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24 May 2008

By the last decades of the nineteenth century [Australian] colonies had come to appreciate that they had a set of vital interests which were fundamentally different from those of the Mother Country. Disputes between the Australian and British governments over commerce, immigration, the future of the Pacific islands and naval defence 1 gave expression, sometimes a bitter expression to differences. The conflicts helped transmute instinctive Australian reactions into a self-conscious policy, they paved the way for colonial union and at the same time they strengthened Australian opposition to imperial federation.2

In his treatise, THE SEARCH FOR SECURITY IN THE PACIFIC 1901-1914, the author, Dr Neville Meaney, begs the question with regard to naval defence, what were the differences (if any) and, if there were any, what impact did they have on the federation of the six colonies?

From the beginning of European settlement in Australia in 1788 the colonists were very much aware of the sea. As Captain W R Creswell3 declared:

Australia was founded by the navy, its shores explored by the navy, every ounce of produce leaves in vessels guided by charts made by the navy that has surveyed our coast. It has been defended by the navy. Our continuance in it in security during early years of settlement and small population was effected by the navy.4

The assumption must of course be made that Creswell did not intend his remark with regard to naval defence to be taken literally as none of the Australian colonies was ever attacked. In the first six decades of Australia's European development, the colonies were not even seriously threatened by external aggression. Prior to `1853 the Australian colonists paid little attention to the state of their naval defences relying instead on the naval supremacy of Great Britain to safeguard them. No doubt they took comfort in the preamble to the Articles of War which stated that "On the British Navy, under the good providence of God, the wealth, safety and strength of the kingdom chiefly depend."

Australians were, however, pre-occupied with the notion of attack by a foreign power as early as 1792 "...when the presence of Francois Peron's ship aroused the prospect of a simultaneous French assault and convict rising". 5 Until around the third decade of the nineteenth century, most of the French voyages in and around Australian waters were innocent scientific and trading expeditions6 but in at least one instance France did have aggressive intentions toward Sydney.7 By 1815, French naval strength was a shadow; her fleets had been swept from the seas and Britain's position as a maritime power was unchallenged.8 For the most part, therefore, British movements, enterprises or probings in Australian waters were leisurely and sustained by a minimum of official support9 although the French voyages sometimes threw the British authorities into defensive preparations such as establishing the settlement at King George Sound in 1826 and three years later, a colony at the Swan River.10

In the forty years that followed Napoleon's defeat there existed such a period of absolute peace that it blanketed initiative and encouraged neglect.11 The British Admiralty was primarily a political committee with responsibility for naval affairs and, in general, ". ..the House of Commons showed an almost total ignorance of imperial geography and imperial needs..."12 and looked at the navy chiefly in terms of home defence.

On the surface, however, it appeared that the Admiralty was in sympathy with any call for a more positive naval defence when it issued instructions to the Commander-in-Chief of the East Indies station in 1837. "The great and increasing importance of Australia, make it indispensable that part of the force under your Command should be employed on the coasts of that Continent".13 Captains were `at liberty' to visit the remote parts of the station, provided their presence was `not likely to be required in India'. This clause made nonsense of the whole, because India, as well as the other parts of the station ranging from Africa to China, made constant and compelling demands on the East India squadron.14

The laissez-faire attitudes of the British were not always representative of Australians' feelings toward the security of their colonies. "For a country with twelve thousand miles of coastline and situated twelve thousand miles from its principal market and major defender, it was natural that Australia should become highly sensitive to naval questions".15 As early as 1827 the Sydney Gazette demanded the establishment of a safety perimeter which enclosed the entire Pacific Ocean16 in order to achieve the benefit of maximum security for the New South Wales colony. By 1853, however, the Royal Navy had seen fit to station only six small, poorly-armed vessels in Australia; the size and composition of such a fleet could hardly be called an over indulgence in expenditure. Such was the attitude toward naval defence in Australia from settlement until shortly after the middle of the nineteenth century.

Defence as a contentious issue between the Antipodean colonies and the Mother Country did not, however, achieve any prominence until the eighteen fifties. The colonies, aware of their growing pastoral wealth and gold during the decade, developed a high degree of sensitivity to the Crimean War, the fear of the French and the American scares of 1859 and 1861, and the Polish scare of 1864.17 Significantly, it was also a period in which New South Wales, Tasmania, Queensland and Victoria acquired self-government or a large measure of control over their internal affairs.18

The colonials were not impressed with the token Royal Navy force and when the news reached Sydney in 1855 of Russian warships cruising in various parts of the Pacific Ocean the colony of New South Wales built a sixty-two foot gunboat.19 As a result of recommendations by a Select Committee of the legislature, Victoria ordered a substantially larger vessel in 1854.20

The concept of self-governing colonies having their own warships was without precedent and the legal position of armed colonial vessels was discussed by Crown law officers in England, in particular in relation to HMVS VICTORIA.

The VICTORIA is now employed as a vessel of war without the territorial waters of the Colony, but in the event of her being brought into conflict with the vessel of any foreign State...we think it very doubtful whether she could claim to be recognised as a British man-of-war, and to possess the privileges incident to international law...

We think that all vessels of war in the Colonies intended to navigate beyond these territorial limits should be commanded by officers holding commissions from the Crown, and be essentially part of the Royal Navy of England.21

Such was the thinking of the day that it would appear that both New South Wales and Victoria acquiesced with this statement. Even more surprising though is the fact that this legal opinion governed the position of all the naval forces in Australia until 1911.22

In 1847, the First Lord of the Admiralty recommended that a distinct division should be allotted to the joint Australia-New Zealand command.23 Eleven years were allowed to pass, however, before concern was felt to the point of responsible action. The Governor of Tasmania wrote to the Secretary of State for the Colonies urging the necessity for making the Australian Colonies an Admiral's station, and for maintaining in Australian seas a Naval squadron "...equal at least to that maintained therein by any other power".24 In a bid to support his representations, Sir Henry Young invited New South Wales to participate but the Executive Council of that colony disagreed that the commander-in-chief should be an Admiral.25 They did criticise the adequacy of the naval force then in Australia, however, stating that two vessels were not "... in any way adequate to the protection either in peace or war of British and Colonial interests..."26

Despite the fiscal restrictions of the time27 the Admiralty was obviously aware that it could procrastinate no longer and conceded "...the amount of force hitherto maintained in the seas adjacent to those [Australian and New Zealand] Colonies will in future require to be larger than at former periods…”28

The immediate and practical outcome of the decision was the despatch of an additional two vessels to Sydney, but more significant was the creation of the Australian Station under the command of a Commodore.29

These moves did not have the effect of placating the Colonies with regard to defence, however. In the New South Wales Legislative Assembly in November 1859, the arch republican John Dunmore Lang moved an amendment to a motion of Henry Parkes because he considered that Great Britain would be at war sooner or later with a great European power(s) and Australia should not have to be involved.30 He advocated Great Britain giving “…Her Australian Colonies their entire freedom and independence - and constituting them, under some form of Federal Government, .. .a Sovereign and Independent Australian Empire”.31 His speech showed a less than parochial outlook when he referred to the tempting prize of “…these defenceless colonies of New South Wales and Victoria”.32 The crux (and validity) of his argument was in the statement than in the event of Great Britain being involved in a European war, “I maintain.., it is hopeless for us to rely on imaginary succour…from the Mother Country, as the whole disposable force of England will then be required at home”.33

Victoria should also have had some doubts as to the effectiveness of relying on Britain for its defence needs. In 1859 the Defence Commission appointed Captain F B Seymour RN, to report on the defences of the Colony.34 The validity of Lang’s fears are to be found in a letter which Seymour wrote to the Governor of Victoria. With regard to the Royal Navy ships being available for defence purposes, the Captain wrote that “…it is better not to calculate upon an Imperial ship being in port [in time of war]“.35 He softened the statement by pointing out that if the enemy had colonies within a reasonable distance of Australian waters it would be “…the duty of Her Majesty’s servants …to seek him in his own ports…”36

The simple fact of the matter was that even in the event of an `incident’ or a minor war such as was common in South-East Asia at the time, six or eight months might elapse before reinforcements arrived from home waters to replace those ships withdrawn from Australian waters.37

The realisation that the naval defence arrangements of the Australian colonies would have to be drastically overhauled was also occurring in Britain. In 1859 a Departmental Committee submitted a report to the imperial government in which the `injurious consequences’ of the old policy of encouraging the colonies to rely solely on the Mother Country for protection was pointed out.38 The unfair burden on the British taxpayer and the `retardation of the spirit of self-reliance and self-defence in the colonies’ were given as the reasons for downgrading the Imperial naval defence effort in AustraIia.39 It seems that the point of possible conflict, the Australian colonies being left defenceless in the event of a European conflict, was studiously avoided.

It was believed by the British government that colonies which demanded and acquired increasing powers of self-government should accept the material and financial consequences. A resolution of the House of Commons in March 1862 summarised the policy thus: “That this House …is of the opinion that Colonies exercising the rights of self-government ought to undertake the main responsibility of providing for their own internal order and security and ought to assist in their own external defence.40

The culmination of the prevailing attitude was the Colonial Naval Defence Act of 1865 which, whatever its failings, did provide for a definite Colonial naval policy. Its chief provisions were:

(1) colonies were able to provide, maintain, and use their own vessels of war under such conditions and for such purposes as Her Majesty in Council …approves, and to place these vessels at Her Majesty’s disposal, when any such vessel would become to all intents a vessel of Her Majesty’s regular navy;

(2) to raise and maintain seamen to serve in such vessels; and,

(3) to raise and maintain volunteers entered on terms of being bound to general service in the Royal Navy, emergency volunteers so raised to form part of the Royal Navy Reserve.41

This invitation to establish local naval forces invoked little response from the Colonies (except Victoria42), and in 1869 the Admiralty put forward a proposal to establish a permanent Australian naval force, the colonies to pay half the cost of the -ships and their upkeep. Eventually after much discussion, the plan was abandoned.43

At face value the 1865 Act appeared to be an economic measure as it tended to reduce the liabilities of the Imperial government by permitting the establishment of locally controlled naval forces and giving to colonial armed vessels, the status of ships of war. Nor was it considered to be an inevitability of colonial influence but rather “…the means of enabling [the colonials] to provide for their own local defence in conjunction with the wider responsibility of the Imperial navy”.44 The Secretary of State for the Colonies saw the establishment of a colonial naval force as being “…a most valuable addition to the Imperial defences”.45 Separation of the colonies from the Empire was not, therefore, the aim of the legislators with regard to the Colonial Naval Defence Act. Rather, it was said to be seen as enhancing a continuing association between the colonies and the Mother Country “…on a basis of mutual instead of one-sided benefit”.46

The platitudes and public reasoning of politicians and statesmen alike were open to the most severe criticism but, curiously, the Australians were silent on the reasons for the enactment of the legislation. The First Lord of the Admiralty stated to Parliament that it was framed “… partly to meet the wish of the colony of Victoria to maintain a ship of war at its own cost”.47 That the colony had taken delivery of its first warship nine years before48 the statement was made, seems to have been overlooked.49

Victoria continued to make requests for additional naval defences until the 1880s but without any notable success.50 Of the various schemes mooted, none of any substance met with the approval of Victoria, the Admiralty or the Treasury.

For half a century the British fleet had enjoyed a long and seemingly irreducible lead in wooden ships, but by the end of the 1850s the simultaneous emergence of steam, screw, iron and armour plate suddenly transformed the situation.51 The technological advancements of the 19th century were responsible for an internal struggle between the innovators and the conservative sailors. The uncertainties about ship design were used by the politicians of both parties after 1865. “In fact naval expenses did not increase between 1865 and 1885″.52 For nearly two decades, naval defence was also a dormant issue in Australia. Even to the rich Australian colonies, the expense was considered unnecessary. The attention of both France and Russia was directed far from the Pacific, while the risk of war with the United States had passed.53 A great war might have made the difference, but none occurred.

For these and other reasons, the Colonial Naval Defence Act was not of much importance during the period. “It did not take its proper place in Imperial relations until developing national consciousness made it unsatisfactory …to depend entirely upon the Royal Navy …for …external defence”.54

In January 1881 colonial politicians meeting in Sydney passed a resolution defining responsibility for the defence of the Australian colonies. Naval defence, they flatly stated, was exclusively an Imperial responsibility. Since existing defence was inadequate, the Royal Naval squadron on the station should be increased, and at Imperial expense.55

Needless to say the British Government declined the responsibility “…but it took six years of negotiation, argument, proposal and counter-proposal before the terms of the Australian naval defence agreement were finalised …”56 closely linked local problems which needed to be resolved were twofold:

…should colonial forces be an alternative to, or an integral part of, the Royal Naval squadron on the station; should additional naval defence for Australasia be provide at imperial or colonial cost [?]57

For the first time the problems were clearly identified, but more importantly, they were not, as in the past, being discussed in a piecemeal fashion over many years. The debate about these problems resulted in a revision of the role of colonial navies and a new defence relationship between the Imperial government and the colonies was worked out.58 Like all compromises, the Naval Defence Agreement of 1887 was not entirely satisfactory but both sides knew that a solution had to be found to what was becoming an increasingly pressing problem.

During the last quarter of the century, Germany, Japan, the United States and Italy made their appearances as great Powers. In the same period, nationalism increased in strength, while international diplomacy became more tense and less scrupulous. Among the great Powers the advance of the industrial revolution combined with a desire for national aggrandisement to produce a dynamic imperialism and highly competitive policies of colonial expansion. Accordingly, the nations lived in a world that had lost much of its former stability and security.59

The eighties witnessed a boom in imperialism. The race between the great Powers for the acquisition of colonies, the growing militarism on the Continent, and the defeat of Free Trade in almost all foreign countries had placed the value of colonies beyond all doubt.60 Public attention was drawn to the problem of the relations between England and her colonies and it was under these types of pressures that the 1887 Naval Defence Agreement was reached. As defence was probably the most important and fundamental of all the interests which the various parts of the Empire held in common, “…it might appear that if the imperialists failed to solve the problem of common defence they would fail all along the line”.61

In the report of a Royal Commission published in 1882, the Commissioners stated that the time had come for the Australian Colonies to share the burden of their naval defence more equitably.

It was not desirable that these [Australian] Colonies should maintain sea-going ships of their own for action beyond their territorial waters. But we see no reason why the Australian Colonies should not make a moderate contribution in money towards the cost of that Squadron which is maintained by the Mother Country for the protection of the interests common to the Colonies and herself.62

What Britain was worried about became a reality in the following year. Queensland purchased a gunboat with the express purpose of having the ability to move out into the open seas in order to seize Pacific territories and matters came to a head in 1883 when Queensland seized New Guinea.

Britain refused to ratify the annexation.63 Britain had no objection to coming to Australia’s aid if she were attacked but objected strongly to being dragged into a major European war “…because some upstart colonial Premier attacked a French or German ship in order to indenture a few more labourers”.64

In Australia at the time, the Colonies were each convinced that they must provide their own local naval forces65 in spite of the advice of the Commander-in-Chief of the Australian Station that they should take united action for the defence of their territorial waters.66

A naval organisation already existed in Victoria and New South Wales. In South Australia and Queensland proposals to form local naval forces, based on the recommendations of the Jervois-Scratchley report,67 were under discussion. By 1884, five separate naval forces were concerned with Australian naval defence. This unco-operative effort on the part of the Australian Colonies failed to satisfy the British Government, which repeated its view that Australians should contribute towards the cost of defence at sea as distinct from harbour and coastal defence.68

Late in 1884, the First Sea Lord suggested that the formation of a special Australasian Squadron supplementing the Imperial Squadron, would be the best way to overcome the inherent weakness and inefficiency which must mark any further development of independent colonial forces. In many respects, this was a repetition of the proposals advanced in 1869 but rejected by the CoIonies.69

In November 1884 Rear Admiral George Tryon was appointed as the first Flag Officer to command the Australian Squadron. Before leaving England he was instructed to confer with the Colonial Premiers concerning the Admiralty proposal to form an Auxiliary Squadron. Tryon proved an able and patient negotiator and,in 1885, aided perhaps by the seeming imminence of war with Russia, he succeeded in persuading the colonies that the time had come for them to contribute towards to cost of their seaward defence.70

As the States were at last in agreement in their willingness to provide a subsidy, a Colonial Conference was convened in London in April 1887. From these discussions emerged the Australasian Naval Defence Act of 1887 which provided that the existing British Squadron in Australasian waters should be supplemented by an Auxiliary Squadron of five fast cruisers and two torpedo gunboats at a cost to each colony determined on the basis of population.71 It was made for a period of ten years at least; and it could only be terminated then or thereafter with two years notice.72 The ships were to be under the sole control and orders of the Commander-in-Chief of the Australia Station but, most important of all, they could not be removed from Australasian waters without the consent of the Colonial Governments.73 This overcame the major source of concern for there was no point in paying for a fleet in peace time if it was to be taken away once an attack was imminent.74 The Auxiliary Squadron which arrived at Sydney on 5 September 1891 proved a failure.75

There was now a three-tiered arrangement for naval defence in Australia and six different administrative organisations.76 On the one hand, the Admiralty, unused to the responsibility of operating a squadron over which it had only limited control, developed the creed that there must be only one Empire Navy - the Royal Navy.

