Cloak and Dagger
‘I think they must have been, without exception, the most uncomfortable little ships ever built.’
—Lieutenant-Commander John Beaufoy-Brown, HMS Varbel II
Tich Fraser, David Carey and ten other officers and men all crowded aboard the night train to Glasgow at London’s King’s Cross Station. Though they had first-class tickets, the train was so overcrowded with servicemen and women that most of the group had to stand in the corridor. All except one young sub-lieutenant, who was so tall that he stretched out across the laps of seven accommodating Wrens. It was a long journey north during wartime, but among the new recruits, who had faced the terrors of the ‘Perisher’ and passed the test, a certain élan had already surfaced – they thought of themselves as an elite.
At Glasgow the group changed trains to Wemyss, then took a ferry to Rothesay Bay on the Isle of Bute. They appeared to be heading to the far end of the British Isles, to a rural Scottish backwater about as far away from the shooting war as it was possible to get. It was idyllic after bomb-scarred Portsmouth and London, with green rolling hills, low mountains, flocks of sheep, and picturesque lochs. The air was fresh and lightly scented with the smell of the sea.
Gulls shrieked and cawed overhead as the small passenger ferry arrived at its destination. The recruits piled off the ferry onto the stone jetty, their kit bags slung over their shoulders, and looked around.
‘Over here, chaps,’ announced a well-spoken female voice. They turned and saw a blue-painted Royal Navy truck pulling in beside a row of tiny fishermen’s cottages. Leaning out of the driver’s window was an attractive blonde Wren in her early 20s. ‘Jump aboard,’ she said, flashing them a winning smile.
‘This job is getting better by the minute,’ quipped David Carey, as they all piled into the back of the truck. A mile down the road, which was really only a country track, the truck was stopped at a checkpoint. Two sailors in landing rig armed with Lee Enfield rifles spoke to the Wren before peering into the back of the truck. One ticked off the party on a clipboard. The white-painted wooden barrier was raised and the truck rumbled on down the road for another mile before jerking to a halt on the shores of a stunning loch.
‘This is it, chaps. The end of the line,’ said the Wren, banging her hand on the side of the truck as she leaned out of the cab. The trainees, gathering their kit, jumped down from the tailboard and looked around. ‘Where on earth are we now?’ murmured Fraser. A tall and imposing grey stone building stood before them. Unknown to Fraser and his comrades, they, along with several other fresh intakes, had arrived at one of Britain’s most secret bases – HMS Varbel.
*
British secret underwater warfare had come about in reaction to the successful deployment of frogmen and human torpedoes by the Royal Italian Navy early in the war. The British decided to copy the Italian method and create their own human torpedoes, christened ‘chariots’, with the two-man crews of these sit-on contraptions wearing early diving suits and modified DSEAs. In June 1942 the unit had moved to Loch Erisort in Scotland to begin training for missions against the enemy. Chariots were used against the ‘pride of Hitler’s navy’, the battleship Tirpitz, in Norway in October 1942, and extensively in the Mediterranean, though with only limited success. Concurrently, the British had also started development of an extraordinary new type of small submarine codenamed the X-craft. The Flag Officer Submarines, Vice-Admiral Sir Max Horton, was particularly keen on midget subs. A successful First World War sub skipper, Horton realised that the chances of standard-sized submarines penetrating enemy harbours to attack capital ships had been virtually neutralised by booms, anti-submarine and anti-torpedo nets. Small submarines equipped with divers who could cut through the defences were the obvious solution. Midget submarines also had distinct advantages over chariots – they could travel much further and stay on a mission for much longer. By January 1943 six new X-craft were operational. Most famously these six subs attacked the Tirpitz on 22 September 1943 in what was codenamed Operation Source. They inflicted serious damage, though at heavy cost to Britain’s most secret new naval arm.
*
The Kyles of Bute Hydropathic Hotel was a grand old Victorian pile outside the town of Rothesay on Loch Striven in northwest Scotland. It was a long, three-storied building, with only an entrance porch to break its straight line. Of a rough-faced grey local rock, the basements contained a fascinating collection of baths from the time when the hotel had been a relaxation spa for the wealthy.1 It was positioned high on the side of a hill overlooking the quaint fishing village of Port Bannatyne.
