From Mr S. C. Brown, Secretary of the Zeebrugge Association
Our leader the late Admiral Sir Roger Keyes (as he then was) was President of this Association and a founder member. He frequently expressed the wish that the annual Memorial Services at Zeebrugge should be carried on until the last man! This we shall endeavour to do. Of the original 997 members only 130 are now left, with an average age of 84!
Strangely enough the Belgian people make much more fuss of the action than do our own people; mainly because they regard Zeebrugge as the spark which lit the flame of freedom for Belgium.
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From Mr F. J. Rickson: the effect on morale in France
… I was at the time of the Zeebrugge operation serving with the 1st Battalion Royal Inniskilling Fusiliers, 36 Ulster Division as a machine gunner. We had been heavily involved in the German offensive of 21st March 1918, and were desperately holding on in the Ypres Salient. We knew nothing about the raid on Zeebrugge which took place on 23rd April 1918, but I came to learn of this splendid operation sometime afterwards when I became a casualty, and found myself in a military hospital in France. The Zeebrugge raid was hailed as a great naval feat, and one that could shorten the war, but above all, more or less put a stop to the sinking of our supply ships, carrying food, and vital war supplies. The effect of the raid, ‘bottled’ up the U-boats already in the harbour, and prevented the U-boats which were out at sea from getting in, this action virtually put an end to the U-boat peril operating against this country.
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From Colonel J. G. M. Stamp: training after the war
… I was not there, but between the wars this episode was a standard work used in tuition at the Coast Artillery School formerly at Shoeburyness, Essex. I attended an Instructors’ course there in 1934, and the name of the famous Captain Carpenter, VC, RN, is indelibly imprinted in my mind, as are the names of the two Mersey paddle steamers Iris and Daffodil, which with bows head on to the side of the Vindictive went full-steam ahead to keep her alongside the Mole, while troops threw up grappling irons to hold ladders with which they scaled up on to the Mole.
Meanwhile a small submarine was wedged between the piles supporting a small bridge which connected the Mole to the shore ‘stub’, and there blown up, and some German troops hurriedly sent up on bicycles rode into the water, not seeing the gap in the dark.
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From Mrs Winifred Miller: the ultimate cost
I’m nearly eighty now but one of the most poignant memories of my youth concerns a boy who was at Zeebrugge. He was not a special friend and I didn’t know his family but he was a member of our youth club. His name was Percy Biden.
We were dancing one Saturday evening and I wished him Many Happy Returns of his birthday. He was to be twenty-one on the following Thursday.
‘Wait until I get there,’ he said. And he didn’t. He died, of wounds received at the battle, during the next few days. He knew he might.
Half the young boys from that youth club never returned from the War. And they were very young.
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From Mrs D. Garrod
I cannot lay claim to being very closely associated with the Zeebrugge raid, but in about 1908, while on a visit to my uncle, who was at that time a fleet surgeon in charge of the Royal Naval Hospital at Great Yarmouth, I became friendly with a very charming and high-spirited boy called Dallas Brooks, who was the son of the Naval chaplain at the hospital. We spent many hours cavorting at the local skating-rink – where Dallas was a constant source of danger to the other skaters by his antics! A few years later the same fearless daring and courage was in evidence at Zeebrugge – when he was awarded the DSO.
Lieutenant Reginald Dallas Brooks’ citation (Vindictive) for the DSO read: ‘He imbued his men with the highest degree of devotion to duty. The manner in which the howitzer in its exposed position on the quarter deck was used under his personal direction was very fine.’ He was specially promoted to Acting Captain.
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From Mrs J. H. Barnes: Security
Mine is a very humble memory, but I think you might be interested – even if it is not material worth recording in your book.
When leaving the Royal Naval School my one ambition was to join the WRNS. This was possible, and at the time of the Zeebrugge attack I was attached to the Seamen’s Regulations office at Chatham Barracks.
In a huge ledger I was entering the names of men with the ships to which they were being drafted. On collecting a new batch of names from the Chief Petty Officer the letters SSV instead of HMS appeared. I remember saying ‘Chief, SSV – are they passenger ships?’ He just said, ‘Never mind m’dear – enter’em up.’
It was a few days later that I knew I had entered the names of those splendid men bound for Zeebrugge, and that SSV stood for Secret Service Vessels.