From the Admiralty …we who had the cause of a self-reliant colonial naval service at heart could not only not look for support but had active opposition to fear… It neither desired nor would tolerate a family of infant navies overseas, and resolutely set its face against providing a nursery for the brats. Colonial control would have spelt dual control, and dual control of the sea forces of the Empire …seemed bound to lead straight to disaster.77

On the other hand, the Australians came to regard the squadron as poor value for their money. In effect, the ships became part of the Imperial Squadron and at no time became the training ground for Australian seamen as had been expected by the Colonies.78 Finally, the loan of three of the Auxiliary Squadron ships and the South Australian cruiser PROTECTOR for service in China waters during the Boxer Rebellion of 1900 brought matters to a head. On their return, Australians argued that `Australian’ ships and men should not be sent to fight for causes which were of no concern to Australia.79 Before most of the ships had returned, Federation had created the Commonwealth of Australia and the `Agreement’ was about to expire, so the naval situation became a subject for general debate.80

A strong reason for the formation of the Auxiliary Squadron in the first place was the weakness of the Imperial Squadron stationed in Australian waters. Most of the ships had no fighting value against modern armaments and were kept in the Pacific “…as a step towards the scrap-heap”.81 HMS NELSON, flagship of the Squadron when Admiral Tryon took command was still fitted with a ram!82

Australia, during the last decade of the century, was beset with many internal problems, not the least of which was the financial crisis of 1892-3, which depleted the Treasuries and made governments unwilling to consider any schemes that might necessitate fresh expenditure.83 In Victoria, for example, all naval progress was brought to a standstill. All ships were placed in reserve and some even sold. In the remaining years before Federation, naval activity did not revive so that when the Commonwealth finally took over her five ships, not only were they in a deplorable condition, but also they did not even have nucleus crews.84

All through the nineties, too, federation was occupying the attention of politicians; defence, though an essential part of the Federation problem, could be left over till the main issues had been decided.85

In 1901, none of the defence forces transferred to the Commonwealth by the States were of importance in any serious calculation of the security of the continent against attack.86 Feakes described two of the vessels as “…Lilliputian over-gunned hulks …[which] …exhibited the sea-going qualities of half-tide rocks”.87 Such was the state of naval defence at the birth of the Commonwealth of Australia.

The Australians at the end of the century welcomed increased imperial co-operation despite the many differences which had taken place over the years. They also welcomed bilateral co-operation in matters concerning Pacific defence and diplomacy. On the other hand they had turned their face against anything that smacked of an imperial executive.88

They had come to recognise that there was a fundamental conflict of view over priorities in defence and diplomacy between the colonies and the Mother Country. Australians in looking to their own were unwilling to be sacrificed for a greater interest with which they could not fully identify and which they did not wholly share.89

As to whether the differences between the Australian colonies and Britain on the subject of naval defence made any impact on the federation of the colonies, there really is no direct evidence. The conflicts which did appear to strain the relationship were cyclical and, generally, arose as a result of a short-lived scare of war. As these were infrequent in the 113 years between European settlement and Federation, the conclusion must be that, on the balance of probabilities, the differences did not have any significant impact on the decision of the six Australian colonies to federate.

  1. Author’s italics [link]
  2. N Meaney, The Search for Security in the Pacific 1901-1914 (Sydney: Sydney University Press, 1976), p7 Aibinski comments similarly: “[Australia! was reliant on Britain but was frequently displeased with Britain's policies. She was not averse to talking and moving independently long before achieving the formal status of a sovereign state", H S Albinski, Australia's Search for Regional Security in South East Asia. PhD Thesis, University of Minnesota, 1959 p5. [link]
  3. Later, Vice Admiral Sir William R Creswell, who is generally regarded as "The Father" of the Royal Australian Navy. [link]
  4. H M Cooper, A Naval History of South Australia (Adelaide: Hassell Press, 1950) p110. [link]
  5. H McQueen, A New Britannia (Melbourne: Penguin, 1970), p56. [link]
  6. G S Graham, Great Britain in the Indian Ocean 1810-1850 (London, OUP, 1967) p2. [link]
  7. Albinski, Australia's Search for Regional Security in South-East Asia, p6. [link]
  8. Graham, Great Britain in the Indian Ocean 1810-1850, p1. [link]
  9. ibid, p4105. [link]
  10. Mc Queen, A New Britannia, p57. [link]
  11. Graham, Great Britain in the Indian Ocean 1810-1850, p444. [link]
  12. ibid, p447. [link]
  13. 9 October 1837: Admiralty Records 13/2, pp322-3 cited in Graham, Great Britain in the Indian Ocean 1810-1850, p436. [link]
  14. ibid. [link]
  15. Mc Queen, A New Britannia, p90. [link]
  16. Sydney Gazette, 24 August 1827. Cited in W Levi, "Australians and the Near North", American Perspective, Vol III, No 2 (May 1949), p73. [link]
  17. D MacCailum, "Some Aspects of Defence in the Eighteen Fifties in New South Wales", Journal of the Royal Australian Historical Society, Vol 44, Part 1, 1958, p71. [link]
  18. ibid. [link]
  19. G L Macandie, Genesis of the Royal Australian Navy (Sydney: Government Printer, 1949), p12. The SPITFIRE (as it was named) was a 65 ton wooden ketch armed with a 32 pounder gun. She was launched on 3 April 1855 and had the distinction of being the first warship to be built in Australia for the defence of an Australian colony. The SPITFIRE was not, however, the first Australian-built armed vessel, Tasmania having produced the armed schooner ELIZA in 1835 and there were probably others. J Bastock, Australia's Ships of War (Sydney: A & R, 1975) p4. [link]
  20. Bastock, Australia's Ships of War, pl9. the VICTORIA was 166 feet long and mounted seven 32 pounders. She was the first vessel constructed in England to the order of a British colony. [link]
  21. Macandie, Genesis of the Royal Australian Navy, p12. [link]
  22. ibid. [link]
  23. Graham, Great Britain in the Indian Ocean, 1810-1850, p436. [link]
  24. Macandie, Genesis of the Royal Australian Navy, p14. [link]
  25. ibid. [link]
  26. ibid. [link]
  27. D M Schurman, The Education of a Navy, (London:Cassell, 1965) p2. [link]
  28. Macandie, Genesis of the Royal Australian Navy, p14. [link]
  29. ibid. Commodore Luring assumed command of the Australian Station in March 1859 and three months later the naval force on the Station comprised five vessels. [link]
  30. J D Lang, How to Defend the Colony, (Sydney: John L Sherriff, 1860) piii. [link]
  31. ibid, piv. [link]
  32. ibid, p11. [link]
  33. ibid, p14. [link]
  34. Defence of the Colony, Report of Captain F B Seymour RN, of HMS PELORUS in regard to the Defences of the Colony; together with a report on the efficiency of HMCSS VICTORIA. Presented to both Houses of Parliament by His Excellency’s Command. (Victoria: 1859-80). [link]
  35. Letter from Captain F Beauchamp Seymour RN, to His Excellency, Sir Henry Barkly KCD, Governor of Victoria, 10 November 1859. [link]
  36. ibid. [link]
  37. Graham, Great Britain in the Indian Ocean 1810-1850, p449. [link]
  38. Macandie, Genesis of the Royal Australian Navy, p17. [link]
  39. ibid. [link]
  40. Author’s italics. B A Knox, “Colonial Influences on Imperial Policy, 1858-1866. Victoria and the Colonial Naval Defence Act, 1865″. Historical Studies, Vol 11, No 41. November 1963, p81. [link]
  41. Macandie, Genesis of the Royal Australian Navy, p21. [link]
  42. In 1867, the Victorian Government sent its Treasurer to consult with the Imperial Government on the matter of colonial naval defence. Mr (afterwards Sir George) Verdon pointed out to the Imperial authorities that the colony of Victoria had already spent some 900,000 pounds on naval defence and asked for assistance. In return, the colony received the old steam line-of-battle ship NELSON and 100,000 pounds towards the cost of a turret ship (CERBERUS) for harbour defence. In addition, Victoria was to provide a dry dock for Imperial use in time of war and maintain two ships in an efficient state. F B Eldridge, A History of the Royal Australian Naval College, (Melbourne: Georgian House, 1949, pp3-4. [link]
  43. Hansard, 3rd Ser, Vol clxxvii, col 1030, 1824 (17 March 1865), cited in Knox, Historical Studies, p62. [link]
  44. ibid. [link]
  45. ibid, col 483 (30 March 1885). [link]
  46. Knox, Historical Studies, p82. [link]
  47. ibid. [link]
  48. Author’s italics. [link]
  49. For some unknown reason, Knox did not comment on this apparent anomaly. [link]
  50. See footnote 42. [link]
  51. R Blake, Disraeli, (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1967), p393. [link]
  52. Schurman, The Education of a Navy, p2. [link]
  53. Knox, Historical Quarterly, p79. [link]
  54. ibid. [link]
  55. M Hooper, “The Naval Defence Agreement of 1887″, Australian Journal of Politics and History, Vol 14, No 1, 1968, p52. By 1887, most of the Australian colonies were better defended than the rest of the Empire and some were overdefended. ibid, p53. [link]
  56. ibid. [link]
  57. ibid. [link]
  58. ibid. [link]
  59. G N Tucker, The Naval Service of Canada, Vol 1, (Ottawa: The Minister of National Defence, 1952), p61. [link]
  60. C A Bodelsen, “Studies in Mid-Victorian Imperialism”, (Copenhagen.’ 1924), p205 cited in Tucker, The Naval Service of Canada, Vol 1, p86. [link]
  61. Tucker, The Naval Service of Canada, Vol 1, p67. [link]
  62. Report of the Royal Commissioners Appointed to Enquire into the Defence of British Possessions and Commerce Abroad (1882) cited in Naval Archives Branch, An Outline of Australian Naval History, (Canberra,’ Navy Office, 1962) p13. [link]
  63. A J Koutsoukis, Topics From Australian History, (Sydney: Whitcombe and Tombs, 1968), p8. [link]
  64. Mc Queen, A New Britannia, p91. [link]
  65. Of all the Australian colonies, only Western Australia did not have a naval force of some description. In 1875, however, the government mail ship, GEORGETTE was commissioned by the governor into the Royal Navy to lay chase to the American whaling barque CATALPA , which had on board six Fenian escapees from Fremantle prison. W J Laubenstein, The Emerald Whaler, (London: Andre Deutsch, 1901), p197. Tasmania put a torpedo boat into service from 1884 until the late 1880s. J Bastock, Australia’s Ships of War, p17. [link]
  66. Naval Archives Branch, An Outline of Australian Naval History, p13. [link]
  67. Colonel Sir William Jervois, Royal Engineers and Lieutenant Colonel Peter Scratchley were appointed to inspect existing defences and discuss the matter with local governments. The naval proposals of the resulting report were based on a policy of leaving offensive action on the high seas to the Australian Squadron of the Royal Navy; but it was recommended that the richer colonies should provide gunboats to protect maritime trade and torpedo boats to co-operate with fixed shore defences in harbours and estuaries. ibid, p12. [link]
  68. ibid, p13. [link]
  69. ibid. [link]
  70. ibid. [link]
  71. Macandie, Genesis of the Royal Australian Navy, p43. The terms of the Agreement not only included the six Australian colonies, but New Zealand as well. [link]
  72. ibid, p72. [link]
  73. ibid. [link]
  74. McQueen, A New Britannia, p92. [link]
  75. Naval Archives Branch, An Outline of Australian Naval History, p14. [link]
  76. Hooper, Australian Journal of Politics and History, pp52-74. [link]
  77. P Thompson (ed) Close to the Mind (London: Heinemann, 1965) pp199-200. [link]
  78. Naval Archives Branch, An Outline of Australian Naval History, p14. [link]
  79. ibid. [link]
  80. ibid. [link]
  81. F Fox, Problems of the Pacific, (London: Williams and Norgate, 1912), p14. [link]
  82. Macandie, Genesis of the Royal Australian Navy, p45. [link]
  83. Jose, W A, The Royal Australian Navy, (Sydney: A & R 1928, 1937) pxxiii. [link]
  84. Naval Archives Branch, An Outline of Australian Naval History, pp9-10. [link]
  85. Jose, The Royal Australian Navy, pxix. [link]
  86. ibid. [link]
  87. H J Feakes, White Ensign-Southern Cross: A Story of the King’s Ships of Australia’s Navy, (Sydney: Ure Smith, 1951) p93. Eleven ships were transferred to the newly-formed Commonwealth Naval Forces; their average age was over seventeen years. Macandie, Genesis of the Royal Australian Navy, p23. [link]
  88. Meaney, The Search for Security in the Pacific, 1901-14, pp38-39. [link]
  89. ibid, p39. [link]
23 Mar 2010

IN 1942 THE BOMB ALLEY of this story extended 400 miles along the central Mediterranean with every mile within 30 minutes of enemy airfields. At the eastern end the strategically vital naval base at Malta was said to have become the most intensively bombed target in World War II. At the western end the heretofore quiet little port of Bone was fast becoming the second most intensively bombed target. Why? In November the Allied invasion of North Africa had penetrated all the way to Bone, to only 150 miles from Rommel’s shortest supply line via Sardinia to Tunisia. The Navy detailed a special force of six ships to help hold the port as an Army gateway to the Tunisian front and as a forward base for attacking the enemy at sea. Hence the bombing.

This new force, Force Q, comprised three light cruisers - Aurora, Argonaut and Sirius, and three destroyers - Ithuriel, Quentin and HMAS Quiberon. All gained berths within the damaged harbour where the risks of confinement were more than offset by safety from submarines and by better organisation of anti-aircraft fire. Aerials on the cruisers showed they were equipped with the latest radar for early warning, surface search and gunnery. The six ships mounted a total of 46 main armament turret guns and 98 close range quick firing Bofors, multiple-barrelled pompoms and 20-mm Oerlikons. Happily, each destroyer had six Oerlikons, happily because, well handled, these two-man last-minute defence guns were proving very effective in discouraging daylight attackers from venturing below a thousand feet.

The Bone and Bomb Alley theatre at this time was an all-British affair. The accounts to follow are from the writer’s records and point of view as a Volunteer Reserve lieutenant in Quiberon during a memorable week in November-December 1942.

When Force Q arrived in Bone the Army spearhead had been holding out against enemy air attack for several days. On an undamaged recess of wharf near our berth a single long barrelled 40-mm Bofors pointed out of a nest of wheat bags. The three remaining gun-crew were unshaven and exhausted looking. For all they were tough little Tommies of the Cockney type it was touching to see how glad they were to see us. Between alarms they visibly revived as welcome guests in the sailors’ mess and after every raid they exulted that the bombers had stayed up higher and higher, night and day. Indeed, at night in the searchlights our targets had come to look like tiny silver moths. At such heights they were fairly safe, and so were we, their bombs spreading over an ever wider area.

In Quiberon we fired only when the planes were in or entering our allotted sectors so there was usually time to see what was going on in the other sectors. At night when the barrage was at a peak the harbour was fitfully bright with flashing gunfire. Oddly, or perhaps because of the medley of flashes and ear-smashing racket, we seldom heard or saw where the bombs landed, only if we happened to be looking where suddenly there was a white geyser standing high out of the harbour, or a black column where a bomb had hit the coal dump, or even a yellow one where the wheat silos had got it again.

How quiet it was when the firing stopped. Later there might come a gentle pit, pat and plomp of fragments arriving back from high up where the shells exploded. They were effective reminders to gunners who had removed their tin hats to put them on again and smartly.

Lulls often went on for hours but ever again came the klaxons and gongs of a new alarm. It might be only a single plane high up to waste our ammunition and tire the gunners, but we had to keep on our toes in case he came down in a steep dive and suddenly arrived low and fast from behind a hill or the silos. On the other hand, from midnight rising 29 November they kept coming all the time, in waves of three, hour after hour. That was the roughest yet, hardly a spell to clear away the ejected cylinders and the wheat that came like rain from the silos. Of course, at that rate and cooped up in a harbour it was just a matter of time. Ithuriel was the first to run out of luck. No one remembered hearing or seeing the bomb that broke her back, and only three berths along from us.

With just Quentin and Quiberon left to share the daytime anti-submarine patrols, we were able to score a bit that day. Quentin on first patrol held a contact to seven miles north-east and ran short of depth charges, so we were ordered out and completed the kill with our first pattern. That gave us quite a lift for a while. Tensions, thinking about Ithuriel, and especially the lack of sleep were beginning to tell.

The straight stripers seemed to be taking it all in their stride, but some of us newcomers were noticeably sagging, moody, slow to react. Hence the revival when we slipped quietly out to sea during a lull at dusk of 1 December. The buzz was that we were going back to Algiers or even Gibraltar to replenish fuel and ammunition and get a much needed sleep. What then, when suddenly at dark we were turning 180 degrees and gaining speed past 20 knots behind Quentin and the cruisers, line ahead, east?

The clear English voice of our Captain soon put us in the picture, ‘An enemy convoy has just been sighted leaving Sardinia, southerly, meaning the 120 mile shortest crossing to Tunisia. Force Q will endeavour to intercept about halfway at midnight. Quiberon will go to second degree of readiness at 2300. That’s all chaps’.

So, the real thing, one hundred and fifty miles into the Bomb Alley we’d heard so much about. A night action. Getting out afterwards in daylight when the planes came would be something else again. I was watch below from eight o’clock. The reliefs took over without unnecessary remarks. How quiet it all seemed. A calm night, and dark. Yet there were sounds enough when you listened, the potent whine and hum of our turbines that now told of 30 knots and the whir and rush of air and water. After writing up the log at the faintly lit chart table the night seemed blacker than ever. All that could be seen of the ocean was the wonderful pale blue phosphorescence splitting high and wide from the bows and racing along each side to peak and fan away in our powerful wake. Above the stern in that strange sea light our white ensign followed at full strength.

My station for the indicated surface action was at B Gun below the bridge, my job to take charge in local control should the director be knocked out, that and to consider what to do in the event of endless possibilities like half the gun crew or even all the bridge officers being killed. While all went according to the book I was free to take the view from a vantage point as good as any in the ship.

At eleven o’clock shadowy figures in duffle coats were closing up all about the decks. My station captain reported his gun, phones and seven men checked and correct. I reported this to the bridge. The transmitting station ran a check on all gunnery communications and advised that we expected to engage at 0030. Just like that. I could only assume that Rear Admiral Harcourt in the Flag cruiser up ahead had decided exactly where to expect the convoy and what he was going to do about it.

How innocent the night looked until right on midnight, far ahead, a white flare slowly rose, fell and faded. Was it a shadowing submarine homing us to the target? Or a decoy? What escorts would be there - destroyers, E boats with torpedoes? A glance at the chart had shown the water too deep for mining; it was restful not to have to think again about that. What were those professional straight stripers thinking about up there, cool Commander Browning on the bridge and young Lieutenant Synnot higher up in the director? What information and directions would they be getting from the Flag? What snap decisions would they have to make? By comparison my job was so easy, mostly just to be there, observant and confident seeming, listening and looking into the dark and thinking of the possibilities. Such thoughts were cut short by a dazzling white flash up ahead, but no sound, not for four seconds, then BANG!