Loch Striven sticks up like a crooked forefinger adjoining the west side of the Firth of Clyde north of the Isle of Bute, penetrating about eight miles into the Cowal District of Argyll. The navy had reserved the hotel and the loch as a submarine exercise area, and the waters were closed to civilian traffic. An early bend hid most of the loch from view, but once this was rounded a long, narrow fjord-like waterway stretched off into the distance. It had steep rock walls that were almost devoid of vegetation, those high walls casting dark shadows over the loch at all hours, giving the place an air of mystery, and for some of the recruits an impression of menace and evil.2
Fraser, Carey and the new recruits arrived at HMS Varbel only a few months before D-Day in 1944. The once-luxurious health resort had been largely stripped of its furnishings and paintings but it was bustling with Wrens in their attractive blue uniforms.3 Outside, the White Ensign snapped out in the breeze from a flagpole as naval personnel of all ranks and trades bustled in and out of the hotel’s grand entrance.
The rather curious name ‘Varbel’ had been derived from the names of the two officers most closely associated with the creation of X-craft, Commanders Varley and Bell.4 They were extraordinary men.
Cromwell Varley, DSC, had been a successful submarine skipper during the First World War. In developing the original X-craft concept at his engineering works on the River Hamble, Varley had drawn on his experience of chasing a German cruiser across the North Sea and up the Elbe River before torpedoing her in sight of the crew’s welcoming families. Varley’s original idea was for a small submarine that could be sent up the Rhine into Germany to place charges under the bridges during the transition to war. The Admiralty turned the idea down as both impractical, which future operations would prove it was not, and unethical.5
Fraser, Carey and the other young officers were shown into the wardroom at Varbel where they discovered several highly decorated midget submarine veterans already in residence. These men were the survivors of Operation Source. Though controversial at the time, the explosive charges from two X-craft had caused extensive damage to the 42,000-ton Tirpitz. Two X-craft skippers had been awarded the Victoria Cross. However, of six hard-to-replace X-craft sent on the raid, five had been lost with eight highly trained ‘X-men’ killed and a further eight taken prisoner by the Germans. Small wonder that X-craft soon earned the name ‘suicide boats’ from those not directly connected with the programme.
A few of those who had survived Operation Source had gone on to take part in two more operations in Norway. Both had been attempts to sink the Laksevåg floating dock in Bergen. X-24, commanded by Max Shean, had, in error, mined a German merchant ship tied up at the dock on 15 April 1944, but under a different skipper and crew the boat had returned and finally destroyed the dock on 11 September.6
When Fraser, Carey and the wide-eyed new officers arrived, the veterans, a mixture of skippers, first lieutenants and divers, were lounging in leather club chairs before the wardroom’s large unlit fireplace.
‘Hello, Ian Fraser.’ Fraser extended his hand to a tall Royal Navy lieutenant who rose from his seat to return his greeting. ‘Everyone calls me “Tich”,’ Fraser added.
‘Hello Tich, I’m Pat Westmacott,’ the officer replied, shaking Fraser’s hand warmly. At six feet tall, Herbert ‘Pat’ Westmacott towered over Fraser and was a tight fit inside an X-craft.
‘And this is David Carey,’ said Fraser. The two men shook hands.
‘Pleasure to meet you, David,’ replied Westmacott.
‘Your accent, sir, Australian?’ asked Carey.
‘No,’ smiled Westmacott, ‘I’m from New Zealand. And you can ditch the ‘sir’, we don’t tolerate any of that quarterdeck bullshit here.’ Carey was a little shocked at Westmacott’s bluntness, but the change was refreshing. Westmacott, who was 24, had been awarded both the Distinguished Service Order (DSO) and the DSC, and had been the commander who had taken the X-24 in to finally sink the German floating dock at Bergen.
‘If it’s an Aussie you’re after, you’d better meet Max,’ said Westmacott, indicating Shean. He rose from his seat by the window, a crooked grin spread across his friendly face.
‘Max Shean. G’day,’ said the Australian lieutenant, shaking hands with Fraser and Carey. The other new officers followed suit, introducing themselves around. Soon the air was filled with good-natured laughter and the burble of conversation.
