大象传媒

The following story by Terence Robertson is out of copyright and appears courtesy of and with thanks to Mike Kemble, and Captain Frederic John Walker.

For five and a half years the Battle of the Atlantic raged with ruthless and varying intensity鈥斺�漷he most protracted and bitterly fought campaign in which the British Empire and her Allies have ever been engaged鈥�.鈥� On its outcome depended our power to continue the war even on the defensive; our ability to provide raw materials for war production; arms, ammunition and reinforcements for our armies in Burma, Africa, Italy and, later, Normandy; fuel, planes and bombs for the great air offensive against the Reich itself food and clothing for the Home Front. In the beginning, the U-boat captains held the initiative. Brilliantly directed by Admiral Karl Doenitz, they took a heavy toll of our shipping. Of the 21 million tons of Allied shipping, totalling more than 4,500 ships, lost during the war, 15 million tons, or 2,775 ships, were sunk by U-boats. The Allies retaliated by 鈥渒illing鈥� 781 German U-boats, the Royal Navy and R.A.F. Coastal Command aircraft being responsible for the destruction of 8o per cent. Until the very end the U-boat Arm fought with discipline and efficiency. There was no relaxation of effort, no hesitation to incur risks. On the very night of Germany鈥檚 surrender they sank three ships on our doorstep, two merchant ships in the Firth of Forth and a minesweeper in Lyme Bay. At a time when this offensive spirit was at its peak and the U-boats had launched their major attacks, the fears of the War Cabinet were reflected in the Operations Room at the Admiralty where a large graph occupied nearly one wall. It was divided near the top by a thin red line鈥攁 permanent measure of the narrow gap between victory and defeat. While the rate of sinking's at sea stayed below the line, Britain could survive and fight; once it went above, we could not stay in the war and there would have been only one decision to make. How to surrender with honour? For many anxious months during the first four years of the war the graph nudged dangerously against the red line, providing staff officers with a cold, mathematical mirror of the struggle on the heaving, flaming waters of the Atlantic battlefield. Then the gap began to widen, almost imperceptibly at first, but at a quickening rate until it became certain that the battle had passed its peak, and the graph was now sliding downwards to statistical safety. There was nothing accidental about this; no strange fortune of war, no inexplicable blunder on the part of the enemy. It was the direct result of the new offensive tactics of the Navy鈥檚 鈥渓ittle ships鈥� largely inspired by the brilliant exploits and untiring efforts of one man who, according to the Admiralty, 鈥渄id more to free the Atlantic of the U-boat menace than any other single officer鈥�.
This was the late Captain Frederick John Walker, R.N., Companion of the Order of the Bath and holder of the DSO and three Bars鈥攖he second naval officer to earn this high award four times. 鈥淛ohnnie鈥� Walker possessed probably more than a normal share of two great gifts鈥攆aith and curiosity; not the faith of mere credulity, nor the curiosity expressed by a turn of the neck, but each requiring the highest form of courage. If Walker鈥檚 character had not included the curiosity to find out how to combat U-boats, and the faith to carry into effect his own ideas, the Atlantic battle would certainly have been pro longed and might have taken a very different course. This is implied in an Admiralty communiqu茅 issued in 1950, five and a half years after his death, which listed the Navy鈥檚 greatest wartime achievements. 鈥淐aptain Walker, more than any other, won the Battle of the Atlantic. His methods had amazing success and more than any other factor gave the Royal Navy supremacy. It is only now that we have learned the full impact he had on the enemy. No tribute could be too high for the work he carried out. This ace killer of submarines not only showed what mastery in this art could do, but by his example infected all those others concerned with him in this business with the same enthusiasm. 鈥淗is death was directly attributable to the overstrain which he suffered in setting that admirable example.鈥� Today, memories of Walker and his striking force are undimmed by time. To those who knew him best, close friends, relatives and brother officers, he is still vividly alive, and I am deeply grateful to them all for their kind assistance given so readily in spite of some memories being as painful as many more were gay and exciting.