That had to be the leading or second cruiser. No doubt she had located and ranged a target by radar. How clear the cluster of blue tracers sailing flat away to starboard. A full salvo of 75-pound shells at 2,000 feet per second, zero trajectory, meaning a target of less than three miles, at point-blank range. A HIT, if only a feeble scatter of sparks. Probably the shells were fuse delayed to explode within the target, where the intense heat would vaporise fabric, paintwork and whatever to create a second and bigger explosion. And that is just what appeared to happen, in about seven seconds. WOOSH! A billowing orange burst like an oil tank exploding.

It was the convoy all right. Came flash after flash after flash with hardly a minute without a streaking cluster of blue lights starting more sparks and more explosions. Shells that missed the targets went sailing away for ever with occasional ricochets bouncing five and more times to surely right over the horizon. Desperate retaliation came from somewhere. We heard shells whirring by. A stab from Quiberon’s searchlight revealed a destroyer coming fast only a mile away. Almost instantly she disappeared in a forest of white geysers from the cruisers.

Then the whole scene became lit by star shell and in the apparent absence of any new targets those already hit were getting it again. What an annihilation! Then quite suddenly it seemed, there was no more firing and only yellow flames of doomed ships falling astern where there was now a hint of moonrise.

Our mission completed we were heading west, for home, and in a hurry, but yet to hear surely the most unlikely sound from a dark sea ever, like thousands of men cheering mightily at a football match. They were thousands of men all right, Rommel’s men, desperately shouting from the water where evidently the first transports had been hit. Knowing what was likely to happen to us at daybreak there was no question of stopping. We all knew that. And as one of the gun crew put it, looking into the dark, ‘All right, you bastards. It’s your turn now. See how you like it.’

The score by my count was four transports and two destroyers; some said more. With the director always in control there had been little call on me beyond noting the copybook work of the gun crew. And now I was on bridge watch until four o’clock with perhaps a chance to stretch out for an hour before dawn action stations at six.

The planes did not wait for daylight. With the first paling of sky low in the night astern, there came a rumbling from the cruisers ahead. We could see tracers streaking away from where gunfire was blurred by trailing funnel heat and gun smoke. Evidently the extraordinary phosphorescence or the white water of our 25 knots had been sufficient for the enemy pilots to locate and sight their target.

Minutes passed before Quiberon came under attack. Audibly at first then louder and barely visible two planes raced overhead, seconds apart, from different directions, both of them in the safety of the funnel blinded sector of our pom-pom and out of certain Oerlikon range. Neither dropped bombs. The maneouvre was a ruse to draw out attention and fire while the real attack came low from starboard, for suddenly a third plane roared up out of the dark from only 200 yards away. It whammed over us like a great bat and was gone again in an instant. If a torpedo or skip bomb was dropped we did not see it. Nothing hit us. Whew!

Quentin was not so lucky. Racing past we saw her all slewed round and stopped under a cloud of steam and smoke. By the time we worked back to her and eased alongside there was light enough to see she was all bulged up and broken in the middle where the forward torpedo tubes had been. We had made ready to tow but as Quentin’s Captain said, ‘Thanks, Hugh, but I’m afraid it’s no good,’ and our Captain, the senior, seeing the damage, replied ‘Not a chance from out here, Percy. Sorry, old boy. Abandon ship!’

No doubt the procedures about demolition charges and confidential books were smartly carried out while keen and responsible eyes watched everywhere for planes, some of which could now be heard and seen passing this way and that in the distance. There was quick purpose and hardly a fumble as Quentin’s people came over the rails with some in stretchers and others being assisted and finally a young fellow catching up with an armful of cat even as a lookout called ‘Aircraft approaching. . .’ and the Captain leaning out from the Quentin side of our bridge, called ‘Full astern both!’

My opposite number from Quentin appeared eagerly to assist at B Gun. I handed over to him and went up to my anti-submarine station on the bridge. The First Lieutenant nodded approval. Quiberon was now foaming astern at, surely, 20 knots. Apart from listening to the Asdic transmissions I had no immediate thing to do but certainly felt for those who had. Who would be a captain with port and starboard lookouts calling so many bearings and elevations of aircraft swinging around and feinting and coming in from different directions, and what now you gunners with your 4.7s, your four-barrelled pom-poms and wonderful Oerlikons! Especially you Oerlikons, keep your lead well ahead and hold a few against certain hitting range!

‘Stop both! Full ahead both!’ Just that, clearly and calmly as though in the safety of a classroom exercise, yet here the Captain was playing 40,000 horse power and 16 dazzling fires in boilers at 700 pounds per square inch against falling bombs and the merest seconds. Such was the shudder and the tumult of white water from our great cloverleaf propellers that I thought we had been hit. Quiberon had stopped or even started moving ahead when the nearest bombs exploded just about where she would have been had we kept going astern. We passed broken Quentin with rapidly increasing speed and lively awareness that now included the sight of eight men still on board. They were standing near the gangway, two officers wearing caps and duffel coats and six ratings with suitcases and kit bags in hand or at their feet. A ready estimate of the situation came audibly from a troublesome young lookout behind me in the flag deck, ‘Ah. Thought you ‘ad time to pack. Ruddy tourists. Well, that’ll learn yer.’ I turned and glimpsed the little devil ironically waving.

Our attackers had gone out to a distance, no doubt to reform. They or others would be back at any moment. In the meantime what else but to chase hopefully after the cruisers now a just visible blur on the horizon 10 miles ahead. With their radar warnings and rate of concentrated fire they were no doubt able to look after themselves, or perhaps they had received assistance from the Force H carriers or the nearest protected airfield at Algiers 290 miles away. To ease the tension I asked a signalman how he was feeling. After inspecting around the sky and in the direction of the cruisers, he replied, ‘Lonely like never before.’ For long minutes those were the only words I heard about the bridge until a lookout’s ‘Aircraft approaching . . .,’ and the attacks were on again.

Those bombers knew or soon learned we had Oerlikons all right, the way they kept above 1,000 feet. At that height we could see the bombs leaving horizontally and curving down for the first two or three hundred feet. It seemed to me we had a dodging time of a mere thirteen seconds - the bomb falling time of about eight seconds plus the Captain’s anticipating the release by about five seconds. ‘Starboard thirty!’ he would say, or ‘Port,’ always towards the attack, and round we would go at our maximum thirty-four knots, leaning over, all guns firing, and the bombs missing us, port or starboard, time and again.

Sheer luck? No. It happened too often. And all the time this hunting-shooting-fishing type Englishman never turned a hair, just sat in his high chair, privileged pipe in mouth, listening to the lookouts and with ever an eye keening on the nearest plane coming in. At one state when the lookouts were reporting in particularly alarming chorus, the Captain expressed concern only to the extent of remarking to the First Lieutenant, ‘Not much future in this sort of thing, old boy, is there!’

Respite. Suddenly all the planes had gone. Quiberon was easing back to twenty knots. Were more planes on the way? A welcome sun came peeping out of the sea astern. The cruisers were clear on the horizon now, all of them, the yeoman said. Yellow land showed faintly far to port. On the bridge a bosun’s mate was moving around with cups of hot cocoa. It all seemed very normal. And lasting, for the moment. On the engine room phoning a worried report about the fuel situation, a further reduction of our sixteen boiler fires to two still gave us sixteen knots, and the advantage of better conditions for Asdic detection of any lurking submarines. An hour later and not yet eight o’clock we berthed at Bone. The cruisers were already there, none with evident damage. Aided by well-equipped new Army people, we landed the Quentin survivors including one notably wide-eyed cat and went straight out again on anti-submarine patrol. As Browning remarked, ‘Getting a bit constant, old boy, isn’t it!’

The expected heavy retaliation did not come, not that day, but there could be no question now about having to go back for fuel and ammunition; also there was engineer talk about damage from being shaken by the bombing and need to boiler clean, meaning all the way to Gibraltar. Sure enough the cruisers came out at dusk. We watched them growing larger, line ahead in the swept channel, and serenely coming round for the westerly course. Two new destroyers appeared from somewhere and scurried to anti-submarine stations port and starboard while Quiberon drew up ahead to lead the formation. A little thing, perhaps, but it was a proud moment.

Extracts from the War Diary of former member, the late A.K. Chatto

HMAS MANOORA sailed from Sydney at 1800 Saturday, November 22 1941. After clearing the swept channel we took a northern course. It looks like the old beaten track to Darwin again. On Sunday the usual church service, of course everyone is looking forward to Captains which takes place instead of the reading of the Second Lesson. There were words of welcome to the new members of the Ships Company, we had recently changed about half the seamen, then a surprise, we are on our way to Townsville (not going in) to pick up the First Naval Member and Staff. Our next port is Thursday Island where we will inspect defences, and then Singapore to relieve the Kanimbla. We do not know what length of time we will be away as the Kanimbla has to refit.

On Monday it is the usual routine of breaking in new guns crews - I have a complete new gun crew bar two. We turn to in the afternoon to get the ship clean after being in dockyard hands. The next day we are told the ship will proceed direct to Darwin to embark the Admiral and Staff. A film was shown in the afternoon. By Thursday, and two more alterations in our movements, we are informed we are to proceed direct to Darwin with all despatch. We have been passing through the well known (to us anyhow) Barrier Reef for the last three days. We will pass Thursday Island during the First Watch tonight and cross the Gulf tomorrow.

Saturday, usual routine, had pictures at 1615, we expect to arrive Darwin at 2200. On arrival we went alongside the jetty and took on fuel and water. There are rumours the Sydney has been sunk by a raider, we all try to remember who we knew aboard her.

We have taken 7 days 4 hours approximately from Sydney - not a bad run for this ship though we had perfect weather. At 0900 the Admiral and Staff (2) arrived onboard and at 0915 we slipped away from the jetty and said farewell to Darwin. After passing through the Boom Defence we are on our way to Singapore. Church as usual, the Admiral read the Lesson, the Captain had nothing to say this day. We sighted the mail plane at 1600.

For the past few days the Manoora has been ploughing through the tropical seas to Java via the Lombok Straits, things are much as usual. The Admiral has been inspecting the ship - unofficially of course, my word he has done it properly too. He seems to be alright, he asks all kinds of questions. During the passage there is yet another change of plans, we are to call in at Batavia tomorrow for the Admiral to pay a courtesy call.

On December 4th we arrived at Batavia at 1230.

Usual official calls, we saw some Dutch CMBs at work. Leave is to be given, the Dutch authorities are providing the transport ashore and up to the city as it is 8 miles from the port. Leave was to 2200 - the lads had a good time. We sailed from Batavia at 0145 the following morning.

The Sydney rumour is still strong, there is one of the Parramatta too. Well it is out at last. Sydney lost with all hands through enemy action with a raider in the Indian Ocean. The raider was also sunk, but what a fate for the Sydney. Some 286 Germans were saved but not one from the Sydney. Everyone talks about it.

We are nearly at our destination. The Admiral inspected the mess and sleeping decks this morning. We expect to arrive at 1500 today, 5th December and go into Singapore Harbour. No, things are altered again.

We are now proceeding to the Naval Base (Seletar) right around the back of the island. We finally pass through the Boom Defence after having taken a pilot on board, and enter the dockyard where the Prince of Wales is lying - what a terrific ship she is. Another cruiser was in harbour, we proceeded right up to the Causeway and went alongside the tanker at 1815 to take in oil.

So this is Singapore Naval Base, some 40 square miles in size. I believe it is 16 miles to Singapore City.

All leave is cancelled due to the Japanese situation, so we had pictures instead at 1930. What a change, no Darken Ship.

The next day we had Divisions and shifted into the stream at 1030. The Captain announced we were to sail for Colombo at daybreak tomorrow (8th). No general leave was given, but the C- in-C had made a special concession to us and granted leave to everyone except men under punishment and essential services until midnight. Transport was provided free as Singapore was 16 miles away. I went ashore, we had to have a leave pass to enable us to get out of the Naval Base. Two of us coupled up to view the sights. The drive to the city was great over beautiful roads. We passed several rubber plantations and saw several military camps installed in them (Australians were there too).

On arrival in town we decided to break from the main party which was heading for the Anzac Club and make for Johnson’s Pier on the waterfront of the main harbour. Here we changed a pound 1:0:0; off we went to view the city which to us was full of filth and filthy people. The natives were even sleeping in front of their shop doors. I do not know whether it is to prevent any person from entering them or not. It is funny, people living on the first floor reach their quarters by a ladder from the street through a manhole in the floor - at night the ladder is hoisted up.

There is plenty of military activity, lorries are dashing everywhere with troops. The city is well protected against air raids with all main building foundations strengthened. After a ramble round the town we visited the Anzac Club where we had some refreshments and signed the visitors book and saw plenty of our lads there. Later we went down to the Union Jack Club where we participated in tea and further refreshments (not me). We then went for a rickshaw ride and caught the bus back to the Naval Base.

At 0345 we are suddenly awakened to hear the pipe ‘White Watch darken ship’ - that includes me, what a joke at this hour of the morning. Some say Singapore exercises will curse them - why don’t they pick another time instead of this hour of the morning? The Defences ashore have been standing to all night. At 0415 the aircraft alarm is sounded, all lights go out in the Naval Base, but not in Johore. Suddenly searchlights are switched on aircraft in the sky. AA guns ashore open up on them. We are now in the midst of our first air raid.

I was on the fo’c’sle having a first class view of things when I was ordered to take cover. How the heads like to spoil one’s view. There were two attacks of short duration though the aircraft appeared to me to keep at great height, some say 11,000 feet. Anyhow the AA guns certainly kept them up, thanks to the RDF gear. During the first raid when the lights of Johore were failed to be put out, we heard several rifle shots apparently fired by the sentries and out went the lights very quickly.

We sailed for Colombo at 0615 as expected and as we passed the Naval Base we saw Prince of Wales, Repulse, our own Destroyer Vampire and two of our corvettes. We now hear we are at war with Japan and we expect things will be a bit more serious. The Manoora is put immediately into full cruising routine with both HA guns fully manned from dawn action stations to 2130 as there are hostile aircraft in the area. There was one alarm on the way to sea but nothing came of it.

At 1200 there was Clear Lower Deck, the Captain tells us that we are at war with Japan and that Singapore was raided this morning. There was a change in our destination - we are now to proceed to some point north- west of Andaman Island in the Bay of Bengal to pick up a French troopship and escort her to within 300 miles of Singapore and then proceed to Calcutta to refuel and water. We passed 3 drifting mines during the morning so things are getting serious.

24 Mar 2010

New Meaning put into the word Camouflage

WARSHIP CAMOUFLAGE came in some weird and wonderful forms during WW II. But for one of the smaller ships of the RAN it was a case of using the genuinely ‘real thing’ - applied amid exciting and dramatic circumstances.

The vessel was ML 817, the first of the Fairmiles to go to New Guinea when, in 1943, the war was raging along the New Guinea coastline and these small sub-chasers were to prove invaluable for anti-submarine patrols, convoy escort work, coastal surveillance, harassment of Japanese barge traffic and many other exciting assignments.

Australia went on to build 35 Fairmiles which really were the forerunner of today’s Navy patrol boats. Built by Lars Halvorsen & Sons Pty. Ltd. at Green Point Naval Shipyard in Sydney to an English design, ML 817 commissioned under the command of Lt. Athol Townley who, earlier, had played a key role in sinking one of the Japanese midget submarines that had raided Sydney harbour.

After working-up trials, ML 817 went to New Guinea. With Port Moresby being raided frequently by bombers of the Japanese Air Force, ML 817 spent considerable time by day and by night on anti-submarine patrol along the sealanes approaching Port Moresby harbour.

ML 817 made frequent trips on the convoy run from Moresby to Milne Bay helping escort supply ships. They were trips on which ML 817’s crew members were ever-conscious of the big Japanese air and navy base so close, at Rabaul.

The vessel then became based at Milne Bay and its CO, promoted to Lt. Cdr. Townley, found his ship assigned to the Milne Bay — Oro Bay convoy run through the treacherous reefs on that section of the poorly-charted New Guinea coastline.

Townley and his ship’s company saw several air raids on Oro Bay.

With specially-built mufflers fitted over the Fairmile’s exhaust outlets in the funnel, ML 817 became engaged on a series of raids along the Japanese-occupied New Guinea coast, observing Japanese barge traffic, harassing the supply barges and doing a great deal of surveillance work.

In search for Japanese activities, ML 817 even found herself on one occasion virtually ‘up the river’ - with not enough room on either side to turn the vessel, necessitating the ship having to extricate itself stern first, as crewmen held their breath expecting ‘all hell’ would break loose from the jungle on either side at any moment.

On September 1, 1943, ML 817 was assigned to the United States 7th Fleet Amphibious Force (Task Force 76) for the AIF assault on the Japanese at Lae and Salamaua.

It was ML 817’s task to ensure that the many vessels detailed for the landing of the 9th Div. AIF at Bula Plantation, were shepherded safely from their several dispersal areas along the coast, to the assault rendezvous.

Commander G. Branson of the Royal Navy, who was NOIC New Guinea, travelled aboard ML 817 with Lt. Cdr. Townley - and also aboard was Lt. A.A. Joel, later to become Sir Asher Joel.

Townley took ML 817 out of Buna at dawn on September 3, steaming for Morobe, further up the coast. In Morobe harbour, he placed ML 817 alongside the RAN corvette HMAS Shepparton. No sooner were the lines between the two vessels secured, than 36 enemy aircraft (nine Mitsubishi bombers and 26 Zero fighters) swept in from the south- west and pattern-bombed both vessels.

Starting from 200 yards on the port quarter, the bombs fell in a direct line to a point 300 yards off the starboard bow of ML 817 and HMAS Shepparton.

Although the bomb blasts had thrown him onto his face on the quarterdeck, Lt. Cdr. Townley raced to the bridge and his crew engaged the planes with anti-aircraft fire.

Cdr. Branson later wrote: ‘So quickly did Townley and his crew react to the situation that by the time I had re-boarded across to ML 817 from HMAS Shepparton, the lines holding the two vessels had been let go. ML 817’s Midshipman, with blood streaming down his face from a shrapnel wound, was at his action station directing gunnery fire as ML 817 cleared from HMAS Shepparton.’

Crew members later told of sickening thuds as bomb-metal crashed through ML 817’s side and embedded itself into a cupboard, followed by salt water and seabed sand as the churned-up ocean cascaded through the hole in the ship’s hull.

