No Pyrrhic Victories E-Book

E C Coleman

• Herausgeber: The History Press
• Kategorie: Geisteswissenschaft
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 617

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2014

Beschreibung

In early 1918, it seemed to many that the British people and the Allies were close to defeat. At home, the chief culprit was the German U-boat. Sailing almost unopposed from the North Sea ports of Zeebrugge and Ostend, the submarines were taking a heavy toll on Allied shipping, and no one seemed to be doing anything about it. The job eventually went to Vice Admiral Roger Keyes, 'The Modern Nelson', who had a long record of close action with enemies from China to the Heligoland Bight. Equally, he was unafraid of those senior to him whom he considered to be incompetent. Within days of his appointment Keyes had put together an audacious plan to sink blockships in the enemy-held ports. However, his success, along with the eleven VCs won in the battles, led his detractors to play down his achievement, even by using German propaganda against him. This entirely new account, containing groundbreaking research and rare illustrations throughout, at last sets the record straight about these important engagements.

Leseprobe

Vice Admiral Sir Roger Keyes.

Acknowledgements

This story could not have been told without the willing help of a number of people and organisations. In particular, I wish to thank the Royal Marines Museum archivist Matthew Little, and other members of the museum’s staff who helped me get started. I am also grateful for the help provided by the Fleet Air Arm Museum and Chief Petty Officer Edmund Coleman who acted as my local ‘runner’. All images are part of my collection unless otherwise credited.

I am deeply indebted for their help and encouragement to Josephine Keyes, the granddaughter of Admiral of the Fleet, the Lord Keyes; to the Dowager Lady Kennet, the daughter of Captain Bryan Adams and daughter-in-law of Commander Edward Hilton Young; to Commander Ralph Wykes-Sneyd AFC RN, the grandson of Vice Admiral R. Wykes-Sneyd; to Muffet Billyard-Leake and Richard Britten-Long Laird, both descendants of Captain E.W. Billyard-Leake, and especially to his daughter Mrs Mary Fox. I am equally grateful to the Reverend Sir John Alleyne for allowing me access to his father’s personal account of the Ostend action.

I would also like to thank Commander Denis Maly of the Belgian Royal Naval Reserve, and Vice-President of the Port of Zeebrugge Technical Department, for his kind assistance and encouragement. Also Eric Stabbinck Van Parijs of the Zeebrugge Port Authority for the information given and tolerance shown during our detailed tour of the mole and the lighthouse extension.

The important assistance given by Mrs Susan Breeson, whose rigidly non-naval reading of the manuscript was of vital help, and also to Mike Ingham (formerly of the Merchant Navy), whose commonsense advice on matters of conflicting nature was of great value. Also to my wife, Joy, for turning a blind eye to an eternity of gardening and household-repair delays.

Finally, I am deeply grateful to those men of the Zeebrugge and Ostend raids who lost their lives, or suffered grievous injuries, in the cause of freedom. The price they paid must never be devalued.

Contents

Title

Acknowledgements

Foreword by Josephine Keyes

Foreword by Commander Ralph Wykes-Sneyd

Introduction

1 The Problem

2 The Answer

3 The Challenge

4 The Plan

5 The Muster

6 The Trial by Patience

7 The Ostend Raid

8 The Inferno

9 The Mole

10 The Blockships

11 Preparations for the Second Ostend Raid

12 The Reckoning

13 The Defence Against Disenchantment

Epilogue

Select Bibliography

By the Same Author

Copyright

Forewordby Josephine Keyes

I was very pleased to be invited to write a foreword to No Pyrrhic Victories, an expert reassessment of the success (or otherwise) of my grandfather Roger Keyes’ naval actions at Zeebrugge and Ostend in 1918.

Ernest Coleman has cast his wonderfully sceptical eye over yet another ‘accepted version’ and come to some very interesting conclusions. Indeed he proves that the idea that the raid was a failure was based entirely on German propaganda, which successfully persuaded everyone that the channel was not obstructed by the sunken block ships for long, and indeed that a submarine left the base a day later. A great deal of effort and sleight of hand appears to have been employed to this end but, crucially, there is no photographic evidence at all that it did.

Coleman puts forward a series of intriguing theories about how this trick was achieved including: ‘It would have been a small thing to have put UB16 onto a barge, covered her with tarpaulins, and towed her to the North Sea whilst persuading the Dutch to look the other way’ for instance. The other theory, again backed up with considerable evidence, is that UB16 was never in the base in the first place. The families of the brave warriors, so many of whom gave their lives, will be immensely relieved to hear this and I heartily recommend they read the book.

In this year of remembrance for all who were killed in the First World War, the actions of the Royal Navy are often forgotten. Indeed, as Coleman points out, it was not a naval war. So it is fitting that this book sets the record straight now. The National Portrait Gallery came to a similar conclusion when it dug out a huge, sagging, damaged and neglected portrait of the naval leaders of the First World War, including Roger Keyes, and had it beautifully restored to hang in pride of place, and tour the country. My grandfather’s status as a forgotten hero appears to be shifting.

By a strange chance, three out of four of my children’s grandfathers were at Zeebrugge, so it is particularly pleasing that this book is now in print to help them understand their family history more positively. Their paternal grandfathers, Captain Bryan Adams and Lieutenant Edward Hilton Young, met for the first time during the battle. It is said that when Young was wounded in the arm, it was Adams who sent him below, thereby probably saving his life, as Young had no intention himself of ceasing his ‘self-appointed duty of cheering everybody up’. Young’s arm was subsequently amputated, demonstrating the seriousness of the wound. The two gallant gentlemen did not meet again until their children, Elizabeth Adams and Wayland Young, fell in love.

Last year we went to Ostend for the unveiling of the beautifully restored Vindictive memorial. The King and Queen attended, and my youngest laid wreaths. It is intensely moving to see how the grandfathers’, and all the other brave men’s actions are remembered and honoured in Belgium, when they are either forgotten or misrepresented here.

Coleman wears his learning and diligent research lightly, while never underestimating the seriousness of his subject matter. I particularly liked this on the ‘inaccuracy’ of German reporting of the action: ‘The vessel was so completely destroyed that no fragment remained, either in German or in British, records.’

I am sure I speak on behalf of all the descendants when I say that we are grateful that the record has been straightened up, in proper naval fashion, in such a conclusive and learned way.

