Showing posts with label Japan. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Japan. Show all posts

Monday, 9 December 2019

The Air War in Malaya 1941-2

Blenheim Mk IVs formed the backbone of the bomber force
7 December 1941 was a disastrous day for the American Navy at Pearl Harbour. It heralded the beginning of Japanese military expansion, and it had been something that some had been watching and waiting for—despite one RAF intelligence officer, who believed that there was a rogue German fleet in the Pacific. He argued that the Japanese could not fly aircraft as they were carried as infants on their mother’s backs, and therefore lacked the necessary development in balance. Others were more astute and had been watching the Japanese with nervous eyes, believing the recent acquisition of south French Indo-China could be used as a springboard into British Malaya. Sir Brooke-Popham, the Air Officer Commanding, argued that the British should occupy Siam to deny it to the Japanese, or at least bomb the Siamese airfields that were being prepared for Japanese fighters. Intelligence officers estimated that, should the Japanese manage to get a foot hold, they would be able to land three or four divisions if they used the Siamese port of Signora, and be able to establish land-based aircraft to threaten Malaya. The British staff within the region had reached out to the local Dutch commanders to discuss mutual defence as early as the autumn of 1940, and a conference was held in Singapore to outline and finalise the basic plans the following February and a combined military plan was decided by April on defensive lines, though with the possibility of a limited offensive if needed or the opportunity rose
  The RAF in the Far East, much like in the Middle East, was spread thinly and armed with mostly obsolete aircraft, including Vildebeest torpedo bombers and the untried Buffalo fighter, and it had numerous inexperienced pilots and staff officers, with squadrons not knowing what their operational roles were or what training they should be doing until July 1941. New airfields had to be built to meet the strategical needs of war on the Malayan peninsula, a process which also met the quagmire of local government planning and shortages of both men and materials. The new airfields that were built had inadequate anti-air defences, camouflage, dispersal patterns and even the weapons for ground defence proved to be wholly inadequate for military facilities.


  Reinforcements from Britain were even less likely to go out to the Far East, despite pleas for modern aircraft and long-range bombers. A lack of spares added to the desperation, though petrol and bomb stocks were at ‘adequate’ levels by December 1941.


  The British GOC, Lt-Gen. Percival, had undertaken the responsibility of aiding the Dutch in defending Borneo and its oil fields at Miri and Serio, even if the rest of the island fell, which further watered down the number of aircraft available to Malaya.


  Further to that, Siam was going to prove an Achilles heel to the British position in Malaya, with their government leaning towards being pro-Japanese, and if they were intimidated into allowing a Japanese occupation, it would give the Japanese a springboard and airbases for their aircraft to attack. This was soon realised, with Japan intervening into the conflict between Siam and Pro-Vichy French Indo-China, which saw them occupy the southern region of the French colony and immediately establish a military presence. With Japanese aircraft flying reconnaissance over Singapore, Operation Matador was suggested, in which British units would strike in Siam and occupy the port of Singora, the only port in the area suitable for an invasion, but the military shortages and warnings from London not to provoke Japan into war meant that they missed their optimum window of opportunity. However, by the end of November, Percival was pushing for Matador to be put into action, despite the local representative of CIGS also warning that London would need consulted; that would take no less than thirty-six hours, but the Japanese bombers in south Indo-China were indicative of an attack against Siam rather than complete occupation of Indo-China, and there was a belief that Japan would act quickly before more Royal Navy units arrived at Singapore. The RAF in the region were moved to standby to support Matador, with the Blenheim-I-equipped 62 and 34 Squadrons to be ready to support the III Indian Corps, who were chalked for the advance with seventy-two hours notice, while No. 223 Group brought its headquarters to Kuala Lumpur.


  The war seemed imminent, with a report on 28 November from Saigon that showed that the Japanese were going to attempt a seaborne landing near the vital port of Signora between 30 November and 1 December: orders were released to attack any such troop convoy if it was seen, and Matador was advanced from seventy-two to twelve hours’ notice. Infuriatingly, London would not move on their position and insisted on consultation, despite the fact that Japan could be landing in thirty-three hours!


