircraft carrier HMS Eagle. Little did I know or could have imagined that within a decade I would be serving on her as a young, twenty-two year old Petty Officer.

Throughout my childhood the words ‘Narvik’, ‘Hardy’, ‘Warburton-Lee’ and ‘Mrs Kristensen’ sprung up on a regular basis not only in the immediate Cope household but also within the extended family. I was born seventeen months after V.E. Day, in 1946, but from an early age I remember on many occasions my father, Cyril, reminiscing about his time served in the Second World War. In 1936 at the age of eighteen he had joined the Navy, which will be covered later from his memoirs. This meant that he was a career enlisted sailor rather than those who later became known as ‘Hostilities Only’ or H.O.s.

However, most of Dad’s ‘sea stories’ usually returned to the early stages of the War when as a twenty-one year old torpedo rating he became involved in the First Battle of Narvik. In fact he was part of the forward torpedo tubes team which fired the first salvo into the harbour of Narvik. Looking back, it is obvious that this experience was so traumatic that it left him unable to forget the memories right up to his death in 2003. His passing away came four months after my mam, Edith, had died. They had been married for sixty-four years. As you will see in the latter stages of the book, in the early years of their marriage, they had to endure trauma and grief together.

When the subject of ‘Narvik’ was broached, normally when others enquired about his personal experience, I recall Dad was never boastful; in fact, the word ‘magnanimous’ comes to mind. I remember at social occasions or family gatherings that once strangers knew he had been involved in this momentous event, they wanted to know more. This would then trigger his apparent ‘photographic memory’ leaving his listeners mesmerised by his recollections. Right up until his passing away he could still recall the names of shipmates, even where they came from, and of course the sea battle fought at the time in a little known Norwegian fjord, as if they had happened yesterday.

There were two other events in my life which reinforced an understanding for the effect the ‘Battles in Narvik’ had on my Dad. These were both related to my joining the Royal Navy in 1964. Firstly, I had to go through the process of naval training and then my initial draft to HMS Devonshire, a newly built guided missile destroyer. I quickly found out that this was ‘serious business’! It was not long before I realised that to survive you had to be physically fit in body and sound of mind, taking the bad with the good in your stride. Even though we were not then overly involved in any theatres of war I rapidly appreciated what my Dad and his comrades had had to endure twenty-four years previously. I began to understand the importance of discipline and team work, attributes adequately described later on in this account.

Prior to enlisting, probably influenced by my Dad’s more favourable naval anecdotal stories, at the age of just seventeen, I began to give consideration to what I then thought would be a ‘jolly life on the ocean waves’. I had left school at fifteen against the advice of Mr Evans, the Headmaster at my secondary modern school ‘Wellacre’ in Flixton on the outskirts of Manchester. In those days jobs were much easier to come by and parents had a greater influence on coercing you into employment. My father to his credit had the foresight to recognise a trade in electronics was the way forward for the future. Hence, in early 1962 I began working for the ‘Fred Dawes Company’ in central Manchester as a TV and Radio Engineer apprentice.

It was a cold December day in 1963 that I gathered up the necessary motivation or should I say ‘guts’ to visit ‘Admiralty House’ in the city centre. This was a time known as the ‘swinging sixties’ not only musically but also because of a thorn in the side of the Government called the ‘Ban the Bomb’ movement. It was in a climate of the so called ‘Cold War’ with differing philosophies of west and east – ‘Capitalism and Communism’.

The first interview did not go well to say the least. The elderly gentleman who interviewed me was in fact a very ‘senior’ non-commissioned officer attached to the Naval Recruiting Service and had obviously had a distinguished career in the Second World War. On his lapels were the golden insignia of ‘crossed gun turrets’ with two stars below. Initially, I thought it would be wise to ‘get him on my side’ so looking very interested I enquired what they stood for. He explained he was a Chief Gunnery Instructor. However, I later learnt to my grief on numerous occasions that Chief G.I.s were seen as only ‘Third to God’, the ‘Second to God’ being the Master at Arms, known affectionately as ‘The Joss man’. These authoritative figurers were not to be taken for granted and if so it was at your peril.

The Chief began doing the preliminary paperwork. He enquired about my age, if there was parents’ permission, my school attainments, present employment, leisure pursuits and an ability to swim. He finally asked if there were any other members of my family who had been in the armed forces or were still serving. I felt quite confident by now especially when I explained my father had been a serving member of the Royal Navy in the Second World War.

