Course for Disaster: From Scapa Flow to the River Kwai

COURSE FOR DISASTER

COURSE FOR

DISASTER

From Scapa Flow to the River Kwai

by

RICHARD POOL

Leo Cooper

To Those Who Did Not Come Home

First published 1987 by Leo Cooper Ltd

Leo Cooper is an independent imprint of

the Heinemann Group of Publishers,

10 Upper Grosvenor Street, London WIX 9PA.

LONDON MELBOURNE JOHANNESBURG AUCKLAND

Copyright © Richard Pool 1987

ISBN 0-85052-6000

Filmset by Deltatype, Ellesmere Port

Printed by Mackays of Chatham Ltd

Chatham, Kent

Contents

Illustrations

  1

The author as Midshipman, 1938

  2

Cadets taking sights. (Author second from right).

  3

Captain E. J. Spooner, DSO, 1938.

  4

HMS Repulse and the Prince of Wales under attack, 10th December 1941.

  5

HMS Repulse under attack. (Watercolour by the author).

  6

The shore on which M.L. 310 was beached.

  7

The reef on the eastern shore at low tide.

  8

Headman and Mohammedan Priest on Tjebia in 1945.

  9

The ‘White House’, Tjebia, 1945.

10

The Naval Store and canteen.

11

The burial area on Tjebia; photo taken after the war.

12

The Imperial War Graves Commission visits Tjebia after the war.

13

Memorial Service at the site of the eighteen graves.

14

The railway bridge at Kanchanaburi today.

15

One of the few surviving sections of the railway.

16

Gravestone of Vice Admiral E. J. Spooner, DSO, at Kranji, Singapore.

17

Gravestone of Air Vice Marshal C. W. H. Pulford, CB, OBE, AFC.

18

The Burma-Siam railway in 1986.

No. 4 is reproduced by kind permission of the Imperial War Museum.

Maps

1.

The sinking of HMS Prince of Wales and Repulse

2.

Malaya

3.

Course of HMML 312 and Scriberganti

4.

Tjebia

5.

The Railway

Introduction

This book has been written in response to the urgings and with encouragement from friends and others who have at some time heard me speak of the strange and unexpected experience that befell me in 1942. It was never intended that this should be another war book, but rather an account of an unusual event resulting from the war.

Together with forty-six officers and men, among which were the Rear Admiral Malaya, Rear Admiral E. J. Spooner, and the Air Officer Commanding Far East, Air Vice Marshal L. E. Pulford, I found myself marooned on a small tropical island midway between Singapore and Java. At first sight the island appeared to be a paradise, with its lagoons, palm-fringed beaches and luxuriant vegetation covering its rocky promontories almost to the point where they entered the sea. The reality was very different as we experienced its virulent swarms of mosquitoes and sandflies.

These were as nothing compared to the blanket of deep depression that settled with devastating effects on us all. It was something quite beyond our experience and expectation. It almost immediately led to a terrible debilitating lassitude as the hopelessness of our situation became apparent. One by one many simply lost the will to survive. Those of us who managed to hold out ultimately became Prisoners of War of the Japanese.

I have been advised by those versed in authorship of this kind that people who may read this account like to know what sort of a person you are and something of the events surrounding such an experience. This has led inevitably to a brief description of my early life and motivation; it thus includes some details of my wartime experiences.

It is an eye witness account of events and impressions by a junior officer at the time. The major incidents are indelibly printed on my mind and backed up by brief notes throughout the period covered by the book. On each occasion of loss, I rewrote them at the first opportunity. The last editions were secreted in the false bottom of my old Army pack when a Prisoner of War. Earlier notes up till the outbreak of war were taken from my journal kept officially by all midshipmen in the Navy.

I should like especially to thank my wife and family for their encouragement over the many years that I struggled with the manuscript. To Dr Sydney Hamilton for his many helpful suggestions and comments. Also to Jean Hunt and Pat Lawrence for deciphering my handwriting and typing the resultant manuscript. Lastly and perhaps most importantly to Marion Crinoch for her determination that the story should not be allowed to ‘grow cobwebs any longer’.

CHAPTER 1

The Early Years

As far back as I can remember I was fascinated by water and anything that floated on it; first I made boats for myself, then model yachts, gradually moving up the scale to sailing and racing dinghies. I read everything I could find about real seagoing ships, especially warships.