Josephine Keyes, granddaughter of Admiral of the Fleet, Lord Keyes

Forewordby Commander Ralph Wykes-Sneyd

As the country turns its attention to events of 100 years ago, the Great War, Ernest Coleman’s comprehensive account and detailed analysis of the Zeebrugge Raid is a timely and well-researched contribution.

Since Trafalgar, 100 years before, Great Britain had enjoyed the security that accompanied supremacy of the high seas, the benefits of the greatest maritime trading empire the world had seen and the prosperity that went with it. The Royal Navy remained predominate but had become complacent, preoccupied with spit, polish and protocol to the detriment of fighting efficiency. In 1914 the nation regarded the Home Fleet as the bastion of its security but neither Britain nor Germany relished an Armageddon of their Grand Fleets for fear of the consequences of losing. Both were ill prepared to deal with the threat from a weapon system considered at the outbreak of war to be of marginal importance, at least in Britain; the submarine and the U-boat in particular.

In February 1915, following Germany’s declaration of unrestricted U-boat warfare, the support lifelines to the empire and neutral America as well as to the Allied armies in France were critically threatened. Unrestricted warfare also raised the risk to shipping of neutral countries, and would inevitably garner support for the Allied cause. Could Britain be brought to submission through starvation before American muscle was brought to bear in Europe?

The Chiefs of Staff were without answer to the crippling and unsustainable losses from U-boat attrition of Atlantic shipping. In 1917 food reserves fell to less than six weeks: Britain was being brought inexorably to the brink of defeat. Desperate measures were needed to disrupt the U-boat menace, including denying U-boats their bases and extending their transit to the Atlantic. If their ports could not be engaged by land, the objective of the third battle of Ypres was the expulsion of the Germans from Flanders and the capture of Zeebrugge and Ostend, then they must be harassed from sea.

The Zeebrugge Raid was astonishingly audacious and meticulously planned with impressive examples of British inventiveness. My grandfather, Ralph Sneyd, who in Thetis led the blockships, was wholly convinced the operation was necessary. He, like the others, was a volunteer but all had been told that this was not an operation from which they could expect to return. It was a highly risky but feasible operation. Moreover it offered the Navy, who in the mind of the British public had had a comparatively quiet war, the opportunity to rekindle and demonstrate its traditional appetite for offensive action, in Nelsonian style.

As one is gripped by Coleman’s telling of the story, one cannot be other than hugely impressed by the valour, devotion, dedication and outstanding competence of those who took part, and all underpinned by superb seamanship and exceptional courage in the most demanding of circumstances. The cost in lives was alarmingly high, even by standards of the time and inevitably consumed the thoughts of those who returned. We do appreciate, however, that the Great War and all that it involved changed our society forever, arguably, more so than any other event in our island’s history. We are right to reflect today on our debt to the generation that included those who went to Zeebrugge on St George’s Day in 1918.

Historians have argued, at times inconclusively it seems, about the success of the Zeebrugge Raid, and personal agendas have loomed large in many assessments.

Nevertheless, success there was; first, the objective to disrupt the U-boats and their bases was achieved and thereafter the U-boats were on the back foot for the remainder of the war. The effect would have been even greater, in consolidation, by bombing the German craft bottled up in the canals. Of course, by then, the Navy no longer controlled its own air power.

Second, the result was a huge boost to British and Allied morale; a rare and desperately needed victory when Germany’s spring offensive on the Western Front threatened to collapse the Allied lines; war weariness was beginning to set in at home.

Third, the raid was inspirational and nurtured the Royal Navy’s appetite for offensive action; Zeebrugge was the prelude to the raids to St Nazaire, Bordeaux, and the fjords of Norway enshrined in the notion ‘They can because they think they can’.

Commander Ralph Wykes-Sneyd AFC RN, Grandson of Vice-Admiral Ralph Wykes-Sneyd, the leader of the Zeebrugge blockships.

Introduction

In August 1914 the majority of the people of Great Britain and her overseas empire firmly believed that the war against Germany and her Austrian allies would be ‘over by Christmas’. The only difficulty would be working out the date that the Rhine would be crossed by the victorious British forces.

The people of Britain had good reason to think this way. The Royal Navy, with its tradition of victory, was, ton for ton, more than twice the size of the German Navy, and no one expected much of a threat from the Austrians at sea. Germany had a powerful army but much of her manpower would be directed towards the east, where the Russians, with their seemingly unlimited resources, presented a formidable foe. The British Army was smaller than the German, but professionally trained by men who had experienced combat in the Boer War and supported, not just by the French and the Belgians, but also by men from her overseas dominions and colonies. Moreover, the cause itself was good. Germany had flagrantly attacked Belgium in defiance of a treaty between the two countries, and Britain intended to honour her own part in that same treaty – to come to Belgium’s aid if that country was attacked.

Over three-and-a-half years later, however, things looked decidedly different. Instead of being over by Christmas, the war had seen four Christmases come and go. With the high rate of attrition in the trenches along the Western Front, confidence in the outcome of the war had been severely dented. The threat of food shortages, failure on the field of battle, the high rate of casualties, and the rise of the ‘Disenchantment School’ (based upon the proposal that ‘victory is not worth the price’), caused morale to fall away.

The year 1917 and the early months of 1918 had proved especially trying. The end of 1916 had seen the arrival of a new prime minister, David Lloyd George. He did not take long to wake up to the fact that the people would soon start to blame him for the casualties, particularly on the Western Front. An ‘Easterner’ by preference, he had convinced himself that the answer to the stalemate in the trenches was to send enough troops to the eastern Mediterranean to knock Turkey out of the war. This would allow Russia, and her resources, access to the Mediterranean and a supply route that would benefit both her and Great Britain.

For a time it seemed as if Lloyd George’s eastern proposal held the answer to the war’s outcome. Kut-al-Amara was recaptured in February 1917 and Baghdad two weeks later. Shortly after General Allanby began his Palestine offensive in October the same year, Jerusalem was back in Christian hands for the first time since the Crusades. Two months later, Jericho was added to the victories in the east.

The chief problem with Lloyd George’s plan, however, was that the generals on the Western Front, in particular the British commander-in-chief, Field Marshal Sir Douglas Haig, did not agree, and refused to give up troops that could be sent to the east. Haig and his commanders, fully supported by the French, were firm in their belief that the decisive theatre of war was in France, and that any weakening of their strength risked a German breakthrough that could result in an Allied defeat. In addition, the sending of hundreds of thousands of troops and supplies through the Mediterranean could easily place their ships in the periscope crosswires of German submarines – the wide-ranging and effective ‘U-boats’.