Then the crunch came, Chief ‘Nasty’ looked directly into my eyes, his voice raised a few decibels and he said, “A bit of advice to you laddie, go away, smarten yourself up, find a barber and get rid of that fucking ‘ban the bomb’ badge on your jacket”!

I walked away feeling downhearted. However, whilst the situation at my place of employment began to improve, with an increase in pay and providing more ‘on job’ training, I continued to dwell on a need for a more exciting and challenging lifestyle.

So it was a month later, ‘tail between my legs’, wearing my ‘Beatles fashionable jacket’ and conventionally groomed haircut, I went back to see Mr Chief ‘Nasty’. He seemed surprised. He took out the original paperwork, at least he hadn’t ripped it up. Without a smile he gave me test papers for numeracy and literacy and showed me to a small room. I found the questions quite straightforward, quickly returned them and a thought did pass my mind that surely they weren’t that desperate for ‘canon fodder’. Finally, he said, “OK, we have marked the test papers and they were good. Can you come back in a week for a medical?”

Arriving once more punctually, wearing clean underpants, although apprehensive about tales from mates describing the intimate process heard from their fathers or uncles in the past. The doctor with a thin, grey face was older than Mr Chief ‘Nasty’ and quickly asked me to undress. However, he then had me lying on a hospital type bed. “Please sit up with your legs over the end of the bed.” At which point I noticed he had in his hand what looked like a small wooden hammer.

I started to cringe and my eyes began to water in anticipation of what was to come. However, relief came quickly as he began to tap both my knees. “Please stand up.” He took hold of my testicles with his cold hands and ‘ordered’ me to cough twice. On completion, the worst part was over and within a minute I would be out of the grip of ‘Doctor Death’. Having gathered my underpants I was asked to read the letters in sequence on a board about ten feet away. Then he explained that the next part of the medical check was for ‘colour perception’ purposes, which was required to assess which branch I would be suitable for in the Navy.

I will explain that, depending on the results, those with no problems are able to become what are known as ‘bunting tossers’, which is the Yeoman branch of the Communications Department. It is of no use to the Navy if you are unable to differentiate between colours of the many associated flags used at sea to visually transmit messages to accompanying ships. However, on a more personal note it was my intention to continue developing a career in electronics. This also required an above average level of colour perception to enable one to distinguish the different colours on relatively minute components such as resistors.

Back in full clothing, it was back to Chief ‘Nasty’. He began in what I felt was a subdued manner. I started to wonder if the doctor had told him there was something wrong with parts of my anatomy. He indicated that he had remembered from the previous interview that I had mentioned my father had served in the Navy during the war. He went on, “Can you remember the ships he was on?” I replied, “Yes there were many; even a submarine – but the most important one was HMS Hardy.” Chief ‘Nasty’ then appeared to change into Chief ‘Friendly’. He replied, “There were two in the war which one was he on?” Feeling proud that he had queried this, without taking a breath, I said, “At Narvik in Norway, his Captain received the first Victoria Cross of the war.” Showing no evident emotion in his voice, he replied, “Oh yes.”

The rest of the interview went along the lines of, “The Navy are very interested in recruiting young men who have an aptitude for maintaining and repairing today’s complicated equipment. Unlike in my day when for us ‘old sea dogs’ it was more about spanners and grease”. To my surprise, Chief ‘Friendly’ shook my hand and informed me that there was a new entry level similar to Artificer Apprentices, for those with fewer academic qualifications which also took into account my present age. He finished by saying, “It will require you to attend a three day intensive ‘Naval Board’ in Portsmouth. If you are accepted then a letter will be in the post providing the relevant details.”

To this day I do not know if my final acceptance into the Royal Navy was influenced in any degree by way of empathy shown because of my Dad’s distinguished service history. However, what became a fact is that although I eventually served twenty-three years in the Royal Navy, my father, Cyril Cope, in his ten years’ service, had been involved in far more exciting and traumatic action at sea than I ever was. Well, I also had excitement but in a different way! But that will have to wait until my next book.

Thankfully, my Dad left behind audio recordings and written accounts of his naval experiences, not only to his immediate family but also at the request of the Imperial War Museum. Prior to my father’s death he gave me copies of the audio recordings. At the time I was heavily involved in my second career as a probation officer. However, in my spare time I managed to play back all six tapes. I was now fifty-five years old but memories came flooding back. There were parts I recalled and others I had forgotten. However, what struck me was that at some stage this was ‘a story that needed to be told’ for future generations.