ML 817 and HMAS Shepparton had been all but swamped by 36 100-kilogram bombs. Both vessels were well straddled. ML 817 had 42 punctures and significant holes in her hull.

Lt. Cdr. Townley put a new meaning into the word camouflage that day. With his vessel’s port engine propeller inoperative and with the starboard engine able to make a speed of only three knots, he maneuvered ML 817 close to a small island. The vessel’s hull had been twisted and the propulsion and other machinery thrown out of alignment.

Crew members went ashore and hacked down jungle until the vessel was camouflaged. Then, under cover of darkness, Townley took ML 817 laboriously down the coast to Buna for a temporary patch-up, then on to Milne Bay. With no slipway facilities available at Milne Bay, it was decided ML 817 should be towed back to Sydney for repairs.

Typical of the man, Lt. Cdr. Townley decided to stay on in New Guinea. He assigned ML 817 to a young skipper just arrived with one of the new Fairmiles, which he himself took over.

ML 817 was towed across the Coral Sea to Townsville by the tanker Trinity in a convoy of ships, then towed down the east coast to Sydney by the corvette HMAS Deloraine.

ML 817 was repaired and she did return to New Guinea and operated on escort and patrol work right up into Dutch New Guinea areas until late 1944.

Townley, meanwhile, went on to more exciting ‘excursions’ with his sub-chaser and later commanded a whole flotilla of RAN Fairmiles.

After the war he became member for Denison in Federal Parliament and held several key portfolios, including that of Minister for Defence at the time of his sudden death in 1963.

IN THE BEGINNING there was COAL!! Lots of it. Dirty, dusty, nostril filling and seemingly unlimited in supply.

Coaling Ship was an evolution in which everybody was engaged in the original ‘One in, All in’ effort to get the ship fuelled. It even led to competitions between ships to see who could ‘Coal Ship’ in the fastest time and like pouring concrete, was a task that went non stop from start to completion, before everybody had a chance to bathe and rid themselves of the filth that accumulated on sweat caked bodies.

To supply the Fleet’s needs in this regard, the RAN, soon after its formation, amassed special purpose ships to enable the Fleet to remain at sea for extended periods. Such vessels included:

Hankow (Collier). Purchased by the RAN in July 1913. Served in Sydney for ten years, then towed to Thursday Island by Biloela, where she served as a coal hulk until 1927. Brought back to Sydney for a year, then towed back to Thursday Island by Platypus and eventually to Darwin where she was sunk as a target by Albatross on 18-9-1929.

Koolonga (Collier). Requisitioned by the RAN in August 1914. Supported Fleet units in New Guinea waters until May 1915.

Mallina (Collier). Taken over in August, 1914 and operated as a Stores ship and Collier until February, 1915.

Mombah (Coal Lighter). Built by Cockatoo Dockyard in 1923. Served in Sydney until 1929 and sold to the Melbourne Harbour Trust in 1930. On 25-3-1944 she was requisitioned by the RAN and deployed at Darwin from 17-10-1944. On 23-12-1944 she left Darwin under tow for Meos Woendi (Morotai). After ten months service in that area, she was towed to Sydney where she paid off into reserve on 6-7-1946. Mombah was sold out of service on 24-2-1948.

Thus passed the age of coal and ushered in the age of oil, much to the relief, no doubt, of all concerned, although nostalgia would tinge some regrets no doubt (again!).

The introduction of Furnace Fuel Oil into RAN service paralleled the use of coal. The Fleet was quick off the mark when war broke out in 1914 and in a short space of time acquired the following ships:

Esturia (Oiler, 2143 tons). Hired by the RAN on 11-9-1914. Built in 1910, she served as an oiler and stores ship for Australian Destroyers in Australian and Malayan waters until transferred to the RN in 1917.

Murex (Oiler). Served in a similar capacity to Esturia until October 1914.

Kurumba (Fleet Oiler). Built by Swan Hunter for the RN and transferred to the RAN on 13-3-1919, arriving in Australia in July 1919. She paid off on 4-6-1928 and remained in reserve until 4-9-1939. During the Second War, she served in Australian, New Guinea and Philippine waters, paying off on 29-7-46. She was sold out of service in January, 1948, renamed Angeliki and later Evangelos in 1955. She was scrapped in 1966.

Kurumba displaced 7806 tons and carried 1 x 4”, 2×6 pdr armament. During the war she carried 1 x 4” and 4 MG’s. Capable of 10 knots, carried a crew of 65 and cost 141,000 Pounds to construct.

Biloela (Fleet Collier). Although primarily a Collier, I have included her as an Oiler as she did carry, apart from 4,000 tons of coal, 1,250 tons of FFO and 750 tons of fresh water. Built by Cockatoo Dockyard in 1918, Biloela was the first ship fully designed in Australia and constructed entirely from Australian materials. Commissioned on 5-7- 1920, she spent the majority of her service in Australian waters, apart from short visits to New Guinea and the New Hebrides. She paid off on 14-11-1927 and was sold to John Hven of Norway in 1931. In 1932, she was renamed Wollert, in 1937 renamed Ivanhoe, and the Yoh Hsing and finally Cree. She was sunk by enemy submarine action on 21-11- 1940. She displaced 9,390 tons and armament was not fitted. Top speed was 11 knots with a range of 5,000 nautical miles at 10 knots. She carried a crew of 70 and cost 450,000 Pounds to build. Her name is commemorated by the General Manager’s launch at Cockatoo Island.

During the early twenties, plans were formulated to convert Biloela to a seaplane carrier, embarking 12 seaplanes. A similar venture was planned for Kurumba, but was dropped, as both ships would be diverted from their principal task.

During the Second War, the following Oilers were acquired by the RAN:

Aase Maersk (Fleet Attendant Tanker). Built at Odense (Denmark) in 1930. Served until 1945 when she was returned to her owners. She displaced 6,184 tons, with a speed of 11 knots and carried 1 x 4”, 1 x 12 pdr and 4 M.G.’s.

Falkefjell (Fleet Oiler). Built in 1931 in Norway and taken over by the R.N. and loaned to the RAN from December, 1941 until April, 1942 when she was replaced by Bishopdale. Displaced 7,900 tons and had a speed of 11.5 knots.

Bishopdale (Fleet Oiler). Built in 1937 for the RN. In April 1942 she was loaned to the RAN as a Fleet Auxiliary, serving in the South Pacific area. She was hit by a Kamikaze in October 1944, but not seriously damaged. She was returned to the RN after the war. She displaced 17,350 tons, had a speed of 11.5 knots and carried 11,650 tons of Fuel Oil plus 850 tons of FFO for her own bunkers.

In addition, the following ships gave valuable service to the RAN during the Second World War, for varying periods: British Sailor, Capsa, Cedar Mills, Colina, Gadila, Madrono, Ostav, Peek, Vera and Yamhill.

During the RAN’s participation in the Korean War and during peacetime exercises, RFA ships were utilised as required, including a couple of the ‘War’ class, (War Afridi being based in Hong Kong), but mostly the ‘Wave’ class ships. I recall some in Korea, Wave King, Wave Knight, Wave Baron, Wave Chieftain, being some of them. The ‘Wave’ boats were fairly solid ships as I recall, as Condamine came off second best on one occasion when we went alongside one of them (we reduced our secondary armament by 20% in one go!).

There were also US Navy tankers that RAN ships became familiar with as well as the RFA ‘Gold’ class vessels from time to time.

It soon became apparent, however, that the RAN had to do something about its own capability and thus HMAS Supply comes into the picture. I do not propose to give details about Supply as the brochures you will have received will give you that information.

Broadly, however, Supply was built by Harland and Wolff of Belfast as RAFA Tide Austral, of the Tide class being built for the Admiralty.

The decision to purchase a Fleet Oiler was made on 19-1-1951. It was planned that the ship would cost 2,500,00 Pounds and join the Fleet in June 1953. After completion in March 1955, RAFA Tide Austral was loaned to the Admiralty, serving mostly in the Mediterranean and Atlantic areas. Rumour has it that she was loaned to the Greek Navy for a while to offset a deal done with one of the Greek shipping magnates. I’ll check that out next time I am in Marrickville!

After seven years service with the Admiralty, Tide Austral was handed back to the RAN It is interesting to note, that in the time she was on loan, the Australian Government collected a cool 13,000,000 Pounds in charter fees! Not bad, eh! She was commissioned into RAN service as HMAS Tide Austral under the command of Capt. G.V. Gladstone RAN on the 15-8-62. She served as HMAS Supply, at Portsmouth, United Kingdom.

During the work up period in U.K. waters and prior to departing for Australia on the 1-10-1962, Supply worked up with RN ships under the control of the Flag Officer, Sea Training in the Portland area, giving the Ship’s Company an opportunity to get used to their ship, work on RAS procedures, battle training and evaluations, etc., and generally be on the ‘sending’ end instead of the ‘receiving’ end and bringing the ship up to required RAN standards.

Prior to joining Supply, Capt. Gladstone, Cdr. Goble, Cdr(E) Lade and CPO Bob Brett were seconded to RFA Olna to learn the ropes for approximately 3 to 4 months. The remainder of the officers and sailors were selected from volunteers, with 2 exceptions that I know of, (S/Lt John Donnelley and myself, we were there you know!) and I recall at Penguin, Capt. J. Mesley expected so many volunteers, that he declared a Tide Austral day so that Divisional Officers and clerical staff could cope with the onslaught! I presume other ships and depots had similar experiences, and it was very interesting to see how many of the volunteers from Penguin gained a billet in the commissioning crew.

Supply departed Portsmouth in company with the 16th MSS comprising HMA Ships Hawk, Gull, Teal, Ibis, Snipe and Curlew; on 1-10-1962, proceeding to Gibraltar. Curlew had problems with her port propeller shaft, which necessitated a longer stay in Gibraltar than planned. Similar problems on passage to Malta caused further delays. After departing Malta and transiting the Suez Canal, Supply called at Aden and took a full load of FFO which sat us down nicely in the water, increasing our draught to 30 ft. Departing Aden, we commented on the smooth ride, compared to the Bay of Biscay.

Passage to Colombo, Singapore and Darwin thence Sydney was uneventful and most of the time was occupied with ship’s husbandry. The amount of rust removed from all parts of the ship was unbelievable and I’m sure we rose noticeably out of the water after having rid ourselves of it. I won’t say all of it, as we could only do so much in the time available. Apart from the rust, there was a lot of accumulated rubbish and offal that was given the deep six.

I recall Capt. Gladstone doing rounds and when we arrived at the Shipwright’s Shop, he pointed to a large lump of metal, asked what it was and if I could not find out, ditch it. Eventually, I could not stall him off any longer and when the CB Officer asked if I had a weight he could use to ditch some Confidential Books, I gladly offered this piece of junk. We tied the weight to the bag and ceremoniously gave the lot the heave ho. Feeling satisfied, I strolled up to the forecastle and immediately spotted where the so called lump of metal belonged. It was the pawl on the anchor windlass ratchet, for hand weighing of the anchor. To this day, I’ve never let on to Rear Admiral Gladstone, even though he asked me later if I had found what it was. I even kept quiet about it onboard Melbourne when we both were serving on that ship.

Supply arrived in Sydney on 6-12-62 and disembarked cargo and fuel. Like all ‘new toys’ in the RAN she was not long in being subjected to an extremely busy programme.

In 1963 she accompanied the 16th MSS to the Solomon Islands for a live sweep in Tonolai harbour to get rid of wartime mines.

In 1965 she was on station to refuel Sydney on the first of her runs to Vietnam. Supply was busy in carrying FFO to RAN Oil Fuel Installations around Australia and New Guinea.

In 1970-71, Supply underwent a major refit, when the enclosed bridge was fitted. Incidentally, when she commissioned, we were the only ship in the RAN that could hold Divisions on the Flag Deck! Subsequently, she lost the centre sampson posts and derricks, and although the general profile has remained unaltered, lots of As and As, modifications, etc. have made noticeable changes to her general appearance. In February 1973 Supply accompanied Perth and Derwent on an Indian Ocean cruise. She later accompanied RNZN ships to Muraroa Atoll to observe French nuclear testing.

With all the problems and diplomatic toing and froing over those tests, it is somewhat amusing to see the Supply being replaced by a French designed vessel.

In the 23 years since coming into RAN service, Supply served the RAN and Australia well indeed. Her contribution to Fleet efficiency has been immeasurable and without her to service ships and Oil Fuel Installations, the difference would have been glaringly obvious.

Many well known names have been connected with Supply as the list of her 26 Commanding Officers would show.

She has some features which are unique in RAN ships. For instance, did you notice the wooden stairway outside the Wardroom? All accommodation is in cabins and quite comfortable at that. I believe my old cabin up on 01 deck eventually harboured several midshipmen. Still, I’d finished with it.

A few last statistics to wind up this talk, which I hope has been to your enjoyment.

  • Underway Replenishments to date: 3,355.
  • Distance steamed to date: 658,389 nautical miles (approximately 28 times around the world).
  • Time underway to date: 51,234 hours (almost 6 years non-stop steaming).
  • Supply has had 26 Commanding Officers to date.

Supply has been a fine unit of the RAN and has a proud record. Her successor has a lot to look up to.

CONDAMINE, one of four modified river class frigates (the others being Shoalhaven, Murchison and Culgoa) was built by the State Dockyard at Newcastle, NSW.

Laid down on the 3rd of October 1943, launched on the 4th of November 1944, and commissioned on the 22nd of February 1946, she was armed with 4 x 4’ guns, 5 x 40mm Bofors, hedgehog anti submarine projectiles and depth charges. Quite a formidable outfit for a ship of 1,544 tons displacement.

From the time of commissioning, she served in NSW waters proceeding to New Guinea, Darwin and Kangaroo Island in South Australia, on routine and towing duties, following which, she went into refit at Williamstown Dockyard.

Following her refit, Condamine again served in the New Guinea area, returning to the Sydney area, having steamed some 63,000 miles in the first two-and-a-half years since commissioning.

From 1949 until 1951, Condamine was deployed in the East Australia area on anti submarine training and exercises, visits to various ports including such exotic places as Portland, Hobart and Twofold Bay, under the command of Lt. Cdr. A.W. Salisbury, RANR.

In March 1952, Condamine loaded some twenty tons of stores and provisions for Lord Howe Island. (I do not think there were any bottles of Chardonnay, as Neville Wran was not a frequent visitor at that time.) On the Monday morning, having bade our fond farewells, we were at No. 1 Buoy, Farm Cove ready to set forth. To the consternation of most of us, sailing was delayed, with no reason being given. About two hours later, tugs arrived alongside and moved us to the Cruiser Wharf. Not long afterwards, HMAS Wagga came alongside and the stores were transferred to her. At lunchtime, lower deck was cleared and the commanding officer put us in the picture. Instead of a balmy two- week cruise to Lord Howe, we were to have a nine-week refit and go to Korea to relieve HMAS Warramunga.

The refit involved, among other things, the removal of the original Bofors outfit, they being replaced with the you beaut new electro-hydraulic version. We were also fitted with the first type 974 radar in the RAN (Some years later, I was informed by Cdr. Col Stewart, when I was serving in HMAS Sydney, that I had the distinction of having served in the first and last ships in the RAN to be fitted with type 974 radar. In this age of trivia I considered that information to be too important not to be included.)

Eventually, we were as ready as we could be, our numbers had been brought up to our complement of 217, we had fully stored and taken on our full stocks of ammunition. Perhaps the only thing that was not fully stocked was enthusiasm for what lay ahead. We now had a new Commanding Officer, Lt. Cdr. R.C. Savage, DSC, RAN. After a short work up to see if we could frighten an enemy any more than we did our friends, and by now, as a result of the very high standards of work carried out by Garden Island Dockyard, we were ready to get amongst it.

In June 1952, Condamine sailed from Sydney for Korea, via Darwin and Singapore. From Singapore, she proceeded nonstop to Kure in Japan. It is a tribute to the designers of this class of ship that such a distance could be covered in one run. The majority of the pre-refit complement had been retained. A large number of whom were Ordinary Seamen under training, and as is usually the case, acquitted themselves well during the tour of duty.

My role at the time was the ‘Chippy’. I was a joiner 4th class and you don’t come much lower down the scale than that. I was fully prepared for the great struggle, never having done a damage control course or being versed in the noble craft of boat building or any of the wonders of the shipwrights calling. However, a small matter like gross ignorance was not to deter me.

We had laid in damage control stores and by good fortune, I had had enough instinct to order some 4’ x 4’ shoring which came in useful at a later date. By the time Condamine arrived in Kure, we were no longer considered a hazard to navigation and more so, to ourselves. The gunners were shooting quite well, and were known to occasionally hit what they were aiming at. At last we reckoned we were ready to show the North Koreans a thing or two.

On the 4th of August 1952, Condamine took her war station off the Haeju Peninsula on the west coast of Korea, as a unit of Task Unit 95.12.4. I don’t know how these numbers are arrived at, but I daresay the Seamen would be aware.

On the 7th of August, Condamine fired her first angry shots when she bombarded North Korean positions on the mainland opposite Hudo Island. The following day, Condamine relieved USS Kimberly as Task Unit Commander, defending the Chodo-Sokto Islands at the mouth of the Chinnampo River. The following week consisted of daily bombardments, with air support from the carrier group over the horizon. (They must have been well out to sea, as we never caught sight of them.)

During one of our actions, we were dismayed to actually see an R.N. Firefly aircraft blown up in mid air by a good bit of enemy shooting. It brought home to us that the naval war was not entirely one sided.

We were relieved by HMS St. Brides Bay and proceeded to Sasebo in Japan, having to go hundreds of miles out of our way to avoid a typhoon. Can’t say that I would recommend a frigate and typhoon combination as a desirable way to travel. The deck edge was close to being immersed on a number of occasions and I recall sitting down for the midday meal which was stew of indeterminate ancestry. The ship rolled, everything on the table started to slide and I could not fend off everything at once. The devil was determined that I was not to be denied this culinary delight however, as the plate of stew slid gracefully off the table and landed on my lap without spilling a drop. It had probably coagulated on the way.

After a spell in Sasebo during which we took about an hour or so it seemed, to pass USS Missouri (they are big ships), Condamine set off for the east coast to show the presence there reporting to the Task Unit Commander off the Yongdo area, relieving HMS Mounts Bay.