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From Mrs J. Gardiner: an air observer in 202 Squadron RAF, in a DH4
My cousin, Leonard Timmins, DFC, who died about fifteen months ago, took part as an observer in the raid on Zeebrugge. He was shot down into the sea and subsequently taken prisoner. I believe he spent some months in a camp in Russia and remained in that country to take part in what he referred to as ‘The Churchill War’ after the end of the Great War.
I recall him saying that the worst part of being brought down into the sea was when he broke his front teeth, pulling off his gloves.
He was awarded the Flying Cross, but I do not know for what action.
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From Dr W. Timmins about the same incident
My father served as an observer in 202 Squadron RAF and did reconnaissance in the Zeebrugge area before and after the raid, being shot down into the sea and captured two days after the raid and remaining a POW until the end of the War.
The aircraft in which he was an observer was a DH4 – he was awarded the DFC in 1918, I think about the time of the raid. I remember seeing some old aerial photos he had of the sunken blockships but when he remarried and moved house these pictures disappeared.
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From Mr A. H. Savage – in a DH9
The Royal Naval Air Service had a few squadrons of land-based aeroplanes lent to co-operate with the Army – and known as the Naval wing. I was flying DH9S (daylight bombers) with No 11 Naval Squadron (renumbered 211 after the Royal Air Force came into being on 1st April 1918) operating from an aerodrome near Dunkirk.
In the very early hours of 23rd April we were hauled out of bed and took off for destination unknown led by Flight Commander Ireland (a Canadian). We flew in V formation, each machine carrying twelve 16 lb bombs. I had only eight bombs and a camera and flew behind and 200 feet above the other five. We flew out to sea – half way to Dover, climbing trying to gain height – we normally tried to get to 14,000–15,000 before crossing the lines but on this occasion the leader’s engine was ropey and we turned inland at only 12,000 feet – towards Zeebrugge.
When he fired his Very pistol we all dropped our bombs together – on the Mole – apparently to harass repairs. The formation split up and we beetled out to sea to get out of the anti-aircraft fire – which was very heavy – and every machine in the formation was a bit peppered. But we all got back safely.
It is quite possible that some of the photos which I later saw published in newspapers – showing the damage the Navy had done – were taken by my machine.
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From Mr L. Brett: No 6 Squadron RNAS
In April 1918 I was a 1st class air mechanic in No 6 Squadron RNAS stationed at Dunkirk for the particular purpose of bombing the port of Zeebrugge. We were equipped with the long distance bombers DH 9, the aim being to distract the enemy while HMS Vindictive was shelling the harbour as part of the combined services operation.
You may be interested to know that the battle-scarred White Ensign from HMS Vindictive hangs in Rye Church. I visited the church last year and touched the flag. The church itself is most interesting, and well worth a visit.
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From Mr A. C. Kilburn
In the First World War I was in the RNAS and I was stationed on the Western Front near Nancy. We carried out long distance night bombing raids into Germany in our Handley Pages. Towards the end of the war, I and several other pilots were sent back to England to Bircham Newton in Norfolk. A few huge four engined super HPs had just been made – the V 1500 – and with these it was intended to bomb Berlin. The Armistice came and it never was bombed.
In th spring of 1919 I was the junior pilot in one of these machines with which we tried to do a non-stop record flight London (Manston) – Madrid. The weather prevented it from being a non-stop flight. After several weeks in Spain we tried to do it Madrid-London non-stop; however over the Bay of Biscay the machine started to disintegrate at 5,000 feet (probably owing to the heat in Spain). Mercifully we got down safely and were rescued by fishing boats. My senior pilot on this trip was C. H. Darley DSC, DFC – a brilliant HP pilot – we were also at Bircham Newton together. He was at the northern end of the Western Front and I think his squadron there was 214 but I am not sure. For the Zeebrugge raid he blew up the lock gates and got the DSC. Our HPs were not very speedy – about 70–20m.p.h. – and I know from personal experience that the fire from the defences could be very unpleasant, as I am sure it must have been for Darley on this raid.
Very sadly Darley was burned to death when he crashed in a Vickers-Vimy which he was piloting. It happened at Bracciano near Rome on 29th September 1919.