  The situation was deteriorating rapidly, to the point that the usual warning telegrams were to be abandoned and the local governor given free reign to react. The whole of the British forces were brought to second degree, which was defined as ‘International situation deteriorating utmost vigilance necessary; command to be in position to operate at short notice’. (1)


  On 7 December, the Japanese 25 Army and elements of the 15 Army were spotted in convoy by Flt Lt Ramshaw’s Hudson of the RAAF’s 1 Squadron, with further sightings through the day, one of which was chased off by Japanese float planes. Quick response was taken, with all forces ordered to full alert, and all bomber squadrons warned to be armed and ready. Two Hudsons were assigned to follow the fleet, and 36 Squadron’s aging Vildebeests were moved to Kota Bahru in preparation for an attack, while 62 Squadron brought under AHQ’s direct command—but the convoys vanished. Bad weather and nightfall caused them to be lost and the search widened into the Gulf of Siam, when a Catalina of 205 Squadron, flown by Fg Off. Edwin Beddell, spotted the fleet and, without sending a message with coordinates, instead dived to attack. Beddell soon found himself under attack by five Ki-27s who had flown from the secret base at Phu Kok and they very quickly destroyed the Catalina in a fire ball at 499 feet killing all of the crew.


  Despite continued sightings of warships, freighters, and tankers in the Gulf of Siam, Matador was abandoned in the fear that the Japanese were trying to provoke Britain into breaking neutrality or draw British forces away from Singapore. With no concrete photo reconnaissance, it was decided to wait for Japan to declare her intentions. With the Blenheims and other craft on standby, awaiting an attack order on Yamashita’s force before it landed between Singora and Patani and another force heading for Kota Bahru while bad weather kept the station’s aircraft grounded, the only help available to them was a message from the Chief of Staff to the Air Staff:
Our thoughts are with you at this fateful time and I send to all the air forces under your command best wishes of us all. We know the limits in numbers and in equipment which necessity has set to your resources but we are confident nevertheless, that your squadrons by their skill, gallantry and determination will overcome all handicaps and win enduring fame for themselves and their service. (2)


  On 8 December, the Japanese landed at Singora in the early hours of the morning and took the neutral port with ease. The landing at Kota Bahru, however, quickly drew attention as the first shells were fired, reconnaissance Hudsons were bombed up and briefed to attack at low level, and all available aircraft were ordered to attack at first light. 60 Squadron’s Blenheims were dispatched, 62 Squadron’s were ordered to prepare for a high-level bombing raid, and 34 Squadron, based at Alor Star, was bombed up with 500-lb SAP bombs and chalked up to attack Kauntan—a plan that was changed at the last minute to transports off Kehasin, before landing at Butterworth to refuel and prepare to go out again. The Hudsons scored first, taking off in awful weather in the dark, but managing to locate transports, who were supported by fierce flak. The largest of the transports took two direct hits and exploded, while Japanese soldiers were harassed as they disembarked onto the beachhead, and twenty-four barges were sunk, killing an estimated 1,000 soldiers. One Japanese cruiser advanced, giving the defenceless infantry covering fire and shooting down two of the Hudsons. At 5 a.m., 1 Squadron RAAF withdrew to rearm. By the time 60 Squadron arrived, they found that the Japanese ships had left the combat area with their mission complete; the Blenheims attacked the already damaged barges and abandoned landing craft, but then encountered Imperial Japanese Navy Zero fighters over the bloody sands. One of the Squadron’s navigators, Kingwell, described the scene:



Brewster Buffalo fighters were outclassed
We attacked by flights, each flight choosing its own target. The kill agreed in the squadron was one 8,000-ton ship and three fully laden craft… Two or three Blenheims decided to drop their bombs on the transport. We followed in behind and could see that she was red hot inside with bodies sprawled all over the decks. We decided not to waste our bombs on it. We dropped out bombs in a stick across them but by the time the twenty second fuses had burned, the craft had moved some yards away. We could see that the crews firing at us with automatic weapons. One of the boats overturned in the explosion which followed and the others must have been badly shaken. It was a neat bit of bombing but not particularly effective.(3)

One enemy fighter was claimed, but at the cost of one bomber unaccounted for. L4913, flown by Flt Lt Bowden, was shot down into the Gulf of Siam while attacking Japanese shipping. Bowden was

plucked from the sea to become the first Allied airman taken as a Prisoner of War by the Japanese, and the Blenheim flown by 60 Squadron’s Sqn Ldr George ‘Paddy’ Westrop-Bennett crashed onto the beach, killing him and his crew.


