art and archives and promote greater public understanding of Britain’s naval and maritime heritage, as a key element in the development of British history and culture. It also aims to instil a sense of identity and ethos in the Officer Cadets that pass through the same walls as their forbears, from great admirals to national heroes, to royalty.
Britannia Royal Naval College, Dartmouth
Foreword HRH Prince Philip, Lord High Admiral
I was very interested to discover that the Britannia Museum, which I had opened in 1999 during my Term’s 60th anniversary reunion, has embarked on a project to publish a series of Second World War battle summaries. As I had been a cadet at Dartmouth in 1939 and was present at the Battle of Matapan, it did not come as a great surprise when I was asked to write a foreword for the summary of the Battle.
I entered the Sandquay Barracks at the Britannia Royal Naval College in the spring of 1939 as a ‘Special Entry’ Cadet. As that time the normal age of entry to the College was 13. Special Entry meant that we had completed our School Certificate examinations at school, and then sat for the Civil Service entry examinations to qualify for entry into the Royal Navy. Previous Special Entry Cadets had gone straight to the training cruiser HMS Vindictive, where they were joined by senior Dartmouth Cadets. However, with the onset of war, she was taken back into general service, and my Term was sent to the Sandquay Barracks at Dartmouth instead. I completed my two terms at the College and was appointed to the First World War battleship, HMS Ramillies, and joined her in Colombo on 22 February 1940.
In January 1941, after Greece has been invaded by Italy, I was appointed to HMS Valiant, another WWI battleship, currently serving in the Mediterranean Fleet based in Alexandria. After a year of relative peace and quiet in the Indian Ocean, things certainly hotted-up in the Mediterranean. My introduction to the ‘shooting war’ was a bombardment of Bardia, when the Italian shore batteries shot back. This was followed by a convoy to Malta, when the carrier, HMS Illustrious, was damaged by Stuka dive bombers.
All this is on the record. What is not on the record is what it was like to be a Midshipman (the lowest form of life in the Navy) taking part in the Matapan campaign. Keeping everyone accurately informed of what was going on in a battleship, with a ship’s company of 1,200 (including some 20 Midshipmen) was not really possible. Furthermore, all these events took place 70 years ago, and, as most elderly people have discovered, memories tend to fade – to put it mildly. Consequently, what follows needs to be treated as ‘faction’.
Quite how information about what was going on percolated to the Gunroom is a mystery, but even the Midshipmen were becoming aware that the Italian fleet was thought to be at sea, and that there might be a chance of catching them. There was definitely a special atmosphere of anticipation of something dramatic in prospect when the Fleet put to sea from Alexandria during the night of 27 March.
My Action Station was on the bridge, and at night I had control of the port searchlight, so I managed to gather roughly what was going on by overhearing snippets of conversation from the compass platform. My impression was that an Italian battle fleet was at sea and was engaged in a fight with our light forces of cruisers and destroyers, which were attempting to lure the Italians towards our battleships. Then the carrier, HMS Formidable pulled out of the line to fly off a strike of Swordfish torpedo bombers. The general impression was that there might be the chance of catching the Italian heavy ships, provided they kept up their chase of our cruisers. Later, just before dusk, Formidable flew off another strike. It then transpired that the Italians had turned away after some of their ships had been hit by torpedoes from the Swordfish. The chase went on into a still, calm night, although it was apparent that our cruisers and destroyers were busy further north.
My recollection is that Valiant was the only capital ship fitted with, what is now known as RADAR, but was then known as RDF, and was therefore stationed immediately astern of HMS Warspite, Admiral Cunningham’s Flagship. As far as I was concerned, it seemed that there was little chance of our catching up with the retreating Italians, and, as it got dark there was a general air of anti-climax. Then, suddenly, in the quiet of the night, came a report from our RDF operator that he had an echo on the port bow at about 5,000 yards of what appeared to be a stationary ship. I turned my searchlight on to the bearing given by the RDF operator in the hope of seeing the target. Just then the destroyer Greyhound turned her searchlight on which, I think, picked up an Italian destroyer, but the loom was enough for me to make out a ship on the horizon. I seem to remember that I reported that I had a target in sight, and was ordered to ‘open shutter’. The beam lit up a stationary cruiser, but we were so close by then that the beam only lit up half the ship.
At this point all hell broke loose, as all our eight 15 inch guns, plus those of the Flagship and Barham’s started firing at the stationary cruiser, which disappeared in an explosion and a cloud of smoke. I was then ordered to ‘train left’ and lit up another Italian cruiser, which was given the same treatment. By this time the night was full of smoke, loud bangs and flashes and the dark shapes of our destroyers, with their coloured ‘recognition lights’, appeared and disappeared. That bit of the Mediterranean then became a very dangerous place. There must have been some twenty British and Italian warships dashing about in every direction at high speed. It was at this point the C.-in-C. ordered all ships not engaged in sinking the enemy to withdraw to the north east. Bangs and flashes went on for a bit, but then things gradually calmed down.
The next morning the battle fleet returned to the scene of the battle while attempts were made to pick up survivors. This was rudely interrupted by an attack by German bombers. Fortunately they missed, although Valiant was straddled diagonally from the port quarter to the starboard bow. A Royal Marine sentry on the quarterdeck was killed by a splinter, but otherwise no damage was done. Except that the two bombs going off virtually simultaneously, made the whole ship flex along its length. The only result was that some of the hatches in the armoured deck took some time to be forced open.
The return to Alexandria was uneventful, and the peace and quiet was much appreciated.
Introduction Dr J. E. Harrold
The Battle for Cape Matapan stands out as the biggest and most decisive battle between surface fleets in the Mediterranean during World War II. It also stands out among the series of staff battle summaries concerning the theatre of operations in the Mediterranean by warranting a publication of its own. Written shortly after the war, the summary presents an initial review of the battle, drawing on the accounts of those present on both sides. As such, it provides the most detailed and vivid account of ship and aircraft movement as the enemy is hunted, trailed, avoided and engaged. It also conveys the ‘fog of war’ in which accurate intelligence combines with the inaccurate and misleading to paint an often confusing picture of events. Written so soon after the event, there is inevitably little reflection in the account, which is also rendered incomplete by the omission of the role played by ULTRA in enabling the British to read Italian and German signals. Its original ‘restricted’ classification meant it was only to be released to certain individuals, including select foreign governments and international organisations, but was not otherwise to be made generally available to the public. However, this summary presents a unique insight into one of the last fleet engagements in naval history and therefore warrants a wider readership.
Unlike the Atlantic, control of the Mediterranean was not a matter of national survival for Britain. However, since the opening of the Suez Canal in 1869 it had become a valuable lifeline between the United Kingdom and its dominions in Asia and Australasia, a significance reinforced as demand for Middle Eastern oil emerged. Moreover, its strategic importance as the major means of supply and communication with theatres of war from North Africa to the Middle East, the Balkans and Italy ensured that