My home at Felixstowe faced the sea, with the estuaries of the Rivers Orwell and Deben to the west and east, each with their typical Suffolk foreshores of marsh, dykes and oyster beds, so I had plenty of scope to practise and fulfil my interest. I found history an absorbing subject and was easily able to equate the two interests. Thus it seemed natural that I decided to enter the Navy. I had always been encouraged in this aim by my father, a general practitioner who had served as a Naval Surgeon during the First World War.

At thirteen and a half years of age, after a successful interview, I sat the written entry examination for Dartmouth. It was February, 1933, the recession was at its height, the competition was great, and I was not successful. This was a disappointing setback but my resolve remained as strong as ever and so it was decided that I should try to enter via the Nautical College, Pangbourne. This time I succeeded and entered Pangbourne in the autumn of the same year.

Life at Pangbourne was a continuous rush, or so it seemed. We ran, or in naval parlance ‘doubled’, everywhere, we were always changing from uniform to P.T. rig or games clothes of one kind or another. I was completely unused to the stiff collars of my uniform shirts and, by the time I had forced the stud through the stud hole and tied my tie, my collar was dirty and distorted.

I was terribly homesick and, although I never disliked Pangbourne, I longed for the holidays. When we did have any spare time, I often spent long periods just sitting on the hillside, the College being situated three hundred feet up on the Berkshire Downs, just gazing over the receding folds of the countryside to the east, imagining that beyond the most distant fold lay the marshes and estuaries of Suffolk.

The long summer holidays, when at last they came, were a constant delight, sailing and exploring the still unspoilt estuaries, guarded by their sand and shingle banks which were a challenging entry to the sea beyond, about which I spent so much time dreaming. The romance that I found in such books as Erskine Childers’ classic of pre-World War One, The Riddle of the Sands, became almost real as I gazed out into the North Sea mists. The vision of those childhood summers with their memories of hot sun, of the distant boom of the Lightship, of the ‘Belle’ steamers arriving at the long pier, paddle wheels thrashing, of sailing and swimming, of trailing my dinghy over the Suffolk heathlands to crowded regatta days at Waldringfield and Aldeburgh – these were all to stand me in good stead in the years to come, providing me with a will to see them all again.

These breaks apart, I lived the normal life of a boy of my age. I loved games and usually managed to struggle into the lower realms of most teams at the College. I was not academic and found studies hard, except for history and geography, which came easily.

One highlight of my time at Pangbourne came in July, 1935, when the whole College went down to Portsmouth and spent a day at sea in the Reserve Fleet ships to witness the Review of the Fleet by King George V on his Jubilee. My party was accommodated in what was then the Reserve Fleet Flagship, the cruiser Effingham. It was a perfect day and we were, as Cadets, enthralled by the spectacle of the assembled ships from the various Fleets then maintained by Britain at home and overseas. Each ship was ‘dressed overall’, with the many-coloured signal flags whipping and cracking in the stiff Spithead breeze and sunshine. It was a romantic view of the Navy but it strengthened my determination to succeed in my ambition.

At last, after three and a half years, in the summer of 1937 I once again sat an Admiralty Interview and written examination. Several weeks later, while I was on holiday, an OHMS envelope arrived to say that I had been successful. This was followed soon after by my first appointment ‘By Command of the Commissioners for Executing the Office of Lord High Admiral of the United Kingdom to Mr R. A. W. Pool Cadet R.N.’ directing me to repair on board His Majesty’s Ship Erebus at Portsmouth on 1 September.

CHAPTER 2

Peace to War

My joining instructions to the Erebus directed me to arrive at Portsmouth and Southsea station by a certain train from Waterloo, the first of many such journeys. At Waterloo I found that I was one of about seventy other cadets. On arrival at Portsmouth and Southsea station we left the train and were collected up by a number of very vociferous Petty Officers who soon had us embarked in Naval buses for the next stage of our journey. This was to the pierhead at Whale Island, the home of the Navy’s premier Gunnery School, HMS Excellent. A short passage by harbour launch and we boarded the Erebus, which turned out to be a converted First World War Monitor¹ used by the Gunnery School as a turret training ship.² She had also been partially converted for the accommodation of the Naval Special Entry Cadets, being Cadets other than those of the Dartmouth entry.

