Endure No Makeshifts

Some Naval Recollections

Henry Leach

• Publisher: Pen & Sword Select
• Year: 1993
• ISBN:
  9781473813915
• Topic: History
• Subtopic: World War I
• Index: History

Sir Henry Leach spent forty-five years of active service in the Royal Navy, starting as a thirteen year old Cadet in 1937 and finishing as a fifty-nine year old Admiral of the Fleet in 1982. Son of a distinguished naval Captain, killed in action while commanding the Battleship Prince of Wales in 1941, he spent most of World War II at sea, mainly in the North Atlantic and the Far East.

1

A BEGINNING AND AN ENDING

And the stately ships go on

To their haven under the hill;

But O for the touch of a vanished hand,

And the sound of a voice that is still!

Alfred Lord Tennyson

‘Oh well, it’ll be all right when he’s in the Navy,’ said my father.

‘That’s what you always say,’ retorted my mother, ‘but have you ever discussed it with the boy?’

’Er no, I don’t think it’s necessary.’

‘But I really think you should.’

‘Very well, I will.’

I was blessed with exceptional parents to whom I was devoted – more so than perhaps I realized at the age of ten. They had married young and there could not have been a more devoted couple; twenty years later they might have been thought to be on their honeymoon. Home (Yarner), on the edge of Dartmoor near the village of Bovey Tracey, was a very happy place.

Mother was beautiful with raven black hair, a lovely neck and clear grey eyes set in a rounded face above a humorous mouth. She was highly intelligent, soft-spoken and very strict, but always scrupulously fair, so that I knew exactly where I stood; a brilliant organizer, resolutely determined, and with a bubbling sense of humour and appreciation of the ridiculous. She herself had a strong streak of naughtiness and was always game for a bit of fun. She had the guts of ten and little would stop her in the particular pursuit of the moment – especially if she knew she was right (as she normally thought she was!).

‘If I say “it is” it is,’ she often used to say, adding ‘even if it isn’t!’

Father was a big man in every sense, well over six foot, broad and strongly built in proportion. Prematurely bald, he had a kindly, oval face from which projected a large nose and a firm chin. He was affectionately known by many of his sailors as ‘Trunky’. In his time he won the Navy Racquets and Tennis Championships and was a devastating slow left-arm bowler on the cricket field as well as being much in demand at rugger and hockey. His natural eye and sense of timing made him a crack shot with a twelve-bore and a skilled fisherman. Somehow he seemed to radiate an aura of calmness, gentleness, kindness and humour; he was never edgy or got in a flap; everyone liked and respected him for his steely sense of purpose and code of values which underlay his character. He was a charming no-nonsense man.

But father was now committed to a personal discussion on my future which he did not relish. And so, one winter’s night before I was even eleven, he came up to my room to say goodnight. The discussion was strictly limited to our exchange of goodnights, no other subject was broached; he switched out the light, left the room and shut the door. Moments later he just cracked the door open again, stuck his head round and speaking rather quickly muttered:

‘I take it you have no objection to joining the Navy?’

Instantly withdrawing his head and slamming the door without waiting for a reply he stumped off downstairs to report to my mother:

‘I’ve discussed it with the boy and it’s all fixed.’

The matter was never raised again in my family and at 13½ I went to the Royal Naval College, Dartmouth, proudly wearing the uniform of a Naval Cadet. Now, more than fifty years later, I can reflect on the outcome of that Careers Interview and reply:

‘No objection.’

Dartmouth in the thirties was much like any other good Public School. I got an excellent general education, orientated away from the classics, but learned little about the Navy. So that when the war-clouds gathered in September, 1939, and the Training Cruiser (to which I would normally have gone on leaving Dartmouth) was transferred back to the Fleet, the curriculum at the College had to be modified to train the young Cadets in preparation for operational life at sea.

In the summer of 1940 my Father was Director of Naval Ordnance at the Admiralty. As such he played a prominent part in the procurement of weapons for the Fleet. It was a busy time but he managed a few days’ leave.

