The Gathering Storm: The Second World War (96 page)

Meanwhile, her two destroyers behaved nobly. Both made smoke in an endeavour to screen the
Glorious,
and both fired their torpedoes at the enemy before being overwhelmed. The
Ardent
was soon sunk. The story of the
Acasta,
now left alone at hopeless odds, has been told by the sole survivor, Leading-Seaman C. Carter:

On board our ship, what a deathly calm, hardly a word spoken, the ship was now steaming full speed away from the enemy, then came a host of orders, prepare all smoke floats, hose-pipes connected up, various other jobs were prepared, we were still steaming away from the enemy, and making smoke, and all our smoke floats had been set going. The Captain then had this message passed to all positions: “You may think we are running away from the enemy, we are not, our chummy ship [
Ardent
]
has sunk, the
Glorious
is sinking, the least we can do is make a show, good luck to you all.” We then altered course into our own smoke-screen. I had the order stand by to fire tubes 6 and 7, we then came out of the smokescreen, altered course to starboard firing our torpedoes from port side. It was then I had my first glimpse of the enemy, to be honest it appeared to me to be a large one [ship] and a small one, and we were very close, I fired my two torpedoes from my tubes [aft], the foremost tubes fired theirs, we were all watching results. I’ll never forget that cheer that went up; on the port bow of one of the ships a yellow flash and a great column of smoke and water shot up from her. We knew we had hit, personally I could not see how we could have missed so close as we were. The enemy never fired a shot at us, I feel they must have been very surprised. After we had fired our torpedoes we went back into our own smoke-screen, altered course again to starboard. “Stand by to fire remaining torpedoes”; and this time as soon as we poked our nose out of the smoke-screen, the enemy let us have it. A shell hit the engine-room, killed my tubes’ crew, I was blown to the after end of the tubes, I must have been knocked out for a while, because when I came to, my arm hurt me; the ship had stopped with a list to port. Here is something, believe it or believe it not, I climbed back into the control seat, I see those two ships, I fired the remaining torpedoes, no one told me to, I guess I was raving mad. God alone knows why I fired them, but I did. The
Acasta’s
guns were firing the whole time, even firing with a list on the ship. The enemy then hit us several times, but one big explosion took place right aft, I have often wondered whether the enemy hit us with a torpedo, in any case it seemed to lift the ship out of the water. At last the Captain gave orders to abandon ship. I will always remember the Surgeon Lieutenant,
¹
his first ship, his first action. Before I jumped over the side, I saw him still attending to the wounded, a hopeless task, and when I was in the water I saw the Captain leaning over the bridge, take a cigarette from a case and light it. We shouted to him to come on our raft, he waved “Good-bye and good luck” – the end of a gallant man.

Thus perished 1,474 officers and men of the Royal Navy and forty-one of the Royal Air Force. Despite prolonged search, only thirty-nine were rescued and brought in later by a Norwegian ship. In addition, six men were picked up by the enemy and taken to Germany. The
Scharnhorst,
heavily damaged by the
Acasta’s
torpedo, made her way to Trondheim.

While this action was going on, the cruiser
Devonshire,
with the King of Norway and his Ministers, was about a hundred miles to the westward. The
Valiant
coming north to meet the convoy was still a long way off. The only message received from the
Glorious
was corrupt and barely intelligible, which suggests that her main wireless equipment was broken from an early stage. The
Devonshire
alone received this message, but as its importance was not apparent she did not break wireless silence to pass it on, as to do so would have involved serious risk of revealing her position, which in the circumstances was highly undesirable. Not until the following morning were suspicions aroused. Then the
Valiant
met the
Atlantis,
who informed her of the loss of the
Orama
and that enemy capital ships were at sea. The
Valiant
signalled the information and pressed on to join Lord Cork’s convoy. The Commander-in-Chief, Admiral Forbes, at once proceeded to sea with the only ships he had, the
Rodney,
the
Renown,
and six destroyers.

The damage inflicted on the
Scharnhorst
by the heroic
Acasta
had important results. The two enemy battle cruisers abandoned further operations and returned at once to Trondheim. The German High Command were dissatisfied with the action of their admiral in departing from the objective which had been given him. They sent the
Hipper
out again; but it was then too late.

On the tenth, Admiral Forbes ordered the
Ark Royal
to join him. Reports showed that enemy ships were in Trondheim and he hoped to make an air attack. This was delivered by R.A.F. bombers on the eleventh without effect. On the following morning, fifteen Skuas from the
Ark Royal
made a dive-bombing attack. Enemy reconnaissance gave warning of their approach, and no fewer than eight were lost. To add one last misfortune to our tale, it is now known that one bomb from a Skua struck the
Scharnhorst,
but failed to explode.

Whilst these tragedies were in progress, the Narvik convoys passed on safely to their destinations, and the British campaign in Norway came to an end.

* * * * *

From all this wreckage and confusion there emerged one fact of major importance potentially affecting the whole future of the war. In their desperate grapple with the British Navy, the Germans ruined their own, such as it was, for the impending climax. The Allied losses in all this sea-fighting off Norway amounted to one aircraft carrier, two cruisers, one sloop, and nine destroyers. Six cruisers, two sloops, and eight destroyers were disabled, but could be repaired within our margin of sea power. On the other hand, at the end of June, 1940, a momentous date, the effective German Fleet consisted of no more than
one eight-inch cruiser, two light cruisers, and four destroyers.
Although many of their damaged ships, like ours, could be repaired, the German Navy was no factor in the supreme issue of the invasion of Britain.