In 2008, by now I had become semi-retired and on visiting my younger sister Linda at her home in Exeter I was finally able to go through my father’s memorabilia. It then became obvious from his documents that he himself had intended to write a book about his exploits. Unfortunately, because of his substantial involvement between 1970 and 1996 as the founder member and Honourable Secretary / Organiser of the ‘2nd Destroyer Flotilla Association of Narvik 10th April 1940’ he was unable to complete the task. By this time the Association had had to be disbanded, not only due to his own health problems but also because of the gradual passing away of most of the elderly members.

After considerable research, I was able to make contact with a substantial number of people personally associated with the five destroyers, ‘Hardy’, ‘Hunter’, ‘Havock’, ‘Hotspur’ and ‘Hostile’. With the result that I received additional emotive and interesting accounts of those involved in the moving story of the ‘Battles of Narvik’, April 1940. In which their brilliant destroyer commander Captain Bernard Warburton-Lee (D2) was posthumously awarded the first ‘Victoria Cross’ of the Second World War.

In addition I have included extracts attributed to previous authors who have completed comprehensive research into the subject matter. I have also drawn on my own experience in the Royal Navy to visualise what life was like on those ships at the time.

In writing this book, it has always been my intention, rather than just presenting a historical account of the warfare strategies, that it should predominantly focus on narratives provided by those brave sailors who were present in the epic events on the 10th April 1940, many of whom were young men and without experience of war at sea. Secondly, and just as importantly, I wrote it in memory of my father, Torpedoman Cyril Cope.

In 1990, I accompanied my father to the 50th Anniversary of the Norwegian Campaign in Narvik. The British Government was represented then by the Defence Secretary Mr Tom King. At the memorial ceremony he acknowledged the fact that if those ten modern German destroyers had not been sunk in Narvik then they would have returned to their home port. Then, subsequently, been let loose in ‘foraging packs’ in the English Channel at the time of the Dunkirk evacuations. This would obviously have had a devastating effect on the imperative task of returning the troops safely back home and drastically changed the course of the war.

In producing this book I never for one moment thought that in ensuring my father’s account would be accessible to a wider audience I would be going on a long and fascinating journey, where I have had ‘many a cheer and many a tear’. It is definitely the truest account of a story never previously fully related by those sailors and their families involved in the First Battle of Narvik and the years following the event.

1

Cyril Cope: Torpedoman

In 1990, my Dad, Cyril Cope, was interviewed at his home in Exwick, Exeter by a curator from the Imperial War Museum in London. The audio tapes are still in the museum’s historical records and are accessible to the public. Subsequently, I contacted I.W.M. in 2010 and they kindly sent me C.D. copies and with these added to Cyril’s other personal audio tapes and written accounts, I have been able to form the basis for this book.

Rather than write this chapter as a question and answer version from the I.W.M. interview, I have summarised Dad’s part of the conversation during the interview where he explained a part of his life before joining the Royal Navy and his experiences on enlisting.

“I was born in Salford, Lancashire in 1918 and was the middle of twelve children in the family. (Lucy, Bertha, John, Lily, Bill, Harold, Cyril, Ruby, Ronnie, Marion, Muriel and Vera.) My father had served in the Army in the First World War. When the war was over he first became a tram conductor in Manchester before moving to buses. I left school at the age of fourteen to become an apprentice electrician at ‘Erskine and Heaps’. I had always had an idea to join the Services. Because of my father’s own involvement in World War One, he wanted me to go into the Army. But I had always preferred the Navy.

“Where I worked there was an elderly chap who was a naval pensioner. During our lunch breaks, he used to tell me some fantastic stories about his time at sea. As well as about his son, who was also in the Navy at that time. He kept advising me and eventually convinced me that I should go into the Navy. So at the age of eighteen, that’s what I did.

“On the 25th July 1936, having received my papers and railway ticket, I arrived at HMS Drake Barracks in Devonport, Plymouth. This was for ‘Basic Training’. Initially I was homesick especially having left my brothers and younger sisters, but I took to the training with no problems. As long as you were able to take the discipline and do as you were told, it made life easier. I had thirty chaps in my class, the majority took to it, but you had one or two who were resistant to discipline. They seemed as though they didn’t want to be there at all. In fact a couple decided to desert and instead of going back north from Plymouth, went south to Cornwall, but were soon picked up.

“I and my four brothers had always had discipline at home from our father. So there was little change. I always did what I was told and behaved myself. The way I looked at it, in the Navy, especially in the later years, I always thought the right way. I accepted discipline because I realised it would help me do the job I had to do in the Navy. Making it easier, which it did. I thought that the way the Navy dealt with me was very fair. I never had any qualms or got into trouble throughout my time.