  At 3.45 a.m., the radar station at Mersing picked up incoming aircraft which quickly turned for Singapore; the civil authorities were warned, the RAF’s fighters were advised to attack at first light, and the AA guns ordered to fire. At 4.08 a.m., the bombs began to fall on the city for the first time, killing sixty-one and injuring twice as many. Seletar Airfield was also bombed, with three men killed and facilities such as the sanitary annexe and cook house destroyed, while at Tengah Airfield the runway was hit, leaving twenty-two craters and damaging three of 34 Squadron’s aircraft. Two hours later, at 6.34 a.m., nine of 34 Squadron’s surviving Mark IVs took off, leaving the three bomb-damaged aircraft behind. The flight carried 500-lb GP bombs and similarly hit the barges and strafed the beach, but they were attacked by Zeros, who quickly demonstrated their superiority, causing one aircraft to crash-land and forcing another down at Maching. The squadron reformed to head for Butterworth as planned, but were intercepted by another fighter patrol, who claimed another bomber for the cost of one of their own. The Blenheim fighters of 27 Squadron fared little better and, having returned to their airfield, found it had been heavily bombed.


  The only relatively unscathed Blenheim attack of the day was 62 Squadron’s high-level attack. On arriving over the beach, the formation of eleven bombers could see no Japanese ships and so set off on a south-easterly course to find them; they eventually found a force of fifteen ships, including barges carrying troops, and attacked from 8,000 feet, but could not observe any results due to low cloud. Despite flak and fighter cover from the Japanese 11th Regiment, all of the eleven Blenheims returned to Alor Star undamaged. On returning, the squadron began rearming and refuelling, but, at 10.45 a.m., they were attacked by high-level bombers, who dropped 150-lb high explosive and incendiary bombs from 13,000 feet, well beyond the range of the 3-inch anti-aircraft gun’s range, killing seven men and destroying four Blenheims, with a further five buildings damaged and fuel dumps left aflame.
  The Japanese had also began flying to the newly acquired airfields in Siam, where they had gained fuel and ammunition, and they prepared to attack and destroy the RAF in large numbers while they were on the ground, following the successful bombing of the Singapore fields that morning and the attacks on the FAA’s fields at Machang and Gong Kedah. Zero fighters and Kawasaki Ki-10 Type 95s attacked Kota Bahru over an eight-hour period, starting at 9:00 a.m., strafing AA posts, aircraft, and personnel—diving down from 7,000 feet to treetop level and hampering operations from the field. Sungei Patan fighter station, which suffered from a lack of hangers and boggy ground that meant that the aircraft could not be dispersed properly, also came under attack from high-level bombers, who killed five, set fire to a petrol dump, and struck the Station HQ. The surviving aircraft were withdrawn to Butterworth, which, as 34 Squadron were to find out on their arrival, was far from ideal to operate from. On arrival, the Blenheims found that there were no refuelling trucks or hoists with which to arm the bombers with 500-lb bombs, leaving armourers to lift 250-lb bombs by hand. When oil tankers finally arrived, they only had 90 octane, which was inadequate, as the bombers required 100 octane. When the higher-grade fuel was located, it was only available from oil drums, which had to be hand-pumped into the aircraft. The station commander was a junior accountant officer, and his day continued to get worse, as when the second flight of 34’s Blenheims arrived, they were being pursued by Japanese fighters, who proceeded to shoot up the airfield and shopt the undercarriage out from underneath one of the landing bombers, causing it to crash-land. When the Japanese finally withdrew, they left the squadron peppered, with only two aircraft left serviceable. The field was soon crowded with the surviving aircraft—seven Blenheim fighters of 27 Squadron and eight Buffalos of 21 Squadron—only to be attacked again, leaving only three of each fighter aircraft serviceable. The Australian airmen left the field that night to sleep two miles away from the target area, against the orders of their station commander.


  Japanese troops had managed to get into the hinterland, but there werer unsubstantiated rumours that further landings were being made up the coast. After a failed attempt to destroy the single branch railway bridge at Goluk River, it was decided by the station commander, Noble, without consultation with the local army commander, Brigadier Keys, to withdraw the aircraft to Kuantan. Noble went to investigate rumours of Japanese troops on the perimeter, and so was not present when an order from AHQ arrived to demolish the base to deny it to the enemy. He was most surprised to find his operations room, containing the logs and diaries, aflame on his return! By 7:00 p.m., all serviceable Hudsons and personnel had evacuated by air and motor transport.