Our area of action was from Yongdo to Chongjin in the north to Chado in the south, giving the North Korean railways a hard time.

This activity consisted of lurking offshore with the main armament loaded, ranged and ready, waiting for any train to work up a full head of steam in the tunnels which formed a large part of the rail system. At the first sign of steam, etc., rushing out of the tunnel, it was the signal that the driver was making a run for it, and we would open up on him trying to blow him off the tracks. The North Koreans had not however, come down in the last shower, as they invariably had a locomotive at each end of the train, which meant that even a direct hit on the train did not guarantee success, as the train could be pulled into tunnels at both end of the clear area if it was hit. We knocked out at least one train, although the Task Unit Commander who was in the vicinity, claimed that it was his guns that did the damage (sounds like an America’s Cup deal).

Condamine had some satisfaction at a later stage, when on the 10th of September we bombarded Tanchon and demolished six buildings which had previously been untouched. Later in the same patrol, we were steaming up the east coast towards Wonsan, on a bright sunny day, and came upon USS Iowa with what seemed to be half the cruiser and destroyer strength of the US Navy, in company, with more than 230 jet and other aircraft circling around. As we got near this force, Iowa appeared to blow up. This was not the case however, as she had just fired a broadside from her main armament. What a sight! The city of Wonsan was on the receiving end of all this and I for one, was glad they were on our side.

Knowing the difficulties that Iowa would be having, our fearless leader signalled ‘Do you require assistance?’. Iowa did reply in a printable manner to the effect, ‘Go away, little man.’ It was quite obvious that Iowa did not know with whom she was dealing. As a matter of interest, Condamine steamed 2,577 miles in 19 days, on that patrol.

We were relieved by HMS Charity on the 11th of September and returned to Kure for a maintenance period of docking. Following this break, we returned to our old haunt, the Haeju Peninsula, on the west coast, relieving HMS St. Brides Bay once again.

It was during this period that the North Koreans put over a very convincing story on the radio, that Condamine had been sunk by North Korean shore batteries, with the loss of all on board. The story was convincing enough for British Headquarters in Japan to send a Canadian destroyer out to take our place on station. As we had been maintaining radio silence at the time, we did not realise that we were in such dire straits. The story reached Australia, spread like wildfire around Cerberus, and even reached Taree in NSW as an aunt of mine called to see my wife to enquire whether she had received any recent mail. An AB Jones had been left ashore in Kure and had the news broken to him that we had been lost. It seemed that we must have had made some impact on the locals, as all the haunts had hung black crepe and drapes in mourning for us! A pity we had to turn up and spoil a good wake!

Our next patrol saw us back in the bombardment business supporting raids by South Korean wolfpack guerillas. I believe that these wolfpacks were so good at their tasks, that even now, their modus operandi is classified, in case it is needed again, as the relations between the two Koreas are not altogether affable.

One raid was a bit of a disaster, as this John Wayne clone (a US Marine Major), found out to his cost. We laid down a barrage to cover this particular effort, and the Major took his team in. On the appointed time, he leapt out, guns blazing, and tried to take North Korea single handed. True! His troops stayed put and as a result, he copped some return fire, mostly in the chest and had to be rescued.

We were told of the situation ashore, and called up air support. Some Corsair aircraft arrived in a hurry and plastered the North Korean positions with napalm. Nasty stuff. It was the biggest barbecue I had ever been to. I think we won that one.

After a spell in Kure, we returned to our stamping grounds on the west coast. We never did any more east coast patrols as we did not have the speed to keep up with the requirement. We were flat out at 18 knots. Condamine relieved St. Brides Bay once again and with units of the South Korean Navy, we spent a couple of weeks guarding offshore islands, anchoring at night between the islands and the mainland, to ensure the security of the islands. Those were the nights of nuisance shooting, which consisted of firing a 4’ round every hour, but not necessarily on the hour, to keep the North Koreans on their toes. We fired star shell to help them see what we did not want them to do. I don’t know if the NK’s thought it a nuisance, but it certainly was to us! As having been jolted awake by the gun firing, there was the interminable wait for the shell case to be picked up and tossed from the gun deck to the upper deck and roll down to the sick bay sky-light on the port side. I suppose the reason that the port side was favoured could have been that the wardroom and officers’ cabins were on the starboard side and I daresay the occupants needed their beauty sleep!

From then until the remainder of our fair weather patrols, it was harassing gunfire and routine patrolling, except for the memorable occasion, when our seeming supremacy was challenged.

We were escorting a South Korean minesweeper about two or so miles, could have been a bit more, from offshore, when the sound of gunfire attracted our attention, about 1 p.m. When waterspouts started appearing about a hundred yards from our starboard beam, it attracted a whole lot more attention! We went to action stations faster than the proverbial speeding bullet. I had my working tools on the workbench I had on the quarterdeck between the depth charge racks. I went down the starboard side as the after 4” mounting started to train, grabbed my tools and burst back up the port side. As I got adjacent the mounting, the first shells were fired. The gun crew must have been extremely quick, as I was not wasting any time. Luckily I was pointing towards the bulkhead door, as when the gun fired, I must have leapt four feet into the air and if I had not been pointing at the door, I would have certainly gone straight over the guard rails in one bound and at the pace I was going, would have travelled several yards before my ankles got wet. Anyway, after a fierce duel with the shore batteries, during which time, the after mounting was oversupplied with ammunition, we knocked out one position, called up air support, who fixed a second position and the others called it quits. We were blooded but not bloodied, and from that day, we considered that we had earned our gongs, and although we never matched Murchison and her exploits on the Han River, we felt justifiably proud of ourselves and when ANZAC arrived on the scene afterwards, we felt that we had an edge on them.

During this action, there was one casualty. AB Rose had his hand caught in the ammunition hoist near the after mounting and had to be cut loose from the rope which had jammed on the winch drum. Apart from that the only other noticeable effect was the 216 cases of bowel disorder and temporary incontinence. Who said war was not fun?

Our next patrol was to see the effects of a severe winter.

It was believed to have been the coldest winter for ten years. I suppose it was, seeing that we were in the middle of it. It was fascinating by day, to see the ocean frozen over for miles in all directions, with ice floes of very large dimensions looking very ominous indeed. At night, it was a case of maintaining way all the time, or risk being frozen in and at the mercy of tides and currents. At night lying in the hammock, listening to the floes scraping along the side for all the world like a great tin opener, made one thankful to the naval architect who had specified 3/8’ plating for the construction. No doubt, the occupants of the lower seamen’s and stokers’ mess had very similar thoughts.

One night we ran into a snowstorm and woke to a mantle of snow some 3’ thick on the upper decks and our guard rail wires caked in ice nearly 4’ thick. That had to be cleared quickly on account of topweight considerations.

As a result of a recreation run ashore on one of the islands the plight of a group of orphans was noted. They did not appear to have any prospects for the future, so a committee of four, under Mr. Frank Stubbs, R.N. our gunner, was formed to organise the collection of money and the purchase of toys and other goodies to help brighten up the orphans’ Christmas. This was duly done and the looks of joy on the kids and the orphanage staff faces when the toys, etc. were handed around, made it all worthwhile. We earned the title of the Christmas Ship for that effort.

Condamine spent Christmas at sea, with a quiet day for a change, although the Sydney newspapers knew better. Cuttings sent to us indicated that we had spent Christmas day slugging it out with communist shore batteries and that we had inflicted heavy damage and casualties. Of course, we did not realise that we had been subjected to so much excitement. It must have been the Ballarat beer the RSL sent us for Christmas that caused it. Nevertheless, the parcels of goodies sent to us by the RSL, the gifts from Lord Nuffield, the rations of barley sugar, malted milk tablets and cod liver oil capsules combined with the Christmas dinner made it a pleasant day. We had received the barley sugar, malted milk tablets and cod liver oil as a result of a tuberculosis scare on Arunta. For the first few issues, it was a real novelty. After that you could not give the stuff away, although there were some suspiciously similar products on sale at some of the food stalls in Kure the next time we were there.

We engaged in routine patrols, escort duties, bombardments of varying success and generally made a good reputation for ourselves as a reliable and competent unit until 15th March 1953 when we completed our final operation.

During her time in Korea, Condamine steamed some 22,000 miles on operations, fired a considerable number of 4” rounds, expended some Bofor ammunition in sinking stray boats and mines and on one hilarious occasion, we fired off some hedgehog projectiles when LEM Onley tested the firing circuits while they were open and ready for firing. He thought it was funny, but the sailor who had been sunning himself at the front of the hedgehog mounting did not agree.

On 20th April 1953 Condamine returned to Sydney via Hong Kong where she had been relieved by HMAS Culgoa. We steamed nonstop from Hong Kong to Cairns where we picked up Customs and our navigator conveniently dropped the Barrier Reef chart over the side, only to see it sucked into the condenser intake. We made the passage safely however.

You will recall that I mentioned earlier about getting some shoring timber, which came in useful at a later stage.

This was the occasion when we met HMS Cossack who had some mail for us. In going alongside for a heaving line transfer, the wind caught us and we bumped Cossack damaging our bow. Cossack threatened to open up on us if we tried it again and consequently, we got the mail some time later from a tanker. Anyway, as a result of the damage to our bow, my ignorance of damage control came to the fore and with the assistance of Stoker John McHugh, I proceeded up into the cordage locker to plug up the hole.

We used a bale of rags and a wooden pad that I had fabricated to plug the hole and I told the Stoker to go down to the ship’s office flat and bring up a couple of lengths of the shoring timber. The Executive Officer, who was crowding the available space and who would have done a better job than the bale of rags, said, and I quote, ‘What are you going to do with those?’ To which I replied ‘I am going to cut them up and shore the bale and pad into place.’ ‘You can’t do that,’ he said, and to my reply of ‘Why not’, he informed me that he had had them cleaned up for captain’s rounds on the following Saturday. That was when I spoke the series of four letter words that I had picked up along the way. The shoring was cut up and did the job until we returned to Kure when repairs were carried out by the Dockyard.

Condamine returned to Korea for a second tour of duty until the Armistice, under the command, I believe of Lt. Cdr. B.S. Murray. In 1954 she was based in Darwin on pearling and fishing surveillance duties and returned to Sydney on the 14th of November 1955. She paid off into reserve on the 2nd of December 1955, having steamed some 180,000 miles since commissioning. She was never recommissioned and was sold out of service in 1960.

Thus ended Condamine. She had served the RAN for a period of nine years. Hardly out of warranty. But she joined her sisters as probably the most under utilised class of ship ever to have served the Royal Australian Navy. These ships deserved better.

I FEEL THAT THE 75TH ANNIVERSARY of the Royal Australian Navy should not be allowed to slip away without brief mention of the operations carried out by the Navy in 1914.

It was of course just under three years old and even at this stage the majority of the personnel was Australian. As is normally the case, the Navy was in that state of readiness which allowed it to complete with war stores, with minimum fuss and time and be ready in all respects to meet the enemy.

The immediate enemy was undoubtedly the German Pacific Squadron, under command of Vice Admiral Graf Von Spee, consisting of Armoured Cruisers (8.2” guns) Scharnhorst and Gneisenau, three Light protected Cruisers (4.1” guns) Leipzig, Nurnburg and Emden, and one Light unprotected Cruiser (4.1” guns) Cormoran. (There are also some German merchant ships capable of being converted to auxiliary cruisers in the general area.)

Their base was Tsingtao in N.E. China but on the outbreak of war on 4th August their whereabouts were unknown, except for Emden in Tsingtao.

The Australian Fleet had been assembled barely a year and at the commencement of hostilities some of it was exercising inside the Barrier Reef, the remainder refitting in Sydney. Nevertheless it proceeded to its war stations.

Vice Admiral Sir George Patey, Flag Officer Commanding the Fleet, having appreciated the situation regarding the German ships’ possible disposition considered that he had to search for them first in the Bismarck Archipelago and probably further.

Accordingly Australia, Sydney, Encounter and three destroyers were ordered to rendezvous on 9th August for an attack on Rabaul - the best harbour in the archipelago. Melbourne was also ordered to join the force. Encounter did not join until 12th and Melbourne had to proceed to Rossel Island to coal.

A night search by destroyers inside Simpsonhafn revealed no German ships and eventually the activities were observed from ashore. The search for the wireless station was likely to be long and Admiral Patey decided to search round Bougainville Island and then proceed to Port Moresby for coal.

Early in August it was decided that a special force of Naval Brigade (under Commander J.A. Beresford) and Army was to be raised, the whole to be under the command of Colonel W. Holmes. They embarked in the Berrima, commissioned as an auxiliary cruiser under command of Commander J.B. Stevenson. This force was to occupy German colonies in the Pacific (eventually SW Pacific after Japan’s entry in the war) and left Sydney on 19th August. It had to wait in Port Moresby until the flagship Australia completed her duties in the Samoan occupation, by New Zealand personnel. Finally it left Port Moresby on 7th September and on 9th September rendezvoused with AUSTRALIA, the fleet being Australia, Sydney, Encounter, Warrego, Yarra, Parramatta and Berrima. Submarines AE1 and AE2 were also part of the force. On 11th September they approached Rabaul and adjacent places.

The actions leading up to the capture of the wireless station at Bitipaka on Blanche Bay resulted in the loss of one Naval Officer, one Army Medical Officer (attached to Naval Brigade) and two Able Seamen.

On 31st August Australia and Melbourne, having assisted in the escort of the New Zealand Force detailed to capture Samoa, left Apia; Australia for Port Moresby and Melbourne for Nauru. Here a party was landed on 9th September, captured the Island and found the wireless station already destroyed by its own personnel.

With the capture of Rabaul and the Governor of German New Guinea, only one more place of note remained to be captured and on 24th September an Australian Force escorted by Australia, Encounter and French cruiser Montcalm occupied Madang.

Some inspection of other small places had to be done to ascertain the situation regarding occupation, and doubt about the whereabouts of the German Government vessel Komet had to be cleared up. She was eventually captured on 10th October at a hideout in New Britain, by a small vessel armed with a borrowed 12pdr. She was commissioned as HMAS Una on 17th November 1914.

On 14th September the Australian Navy lost its first warship. Submarine AE1 and Parramatta left Rabaul at 0700 to patrol off Cape Gazelle. At 1530 AE1 was seen to be returning to harbour. She was never seen again. Three officers and thirty-two men were lost.

By 14th September the German ships had been located - Emden in the Indian Ocean and the others had closed Apia and Samoa, and moved away to the N.W. So Australia was ordered to cover Encounter at Rabaul.

Melbourne proceeded to Sydney for repairs and escort duties with the first AIF convoy. Sydney remained with Australia and they operated from Suva. Searches were made of all the islands off Fiji, without result. On 8th November Australia left Suva and eventually arrived Rosyth in 1915. The Battle of Falkland Islands decided this. The German Squadron was utterly defeated and so was no longer a menace.

Sydney had been detached in order to join Melbourne for escort duties with the first AIF convoy. Encounter remained in New Guinea waters for a time returning to Australia when no longer required there.

The destroyers patrolled off and up the Sepik River until Komet was captured and then visited all places required to be examined by Brigadier Holmes.

Submarine AE2 returned to Australia having been based at Suva with the other Australian ships. She left Australia with the second AIF convoy, departing Albany on 31st December.

On 9th November history was made when Sydney sank the German cruiser Emden off the Cocos Islands, whilst a party from Emden was ashore putting the wireless and cable stations (vital links in Australian overseas communications) out of action.

This commerce raider had had a very fruitful career, sinking nineteen ships, capturing five for her own use and using four others for transporting prisoners from her victims to friendly ports. She had been ‘tying down’ some sixteen ships, British and Allied, in the search for her and these were now released for other duties.

And so young and comparatively inexperienced as the ship’s companies were, the Royal Australian Navy had carried out its wartime tasks efficiently and successfully under the guidance of the Senior Royal Navy officers who had been lent to help it ‘get underway’. Losses had been sustained but the presence of the battle cruiser prevented the German armoured cruisers from operating in Australasian waters and undoubtedly much shipping was saved thereby.

The decision to establish an Australian Navy was well and truly justified in just a few months of war.

Some four officers and thirty-eight men had lost their lives.

I would like to repeat that the Navy is at all times ready for action even if all its war stores are not onboard. Today these war stores are comparatively few. In 1914 they were quite extensive but really did not prevent the ships from engaging the enemy if he/they were encountered before embarking them.

The above events, so very briefly related, seem to me to have been overlooked by the majority of Australians including - more’s the pity - the present RAN.

Never let us forget the ‘blooding’ of our Navy, in which it performed so well.

(Reprinted by permission of Penang New Sunday Times, October 28, 1984)

On October 28, 1914 - exactly 70 years ago today - most of the people of Penang were still deep in slumber just before dawn when the German raider Emden stole into the Penang harbour and sank the Russian cruiser Zhemchug in the North Channel. As it was leaving Penang, the Emden also sent the French torpedo boat, Mosquet, to the bottom of the sea, 10 miles off Muka Head on the northwest of Penang Island.

At the outbreak of the First World War, a lone German sea-raider inflicted untold damage on Britain’s war effort in the Indian Ocean. The ship was the 3,650-ton German cruiser Emden. In three months she captured or sank 23 merchant ships, attacked ports and harbours, destroyed a radio station and enticed 80 enemy warships into searching for her.

The Emden’s odyssey began on the morning of August 14 1914 when she left an anchorage among the Mariana Islands in the Pacific.

She was off to do battle, alone. Her orders were to penetrate deep into enemy waters and to seek and destroy British merchant shipping.

She was to hunt and be hunted and to fight a war 10,000 miles from the German homeland, which few among her crew ever expected to see again.

How much longer could the Emden maintain her stealthy role? Daily the hunt for her was intensified. Captain Karl Von Muller knew time was running out.

He decided on another strike, which proved to be the most audacious of all. He had already boldly attacked one enemy port, Madras, when no foreign vessel had dared to challenge British rule on the Indian mainland for a hundred years.

Now he would hit another - but this time a fortified naval base. The risks would be enormous but so, too, would be the prize of a successful raid. The new target was Penang.

The attack was made just before dawn on October 28. The Emden had her fourth ‘dummy’ funnel up and a pilot boat at the bottleneck leading into the harbour paid no attention to her.