Lloyd George’s response to his military leader’s reluctance to fall in with his ideas was to cause shock and consternation throughout the army. As the bulk of the fighting was taking place on French soil, it seemed entirely reasonable to allow the French military leadership to control the overall strategy. In effect this meant that the British Army would, whenever possible, act in a coordinated manner with the French yet, at the same time, retain its independence. Lloyd George, however, handed over complete control of the British Army to the French.

It took considerable, desperate, renegotiating for the British military leadership to re-establish its relationship to the French high command. Eventually it was agreed that the British Army would come under the control of the French commander-in-chief, General Nivelle, solely for the duration of his 1917 spring offensive. Lloyd George, nevertheless, had managed to poison his relations with his own military leaders for the remainder of the war – an unexpected bonus for the enemy.

In the outcome, however, Nivelle’s plans turned into disaster. Only on the British section of the front with the Canadians at Vimy Ridge and the British themselves at Arras was any progress made. The French, buoyed up with great expectations, had achieved little beyond a few gains where the enemy had retreated to pre-prepared positions and from where they refused to be moved. The effect of this failure was such that mutinies broke out in the French Army.

More bad news came from the Italian front. The Italian Army had managed to hold its own against the Austrians but had failed to produce any decisive actions. The Germans, alarmed at the Austrians’ failure to advance against the Italians, decided to send reinforcements and, in late October 1917, led an attack centred around the town of Caporetto. Unused to such ferocity, the Italians fell back with such rapidity that, within a few days, they had lost almost a third of a million men – mainly as prisoners – along with most of their artillery, and had retreated to within 20 miles of Venice. The Austro-German army, however, fell victim to its own success. So fast, and so far, had been the retreat, that the advancing forces stretched their supply lines to breaking point. They had no choice but to halt and consolidate their gains. This, in turn, allowed time for the arrival of six French and five British divisions – troops who were desperately needed in France.

There had seemed to be at least one bright hope in the gloom of events in 1917. Woodrow Wilson, the president of the United States of America, was a pacifist by nature and a neutral by inclination, but he was shaken to the core when, thanks to British naval intelligence carefully brought to his attention, he learned that the Germans were encouraging the Mexicans across his southern border to attack the United States. In return for keeping the Americans out of the European war, the Germans offered the Mexicans military and financial aid that would lead to the return of New Mexico, Arizona, and Texas. There had been considerable American loss of life at sea due to submarine attacks and in March 1917, another five US ships were sunk as a result of the German policy of unrestricted submarine warfare. These losses, along with the attempt to coerce Mexico into an attack on the US, persuaded President Wilson to declare war on Germany despite a strong opposition from German and Irish groups, and a Chief of Naval Operations who declared that he ‘would as soon fight the British as the Germans’.

The Germans themselves were of the opinion that the United States was wholly unprepared for war and would take so long to get involved that Germany could secure a victory before the potential might of America could be brought to bear. By the end of 1917 and the beginning of 1918, it seemed as if the Germans were to be proved right.

In order to be seen as strictly neutral ‘in thought and deed’, Wilson had kept the US Army at peacetime levels with no preparation for war. Even if he doubled its size by adding the National Guard, the combined force would have been outnumbered twenty to one by the German Army. Consequently, even a year after its entry into the war, and despite great promise shown in minor engagements, the USA had still not taken a decisive part in the fighting.

As if to balance the entry of the USA into the war, the early months of 1917 saw dramatic changes on the Eastern Front. The Russian Army, after few victories and many defeats, starved of food and equipment, and with men deserting in their hundreds of thousands, saw its morale crumble to the point of total ineffectiveness. In the capital, Petrograd, the local garrison was ordered to confront strikers and rioters, but the soldiers refused their orders and turned on their officers. The Tsar abdicated and a constitutional government was formed, eventually coming under the leadership of a young socialist lawyer, Alexander Kerensky.

Kerensky, in an effort to impress his western allies, mounted an assault upon the Austrians and gained some early successes, but the Germans, rallying to the Austrians’ assistance, drove the Russians back. In less than three weeks, the Russian Army was in headlong retreat. At this, the Germans pressed home their attack, causing the Russian Army to disintegrate, followed by the collapse of the Kerensky government. The Bolsheviks, under Vladimir Lenin, then took over, governing through local workers’ councils or ‘Soviets’.

In late December 1917 the Bolsheviks agreed an armistice with the Germans and the other Central Powers but, through a series of disagreements among the Bolsheviks themselves, the Germans ignored the armistice and, in February the following year, captured Belarus, Ukraine, and the Baltic States. The Bolsheviks responded by signing the Brest-Litovsk Treaty on 3 March. The Russians were now out of the war, freeing a huge amount of manpower and equipment to be transferred to the Western Front.

When the Canadians and the British made their gains during the ill-fated Nivelle offensive in the spring of 1917, they had done so at the cost of almost 159,000 casualties. Inevitably, Lloyd George blamed Haig for the losses, but did nothing to stop the field marshal when he decided that he needed to attack the Germans in strength in order to take the pressure off the weakened French. In addition to aiding their ally, there was another possibility open to the British. If the front line could be pushed back far enough, the Channel ports of Ostend and Zeebrugge could be taken. These important outlets to the sea could not only be used as a means of supplying the army as it advanced but, once taken, would put a stop to their use by enemy submarines.

The battle began well when a number of mines were exploded beneath the German defences before Messines Ridge. The position was taken at a relatively small cost, but then the momentum was lost when Haig decided on a change of command, giving the Germans time to strengthen their positions. After only minor gains the British then faced almost a month of continuous rain, which, when combined with the heaviest artillery fire known since the beginning of the war, turned the ground over which they fought into an impassable quagmire. The construction of trenches and dugouts was impossible and the troops could do no more than attack or defend water-filled shell craters in a sea of mud.

Eventually, in November, an insignificant ridge just to the north of Passchendaele proved to be the limit of the advance. Despite enormous courage, endurance, and determination, barely a dozen miles had been gained. The pressure had been taken off the French but the Belgian ports still remained in German hands – and Lloyd George refused to allow fresh troops to be sent to Haig to replace the losses incurred in the battle.