AVM Brooke-Popham
  A photo reconnaissance Beaufort returned to base full of holes and so badly damaged it burst into flames, but its valuable cargo survived, and by 3:30 p.m., the RAF had confirmed that the Kota Bahru landing had been a diversion, and that Yamashita had achieved his objective and taken Singora’s port facility unopposed. It was imperative that the RAF attacked as soon as possible to destroy the newly achieved airfields while they still had the strength to do so, having lost nine of the eighty-seven aircraft of all types engaged on the first day. In total the RAF lost of sixty aircraft out of 110 to bombing and enemy fighters, with two airfields abandoned and two badly damaged. Lt General Percival summed it up in his post-war book, stating:

The performance of Japanese aircraft of all types and the accuracy of their bombing came as an unpleasant surprise. By the evening of the eighth our own air force had already been seriously weakened.(4)


  Air Vice-Marshal Brooke-Popham signalled to the Chiefs of Staff that he needed the maximum number of aircraft that could be sent, requesting that long-range bombers and night fighters be dispatched as soon as possible, warning that ‘Should Japan gain air superiority the situation would be very difficult.’ However, the official history summed up the situation; ‘Japan was not to achieve air superiority in the near future—rather she had grasped it that very day.’ (5)


  The following day, the remains of the RAF had to move quickly with the clearing and activation of southern airfields to get what was left to relative safety. The airfield’s approaches had to cleared of trees, drainage readying and most importantly fuel and bomb stores had to be delivered to the fields—they could not afford a repeat of Butterworth from the previous day.


  With enemy air superiority being the deciding factor, it was decided that the Blenheims would have to launch attacks on the enemy’s airfields as soon as possible, especially in the light that NORGROUP could only muster a small fighter defence. However the implementation of the raid was not carried out with any haste, as orders were not passed to Tengah until 9.39 a.m., for six Blenheims (three from 34, armed with 500-lb bombs, and three from 60, armed with 250-lb bombs) to be ready for a take off between 11–12 p.m., with a fighter escort collected at Butterworth arriving over the target at around 4 p.m. Butterworth was to launch a simultaneous attack using the maximum force of Blenheims available on Signora port facilities and, if successful and possible, then mount a second attack.


  There were fourteen of the superior Blenheim IVs of 34 Squadron at Tengah Airfield, compared to the four Mk Is of 60 Squadron. The former aircraft were preferred for the raid, but half of the force were to be crewed by 60 Squadron’s men; the crews were exhausted and had not slept properly in three days, and now 60 Squadron’s crews were to fly unfamiliar aircraft. Nevertheless, six bombers took off an hour late at 12.45 p.m. and flew to Butterworth to collect their escort, which consisted of two Blenheim night fighters. The deficiency on the number of fighter aircraft available at Butterworth, as well as the more pressing calls to defend the airfield and provide III Indian Corps with tactical reconnaissance, meant that was all that could be spared, and even then only for a short while—they soon peeled away, leaving the six bombers to go it alone. On arriving at the target, they were met by heavy flak and a swarm of fifty fighters. which caused them to have to take ‘violent evasive action’, but bombs were seen to land among a small group of fighters on the ground. The raid was a costly one though, as half the formation was destroyed, with two of the crews that were lost coming from 60 Squadron: Flt Lt Joseph Dobson’s aircraft came down in a fatal jungle crash, and Johnstone’s was captured by the Japanese in the jungle.


  The second raid was even more disastrous, with the formation of bombers being caught on the ground, ready to take off, by a Japanese air raid with fighter strafing runs and falling bombs taking a heavy toll. Sqn Ldr Arthur Scarf of 62 Squadron, whose aircraft was already airborne, was undamaged, and he courageously went on the mission alone, where he was attacked by fighters but still managed to bomb the target. Despite a running gun battle all the way to the Malayan border, the Blenheim stayed in the air, but force-landed near Alor Star, where the true extent of Scarf’s wounds were revealed. The 28-year-old officer had suffered a shattered left arm and a gaping hole in his back, but had brought his crew back uninjured. Scarf was taken to the hospital and, despite the offer of a blood transfusion from his wife, who was a nurse at the hospital, he died from his injuries before the day was out. Post-war, Scarf was awarded a posthumous Victoria Cross while his crew, made up of Sgt Calder and Sgt Rich, received a DFM and a posthumous mention in dispatches in 1943 respectively. Butterworth was attacked again that evening with ‘aircraft… being picked off one by one on the ground.’