Just before entering the harbour. Captain von Muller reduced speed and looked around. Even in the greyness the shore lights stood out.

On the port side were four particularly bright lights, evenly spaced, that at first seemed to belong to houses.

Flames

But as the earliest rays of dawn appeared, the lights separated and disclosed the large funnels and superstructure of a capital Russian warship, the cruiser Zhemchug. Captain von Muller moved toward the unsuspecting enemy.

The battle flags were run up the masts, revealing her true identity and she turned to bring the port torpedo tube to bear on the Russian cruiser.

At 500 yards, the captain and the torpedo officer could see a steam pinnace drawing away from the Russian ship.

It was only the cookboat, taking the cooks and petty officers to the early morning market to buy fresh supplies.

The Emden swiftly moved her torpedo tube into the precise position required. Then, at 300 yards, still without a stir from the cruiser, Torpedo Officer Witthoeft pulled the release handle. ‘Torpedo away!’

On deck the men strained in the gathering light and could see the tell-tale streak of bubbles. The enemy was not more than 250 yards away.

Now there was stirring aboard the Zhemchug, movement on the bridge and on the decks, but it was too late.

There was a muffled explosion below the waterline, and the Zhemchug seemed to leap out of the water, a large splash appearing against her hull just below the second funnel. Then she fell back and began to settle.

When the torpedo splash was seen from the Emden her crew began to cheer, but this was drowned out by the noise of the Emden’s guns, which opened up on the Russian cruiser, aiming at her forecastle where the men were sleeping.

Flames could be seen aboard the Russian ship. She was deep in the water, and the Emden’s shells were tearing into her.

Captain von Muller decided another torpedo was needed to finish the Russian off quickly. He put the Emden into a turn to port to fire the starboard tube.

In these few moments of manoeuvre the Zhemchug’s crew, or some of them, managed to get to action stations and shells began to whistle across the Emden.

Then came the second torpedo. It exploded with a sharp crack, striking home below the surface at a point beneath the bridge and penetrated the cruiser’s torpedo storage.

There was a second explosion and the centre of the ship rose high. She broke into two pieces and splashed back into the water. Immediately, thick smoke belched out accompanied by flickering tongues of flame. There was a sizzling and hissing sound in the water and a cloud spread around and above the Russian cruiser. Suddenly Captain von Muller saw a fast approaching ship from the mount of the harbour, trailing a dense cloud of black smoke of the kind that is associated with fast torpedo boats.

Pilot Vessel

He turned the ship hard aport and headed for this new enemy at maximum speed. At 6,000 yards Gunnery Officer Gaede opened fire on her.

The boat turned and showed herself to be a Government pilot vessel, quite harmless to the cruiser. She had suffered only one hit in the funnel, and that had not disabled her.

The interruption had, however, caused the Emden to run so far out of the harbour that it was foolhardy now to turn back and resume the attack on the ships there.

The battle flags were hauled down as the Emden moved past the entrance buoy, and soon the men were released from battle stations.

Not one man aboard the Emden had been wounded. But the Penang episode was not yet over. Moving away from the scene of her triumph the Emden made a fresh sighting. That was not a merchantman but a French destroyer.

Less than 5,000 yards from the enemy the Emden raised her battle flags. As the ships closed the Emden’s gunners began shooting.

The enemy let loose two torpedoes and turned, presenting her beam as a target. The torpedoes passed harmlessly astern, and the Emden began to fire.

After two salvos the Emden’s gunners found the range, and the third sent the French tricolour drooping. One shell must have landed in the boiler room because white clouds of steam rose high above the ship.

The French continued to fire and a machinegun sprayed bullets above the Emden. After the 10th salvo Captain van Muller ordered his gunnery officer to cease fire. The enemy ship was badly holed. Would she surrender? But no white flag showed.

Two more salvos were fired. The firing aboard the French ship ceased, and she began to sink.

But still she refused to surrender.

The Emden resumed firing, but after the 20th salvo the captain again ordered a halt. The destroyer was down by the bows. Then her stern rose for a moment, and the entire ship disappeared.

The Emden moved in. Two cutters were put over the side, and in one of them the Emden’s medical officer, Dr. Schwabe, carried bandages and medicines to treat survivors swimming in the sea.

In all, 36 seamen and one officer were rescued and brought back to the Emden. From them the captain learned that he had sunk the 2,000 ton French destroyer Mosquet.

Cornered

The Emden’s enemies hunted her for three months in the eastern Indian Ocean. At last on November 9 1914 she was cornered.

The German raider’s nemesis was the Australian cruiser, Sydney, which was bigger, faster and fired bigger shells at a longer range than those of the Emden.

Ten minutes after the battle began, the Sydney’s gunners found their target. They then began to cut the little German cruiser to pieces.

The Emden ran aground on the south coast of the Cocos Keeling Island. The engines were stopped, then started again, and she was firmly fixed on the reef.

Captain von Muller’s tactics was to ram his helpless ship into the reefs in shallow water to ensure that the wreck would be irretrievable.

At least this would be better than being sunk at sea or captured as a prize.

On the same day, the following ticker- tape message was sent out to newspapers around the world:

‘The Emden destroyed. Official. The Press Bureau issued the following statement at 12.39pm. The Emden has been driven ashore at Cocos Keeling Island and burnt.’

(This article was originally published in 2 parts in the March 1985 & June 1985 editions of the Naval Historical Review)

This history of the Japanese submarine I27 was written by United States member of the Society, Charles H. Bogart. I27’s operations are of particular interest to Australia as she participated in the Battle of the Coral Sea, the midget submarine attack on Sydney Harbour and the sinking of merchant shipping on the east coast.

AT 0645 ON 7 DECEMBER 1941, the American destroyer Ward (DD139) fired the first shots of the Pacific War when she attacked and sank a Japanese midget submarine operating in restricted waters off the entrance to Pearl Harbor.

Lying in wait that day in the waters around Oahu were 28 fleet submarines of the Imperial Japanese Navy. This concentration represented almost half of Japan’s total submarine strength of 60, only 48 of these were capable of long range offensive action. The other 12 were obsolescent, suitable only for training or home defense operations.

Recognizing the need for additional submarines, Imperial Naval Headquarters had under construction in December 1941 29 submarines, of which 18 were slated for delivery in 1942 and the remainder in 1943. Funds had also been recently obtained by the Imperial Navy for the construction of an additional 38 submarines to be laid down in 1942.

Among the submarines under construction was I27, a type B1 boat. She traced her ancestry back to the KD2 type via the KD3s, KD4s and KD5s and represented the most successful fleet submarine built by Japan.

The KD2 type was a modification of World War German U-139 allocated to Japan at the end of the war.

As built I27 displaced 2,198 tons. Her hull was 356 ft. long with a beam of 30½ ft. and a draft of 16¾ ft. Diesel engines of 12,400SHP gave her a surface speed of 23½ knots while electric motors of 2,000SHP drove I27 at a speed of 8 knots submerged. Armament consisted of 5.5in/50, two single 25mm AA guns and six 21in bow torpedo tubes with 11 reloads. Located in front of her conning tower was a pressurized cylinder which could carry one seaplane or midget submarine.

Radius of action for I27 was 14,000 miles at 16 knots on the surface and 96 miles at 3 knots submerged. The crew consisted of 100 officers and men. A total of 20 boats of the type B1 class were built — 115, 117, 119, 121, 123, and 125-39.

The aircraft carried by I27 was a small one-man seaplane with a speed of 90 mph and an operational period of three hours. The aircraft could be launched 15 minutes after the submarine surfaced but recovery took an hour. The fragile construction of the aeroplane led to damage when it landed. Because of the long time needed to recover the aircraft upon its return it was often abandoned by the submarine at the completion of its combat mission.

I27 was ordered under the 1939 Naval Armament Replacement Plan which had been enacted in response to the US Navy’s new ship building programme. Ordered under this program were 26 submarines, 15 of them B1 type. Construction of I27 was awarded to the Sasebo Naval Yard. She was launched on June 6 1940 but was not commissioned until 24 February 1942. On that day under the command of Commander Iwao Yoshimura she and 128 were assigned to the newly activated Sub Div 14 of Sub Ron 8. By 1 March 1942, 129 and 130 had been added to Sub Div 14. Sub Ron 8 was assigned to the 6th Fleet and consisted of Sub Div 1, 3, and 14. Flagship of Sub Ron 8 was 110 while Hie Maru served as the tender.

March 1942 brought Sub Ron 8 its first operational orders. Its boats were assigned two tasks. The first task was to attack British warships based on the east coast of Africa and then engage in raids on merchant ships in the Indian Ocean.

The second was to attack Allied fleet units in the waters off Australia, New Zealand, New Caledonia and Fiji and to sink any merchant shipping in the area. To carry out this order Rear Admiral Ishizaki Noboron commanding Sub Ron 8 formed three task groups, KO detachment built around Sub Div 1 (116, 118, 120 and reinforced by 110 and 130) would carry out the Indian Ocean raid, while Hei Detachment formed from Sub Div 3 (121, 122, 124) and Otsu detachment consisting of Sub Div 14 with I27 would raid the South Pacific.

Mid April 1942 saw I27 with the other two boats of Sub Div 3 and 14 and cruiser Katori, flagship of 6th Fleet, sailing south for Truk which would serve as their base. I27 and the other boats’ southward journey was halted on 18 April, 400 miles south of Cape Shionomisaki, upon receipt or word that B25s were attacking the Home Islands and that an American carrier task force was operating in waters 700 miles east of Tokyo. The boats of Sub Div 3 and 14 were therefore ordered to head in a north-east direction to intercept TF16 built around carriers Enterprise CV6 and Hornet CV8. Due to the distance that had to be steamed and uncertainty of the carriers’ exact location I27 and the other boats made no contact with Admiral Halsey’s TF16. The boats were therefor ordered to give up the hunt and return to their original mission.

The Hei and Ostu detachment stay at Truk was short. Imperial Headquarters was putting into operation its plan to capture Port Moresby.

All of the submarines with the exception of I21 and I27 were assigned to support this operation which led to the Imperial Navy’s tactical victory at the Battle of the Coral Sea. Instead of being part of this fleet action I27 was ordered to reconnoitre New Caledonia while I21 performed the same type of mission off of Australia’s east coast. The strategic setback that Japan suffered as a result of the Coral Sea battle however caused 6th Fleet to recall I27 along with I21, I22, I24 and I28 to Truk on 11 May 1942.

The original operation plan prepared before I27 and the other boats of Sub Div 3 and 14 left Japan had called for an attack to be mounted in New Zealand and Australian waters by the Hei and Ostu detachments upon capture of Port Moresby. I27, I22, I24 and I28 were to have proceeded to Queen Carola Anchorage off the west coast of Buka Island and load type A midget submarines. These were to have been carried in the pressurized seaplane hanger.

The type ‘A’ midget submarine displaced 46 tons, was 78½ft in length, 6ft in beam and 6ft in draft. Surface speed was 23 knots while a submerged speed of 19 knots could be maintained for an hour. Armament consisted of two 18″ torpedos. They were crewed by two men.

This plan, for a raid by midget submarines in Australian waters, was now revised and modified. The midget submarines were now to be loaded on I27, I22, I24 and I28 at Truk during mid May. While this loading was taking place I21 and I29 were reconnoitering Suva and Sydney with their aircraft to determine which ports contained the most worthwhile targets. Before the operation could commence it had to be modified again as I28 was sunk while returning to Truk on 17 May by the US submarine Tautog (SS199) in the waters north of Rabaul.

With their midget submarines secured on board I27 and the other two submarines set sail for Australia on 20 May 1942. Commanding I27’s midget submarine was Lt. Kenshi Chuma. On the same day I21 and I29 launched their planes to scout the anchorages at Sydney and Suva. No naval vessels were found at Suva but two battleships and a cruiser were reported at Sydney.

Sub Ron 8 therefor directed I27, I22 and I24 to make for Sydney. They were to launch their midget submarines on 30 May as this was the same night Ko detachment would launch its midget submarines at Diego Suarez Harbor, Madagascar. As 129 plane had crashed on landing after its reconnaissance flight I21 was ordered to Sydney to reconnoiter the harbor immediately before the attack.

The afternoon of 30 May found I21′s plane circling over Sydney Harbor. Unchallenged it flew back to I21 reporting battleships and cruisers in the harbor. In reality the largest ship present was the American cruiser Chicago (CA29). 121’s plane on landing was severely damaged and was not recovered. The planned post attack flight had to be cancelled.

The next day at 1630 seven miles east of Sydney Harbor I27 launched HA14, its midget submarine, while at the same time I22 released HA21 and I24 turned lose her midget submarine ‘A’ (hull number unknown).

All went well at first but at 2230 HA14 was discovered by the port defense force tangled in the harbor defense net. HA14 blew herself up. Shortly after HA21 was detected entering the harbor and was sunk by HMAS Yarroma, Steady Hour and Sea Mist. While this was transpiring midget ‘A’ entered the harbor undetected and prepared to attack the cruiser Chicago. Upon midget ‘A’ reaching firing position a blackout was put into effect in the harbour area. This apparently caused a confused firing solution for midget ‘A’ as her torpedoes passed ahead of Chicago and sank the depot ship HMAS Kuttabul tied up ahead of Chicago’s port bow. Midget ‘A’ then disappeared, her fate is still unknown.

The next morning I27 and the other two I boats laid off of Sydney to recover the midget submarines. This action was taken only to carry out Sub Ron 8 orders, suicide attacks at this point in the war were not part of Imperial Naval Doctrine, but I27 and her sister boats did not expect to find their midget submarines as all taking part realised that these were one way missions. After spending 24 hours waiting for their midget submarines without success the I boats dispersed to attack shipping off the Australian east coast. I27′s orders were to proceed to the waters around Tasmania.

Sailing southward I27 attacked her first merchant ship on the morning of 4 June 1942. This was the steamer Barwon of 4,240 tons bond from Melbourne for Port Kembla. Attacking on the surface I27 used both torpedoes and gunfire on the freighter. Luck, however, sailed with Barwon for all of the shells and torpedoes fired were wide of the mark except one torpedo which exploded close alongside doing no damage. I27’s crew mistaking the exploding torpedo as a hit which would sink Barwon abandoned the chase for new game. That afternoon, some 50 miles Southeast of Cape Howe, I27 attacked her second ship. Closing on the surface Cde Yoshimura torpedoed the manganese ore carrier Iron Crown of 3,353 tons on a voyage from Whyalla to Newcastle. With her heavy cargo Iron Crown sank taking down 37 of her 42 man crew.

With the sinking of Iron Crown I27 ran out of targets. After a short patrol off of Tasmania she turned north to search the waters of New Caledonia before reaching Kwajalein in the later part of June.

I27 then sailed for Penang from where she and I29 plus Sub Div 30 boats I1162, I165 and I166 were to operate into the Indian Ocean. Due to different cruising radius the I boats would operate west of Ceylon and the RO boats east of Ceylon. Their mission was to disrupt shipping in the Indian Ocean and tie down part of the British Fleet.

SUB DIV 30 set out on its first patrol in the Indian Ocean in August, 1942. All three of its boats were to operate in the Gulf of Bengal and waters off Ceylon. Only I165 had any luck, sinking the British steamer Harmonides 250 miles south of Ceylon on 25 August 1942. While Sub Div 30 had been patrolling east of Ceylon I27 and I29 had sailed for the west coast of Africa. I29 was to conduct a reconnaissance off Diego Garcia and the Seychelles before carrying out commerce raiding off Zanzibar and in the Arabian Sea. I27 was to attack shipping in the Gulf of Oman at the entrance to the Persian Gulf. One week after sailing, however, I27 had to return to Singapore for repairs due to engine trouble. She was not to return to sea until late September 1942.

When I27 put to sea from Singapore in September she had a new Captain, Commander Kitamura. She sailed at the time I162, I165 and I166 were put back to sea. September 1942 was to be a good month for the Japanese submarines in the Indian Ocean. I29 sank four ships and I165 got one. October saw I166 downing a ship while I162 bagged three. I27 scored her first kill in the Indian Ocean on 22 October, 1942 when she sank the 7,174 ton British steamer Ocean Vintage 80 miles east of Al Masirah in the Arabian Sea. This was to be I27’s only success on this war patrol and she returned to Penang in early November 1942.

While I27 was returning to port, I162, I165 and I166, having already returned to port, were sailing again for Ceylon. Shortly after sailing I162 experienced engine problems and returned to port. Neither I165 nor I166 had any success and after their return to port, Sub Div 30 was moved to Soeraboja to operate off Northern Australia to help cut the supply lines of the Australians and Americans fighting in New Guinea.

As Sub Div 30 was leaving the Indian Ocean fight and I27 was returning to port, I29 sailed for the waters off Africa. Once in port, I27 went alongside the tender for a period of upkeep and rest. Refitted, I27 sailed in December 1942 for the Bay of Bengal but had no success in attacking the shipping in the area. I29 however, sank a ship in November and one in December in the waters west of the Maldive Islands.

Shortly after, I27 and I29 returned to port, and a reorganization of the Imperial Navy resulted in them being transferred in February 1943 from the Advance Force to the South West Area Force. With this transfer orders again came for Sub Div 14 to put to sea. I27 was to operate in the Indian Ocean and I29 in the Gulf of Bengal.

When I27 sailed it was with a new commanding officer. Commander Fukumura, who was to become one of Japan’s top scoring submarine captains. I27 scored her first success of the patrol on 27 March, 1943 when she torpedoed and sank the British 7,132 ton cargo ship Fort Munford 500 miles NW of Crybon. Fort Munford’s entire crew of 46 men was lost and only one of her five gunners survived. With this sinking I27 ended her patrol and returned to Penang.

I29’s war patrol had been different as she was ordered to rendezvous with U-180 off Madagascar on 23 April to pick up the Indian Nationalist leader, Chandra Bose, who was returning to South East Asia from Germany to take command of the Indian liberation movement sponsored by Japan. I29 successfully carried out her mission and landed Chandra Bose in Singapore.

While I27 was at Penang in April, the Japanese submarine force was reorganized. All of the Japanese submarines engaged in the Indian Ocean fight were assigned to Sub Ron 8 under the command of Rear Admiral Ishizaki Noborn at Penang. The squadron was to consist of I27 and I29 reinforced by I8, I10 and I37. I10 was nominally the flagship but Admiral Ishizaki remained ashore at Penang to exercise administrative control. Upkeep of the submarines was provided by the 11th Submarine Base Unit.