By March 1918 the German general, Erich Ludendorff, had at his disposal 750,000 men and the largest assembly of heavy artillery ever seen on the Western Front, which he was about to use against 300,000 British troops along a 50-mile front stretching from Arras to St Quentin. The blow fell on 21 March and the British, completely overwhelmed, were sent reeling back. In just over two weeks the Germans had advanced an astonishing 40 miles before their leading troops, by now well beyond the range of their much more slowly moving artillery, halted to consolidate their gains. Ludendorff then switched his attack to the south of Ypres, where the line had been left in the care of two poorly trained and unenthusiastic Portuguese divisions. Within three days all the ground captured at Messines and Passchendaele had been lost and Haig was forced to issue a desperate order to his troops: ‘There is no other course open to us but to fight it out. Every position must be held to the last man: there must be no retirement. With our backs to the wall and believing in the justice of our cause each one of us must fight on to the end.’

Such, then, was the situation on the Western Front, and the news of the retreat was not long in reaching the British public – a people already worn down by recent waves of bad news. But it was not the worst that they heard.

The Royal Navy had not had a good war. In just over a century since Nelson and Trafalgar, British seamen had remained virtually unchallenged throughout the world. Even the occasional defeats at the hands of the Americans during the war of 1812 proved to have been American duplicity over the question of their ships’ firepower. Once this had been realised, the American ships were either defeated or kept in harbour. The Royal Navy had broken the back of the slave trade, swept Chinese pirates from the sea, led exploration at the Poles, across Africa, and through the Middle East. It had fought Queen Victoria’s wars and underpinned the empire. However, since August 1914 the demand ‘What is the Navy doing?’ was frequently heard both in the press and on the street:

What is the British Navy doing?

We have the right to ask,

In this mighty war that’s being waged,

Do they fulfil their task?

Now tell me pray! What have they done?

Why don’t they show some fight?

And fetch the German warships out

From Heligoland Bight?

The Navy, by early 1918 already under its fifth First Sea Lord since the beginning of the war, was apparently demonstrating that it was urgently in need of training in everything from operational coordination to basic gunnery. In the very first action against the enemy, the Battle of Heligoland Bight on 28 August 1914, the Admiralty agreed the plan – and then changed it without telling some of the senior officers involved. This very nearly resulted in the British ships opening fire on each other. Three weeks later, three British cruisers were off the Dutch coast when one of them was torpedoed by the German submarine U9. The captain of the submarine could hardly believe his eyes as the remaining two cruisers closed with the sinking ship to take off survivors. Within a very short time, all three cruisers were at the bottom of the sea, and the German people had received a very cheap boost to their morale.

In November of the same year, off the Chilean port of Coronel, a British squadron was outmanoeuvred by German ships to the extent that they were highlighted against a setting sun. Out of the four British ships, only one escaped being sunk. In the retaliatory battle off the Falkland Islands, which followed five weeks later, two British battle-cruisers had to fire 1,234 12in shells in order to sink two German armoured cruisers. In January 1915, at the Battle of the Dogger Bank, the flagship ordered each of the escorting battle-cruisers to open fire on a particular enemy ship. One of the battle-cruiser captains made the mistake of firing on the same ship as the flagship, leaving his actual target unmolested and free to attack the admiral. As if such an action was not bad enough, the battle-cruiser captain then assumed that the fall of shell from the flagship was his own and adjusted his range and direction accordingly – causing no damage to the enemy whatsoever.

Admiral Sir John Jellicoe

There were other examples but none managed to combine blunders with brilliant seamanship, bad luck and good fortune in quite the same way as happened at the Battle of Jutland. In May 1916 the Admiralty ordered Admiral Sir John Jellicoe, the commander-in-chief of the Grand Fleet, out to sea. As he left Scapa Flow in the Orkney Islands, the Battle-Cruiser Fleet, under the command of Vice Admiral Sir David Beatty, in company with four battleships, sailed from Rosyth. The battle-cruisers were to join Jellicoe’s battleships some 90 miles west of the entrance to the Skagerrak – the strait running between Norway and Denmark. It was hoped that the appearance of the Grand Fleet in those waters would tempt the German High Seas Fleet out of harbour. What neither Jellicoe nor Beatty knew was that the High Seas Fleet was already out of its anchorage at Jade Bay (to the south of Wilhelmshaven) with the original intention of shelling the British coast. However, bad weather caused the plan to be cancelled and, instead, the Germans decided to visit the entrance to the Skagerrak in the hope of enticing the Grand Fleet out of Scapa Flow.

Having reached the assembly point, Beatty turned to the north in an attempt to locate Jellicoe, some 70 miles in that direction. As he did so, two of his light cruisers, acting with destroyers as a screen to the battle-cruisers, investigated smoke on the horizon. They discovered a number of German destroyers and opened fire in the belief that they were cruisers. In doing so, they alerted the German battle-cruisers long before there was any hope of Beatty joining up with Jellicoe. When he received news of the enemy, Beatty ordered his ships to turn south-east in an attempt to get between the Germans and the coast. The message failed to reach his battleships, which continued to sail northwards. Eventually the two opposing battle-cruiser squadrons met and opened fire. After seventeen minutes the British Indefatigable exploded, followed twenty minutes later by the Queen Mary, prompting Beatty’s remark that ‘there seems to be something wrong with our bloody ships today!’ This was followed by an order to close with the enemy. The Germans, however, were frightened off by a torpedo attack and broke off the engagement only to meet up with the German battleships. Now it was Beatty’s time to head northwards again in the hope that the enemy would follow him into the range of Jellicoe’s guns, still some 50 miles away.

At last, having fended off the encroaching German battle-cruisers, Beatty found Jellicoe and placed himself at the front of the approaching battleships. As he did so, he ordered his four battleships to position themselves at the rear of Jellicoe’s ships. In making her turn, the battleship Warspite’s rudder jammed causing her to continuously circle at 25 knots.

On encountering the German fleet, Jellicoe demonstrated his skills by forming his ships into line of battle and twice crossing the enemy’s ‘T’, thus being able to bring all his guns to bear on the foremost enemy ship, which could only reply with her forward guns. Nevertheless, the battle-cruiser Invincible was sunk in the general action. Eventually, under the cover of smokescreens, the German battle line turned away as their destroyers launched thirty-one torpedoes at the British fleet. Astonishingly, Jellicoe ordered his battleships to turn away from the attack. All the torpedoes missed their targets and passed harmlessly between the British ships. But had Jellicoe turned towards the torpedoes, there was every chance that the exact same result would have happened, and his ships could have pressed on immediately after the enemy. Instead, by the time he turned his ships around, the German fleet was nowhere to be seen.