‘Which ship would you like when you go to sea?’ he asked one evening as we were returning from a few hours’ fishing in the River Bovey.

‘That’s all right Dad,’ I replied, ‘it’s all organized. I’ve put my name down for the Fiji.’

She was a brand new six-inch-gun cruiser of the latest class and most of my particular chums were hoping to go to her.

‘Hmm,’ grunted my Father. ‘That doesn’t sound quite right to me. Better to have a thicker roof over your head before the next summer months.’

‘But Dad,’ I expostulated, ‘it’s all fixed and my buddies are going there.’

‘No, no, I’ll get it changed,’ he replied.

He did and I was appointed to Prince of Wales, our newest battleship still under construction at Cammell Lairds in Birkenhead. So began a chain of curious coincidences.

In December I left Dartmouth for the last time, having collected the Special Subjects Prize for those aspects of work which would otherwise have been done in the Training Cruiser. In the final academic exams I achieved a good 2nd Class Certificate and I felt my priorities were right. So, bless him, did my father!

Just before Christmas he turned up unexpectedly at home one Saturday evening. We were in the middle of family tea in the dining room.

‘Didn’t you get my letter?’ he asked, since everyone was looking so surprised to see him.

‘No, not a word, but anyway it’s super to have you home,’ replied my mother.

‘Oh, well, I’m off to sea,’ said father.

Mother’s face fell. ‘I see,’ she said quietly. ‘Are we allowed to know where and when?’

‘No, I’m afraid not.’

‘But are you pleased with the prospect?’

‘Yes, very.’ And nothing more could we extract from him.

I was still very ignorant about such matters but experienced a strong hunch which I couldn’t explain that father was to be Captain of the Prince of Wales.

When I left home to join my first ship in early January, 1941, Prince of Wales was still not sufficiently completed to take midshipmen and I was temporarily re-appointed first to the Cruiser Edinburgh and then to the battleship Rodney. Those early days were full of uncertainty and change: short periods spent in a variety of different ships. To some a green Midshipman was an encumbrance unlikely to enhance the busy conduct of the war; to others he was the seedcorn of the future and a potential trade-off in the present if you were prepared to risk giving him opportunities and responsibility. The divergence largely differentiated between the good ship and the commonplace; it still does.

In the course of the next few weeks my father did indeed assume command of Prince of Wales so I could no longer go there. To have done so would have invited allegations of nepotism or (much more likely) to have suffered unduly harsh treatment to negate such allegations. I ended up in the Cruiser Mauritius, sister ship of the Fiji, and found myself the only ex-Dartmouth Entry in a gunroom otherwise composed entirely of ex-public school midshipmen, a situation which exposed me to broader, different points of view and did me a power of good.

Within days we left Scapa Flow for Greenock, there to pick up a convoy and escort it to Freetown in West Africa. In Greenock was the Fiji with my friends laughing their heads off at my predicament. Their laughter was short-lived; later that year Fiji was sunk off Crete and almost all the gunroom were killed.

Mauritius now started to develop a serious defect. She was one of the first big ships to have a degaussing system incorporated on building as an integral part of her structure. This system, essentially a series of loops of electric cable laid right round the hull through which was passed electric current, was the latest antidote to the magnetic mine and effectively cancelled out the ship’s residual magnetism. But it had been the practice to construct the firemain – a series of interconnected pipes also running right round the ship and fed with water from the sea under pressure by special pumps – of copper. Before long it was found that the interaction of the electric current in the degaussing loops and the salt water in the firemain reduced the latter to copper sulphate and resulted in extensive leaks and bursts. This situation caused us to proceed south to Simonstown for repairs.

There we experienced the full meaning of the word ‘hospitality’, which nowhere is more generously interpreted than by the South Africans. Under the tireless drive of the South African Women’s Auxiliary Service every officer and man in a ship’s company of some 750 was fixed up with a home to go to in town or country, quiet or boisterous, sporting or with girls, according to his taste. The leading light in this marvellous organization was Lucy Bean, a seemingly mild but charming woman whose genius lay in getting things done, however unlikely, and without fuss.