Blond-haired and fork-bearded Lieutenant Jack Smart, a handsome 27-year-old, looked more like a 17th-century buccaneer than a Volunteer Reserve officer. He strode over to greet the newcomers. ‘Welcome to the asylum, chaps,’ he said. Smart, born in Northumberland in 1916, had joined the Royal Naval Volunteer Reserve in 1938. After service on a minesweeper in the Mediterranean he had volunteered for X-craft. On the Tirpitz operation Smart had commanded HMS X-8, and was ordered to attack a secondary target, the German battlecruiser Lützow. Smart and his crew had barely made it back alive from the mission. Before they had got anywhere near the Lützow the X-8’s towing line to the ‘mother’ submarine HMS Sea Nymph had parted. When Smart had surfaced his boat the Sea Nymph was nowhere to be found. Smart had decided to go on with the mission regardless but the X-craft had sprung serious leaks. Jettisoning his two side charges, four tons of Amatol high explosive, these had blown up, one close enough to have damaged the submarine, to such an extent that the crew, after drifting for 37 exhausting hours, had finally abandoned it.7 Smart had been awarded the MBE and had bravely volunteered to stay on with the programme.
Several of the younger sub-lieutenants, mostly employed as divers, introduced themselves. They were a friendly bunch and soon put Fraser, Carey and the newcomers at ease. After dumping their kit in their accommodation and having a quick look around, Fraser’s group joined the other recruits, officers and ratings for their first official meeting.
*
‘Good morning, gentlemen,’ said the Royal Navy captain to the assembled recruits in the hotel’s former dining room. The view through the large picture windows was stunning, the flat expanse of the loch stretching away to distant mountains. But no one looked out of the window – all eyes were on the older officer standing on a small wooden stage before them.
‘My name is Banks and I’d like to take this opportunity of welcoming you all to the 12th Submarine Flotilla,’ he announced in an authoritative voice. William Banks was 44 years old, ancient in the eyes of the many young officers and ratings in the room, most of whom were barely out of their teens. Banks exuded experience. Of medium height, with a large forehead and receding swept back brown hair, he was a pre-war professional. The rows of medal ribbons on his left shoulder were testimony to that. He’d joined the navy in 1918 and been in submarines since 1923. He’d won a DSC in 1940, been mentioned in despatches in 1942 and taken command of the X-craft project in April 1943 as commander of both HMS Varbel and 12th Submarine Flotilla. Banks had personally planned the attack on the Tirpitz.8 For putting the mighty battleship out of action for six months Captain Banks had received the CBE from a grateful King George VI. The recruits were to discover that Captain Banks was a charming man to talk to, and a man who got things done.9
‘What we do here is very hush-hush, that much I’m sure you’ve already guessed,’ said Banks. ‘But before I begin, I have to insist that what I say is not merely confidential, but top secret. So I must ask you beforehand, every one of you, to undertake as officers and gentlemen, or as loyal servicemen, never to divulge anything of the details I’m about to give you until the operation is over.’10
They responded to a man, giving the time-honoured naval response of ‘Aye aye, sir.’
‘You already have some idea of what you’ve volunteered for, but not the details. Well, now I’m going to put you out of your misery.’ Banks turned and walked over to a large board mounted on an easel that was covered with a dust cloth. A petty officer stood beside it. Banks nodded and the petty officer removed the cover, revealing a large diagram of an X-craft in profile. The trainees all craned forward in their seats and a ripple of excitement flashed around the room.
‘Settle down,’ said Banks in his schoolmasterly way. ‘This, gentlemen, is the X-craft midget submarine. The “X” stands for secret. With this weapon we have been able to strike stealthy blows against the enemy on several occasions. It’s my job to train you to use this ingenious machine. Well, let’s have a look at her, shall we?’
Banks picked up a pointer from a side table and began to outline the diagram to his audience.
‘The X-craft is a real submarine, only in miniature,’ announced Banks. ‘It has a crew of four – a commander, pilot, engineer and a diver. The range is just over a thousand miles under its own power and it can dive safely to 300 feet.’ Banks pointed out the various ballast and trim tanks and briefly described their operation.