With no clue as to the enemy’s whereabouts, Jellicoe headed southwards with the battle-cruisers ahead of him and a force of cruisers and destroyers to his rear. At about midnight, these rearmost ships found themselves surrounded by a mass of large ships heading eastwards. Unsure of what was happening, they held their fire until they were illuminated by searchlights and hit by the fire of heavy guns. The German fleet was passing through the rearguard, about 6 miles astern of Jellicoe. He continued to the south in the belief that the searchlights and gunfire was nothing more than an isolated engagement between light forces. As it was, the Germans paid for their rash charge through the British lines when two torpedoes hit the battleship Pommern. She promptly exploded and sank – the only battleship casualty of the battle. Revenge came with the arrival of the armoured cruiser HMS Black Prince, whose captain mistook the Germans for the British fleet – and was blown out of the water for his mistake.

At 2.30 a.m., Jellicoe drew his fleet around him and turned northwards in the hope that the morning light would reveal the German fleet. But it was too late. An Admiralty signal told him that the enemy had almost reached the safety of Jade Bay. The battle was over.

The British battle casualties amounted to 6,097 killed and 510 wounded. The Germans had 2,551 killed with 507 wounded. Jellicoe’s fleet lost three battle-cruisers, three cruisers, and eight destroyers. The enemy lost one battle-cruiser, one old battleship, four cruisers, and five destroyers.

But mere numbers do not give the true impression of the battle’s outcome. The day following the engagement, Jellicoe was able to signal the Admiralty that the British fleet was ready to sail at four hours’ notice. It took another six weeks before the Germans could send a similar signal, and fourteen months were to pass before the High Seas Fleet was to leave harbour. In September 1917 it steamed into the Baltic to aid the army in its operations against Russia, whilst a squadron of cruisers attacked a British convoy in the North Sea. In the Baltic operations, three battleships were damaged by mines. On its return, the High Seas Fleet was never to emerge again, except to surrender. Germany’s naval war was otherwise to be left to her light forces and U-boats.

In February 1915 Germany had declared a blockade of British waters, which, due to the fear of losing the High Seas Fleet, would be carried out mainly by submarines. It was a reasonable decision but poorly executed. Less than a month after the blockade was imposed, an American tanker was torpedoed. In early May the Cunard liner Lusitania was sunk with a large loss of life, including several Americans. Later in the month the Nebraskan was torpedoed without warning. More American lives were lost when the British Arabic was sunk in August, followed by the US liner Hesperian. Repeated and growing threats from the United States were met by German complaints that allied merchantmen were being armed against submarines, that the Lusitania had been carrying munitions (thus making her a legitimate target), and that British ‘Q’ ships (naval-manned armed vessels disguised as merchantmen) were hunting the U-boats. The complaints failed to impress the US authorities and the Germans issued orders limiting the activities of their submarines. In truth, however, whilst the American complaints played a part in the German change of plan, the realities were that the submarine attacks were simply not working. In effect, the numbers of U-boats available were not enough. When the campaign began, only twenty-one submarines were available and, frequently, no more than four were on patrol at the same time. In March 1915 around 5,000 merchant ships left and entered British ports, yet only one out of every 238 ships came under attack.

By the beginning of 1917, the submarine arm of the German Navy had been considerably strengthened and, at the end of January, 120 U-boats were available. German strategic thinking had also changed. With a predicted loss of 600,000 tons of shipping per month, combined with the results of a poor harvest in 1916, the British could be starved into submission within five months. Even if the United States did enter the war, it could not be ready within that time, and with the loss of Great Britain and, inevitably, France, the Americans would be unlikely to continue with the prosecution of a war that had so little advantage to themselves. Accordingly, Germany declared a policy of unrestricted submarine warfare that began on 1 February 1917.

The results shocked the allies, most especially the British. In the first complete month of the new phase of unrestricted submarine warfare, over 520,000 tons of shipping was sunk. In March the figure rose to over 560,000 tons, and in April, with the Germans becoming ever more skilful in handling their U-boats, an unimagined 860,334 tons were sent to the bottom. Consternation raged throughout the government and the Admiralty. An American admiral asked Jellicoe – now the First Sea Lord – ‘Is there no solution to the problem?’ The reply, especially to an admiral who was just about to send thousands of his countrymen across the Atlantic Ocean, was appalling – ‘Absolutely none that we can see now.’

But there was a solution, an answer that had already been in operation since at least October 1914 when troops from Canada were successfully escorted from the St Laurence to Plymouth (despite the Canadian press publishing the time of sailing). In 1916, coal being transported through the North Sea, and traffic between Britain and Holland had made tempting targets for U-boats and surface vessels based on the German and Belgian coasts. To protect this shipping, destroyers had been supplied to act as escorts, their presence proving a deterrent to both above- and below-water threats. Further evidence for convoying as a means of reducing the U-boat threat came after colliers taking coal across to France in convoy revealed that their losses to submarines amounted to less than 0.2 per cent. This compared to 25 per cent amongst the remainder of Britain’s seaborne merchant traffic. Finally, the Royal Navy’s own fleets travelled in convoys as a means of mutual protection, as did the ships of the Royal Naval Transport Service. However, despite such evidence, the Admiralty argued that to concentrate a large number of ships in one place would merely provide an excellent target for the U-boats, the ships would be tied to the speed of the slowest vessel, and that merchant ships were notoriously bad at station keeping. Furthermore, not only were ports and harbours unprepared for the sudden arrival of a large fleet of merchant ships, the Royal Navy would have to take destroyers and other escorts away from other duties.

The key to cracking the problem came in the form of a major of the Royal Marine Artillery. Maurice Hankey, after spending some time with Naval Intelligence, had been appointed as secretary to the cabinet by Lloyd George. He was also secretary to the Imperial War Cabinet. Well-connected, and with access to the cabinet papers, Hankey became convinced of the need for convoying. In a memorandum entitled ‘Some suggestions for Anti-submarine Warfare’ he argued that the introduction of convoys would mean that ‘The enemy submarines, instead of attacking a defenceless prey, will know that a fight is inevitable in which he may be worsted.’ Furthermore, ‘The adoption of the convoy system would appear to offer great opportunities for mutual support by the merchant vessels themselves, apart from the defence provided by their escorts.’ His arguments persuaded Lloyd George to put pressure on the Admiralty (later claiming that the whole idea was his).