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From Captain A. J. Coulthard: preliminary reconnaissance
I am no doubt a trifle biased but it seems to me that insufficient justice has been done to my kinsman the late Lieutenant Robert Coulthard (and Lieutenant J. D. Fysh) in every account I have seen of the Zeebrugge raid except possibly the Air Ministry publication A Short History of the Royal Air Force (1929) which for a number of reasons dealt very briefly with this epic of the Royal Naval Air Service.
I have been informed that had it not been for the almost synchronised phasing out of the RNAS and the removal of its personnel from the Royal Navy almost from that very day, an award for gallantry would almost certainly have been made and the event have received more subsequent publicity in that so much hinged upon the report these two men obtained. I think I am correct in saying that much of the beneficial effect of the raid was the result of this report.
On a personal note Robert Coulthard was later in 1918 forced down at sea whilst flying a Special Mission and was reported dead and a Memorial Service was held for him at his parish church. He was in fact picked up by the Germans and eventually repatriated on 13th December 1918. He used to carry a report of the Memorial Service in his pocket. He later became a pioneer of African Game Preserves and died in 1961 in Nigeria.
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From Miss J. Watts: Admiral Keyes’ personal reconnaissance
In case it is of interest, you may like to know that the late Captain Alick V. Bowater, RNAS, was the pilot who took Admiral Sir Roger Keyes on his reconnaissance flight before the Zeebrugge operation.
The Admiral insisted on seeing the whole area in spite of heavy antiaircraft fire which made the flight extremely hazardous even to the final landing in adverse weather conditions at (I believe) Dover.
I do know that for many years Captain Bowater attended the Reunion Dinner on St George’s Day and, I understood, was the only airman to have that privilege.
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Extracts from the diary and notes of Sub-Lieutenant G. McCoul, later Surgeon Captain McCoul. The diary is informative on the preparations and atmosphere beforehand. HMS Swift, a destroyer, was involved in the first Ostend operation.
I was very young, eighteen and two months when I joined HMS Swift from the Grand Fleet, and I find it very difficult to concentrate on Zeebrugge-Ostend especially as the night in question was not of as much interest to me as the abortive night of 17th April was, and in view of the fact that we were mined on 7th May and excessively damaged, just before we were to be Admiral’s flagship for the second attack on Ostend.
Furthermore to anyone in the Dover Patrol for any length of time, Zeebrugge and Ostend were just another bit of excitement in a long period of more or less constant excitement in our forays against the Hun.
I should explain some of the terms used. Dark-night patrol was usually worked by Swift out of Dover and extended from just on dark to, say, eight o’clock. The Daylight Patrol or Coast Patrol was worked from Dunkerque and might be either by day (usually) or by night. Seatime was enormous. ‘The Roads’ was where we lay when we were at Dunkerque. (I have spelt the town this way throughout. It seems to have become anglicised.) About half-a-mile from shore. Very rarely in harbour.
We did more sea-time than perhaps was conducive to good health, and lack of sleep was almost as big an enemy as the Germans. I note that I did 137 days censoring and censored 11,088 letters and 601 parcels in that time. This was the only job I disliked.
The piece on the Zeebrugge and Ostend operation was written while on leave after the mining.
(Although only eighteen he had already passed 2nd MB.)
(Comments in italics are notes later added by Surgeon McCoul.)
Joined Swift. Then on Dark Night Patrol. 11.11.17.
6th December: Just finished boiler cleaning, suppose to have night off when Action Stations, ‘Weigh Anchor’, (an unusual event: submarine passing down Channel.) Full ahead, out of harbour – out all night – saw nothing, In again – straight out to Dunkerque to pick up Duke of Westminster (Armoured Cars) and Churchill.
12th December: Up the coast on Patrol. Sank 7 loose mines. German aircraft which fussed about overhead. Didn’t drop anything so we didn’t bother them.
Apparently our only 6 pdr anti-aircraft gun jams at the sixth shot and we don’t like to start anything with it.