‘So, gentlemen, the X-craft can do everything that a big submarine can do except fire torpedoes.’ Banks pointed to the side of the craft. ‘Here you’ll notice this crescent-shaped object. This is called a “side cargo”. It contains two tons of Amatol high explosive. One can be carried on each side. This is the X-craft’s main weapon and it is dropped beneath an enemy warship. Naturally, you’ll want to be very far away when they go up. She can carry limpet mines as well, and in this configuration the X-craft will carry one side cargo and one limpet carrier containing six 200lb mines in lieu of a second side cargo. Naturally, the diver’s job will be to emplace the mines on enemy ships. However, the primary function of the diver is to cut holes in anti-submarine nets to allow the X-craft to get at protected enemy warships and the like.’11
The trainees were intrigued, and Fraser, like many listening to Banks, was slightly unsettled by what he had volunteered for.
‘Now, the X-craft is about 50 feet long externally and about five-and-a-half feet across the beam. If you look around you might notice that many of the chaps who’ve been selected for this programme are, how shall I put it, jockey-sized. This is because the submarines are quite cramped inside. The only place where an average-sized chap can just about stand up is in the periscope chamber. So, the short-arses have the advantage.’ The audience all laughed. It was certainly plain to see that a lot of the men present in the room were well below average height, including the appropriately named ‘Tich’ Fraser and the equally small Mick Magennis.
‘Internally, the space is reduced to about 35 feet because of the propeller, diving rudders and so on,’ continued Banks. He spoke for another ten minutes, roughing out for the men the subjects that they would shortly start to learn in great detail both in the classroom and in practice. It was clear to everyone in the room that this was a completely different kind of warfare, and both exciting and daunting in equal parts.
‘We’ve plenty of targets but limited time. You will have to work your socks off but there will be missions aplenty for those who complete the programme.’ Banks paused and folded his arms. ‘I’m not going to soft-soap you, gentlemen. What we do here is damned dangerous work. But you chaps have been selected because you’re the best we can find to do this sort of work. You’ll be sailing in a very small boat, she’s unarmed, and you’re going to take her into some of the best-defended stretches of water that we know of.’ Banks paused for a moment to let what he had said sink in.
‘If you are successful, your actions will shorten the war,’ said Banks. ‘Work hard and pay attention to the training staff. The programme is challenging, but none of you would be here if we thought you couldn’t complete it.’ A ghost of a smile passed over Banks’s lips. ‘Well, chaps, that’s my pep talk, for what it’s worth,’ he said, and rubbed his hands together gleefully.
‘Right, let’s get to work.’
*
For the first couple of weeks after arriving from London the trainees were lectured on the principles and operation of X-craft submersibles in the hotel’s dining room. The lectures lasted from morning till night.12 For men like Fraser, who was already a seasoned submariner, the work was not particularly challenging, but for those who had come from the surface fleet it was a steep learning curve. Nearly all of the officers were not submariners but reservists from either the RNR or RNVR, essentially civilians with limited sea experience. Most of the engine room artificers were already qualified submariners, along with some of the stokers and electrical artificers.13 The need for secrecy was constantly drummed into them.
They were also given a course in hard-hat diving in Kames Bay. For nearly everyone, it was his first introduction to this Victorian form of underwater exploration. In practice, the X-craft divers would not use the equipment but Captain Banks had decided that it was an excellent method to get the trainees comfortable in open water.14 The thick tan-coloured Siebe Gorman diving suits, with polished brass fittings and grey lead shoes, were cumbersome and extremely heavy. Once screwed into the brass helmet the trainees all had to fight off dreadful feelings of claustrophobia. It took a lot of self-control to calm down as they were winched 60 feet down into the dark peaty waters from a motor cutter.15
By the end of the first part of their course the recruits had digested the theory of X-craft operations and increased their confidence under the water. The recruits were then loaded aboard trucks and driven ten miles north up Loch Striven, to another top-secret training base. It was time to start practical training.