A trial ocean-going convoy was tried between Gibraltar and Britain with all the ships arriving safely. Then Atlantic crossings were made with the same, or very similar, results. And the overall results were startling. From the 25 per cent losses in April, the end of May saw losses of 0.24 per cent. During the following months the total losses rose and fell but never again were the huge losses of the early part of 1917 repeated. Nevertheless, the U-boats continued to sink ships and the national food stocks continued to dwindle. Shop windows reminded their customers that ‘England Expects Economies’, whilst posters demanded ‘Save the Wheat and Help the Fleet – Eat Less Bread’. Most pessimistic of all was Jellicoe. During a meeting of the Imperial War Cabinet in June 1917 he stunned the congregation into silence when, on hearing Haig’s plans for his Flanders offensive, the admiral drew attention to the U-boat losses and said ‘There is no good discussing plans for next spring – we cannot go on.’

By April 1918 the message had reached the people. Malnutrition had been reported amongst the poorer sections of society. Sugar had been rationed since December 1917. In February, meat and butter were also rationed. When added to the sombre tales of the German advances on the Western Front the cries went up yet again ‘What is the Navy doing?’ More to the point – what was the Navy doing about the U-boats? The Grand Fleet was still at anchor at Scapa Flow, and the U-boats were still sinking supply ships. Morale throughout the country was at a dangerously low ebb, and there was no hope on the horizon.

But someone was doing something. Something intended to jolt the people out of their despondency – something that would rock the Germans and show the allies that Great Britain could produce men from the same mould as Nelson, Hood, Rodney, Howe, and other great names from the Royal Navy’s past.

All that was needed was to get the right men, in the right place, at the right time.

1

The Problem

Vice Admiral Sir Reginald Bacon, the son of a clergyman, may be said to have had an interesting, even successful, career – until, that is, 1909. Before that time he had shown himself to be a willing, competent, officer with an absorbing interest in engineering. As a commander serving in HMS Theseus during the 1897 punitive expedition against the West African state of Benin, he served as the expedition’s intelligence officer. Ordered ashore on one occasion with a group of his ship’s seamen and marines and a party of Hausa natives, he earned himself a Distinguished Service Order by burning down a village – an event he later recorded as resulting ‘in the capture of one parrot’.

Vice Admiral Sir Reginald Bacon

Bacon’s next appointment was to the Mediterranean Fleet, where he became a member of the ‘Fishpool’, a collection of promising officers that clustered around the station’s commander-in-chief, Vice Admiral Sir John Fisher. The admiral encouraged these officers to write to him personally with any concerns, or ideas, they may have had regarding the personalities and activities with which they were involved. This caused outrage amongst senior officers who felt they were being spied upon by Fisher’s acolytes. The admiral, however, ignored their indignation and Bacon continued to write to him for several years – eventually to his own cost.

Thanks in part to Fisher’s influence but, at the same time, in recognition of Bacon’s undoubted abilities, he was promoted captain and appointed as the first ‘inspector of submarines’. It was an appointment seemingly made for his talents, and he was not long in making his mark on the fledgling Submarine Service. Unhappy with the American-designed ‘Holland’ boats with their inefficient periscopes and their poor sea-keeping design, he led teams that produced an effective ‘attack’ periscope and introduced the ‘conning tower’ into the design of the new ‘A’ boats. He went a step too far in 1902, however, when he attempted to give names to the submarines under his command. His suggestion of names such as Ichthyosaurus, Pistosaurus, Nothosaurus and Plesiosaurus was considered by the senior naval lord as ‘rather formidable’ (with which the First Lord concurred in a short note – ‘I agree!’).

When Fisher was appointed to the Admiralty as Senior Naval Lord (a title he promptly changed to the earlier style of ‘First Sea Lord’), he took Bacon as his ‘naval assistant’ and also made him a member of his Committee on Designs. The committee oversaw the design and build of the new, all-big-gun battleship HMS Dreadnaught. Almost inevitably, the 43-year-old Bacon was appointed as her first captain, taking her into the Mediterranean for trials and ‘work up’. There he observed at first hand the problems of design by committee. The officer’s accommodation had – against all tradition – been placed forward in the ship, where they suffered the noise and vibration of the auxiliary machinery. Far worse was the positioning of the foremast behind the forward funnel. This meant that the men stationed in the foretop, used for spotting the fall of shells on and around a target, felt the full blast of the exhaust gases from the funnel.

Bacon also used his time on the Mediterranean Station to keep up his correspondence with Fisher, especially concerning the station’s commander-in-chief, Vice Admiral Lord Charles Beresford – Fisher’s greatest critic.

In 1907 Fisher had Bacon back at the Admiralty as ‘director of naval ordnance and torpedoes’ and, in July 1909, he was promoted to rear admiral. Almost immediately afterward, Fisher sent copies of the letters he had received from Bacon to other senior naval officers. Inevitably the contents became public knowledge. His criticisms of his superiors were of such magnitude that even Fisher could not protect him – Bacon had no other option but to resign.

At the same time as Bacon’s resignation in November, the managing director of the Coventry Ordnance Works, a Mr H.H. Mulliner, who had frequent disagreements with the director of naval ordnance and torpedoes, and was also noted for supplying information to the parliamentary opposition parties, also resigned. This happy coincidence, which left an important vacancy at Coventry, was met by Rear Admiral Bacon’s application for the post – one that was happily accepted. Under his management – and through contacts at the Admiralty and War Office – the Coventry works were soon supplying the Royal Navy with 5.5in guns and the army with 9.2in howitzers. The particular success of the latter weapon led (as a private enterprise of the Coventry works) to the design of a huge, 15in howitzer intended for the army. The first lord of the Admiralty, Winston Churchill, however, decided that the Royal Marine Artillery should have the new weapon and created the Royal Marine Howitzer Brigade.