11.50 a.m. Six German destroyers were sighted and closing to 10,000 yards we engaged. Both their and our first were wide and then they suddenly got the range. (Miranda, Afridi and French destroyer had left us to lay a buoy.) We got a salvo of three about 30 yards off our starboard beam to start with, then as the other ships were getting it just as hot as we were, the Minos altered course and the Hun concentrated on the point of turn. The first salvo there was just over the Minos, the second barely short of North Star and as our Captain turned late we got a salvo of 5 instead of 3 which got us about 10 yards astern and shook us up somewhat. Then the German shore batteries started with heavy stuff and we cleared off after shipping a few pieces. No casualties. They had 7 seaplanes observing which gave us some anxiety. Back to Dunkerque and lay in ‘Roads’ just in time to see a pretty good German air-raid after Dinner. Ring side seats with the odd one falling round us and a number of Duds.
13th December: Day-Light Patrol. Up the coast and ran right into the Huns only a few hundred yards away coming out of a fog-bank. They used shrapnel which was unpleasant. They made good shooting and loosed up two torpedoes which missed. For some reason the Commodore broke off the engagement although we had twice their number.
Later I learned the reason was that we were fighting over a minefield and they were not.
Up tonight with the mine layers Ariel, Telemachus, Meteor, Ferret and Legion. We apparently don’t want any trouble with the Hun with all these mines, at any rate before they are laid.
14th December: Huge stunt. Afridi got lost and while lost dropped 3 depth charges and claimed a submarine.
‘Huge Stunt’: I seem to remember referred to the opinion on board us that a ship had no business claiming a victim when they didn’t know where they were. They were well out of line. Visibility very bad. 10th January 1918: No entry since 14.12 but the following is noted under this date:
Our 6 inch gun went out of action and we were supposed to be going to Chatham for a new one but in the event we laid off for a few days and had a nice new one put in.
On 18th December we did gunnery and torpedo firing with the Broke off Folkestone and then went on Dark Night Patrol for a few nights and then back to Dunkerque and on patrol up the coast. We had a scrap with German torpedo boats and got it in the neck, a hit on the starboard propeller which meant a visit to Chatham.
14th February: German destroyer raid on Dover. Some shells in the town. On patrol just then and quite near. Saw the Kosmos, a trawler blown up but we could not partake as it was out of our patrol area.
A ship on Patrol could not leave its area to enter another area. Otherwise would be confusion.
15th February: Dover bombarded by a submarine. This was in our area and we rushed in. Saw nothing.
18th February: Belgian coast Daylight Patrol, Bombarded Ostend and were bombarded in return.
19th February: Up the coast to intercept reported destroyer reinforcements from Zeebrugge at midnight. Nothing seen.
21st February: Night patrol. Firing near Dunkerque. Air-Raid ashore.
5th March: Patrols out of Dover since 25.2.18. Nothing much to note. Then back to Dunkerque, for Coast patrol.
On 28/2 in running action with TBDs in the morning and later in the day with aircraft who bombed us. No hits. Aiming very bad from 6,000 feet.
Again later to look for a missing airman, one of ours. Found his lifebelt and a floating petrol tank.
5th March: Return to Dover after a long and weary spell of exceptionally bad weather for the last month.
15th March: Nothing much doing. 6 days boiler cleaning and laid off on account of thick fog.
27th March: Not much time to write anything lately. Most of the time at Dunkerque. A few nights ago we were on Eastern Barrage and when we came back we found there had been a raid down the coast by 18 Hun destroyers.
Botha and Morris were lying at anchor in the roads with three Frenchmen. At the alarm slipped anchor and pursued up West Deep and then to Middlekirk Bank and came across 7 Germans returning to Ostend. Botha rammed one and claimed to have torpedoed another. The Morris lost Botha and came across another German TBD and torpedoed her. She then encountered an abandoned German TBD. This was sunk by gunfire by Morris and the French. The Frenchman Meyl arriving late out of harbour then arrived and ‘all Gloire and Garlic’ torpedoed the first ship she saw. This was the Botha.
It was said at the time that ‘Botha’ officers on the Bridge fought the action in their pyjamas.
I believe the ‘Meyl’ towed ‘Botha’ back to harbour.
In the afternoon we were up the coast with Terror who put 39 × 15 inch into Ostend. As a retaliation the Germans bombarded Dunkerque for three days in succession with ‘Moaning Minnie’. A very long range weapon. There have also been six Dunkerque air raids in as many nights.
We have also been helping in sweeping a minefield which appears to have been one of ours which seems queer unless its getting ready for something else.
