In theory, the proximity to German-occupied Norway could have been a major problem. However, by the summer of 1940 the ‘Orkney Barrage’ had been tried and tested. The wall of flak thrown up during the barrage meant that no German aircraft could penetrate it. With no land to the east, radar stations could pick up approaching German bombers as they crossed the North Sea, and the fleet and its shore-based defenders would be ready for them. In addition, there were four airfields on Orkney – two run by the Fleet Air Arm and two by the Royal Air Force. They were all well provided with fighters, and these, together with nearby airfields in Caithness, meant that any large-scale Luftwaffe attack would be repulsed with potentially heavy losses. In fact, once the effectiveness of all this was demonstrated, German air attacks ceased completely. Instead, fighter-bombers based in Orkney and Caithness conducted regular sorties against German coastal shipping in Norwegian waters.
The other advantage of this secure anchorage was its location. While the homesick crews might complain about being stationed far from the fleshpots of London, or even Portsmouth or Plymouth, in strategic terms Scapa Flow was the perfect place for the Home Fleet. Orkney was far from the Luftwaffe airfields in France and the Low Countries, whereas the naval bases on Britain’s south coast were just a few minutes’ flying time away. To reach Scapa Flow, any German sortie from the Skagerrak would have to traverse the North Sea and reach the Atlantic by way of the Norwegian Sea and the Greenland–Iceland–Faeroes–Shetland gap. Scapa Flow was much closer to the Skagerrak than these southern bases, and virtually on the doorstep of these northern sea entrances into the Atlantic. In terms of ‘sea control’ it was perfect – the fleet there acted as the stopper to a bottle. Any German sortie would have to run the gauntlet of the fleet before it could threaten the Allied convoy routes. So, regardless of the grumbling of the seamen, Scapa Flow remained the wartime base of the fleet.
The distant blockade
When in Scapa Flow, the fleet flagship swung at its mooring just off the island of Flotta, where an underwater cable ran out from the island to the mooring buoy.6 This carried a secure telephone line, which ended in a green telephone sitting on the desk of the fleet’s commander-in-chief and provided a direct line that ran straight to the Admiralty in Whitehall, allowing the admiral to talk to both the War Cabinet and Prime Minister Winston Churchill. This meant that any intelligence reports reaching the Admiralty could be conveyed to the Home Fleet within a few minutes. If the flagship were at sea, then both the admiral and the fleet commander had to use the much less secure medium of encoded radio signals, which were, of course, vulnerable to interception by the enemy. In the events that unfolded in May 1940, these lines of communication played a vital part in the drama.
The stated aim of the Home Fleet was the defence of British home waters, and the vital maritime supply routes leading to British ports. However, as the war played out, various areas were devolved into separate commands. The coastal waters of the English Channel and the English east coast were administered separately, as the lighter forces stationed there fought their own private war, protecting coastal convoys and harassing enemy ones. The Western Approaches to the British Isles – those sea lanes to British ports – were controlled from Plymouth, and later from Liverpool. That, then, left the Home Fleet free to concentrate on its main job: the containment of the German Kriegsmarine within the North Sea, and the destruction of enemy warships attempting to break out into the Atlantic.
During the Napoleonic Wars, Britain maintained a close blockade of French-held ports on the European mainland, whereby any French sortie from Brest, Toulon or the Baltic would be met by a British fleet. Clearly, however, this strategy was less effective in an age of submarines, radio transmissions and long-range guns. So, the notion of a distant blockade was devised, involving a blockade being established further from enemy-held ports, but within range of friendly naval bases. The result was the same. In World War I, the naval blockade of Germany was the single most effective tool in the Allied arsenal. Imperial Germany relied heavily on maritime imports for its raw materials and foodstuffs. In November 1914 the British declared the North Sea a ‘War Zone’, and ships suspected of heading to enemy ports or even of carrying cargo bound for Germany were seized.7 Even neutral ships were stopped and inspected, despite a slew of complaints.