Each of the new howitzers weighed just under 11 tons, and required a team of sixty men and three giant steam tractors to move them. In order to see that they were properly deployed, Bacon resigned as the managing director and took a temporary commission in the Royal Marine Artillery as a colonel. The guns themselves were not a spectacular success. Using 1,400lb shells, their range was shorter than expected and Churchill, busy with the failed naval attack on the Dardanelles and the approaching landings at Gallipoli, lost his enthusiasm and handed the howitzers over to the army (which considered them to be ‘a waste of time’). This, in turn, left an unemployed rear admiral available for appointment.

Even before the outbreak of the war, it had been recognised that the greatest coastal threat Great Britain would face would be on the east coast. Accordingly, destroyer ‘patrol flotillas’, under the command of Rear Admiral George Ballard (‘Admiral of Patrols’), were based at Dover, on the Humber, the Tyne, and the Forth. Local Defence Flotillas would protect the naval bases along the south coast, and the Scottish coast north of the Forth was protected by the Grand Fleet. A combined flotilla was based at Harwich, made up of two destroyer flotillas and a unit of light cruisers under the command of Commodore Reginald Tyrwhitt (‘Commodore T’), and a flotilla of submarines under Commodore Roger Keyes (‘Commodore S’). In addition, a Royal Naval Reserve Trawler Division was raised from fishermen and trained as an auxiliary minesweeping service. The trawlers were grouped into ‘Trawler Stations’ and deployed along the coast along with commandeered yachts and the vessels of the Motor-boat Reserve.

The situation facing the east coast patrols was made considerably worse when the right flank of the German Army pushed its way south, down the Belgian coast, capturing the ports of Zeebrugge and Ostend before being halted just north of Nieuport. The Royal Navy wanted to destroy the facilities at the Belgian ports before they were evacuated. Zeebrugge, in particular, with its canal link to the docks at Bruges, had great potential as a destroyer and submarine base. The army, on the other hand, confident that it would soon drive the Germans back, wanted to keep the ports as undamaged as possible in case they were needed to land troops to assist in the advance. In this, the army had the germ of an idea that could have altered the entire course of the war. Instead of the British Expeditionary Force going to the aid of the French, a decision that resulted in the ‘race to the sea’ and the Belgian ports ending up in German hands, it would have been better to have used those ports to land the British Army in force on the Belgian coast. If that had been done, the Germans would have found themselves with their enemy looking over their right shoulder and bearing down on an extended, and vulnerable, flank. Supported in the early stages by naval firepower, the British Army might well have knocked the German advance sideways.

However, in response, to the changing circumstances on the Belgian coast, it was decided to make the Dover Patrol a command of its own with its first commander being Rear Admiral the Honourable Horace Hood, a great-great-grandson of Admiral Samuel Hood who had gained fame in his battles against the French in the late eighteenth century.

The Dover Patrol’s main tasks were to ensure a safe passage across the Straits of Dover for the troops on their way to, and returning from, France; to prevent enemy submarines from using the Channel as a passage to areas where they could attack shipping, and shelling enemy targets ashore. Hood’s forces consisted of four light cruisers, twenty-four destroyers, thirteen ‘B’- and ‘C’-class submarines, many trawlers and other auxiliary patrol vessels, and the Downs Boarding Flotilla (to prevent breaches in the sea blockade against Germany). Three monitors – shallow draught vessels armed with three 6in guns and two 4.7in howitzers – were commandeered after they had arrived to take part in a cancelled operation. In addition, a number of French destroyers were available at Dunkirk along with aeroplanes of the Royal Naval Air Service.

It was hoped that success would be obtained by bombarding the enemy as he tried to make his way down the Belgian coast towards the French ports. This caused the Germans problems whilst they were on the march but, as they established fixed-gun positions, Hood’s ships came up against the old naval problem – the near impossibility of successfully attacking fortifications from the sea.

The Germans were not long in coming to the conclusion that sending their U-boats through the Straits of Dover towards the Western Approaches was a much better arrangement than the alternative of submarines leaving Germany and making their way the extra 300 miles around the north of Scotland. At first, Hood could offer little more defence against the U-boats than drifters towing their drift-nets in the hope of entangling an enemy submarine. Failing that, it was hoped that the U-boats would be caught on the surface and be attacked by gunfire or by ramming. A possible answer arrived, however, in the shape of ‘indicator nets’. Made of steel wire and held afloat by buoys, the presence of a U-boat trapped in the nets was given away by the action of the buoys. By April 1915 over 20 miles of netting had been strung across the Straits of Dover with a ‘gate’ off Folkestone, and another off Cap Gris Nez. On 4 March the nets claimed their first victim when U8 was trapped and lost. The Germans were stunned by this turn of events and ordered their U-boat captains to stop using the Channel route.

However, the Admiralty was not convinced, and over the succeeding weeks, with rising losses to submarines, came to the view that Hood’s measures against the U-boats were proving ineffective. Accordingly, in April 1915, he was pushed aside and sent to command a squadron of light cruisers off the coast of Ireland. Some time later the Admiralty, in the belief that they had made a mistake, sent Hood to join the Grand Fleet. In late May 1916 he was flying his flag in HMS Invincible as part of Beatty’s battle-cruiser squadron, when a German shell penetrated ‘Q’ gun turret and exploded in the magazine, blowing the ship apart. Hood did not survive the explosion.

At the time when Hood left the Dover Patrol, Fisher was still First Sea Lord, but on the verge of resigning over his differences with Churchill concerning the Gallipoli landings. Nevertheless, he took the opportunity to recommend that the First Lord should offer the command of the Dover Patrol to Rear Admiral Bacon – an offer that was immediately accepted.

In some ways, Bacon seemed a perfect choice: his love of engineering, his feeling for science and his grasp of detail made him one of a growing band of senior naval officers who were rejecting tradition and the study of history as the way forward. Instead, they formed the ‘materiel school’, embracing design and technology at the expense of strategy and tactics.

Fisher was at the forefront of such thinking. He oversaw the introduction of the ‘Dreadnaught’ battleships, and the battle-cruisers, ignoring the danger that, by rendering all previous ships out-of-date at a stroke, he was allowing potential enemies to catch up with the British fleet. He introduced mechanical training for ratings at shore establishments, and championed the cause of fuel oil over coal, and the development of the submarine. He supported Henry Jackson, the Royal Navy’s pioneer in the use of wireless communications, and Sir Percy Scott, who developed gunnery control and instruction, and who invented the loading tray, which enabled a gun to be loaded much more quickly. Arthur Wilson, a Victoria Cross winner, who had taken over from Fisher as First Sea Lord in 1909, invented the double-barrelled torpedo tube, and the ‘net-mine’. He also introduced a modification to the searchlight, which allowed it to be used as a daylight signalling lamp. Jellicoe opposed the introduction of convoying merchantmen on the grounds that the answer must surely lie in a scientific advance to deal with the U-boats. All were very poor at delegation, preferring to keep even the smallest detail within their immediate control.