During the next few days we quickly became acclimatized to our surroundings and new way of life. The first thing we became aware of was the constant noises of the ship, the continuous humming of fans and thumping of pumps, also, the sense of confinement in the small living spaces, the unusual mode of sleeping in hammocks, which had to be ‘lashed up and stowed’ correctly in hammock nettings. The daily routine was ordered by bugles and ‘pipes’ – the latter being a boatswain’s call – and what at first seemed almost a new language, naval terminology, or ‘navalese’. We learnt that we were to undergo three months’ basic training in all aspects of our career before ultimately joining the training cruiser for sea training.

Our training was the special responsibility of a Bligh-like figure, Lieutenant R. F. Jessel, a strict, but absolutely fair, disciplinarian; he was assisted by a small staff of Officers and Petty Officers. We had very little time to ourselves and life was full and very interesting. The mornings or forenoons were mostly taken up with technical subjects and drills. In the afternoons we played games, which took place on the Whale Island playing fields and were followed later, back on board Erebus, by a talk on some general naval subject. Saturday and Sunday afternoons, unless you were in a team, were your own.

The highlight of the week was ‘Friday Divisions’, held in the great drill shed in which the whole of the Gunnery School assembled. The Erebus Cadets took their turn in forming the ‘Guard’, which meant performing a set drill before the entire company present – most of the Navy it seemed to us. It was particularly awe-inspiring when it was one’s duty to be the Guard Commander.

In these first months we got used to being shouted at by our Petty Officer Instructors, particularly the Gunner’s Mate Drill Instructors, and many ‘gems’ would flow from their lips to be repeated for weeks after. One such was when a party of Cadets were being instructed in the drill for a Funeral Firing Party. At the appropriate moment in the drill the Gunner’s Mate shouted hoarsely at the ranks of Cadets before him, ‘And now what next? One pace forward?’ ‘Yes,’ replied one innocent. ‘No you bloody don’t, as if you did you’d be down the bloody ’ole wouldn’t you?’

Our basic training passed quickly and it proved to be an interesting and stimulating time. The international situation was deteriorating and the Navy was beginning to expand as Britain’s long-delayed rearmament gained momentum. Every week a new cruiser or destroyer arrived in Portsmouth before departing to join the Fleet. Their capability, speed and armament were all eagerly discussed. In the dockyard itself, work on refits and modernization went on with increased urgency and I remember, as I passed the dry dock, looking down on the completely gutted hull of the battlecruiser Renown which was practically being rebuilt.

In January, 1938, after a short Christmas leave, we all moved on to the next stage of our training. This was to the Vindictive, an old cruiser¹ specially converted to accommodate Cadets for training, then in Chatham dockyard. Here we were to ‘work ship’ as part of the ship’s company, as well as to continue our instruction in purely theoretical subjects. We joined a new term of Dartmouth Cadets as well as a senior term of Special Entry. The Vindictive, in which we were to undertake two three-month cruises, would first take us to the West Indies. The Captain was E. J. Spooner, DSO. We seldom had any contact with him, except when he inspected us at Divisions or if one was appointed his ‘doggie’.¹

One of my first memories of the Vindictive was cleaning her up after leaving the dockyard. A number of us were washing the paintwork of the quarterdeck crane support in a bitterly cold wind in that bleakest of English anchorages, Sheerness, known to the Navy as ‘Sheernasty’. Every time we reached up to wash above our heads the cold, dirty, soapy water ran down our arms and up our sleeves. The following day we sailed for the West Indies and within twenty-four hours had run into a very severe gale which persisted for several days. We were all terribly seasick and spent most of our time huddled behind what shelter we could find on the upper deck. It was during this gale that most of us had our first experience of the majesty, beauty and power of the sea. The colours of the huge waves, as the sun shone through their breaking crests, were breath-taking. Salt spray curled inboard, soaking us, while the mastheads drew great arcs across the sky as the ship rolled and pitched her way westward.

After sixteen days we anchored in the Virgin Isles. There is always a special thrill in arriving in a new anchorage and we all felt it for the first time as the steep, scrub-covered volcanic slopes came into view. In those days the islands were virtually deserted and it was an ideal place to clean up the ship and shake down. As an exercise in self-sufficiency and initiative, half the Cadets left the ship at a time in the ship’s boats to live wherever and however they could for several days. The only rule was that we were not allowed back to the ship except in an emergency.