Debate of May
7 —
A Vote of Censure Supervenes — Lloyd George’s Last Parliamentary Stroke — I Do My Best with the House — My Advice to the Prime Minister — Conferences of May
9 —
The German Onslaught — A Conversation with the Prime Minister, May
10 —
The Dutch Agony — Mr. Chamberlain Resigns
—
The King Asks Me to Form a Government — Accession of the Labour and Liberal Parties — Facts and Dreams.

T
HE MANY DISAPPOINTMENTS
and disasters of the brief campaign in Norway caused profound perturbation at home, and the currents of passion mounted even in the breasts of some of those who had been most slothful and purblind in the years before the war. The Opposition asked for a debate on the war situation, and this was arranged for May 7. The House was filled with Members in a high state of irritation and distress. Mr. Chamberlain’s opening statement did not stem the hostile tide. He was mockingly interrupted and reminded of his speech of April 5, when in quite another connection he had incautiously said, “Hitler missed the bus.” He defined my new position and my relationship with the Chiefs of Staff, and in reply to Mr. Herbert Morrison made it clear that I had not held those powers during the Norwegian operations. One speaker after another from both sides of the House attacked the Government and especially its chief with unusual bitterness and vehemence, and found themselves sustained by growing applause from all quarters. Sir Roger Keyes, burning for distinction in the new war, sharply criticised the Naval Staff for their failure to attempt the capture of Trondheim. “When I saw,” he said, “how badly things were going, I never ceased importuning the Admiralty and War Cabinet to let me take all responsibility and lead the attack.” Wearing his uniform as Admiral of the Fleet, he supported the complaints of the Opposition with technical details and his own professional authority in a manner very agreeable to the mood of the House. From the benches behind the Government, Mr. Amery quoted amid ringing cheers Cromwell’s imperious words to the Long Parliament: “You have sat too long here for any good you have been doing. Depart, I say, and let us have done with you. In the name of God, go!” These were terrible words coming from a friend and colleague of many years, a fellow Birmingham Member, and a Privy Councillor of distinction and experience.

On the second day, May 8, the debate, although continuing upon an adjournment motion, assumed the character of a vote of censure, and Mr. Herbert Morrison, in the name of the Opposition, declared their intention to have a vote. The Prime Minister rose again, accepted the challenge, and in an unfortunate passage appealed to his friends to stand by him. He had a right to do this, as these friends had sustained his action, or inaction, and thus shared his responsibility in “the years which the locusts had eaten” before the war. But today they sat abashed and silenced, and some of them had joined the hostile demonstrations. This day saw the last decisive intervention of Mr. Lloyd George in the House of Commons. In a speech of not more than twenty minutes he struck a deeply wounding blow at the head of the Government. He endeavoured to exculpate me: “I do not think that the First Lord was entirely responsible for all the things which happened in Norway.” I immediately interposed: “I take complete responsibility for everything that has been done by the Admiralty, and I take my full share of the burden.” After warning me not to allow myself to be converted into an air-raid shelter to keep the splinters from hitting my colleagues, Mr. Lloyd George turned upon Mr. Chamberlain: “It is not a question of who are the Prime Minister’s friends. It is a far bigger issue. He has appealed for sacrifice. The nation is prepared for every sacrifice so long as it has leadership, so long as the Government show clearly what they are aiming at, and so long as the nation is confident that those who are leading it are doing their best.” He ended: “I say solemnly that the Prime Minister should give an example of sacrifice, because there is nothing which can contribute more to victory in this war than that he should sacrifice the seals of office.”

As Ministers we all stood together. The Secretaries of State for War and Air had already spoken. I had volunteered to wind up the debate, which was no more than my duty, not only in loyalty to the chief under whom I served, but also because of the exceptionally prominent part I had played in the use of our inadequate forces during our forlorn attempt to succour Norway. I did my very best to regain control of the House for the Government in the teeth of continuous interruption, coming chiefly from the Labour Opposition benches. I did this with good heart when I thought of their mistaken and dangerous pacifism in former years, and how, only four months before the outbreak of the war, they had voted solidly against conscription. I felt that I, and a few friends who had acted with me, had the right to inflict these censures, but they had not. When they broke in upon me, I retorted upon them and defied them, and several times the clamour was such that I could not make myself heard. Yet all the time it was clear that their anger was not directed against me, but at the Prime Minister, whom I was defending to the utmost of my ability and without regard for any other considerations. When I sat down at eleven o’clock, the House divided. The Government had a majority of eighty-one, but over fifty Conservatives voted with the Labour and Liberal Oppositions, and there was no doubt that in effect, though not in form, both the debate and the division were a violent manifestation of want of confidence in Mr. Chamberlain and his Administration.

After the debate was over, he asked me to go to his room, and I saw at once that he took the most serious view of the sentiment of the House towards himself. He felt he could not go on. There ought to be a National Government. One party alone could not carry the burden. Someone must form a Government in which all parties would serve, or we could not get through. Aroused by the antagonisms of the debate, and being sure of my own past record on the issues at stake, I was strongly disposed to fight on. “This has been a damaging debate, but you have a good majority. Do not take the matter grievously to heart. We have a better case about Norway than it has been possible to convey to the House. Strengthen your Government from every quarter, and let us go on until our majority deserts us.” To this effect I spoke. But Chamberlain was neither convinced nor comforted, and I left him about midnight with the feeling that he would persist in his resolve to sacrifice himself, if there was no other way, rather than attempt to carry the war further with a one-party Government.