Bacon was so keen to advance the scientific side of his command that he appointed a New Zealand physicist, Lieutenant Eric Hercus, to his staff as the navy’s first ever Scientific Flag-Lieutenant. The admiral’s own engineering output in response to the needs of the war was phenomenal. He personally led each project whatever the scale, and the range of designs he produced can be illustrated by the two extremes.

With gunnery ranges of 20,000 yards, accurate shore bombardment proved very difficult to achieve as the fall of the shells could not be ‘spotted’. Consequently, adjustments could not be made to improve the accuracy. The only solution that seemed to come close to addressing the problem was to anchor a ship between the firing vessel and the coast. This vessel would be on a known bearing from the target and burning a bright searchlight. The firing ship would take a bearing on the searchlight, transfer the bearing to the shore side and add the distance to the target in calculating the angle needed for accurate shooting. The system rarely worked to the degree where it could have been considered effective. Several attempts to use seaplanes as spotters also failed.

Bacon looked at the problem and, in a very short time, came up with the answer. Accurate spotting depended upon two positions, a suitable distance apart, measuring the angles to the target and to the fall of shot. Consequently, he designed two 44ft-tall ‘portable islands’ constructed out of railway lines (‘of course, everyone laughed’). These structures could be taken close to the shore and lowered to the seabed. Once secured, a small platform at the top could be filled with two ranging instruments, two observing officers, and two signallers sending bearings back to the firing ship using oxyacetylene-powered signal lamps.

The islands were first used in an attack on Zeebrugge harbour. Three 12in gun monitors, Sir John Moore, Lord Clive, and Prince Rupert, protected from submarine attack by 16 miles of netting laid by drifters, took up their positions. The islands were taken closer to the shore by two coalyard vessels especially taken up for the purpose. The assault proved to be only a partial success as two of the monitors suffered defects that prevented their continuing to fire. Nevertheless, Bacon claimed that ‘many of the enemy’s works suffered considerably, two or more of their vessels were sunk, and they suffered severe casualties to personnel’. To the great disappointment of all, no German vessels came out to challenge the attackers.

The next trial for the portable islands came a few days later off Ostend. They were dropped in position, but a delay in firing caused a rising tide to cover them. When an attempt to pick them up was made, the lifting strops could not be reached as they were still under water. They had to be abandoned with the result that ‘this method of observation of fire was given away to the enemy’.

In 1916 Bacon gave himself a challenge that might have daunted a lesser man. He was concerned that the Germans might sue for peace whilst the coast of Belgium remained in their hands. This carried with it the possibility that negotiations might end the war leaving that coast still in German possession. Such a situation would leave Great Britain at the mercy of the Germans in any subsequent war. Having discussed the project with the First Sea Lord, Sir Henry Jackson (who had taken over from Fisher), and confirmed matters with Jackson’s successor (Jellicoe), Bacon began work on his scheme. As he did so, he contacted the military and arranged to see Field Marshal Haig. The army’s commander-in-chief was interested, but pointed out that that he would need to reach Roulers (Roeselare) – some 20 miles south-east of Nieuport – and Thourout (Torhout), 8 or 9 miles further to the north, before any landing would be worthwhile. Encouraged by Haig’s modest enthusiasm, Bacon stepped up the planning.

For the idea to work, the army would need to be able to land an entire division of troops (almost 14,000 soldiers), complete with their stores and transport, which included three of the newly developed tanks. In addition, all the troops had to be ashore within twenty minutes. The first landing at Gallipoli had been done in open boats, resulting in very high casualties. The later, unopposed, landings at Suvla Bay had used ‘beetle’ landing craft, which could never land a complete division along with all their equipment within twenty minutes.

Bacon’s answer was to build three enormous pontoons, each 550ft long, 30ft wide and displacing 2,500 tons. As they were intended to be run ashore, the draught at the stern needed to be 9ft, whilst at the bow, 18in was required. To guard against problems likely to be encountered should a pontoon bow run aground on a ridge just off the shore, a stout wooden ‘raft’ that could take the weight of a tank was secured to the bow. With solid baulks of wood lowered to the seabed to act as supports, the raft would enable the troops and all their equipment to bridge any hollow on the bottom beyond the ridge.

Furthermore, as the pontoons had to be landed at high tide, an elderly ‘C’-class submarine, under the command of Lieutenant Wardell Yerburgh, was sent to lie on the bottom off Nieuport for twenty-four hours, recording the tidal movements on the depth gauge. The crew had to be reduced for the operation as the atmosphere in the boat would tend to get stuffy. At the same time, Royal Naval Air Service (RNAS) aircraft photographed the beaches to the east of Nieuport to record the limits of high and low tides. In a rare delegation of detail, Lieutenant Hercus was given the job of collating the tidal information.

In order to get each pontoon on to the beach, Bacon employed a pair of 12in monitors. The shallow-draught vessels were secured alongside each other with the pontoon’s stern attached by chains between the monitors’ bows. The two ships would then proceed at 6 knots with the pontoon jutting out far ahead of them. On arrival at the intended target beach, the monitors would release their pontoon and secure its stern to the seabed by anchors. As this was being done, the soldiers would descend from the monitor’s forecastles by ramps and ladders, ready to charge ashore.

The ships involved in the operation, along with their pontoons, were hidden from prying eyes in the Swin Channel at the entrance to the Thames. Fearing that ‘a drink or two in the more jovial hours of the evening’ might cause tongues to wag, Bacon cancelled all leave for the ships’ companies. This inconvenience, however, was of little consequence when compared to the fact that ‘You may congratulate yourselves … on the knowledge that your temporary seclusion is due to the privilege of taking part in operations that will go on to bring the war to a successful conclusion, and moreover, that will never be forgotten so long as the memory of the war exists.’

Unfortunately, despite showing immense courage against the enemy and the mud, the Third Battle of Ypres never got beyond Passchendaele Ridge and Bacon’s plan to land on the Belgian coast was soon forgotten.