  The disastrous first daylight raids prompted AHQ to rule that no further daylight raids were to be carried out until fighter escorts could be provided, but unfortunately these orders were academic: the fighters of 34 and 27 Squadrons and RAAF 21 Squadron had no serviceable aircraft, and neither did 62 Squadron, whose Blenheims were likewise destroyed on the ground. The dire state of the theatre was also playing on the mind of the station commander at Kuantan, who requested an evacuation of the field on 8 December; this was eventually accepted and, on the following day, the majority of aircraft (except for Hudsons and a flight of twelve Vildebeests) were evacuated, with the Blenheims of 60 Squadron withdrawn to Singapore itself. It was somewhat fortuitous, as the Japanese attacked the airfield that lunchtime, destroying four Hudsons, a Vildebeest, a powerhouse, and a bomb dump, with other damage to runways and other aircraft that caused the remaining aircraft to be withdrawn as well. The ground crews of the squadrons left by truck without official orders or their officers, before meeting with 1 Squadron RAAF’s ground crew from Kota Bahru. Finding no one in charge, they were taken over by their commanding officer, who took the 466-strong party to Jerautut, where they were put on a train that would send airmen to Singapore and Station Headquarters staff to Kuala Lumpur.


  Butterworth was likewise abandoned on 10 December, followed by Alor Star, where the last two remaining Blenheims of 62 Squadron were flown out to Singapore while ground personnel were sent to Taiping in order to hopefully reform the squadron at a later date. A further three Blenheim IVs of 34 Squadron and one solitary night fighter flew back to Singapore from Butterworth to add to the small force growing there. The airfields at Penanag was also demolished. Plans were made to demolish Kuala Ketil and Labok Klap using unused bombs due to a lack of demolitions equipment, but this was vetoed as the continual explosions and smoke was worrying the already shaken army forces, who feared that the Japanese had got past them—leaving RAF details to demolish the station’s buildings by hand!


  One flight of 34 Squadron advanced from Singapore for an early morning reconnaissance from Kuantan as the base was evacuated of all other craft. Despite rumours of a Japanese landing on the coast nearby (which was attended by Vildebeests and Hudsons, who found next to nothing), Kuantan was still vaguely operational, with one grass runway, stocks of fuel, and some ordinance, but no wireless. The station’s commander was ordered to stand fast with three officers and twelve men and await further orders, something that must have sounded quite ominous, considering the proximity of the Japanese and the unsupported army getting pushed back. The three Blenheims had been assigned to the important mission of scouting ahead and around the Royal Navy Force Z, which was centred on HMS Prince of Wales and the battlecruiser Repulse, who, under the flag of Admiral Tom Phillips, were to launch a lightening raid on Signora. The previous day’s abortive raids were supposed to have reduced the enemy’s air capability, as was a proposed raid on Indo-China by the USAF from the Philippines, but this never happened. Phillips was informed of movements sighted by the Blenheims and other aircraft, as well as of the lack of fighters and bomber support available from the RAF, who were now reduced to twelve Blenheims, twelve Vildebeests, and six to eight Buffalo fighters in the Northern sector, with only a couple of bases to operate from. Phillips dismissed the concerns, believing that the Japanese air force would be able to do little against him if he struck fast. It was a decision that cost him both capital ships and his life.


  On 11 December, a flight of six of 34 Squadron’s Blenheims were to take part in an intricate plan to bomb Signora at night, with refuelling and rearming positions prepared at Ipoh and Taipang. However, before the launch time, news reached AHQ that neither field could be of much assistance, so the bombers were alerted and told to spend the minimum amount of time over the target. The first aircraft to take off collided with the hill top at Tanjong Gul at 2 a.m., the second failed to take off, and the third circled Seletar Airfield for an hour and a half. The next three reached and bombed the target through cloud, before returning safely to Ipoh and Kluang by daybreak.


  The RAF’s scattered forces were no longer able to mount any further offensives and, with the decimation of airfields, AHQ could do little more than relegate its force to reconnaissance duties; this was carried out by the Hudsons, Buffalos, Catalinas, three warship-mounted Supermarine Walruses, and Dutch aircraft, while the Blenheim force tried to reorganise. On 14 December, 60 Squadron’s survivors were sent to Burma to reform and rearm with new aircraft from the west, leaving their Mark Is behind to shore up 34 Squadron while AHQ looked at converting Vildebeests into bombers and Wirraways into dive bombers. A Japanese fleet consisting of 140 ships was spotted on a south-south-westerly course from Indo-China, including 100 transports, two aircraft carriers, and several destroyers. Fearing the force was heading for Singapore to attack on her poorly defended east side, the RAF assembled a strike force of sixty aircraft, including nine Blenheim IVs armed with two 500-lb SAP, four Mark Is with four 250-lb SAPs, and five Mark Is with four 250-lb general purpose bombs based at Tengah, supporting twenty-two Vildebeests, seven Hudsons, and fifteen Dutch Glen Martins. However, at daybreak on 16 December the force could not be found on the predicted course, having instead attacked Borneo.