Nestled on the loch’s steep mountainous sides were one or two crofters’ cottages, and, at the loch head, a gently sloping alluvial plain. Here was located Ardtaraig House, the country shooting lodge of a 19th-century shipping magnate, built in traditional Scottish grey stone.16 The cluster of buildings had been leased to the navy and commissioned as HMS Varbel II, the advanced diving training centre for 12th Submarine Flotilla.17
The commanding officer was 35-year-old Lieutenant-Commander John Beaufoy-Brown. Born in 1910, Beaufoy-Brown had joined the navy in 1927 and transferred to submarines in 1931. In 1940–41 he had commanded the T-class submarine HMS Taku during operations in the North Sea and Atlantic, winning a DSC. Before taking command of Varbel II in 1943, Beaufoy-Brown had been on the staff of Admiral Sir Max Horton, Flag Officer (Submarines).18 He was an experienced sub skipper and a no-nonsense character held in high regard by both the trainees and the staff.
The programme’s ‘mother’ ship, the 10,000-ton former Clan Line steamer HMS Bonaventure was moored on Loch Striven ready to take crews and training submarines to even more remote practice grounds further to the northwest. Built to handle heavy lifting, the grey-painted Bonaventure could carry four X-craft on her fore-deck, two on her after-deck, and two in her after-hold. Her crew contained specialists in every trade, and she had a well-equipped workshop capable of handling almost any type of repair as well as plenty of accommodation space for the over 50 men who would be required to provide crews for the twelve new top-secret XE-craft submarines that were under construction in England for operations in the Far East.19 It was planned that the first six boats would comprise the senior division of a new flotilla to be based aboard the Bonaventure. They would sail to the Far East first.
The atmosphere aboard the Bonaventure was severe and purposeful, bristling with activity and tense with deadlines to be met.20
The area around Varbel II was stunningly beautiful, the surrounding steep hills covered with golden gorse; a swift flowing burn divided a thick forest where the trainees cut firewood for exercise and for the wardroom fire. HMS Bonaventure anchored just off the burn and pipes and cables for water and telephones were connected to her from the land. The base was accessible to the outside world by a single guarded road that ran up over the hills to the town of Dunoon many miles away.21
Apart from the old stone house and its outbuildings, Varbel II consisted of two Nissen huts that the navy had erected near the shore to serve as a store and workshop for diving gear. Anti-submarine and anti-torpedo nets, suspended on steel buoys, had been placed out in deep water to simulate the sorts of barriers that the men would encounter and probably have to cut their way through on operations against the enemy.
The trainee divers’ first attempt at using the X-craft’s Wet and Dry Compartment was always memorable, and often for the wrong reasons. Varbel II had a special training apparatus that had been built by Vickers-Armstrong at the same time that they had constructed the first generation of X-craft used to attack the Tirpitz. It was a replica section of an X-craft consisting of a fully functioning W&D with a short section of hull sealed with a blank bulkhead. The W&D had only one door internally, and a main hatch on the top. All the valves and pumps necessary for its proper operation were fitted and functional. The whole apparatus was suspended from wire ropes running from a winch fixed to a catamaran-type barge moored just offshore. The water was deep enough for the barge to lower the apparatus down to a depth of 20 feet. The trainee divers could then practise leaving and re-entering a ‘submarine’ until they perfected the technique and it became second nature.22
But first, the trainees had to contend with the diving suits, which soon earned a reputation for being both uncomfortable and slightly repellent.
‘Urrgh,’ exclaimed a young sub-lieutenant as he took his turn dressing in the diving suit, ‘it’s all cold and slimy!’
Several of the other trainees, including David Carey, who were watching, laughed.
‘Don’t worry, sir,’ said the young able seaman who was helping him to dress. ‘That’s the ERA gob.’
‘I beg your pardon?’ replied the young officer, his nose wrinkling in disgust.
