The Battle of the Atlantic – a brief summary

The Battle of the Atlantic, the longest continuous military campaign in World War Two, is to be commemorated in a series of events today, 8 May 2013.

According to BBC News, ‘three Royal Navy warships will arrive in London before a special evensong in St Paul’s Cathedral at 17:00 BST. The events mark the seventieth anniversary of the climax of the battle, May 1943, when Germany’s submarine fleet suffered heavy losses in the Atlantic. The milestone is also being marked in Londonderry and Liverpool.’

So what exactly was the Battle of the Atlantic? History In An Hour provides a brief summary.

Battle of River PlateThe war at sea began immediately in September 1939 with the Germans sinking merchant ships in the Indian Ocean and the South Atlantic. On 13 December 1939, the Battle of River Plate in the South Atlantic took place. The German battleship Graf Spee attacked a squadron of British ships off the coast of Uruguay but in doing so was damaged herself. Hitler ordered her captain, Hans Langsdorff, to scuttle the ship rather than let her fall into enemy hands. Langsdorff followed his orders and the Graf Spee was sunk (pictured). A week later, Langsdorff, draped in the German flag, shot himself.

The U-boat peril

In his memoirs, Winston Churchill later confessed: “The only thing that ever really frightened me during the war was the U-boat peril.” Britain depended heavily on imports – from iron ore and fuel to almost 70 per cent of all her food. Convoys of merchant ships crossing the Atlantic were escorted by the Royal Navy and, as far as it could reach, the RAF. But there was only so far the planes could travel, leaving a ‘mid-Atlantic gap” where the convoys were particularly vulnerable to German submarines, or U-boats, which hunted in groups or ‘wolf packs’.

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A Brief History of Maritime Shipping

The history of maritime shipping stretches back thousands of years to the times of the earliest humans, for as long as there have been people they have wanted to explore what was beyond the seas. Today, maritime shipping is just as important as it has ever been, although the countries benefiting from these trade routes have shifted throughout history.

Circa 45,000 BCE

It’s believed that as many as 45,000 years ago people living in modern day Australia would have used boats for travelling and to find food resources. While we know very little about how they sailed, it’s fascinating to think that even before the rise of civilisations people were using boats.

3rd century BCE – 2nd century CE – Early trade routes established

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White Ship Disaster

‘No ship ever brought so much misery to England’
William of Malmesbury.

When we think of important dates in medieval history, 25 November 1120 probably isn’t one that springs to mind. But for England this was, in many ways, a momentous day. Not only did this day witnesses the death of Prince William, heir to the throne, it also set the country on the road to its first and often forgotten, civil war…

The port of Barfleur

On 25 November 1120, King Henry I and his heir, Prince William, were in Normandy. Their purpose in France was to ensure peace in the duchy of Normandy and with this now achieved, were about to sail home.

On arrival at the port of Barfleur, Thomas FitzStephen, captain of the White Ship, approached Henry and offered his captaincy and use of his vessel. FitzStephen claimed that his father had been employed by William the Conqueror as his personal captain and had in fact taken the duke to England for the invasion of 1066. With such impressive credentials, Henry accepted his offer – not for himself but for his son. The deal was then sealed with few drinks which soon turned into a long day of partying. By the time they boarded the ship that evening, FitzStephen and the royal party were roaring drunk.

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Hospital ship Armenia torpedoed by the Nazis

On the 7 November 1941, the Soviet hospital ship, the Armenia, was torpedoed and sunk by the Nazis. It was one of the worse maritime disasters in history. All but eight of the 7,000 passengers perished on a ship designed for not more than a thousand. A comparatively modest 1,514 died on the Titanic (1912) and 1,198 on the Lusitania (1915) yet the sinking of the Armenia on 7 November 1941 is all but lost to history.

Sunk in the Black Sea, the exact location of the wreck is still a mystery and for years, the question remained – was a hospital ship, identified by a Red Cross, a legitimate target?