Later she was to become editor of the Women’s column of The Argus, one of the main South African dailies. Her efforts generated a debt we were never adequately able to repay.

South Africa had not yet entered the war and most people were eager to stand by Britain and do what they could to help. In Cape Town every day at noon police on point duty blew their whistles and in the shops and public places similar noises were made so that all traffic and movement ceased for two minutes – observed in silence to remember the war. Some less responsible elements endeavoured to prolong Boer War attitudes (though most were far too young to have had any personal memories or experience) and displayed sympathy more towards Germany than Britain. They made futile attempts to break up silent periods by singing, shouting and other noisy demonstrations but were disdainfully ignored and made to look foolish.

One morning my Captain sent for me.

‘I thought you would like to know that I have just received a signal saying that Prince of Wales has sighted the Bismarck.’

This was thrilling news; the chase had been on for some days but hitherto little information had come through. My father had been instrumental in opening fire on the Bismarck in spite of his Admiral’s instructions to engage the Prinz Eugen, which the Admiral had misidentified. But the German gunnery was very accurate; Prince of Wales was hit several times and nearly everyone on the bridge was killed. Miraculously my father survived, though he had been flung right across the bridge by the blast and was ruptured and briefly knocked out. Extricating himself from the blood and shambles he took stock of the situation: his ship was not yet worked up; several of the main armament guns were not yet operational and indeed experts from the makers were still on board trying to remedy this; the enemy had clearly ‘found the range’ and were straddling Prince of Wales continually. He broke off the action.

The correctness or otherwise of this decision subsequently provoked some controversy. Admiral Sir Dudley Pond, First Sea Lord and a notorious backseat driver, instructed the Commander in Chief Home Fleet, Sir John Tovey, to court martial my father for withdrawing from action. But this was quickly rescinded when the C-in-C announced unequivocally that if the First Sea Lord were to proceed he would strike his Flag and appear in Court as Prisoner’s Friend. Father was awarded the Distinguished Service Order.

This saga emerged later and anyway I had little opportunity to reflect on the action for Mauritius was now temporarily repaired and soon we put to sea again, this time bound for operations in the Indian Ocean. These lasted for several months and involved much seatime. Our tasks varied from trying to intercept and destroy enemy raiders, maintaining a presence near strategic islands and supervising the initial setting-up of Port X on Addu Atoll in the Maldive Islands, later to become the RAF Staging Post Gan. But the firemain defect blew up again, this time more seriously, and in October the ship was taken in hand for a proper refit in the Naval Base at Singapore.

Singapore – Gateway to the Pacific. Dominating the Straits of Malacca it lies on the most direct route by sea from the West to China, Japan and the Far East. The island is full of contrasts: the modern high-rise blocks of the business and shopping centres, and the rustic simplicity of the picturesque native kampongs; the impeccable bungalows of the well-to-do, and the squalid ramshackle huts of shanty town; the flooded streets and gushing monsoon drains after a tropical downpour, and the arid dustiness of the laterite secondary roads after o...

Table of contents

• Half Title
• Speech
• Full Title
• Copyright Page
• Dedication
• Table of Content
• Acknowledgements
• Illustrations
• Foreword
• 1 A Beginning And An Ending
• 2 Out
• 3 The Lighter Side Of War
• 4 Night Action
• 5 Cease Firing
• 6 Gun Discipline
• 7 Happy Disgrace
• 8 Crowning Glory
• 9 Sugar And Spice
• 10 Obey Telegraphs
• 11 Ebony And Ivory
• 12 Galloping Galatea
• 13 Into Wind
• 14 The Rolling Deep
• 15 The Unforgiving Minute
• 16 The Big Front Door
• 17 Touch And Go
• 18 Who Would Valiant Be
• 19 Sheep May Safely Graze
• 20 Finished With Main Engines
• Appendix 1
• Appendix 2
• Appendix 3
• Appendix 4
• Index