“There were lots of things that you didn’t like but you just got on with it. When we finally went to war, in fact you appreciated the discipline aspect, otherwise you would be lost. In a team of men, perfection was crucial. If you had one man who didn’t want to do what he was told, the whole team would be in a mess.

Torpedoman Cyril Cope. Wedding Day 1938. Ron Cope Collection.

From my Dad’s naval stories I had some idea of the ships he served on in the war. However, to verify these I had to apply for his service records. The section ‘Personal Description’ at entry to the Navy surprisingly showed that my father, in 1936 having just turned eighteen, was recorded as being 5 foot 5 inches tall with a 32 inch chest. All I can conclude from this was that during his boyhood days he was somewhat malnourished. Thankfully by joining the Navy and his subsequent training, this was quickly reversed. By the time I came along after the war and was able to remember, he was at least 3 inches taller and whilst he was never a barrel chested man, 32 inches seems a quite unbelievable measurement. Perhaps a sign of the times in the 1930s. However, they got the colour of his hair and eyes correct!

On completion of Dad’s basic and seamanship training, in April 1937 he was drafted to HMS Lucia, a submarine depot ship, for nearly two years. During his time on board he was promoted to Able Seaman. In January 1939, it was back for further training at the ‘Torpedo School’ HMS Defiance in Devonport. Thereafter, he was drafted to HMS Hardy, a Plymouth based ship. However, the ship in dockyard hands, he was temporarily seconded to the Submarine Maintenance Ship, HMS Maidstone. Where better to put into practice his recent introduction to torpedo warfare?

After this short spell, finally in June 1939, Cyril, then having returned to HMS Hardy, sailed with the ship to join the Mediterranean Fleet. By now there were growing concerns of an impending war. Cyril, along with some of his other younger shipmates, was probably feeling apprehensive, yet they were all still looking forward to their first taste of leaving home waters to see a different part of the world. Not knowing that they were about to embark on a journey which would live with them for the rest of their lives.

2

The Captain

Bernard Armitage Warburton-Lee was born in 1895 at the family estate of Broad Oak, which was then in Flintshire, North Wales. Having been the family home since 1672, when Phillip Henry Lee, a Presbyterian minister, lived and preached there, Broad Oak borders both the county of Shropshire and the now county of Gwynedd, Wales. Bernard’s ancestors were a mix of Scottish, English and Welsh; although Bernard, much like his grandson John, without doubt saw himself very much as a Welshman foremost.

In the 19th century, the Warburton-Lees had become a well-respected family involved in magistracy and land agency. Moreover, by the time of Bernard’s birth, the family were respected within the local area for being financially secure and community focused. Indeed, Joseph Warburton-Lee, Bernard’s father, was appointed to the distinguished position of High Sheriff, and then to Deputy Lieutenant of Flintshire. Interestingly, whilst it appears that the family were involved in many outdoor pursuits, no references to engagement in either sailing activities or connections with the sea have been found – understandably, the family did not exactly live close to the coast.

The youngest child of a large, happy family environment, Bernard was enrolled as a residential pupil at Malvern Link Preparatory School in Worcestershire in 1906 at the age of eleven. Despite being even further from the coast than the family home, it was probably here that the first seeds were sown towards his parents deciding that he was destined for a life at sea. In those times, the British Empire was still globally influential, and so had the largest naval presence in the world. Hence, at the age of thirteen, Bernard became a pupil at the Royal Naval College, Osborne House on the Isle of Wight, situated far away from his family – but nearer to the sea.

It is without doubt that for Bernard Warburton-Lee his two year spell at Osborne House was the first step towards becoming an independently minded person. Considered to have both the necessary intelligence and motivation to go on and fulfil his increasing ambitions to become a Royal Naval Officer, he was also a very competitive young man in regard to his choices of sporting pursuits. Maintaining a high level of fitness would be important to Bernard for the rest of his life.

Note: Originally Osborne House was bought by Queen Victoria and Prince Albert in 1845 as a retreat away from the royal court life. On the death of Queen Victoria in 1901 the new monarch King Edward VII presented it to the nation. Hence in 1903 part of the estate became a junior college for the Royal Navy.

In 1910, Bernard (now aged sixteen) became a cadet at the Dartmouth Royal Naval College, in order to further his knowledge in seamanship. Crucially, this period would have offered him opportunities to finally be on the water: for example, by participating in rowing whalers and sailing a dinghy up and down the River Dart.