Just back from last night’s effort which was a sweep into the Bight with the Harwich Striking Force to intercept reinforcements for Zeebrugge and Ostend. Two of our destroyers mined. The Exe and the Ariel.
One of better memories: dawn – an ocean full of destroyers at speed in a calm sea.
16th April: Not much time to write. We have had three days boiler cleaning and returned to Dunkerque.
On 17th we went up the coast as usual. This time with four monitors and bombarded Ostend for thirty minutes. Fire was returned but no one was hit.
Later German TBDs bombarded Adenkerke.
20th April: Captured the wreckage of a German seaplane and a caged dead pigeon. Weather rotten. Air raid on us while in the Roads.
Comedy: Some miles away two German seaplanes were observing. One had engine failure and the other came down beside him and our 6 inch gun opened up. As we got nearer and our firing must have been getting some near misses we could see that the second pilot was taking the first on board. Our shooting then became worse the nearer we got to them. Finally the two of them taxied off out of sight leaving the wreckage behind. Our RNR midshipman later upbraiding the gun layer for his bad shooting, was told: ‘Gentlemen of the Royal Navy do not shoot sitting ducks … Sir!’
21st April: Sea gone down. Wind changed to SE Barometer steady.
At this point I did a separate entry for the Zeebrugge and Ostend operations. Volunteers manned the blockships, the ‘Vindictive’, the submarine ‘C3’, the ‘Iris’ and ‘Daffodil’, etc., etc., but at no time as far as I am aware was the Dover Patrol (or the ship’s company of the ‘Swift’) asked to volunteer. I think Commander Amedroz’s opinion the correct one (he was Captain of the ‘Swift’) which was more or less that while others could volunteer for anything they chose our job was simply to carry on our simple duty as we were doing every day and night and to attempt to ensure satisfactory conditions for a successful conclusion.
ZEEBRUGGE AND OSTEND OPERATION
On my return to Chatham in February after repairs, there were one or two obsolete cruisers being filled with concrete and old iron, which filled me with curiosity. On enquiry the Captain told me that it was for ‘some horrible stunt up the coast’. The next day he went to Dover and on return said that we were to be the Admiral’s flagship. Decision not carried out as we had too deep a draught and were too big a target. The ‘Warwick’ was the finally chosen ship. That was all the information he could give us at the time. We then returned to Dover and went on to Dunkerque and bombarded the coast and did other things presumably already mentioned. He also informed us that he had been told that everyone had ‘volunteered’ but that he had said that as this was part of our normal duty we had no need to ‘volunteer’ and that he considered his ship’s company to be well tried professionals.
I felt very proud at that moment to know that I really ‘belonged’. As I have done ever since.
The first Ostend operation was a dark calm night with a slight breeze from the NE. As we had been kicked out of being flagship we had been given the job of taking care of the smoke making launches and patrolling 2½–3 miles from the beach to stop any of their TBDs making trouble. We were over their minefield most of the time.
The bombardment began just as we reached our patrol line. It was terrific and seemed to be all up and down the coast, but then as far as we were concerned there was a lull. It was a fine sight. Although the smoke hid detail from us, the whole area seemed lit up. Everything banging away and star shells at each end of our patrol line, which was Zeebrugge at one end (or near) and Ostend at the other.
We could see the motor launches inshore putting up their smoke and apparently doing all right.
One of them suddenly put up a couple of red Very lights and we went in to help. There was no sign of them when we got there, three bodies fetched up on Malo beach two days later. So we put up some smoke and came away, while a few machine guns opened up and their bullets winged around but no one was hit. At this point before we made our smoke I could see with the naked eye some barbed wire on the beach.
It was beginning to get day-light and as we had not received any withdrawal signal we swept down to Ostend at full speed to see what was happening there. We were suddenly into smoke again and almost as quickly out possibly only about 2,000 yards from the end of the piers at Ostend. We had to do a 180° turn at speed. I remember seeing the gun crews ashore running to the guns and the Captain on the bridge yelling, ‘Inch by bloody inch by heck’. All their shots were ‘overs’.
They gave us it pretty hot but we got out again all right. We returned to Dunkerque and found that owing to the wind blowing the smoke back the whole show had been a failure.