Onboard we settled down quickly to a busy routine of working ship and instruction, both practical and theoretical, in all the technical subjects of our career. Each evening we had a full programme of competition sport and games, one of the most strenuous being deck hockey. This was played with curved sticks between two teams of up to six players, the object being to hit a circular ring of rope through the opposite goal.

The standard of our calls was set by our first, to San Juan, the capital of Puerto Rico. I well remember the scene as we steamed into harbour, the whole ship’s company ‘fallen in’, in white tropical uniform, our marine band playing on the quarter deck, our saluting guns firing a national salute of twenty-one guns, the answering salute from the old Spanish fort and a squadron of United States Marine Corps aircraft flying overhead.

This was followed by the paying and returning of official calls by our Captain and the Puerto Rican authorities. There were many entertainments ashore and return parties on board. During such visits our routine went on as usual, although those of us not on duty partook to the full of the entertainment offered, as part of our education as future Naval Officers. We called at several more of the beautiful West Indian Islands. It was fascinating to visit English Harbour in Antigua, and to see the relics and remains, many still standing, of Nelson’s presence there. We passed and saluted Diamond Rock, off Martinique, once commissioned as a British man-of-war during the Napoleonic wars.

Our last port of call on our homeward passage was to Funchal in Madeira. Here we bought lace tablecloths, ate delicious profiteroles at Reid’s Hotel and made the journey to the tiny mountain-top chapel to see the body of the last Emperor of Austria-Hungary lying in its glass coffin. It was an eerie experience as the wind soughed amid the thin maritime pines. The return down the steep mountain track was by wooden sled, sliding at breakneck pace over the cobbled surface and only restrained by ropes in the hands of two of the locals.

Our second cruise was to the Baltic, where we should have visited Finland, Sweden, Estonia and Denmark, but sadly the ship’s company was hit by an epidemic of measles and the programme had to be altered. So, after visiting ports on the south coast of England, we went north to Rosyth and Invergordon before setting out for the Baltic. Our first port of call was the Finnish capital, Helsinki. It was fascinating, steaming through the Kattegat past Hamlet’s castle of Elsinore, then north through the calm but deep brown waters of the Baltic. As we steamed north, the already short summer night turned into daylight for most of the twenty-four hours. Helsinki was a delightful city in every respect and, for those of us who sailed, the Yacht Club showed us great hospitality. Then it was on to Sandhamm, in Sweden.

Regretfully, we sailed back to Chatham, where an inspection, and the awarding of prizes by the Chief of the General Staff, Field-Marshal Viscount Gort, VC, brought the cruise and our Cadet’s time to a close. Within a few weeks we had all been appointed Midshipmen to various battleships and cruisers in the Fleet.

I joined the Home Fleet Battleship Royal Sovereign¹, then lying at Sheerness, with four of my contemporaries. The ship was preparing for the autumn cruise and exercise period. We ‘Snotties’, as we now got used to being known, though still under instruction, were allocated specific duties, such as taking charge of the ship’s boats, watchkeeping at sea and in harbour, as assistants to the Officer of the Watch, as well as many other duties in the administration of the ship. The Captain was J. W. S. Dorling, whose brother was the well known author ‘Taffrail’. I soon discovered that he was a very keen dinghy sailor.

A few days after storing and oiling we left Sheerness to join up with other Home Fleet ships at Invergordon. The next few weeks were busy times with a full programme of gunnery and other exercises, carried out at sea and in harbour. I was given the duty of Second Officer of Quarters of the new 4-inch twin high-angle guns. We exercised continually, in particular firing at sleeve targets towed by aircraft, and at a ‘Queen Bee’ wireless-controlled aircraft.

In harbour we were just as busy. I was made Midshipman of the launch, a heavy forty-five foot open boat used for carrying stores and liberty men from ship to shore. I found it quite an ordeal at first, going in late at night, in the strong tide, to jockey for position at the pier, in order to collect up to one hundred sailors, most of whom were very full of beer!