Blocking off the English Channel was easy enough – a job given to the Dover Patrol. Sealing off the top of the North Sea was a little more difficult. The Northern Patrol operated between the Norwegian coast and Orkney, and proved highly effective at stopping virtually all foodstuffs and war materials reaching Germany. By 1916, this had resulted in growing food shortages in Germany, and by the end of the war the German people faced starvation, a major factor in the cessation of the conflict. In 1939, the situation was very similar, and the same blockade tactics were employed. Hundreds of small patrol craft, such as requisitioned trawlers, were pressed into service, but this time, rather than a full naval blockade, this was called ‘British Contraband Control’. Once again, Orkney became the base for the northern part of this blockade, and within weeks hundreds of tons of war materials were confiscated from German-registered or neutral ships.
Nazi Germany responded by imposing its own economic blockade, using mines to disrupt British coastal convoys, and U-boats to harry convoys in the Western Approaches.8 Soon, both sides were feeling the effects of shortages. Then, in the spring of 1940, the capture of Norway and the Fall of France changed everything. Now, the Northern Patrol had no firm anchor on the Norwegian coast. Now, German U-boats could use French Atlantic ports, and reach their patrol areas in half the time. So, a new strategy was needed. This involved the stepping up of convoy efforts, helped by the increasing unofficial support of the USA. It also meant abandoning the existing patrol line and moving it back, out of easy reach of Norwegian airfields.
This required the re-establishment of a patrol line running between Denmark and Iceland, Iceland and the Faeroes, and the Faeroe Islands and Shetland, Orkney and the Scottish mainland.9 Of these, the Pentland Firth south of Orkney and the gap between Orkney and Shetland were easily covered by small patrol craft, destroyers and aerial patrols. The three more distant gaps were more of a problem, one that was addressed with the use of all-weather small ships such as ocean-going trawlers, corvettes and destroyers, supported by heavy and light cruisers. The distant blockade was just as effective – although the distances involved were greater and more ships were needed to do the job.
This business was actually made a little easier in April 1940 when the Germans invaded Denmark. At the time, Iceland was a sovereign nation but was united to Denmark under the rule of the Danish crown. In consequence, Iceland was considered neutral. However, following the German invasion of Denmark the British sent troops to occupy Iceland, after the Icelanders refused to join the Western Allies. So, from May 1940, Iceland was controlled by Britain, until July 1941, when it was transferred to American control.10 Although officially Iceland remained neutral throughout the war, its government actively cooperated with the Allies, and in 1944 it declared its independence from Denmark. As a result of this, the Allies gained vital air and naval bases on the island, which rendered the distant blockade of Germany far more effective. Now, British warships could put in there to refuel or shelter from storms, and search aircraft could range far out into the Arctic Sea.
While smaller craft maintained the distant blockade from Greenland to Orkney, larger warships – mainly cruisers – also patrolled the same waters, ready to intercept any German warships attempting to break out into the North Atlantic. While a cruiser armed with 6in. or 8in. guns lacked the firepower to stop a Scharnhorst, Gneisenau or Bismarck, they could use their radar to shadow them and thereby help larger British ships intercept the enemy. That was where naval intelligence came in. The Admiralty relied on a whole range of sources – from signal intercepts, Enigma decryptions, spies, resistance cells, patrolling submarines and search aircraft – to let them know when a German bre
akout was imminent, whereupon the commander-in-chief of the Home Fleet would send a powerful force to intercept the enemy.
This of course demanded the timely acquisition of suitable intelligence, and a certain amount of forewarning. It took roughly 30 hours for a battleship to cover the 800 miles from Scapa Flow to the Denmark Strait between Greenland and Iceland. It took half that to reach the Iceland–Faeroes gap. So, not only did the fleet need advance warning, but its commander also had to predict which of these routes the German warships would take. That meant that the green telephone was crucially important, as were the search and photo reconnaissance planes that might spot the enemy on their way towards the Atlantic. Meanwhile, the Home Fleet’s capital ships – the battleships, battlecruisers and aircraft carriers – swung at anchor in Scapa Flow, or conducted training exercises, while their crews waited for that all-important signal that would galvanise them into action.