  The Anglo-Indian army was faced with a very aggressive enemy, equipped with twenty light tanks, and with air cover that left them struggling to hold ground. In ideal circumstances, the RAF would have been able to offer some support to them or the navy, but the earlier raids on airfields and losses during the counter attacks had neutered their strike force, and yet again weary soldiers found themselves looking to the skies and muttering ‘Where is the RAF?’ Furthermore, the Air Staff favoured the Blenheim to strike Signora Port and troop concentrations in the rear, rather than actively taking part in fighting over the front, and they acknowledged there was little, if anything, they could do to the Japanese-held airfields. This, however, was blocked by the GOC, with Percival believing that hitting airfields would give the RAF breathing room to attack shipping and aid the army. Those attacks would not come to pass though, as Air Marshal Brooke-Popham reported to the Air Ministry that ‘he was unable to deliver the scale of attack anticipated against enemy airfields and shipping because the northern airfields were untenable.’(6)


  Percival continued to meddle directly in the RAF’s plans, ignoring the advice and statements of officers who knew better, by ordering them to make supporting the 11th Indian Division as their top priority, and instructing Brooke-Popham that his priorities were in the Kedah region. The Air Marshal knew, however, that he did not have the infrastructure or fighters to escort the bombers, without whom there would soon be none left. Indeed, there were no fighters available to defend Penang’s port on 10 December or to be used for tactical reconnaissance. It was a situation that required the barrel to be thoroughly scraped and, despite pooling Buffalos at Ipoh Airfield, the Japanese offensive continued and the airfield was attacked, which reduced it to three operational aircraft, while Sungei Patani airfield had to be evacuated as the Japanese were believed to be seventeen hours away. On 19 December, Penang fell.


  The airfields at Alor Star and Sungei Patani were destroyed on 16 December by the RAF; Kuantan followed two days later, with personnel being evacuated two days after that. Other civilian fields fell to the Japanese, including the half-destroyed Sungei Patani, where a large petrol dump was captured intact due to a ‘lack of time and the hostility of the enemy.’ Ipoh followed on 18 December, with only three operational Buffalos, and steps were immediately made to destroy excess fuel, despite an attempt by an MVAF Rapide flying in spares to try and shore up the defences. Japanese air raids soon claimed the Rapide. As many spares as could be saved were placed on trains and sent to Sungei Besi at Kuala Lumpur, where Norgroup re-established its headquarters. Within days, the shortages of aircraft effectively meant that Norgroup ceased to exist, with its remaining fighter aircraft put under the control of the Station Commander at Kuala Lumpur, while everyone else was withdrawn to Singapore.


  A last roll of the dice was attempted with the only bombers available, and three of 34 Squadron’s
General Percival (far right) Surrenders Singapore
Mark IVs were sent to attack Sungei Patani. They took off from Tengah individually without escort and set off into the night, but were forced to return due to bad weather. The raid was attempted again on 23 December, and they reached the target but could not see their results through the dark and cloud. AHQ decided that further night operations would have to be carried out from 27 December, when the full moon would aid their bomb aimers.


  Despite the bravery of the Buffalo fighters at Kuala Lumpur, the Japanese tenacity proved too much, and AHQ ordered the withdrawal and destruction of all the mainland airfields and their stores, including Ipoh, on 22 December. Soldiers of III Corps managed to save 300 drums of irreplaceable aviation fuel, and disposed of what could not be saved before destroying the base.


  The air war in Malaya was very reminiscent of the RAF’s experiences in France and Europe, but without the luxury of reinforcements. The crews of the Blenheim bombers—and, indeed, the other aircraft—fought bravely against extremely tough odds, but the deck had been stacked against them before it had even begun. Poor maintenance of aircraft seriously affected availability of all types, while poor early warning systems and airfield defences left the aircraft very vulnerable to the inevitable air attacks by an exceptionally numerate enemy. The inadequacies of the Buffalo fighters were a contributing factor, but the biggest was the disregarding of information obtained by the Chinese and passed onto the RAF about the capabilities of the Zero fighter. With their forces in withdrawal and their aircraft destroyed, airmen were formed into scratch infantry detachments to help the beleaguered army, and some of 62 Squadron traded their Blenheims for armoured cars and, led by Squadron Leader Boxell, joined ‘C’Company of the Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders in battling the Japanese on the Grik road, and fell back to avoid being encircled. The situation was dire and, where possible, the army fell back to Singapore. The War Office looked at the very real possibility that Singapore would fall soon too.
 