A stricken city

Designed for 980 passengers and crew, over seven times that number had surged onto the ship in the Crimean port of Yalta that fateful night of 7 November 1941. The reason was blind panic. The Nazi war machine, which had invaded the Soviet Union less than five months before, had overrun the Crimean peninsula and was bearing down on Yalta. People expected the city to fall within a matter of hours. The only possible means of escape for its stricken population was by sea – the roads outside the city having been sealed off by the Germans.

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Sink the Bismarck

On 24 May 1941, the Bismarck, on its first operation, had helped sink the HMS Hood. But in return, it had been damaged, and had set a course for northern France to attend to its wounds and repair the leaking fuel tanks. “The Hood was the pride of England,” said the German Fleet Commander, Admiral Günter Lutjens (pictured), over the ship’s loudspeakers, “the enemy will now attempt to concentrate his forces against us. The German nation is with you.”

The crew was nervous but for now at least the ship had slipped away from battle and had managed to remain at large, undetected by the British.

But then Lutjens made a fatal error – he broke radio silence. He radioed back to Germany announcing his intentions. The signal was picked up by the British and the codebreakers at Bletchley Park did their work and roughly located the Bismarck’s position. Then, a RAF reconnaissance plane spotted the trailing oil leak.

Swordfish

26 May 1941 – the British closed in. The aircraft carrier, HMS Ark Royal, launched 15 bombers, known as Swordfish planes, to attack the Bismarck, swooping in low, firing torpedoes. To their annoyance every torpedo missed and, equally, to their surprise the Bismarck failed to fire back. They soon learnt why – it was not the Bismarck they were attacking, but one of their own fleet, the HMS Sheffield.  Fortunately for the commanders responsible, there were no casualties.

A second batch of Swordfish was dispatched and this time they located the Bismarck – 600 miles from its intended destination, Saint-Nazaire in northern France. Again the planes flew in low – and twice hit their target. The damage was significant – a torpedo had jammed the ship’s rudder. The ship was no longer steering and could do nothing but move around in giant circles.

The Germans dispatched a number of U-boats to assist the flailing ship but Lutjens knew they were too far away to be of any use. The ship was doomed.

“All of Germany is with you.”

Hitler sent a consolatory message which must have offered little by way of consolation, “All of Germany is with you.”

As night fell, the crew upon the stricken ship knew that for most it would be their last night. Captain Lindemann allowed his men a free hand to whatever food and drink they could consume. For others he set the task of building a fake funnel, with the idea that when planted on top of the ship it would alter its silhouette and trick the British into thinking that the ship was not the Bismarck but another vessel. His men must have realised the absurdity of the captain’s plan but, nonetheless, thankful for the distraction, threw themselves into the task with gusto.

As dawn broke on 27 May, the battle resumed. The Bismarck, battered, impotent and alone, stood little chance. The British fleet pounded her while all the time closing in. At first, the Germans fired back but to no avail. Fires erupted throughout the ship, shells destroyed every lifeboat, and men jumped into the sea to avoid the rising flames as the ship began to capsize.

And still the British closed in. The HMS Rodney fired from a distance of less than two miles – in effect shooting from point blank range.

Finally, at 10.39 am, the Bismarck sank. She may have been scuttled. Men in water swan frantically away, trying to avoid the suction as the ship went under.

Survivors recalled looking back and seeing a heroic and poignant sight – there, on the deck, his hand raised to his white cap, Captain Lindemann saluting as the once mighty ship went down.

Rescue

Two of the British ships were close enough to pick up survivors. But as they went about their noble work, the captain of one of them, the HMS Dorsetshire, thought he spied in the distance the telltale puff of smoke from a U-boat. Being stationary, his ship presented a sitting target to a U-boat attack and he had no choice but to make a hasty exit. 110 men had been plucked out of the water (pictured), but many, many more were left stranded, screaming for the Dorsetshire to come back.

The following morning a German U-boat and a weather ship did appear on the scene but by then all but five of the remaining men had succumbed and died.