From my own experience on the staff at Dartmouth in 1976–77, I witnessed the cadets being put through a very stringent and physical daily routine. In the early 20th century the training was without doubt more intense and the expectancy of coming through unscathed was lesser. Testament to this way of life came from a BBC documentary in which one cadet stated: “You can have my body and mind but not my soul”. As such, it was to Bernard’s credit that – under both physical and emotional pressure – he passed, coming top of his term, in 1912. His service records (beginning from the 15th June, 1908) describe both his ability and professional knowledge as ‘very good’, with additional comments from his Captain describing him as both ‘zealous’ and ‘promising’. This assessment indicates that, even at this age, Bernard displayed an apparent loyal endeavour to serve his country.

It was on the 15th January, 1913 that Bernard joined his first warship, HMS Hyacinth, as a Midshipman. Initially, the ‘light cruiser’ was stationed in Cape Town, South Africa. A year later, the First World War began. Thus, in 1914, Bernard quickly had his first experience of war at sea when ‘Hyacinth’ was involved in operations against the German Navy.

In 1915, at the ripe age of nineteen, he was promoted early to Sub Lieutenant and shortly after, if only for a short spell, joined the torpedo boat ‘Cherwell’. Then, in early 1916, he spent over two years on the ‘M’ Class destroyers ‘Mameluke’, ‘Mischief’ and the ‘W’ Class ‘Wrestler’. He was assessed as having excellent ability: without a doubt a more than capable officer. This led to further promotions to Acting Lieutenant; then, on the 16th April, 1918, to Lieutenant. He was ‘Mentioned in Despatches’ for his services whilst on board the destroyers. This was his first long-term experience with destroyers, which were smaller and built for agility and speed. For those young officers looking for a potentially fast track route to their own command, and also being adventurous, ambitious and possibly impatient, this would have been seen as an ideal way forward.

Captain Bernard Warburton-Lee in formal naval uniform. John Warburton-Lee Family Archives.

It was whilst Bernard was playing his part in the war effort on ‘Wrestler’ in 1917 that he received the tragic news that his brother, Phillip, aged 24, had been killed on the front lines at Passchendaele. Phillip was an Army Captain in the Royal Field Artillery and at the start of World War One was sent to France. Subsequently, he was invalided back home, but later posted to Gallipoli. The ship taking him was torpedoed in the Mediterranean. In 1916, Phillip was transferred to the Royal Horse Artillery where at first he fought in the Somme, before his death on 11th October, 1917. This must have been a traumatic moment for Bernard, and probably had a profound effect on him for a long time after.

So far, the only blot on Bernard’s ‘copy book’ happened just over a year after his brother’s death, on the 30th October, 1918. At this time, still serving on the ‘Wrestler’, he was the ‘Officer of the Watch’ on the Bridge when the ship collided with the battleship ‘Conqueror’. The Board of Enquiry came to the conclusion that he was “To blame for not keeping a sufficiently good look out, knowing that the course steered led him towards the battleship”. Fortunately, the Board took into account his impeccable record: Bernard received a caution with the comment “To be more careful in future”. This incident did not have an adverse effect on Bernard’s career prospects: upon leaving the ‘Wrestler’ in the April of 1921, his commanding officer described him as follows: “very good executive officer, handles men well, fond of sport, takes an interest in the ship’s company, has done a great deal for the efficiency of ship”.

Research into the next stage of Bernard’s earlier years suggests that he was now working towards being appointed to command a destroyer. During a well-earned spell ashore, he had to complete necessary courses in gunnery, signals and wireless transmissions, as well as a short stay on HMS Marlborough. Further evidence comes from his service documents, on the page entitled ‘Special Reports’: ‘To be noted as a candidate for command of a Destroyer, March 1924’.

Bernard’s grandson John Warburton-Lee, looking back over his grandfather’s life says, “Naval life was not all hard work. He enjoyed several postings to Malta where he could pursue his passion for sport. By now he had become an accomplished tennis and racquets player and greatly enjoyed cricket and polo. He was a good horseman and the fast aggressive game of polo suited him well; although he always felt he could have been much better, if he could have afforded the better ponies.

“Service life in Malta offered many other opportunities. When not on the summer cruise, or doing local training, life was filled with midnight picnics, sailing, pageants and glamorous dinners. Bernard loved all of it.”