1.   ​RAF Historical branch War in the Far East Vol II p. 1


2.​Ibid. p.8

3.​Young, A. J. & Warne D. W Sixty Squadron, (London, EP,  1967) p. 140




4.​Percival, A. E., The war in Malaya, (London, Eyre & Spotswood, 1949) p.114


5.​RAF Historical Branch, War in the Far East Vol II p.21


6.​Ibid. p.52


 


 

Saturday, 8 September 2018

The loss of HMS Cornwall and Dorsetshire


With the raid against Colombo going better than expected Vice Admiral Nagumo ordered his second wave elsewhere. A radio message had arrived from one of the heavy cruiser Tone’s reconnaissance aircraft had reported two destroyers heading South-south-west, three hundred miles away from Colombo and travelling at 26 knots. Lieutenant Commander Takashige Egusa, the air group Commander of the Soryu lead eighty Val dive bombers off the decks and set course for he Destroyer’s last known position. Whilst airborne a second report came through that the destroyers were both cruisers.

   HMS Dorsetshire and HMS Cornwall were travelling as fast as they could to join with Admiral Somerville’s fleet to not only add to its firepower for a possible engagement with Nagumo’s fleet, but also to escape aerial attack in port. In the evening of the 4th April orders were sent ashore for the crews to return to ship and news leaked out that they would be joining Somerville and departing as soon as possible. At 10:00 p.m. the two heavy cruisers left port in line astern and set course for the rendezvous point.

   Although both vessels were running at high alert since leaving port the sighting of two separate reconnaissance aircraft confirmed that they were in for trouble and action stations were maintained. Harold Farmer, one of the engineering crew aboard the Cornwall came off watch to find the Mess empty and a note telling him to help himself to the leftovers. Following lunch hr reported for action stations on deck where a sympathetic Chief Petty Officer gave him leave to get some sleep. “Get your head down and if there’s any sign of action I’ll wake you up.” (1) It was an offer that was quickly taken. It was the opinion of the engineering crew that being at Action Stations on the deck was preferable to being trapped below which was were Lieutenant Drew was heading for his duty shift in the After-Engine Room. The atmosphere was tense, and he could see on the men’s faces that they were concerned, and he did his best to relax them despite the claustrophobic heated conditions.


   Unknown to the British sailors below Commander Egosa was signalling Nagumo’s flagship “Sighted enemy vessels.”
“Air Group, 1st CarDiv take the first ship; Air Group 2nd CarDiv take the Second Ship” (2)

Aichi "Val" divebomber
   In the Dorsetshire’s After Detector Patrick Cannon looked out the door to see the first bombs fall. “I saw it come off and go down. It didn’t hit the Cornwall but went off near her bows. As this was happening we went to full alert.” (3) Harold Farmer was woken by that first bomb exploding alongside the Cornwall. “Nobody had a chance to warn us, they (the Japanese) just came out of the sun that the sun and that was it… Near misses were doing more damage than the actual hits” (4)

   In the After-Engine Room Edwin Drew was suddenly made aware of the action when they heard a loud explosion and the Cornwall shuddered. Within moments dust billowed out of the supply ventilation ducts covering the artificers and main throttles followed by more explosions and shuddering before they lost steam and the room was plunged into impenetrable darkness.

There was pitch darkness. That was immediately followed by a bomb exploding at the after end of the Engine room with dense smoke and flames visible above me against the deck head. I shouted to the lads to get out. We could not see each other but everyone knew where the sole exit ladder from the Engine Room was situated.
(5)

Standing alone in the darkness he heard a scream emanate from the far end of the room and Drew turned and began walking towards the sound only stopping when it petered out. Suddenly sapped of his drive he was overcome with fatalism and wanted to sit and await his fate but the thought of his wife and child at home changed his mind and he climbed the ladder. The journey to the surface was not easy and the raging fire burnt his hands and legs as he pushed through the smoky companionway. The ship was also beginning to list heavily to port and he was helped ono the upper deck.

