Andrew Wareham: Falling into Battle

“She’s a match for any one of them, might be able to deal with two. She will need to split them up and deal with them separately – not too difficult a task, she has the edge on them for speed, or so the book says. Add to that, the Germans have been away from a dockyard for a good time now – they will be slower than their rating, needing boiler cleans and such. If they get to close quarters, she’ll give them the Gorbals kiss and be done with it!”

This was obviously jolly funny; Guns laughed heartily.

Hector, despite his name, had had very little contact with Scotland but remembered that the Gorbals was a large and depraved slum in Glasgow , and was often said to be the worst place in Britain for casual, drunken, violent crime.

“’Gorbals kiss’, sir?”

“Famous, McDuff! A headbutt in the mouth - ended many a brawl before it has ever really started. They say you see many a fellow in Glasgow with teeth marks on his forehead as his winner’s trophy. The sign of a hard man, so they will tell you – have a look at some of the stokers!”

Hector suspected that he had lived a sheltered existence.

The wireless office reported more and louder Telefunken chatter at intervals through the day, suggesting that the signals were strengthening and presumably closing.

“When will Glasgow make Valparaiso, sir?”

“With the dawn, a little later perhaps to give the Chileans time to wake up. She’ll slow down during the night, so as to see that hard coast in daylight. Rock-bound, all the way. Not a place to be in the dark hours. The squadron can continue at full speed and be only a few hours distant from her. Should be within range of her radio.”

The morning was within reason clear and the squadron made its way towards Valparaiso in close order. Mid-afternoon brought word from Glasgow that she had left the harbour and that the five ships of the Tsingtao squadron were there, in company with a loaded collier. They were completing coaling and showing signs of making ready to chase.

Glasgow rejoined in late afternoon and was sent off with Otranto to hold at a distance from the main action.

The Gunnery Commander had a last word with Hector before sending him down to the after nine point two turret.

“Perfect conditions, Sub. Setting sun behind us and the Germans coming up from the east – their rangefinders will be looking directly into the sun. They’ll be against the mountains and the ships’ white upperworks will be visible against their backdrop. We will be able to smash them while they come to close range. They will have to close on us – they will never be able to hit us from a distance in those conditions.”

It did not seem to occur to the Commander that they could wait until the conditions changed.

The two squadrons came into contact at teatime, which was damned inconvenient of the Germans, spoiling the afternoon cuppa. The men cheered and the ship readied itself for victory.

Monmouth fell into line behind Good Hope and the two massive cruisers slowly sailed northwards, watching as Scharnhorst and Gneisenau paralleled them at nearly twenty thousand yards distant.

Hector sat at the telescope in the after turret, the gun loaded with common shell and at near maximum elevation. Armour-piercing shell might have been better; they had little aboard, however, and the Gunnery Officer had decided to hold it until the range enabled more accurate fire.

He waited on the firing order, trying to keep Scharnhorst in the graticules of the sight, compensating by hand for the roll and pitch of Good Hope .

“Well in range, sir.”

The maximum range of the gun was twenty-nine thousand yards, in ideal conditions, Hector knew. Many of the Mark IX barrels were fitted in coastal batteries, obviously on stable mountings. It was not uncommon for coastal guns to hit within two hundred yards of a target at maximum range. Good Hope had old barrels, coming to the end of their service life and worn; they would be lucky to place a shell within a quarter of a mile of a moving target at twenty thousand.

“Wait on the order, gunlayer.”

As he spoke Good Hope put her helm down and started to reduce the range. Within the minute the German squadron had conformed, pulling away and returning the distance to twenty thousand yards.

“They won’t come up to us, sir. Chicken!”

That was one explanation, Hector accepted. He glanced over his shoulder, saw the sun close to the horizon. There would still be light for a good two hours after the sun had set and the Germans would be lost against the shore while Good Hope and Monmouth would be silhouetted and easily ranged on.

A few more minutes of the apparent stalemate and the German squadron turned on a diagonally converging course and opened fire at seven o’clock in the evening. Their first shells were unders, but all within a cable of the two British cruisers.

“Fire, sir!”

Hector laid the gun according to the pointer from Control and waited on Good Hope ’s roll before pressing the electric trigger. The guns, fore and aft, roared and the crews started the reload while Hector watched Scharnhorst. He saw waterspouts far astern of his target and probably two hundred yards over. The Gunnery Commander had set the wrong speed for the cruisers; presumably he would correct with the next shot.

The layer shouted and raised his hand and Hector pressed the Gun Ready switch which would tell the Commander he could fire again. A few more seconds, the pointer moving and Hector trying to match it, the gun barrel swinging in response. Four great waterspouts rose just abeam of them and there was a clattering of shell splinters on the hull and turret plating.

The fire light glowed and Hector pressed his switch. The gun recoiled and he bent to the telescope to spot his shell. It was difficult to see anything against the shoreline, but he thought he could see a waterspout. He leant to the telephone to call the result to the Commander.

“Over one hundred. Left two hundred, sir.”

Gunners used ‘left’ and ‘right’ rather than port and starboard, the only time the terms were used in the Navy. He watched carefully as the gunners completed the reload, activating the rammer to push the three hundred pounds of shell into the barrel and then the two silk-cased charges of cordite. The breech swung closed and rotated to the lock position and the detonator was inserted. Hector was about to press the Gun Ready switch when an eight point two inch armour-piercing shell penetrated the gun house and exploded, destroying the gun and vaporising the men. He was dead before he knew they had been hit by the third salvo the German cruisers had fired.

Good Hope was much slowed by the damage to the stern and the engineroom and fought on with only one big gun, closing the range to bring the six inch into action. She was hit by another dozen big shells in the space of half an hour and then by a barrage of lesser when she succeeded in getting closer.

She fell silent at about ten to eight, racked by a series of internal explosions that ripped her apart. By eight o’clock she was gone, taking Admiral Craddock and all hands with her, the action having lasted a bare hour.

It grew dark and Monmouth , almost crippled, was lost to sight. One of the light cruisers found her an hour later, massively on fire and crawling. The German ship called for Monmouth ’s surrender and prepared to send boats to the rescue; she fired a pair of guns in response. They sank her, again with all hands, within minutes.

Glasgow shepherded Otranto into the night and the pair made best speed back to the Falklands, there to inform the Admiralty by cable of the disaster.