Ostend was a failure and a second raid was planned and we were to be flagship. But we were mined somewhere off Griz-Nez on Eastern Patrol with two dead and 11 wounded.
7th May: 2.33 a.m. we struck a mine with our port propeller guard. The explosion blew in the port side of the wardroom and the subs cabin aft (one continuous hole). The Sub (Nicholson) was off duty, in his cabin and asleep. Ditto self and Mr Coughlan (Commissioned Mechanician), The Gunner (Mr Turner) was on duty as after watch. A. B. Robson was with the ammunition party whose action stations was the ward-room. Nicholson and Robson killed outright and instantaneously. Coming back on one propeller we were all over the place and finally bumped Dover Pier which concertinaed 15 feet of our bows.
I don’t remember being blown up. Nicholson and Mr Coughlan, Mr Turner and self inhabited the same cabin flat. When I came to (I was out for seconds only I think), I was sitting amongst a lot of broken glass and the debris and conscious only of a tinkling sound still being heard.
It is interesting to note that in the 2nd World War I was immediately above the point of impact of the torpedo which sank the ‘Ark Royal’ and I was deluged with yellow water which missed me going up but even filled my jacket pockets coming down. I was conscious all the time and heard the same sound ‘tinkling’ like broken glass being poured out of a bucket. I was on the flight deck a considerable height above the explosion (say 20 yards). Before the ‘Ark’ I was in HQ Air Raid Shelter when what was said to be a 500 lb. bomb hit us so near that a tongue of flame came round two right angles into the shelter. Apart from a ‘whoosh’ and heavy pressure I heard no bang and I have come to the conclusion that if you are near enough to an explosion you hear no bang.
The first thing I saw was Mr Coughlan who had been blown out of his bunk (like myself) into the Cabin Flat. We both ‘came to’ together, grinned rather idiotically and asked each other simultaneously what had happened. Neither of us being able to answer we went very shakily up on deck. No one was there immediately and we just hung on to each other, breathing fresh air which seemed very good. Then the gunner came and called out our names (it was pitch dark) to see if we were O.K. On the sub’s name being called we let out a yell and went down the hatch with a rush, only to find the cabin blown in and Nicholson dead and badly mutilated about the head.
I could not get at my medical supplies as my cabin was smashed up and the medical chest was jammed against other things. The gunner however got me a reserve supply up forward and we lifted the sub into the cabin flat and I started to cover his head up as it was such a horrible sight and I thought it better to get it done straight away before the hands should see it.
Brains and bits of flesh were blown across the cabin flat all over the wreckage of my own cabin.
About half way through this someone yelled out that I was wanted. I rushed down to where the Bosun had collected the wounded (all 5 members other than A. B. Robson). I did them up as best I could. Mr Coughlan then came down and told me that Robson was missing, so we went down into the Ward-Room to have a look around.
We found the port-side of the ward-room blown in and the place full of water. Everything was smashed to atoms and there was no sign of Robson. While I was still searching Coughlan started a pump and we then flooded the magazine and shell room. Still not finding Robson I concluded he was in bits and reported to the bridge to the Captain.
Comedy: this is not in my Diary but I remember it well. At this point I got on to the upper deck still wondering what had happened. Still dark and I had lost my torch. I was aware of what seemed to me to be another ship with a sailor swinging a stable lantern. I shouted up to him, ‘What ship are you?’ only to get the reply, ‘The 17th West Kents.’ I am not sure about the 17th. It may have been some other number but he was a soldier on duty on Dover Breakwater.
This done I went down aft and finished cleaning up the sub and had him put on a stretcher and put him on deck. I then, having obtained a torch went back to the Ward Room and began another search for Robson. I found a leg cut off at the knee still in its seaboot and that was all.
During all this we had been making home on one propeller. I don’t know for how long. Suddenly water came rushing through the hole in the ward-room about knee high, I thought we were sinking and dropped the leg and rushed for the upper deck. When I was about half way up the ladder there was a terrific crash and I came down again with a hell of a bump and I began to wonder where I was, what I was doing and whether I was going to drown as water was swilling about all over. I heard Bill, the Navigator’s bull-terrier, whining and realised he was shut in the Navigator’s cabin which was only a yard or two away. I was tempted to leave him – he was no friend of mine – but in the event I went back for him. I found him even more frightened than I was. I had no trouble with him. As soon as I opened the cabin door he dived past me and was first up the ladder which was askew and hanging by only one nut. At this moment I thought we had been either mined or torpedoed or in collision. Actually steering badly we had been carried by the tide bang in to the breakwater and stove in our bows to a considerable extent. While we were fiddling about shoring up forward and trying to hit the harbour entrance I discovered we had more injured. Chiefly men from the Dynamo Room whose faces had hit the dials, etc., as we hit the breakwater.