1,995 of the Bismarck’s crew of 2,200 had lost their lives.

WW2 in an hourRupert Colley

Read more about the war in World War Two: History In An Hour published by Harper Press and available in various digital formats and audio.

See also the sinking of HMS Hood, and the Battle of the Atlantic.

Rupert Colley’s novel, This Time Tomorrow, set during the First World War, is now available.

 

The Sinking of HMS Hood – a summary

On 24 May 1941 two mighty ships engaged in battle – the respective pride of the German and British navies: the Bismarck and HMS Hood.

It started six days before when, on the evening of Sunday 18 May 1941, the Bismarck, accompanied by the Prinz Eugene, set sail from the Polish port of Gdynia. It was the Bismarck’s first mission.

“There had never been a warship like her”

Named after the 19th century German chancellor, Otto von Bismarck, the Bismarck had been launched just two years earlier, in February 1939, by the chancellor’s great granddaughter. The ship was an impressive sight – one sixth of a mile long and 120 feet wide. British writer and broadcaster, Ludovic Kennedy (1909-2009), wrote of the Bismarck: “There had never been a warship like her… No German saw her without pride, no neutral or enemy without admiration.”

The mission set for the Bismarck and the Prinz Eugene was to head for the Atlantic and cause as much damage and disruption as possible to the British convoys shipping vital supplies across the Atlantic into Britain. On board the Bismarck were two of Hitler’s most senior and able seamen – its captain, 45-year-old Ernst Lindemann, referred to by his crew as ‘our father’, and Fleet Commander, 51-year-old Admiral Gunther Lutjens.

From Poland, the two ships passed Norway where their presence was picked up by the British. British aircraft and ships, keeping a safe distance, monitored their progress as the German ships skirted north of Iceland and then south down the Denmark Straits between Iceland and Greenland.

It was here, in the Denmark Straits, that the British fleet, led by the HMS Hood and Prince of Wales, was ordered to intercept.

“The embodiment of British sea-power”

Built in 1916, the Hood was, according to Kennedy, “the embodiment of British sea-power and the British Empire between the wars.” But the Hood had been built at a time, during the First World War, when enemy shells came in low and hit the sides of a ship near the water line. But in 1941 shells were more likely to arch across the sky and fall onto the upper decks. The decks of the Hood had never been reinforced and therein lay its weak spot. The “embodiment of British sea-power” had been built for a different war.

The Battle of Denmark Straits

In the early hours of 24 May, the opposing fleets with their imposing ships engaged. Thirteen miles apart the ships fired one-ton shells that, travelling at 1,600 miles per hour, took almost a minute to reach their intended target. The noise, which could be heard in Iceland, was horrendous.

The battle lasted merely twenty minutes and both the Bismarck and the Prince of Wales took direct hits, but it was the fate of the Hood that stunned the world. A shell from the Bismarck hit the Hood on its vulnerable upper deck, tore through the ship and penetrated its ammunition room, causing an almighty explosion.

The ship sliced into two, its front end dramatically lifting out of the water. A huge fireball rocketed into the sky, followed by plumes of dense black smoke, with pieces of molten metal shooting like so many white stars, as one German sailor described it. (Pictured is a painting by J.C. Schmitz-Westerholt capturing the moment of the Hood’s sinking. In the foreground is the HMS Prince of Wales)

Within five minutes, the HMS Hood, pride of the Royal Navy, had sunk. It was no more. Of its crew of 1,421 men, all were killed – except for three.

The crew of the Bismarck was jubilant. For this they would be the toast of Germany. The Prince of Wales was also struggling, having been hit seven times. The German crew wanted to give chase and finish her off but Lindemann, as captain, not wanting to expose the Bismarck unnecessarily, erred on the side of caution and resisted the temptation.

Also, of greater concern for Lindemann, the Bismarck had been hit by a shell that failed to explode but had caused damage to her fuel tanks. Serious damage.