Tovey’s fleet
On 2 December 1940, on a cold and windy day in Rosyth, Admiral Sir Charles Forbes hauled down his flag as commander-in-chief of the Home Fleet and handed over both his command and his flagship Nelson to Admiral Sir John Tovey.11 The new fleet commander had just returned from the Mediterranean, where he’d served as second-in-command of the Mediterranean Fleet, under Admiral Cunningham. The following day, Nelson sailed for Scapa Flow, where Tovey was better placed to control his fleet and deal with any German sorties. The first of these – the breakout of the Scharnhorst and Gneisenau – came soon after the New Year, and Tovey was caught on the wrong foot by his opponent Admiral Lütjens. As we’ve seen, the two German battlecruisers evaded all British attempts to intercept them, and after a successful Atlantic cruise they made it safely into Brest. This was undoubtedly a trying experience for Tovey, but he was determined that if his chance came again, he would bring the enemy to battle.
Tovey had a powerful fleet at his disposal, and on paper it looked like he had everything he needed to do just that. The trouble was, many of his ships were fairly old, and some even dated from the previous war. When he took command, Nelson and Rodney were the most modern battleships in the navy, and both of them were 13 years old.12 With a top speed of just 23 knots they were far too slow to catch the new generation of German capital ships like Scharnhorst or Bismarck. Still, if they did manage to, they carried nine 16in. guns in three triple turrets, and their hulls were well armoured. If they could actually bring these German warships to battle then they had a good chance of destroying them. The nine other battleships in the navy were all of World War I vintage.13 In fact, in 1916 five of them fought in the Battle of Jutland. Another Jutland veteran, the Royal Oak, had been sunk in October 1939.
What made them useful was that they all carried eight 15in. guns apiece. Some of the Queen Elizabeth class had been modernised, and with decent fire control systems and modern radar they still proved themselves useful. During 1940, several of them had seen action in the Mediterranean – in fact, most of them had seen service with the Home Fleet earlier in the war – and by the spring of 1941 all five were either serving with the Mediterranean fleet or were undergoing repairs.
By 1941, the four remaining battleships of the Royal Sovereign class were relegated to second-line duties such as escorting convoys or shore bombardment. With a top speed of just 23 knots – and most were now slower than that – they were of little or no use as front-line warships. So, that left Tovey with just two ageing but well-armed battleships to confront the most powerful warships in the German fleet.
Less well armoured were his battlecruisers. When it was first dreamed up before World War I, the idea of the battlecruiser made some sense: it was a ship that was as well armed as a dreadnought battleship but as fast as a cruiser. In effect, it was a sort of super cruiser, designed to hunt down enemy cruisers. This was achieved by doing away with decent armour, a sacrifice that resulted in the loss of three British battlecruisers at Jutland. The trouble was, with such a powerful armament the temptation to use battlecruisers to fight other equally powerful warships was simply too great. The Germans had a less unbalanced design and so they only lost one battlecruiser as a result of the battle. While Jutland should have marked the end of the battlecruiser experiment, new ones were already under construction, with the result that although earlier ones had been scrapped soon after World War I, these new battlecruisers were still in service in 1941.
The Renown and Repulse entered service soon after Jutland.14 Both carried six 15in. guns, in three twin turrets, but their main armoured belt was just 6in. thick – less than half that of the fleet’s new dreadnought battleships. Still, their 15in. guns meant they were still considered useful, and during the inter-war years another 2–3in. of armour was added to protect the ships’ most vulnerable parts – their magazines and engine rooms. Other modifications were made, too, so that by 1941 they were still considered effective warships, particularly because they had a top speed of 30 knots. Thus it was that in the spring of 1941, Renown was the flagship of Force H, based in Gibraltar, while Repulse formed part of the Home Fleet.
Then there was the Hood. 15 She had been laid down four months after Jutland, the first of a class of four powerful battlecruisers, although all the others had been cancelled while still on the stocks. She was launched in August 1918, three months before the end of World War I, and finally entered service in 1920. She was a large and beautiful ship, 860ft long, armed with eight 15in. guns, in four twin turrets. Her elegant lines and impressive size meant she was perfect for ‘showing the flag’, and for almost two decades she did exactly that. If any warship could be seen as the floating symbol of the Royal Navy, and of the might of the British Empire, it was the Hood. During her career, she had been seen by millions of people and was probably the best-known warship in the world.