During all this time of internal preparation, the international situation had continued to deteriorate. The second of Mr Chamberlain’s visits to Hitler took place at Godesberg on 22 September, 1938. It became known that the talks had broken down by the evening of the next day and the Prime Minister returned to London on the 24th. On the forenoon of that day the Fleet sailed for its war station at Scapa Flow.

It was grey and blustery with the wind whipping up white horses on the Cromarty Firth. The first to leave Invergordon were the ships of the 1st Minesweeping Flotilla, followed closely by the destroyers of 5th and 6th Flotillas, each ship as it passed, piping ‘The Still’, and being answered by the big ship’s bugle calls, their signal flags standing out bright and clear in the fresh breeze as they swept by us. Then came the 2nd Cruiser Squadron, led by the new cruiser Southampton, her rakish lines seeming to be a personification of the new ships joining the Fleet every day. Now bugle answered bugle and the Royal Marine bands played on the quarterdecks. Next came the aircraft carrier Courageous, with her band playing ‘Roll Along Covered Wagon, Roll Along’. Then, last of all, the battleships led by the Fleet Flagship Nelson, Our sister ship, Revenge, steamed slowly past us with her band playing alternately ‘John Brown’s body lies a mould’ ring in the grave’, and ‘If you were the only girl in the world’. It was a moving and stirring sight, and we all felt proud to be part of it.

As soon as we left harbour, all hands turned to, to bring up and fuse ready-use ammunition; this went on until all the lockers were filled and firing circuits had been tested. The Home Fleet steered north through thickening mist and rain squalls. Exciting though it was, it seemed unbelievable that we were actually heading for Scapa Flow and war with Germany, just twenty years since the last war. That evening we steamed into the Flow and anchored.

The next two weeks were spent exercising inside the Flow and at sea. Other units gradually joined us as mobilization took effect. Scapa Flow was a magnificent anchorage of 300 square miles of water surrounded by low heather-clad hills. The Munich Crisis, as it was known, finally passed, when Czechoslovakia was sacrificed. There was great dissatisfaction at this outcome of the negotiations.

At the end of the first week of October, Royal Sovereign, with most other ships, returned to Invergordon and continued exercises. It was during one of these, in a night attack by destroyers, that our ship was struck by a practice torpedo which damaged one of the propellers. We were ordered to go to Devonport for repairs. We remained there for the whole of November when, our damage repaired, we left for sea trials. It was while carrying out one of these that we received orders to shadow one of the German pocket battleships returning to Germany up the Channel. We swung on to a shadowing course and worked up to full speed. It was very misty, with high seas; at one time we burst out of the mist into a patch of sunshine and found ourselves very close to a small British tramp steamer, which must have received quite a shock. We continued on our course for several hours before we gave up, having seen nothing of the Germans. We then went on to Sheerness to give Christmas leave.

We sailed again in early January, 1939, for the Fleet’s spring cruise to the Mediterranean. Despite very rough seas and bad weather, we exercised continually with other ships. It was a busy round of action stations, drills and strategic and tactical exercises, which continued until our arrival at Gibraltar. At the Rock we carried out a full programme of firings with every part of the armament. Life became even more hectic when Rear Admiral Holland hoisted his flag as Rear Admiral Second Battle Squadron in the ship and we painted overall in preparation for a visit to Golfe Juan in the south of France.

The international situation seemed to be getting worse, and the Spanish Civil War still raged, though it did appear that the Nationalist Forces of General Franco were at last winning. There was always something of interest with a number of foreign warships calling at Gibraltar and the Spanish Government destroyer Jose Luis Diez interned there. We also saw the Nationalist cruiser Canarias in Algeçiras Bay on several occasions and a French Cruiser Squadron paid a courtesy visit. All the British ships were ordered to be at anti-aircraft readiness when within range of the Spanish coast, and there continued to be an atmosphere of uncertainty. In early February the ship paid a call to Golfe Juan which was very much a social event, with dances and tennis and cocktail parties.

Another lesson was in store for me. One night, with several other officers, I was invited to a big charity ball at the Casino in Cannes, in aid of the Sunnybank Hospital for the Blind. My host was a retired Captain R.N. then living at Cannes. We were all slightly late, due to a delayed boat, and when we arrived my host was waiting to hurry me off to his table where about a dozen people were already seated. Just before