Leaking oil at an alarming rate, Lindemann knew he had to get her back to safety. He decided on Saint-Nazaire, northern France, a distance of 1,700 miles, a journey of some four days.

The Prinz Eugene and the Bismarck parted ways. The joy of the Bismarck crew had evaporated. Now there was nothing but concern – could they escape the British, could they make it all the way to France? The ship was limping – the fuel leak had forced the captain to greatly reduce speed. France seemed a long way away.

Sink the Bismarck

Meanwhile, in Britain, a nation reeled in shock, stunned by the loss of the Hood. It demanded retaliation. Churchill, reflecting the public mood, issued his famous battle cry: “Sink the Bismarck!”

A fleet consisting of four battleships, two battle cruisers, two aircraft carriers, 21 destroyers and 13 cruisers was dispatched.

The chase was on.

Rupert Colley

Read more about the war in World War Two: History In An Hour published by Harper Press and available in various digital formats and audio.

See also Sink the Bismarck! and the Battle of the Atlantic.

Rupert Colley’s novel, This Time Tomorrow, set during the First World War, is now available.

 

Admiral Byng – the Execution of a Scapegoat

John Byng was born on 29 October 1704 in Bedfordshire, England. One of fifteen children, John, like his father, Rear-Admiral Sir George Byng, joined the Royal Navy and by the age of 23 had reached the rank of captain.  

Admiral ByngIn his earlier years, until 1739, Byng was stationed around an uneventful Mediterranean. Then, probably due to his father’s success and influence, John’s rights and titles increased and rose. In 1742, he was given the governorship of the colony of Newfoundland. In 1745 he was given the title of Rear Admiral, followed by Vice-Admiral in 1747, all of which he obtained without having seen any military action.  His father, George, had been victorious in a number of naval battles, but when his son was finally to be tested it resulted in disaster.

Minorca

Admiral Byng is mostly famous for his notorious execution by the British authorities in 1757.  This resulted from his role in the loss of the island of Mediterranean Minorca to the French at the opening of the Seven Years War. Hostilities began in Europe only two days after the declaration of war in 1756 with a French attack on Minorca on 20 May. After a fierce yet inconclusive naval battle with the French fleet, the cautious Admiral Byng, charged with relieving the garrison at Minorca, decided to move his fleet to the safety of Gibraltar and from there recoup. But by 28 June, the French had captured the island.

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The Wilhelm Gustloff – the Biggest Maritime Disaster In History

30 January 1945 – nine hours after leaving port and seventy minutes after being hit, the huge liner, the Wilhelm Gustloff, slipped under the waves and sunk.

The Wilhelm GustloffA small fleet of ships and boats arrived on the scene and managed to pluck a few survivors from the icy waters and rescued many of those on the lifeboats. Over a thousand were rescued but… an estimated 9,343 people died, half of them children – six times the 1,517 that died on the Titanic in 1912.

The sinking of the Wilhelm Gustloff remains the biggest maritime disaster in history.

We have all heard of the Titanic. A century after that fateful night, the disaster remains within our global consciousness. Even before James Cameron’s epic 1998 film, we knew of the iceberg, the “women and children first”, and the band that played on.

But how many of us have even heard of the Wilhelm Gustloff?

The Luxury Liner

Wilhelm Gustloff2The ship was named after the assassinated leader of the Swiss Nazi Party (yes, Switzerland in the 1930s had its own Nazi Party), murdered in his own home in February 1936 (Wilhelm Gustloff, pictured).

The ship, the Wilhelm Gustloff, weighing 25,000 tons and almost 700 feet in length, was an impressive sight, and could carry almost 2,000 passengers and crew. Launched in 1937, it began its life as a luxury cruise liner for the German workers of Hitler’s Third Reich, and, until the outbreak of the Second World War, had sailed over fifty cruises.

Wartime

For the first year of the war the Wilhelm Gustloff served as a hospital ship before being held in dock in the port of Gotenhafen on the Baltic coast (modern-day Gdynia) where, until early 1945, it served as barracks for U-boat trainees.