MR. MIDSHIPMAN FREDERICK JOHN WALKER, R.N., former King鈥檚 Medallist at the Royal Naval College, Dartmouth, contemporary of the late King George VI, and lately star cadet in the training ship H.M.S. Cornwall, walked across the gangway from the pier at Plymouth and boarded the battleship H.M.S. Ajax. It was a glorious June day in 1914 and the gold- lacquered buttons on his midshipman鈥檚 patches gleamed as he saluted the quarter-deck, reported to the Officer of the Day and joined his first Gunroom Mess. The next day, Ajax left harbour and sailed for Scapa Flow to serve with the Second Battle Squadron of the Grand Fleet. Mr. Midshipman Walker, aged eighteen to the month, had gone to war. He joined Ajax with a formidable background of high marks for his courses as a cadet. Captain Hodges, the strict but fair- minded commanding officer of the training cruiser, had passed him out with a 鈥淰ery Good鈥� for engineering, navigation, pilotage, gunnery, torpedo and electrical work and then spoiled the report somewhat by awarding only a 鈥淕ood鈥� for seamanship. But he made up for it by rounding off the training period with a report, which said: 鈥淗e has shown good attention to his work and his conduct has been very good.鈥� This was no mean tribute, as 鈥淰.G.鈥� is the highest award possible during this part of a young officer鈥檚 career. This brilliance in theoretical naval education鈥攈e had passed out top of his class at Dartmouth鈥攚as matched by natural qualities of leadership. He could pass an examination without apparent effort; as Cadet Captain, he could control a class of rowdy cadets who had a healthy respect for his ability in the boxing ring and on the rugger field. His father, Captain Frederic Murray Walker, R.N., was astonished at this record, for Johnnie, the second son in a family of three brothers and four sisters, had until the age of ten or eleven shown less favourable tendencies. When on holiday he would burst into tears if school were mentioned or when the time came to return. Dartmouth had knocked any tendency to tears out of him, and he had found it a waste of time trying to be too tough with boys quite capable of looking after themselves. In Ajax the fact that there was a war on was in no way allowed to interfere with the next stage to be faced by all 鈥淪notties鈥�. By the time promotion grew near lie had earned the maximum number of marks and, in addition, was four times credited with being a 鈥渃lever, reliable and hard-working officer鈥�. In the spring of 1915, Eilleen Stobart, the attractive, dark- haired young daughter of a well-known North Country family, sat with her cousin, Melissa Laurence, in their home at Etherley, Co. Durham, knitting for friends in the Services. Melissa鈥檚 pair of mittens was to be sent to her brother Guy, then a midshipman in Ajax, while Eilleen was not sure who should become the proud owner of her pair of socks. Suddenly, she exclaimed: 鈥淢elissa, you know that midshipman called Johnnie Walker who Guy is always talking about, the tall one who did so well at Dartmouth. . . . We saw him at a dance at the Darwins, but Guy wouldn鈥檛 introduce him to mc because he said Walker wouldn鈥檛 want to be bothered with a flapper? Let鈥檚 send him our knitting. He鈥檚 in Ajax now. And it will spike Guy鈥檚 guns for being so boring at the dance.鈥� Melissa fell in with the idea and, some days later, on board Ajax an enraged and somewhat embarrassed midshipman drew Walker to one side in the Gunroom and said: 鈥淭here鈥檚 a parcel addressed to you from an awful cousin of mine. I shouldn鈥檛 take the slightest notice of it if I were you.鈥� But Johnnie felt differently, and after he had opened the parcel a cautious correspondence sprang up between Etherley and the various ports round Britain called at by Ajax. In January, 1916, he was promoted to sub-lieutenant and in June transferred to a smaller ship, H.M.S. Mermaid, then based at Dover. This was his chance. Eilleen received a letter suggesting that, as he would soon be able to spend a day in London, she might care to join him. She wangled permission to visit friends in London and they met one afternoon for tea at Rumpelmayers.

Several large cream buns vanished before they overcame mutual shyness sufficiently for Johnnie to suggest an evening out. Eilleen would have been furious if he hadn鈥檛, and they dined at the Savoy, saw a show afterwards and Johnnie reluctantly caught the last train to Dover. A few days later, he spent a short leave at Etherley during which the young lovers sought to escape the family by sitting hidden in the strawberry bed with Eilleen鈥檚 Siamese cat acting as a disinterested 鈥済ooseberry鈥�. After two or three further meetings, they became unofficially and most secretly engaged. Until then, Eileen had been in no particular hurry to marry, but she found in the tall, athletic, six-foot-odd sub-lieutenant with the wide shoulders, rather gaunt face and crinkly, dark brown hair, a boyish charm utterly lacking in her other boy friends. He was shy without being timid, straightforward and reserved without being dull. Above all, he was quite obviously and deeply in love with her. The engagement had to be kept quiet as tentative soundings on the depths of her father鈥檚 feelings on naval officers as potential sons-in-law found bottom rapidly when he declared that Eilleen was too young to marry; so was Johnnie, and a sub-lieutenant鈥檚 pay was barely enough for one soul, let alone to sustain a wife and possibly a family. The romance continued undaunted but under cover. Johnnie had been moved again, this time to the destroyer Sarpedon, and with him went a reputation for being a young officer of set convictions which he stubbornly refused to discard. This had not been an asset in big ships, where there were far too many people all willing to argue and very much senior. Captain Walker had said of his second son: 鈥淭hat boy will argue the hind leg off a donkey.