Bernard Warburton-Lee’s motto could have been, ‘work hard – play hard’. It was during one of his spells in Malta that in 1923 Bernard, then twenty-eight, met Elizabeth Swinton, much younger, nineteen years old, touring with her father. His grandson John continues, “From his letters to her, it was obvious that the good-looking bachelor was instantly smitten.”

Elizabeth Cambell-Swinton, to give her full name, came from Cringletie, Peebleshire, Scotland, born into a distinguished family, her father, George, being a retired Army Officer.

In November 1924, he finally got his wish, being appointed commanding officer of the destroyer HMS Tuscan in the 8th Flotilla of the Atlantic Fleet. However, this was destined to be short-lived, when he was promoted to Lieutenant Commander and in turn moved on to the destroyers ‘Sterling’ and ‘Walpole’. During this eighteen month period, his service records were signed off twice by a certain Captain Tovey. He described Bernard as an exceptional officer in every way, commenting on his qualities of leadership, his excellent influence on others, his tactfulness, as well as describing him as a well-read, strong character.

In 1924, Bernard and Elizabeth were married at St James’ Church, Sussex Gardens, London. They decided to settle in the Hampshire area, in order to be close to Portsmouth, and as such began their married life at Soberton Mill in Swan-more. They then had a son whom they named Phillip, after Bernard’s brother.

In May 1926, Bernard found himself involved in a completely different type of deployment. At the time of the nationwide ‘General Strike’, he was required to lead a naval detachment to guard the ‘Vickers’ shipyard at Barrow. After this experience, Bernard returned to what he did best and enjoyed the most of his command of HMS Walpole. Having gained more valuable experience, he left the ship in April 1928 for shore side. His service records show that he had “Good influence and leadership. Plenty of initiative and go”.

After a year ashore, Bernard returned to sea duties as Lieutenant Commander of HMS Vanessa. In April 1929, his ship was part of the 2nd Destroyer Flotilla attached to the Mediterranean Fleet. This environment at the Malta Naval Base meant that his ship was able to partake in naval exercises without the interruption of inclement weather. Just over a year later, Bernard’s promotion to Commander came through and he returned to Britain. Subsequently, he completed a year-long Staff Officers’ course at the Royal Naval College, Greenwich. Then, in May 1932, he went onto the Staff College at Camberley. After a short spell of being the officer in charge of HMS Centurion (a First World War battleship used as a target ship), he once more found himself back in Malta. This was in April 1933, when he became the commanding officer for the ‘Sloop’, HMS Bryony, described as a ‘despatch vessel’.

Although officially part of the Mediterranean Fleet, ‘Bryony’ was in essence a small vessel used for transporting the Governor of Malta and other dignitaries around various ports in the Mediterranean. This was ‘peace time’, and in true Royal Naval tradition, Britain naturally wanted to ‘show the flag’. It must have seemed a dream appointment for Bernard: he could put to use his considerable seamanship and managerial skills without the stress which comes with commanding a warship.

Note: The Bryony’s log shows that between 1919 and 1933, the ship was the Governor of Malta’s official sea going transport around the Mediterranean. From the time Bernard took over his duties the ship visited many prominent ports of call.

During Bernard’s stays in Malta he became a close friend of fellow polo team player Lord Louis Mountbatten. Both had similar careers on destroyers. In 1928 Louis was the Signal and Wireless Officer for the 2nd Destroyer Flotilla and then in 1931 Fleet Signal and Wireless Officer. During 1934/36 Louis became the Commanding Officer for the destroyers HMS Daring and then Wishart. Louis’ appointments also took him to the Mediterranean.

By the time of the Spanish Civil War in 1936, Bernard was well regarded by those in high command in the Admiralty as an exceptional destroyer Commanding Officer. In July of that year, he was promoted to Captain of HMS Witch.

Note: In the late 19th century, the Spanish naval base at Ferrol needed to be rebuilt and a number of major British shipbuilding companies became involved. At the outbreak of the Civil War there remained a residue of British workforce and concerns were raised for their wellbeing. HMS Witch was sent commanded by the newly promoted Captain Warburton-Lee.

Upon being promoted to Captain, Bernard must have thought that he had finally reached the pinnacle of his career ambitions: without any major hiccups, he was now well-bedded-in to the family of destroyers. However, in 1939 (after completing a tactical course in Portsmouth the previous year) he was finally informed he was to command his own destroyer flotilla. This must have been one of the most celebratory moments in his life.

This was on 28th of July, 1939, one month after his friend Lord Louis Mountbatten was appointed to command the 5th Destroyer Flotilla. As a matter of interest Lord Louis’ ship was HMS Kelly, which was sunk on 23rd of May, 1941, which was made into a famous old film starring Noel Coward, ‘In Which We Serve’.