Hitler had launched Operation Barbarossa, the invasion of the Soviet Union, in June 1941 and the German juggernaut had fought all the way to within sight of Moscow. But then the tide of war turned against the Nazis, and Stalin launched his own counterattack.

By October 1944, the Soviet Union’s Red Army had fought the Germans out of the Soviet Union and broken through into East Prussia.

The Red Army Approaches

With the apocalyptic Red Army bearing down on them, the German civilians of East Prussia, desperate to get away, fled to the Baltic ports hoping to be evacuated out. Many of those caught in the maelstrom of the Soviet advance were murdered and raped.

The Wilhelm Gustloff, along with any other serviceable ship in the area, was pressed into service to aid the evacuation of German civilians. With forty-eight hours notice before departure, the scenes in frozen Gotenhafen were of panic as people, frantic for a place, fought on the dock and surged aboard the ship.

Evacuation

By the time it left, on 30 January, 10,582 people (40% of whom were children) had crammed onto a ship designed for less than 2,000. Of the three designated military escorts, two broke down, leaving only one torpedo boat to accompany the huge liner. The ship had four captains who argued over the best course to take – shallow or deep waters, a straight line for speed or zig-zags to help avoid detection. Poor visibility, heavy snow and freezing temperatures further hampered progress.

When the captains were informed of a German minesweeper convoy coming towards them, they decided, after much argument, to switch on the navigation lights to avoid colliding into the convoy, but by doing so the ship also became visible to a Soviet submarine lurking nearby.

Hit

The submarine fired three torpedoes, each hitting its target. The ensuing scenes of panic cannot be imagined. Most of the lifeboats had frozen onto their davits, leaving only a few that could be put into use. As the ship listed to one side, some were trapped below decks, and others were crushed in the stairways, while many fell into the freezing waters. Children drowned in lifejackets too big. People fought and clubbed each other to get onto the few available lifeboats, while many jumped to their deaths.

It was, coincidentally, the birthdate of Wilhelm Gustloff, born 30 January 1895. The day the ship sunk would have been his fiftieth birthday. It was also the twelfth anniversary of Hitler coming to power.

The sinking of the Wilhelm Gustloff on 30 January 1945 remains the greatest maritime disaster to ever have taken place. But why, when the tragic story of the Titanic is so known to us, does the Wilhelm Gustloff remain a forgotten catastrophe?

To help answer this, I quote from David F. Krawczyk, who has put together an excellent website, wilhelmgustloff.com, devoted to the subject. Below I paraphrase some of his observations:

1. The disaster occurred during wartime

Many view wartime disasters as less “tragic” than those occurring during peacetime.

2. The victims were on the “losing” side

Although the passengers were predominately civilian, they were German, and post-war sympathy for Germany was not overly forthcoming.

3. German war-guilt has repressed the disaster

A nation’s war guilt and repression of memory has served to push the Wilhelm Gustloff into obscurity. German writer and Nobel Prize Winner, Gunter Grass, wrote of the disaster and the preceding assassination of Gustloff in his 2002 novel, Crabwalk.

4. Russian retribution for Nazi occupation

When the Nazis broke their pact with Stalin and invaded Soviet Russia in 1941, their tactics were often brutal. Hitler himself made it clear that this was a war different from that waged in the West, calling it a “war of extermination”. When the tide eventually turned against Germany and the Soviets were marching towards Berlin, the Red Army showed no mercy – and exacted horrific revenge. Since the Soviets were in control of the Bay of Danzig both near the end of the war and for many years after, the Polish civilians were not allowed to mourn the loss of life on a German ship.

5. World sentiment regarding Nazi atrocities

As the world learned more about Nazi war-crimes and systematic genocide, subdued global reaction to a disaster on this scale was perhaps understandable. Under other circumstances, 4,000 innocent children dying in a single disaster would certainly be mourned by almost anyone in a “friendly” or “enemy” nation.

