THE BISMARCK EPISODE

AN EYE WITNESS ACCOUNT

by SAM WOOD DSM

PART TWO

In the evening light ‘Hood’ portrayed a magnificent picture of powerful armament, she moved so gracefully, long bows lifting and falling as her powerful engines pushed her forward through the running tide. Tiny dark figures could be seen scurrying about the upper deck as her crew set about their duties of securing for sea. Once more the tannoy spoke "the captain will speak to the Ships Company." Like a violent charge of electricity the as yet unspoken words were known by all! In true naval tradition each man could tell his immediate neighbour that he alone was privy to the innermost secrets of the Admiralty and knew what was happening. Some of these inane thoughts were:

1. Germany had overthrown its government, Hitler and company were escaping on a battleship and we were going to intercept.
2. The invasion of the British Isles had started and we were on our way to the English Channel to repel enemy ships.
3. England was being overrun by Germans and we were on our way to Iceland to pick up the Royal Family, to proceed to Canada, where the British Government was to be set up.

All buzzes were quietened when the voice of the Captain spoke.

"Two German warships, namely ‘Bismarck’ and ‘Prinz Eugen’, are at sea and according to intelligence sources are going to enter the North Atlantic convoy shipping lanes via the Arctic Circle."

He went on to inform us that their present position was unknown but that we were to rendezvous with HMS Norfolk and HMS Suffolk, both cruisers, at a position near the entrance to the Denmark Strait, an area between Iceland and Greenland. It was presumed that the German ships would not continue with their attempt to break out into the Atlantic shipping lanes if they discovered that naval forces were awaiting their breakthrough and rather than risk engagement they would turn back to Germany. The Captain added that if the Germans forced an action ‘Prince of Wales’ and ‘Hood’ would give a good account of themselves. He gave us the usual "England expects" speech and wished us all the best.

The Arctic night settled about us in half-light and the weather worsened. The wind howled like a million screeching devils trying to dodge the rain. The waves were mountainous. Looking for’ard, sometimes the bows would disappear under a swell of green frothy sea and a great surge of water would engulf the main for’ard A and B turrets. Slowly the bows would rise from the sea in defiance and tons of water would run from the decks back into the sea. Everything seemed like a devil’s pantomime and it was made all the more eerie in the half-light of the night.

The next day was no better and the storm raged with renewed fury. It was frightening to see two great ships being tossed about like corks. Looking out to sea it was amazing to see the storms action, about a mile expanse of sea in front of the ships bow would lift high above the ship itself, the bow would rise with this swell and the rest of the ship would follow. When we were riding high on this mountain of water a glance to port would show the Hood lying about half a mile away below our view like some small toy ship. The next moment we would be sliding down the swell at a rapid rate of knots and the ship would vibrate as if a million hammers were beating a tattoo on her shell whilst the ‘Hood’ would appear towering above us with our roles reversed and us as the small toy ship. Hour after hour this foul weather persisted and the Ships Company seemed to settle into a routine of going about their duties like staggering robots. Meals were occasional corned beef sandwiches and endless brews of tea but thankfully our daily tot of rum came up with unfailing regularity. What a lifesaver!

Gradually the storm abated and during the dog watches of the 23rd May, the weather eased completely. Suddenly the Captains voice came over the tannoy "Norfolk and Suffolk have made radar contact with two ships presumed to be ‘Bismarck’ and ‘Prinz Eugen’." We were now on an interception course and expected to be in visual contact with the Germans early next morning and should anticipate being in action at first light or thereabouts. Everybody was affected by the thoughts that tomorrow could be a day never to be forgotten. "How will I react under gunfire?" was the main question in everyone’s mind. We remained closed up at action stations all that night and the steady hum of the ships’ engines seemed to cal everyone down. It seemed as though a new form of energy was pulsating through he ship as it forged ahead through the half-light, half-dark of the Arctic night. How would our guns serve us tomorrow? There were still civilian workmen aboard putting final touches to the ordnance and checking for faults. One thing was paramount, the feeling of the ships company was one of confidence and whatever the day may bring they would certainly give a good account of themselves.

EMPIRE DAY 1941
The final moments of HMS Hood leading HMS Prince of Wales into action against
the German battleships Bismarck and Prince Eugen

Dawn broke on the 24th May and looking out towards the north east it seemed like a golden orange light was rising from the horizon and fusing into the dark blue of the night which was now fast disappearing as the light of dawn swept away every shadow in its path. It was one of the most beautiful sights I have ever seen and its grandeur remains imprinted in my memory to this day, I shall never forget it. I was suddenly roused from my reverie by a faint call from the lookouts posted high above the bridge "enemy in sight." I was later to discover that the call was from a seventeen-year-old boy seaman who was positioned in one of the lookout positions which, in the old days, would have been termed the ‘crows nest.’ No bearing of the sighting was called but instinctively, every pair of eyes fixed on the horizon ahead into the fast rising dawn. At the limits of the horizon could be seen two upright blurs which gradually showed themselves to be the top masts of fighting ships coming into view over the curvature of the earth. The bugles rang out with the sound of action stations followed by the voice of our ‘sky pilot’ offering prayers for our victory, the battle pennant streamed out from our masthead. As I gazed out into the distance the oncoming masts grew larger and the fighting tops of two capital ships became clear to the naked eye, soon the complete silhouettes of two capital warships stood out on the horizon, dark and looking powerfully fearsome. The orange dawn glowed behind them.