Sailing in early April 1943 from Penang, I27 set course for the Arabian Sea and Gulf of Oman. On 7 May I27 found her fourth victim, the 6,608 ton Dutch merchantman Berakit which she sank with a spread of torpedoes 400 miles SW of Ceylon. Berokit had been on a voyage from Colombo to Durban.

The next ship to fall before I27 was the 4,649 ton tanker British Venture of the British Tanker Company, sunk at 0500 on 24 June, 300 miles south of Reunion Island. Killed in the attack was Captain D.C. Barton and 41 of the crew.

Four days later on 28 June at 0405 I27 struck again, sinking the Norwegian 1,974 ton Wallem and Company cargo ship Dah Pu off Muscat. Lost with the ship were 15 of the crew. I27 struck again at 0610 on 5 July, hitting the American cargo ship Alcoa Prospector of 6,797 tons in the Gulf of Oman. The Alcoa Prospector was seriously damaged, but remained afloat.

Unable to steam, she was taken in tow back to Baltimore, Maryland. Here a survey declared her to be a total constructive loss and she was broken up. I27 claimed to have sunk four merchant ships in the Gulf of Oman and one converted gunboat off the Maldive Islands. Postwar records only confirm three of these sinkings and the damage of one ship.

Alcoa Prospector was I27′s last attack of this war patrol. Also sunk during this period were two ships by I37, one by I29 and one by I70. I27 returned to Penang in late July and remained there until late August undergoing upkeep.

Putting to sea at the end of August 1943, I27 sailed for the West Indian Ocean. Her first attack was a torpedo and gun engagement with the American liberty ship Lyman Stewart on 7 September, 300 miles south of the Maldive Islands. Though five torpedoes plus numerous shells were fired by I27 at her, Lyman Stewart was able to make her escape from I27 with only minor damage. A torpedo attack three days later on 10 September, however, was successful. Sunk 250 miles SW of Cape Comiron was the 5,151 ton Bank Line motor vessel Larchbank. Lost from a crew of 58, 12 gunners and 5 passengers were 33 crew members, 7 gunners and 2 passengers. Shortly after this sinking I27 sailed for Penang. At Penang I27 was taken in hand for a one month overhaul. During September and October 1943 the other boats of Sub Ron 8 were not idle. I10 under Commander Tonozuka sank 5 ships in this period and I37 got one.

With her crew refreshed I27 put back to sea at the end of October bound for the Indian Ocean. Her first kill was on 10 November 1943 when she hit with torpedoes the British liberty ship Sambo on her maiden cruise from Iquique, Chile via New Zealand to England. Lost, when their ship went down in the Gulf of Aden, were three of the crew and nine gunners. Striking again on 18 November I27 sank with her torpedoes the British liberty ship Sambridge in the Arabian Sea. Sambridge was on the return portion of her maiden voyage bound from Madras to the United States. The afternoon of 29 November saw I27 claiming another victim when at 1630 she sank the Greek cargo ship Athina Livanos of 4,824 tons in the Gulf of Aden. Lost with Athina Livanos were 9 of her crew and 2 passengers.

The month of December started off right with a target passing in front of I27 on 2 December. This was the Greek steamship Nitsa of 4,732 tons of the Kassos Steam Navigation Company. Sunk in the Gulf of Aden on a voyage from Calcutta to Aden, she lost 11 of her crew. The next day it was the turn of the British cargo ship Fort Camosum to be hit by I27’s torpedoes. Though hit by a torpedo, Fort Camosum refused to sink and made it to port at Aden. This was not the first time Fort Camosum felt a Japanese torpedo, for on 20 June 1942 I25 hit her on her maiden voyage out of Esquimalt, British Columbia. Heavily damaged, she was towed to Seattle, Washington, where the damage was made good on 7 September 1942. Fort Camosum survived the war and was finally scrapped in 1960.

Returning to Penang at the end of December 1943, I27 again entered a period of overhaul. While she had been at sea, Sub Ron 8 had been reinforced by the arrival of two submarines RO110 and RO111 plus the return of I162, I165 and I166. Sub Ron 8 was now at its greatest strength.

The Indian Ocean submarine campaign had been a battle between independently routed merchant ships and individual hunting submarines. Due to a lack of escorts, since the Atlantic, Mediterranean and Pacific all had a higher priority, ships in the Indian Ocean sailed without an anti-submarine vessel protecting them. As the Indian Ocean area was also at the bottom of the list for allocation of merchant ship tonnage, it was believed that more cargo moving time would be lost by holding ships until a convoy could be formed, than it actually lost to marauding submarines. The Indian Ocean was thus never the scene of convoys, battling undersea wolf packs. With a new load of torpedoes Commander Fakumura took I27 back to sea at the end of January 1944. His patrol area this time was to be the Arabian Sea. Off the Maldive Islands in One and Half Degree Channel I27 on 12 February 1944 found a five ship troop convoy escorted by the light cruiser Hawkins and destroyers Petard and Paladin. The convoy had sailed from Kiwindini and was bound for Colombo. Slipping past the escorts, I27 fired a salvo of torpedoes at the 7,513 ton transport Khedive Ismail. So destructive was the attack that 1,134 of the 1,324 troops on board Khedive Ismail were lost along with 137 of 183 man crew. Lost among the troops were a number of WRENs and ‘an entire field regiment’. I27’s triumph was short lived for she was quickly taken under attack by Petard and Paladin and sunk. Thus was killed Commander Fukumura and the crew of I27 one day after RO110 was sunk in the Bay of Bengal, attacking a convoy. I27 was the 53rd submarine lost by the Imperial Navy since the start of the war.

The Japanese submarine war in the Indian Ocean was soon to die. Events in the Pacific were forcing the Imperial Navy to draw their strength homeward as the Allies advance through the Pacific began to near the Home Islands. The last Japanese submarine to sink a ship in the Indian Ocean was RO113, which sank the British steamer Marion Moller off Ceylon on 5 November 1944.

In all during her career I27 sank 12 ships of 67,595 tons and damaged 3 ships of 21,281 tons. She thus ranks as among the most successful of the Japanese submarines.

31 Aug 2011

In the early summer of 1915 three young Naval Officers from the Harwich Destroyer Force (Lieutenants Hampden, Bremner and Anson) conceived the idea of a small fast motor boat, capable of firing a ‘Whitehead’ torpedo, that could be carried in the davits of a light cruiser; such boat to be taken as near as possible to the enemy coast and then launched so that it could carry on under its own power through the enemy minefields to attack their bases.

The Commodore of the Force authorised these three officers to approach the well known shipbuilding firm of Thornycrofts with their plan. They explained that they wanted a boat that would discharge its torpedo over the stern without having to turn for the attack.

Experiments were accordingly carried out by Thornycrofts and the result was a motor boat that could work up to a speed of thirty-four knots in a matter of minutes and discharge its eighteen inch torpedo over the stern whilst steering directly for its objective. On the success of this experiment the British Admiralty ordered twelve boats to be built as soon as possible.

A base was established on the South Eastern Railway Company’s pier at Queenborough, Kent, and the first three boats were ready for service in April 1916.

In order to preserve the utmost secrecy during the training period the boats were run only at night.

The crew of each boat consisted of two officers and a mechanic (ERA) and in order that they could be thoroughly conversant with the new type of engine they spent several weeks at the Basingstoke works to see the engines and boats built and the trials run.

Under Lieutenant Hampden’s direction the newly joined crews were able to perform the most complicated operations at night without difficulty.

Lieutenant Erskine Childers, RNVR, joined the flotilla as Navigator, in view of his exceptional knowledge of the German coast. (He was author of the book Riddle of the Sands).

Before proceeding further with this narrative I must give some details of the construction of a CMB. It was forty feet long by eight feet beam with a draught of about two feet. The hull was of double skin of mahogany and the frames and knees were of American Elm; stringers were of Oregon Pine. The hull was resilient so that it could withstand the slamming in a choppy sea. When travelling at full speed the middle part of the hull was lifted clear of the water to reduce resistance. This was achieved by means of a ‘step’. A spiral propeller was fitted for jumping booms. The torpedo sight, which consisted of a metal triangle somewhat resembling a sextant in a horizontal plane, was fitted at the forepart of the cockpit.

A special design of lifting gear was fitted to the forward engine bearer and to the torpedo trough aft, for slinging under davits.

The boat was propelled by a twelve-cylinder engine of the aviation type but modified for sea work and this developed 250 hp at 1,600 revolutions, giving a maximum speed of thirty-four knots.

A fuel tank with a capacity of 100 gallons of aviation spirit was installed in the cockpit amidships and beneath the Commanding Officer’s seat. A ‘Whitehead’ torpedo was carried in a cradle in the after centreline trough, and was launched by a bell-head ram which was impelled by a cordite charge exploded in a steel bottle. 1,500 grains of No. 37 cordite were used for this charge giving a pressure in the explosion bottle of four tons, but reduced to 1,000 lbs. pressure on reaching the ram. The torpedo firing lever was conveniently to the right hand of the Commanding Officer. Lewis guns on portable swivel mountings were also installed in the cockpit for use against attack by enemy aircraft.

The eighteen-inch torpedo weighed three quarters of a ton and when being launched its initial speed was thirteen knots. In place of a torpedo, depth charges could, if necessary, be launched from the after trough.
Another fitting to the CMB was the Stoke’s mortar, for bombardment purposes. Chlor-sulphonic acid was employed in the exhaust when the boats were required to lay a smokescreen to afford cover to larger vessels, such as the blockships for Zeebrugge Harbour.

The forty foot CMBs were so successful in their operations that larger and faster boats were built to carry two torpedoes each. These were the fifty-five footers which attained a speed of forty-five knots and they were propelled by two engines of 375 hp each. Over one hundred of these boats were built and they were followed up by seventy-footers which were employed for minelaying.

Some tens of thousands of miles were covered in patrols which had been carried out between the minefields off the entrances to Zeebrugge and Ostend and they had many opportunities of action with the German patrol boats (PMBs) and destroyers.

The officers of Coastal Motor Boats wore kit similar to that of the Air Force in those days and the leather helmet and goggles were the only means of protection against the ice-cold and blinding spray that swept continually across the cockpit.

After the successful training at Queenborough a larger base was established at Dover and the flotilla then became part of the famous Dover Patrol.

At the end of 1916, when twelve boats were available, four of them were sent over to an advanced base at Dunkirk where they were kept in readiness for a suitable opportunity of making an attack on the enemy. There was no prepared base for the boats so they were berthed alongside a large steel barge on which the officers and ratings lived through the winter months. A bathing box served as a charthouse and office for Lieut. Childers. Day and night patrols were carried out constantly between the minefields along the coast between Zeebrugge and Ostend, and during these patrols the boats were frequently fired at by the shore batteries and unfortunately more than one was lost, having apparently received a direct hit at short range.

The CMB’s worst enemy was the seaplane which, with its superior speed, would swoop down on the flotilla and spray the open cockpit with machine-gun fire. These sudden attacks resulted in many casualties among the boats’ crews and on one occasion the mechanic brought his boat back single-handed, his two officers lying dead in the cockpit. On another occasion the patrol encountered five German destroyers returning from their dash through the Dover Straits. They attacked and succeeded in torpedoing one of them and causing another to run aground. One of the CMBs ran in close when launching her attack and the blast from the enemy’s four inch gun actually blew the Commanding Officer’s cap off his head without damage to the boat or injury to himself.

For North Sea work another base was established at Osea Island, which is situated up the river Blackwater in Essex. From this base some of the boats joined the Harwich Light Cruiser Force and it was a familiar sight to the residents of Harwich and Felixstowe when the cruisers put to sea with a couple of forty-footers hanging from their cutter davits.

The quickness with which these boats could work up to maximum speed in favourable weather conditions, which was more than the majority of destroyers could do, enabled them to get away successfully after an attack, but the aeroplane or seaplane having greater speed proved a formidable adversary when met with in daylight. CMBs were at their best during night operations.

In the summer of 1917 six of the CMBs were attacked by aircraft in the North Sea and two were lost; the other four managed to make their way into Holland but not until they had accounted for several of the aircraft which had attacked them in great numbers and used up all the ammunition for their machine guns.

The four boats were interned in Holland until the end of the war.

There have been many cases of pluck and heroism in the numerous fights which the CMBs have had and in this particular North Sea action, after the boats had all been riddled and most of the officers hit, Lieutenant Lewis - who was himself wounded - succeeded in keeping another officer afloat on a large mattress fender for over two hours, thereby saving his life.

It is not generally known what a leading part the CMBs played in the blocking actions at Zeebrugge and Ostend.

In the Zeebrugge action the Coastal Motor Boats were responsible for making the smoke screen, which they effected by running ahead of other vessels at high speed and emitting smoke clouds from their exhaust by a special contrivance; they also had to mark certain positions with flares to indicate the right turning points for the blocking ships.

The CMBs entered the harbour in the early stages of the operation to torpedo a vessel alongside the mole while others were fitted with Stokes trench mortars to throw bombs over the mole on to the aeroplane sheds.
In the second action, at Ostend, when the Vindictive was placed in position, two of the CMBs were specially told off to torpedo the ends of the piers to put the guns on them out of action. While others made the smoke screen, one of them went in ahead of the Vindictive burning flares to indicate the exact position of the entrance.

Admiral Keyes, in his official report of the blocking action, referred to the highly efficient handling of his flotilla by Lieutenant Welman, the officer in charge of them and the Dover Base.

The high speed and small size of these boats may, to some extent, be a source of safety, but there is no question that the duties they have undertaken have made this service one of the most risky in the Royal Navy. It is a remarkable fact that with one exception, all the CMBs which took part in the blocking action succeeded in getting away; although they were in many cases very battered and warworn with numerous officers and ratings wounded. Perhaps I should mention that I joined the CMB Service at Dover and served in the boats at Dunkirk, Osea and the Caspian Sea.

Minelaying hardly sounds the work which would be expected of these little craft, but they have nevertheless been utilised very effectively to lay mines where the ordinary mine-laying vessels could not go, their shallow draught enabling them to take short cuts over the enemy minefields safely and their high speed to approach enemy waters unexpectedly.

CMBs had their amusing side and what is looked upon as one of the best jokes occurred when one of the Portsmouth boats patrolling the English Channel was mistaken by a ‘P’ boat for a submarine on the surface. Having missed in her attempt to ram, the ‘P’ boat swung her stern round and fired her depth-charge thrower, which performed splendidly, but it was not quite close enough to finish off the CMB The latter was not seriously damaged and returned at full speed to the base to await the return of the ‘P’ boat. In the morning she duly returned and reported that she had either sunk a submarine or a CMB

Russia

After the Armistice the Admiralty decided to send out expeditions to north and south Russia to assist the White Armies against the Bolsheviks. I will first of all tell you about the southern expedition to the Caspian Sea as I was a member of the party and eventually took command of one of the CMBs.

With the opening of the Dardanelles twelve Coastal Motor Boats were sent out by the cruiser Diamond and the Admiralty transport War Stag to Batoum. From Batoum they were put on rail and taken overland to Baku (on the Western shore of the Caspian Sea) to augment the fleet which had been improvised by fitting out some of the Russian merchant vessels as gunboats. Commander E. Robinson, VC, RN, was in command of this expedition and after an adventurous six hundred-mile railway journey from Batoum, during which we had to work the train ourselves, we arrived at Baku. At the time of the journey it was difficult to discover which of the Russians were friends and which enemies, but all were equally determined to take possession of the gear and stores belonging to the boats.

Two of the merchant vessels in the Caspian Sea were fitted out as carriers with the boats on their foredeck and they were kept at sea in readiness for an attack on the Bolshevik Fleet.

The first stroke of luck came our way when four destroyers surrendered after witnessing the effect of the explosion of a depth-charge in their vicinity. The Russians were really afraid of the CMBs and spoke of them as ‘Eestrabeety’  meaning ‘Devil Boats’.

Towards the end of April, when the ice broke up in the northern Caspian, the remainder of the Bolshevik fleet ventured out of the River Volga and established a base at Fort Alexandrovsk on the eastern shore of the Caspian Sea. All through the winter months the ‘Bolshie’ fleet had been bottled up in the river port of Astrakhan.

On the 21st of May 1919, when Commodore Norris’s gunboats and Commander Robinson’s CMB carriers were cruising south of Alexandrovsk, Colonel Bowhill (now Air Chief Marshal of the RAF) sent up one of his ‘Short’ seaplanes on a reconnaissance flight. The plane eventually returned with the information that a fleet of destroyers, two submarines and several barges and small armed craft were at anchor in the harbour. This was good news for Eric Robinson and Ginger Bowhill so they combined in their efforts to raid the port. The six CMBs were launched and sent into the harbour and two of them each torpedoed and sank a destroyer while the latter were still at anchor. One CMB was put out of action and all hands killed by gunfire during an engine breakdown. The remaining boats attacked small craft and caused them to surrender.

Some of the destroyers got clear of the harbour and were met by Norris’s fleet, which was lying-in-wait on the south side of the promontory.

The Emil Nobel, which was armed with six inch guns, was in danger of being sunk by a Bolshevik submarine when one of the CMBs successfully attacked the latter with depth-charges and so put a quick end to her commission.

Although we suffered many casualties, we regarded the raid as being a very successful one and commemorate it to this day by holding a Caspian Naval Force Dinner at the Trocadero in London, on the 21st of May each year. I will mention that I arrived home last leave on the day of the dinner and the boat-train from Plymouth got me in to London in time to meet some of the old brigade for the first time in twenty years. It may interest you to know that one senior member of the party is now an Admiral and Commander-in-Chief, South Atlantic, at Freetown. Having told you my experiences with the CMBs in the Caspian Sea I will now switch over to events in north Russia.

The First Cruiser Squadron and destroyers under the command of Sir Walter Cowan were based on Biorko Sound in the Baltic Sea. One of the original CMBs with Lieut. A. W. Agar, VC, DSO, in command was attached to this squadron, but operated alone.