6. Ship was named after a prominent Nazi leader

Wilhelm Gustloff was leader of the Nazi Party in Switzerland. David Krawczyk, on his site, wonders if the profile of the ship might have been higher if it had been named after a city or non-Nazi figure.

7. Demise of so many refugees (mostly women and children)

For months, the disaster remained largely unreported both inside and outside Germany. Inside the imploding Nazi-Germany, Hitler wanted to suppress awareness about the death of so many. The Western Allies avoided it too; it would not have made for a popular news story where one of its allies had caused a disaster that had claimed the lives of so many women and children.

8. There is no American connection or Hollywood profile

Since comparisons are inevitable, we can see how the Titanic profile was raised even higher worldwide with an Academy-Award winning movie from Hollywood. Unlike the Titanic, the Wilhelm Gustloff was not sailing towards America, nor did it have any American passengers on its decks.

9. There were no rich victims on board

In another inevitable comparison to the Titanic, none of the Wilhelm Gustloff passengers on the fateful voyage were rich or of society’s elite. They were refugees simply trying to escape a terrible situation.

British Pathé have kindly offered this rare bit of footage of the Wilhelm Gustloff.

WW2 in an hourRupert Colley

Read more about the war in World War Two: History In An Hour published by Harper Press and available in various digital formats and audio.

See also the sinking of the Armenia, the Soviet hospital ship, and the sinking of HMS Hood.

Rupert Colley’s novella, My Brother the Enemy, set during the Hungarian Revolution of 1956, is now available.

The Naval Miscellany – book review

A couple of weeks ago on Twitter I saw a tweet from Osprey Publishing, posted just minutes previously, offering free copies of their new publication to the first five twitterers to send them a DM (Direct Message). I did so. An hour or so later, having already forgotten about it, I received a DM back from Osprey – I had been one of the five and therefore had won! Great, I thought, I’d never won a competition before.
And the prize? A copy of Naval Miscellany by Angus Konstam.
And now I’m a proud owner of said book. And a fine book it is too for this is a miscellany that’s had some effort put into it. This is not your usual random set of did-you-know facts, and random nuggets of information, and endless lists – the Top 10 of this, the ten fastest, biggest, smallest of that. Facts that you’re fascinated to learn about one moment, and totally forgotten about the next. No, what is different about Konstam’s miscellany is that it’s a series of articles, about 114 of them, that really does, for the layperson, add to one’s knowledge of naval history. Looking at the contents for the first time I felt a rush of excitement as I couldn’t decide what I wanted to read first. There were too many good titles that jumped out: How the press gang worked; Pearl Harbor – facts and figures; The U-Boat aces; The Wrecking of the Spanish Armada, and many more. Oh, where to begin, where to begin? It’s a dip-in, dip-out sort of book, and the contents are not in chronological or any other order but it’s certainly more-ish – you read one article, you’ll want to read another. And you do, transporting yourself from 1805 to 1945 via 333BC in a matter of pages.
All the famous names are here (Nelson, Drake, Raleigh, Mutiny on the Bounty), and many that are not. And lots of gruesome facts – the preserving of Nelson’s body as it was brought back to Britain, the rules and methods of flogging, and the awful punishment of keelhauling – dropping the unfortunate miscreant overboard and passing him under the ship, and pulling him up the other side.
And sad tales as well – the sinking of the German battleship, the Scharnhorst, in the freezing waters off Norway during the Second World War, or the sinking of the Mary Rose in 1545 as Henry VIII watched horrified from ashore.
There are a couple of lists – it can’t be totally avoided in such a book, the top 10 naval films as rated by the author being one. But rather than just a list of titles, Konstam provides us with a brief resume of each, and his enthusiasm is such that you immediately want to go find a copy somewhere (your local library perhaps, say I, as a former librarian) and watch it.
So, I may not have won a competition before and in terms of its monetary value it’s not exactly a life-changer but I would never have read this book unless it had dropped, literally, onto my front-door mat. And I’m very pleased it did.
Rupert Colley