Our ships were now fully closed up for action. I gazed at the scene unfolding before my eyes, the awesome beauty of the North Atlantic dawn, warships steaming towards each other, battle pennants streaming, main turrets moving into position, guns being elevated and aimed ready for the command to fire. What a fine sight HMS Hood presented on our port side, signals flying from halyards giving instructions to Prince of Wales. Hood was the senior ship and would advise plan of action for the coming battle. The reflection of the dawn light danced upon the surface of the sea and stretched from our bows out towards the German warships. The ruffled surface of the sea seemed to constantly change from brilliant white diamond sparkles to dazzling ice blue, to flashing green and then to deep awesome red. It seemed as if our ships were forging ahead through a garden of sparkling jewels and the two opposing ships were at the far end of that garden. Above the whole scene was a blaze of pale orange light, which was getting brighter with each, passing moment. Should I live to be a hundred I will never forget the beauty of that fateful dawn, I was mesmerised by it all. The light wind seemed to be saying, "You who are about to die today, don’t be afraid for this is what heaven is like." Make no mistakes, we all knew some would undoubtedly die but it would be someone else, not ones self.

HMS Prince of Wales

Without warning the German ships appeared to erupt into dark orange flashes and disappear into the dark clouds of smoke which followed as their main armament opened up with their salvoes of death. ‘Hood’ on our port bow replied in an eruption of fire and smoke followed by claps of thunder as her guns returned the compliment. Beneath me our own A and B turrets opened up, spewing forth their 14-inch shells. The thunderous noise of guns and shells screaming overhead; huge waterspouts where projectiles had dropped and exploded. What a frightening scene and yet all fear appeared to subside as the adrenalin coursed through ones body. Everything seemed to be falling into a pattern, our guns would elevate or deflect slightly as they received new range directions, then would follow the blinding flash and the smoke as they fired their cargoes of death and destruction. The noise was deafening. In my foolish youth I was brainwashed and excited by the battle, it never crossed my mind that the two opposing sides were hurling tons of screaming, exploding, hot steel at each other in an attempt to tear apart the human beings at each receiving end.

The ‘Bismarck’ and ‘Prinz Eugen’ were now some 10 miles distant, we could hear their shells screaming overhead with the sound of an express train. News was flashed through Prince of Wales that we had registered a hit on the bows of Bismarck and true enough to all who observed her, she appeared out of true line, the bows deflected downwards towards the sea whilst her stern was slightly higher. Nevertheless, she continued firing at us. This good news was soon overshadowed by what happened next. On our port bow where ‘Hood’ was stationed there was a terrible explosion and blinding flash of light followed by a pall of acrid black smoke. HMS Hood had been mortally wounded. We watched the scene in horror, our minds numbed as the bow section drifted forward out of the smoke. Half a ship, from midships to bow, settled in the water, up ended and slid out of sight into the depths of the ocean, all that remained was a huge pall of smoke where just a few moments earlier had sailed the pride of the Royal Navy.

HMS Hood

We could not believe it, surely the Germans could not do such a thing to us. I reached for the telephone which was connected direct to the forward medical station and spoke to SBPO Percy Silk and said "The Hoods gone." I don’t know what he thought or felt, he did not answer and I hung up. It then occurred to me that if the same thing was to happen to us and we were to go the Hood’s way I would be better off on the open deck of the bridge above me. I needed to step back about 10 yards and go up the ladder to the compass platform which would place me level with the bridge. I was climbing the ladder and had reached the top two steps, two thirds of my upper body was through the hatch whilst my legs were still firmly on the ladder. Suddenly there was a blinding flash in front of my eyes and I felt enveloped in a pocket of searing heat. I heard no explosion and everything appeared in slow motion. I was sucked up the ladder and seemed to float across the bridge area. After floating for what seemed an age I finally came to rest on the deck amidst a shambles of torn steel fixtures, collapsed searchlights and human bodies. As I regained my senses, the sweet smell of burned flesh mingled with the acrid stench of high explosives assailed my nostrils, gradually my brain cleared and the red fog lifted from my eyes. Everything was enveloped in dark grey smoke. I felt something stirring alongside me and a voice said, "Hang on doc, I think we’ve been hit." I recall giggling at the silliness of such a remark and forget my reply. Struggling to my feet the first wounded man I got to was Leading Seaman Tucker. He was lying under a pile of debris. I remember he told me to leave him and see to the others because he did not feel too bad. I pulled back the debris and saw his left leg was hanging on by a narrow strip of flesh and his femoral artery spurting like a fountain. I quickly tourniquet his leg, injected morphia and organised his removal to the main medical station below. Other casualties were dealt with as I came across them, losing count of how many. There was Lieutenant Esmond Knight, a well-known actor in his pre-war days, blood pouring from his face around his eyes. I treated him wondering what his future would hold. I remember Boy Signalman Johnstone, recognisable only by the crossed flags on his arm and later by his paybook. The navigator with a hole in his cheek, and on it went, for how long I cannot recall. The bridge and compass platform were a complete shambles, the dead were collected by hastily organised working parties. I looked up and out to sea and saw that the ‘Prince of Wales’ had laid a smoke screen across the sea, all gunfire had now ceased. The smoke screen looked black and ugly, with the damage all around me I reasoned that if I had seen heaven earlier that day when everything had appeared so beautiful, I was now viewing the entrails of hell.

