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Rescue of Norway aborted

In April 1940, the Germans invaded Norway and an operation initiated by Churchill to go to the help of the Norwegians was put into immediate effect. The object was to stop the Germans taking the whole of Norway with its valuable mineral and other resources. Sadly, we were unable to hold our positions and, after only a few weeks, the Navy was required to cover the evacuation of 24,000 British, French and Polish troops. They were embarked in four convoys, which were protected by aircraft from the carriers Glorious and Ark Royal and by cruisers and destroyers.

Loss of HMS Glorious

The German battlecruisers left Kiel on 4 June to attack British shipping. They were fortunate to intercept the carrier Glorious, which had been detached from the fleet to hasten back to Scapa to refuel. Glorious and her two escorting destroyers were sunk. There were only 39 survivors out of 1,513 officers and men. Before she sank, the destroyer Acasta, against overwhelming odds, managed to close the Scharnhorst and heavily damage her with a torpedo. Scharnhorst made her way to Trondheim.

Home Fleet attack

The Home Fleet Commander-in-Chief, Admiral Forbes, put to sea in Rodney with Renown and six destroyers, and ordered the carrier Ark Royal to join him. We in Antelope sailed from Sullom Voe at 10.15pm on 11 June and joined the force at 8am the next morning. It was a wonderful sight as these huge battleships and the Ark Royal steamed in line ahead eastward with an arrowhead screen of destroyers. We were on the starboard wing. Our objective was to approach Norway and deliver an air strike and sink the Scharnhorst.

Ship's company briefing

As the Navigating Officer, I was in the habit of putting a chart on the ship's company's main notice board showing where we were and what we were doing. I was very much aware that most of the ship's company had little idea of what was going on and this was my way of keeping them advised. I am very glad to still have at home the same chart that I put on the notice board that night because it saved my life.

After our 8am rendezvous, the fleet steamed ENE at 18 knots all day towards Norway, and at midnight flew off 14 dive bombers to attack the Scharnhorst in Trondheim, some 190 miles ESE. I had the middle watch on the bridge that night (ie midnight to 4am). At 3am, all the ships turned into the wind for Ark Royal to land on seven aircraft, which had returned from their operation. I came off watch at 4am, and went down to the ship's notice board to note the apparent loss of seven aircraft.

My cabin was aft, and I had to walk along the upper deck almost the length of the ship to reach it. As I reached the quarterdeck, and just before entering the hatchway down to my cabin, I noticed three more aircraft returning. Curse it! I felt I had to go all the way for'd again to update my report and add a note to the effect that there were now only four missing. Then aft again, longing to turn in. As I was about to go down the ladder to my cabin, I said goodnight to the lifebuoy sentry, ¹. He pointed out heavy low-lying clouds ahead, maybe fog. I told him to wake me if there was any alarm.

Collision

It was now past 4.30am. All the others who had come off watch at 4am had been asleep for at least quarter of an hour! My cabin was on the port side and the entrance to it was directly opposite the foot of the ladder. I went in, stripped off my top clothing, and was about to climb into my bunk, when I paused. The whine of the propellers just astern of my cabin suddenly increased. My cabin started vibrating. Something was wrong! We were going full ahead on both engines. There was then a deafening crash, my world seemed to explode. The lights went out and I was conscious of being hit very hard. I did not know what was happening.

When I came to my senses, I found myself outside my cabin door back at the foot of the ladder. I tried to climb it and was knocked to the bottom again. Water was pouring on top of me from above and it was very dark. I was convinced we were sinking. I had to get up that ladder. I tried again and this time made it to the upper deck - oh, the relief at getting out of the black hole! On deck, there was an appalling racket of ships' sirens blaring away. I rushed to the ship's side, ready to leap overboard in case the ship turned turtle.

There was no sign of Ldg Smn Williams. As I turned to look across the deck over my cabin, I was staggered to see the bows of another destroyer in my cabin. I quickly realised we were not sinking and made my way forward to the bridge. As I stepped on to the compass platform, Dick White, the Captain, saw me and said 'Thank God!' then he roared with laughter, partly with relief - he was convinced I was dead - and partly for another reason. I had coloured paints on my head! (The coloured paints came from the paint store in the bows of HMS Electra.) I reported that Ldg Smn Williams appeared to have gone overboard.