鈥� This was not always wise if the 鈥渄onkey鈥� were senior enough to put an indifferent note into a sub-lieutenant鈥檚 confidential report. Johnnie joined Sarpedon with relief鈥攆rom now on the Navy for him would consist of nothing but destroyers, nothing larger or smaller. Their Lordships had other ideas. Sub-lieutenant Walker was completely happy in Sarpedon. She was employed in screening the Grand Fleet against sub marine attack, and this provided him with a new interest in anti-submarine warfare, a subject that was to absorb and fascinate him for the remainder of his life. While still in this destroyer he was promoted to lieutenant and, reinforced by the extra wealth from the second stripe, he persuaded Eilleen to bring their romance to the surface in the hope that her family would refrain from torpedoing it out of hand. His own father, who had been recalled to duty for the duration, had been sent home on indefinite sick leave and raised no objections to the proposed marriage. Neither did Eilleen鈥檚 father, though what had happened between 1916 and 1918 to alter the position escaped them both. Even on a lieutenant鈥檚 pay they could only look forward to a meagre time. Mr. Stobart did, however, qualify his blessing by telling a friend: 鈥淭wo silly young fools, I think. Both have got comfortable homes. Why the hell do they want to leave them?鈥�
For John, the homeless wanderings of a sailor were no new experience. His mother, four sisters, two brothers and himself had moved about regularly, packing and unpacking according to the movements of their father. He had been born in Ply mouth and then moved to a variety of towns stretching from the South Coast to Scotland; of these, they stayed longest in Milford-on-Sea and Bath, which became their last home town as a family. Then, not long before the wedding, Captain Walker鈥檚 illness became serious and, while being nursed by his wife in Bath, he collapsed and died. However, the Walker family was contributing two-thirds of its sons to the Navy; for John鈥檚 elder brother was now Lieutenant William Baggot Walker, R.N., (who later married Eileen's sister) and the youngest had also tried to enter, only to be turned down because his eyesight was too weak. They married with Bill Walker as best man and, after a brief honeymoon at Bournemouth, Eilleen settled down to the nomadic life of a naval officer鈥檚 wife. In the first year they stayed nowhere long enough to set up a home. While John returned for a spell in big ships as a watchkeeper in the battle ship, Valiant, Eilleen moved around, leaving behind a dismal trail of hotel rooms and flats. But they were supremely happy and, like all young lovers, completely confident of the future. With John at sea, Eilleen stayed for a while with his mother in Bath. It was here on March 22nd, 1920, that she gave birth to their first child, Timothy. During his next leave, John told his wife of his impatience with the strict discipline and social life that was a normal part of battleship routine and confessed he was trying to have himself transferred back to destroyers. He was still keen on learning more about anti-submarine tactics and had decided that, if he specialised in this field, he would greatly enhance his chances of serving in small anti-submarine ships, which he would also like. The few shillings a day 鈥渟pecialist鈥檚 allowance鈥� was a further attraction. He volunteered for a new and special course at Portland naval base where a school of anti-submarine warfare had been recently established, called H.M.S. Osprey. A year later, his request for transfer was accepted and he left Valiant for Portland to begin his technical courses on secret equipment prior to becoming a specialist. During the next four years Lieutenant and Mrs. Walker managed to establish a temporary base in adjacent Weymouth, not daring to make it too permanent in case sailing orders arrived. Ready money was an urgent problem indeed, and some times Johnnie was forced to look around for something to sell. On one occasion when he was in Portsmouth and Eilleen in Weymouth, there was the chance of a week-end together. Eilleen counted up the housekeeping and decided she would have to stay in Weymouth. Johnnie discovered he had seven and sixpence to spare after paying his mess bill, hardly enough for a week-end with his family. His eyes strayed to an expensive- looking travelling clock they had received as a wedding present. He would pawn it first it needed repairing. He took it to a watchmaker and, on the eve of his free week-end, collected the clock, instructed the shop to send the bill on to him, and marched straight round to a pawnshop. He hoped for twenty- five bob, perhaps two pounds. The pawnbroker offered seven and six. Argument was useless, it was seven and six or nothing. John pocketed the three half crowns ruefully. It would be enough to reach Weymouth. But the following morning the repair bill arrived. He had expected it to be two or three shillings at the most. It cost the enormous sum of twelve and sixpence. John fingered the fifteen shillings in his pocket. Later in the day, he paid the bill and wired Eilleen that he was staying in Portsmouth minus clock and with five shillings less than when he had first thought of pawning it. It was characteristic of the young couple that, although frequently hard up, they were never in debt. Johnnie would draw his last penny from the bank to buy Eilleen some unexpected gift, but kept a tight rein on bills. He never worried about money; when it was short he would say鈥斺�滶verything will turn out all right鈥濃�攁nd it always did.

Continued.....
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