‘That’s what we call the lubricant used to disinfect the suits, sir. ERA gob. You know, like spit, sir.’ ‘ERA’ stood for Engine Room Artificer. There were more peals of laughter from the audience. The original Tirpitz operation trainees had first coined the nickname and it had stuck.23
The Dunlop Rubber Company manufactured the black Underwater Swim Suit Mark III – what the divers had quickly christened the ‘Clammy Death’. A diver needed help to dress himself. The suit, thinner and less bulky than that used for traditional hard-hat diving, was entered feet first, into the lower part through a pliable rubber trunk at the stomach. The upper part of the suit was then pulled over the head, which pushed up into the closely fitting head-and-mouth piece. Shoving the head through the tight rubber hood was painful; it hurt the scalp and the ears. The unpleasant job of thrusting hands and wrists through the very narrow and strong rubber cuffs of the suit was equally uncomfortable.24 Once dressed, the entry trunk was then folded and sealed with a large Jubilee clip around the wearer’s waist. The DSEA submarine escape rebreather was fastened to the wearer’s chest and the breathing pipe connected.25 Finally, in place of goggles, the diver wore his nose clip and a round diving mask with a Perspex faceplate.
Every recruit dreaded and grew to loathe the W&D compartment training apparatus. Though they had all been through the ‘Perisher’ at Gosport, the much smaller W&D was by turns frightening, peculiar and claustrophobic. ‘It was the most unnatural set of circumstances. At that time you wish you’d never been born,’26 recalled Max Shean.
The second generation of recruits found the experience unchanged from Shean’s day. David Carey was amused to be told that on the real X-craft the boat’s head, or toilet, was located underneath the floor of the W&D compartment.
‘Today’s test is just to get you familiar with the Wet and Dry,’ said the lieutenant who was instructing Carey’s group. ‘You will get inside the chamber and pump the water in till it’s full, then swing the arm, press the equalising cock here,’ the lieutenant pointed to the various features, ‘and lift the hatch. Get out and ascend to the surface. Later, we’ll teach you how to re-enter the submarine and flood down.’
‘Do we control the pump?’ asked Carey.
‘No, that’s from inside the X-craft. You signal to the instructor who will be playing the role of skipper through this porthole covered with thick glass.’27
The trainees all craned forward.
‘Your controls are only three, apart from the door clips fore and aft,’ continued the lieutenant. ‘There’s the flooding lever here,’ he said, turning to a large handle set into the wall of the W&D, ‘the hatch clip above your head, and the equaliser cock.’
‘Now, this rig is quite different from the dives you did in the tank at Dolphin,’ said the lieutenant. ‘It gets bloody dark in the W&D. Dark and tight because of the pressure. That is till the equaliser finally works. But follow the procedure that I will teach you, and you will be fine.’28 The lieutenant smiled reassuringly.
David Carey’s turn soon arrived. After clambering into the W&D, his diving gear bulky in the confined space, he switched onto oxygen, flushed two or three lungfuls from the DSEA bag into the craft, and then stayed on oxygen. Once all was well Carey gave the instructor inside the replica X-craft the thumbs-up through the W&D’s tiny inspection window, opened the water and return air valves, and started the pump. Inside his control room next door the instructor had a duplicate set of controls, so he could make sure that the trainee was following the correct procedure.29
Inside the W&D, water started to flood in. Quickly, the water level rose, first covering Carey’s ankles, then his knees, waist, chest and finally reaching visor level. The instructor was right, it was much worse than the chamber at HMS Dolphin. It was very small, dimly lit and in the open sea. As the cold water crept up his face Carey fought to control his rising panic. Nearly all of the men experienced a natural tendency to panic, no matter how many times they went through this process.30 And all of them were put through this horror again and again before they finally mastered leaving and re-entering the W&D with confidence. The drills had to become second nature. The anxiety of midget submarine work never left any of the men, it was always in the back of their minds. Though it never fully subsided, the rigorously taught drills and procedures did help to control the fear as the training kicked in.31 When the pressure was equalised and the hatch was pushed open, Carey felt a happy release, swimming into the light shining down through the water above, free of the tiny steel chamber. I’m still alive! was the first thing that popped into Carey’s mind as he pulled himself out of the hatch for the first time. He kicked his fins and rose slowly to the surface, emerging from the brown water beside the barge like a seal coming up for air. Strong arms reached over the side and helped him climb unsteadily up the ladder. It was Fraser’s turn next. As he waited the winch began to whine, its engine thumping noisily as the W&D apparatus was hauled back to the surface. Fraser finished dressing, a knot of apprehension coiled in the pit of his stomach. He picked up his swim fins and stepped forward.