For the majority of the war up until that point, the Hood had not left port; there had not been a great number of naval operations in the early part of the war. But now Germany was near to completing its major naval construction projects; the infamous Bismarck was shortly to be released into the sea after fitting out, the Tirpinz and Graf Spee had recently had their keels laid, and the Sharnhost was near completion. These possible encounters in the future kept the momentum going, but the tension created by the waiting was enormous, although a lot of the time was taken up by training (how much training do you need to peel potatoes?), there were still many exasperating moments, while we waited for a signal for action. I had heard that the worst part of war is the waiting, as this is the only time you have to think. There were a few of us who were very pessimistic, fearing the worst could happen at any time, but the majority of us considered the situation to be very similar to how the crew of the Victory felt before Trafalgar, the Royal Navy’s greatest victory. We were all so confident, so sure of our technology, so anxious to get into battle. If someone had told me that after my first encounter at sea, all but two of my shipmates would be dead I would have laughed in his faith. Little did I know how overconfident and how much ill-founded faith in ourselves I had.
The day finally came in mid-November when the Admiralty in London finally gave us the message we had been waiting for. The Bismarck had been released into the Baltic Sea for the first time after completion. She, in all chance, would be heading for the Atlantic Ocean, where vigilance is the price of life, to raid merchant shipping to try and force Britain into starvation and submission. There are three routes from the Baltic to the Atlantic; through the English Channel, between Iceland and Scotland and through the Denmark Strait (between Iceland and Greenland.) The Royal Navy would designate a fleet to each route to ambush the great battleship before she could wreak havoc in the Atlantic. We all hoped that we would meet the German legend in a dogfight; we had no doubt of course who the victor would be.
Seven o’clock the next morning the news came in that we had all been waiting for. We were to leave port at ten hundred hours and set sail for the Denmark Strait. There was great rejoicing amongst all of the crew of all of the vessels that were leaving port; I myself was a bit afraid, but as I didn’t have an active job I quickly forgot these emotions. There was great vigour among us, we all felt as enthusiastic as the day we joined the service. This is what we were born for, I felt that my purpose in life was to serve on Hood to eliminate the great German Battleship. A victory like the one I anticipated would be such a morale booster it could turn the tide of the war. To think, I could help to change the war.
I reported for duty on the ship punctual, just before nine o’clock to the head cook who would overview my actions in the kitchen during the voyage. The dark, dingy low ceilings should have given me a downhearted feeling, instead I craved action, as then I would be allowed on the upper decks to assist wherever I could. At ten hundred hours I felt a small rumbling as the ships mighty engines came to life. I almost wished I wasn’t onboard so that I could view the majestic beauty of the sleek hull as she pulled away from her moorings on the misty Orkney Islands.
That first day was not one of great pleasure to me; I had never thought that removing potato skins could be so monotonous. To make matters worse, I discovered that the vibrations from those great engines didn’t make me feel too well, for the lack of stabilisers was apparent. The only company that I had was the cook when he came to see me every hour, when he stayed for a very brief period. I did not mention my malady, as after all this was not a cruise, this was war. My enthusiasm decreased ever more throughout the day, down in the dark, dingy, damp depths of the bow was not over-comforting for me. My anticipation of battle also died down, my hands felt the epitome of unsteadiness. By the time of the scarlet, shimmering sun set I had as much enthusiasm for war as the soldiers of the First World War just before going over the top and after having seen their comrades hacked to pieces by a mesh of machineguns.
The gentle swaying of my hammock on the rough seas fortunately helped me to fall asleep almost instantly. As a result, the next morning I felt more relaxed and able to continue with the job that I was allocated to. Out on the deck I saw icicles form upon the gargantuan gun turrets, almost like giant limestone stalactites clinging on to a cave roof. The temperature had noticeably dropped over night; the metal-plated deck was now an awkwardly shaped ice rink. If the temperature was this cold already (by my guess around twenty five degrees Fahrenheit) and we hadn’t even passed into the Denmark Strait, I wondered what it would be like there. As the day peeled itself away I once again became more enthusiastic for battle. I wanted something to happen, no matter how minor, just so long as I could see some action.