I bound them up while we were getting to our buoy and got a pumping vessel alongside and I took my wounded ashore.
More comedy: While we were doing this the Chief Engineer (Eng. Comm. Hughes RN) came running along the upper deck calling, ‘Close all water-tight doors.’ Again we were in the CPO’s Mess and the Hatch Cover was slammed down on us. Nobody liked this at all. The Bo’sun was helping me and he suddenly whispered to me, ‘Where’s yer’at Sir.’ I said I didn’t know, he then said ‘I’d find it if I was you, yer ‘airs fair standing up on end.’
It is a curious fact that our Midshipman whose cabin was forrard under the Bridge slept through the Mine episode and only woke up when we hit the breakwater.
Repairs took 11 weeks and I got a very long leave.
26th August: Still at Dunkerque. Up the coast with Commodore, a few other destroyers and small monitors in attendance on Terror and General Wolfe to try out Wolfe’s new 18 inch gun on Ostend. Weather too bad. Two depth charges. Saw nothing.
31st August: Up the coast 04.30. Off Ostend we were observed from the beach and were bombarded for a short while. Their first four were near misses on the Wolfe. Termagant division had to put up smoke and hide everything. Weather prevents shoot.
8th September: In Roads at Dunkerque. Signal came to ‘Weigh’ but Captain and No 1 ashore. Great excitement. I thought the Huns must have been sighted but the signal was cancelled and a CMB was sent to pick up an airman who had come down in the sea. Left for Dover with Mails.
11th September: Suddenly demobilised to continue medical studies. Last words of Commander Amedroz, my much admired Captain, ‘So you are going off to exams. Remember knowledge and wisdom are not the same things and when you face your examiners it might help if you remember that any bloody fool can ask questions and you’ll need both to outwit them.’
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From Mr W. E. Gray: 213 Squadron, After the Raid
In daylight, following the Zeebrugge attack, I was one of five pilots in Sopwith Camels from 213 Squadron, sent to low-bomb large sheds on the landward end of the Mole. Each carried a 112 lb. bomb, to be released without bomb-sights in a low dive – and each having had a practice run at free-hand bombing on our airfield.
Approaching from seaward, we swung in from the landward end and dived, in line ahead, to release our bombs at a few hundred feet above the Mole; nearly all were direct hits on the sheds, and we made our way out to sea again without getting damaged.
Our squadron was attached to the Royal Navy, Dunkirk, throughout 1918, commanded by Squadron Commander Major Ronald Graham DSO, DSC
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From E. A. Steel – After the battle
I am afraid that I am unable to contribute anything directly connected with that heroic attack on the Mole at Zeebrugge, as I was but a thirteen-year old schoolboy living in Rochester at that time, but I have every reason to remember that historic occasion.
As in the case of many other boys, I had a relative serving in the Navy and it so happened he was temporarily based at Chatham at that time. He was serving on a minelayer then being fitted out. On a visit to my home he invited me alone to visit his ship and have tea with him on board! Needless to say I did not hesitate to accept the invitation and so, one Sunday afternoon, I proudly accompanied him through the Dockyard gates – and being saluted too by the sentry on duty – to visit the minelayer. I now come to the point: on the way I saw many ships in dock, but at one point I saw two, or perhaps three, ships in the most dreadful condition that one could imagine. Funnels peppered, a bridge torn completely away and gaping holes in the hull. One part of a hull was almost torn away from the other and it was amazing to me that the vessels could have survived to find their way back to Chatham. The scene is still impressed on my memory. It was then that I was told the ships had seen action at a place called Zeebrugge.
My next exciting experience was to go on board one of HM’s minelayers. It was all the more exciting to see the mines already in position, so it would not be long before the ship would receive orders to patrol the North Sea.
It was a jolly good tea!
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