The siren from the other ship was sending us a message. The fog was too thick for visual signalling and there was radio silence so as not to give our position away to the enemy. A cheer went up on the bridge. The message from the other ship read. 'Your Ldg Smn Williams has landed on my focsle unharmed.' Two miracles were completed!

Our ship's doctor gave me a check up - slightly bruised, but otherwise OK. I returned aft where there was a fever of activity. Bulkheads were being shored up and other preparations made so that when the other destroyer went astern out of my cabin, we would be as seaworthy as possible.

I now realised that I had lost all my possessions - clothes, books, photographs, radio, gramophone, camera, even my toothbrush! I was later kitted out from ship's stores and, as there was no other officer's berth available, I was accommodated in the Chief & Petty Officers' mess. That was an interesting experience and another story.

Cause of the collision

Why had the collision happened? The destroyer screen was in arrowhead formation ahead of the capital ships. We were on the starboard wing. Now, in those days, the Admiral had only two ways of manoeuvering the force, by visual signals (flags or lamp), and radio. The former were no good in fog and radio could give away our position to the enemy. We were only 170 miles from their airfields. In such circumstances, there was a procedure using low-power radio over a short range with the flagship transmitting the message through twice. No one else transmitted and messages were not acknowledged. The Admiral wished to turn the force ninety degrees to starboard together in an endeavour to clear the fog bank in case any more aircraft returned. The message was simply 'Blue nine repeat Blue nine - Executive signal' in Morse, abbreviated signal code.

The force slowly swung round ninety degrees to starboard - all except HMS Antelope. Our Leading Telegraphist on watch had missed the signal — inexcusable - so we continued in blissful ignorance on our old course, until HMS Electra from the other side of the destroyer screen loomed up out of the fog, heading for the middle of our ship. The Captain ordered full ahead both and mercifully we were not hit in the large engine room space, which would probably have sunk us but in the smaller compartments - my cabin - further aft.

The damage

Later, I returned to the area of my cabin to find out why I had escaped so lightly. HMS Electra had struck our shipside just forward of my cabin, and the forward bulkhead of my cabin had been pushed round by her stem ninety degrees to end up parallel and close to the inner bulkhead of my cabin. It must have been this that had hit me and hurled me through the open door of my cabin. Had I not been knocked through the doorway I would have ended up as the jam in the sandwich between the two bulkheads perhaps two inches thick! It was a truly miraculous escape. The outer bulkhead of my cabin, the floor and the deck overhead were completely demolished. When I looked down from above, I could see the bilges and ship's bottom.

The other miracle

I spoke to Ldg Smn Williams afterwards and he told me that he was standing at the side of the Quarterdeck gun when he saw this destroyer coming straight at him. And, in order not to get pinned against the gun, he leapt to one side of the oncoming vessel into the sea. The force of the two ships colliding at speed caused a huge wave which lifted him up and he found himself on the forecastle of the other ship!

Limping home

The main body of ships left us and Electra was detailed to escort us home, towing if necessary. Fortunately, we were able to steam on one of our screws and, despite being down by the stern, we made good a slow but adequate speed. Nevertheless, it was a long and anxious voyage home, particularly in the early stages when we feared we might be attacked by enemy aircraft.

Several days later, we steamed up the River Tyne cheered by the folk ashore, who seeing our stern low in the water thought we must have escaped from a battle at sea. A few hours later we were secured alongside in Swan Hunters yard to be repaired.

Sequels

There are two sequels to this story. First, during the refit, one item was recovered from the bilges with my name in full on it - a heavy silver napkin ring given to me by my Aunt, Sheila Grenfell, which is now in our dining room sideboard. Second, had we not been out of action at Newcastle, we would have been evacuating the Army from Dunkirk at the end of May. We may have survived. We may even have picked up my cousin David, Royal Corps of Signals (now Colonel), who was one of the thousands to be rescued.

¹ÌýLeading Seaman Williams (Name is fictitious. Memory problem!)

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