After the bridge had been cleared of casualties and the dead removed by the working parties, I sat down to reflect on what had happened. I was covered in dirt and blood, my head throbbing like mad, one of my shoes was missing, my uniform was in tatters and a strange sensation in my confused mind was telling me I should not have let the ‘Hood’ go down, that I should have reached out and grabbed the bows as they were disappearing into the depths of the ocean. I now know this was crazy thinking, but everything seemed crazy that morning.

After a mug of cocoa and a corned beef doorstep I reported to the Surgeon Commander for further instructions. I was told to remain at my action station after obtaining further medical supplies.

‘Prince of Wales’, now in company with the cruisers ‘Norfolk’ and ‘Suffolk’ established a radar-tracking role on the German ships, the Bismarck had to make for some friendly port for repairs. It had been confirmed that she was damaged in the forward section and had lost an amount of oil. It was hoped that her reduced speed would enable the ‘King George V’, ‘Rodney’ and other ships to rendezvous as quickly as possible and take revenge on the Germans for the loss of the ‘Hood.’ During the late afternoon the British ships sailed a bit too close to the ‘Bismarck’ whilst shadowing her and she once again opened fire with her main armament. ‘Prince of Wales’ returned fire immediately to show Bismarck we still had teeth and were prepared to use them. No damage was sustained by either side and so the shadowing tactics were resumed.

During the evening a great gale blew up and sleet and rain came down in endless torrents. Conditions were atrocious, seas mountainous and to step out onto the open deck was like walking through a waterfall. Lookouts, and others in exposed positions, were soon soaked to the skin despite their protective clothing. It was a miserable night, fit only for howling banshees. It was during this storm that both the ‘Bismarck’ and ‘Prinz Eugen’ disappeared from the radar screens of the shadowing ships and we all felt utterly depressed, as this news became known throughout the ship.

Receiving orders to make for Iceland to land our wounded at a military hospital and then sail for Rosyth for repairs, we detached from ‘Norfolk’ and ‘Suffolk’ in a somewhat despondent mood and set course. The next day we buried our dead comrades at sea off Cape Farewell, South Greenland. It was a moving ceremony carried out with the dignity, respect and honours our late shipmates deserved. The sceptics and wide boys of today give supercilious looks when we talk of the close comradeship which existed amongst a ships company. Take them back in time, stand them on the quarterdeck in a howling, freezing gale in the North Atlantic and let them witness an emotional burial at sea, they would return to the present with a different attitude to the past.

We later anchored in a fjord near Reykjavik, Iceland, and transferred our wounded to a destroyer, ‘HMS Echo’ or ‘Electra’, I forget which. I accompanied the wounded to the military hospital in case Lieut. Knight, who had been badly wounded in the eyes, had to be flown home to England by RAF bomber where I was to accompany him. Fortunately the military said they would cope with his wounds at which I was rather relieved for I was dressed only in a duffel coat and sea boots with no hat. No doubt some shore patrol at Rosyth would have picked me up for being improperly dressed after I had delivered the patient to the Edinburgh Eye Hospital!

Our business at the military hospital over, we were taken by taxi to the Fjord where ‘Prince of Wales’ was lying at anchor. We managed to get an artillery gun emplacement to signal the ship to send a boat to pick us up and we arrived back on board safe but exhausted. ‘Prince of Wales’ then proceeded to sea and made for Rosyth.

During our journey, news was received that the Bismarck had been sunk! The cheers that rang throughout the ship were stupendous and we felt elated that our efforts had not been in vain and revenge had been extracted for the loss of the Hood and our shipmates lying off Cape Farewell. On our arrival at Rosyth we were cheered into dry dock by sailors from other ships who were lined up to greet our return. Whilst in dry dock it was revealed that we had also been hit below the waterline and an unexploded shell was resting in the bilges; what a victory Bismarck would have had if that shell had exploded - the ‘Hood’ and the ‘Prince of Wales’ in one battle.

The ship was hastily de-munitioned and all explosives removed. It was announced there would be 14 days leave for each watch whilst repairs were completed. During the first dog watch the day before leave was due to start, one of the RPO’s, an old shipmate of mine, asked if I was ready to go on leave immediately. I did not ask why but instinctively said yes. He handed me my travel warrant etc., and took me to the OOW. I don’t know what was said but I was soon on the train at Waverley Street Station and on my way home, nearly 24 hours before anyone else!

Sam Wood DSM
1993

The Bismarck Episode is Copyright ©Sam Wood 1993