When World War II began, Hood was attached to the Home Fleet, although the following summer she was briefly attached to Force H, for the bombardment of the French fleet based at Oran in North Africa.16 In early 1941 she joined the hunt for the Scharnhorst and Gneisenau. By then, though, she was more than two decades old and was showing her age; her value as a floating advert for the Royal Navy meant she hadn’t undergone the extensive modifications that the other two battlecruisers went through. So, although she now carried slightly more modern secondary guns and anti-aircraft weapons, and a fire control radar, her main armament was the same as it had been when she first entered service 20 years previously. Just as importantly, she carried the same armour, too. She had a respectable 12in. armoured belt, but her main deck was only protected by 1–3in. of armour, with just 2in. of steel plate over her magazines. Still, with a speed of 32 knots, the Hood was one of the few British capital ships fast enough to overhaul the Scharnhorst or the Bismarck.
Then, in January 1941, just weeks after Tovey took command, the battleship King George V joined the Home Fleet. The first British battleship to enter service in a decade and a half, and the namesake of what would become a class of five, the arrival of King George V marked a turning point for Tovey’s battle fleet.17 Now it had some real teeth. The second battleship in the class, the Prince of Wales, would join him in May. Each of them carried ten 14in. guns, in two quadruple turrets fore and aft, and a third twin turret superimposed behind the larger forward turret. This strange configuration was due to the limits of the various inter-war naval treaties, which also explained why the British had left it for ten years before ordering these new capital ships. However, they were well protected, with a 14–16in. main belt, and 5–6in. deck armour. They could also make 28.5 knots, which gave them a fighting chance of intercepting Scharnhorst and Bismarck.
They had issues, though. In the Kriegsmarine, a new capital ship would go through a rigorous set of sea trials, followed by an equally lengthy period of crew training. The British couldn’t afford that luxury; with Bismarck and Tirpitz nearing completion, these new battleships were needed right away. So, after cursory sea trials they were sent to join the fleet, and the crew had to learn on the job. By the time
the Bismarck sortied, the King George V was fully operational. In fact, in April 1941 Tovey shifted his flag into her.
The Prince of Wales was more of a problem. In August 1940, she was nearing completion in Birkenhead when a German air raid struck Merseyside and she was badly damaged.18 This delayed her completion, but she still sailed for her trials on schedule, in January 1941. However, two of her three main turrets were not functioning, and only half of her crew were on board.
The real snag was that her newly designed quadruple turrets didn’t work.19 They were still having serious teething problems, and as the sea trials continued, civilian workmen continued to try to get them fixed. Still, on 31 March she was officially declared ‘complete’, and handed over to the Royal Navy. Several key tests hadn’t been carried out, but the Admiralty were so keen to get her operational that these had been waived. By then, she was in Scapa Flow, where working-up exercises continued through April and May, and the work on her faulty turrets continued. It wasn’t until 26 April that Vickers-Armstrongs – who built her guns – finally approved the work, and she could begin her gunnery trials. Even then, a group of Vickers-Armstrongs technicians stayed on board to iron out a long list of last-minute hitches. They were still on board her when she steamed off to fight the Bismarck.
Despite the issues, one thing that gave British warships like the Prince of Wales an edge over the Germans was what we now call radar, although in 1941 the British still called it Radio Direction Finding (RDF).20 While the Germans had their own Seetakt sets, these were neither as effective nor as efficient as the British system. Also, by 1941 the British had a range of different sets, used to detect both aircraft and surface targets, and to help direct the guns. For example, in May 1941 Prince of Wales carried Type 281 early warning radar, which could detect approaching aircraft over 100 miles away. Various other sets were used to control the fire of the ship’s main guns and her anti-aircraft batteries. King George V had a similar suite of electronics. Even older ships like Rodney and Hood carried radar – a Type 279 air warning set in Rodney, and a Type 284 fire control radar in Hood. This all helped the British search for the enemy, and hit them once they were within range.
Hunt the Bismarck Page 6