Lieutenant Bernard Warburton-Lee. 1918. John Warburton-Lee Archives

Bernard took up command of ‘Hardy’ and the flotilla of nine ‘H’ Class ships on the 28th July, 1939, at the time ‘Hardy’ was stationed in Malta. One wonders whether it was a coincidence that Bernard’s past mentor, now a Rear Admiral (given the task of ‘working up’ the destroyer flotillas to peak efficiency) was none other than ‘Jack’ Tovey. The Rear Admiral would have arrived in Malta in early 1939, and probably had a say as to who should be appointed as the future flotilla’s commanders. Tovey became known as one of the great sea commanders of the Second World War; undoubtedly, a man of such a long distinguished naval career would have had sufficient insight to recognise those subordinates, like Bernard Warburton-Lee, who were capable of rising to his own high standards.

Further insight into Bernard’s time as Captain can be found when one listens to interviews with some of his crewmen, provided in the Imperial War Museum archives and other sources.

One such testimony came from Cyril Cope. Upon being asked whether or not he liked Bernard, Cyril replied: “As a Captain, yes! Part of our training would be towing forw’d to aft (bow to stern) with another ship or they would tow us. A difficult manoeuvre, but out there in the ‘Med’ it was very rough at times with warm weather.

“There were things like that which made you resentful. All ships carried out exercises making smoke, black smoke from the funnels, white from canisters on the fo’c’sle and on the quarterdeck. The white smoke was deadly, it had a sickly taste, and if the ventilators were left open on the fo’c’sle the messdecks got full of it and it took days to clear. I was never popular nor the Captain for doing that.

“But by God, he managed to get us to do it, until it was just right. Not only on ‘Hardy’, but the other four ships in the flotilla. They probably resented it more than us because it was our Captain telling them what to do. We used to talk amongst ourselves. Why are we doing this or that? However when war started and we had to take part in the Battle of Narvik, I suddenly realised how helpful it had all been.”

Cyril was also asked: “What do you think of the ‘Hardy’ to serve on and Warburton-Lee’s disciplinary approach?”

He immediately replied: “To an extent it was a happy crew, we Torpedomen and Asdic ratings shared a messdeck. We all got on well together. Captain Warburton-Lee was a stickler for keeping fit. Even on the Equator he would have us running up and down the deck from the fo’c’sle to the quarterdeck. It was a common sight to see nearly the whole ship’s company running around the ship, up the ladder on the starboard side to the forecastle, down the one on the port side, along the iron deck to the quarter deck, round this and back again, time after time. All this, even on the Equator in a temperature 100 to 120 degrees, sometimes fully dressed in our whites.

“After the run we would do physical jerks on the iron deck, this being the hottest deck due to having the boiler room and engine room underneath it. Mind you, he would do it himself and on the quarterdeck he would do his press-ups. He was also very much a disciplinarian, which once again may have been resented by some of the crew. But when it came to being in action, that discipline and fitness came in very handy. Without this, none of us in any of the other ships could have managed to do what we did. The only thing we did not do was jump over the side for a swim, and I am sure the skipper would have had us doing that if there had been no sharks around!

“Being the leader of the flotilla, our ship had more officers than the other four ships; the extra ones being the Torpedo, Gunnery, Asdic, Signals and Paymaster. The latter being the Captain’s Secretary. We also had an Engineer Commander. The Torpedo Officer was Lt Heppel, the Paymaster was Lt Stanning. Both these officers figure prominently in the story to follow. I hope that you will understand that because of having this staff of specialist officers, our ship’s company were expected to do much better than the others during the various exercises. Our Captain made sure we did.

“Although it was very hard work for all the ship’s companies involved, we had cause to be thankful in later months for the way he made us train, and the way he pushed us to perfection at our various jobs. The battle which will be unfolded to you tested us all to the utmost and I’m sure that as you read about it you will agree, that all we went through during our training off the coast of Malta, held us in good stead during and after the battle.”

Bill Pulford appears to go along with Cyril’s opinion. Here, Bill describes his impressions after joining ‘Hardy’ in January 1940, where he found a relatively “happy crew and a strictly run ship by a fastidious Captain. There was good camaraderie between the lower deck and officers. Captain Warburton-Lee was not aloof, but he kept himself to himself as much as possible. I liked him and I think everyone else did. There is always a faction that thought Warburton-Lee was a slave driver, but ‘hells bells’ we were on his ship and there was a war on! He never bullied, but we knew he was the Captain. When he was about he never failed to speak to anyone. He chose his own men as much as possible; he demanded the best and he got the best.