One morning in the early part of 1919 Agar set out at crack of dawn in his CMB No. 4 and succeeded in breaking through a screen of destroyers and torpedoing the Bolshevik cruiser Oleg. This cruiser was acting as guard ship to the naval base at Kronstadt.

After Agar’s success in sinking the Oleg, Commander Dobson arrived with his flotilla of CMBs and joined up with the First Cruiser Squadron.

The shallow water and minefields made navigation difficult for the British cruisers and destroyers and it was impossible for them to attack Kronstadt, but it was an easy matter for the CMBs to run in and attack, more so since the guard ship was sunk.

At 10 o’clock on the night of the 17th of August 1919, eight boats of the fifty-five-footer class cast off from the new cruiser Vindictive and headed for Kronstadt harbour. Weather conditions were ideal - a dark night and a flat calm. The aerial attack had been planned to coincide with the CMB attack. The flotilla of eight boats ran the gauntlet of gunfire from the forts and succeeded in getting into the harbour. One CMB torpedoed the submarine-depot ship Pamiat Azov and then turned her attention to other ships in the harbour. Lieutenant Dayrell-Reed, RNR, in command of CMB No. 88, was shot through the head and Lieut. Steele took over command and torpedoed the two battle cruisers Andrei Pervqzanni and Petropavlovsk. For this gallant deed Gordon Steele was awarded the Victoria Cross. I will mention that just prior to the outbreak of the present war he was in command of the cadet ship Worcester at the port of London, but has been called up once again for active service.

There were many exciting incidents but I have no time to give a full account of the raid; however, I must tell you how an aeroplane helped the CMBs to get past the forts when they retired from their raid on Kronstadt. The forts were fully prepared for them with searchlight beams on the water and the boats’ crew feared there was little chance of their getting through, but one of the airmen who appreciated the position flew down into the beam of light from the particular fort they were passing and then climbed rapidly. Those in charge of the searchlight could not resist following him with their beam and the boats passed through invisible to the gunners. The crews of these boats are convinced that they owe their lives to this airman.

In command of HMS Loch Killin, one of the first of a new class of frigate, Lieutenant Commander Darling joined the Second Escort Group under the legendary Captain Walker in June 1944 on A/S patrol in the South Western approaches and the English Channel in support of the Normandy landings. In this phase Loch Killin sank two U-boats and assisted in the sinking of two others in a single patrol. Loch Killin also destroyed a U-boat in the Channel in April 1945.

Being a Lieutenant Commander of nearly three years’ seniority at the outbreak of the war, my first duty on mobilisation was as assistant staff officer operations, NOIC Sydney. However, my interest being in acoustics and sound and therefore Asdics, I applied to do the course at the Anti-Submarine School at Rushcutter. Somewhat reluctantly, due to my age, I was accepted, and on passing out was sent to the United Kingdom for service on loan in the Royal Navy.

On arrival in London in October 1940, and despite a very limited background of sea service, I was given command of a group of four North Sea trawlers, converted to A/S vessels engaged on escorting coastal convoys between Harwich and Flamborough Head on the East Coast, locally known as ‘E-boat alley’ and incidentally on the flight path of bombers attacking London. The sand banks, strong tides, fogs, E-boats and our own and enemy mines made a rather sharp contrast to the kind of conditions I had previously been accustomed to.

The convoys were disposed in two columns to keep within the swept channels and they were often up to 15 miles long, and seldom were there more than a few hours without gunfire, flares, explosions somewhere along the line. The E-boats would either lurk round the channel marking buoys or scream in from the flanks, and bombers failing to locate their targets would sometimes drop their load as they returned over the convoys, but the hardest hit at that time were the minesweepers, who were having great difficulty coping with the new magnetic mines -their losses at that stage were staggering.

After a few weeks on this run, my own ship Loch Oskaig was withdrawn and transferred to Gibraltar, where with three others, we established a contraband control blockade of Spanish and Portuguese ports. Genuine Allied and neutral ships would get themselves ‘Navy-certed’ before departure and would not be intercepted, but others not on the list would be boarded, and if necessary escorted into Gibraltar for further examination. It was a relatively quiet theatre, although on two or three occasions the regularly patrolling Focke Wulfs came over and strafed the patrol vessels. Also Scottish and Loch Oskaig on one occasion picked up an Italian U-boat, but in those days we each had only five patterns of depth charges, and between us we could only manage to damage him and send him home. On another occasion Loch Oskaig intercepted Cap Contin, a 5,000 ton Vichy French freighter in ballast, which was able to radio an alarm before we could stop her. To avoid FW patrols we took her to sea due west about 100 miles before turning for Gibraltar, as our relations with Vichy in the Mediterranean at that time were for all practical purposes at the shooting stage.

The Vice-Admiral Commanding North Atlantic, thinking the French ships might attempt a recapture, despatched Force H - Ark Royal a heavy cruiser and a batch of destroyers. I doubt if anywhere did the war produce a more ludicrous scene than all that floating hardware taking over the escort of a relatively insignificant piece of flotsam from our little trawler. Admiral Somerville, Flag Officer Force H, sent us a signal saying ‘Sorry to be doing this to you’.

Later in 1941 I was appointed to an Admiralty class trawler Inchmarnock, actually smaller than Loch Oskaig, but built for minesweeping and anti-submarine work. Being a new ship we had to ‘work up’ at HMS Western Isles at Tobermory on the west coast of Scotland, where a very small, very old, quite ferocious Admiral Stephenson (aided by a very efficient staff) gave all newcomers three weeks of non-stop hell. But it was good going if you could keep on top of it, and I am sure every one who has been there will agree that ‘Monkey’ Stephenson’s outfit made a very significant contribution to our anti-submarine effort. This was followed by mine-sweeping and anti-submarine patrols round the north coasts, Scapa Flow and the Faroe Islands, until the autumn of 1942, when I was sent over to North America to take command of HMS Clarkia, one of the earlier RN corvettes, which had been loaned to the United States early in 1942.

The United States conducted the war on their Atlantic coast on the basis of total air cover and free movement of ships. The result was disastrous - the U-boats achieving nearly the record killings of the war - and the Americans had to establish the convoy system pronto. Britain lent a number of vessels to help out and Clarkia was still on the job.

The work consisted mainly of escorting convoys between Guantanamo, Cuba, Port of Spain Trinidad and Recife Brazil. At that stage the US convoy system was not yet fully developed and there was still some residual reluctance to adopt out of hand anything British. In the Caribbean the senior officer of each convoy had to make up his own rules about what to do in the event of a U-boat attack. I was not infrequently the senior officer and would trot out plans, which were straight from the British book, but would give them American code names - no problem. Within a year of course there was total cooperation and a single Allied procedure for all these operations.
As Britain was maintaining a squadron of Hudson bombers in the Caribbean area, the U-boat activity all but dried up, and so our part of the job was to escort the tow of a floating dock from Recife to Freetown. The escort included the Asturias, a passenger liner converted to an Armed Merchant Cruiser and she spent upwards of an hour every day sending radio signals. The weather was calm and the course straight. The inevitable happened - she had to be torpedoed. She was full of buoyant ballast - empty oil barrels - and settled only ten feet or so and we then had to escort the tow of her towards Freetown until we were despatched to look for an aircraft dinghy carrying survivors from an NZAF Wellington bomber.

There was some mystery about it, because although a radio had been dropped to them from the searching aircraft, the survivors had not used it. When we picked them up, we found the reason why - they were Germans. On interrogation, it transpired that the bomber had located the U-boat on the surface, the U-boat had decided to stay up and fight it out. The bomber made three runs before letting go its bombs. In the meantime it had been so badly hit that it was well alight and could not climb out of the last attack - it crashed about half a mile from the sub. However its bombs found their mark and sank the submarine. The U-boat crew were in the water some time, being attacked by sharks, when one of them came across the bomber’s inflated dinghy empty. All seven of the U-boat crew got into the raft and there was no sign of anyone from the bomber. I learned later that some people considered that there might have been some bomber survivors, but the U-boat crew overpowered them. The Navy considered this next to impossible, but nevertheless did some more probing and confirmed the truth of the original statement. I learned later still that the U-boat captain was sufficiently impressed with the humane treatment his crew received that when he established a towing service on one of the North German rivers after the war, he named his vessel the Clarkia.

In the autumn of 1943 I was appointed to the command of one of the first of a new class of frigate, the Loch Killin. This had the latest, and at that stage, the most devastating attacking weapon - the Squid. This threw six streamlined bombs in a pattern about 250 yards ahead, fast sinking and directed and timed by the most up-to-date control equipment. Unfortunately delays in supply of material due to bombing had set back the building programme, so that it was many months before Loch Killin took to the water. In the meantime, somewhat against the rules, I was able to make several visits to the Anti-Submarine Experimental Establishment at Fairlie on the Firth of Clyde. This was a fine old country home, magnificent gardens, panelled dining room, etc, - the most genteel of living during meals and in the evening - but what a paradox - for the rest of the time in some prefabricated huts hidden among the trees, designing engines of destruction. These visits I think were very helpful because the scientists could get in conversation a first-hand impression of how the gear worked under actual sea conditions. In fact on several occasions a scientist from the A/S Establishment came to sea with us in Loch Killin.

For our part Loch Killin got not only the latest of the new approved gear, but some additional ancillary experimental gear, mainly to do with different ways of measuring Doppler. With all these delays and another work-up visit to Tobermory, Loch Killin got to sea operationally only just in time to join Captain Walker’s Second Escort Group for the invasion of Normandy, our sister ship Loch Fada also joined at this time. Our first assignment was to patrol the South Western Approaches as an independent group to intercept U-boats trying to get into the English Channel. Captain Walker had achieved just fame because the groups he commanded were outstandingly successful. His record was equalled only once by a collection of six U-boats in a single patrol by a US group led by the USS England.

Apart from his qualities of leadership and the consequent welding of his groups into such efficient fighting units, I think the qualities contributing most to his, and the Group’s, achievements were a total dedication to the job of finding and annihilating the U-boats and a firm and realistic grasp of the practicalities in the business of doing so.

However Captain Walker’s just pride did not block his objectivity nor his vision. As an example, if ever a man had reason to say, ‘I’ve got a good proven recipe - I’ll not knock it for any newfangled theories,’ Walker did not. When the two Lochs joined him, totally untried, but full of promise, he said, ‘You look the goods, I’ll put you in the box seat (one towards each wing) and generally on contact the nearest of you will go in and see what you can do.’ Unfortunately, years of this total dedication had taken its toll of Captain Walker; he was already a very tired and spent man. He was too sick to come to sea on the second patrol and died in hospital within a couple of days, while the ships were at sea. The Group was now commanded by Commander Duck RNR, but the patrol proved abortive right up to the last day.

Then Loch Killin got a contact. It had all the characteristics of a U-boat, so the ship slowed down to attacking speed, the recorder took charge of both the ship’s course and the aiming of the two triple barrelled mortars on B deck, it set the fuses to the proper firing depth and finally fired the mortars in two volleys all in a matter of about five minutes. The bombs exploded shortly afterwards, giving the U-boat no chance to evade, and it went to the bottom, gushing oil.

The boat was lying to the tide, and may not have been mortally wounded, so a second attack was made on the up tide end of the boat. This apparently counter mined a torpedo and split the boat open, bringing up much evidence of a kill.

When on U-boat hunting missions in the Atlantic, where the turbulent waters led to good Asdic conditions, the Group finding the then standard methods of attack to be lacking quickly developed the much more successful barrage attacks.

One of these consisted of sitting on a hunted U-boat which had succeeded in evading the normal attacks until it settled down in a slow run at near maximum depth. Several of the Group would then form up in line abreast about 200 yards apart astern of the U-boat, and move over it at a good speed dropping deep depth charges at intervals of 50 yards or less. In an alternative form, one vessel, guided by another stationed at a convenient distance astern, would creep up on the U-boat from astern and drop a line of charges at 50 feet intervals. In either form of attack, the detonations gave the hunting vessels a severe shaking up, but inevitably they would be too much for the U-boat whose end would be signalled by the breaking up noises as she went to the bottom.

For the next patrol, now under the command of Commander Wemyss, the U-boats began to show up and Loch Killin was again involved in a rather spectacular joust with the enemy. The other escorts were all dark camouflaged whereas Loch Killin was light - almost white. This may have had something to do with it, because seen through a periscope, the light coloured vessel may not have been noticed. In any event the U-boat tried to penetrate the screen close to Loch Killin. Her periscope was seen 600 yards on the starboard bow. In the matter of a relatively few seconds, the ship was able to turn about 180 degrees to starboard, slow down to an effective attacking speed, establish asdic contact long enough to get the proper settings and fire the Squid. However, in those same few seconds the U-boat was not wasting time either. He got away two torpedoes. They were claimed to be dry runners, but nevertheless at this critical moment one of them was seen to be approaching our port quarter. Fortunately for us, the detonation of our Squids counter mined the torpedo and it blew up only yards away from the ship’s side. The whole of the 200 feet of the ship was lost from view from the other escorts in the mushroom of water and the quarterdeck crew were drenched, but that was all.

A few seconds later, the U-boat, mortally damaged, broke surface, stopped, beam on to us right in our path. We had not taken off enough way after firing the Squid, and now it was too late to avoid a collision. Fortunately we ran over the bow section which was still submerged and thereby did not lose our asdic gear, but the U-boat made a grinding contact with our bottom just under the bridge. We had to stop the propellers to save them, and the two vessels came to a grinding halt with the U-boat’s bows stuck under our A bracket. The conning tower was just clear of our port quarter and its stern stuck in the air. The surviving members of the crew were able to clamber on board Loch Killin without wetting their feet. The look of disbelief we got from the Captain when he saw what was sitting on his boat was a sight to remember.

Despite our rumpled bottom and one or two knocks on our propellers, we were deemed still to be seaworthy,
so the prisoners were transferred to another escort for passage back to the UK and we remained with the Group.

Two more U-boats were dealt with on that patrol. The first was bombed and damaged by the RAF, given a further dose while on the bottom by HMS Wren, and in the middle of the night she surfaced, abandoned and scuttled, all within a few minutes. The full crew were picked up.

The remaining U-boat was observed, but not attacked by aircraft, and although Asdic conditions prevented our making contact, the Group patrolled over the boat for about a day, when early the next morning she surfaced and scuttled about five miles ahead of the approaching Group - again I think the entire crew were picked up.

After that the Second Escort Group broke up and Loch Killin joined the Seventeenth Escort Group under Commander Moore, RNR. For most of the time Moore took half the Group in the Irish Sea, and I had the other half in the English Channel patrolling the seaward side of the cross Channel convoys. This was very nearly a case of watch on stop on for the specialist, because the night was spent looking for U-boats, supporting the convoys and the days were spent looking for U-boats. It came to a head when on a clear night with a half moon, when our Sub Group was patrolling north towards a south bound convoy, Loch Killin passed close by the starboard wing escort of the convoy, a Dance Class Admiralty trawler Quadrille. The trawler apparently did not see us until we were close, did not recognise we were passing courses and went hard a starboard right across our bows. Loch Killin, 2,300 tons hit Quadrille, 700 tons hard in the engine room and cut her almost in half. Luckily some frights, but not a single injury.

After that we were given a little sleeping time in our schedules. The work at this time was frustrating; the Channel was pockmarked with wrecks and obstructions on the bottom, which could have been U-boats and which therefore had to be classified. Fortunately we had by this time a predecessor of Decca and were able to develop charts showing most of the permanent wrecks.

In mid April 1945 the war in Europe drew towards its inevitable close, but we had one more brush with the enemy.

Patrolling up the English Channel abreast Plymouth about midnight, we overtook a U-boat also going east, unaware of our presence, so we had no qualms about giving the watch operator - the contact setter - the first attack. Actually it is difficult to judge the distance in such an astern attack as the wake gives off strong returns and to our chagrin our first attack fell short and did not even stop the boat. However we wasted no time in putting him on the bottom with the second salvo and brought him to the surface mortally damaged with the third. The U-boat surged ahead under a full (jammed) starboard rudder, with the crew abandoning as fast as they could, and then started a manoeuvre which must be unique in U-boat warfare - the attacking vessel caught within the turning circle of the U-boat.

The boat was sinking fast by the time it had gone down our starboard side, round our stem and up the port side. At this stage it had closed to just about the range of the depth charge thrower and one of these put the finishing touches to it. The crew were spread out along the track the U-boat had taken, and when we went to pick them up, a significant fraction of them were found to be drowned - this despite the fact that when it was clear they were not trying to man their gun, we had lifted our own fire over their heads, and the further fact that there were calm conditions prevailing, their life jackets very effectively kept their heads out of the water - fright and shock presumably.

After VE day I was transferred to a sister ship Loch Lomond to take out to the Far East, but we only got as far as Rangoon on our way to take part in the invasion of Malaya, when that part of the war came to its grisly end. The occupation of Malaya was conveniently effected by going through the motions of the planned invasion. I remember at the time being a little more than glad that the Japanese were assisting and not opposing us.

Our last warlike act happened at Sabang, an island north of Sumatra to which the Dutch had retreated. Loch Lomond was sent there on a goodwill visit and we learned that the Indonesians were massing their canoes on the mainland, presumably to invade Sabang. As part of our goodwill gesture, we took the local Dutch dignitaries for a short cruise in the Straits between Sabang and the mainland and selecting a suitable bank dropped a pattern of depth charges to get some fish - we picked up half a ton or more. The next morning all the canoes and other invading vessels had dispersed to their homes and that particular invasion was abandoned - a little touch of unintentional gun boat diplomacy.

About the middle of November 1945, I was relieved of my command of Loch Lomond and found myself stranded in Singapore with about a dozen Australian ratings with little hope of getting home to Sydney for Christmas, as the only vessel going that way was the aircraft carrier Illustrious, and she was due to leave Batavia 600 miles distant in less than two days’ time. An RN destroyer was leaving Singapore for Batavia but was not due there for several days. In what I consider was a princely gesture on the part of the Royal Navy, we were piled on board the destroyer, and she steamed at 29 knots the whole 600 miles to Batavia, made the connection, and the 12 very grateful Australians got home for Christmas.

Extract from The War at Sea.
Vol III Part II Appendix Y.
German U-boats sunk by HMS Loch Killin

U-333     31 July 1944        Channel
U-736     6 August 1944    Bay of Biscay
U-1063   15 April 1945      Channel

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