Little did I know that in Stockholm major events were occurring. Sweden, although officially a neutral country had surveillance photographs that were thought may be of use to the British admiralty, so in less than two hours after they had been taken, they were on the British Ambassador’s desk. The break they had finally been waiting for had finally arrived. These vital photographs clearly showed the German Battleship Bismarck off of the Swedish coast waiting while her consort vessel, the Prinz Eugen had a re-fuel and re-oiled. The Bismarck was on her way, so therefore a great battle between herself and the Royal Navy vessels guarding the route that she would take would occur in the near future. Our captain was of course informed at once, and he relayed it to us. As a battle possibly loomed over us, I was told to work for the rest of the day until ten o’clock so that our food supplies would be high enough if we encountered some action the following day. I was happy to follow his instructions as this meant that tomorrow I would be allowed up on deck B to help in any way I could with the battle.
The sirens thundered at five o’clock sharply the next morning as the captain signalled to us that it was time for action, like a shepherd calling to his flock. We all (off duty personnel) assembled in the mess hall for the Captain’s briefing. I remember his words well, he told us to be confident and brave as ‘Self-confidence is the first requisite for achieving great things’. We were already self-assured; we all felt that we were on the crest of a wave. We would encounter the Bismarck later that very day, as our two destroyers Norfolk and Suffolk had discovered her on their radar systems entering the icy waters of the Denmark Strait. After following her for quite some time behind her, out of her firing range, they had lost her in the prevailing blizzard. The atmosphere on the Hood was ecstatic; the event for which most of the crew had been training for two years for was now in close proximity. I myself went through a series of emotions, firstly joy as the moment that I had hoped for would soon occur, secondly anxiety as I realised that I, or some of my friends, might be killed in the event, and thirdly anticipation for the battle. All that was clear in my mind was the fact that the two largest and most powerful vessels in the world would soon go against each other, and by tomorrow sunrise, it was probable that only one colossus would still be afloat.
To my utmost delight I discovered that during the clash I would serve as a junior medical officer in the Mess Hall, helping the doctors to treat anyone who needed medical assistance. Of course we all thought that the fortress Hood was impregnable, so I assumed that I would not be needed so would be able to watch the battle through the portholes. Meanwhile, the Hood sped north to intercept the Bismarck according to latest reports of her position. The morning was cold and crisp, the freezing temperatures, the gale force winds and the low, bleak mists made it hard to navigate through such a desolate landscape. The winter sun at last made an appearance on the black sky, relieving the dark, melancholy feeling whenever you looked outside.
The day sailed by as quickly as the Hood, very little had happened since the early morning briefing. Our cruisers Norfolk and Suffolk had regained vision of Bismarck on their radars, but were quickly re-blinded due to the adverse weather conditions. We were still sailing on a course of north-north-west attempting to intercept the Bismarck before she reached the open Atlantic, where she would do more damage to our shipping than a wolf would in a field of sheep. The Royal Navy had thrown everything it had to try and stop the Bismarck; now all that stood in her way was my Battle-cruiser HMS Hood and her consort, the new battleship HMS Prince of Wales.