“When we were in harbour – and that was not often – if there were any ‘Submarine Warnings’, we would always go out first. The only time we would get a full night in was if ‘Kelly’ (HMS Kelly) was also in. This was because Warburton-Lee and Lord Louis Mountbatten were the greatest of friends. The two Captains would get together and we’d expect a quiet night. However, he was always there, four hours on, four hours off, and the mere fact he was there kept us there. If he could do it, we could; that’s all there was to it. The only time I knew him to be apprehensive was before we went into action at Narvik, wondering how the men would react the first time in action. However, he said to his Secretary (Paymaster Lieutenant Stanning) after the first opening engagement, ‘My fears were unfounded’.”

Bert Mason also gives his personal impressions of the ‘skipper’, Captain Warburton-Lee: “Our skipper was a real task master, intent on maximum efficiency and many times I fell foul of him when he was taking his walking exercise on the upper deck adjacent to the torpedo tubes. Seeing something secured that displeased him, he would blast me with verbal abuse, saying something like; ‘Tied up like a bloody bunch of flowers’ etc. I lived in mortal fear of him.”

Cyril gives another personal example of the Captain’s leadership qualities. “One day I was on the torpedo tubes with one of our crew, a chap renowned as being a ‘scruffy fellow’, who had no razor blades. As we were spending so much time at sea, the canteen ran out of them. Those of us that had blades were OK, but this fellow wouldn’t think of borrowing one from even his best mates. He was determined to go unshaven.

“Anyway, we were brightening up the brass work on a scorching hot day, then the Captain came along the iron deck going towards the Bridge. As he passed he looked at me. I was always clean shaven and wearing clean overalls; I was entirely different to my mate, so it stood out. Having looked at me first and then the other chap he said, ‘When did you last have a shave, is it about time you had a shave then?’

“The instant reply was not very convincing, ‘I can’t Sir, there are no razor blades in the canteen – they’ve run out.’

“‘Well Cope here he had a shave, he’s all right. Right, just wait here a minute.’ Off the Captain went returning shortly. ‘Right, there is a new blade. Go to the wash room and get a wash and shave. I don’t want to see you like that again, unshaven.’”

However, there were other sides to Captain Bernard Warburton-Lee’s temperament. Bert Mason recalls that in January 1940 there was a partial change of crew on board ‘Hardy’ in Devonport. “We exchanged a few of the ship’s personnel. One of those joining was ‘Tubby’ Cock, the new Chief Buffer, so called because he was an enormous rotund man. He was told by the skipper, Captain Warburton-Lee, to return to the barracks, but apparently replied: ‘I’m here and here I will stay’. And stay he did.” This illustrates an example of where Bernard would be seen as a fair minded person, who could listen to other people’s determined viewpoints and be persuaded. This was especially so in ‘Tubby’’s case: his Captain could see a character with courage and unique man-management skills. These assets would be much needed when the going got tough; ‘Tubby’ lived up to his ‘skipper’’s expectations.

One, if not the only, remaining ‘Hardy’ survivor is Ralph Brigginshaw. Now aged ninety-two, he describes his time as a nineteen year old Signalman (who kept watches on the Bridge) in a letter dated June 2012: “When we were on duty on the Bridge we were always kept on our toes. I am sure all the Signals staff liked him.”

However, a final testimony to Bernard as Captain of the ‘Hardy’ comes from Walter Mitchell, then a Seaman ‘Gunner’, as recorded in his local newspaper: “Captain Warburton-Lee was a leader amongst men; the finest man a man could wish to serve under. I am proud to have sailed under him, and ‘Hardy’’s crew. Well if I ever have to go into such action again, I hope it is with a crew like that. They were fine.”

3

Outbreak of War

“Little did our ship’s company realise when we left Plymouth in June 1939 that our two and a half years’ commission on the Mediterranean station would be cut short by the actions of the little man with the Charlie Chaplin moustache. Our ship’s company had commissioned ‘Hardy’ early in June knowing where we were bound for and for how long. Before leaving on our journey, a group from a ‘Historical Society’ presented the Captain and ship’s company with the last letter written by Admiral Lord Nelson to Captain Hardy before the ‘Battle of Trafalgar’.

“There we were then, en route for Gibraltar. ‘Hardy’ was the leader of the 2nd