The clash of the Titans finally took place latter that day, after the early Artic dusk when the whole area was plunged into darkness. The Hood, still steaming north had picked up the Bismarck on her own, older radar system and sped towards the rendezvous site. Germany had not yet developed radar so had no idea of the 46,000-ton surprise waiting for them ahead. We were all immediately ordered to battle stations, and at twenty-past eleven we opened fire on our nemesis, firing a salvo towards her. The Germans responded in kind with salvoes rapidly launched from her enormous 18-inch guns. For a minute there was shots being fired from Hood, Bismarck, the Prince of Wales and the Prinz Eugen, with no one being hit. Eventually one of Hood’s shells hit Bismarck, but her thick armour plating caused it to bounce off as if it was made of rubber. I was standing in the Mess Hall in the aft part of the ship, where I would help with medical aid if needed. Until then, I was staring out of the porthole at the German war machine, which lit up the sky whenever it fired a shell like a firework. I remember the exact instant that the calamity happened. The Bismarck got a shell on target on the Hood, landing on her forward deck. The Hood had little armour plating, as this allowed her to travel at a much faster speed. The shell pierced the deck and exploded in the deck below, which was the magazine for first turret. I have never seen such a big explosion in my life, it caused a hole the size of a house to appear in the ship’s side. I was thrown on the floor as the ship took on a large list. The whole of the bow had been completely destroyed, as it started to go under. From that moment I knew the ship was doomed. The Bismarck still continued her menacing attack. I staggered out of the mess hall onto the deck, where I saw the most horrific sight that I have ever seen; blood everywhere, limbs and bodies lying everywhere. The call to abandon ship never came, without a doubt the captain in the bridge had been killed after the first explosion. Without any hesitation, I jumped over the side of the massacre ground, into the freezing waters below. I swam away from my ship as fast as I could, knowing that the inevitable was about to occur. I kept looking forward, not daring to look back upon the once beautiful, imposing flagship. I could not bear to see her die. I heard a thundering explosion as the ship split into two and started to go under. Half afloat, she erupted again, as her fuel tanks caught alight, throwing burning oil over a large area. As I turned back, she was gone, lost to the sea like so many other great ships. The suction caused by her going down was so great, that I, now about half a mile away was pulled down with the greatest of forces. I do not know what happened next, I remember dreaming that I was back in rural Hampshire, it was a glorious spring morning, the graceful rose blossoms littered the streets, and the cool English Channel brought in a refreshing salty breeze. The next thing I remember was waking up, floating on the water with nothing visible around me.
Those moments were the worst I have ever experienced, while I floated on the icy water, I was simply shocked, I could not move. How could this have happened? How could the greatest ship in the world being sunk in less than three minutes after the battle had started? This was far worse than my worst nightmare. Many people in my place may have just given up and let the sea swallow them, but I saw a chance of survival. I first had to remove all thoughts of my friends aboard ship, hoping to see them latter aboard a rescue ship. I clambered on to a metal door that I saw drifting a few yards away, which kept me out of the icy water and gave me the smallest chance of survival.
I felt so alone out there, the Bismarck and the Prinz Eugen had continued their journey and were now further down the Denmark Strait, near to the Atlantic. The Prince of Wales had been hit and was suffering from a fire, which was the only light I could see in the foggy night sky. She could not go and search for rescuers as she didn’t know if the Bismarck was still around. I drifted for about an hour, calling out without any reply. The freezing temperatures caused my fingers to be completely numb, but fortunately I was wearing one of the Royal Navy ‘Artic’ uniforms, which is nearly entirely waterproof and is very warm. Despite this I felt as if I was going to freeze to death. I had seen or heard no one, I didn’t know why as there must have been other survivors. Just as I was pondering over this, the moment I had waited for came. I spotted a ship heading directly for me; I paddled towards it, the moonlit hull reflected the stars that guided me towards salvation. The small vessel had searchlights on and I managed to paddle into a lit-up area. I don’t know how they saw me, but they did. I was rescued by a small British freighter that had been ordered by the Prince of Wales to pick up survivors. On board I was given whisky and coffee, and I recovered from the cold. I learned that there were other survivors on board, who I met with. There were two others. Three survivors out of a crew of fourteen hundred. I don’t know what was more depressing, the loss of human life or the loss of the ship. At that moment in time all that I wanted was to go home, go to bed and wake up from this nightmare.
I reached Britain five days latter and was surrounded by media attention, which I did not appreciate at all. One thing of great interest that I did learn was that the Royal Navy had sent every available ship in its fleet to ‘Sink the Bismarck’, which would have failed if it hadn’t have been for the Ark Royal which paralysed the Bismarck when one of its Swordfish biplanes immobilised the Bismarck’s rudder, allowing the Grand Fleet to catch up with her. She was pounded by over fifty ships and sank after being torpedoed. There were only a hundred and twenty survivors out of the larger crew of two thousand.
And did I feel avenged by the sinking of the Bismarck? The answer, no, as I had learnt that all those who had perished, no matter what nationality they were, were human beings. The allied victory did not give me comfort, as there are no winners in war, only losers. And what of my fallen comrades? They will live forever, as we will remember them.
Bibliography (Based on the story of Signalman Ted Briggs, one of three survivors of the Hood.)
Discovery Channel ‘Hood and Bismarck’
C4 ‘Hood and Bismarck’
National Geographic Channel ‘Sink the Bismarck’ programme and book
.