I was in sock and in a poor state; in fact I was all in. The action was still on. We were still being bombed, but there was now no return fire. We really were sitting ducks.
(6)

   Aboard the Dorsetshire Patrick Cannon had been ordered to leave his position as the main armament was useless and assist with the pompom guns. There was a raging fire below from a direct hit to the small arms magazine, the ship’s Supermarine Walrus and her aviation fuel. Despite having a thick nest of aerial wire fall on him, Cannon made it to the fore pompoms, but he was too late to be of any assistance. “I was speechless… the gun and the men were just like in a ball as if a giant had got hold of them and screwed them up.” (7) They were just distorted.”  Petty Officer Crossky, who had gone to the other side found pieces of his men scattered through he ship’s rigging. Cannon reported to one of the surviving gunners saying he was there to assist, the seaman turned to face him with a look of futility whilst gesturing to the remains of the gun. “With what?”

   Through the chaos someone shouted “Oerlikon” and Cannon began to make his way to the fore Oerlikon cannon. The pedestal mounted gun was one of a pair which had been recently fitted aboard to augment the older guns. Patrick Cannon opined that; “The Ack-Ack armament on the cruisers was totally inadequate. It had never kept pace with the development of naval aircraft from way back in the 20s and 30s.” (8)
   As he ran forward someone shouted his name and Cannon saw a wounded sailor on the deck, he paused and through the maelstrom called “Is that you Murtagh?”
   Able Seaman Thomas Murtagh had served with him as a boy on HMS Ganges and had been a prize winning boxer but was now just a limbless mass of blood on the deck calling out to his friend; “Don’t leave me! Don’t leave me!”
   Unable to move him due to his extensive injuries all Cannon could do is reassure and get to his post. Other wounded littered the decks intermingled with dead bodies including one of the ship’s doctors who had nearly been cut in two by machine gun fire. As the ship’s tilt became more pronounced the bodies began to roll with a river of blood flowing with them. The Japanese bombers kept coming down and Cannon found himself skidding under X turret waiting for the aircraft to pass. Once they were gone he clambered up to the quarterdeck and ran to the gunner who was blazing at the sky.
“Where’s your loader?” he shouted above the sounds of battle and the banging of trapped men below deck. The gunner indicated a body on the deck that was rolling with the tilt. Cannon grabbed the Oerlikon magazine and started attaching them to the gun and asked the gunner if he had had any luck and hit anything.
“Not a thing.” was the response as he continued to blaze away at the bombers which were so low that Cannon could see the bombs unclipping from their bellies.

    The Dorsetshire’s plotting officer, Lieutenant Commander Rupert East was aware the guns were firing but not of the damage the ship when the meteorological rating rushed in “Excuse me sir, the ship is sinking.” (9) East grabbed a second life jacket that happened to be lying around the plotting office and climbed to the starboard side against the tilt. As he prepared to jump in a rating without a life jacked appeared on the deck above him and asked if he could take East’s spare life jacket. Realising for the first time that he had two he threw it up before diving head first into the Indian Ocean. Years later he received a letter from Signalman Boardman thanking him for saving his life that day. 
   As orders were passed to “Abandon Ship” Patrick Cannon quickly unclipped the Oerlikon gunner who had the honour of being the last man firing at the Japanese and both jumped over the side. In the water they watched as the ship eased ahead slowly and started slipping beneath the waves. All around the Dorsetshire sailors were trying to find anything that floated that they could cling to and Cannon was no exception having left his life jacket hanging up in the Aft detector room. The mast snapped and fell into the water providing many with a life line and Cannon and his gunner found a chunk of wood to cling to as well. Together they made a pact that if they were to get through the sinking and meet again, wherever they were, they would have a night on the town. Slowly they began to make their way towards the main group of survivors. As they did they came across the wounded Petty Officer Crossky. Believing that the man wouldn’t make it through the night Cannon insisted on pulling him up onto their piece of flotsam.
I stayed with him for thirty-three hours. I never got my head out in thirty-three hours. I was covered in oil and eventually I got separated from (the Gunner) ut I stayed with Crossky and we made our way towards the main crowd. (10)

   Things were little better over on the Cornwall as the wounded Edwin Drew lay on the deck one of his colleagues, Lieutenant Archibald was suddenly struck by the realisation that he had a £50 note in his cabin. Battling his comrades attempts to restrain him and ignoring pleas to stop the Lieutenant pushed below decks to retrieve his money. As Captain Manwaring approached ordering “Abandon Ship.” Archie reappeared with the note in his pocket.
   Drew remembered;
They helped me up the sloping decks to the starboard side where I was able, with others, to slide down the ship’s side into the water. As I started the slide I remember thinking to myself “if I can only get into the water I’ll be ok.” Little did I know of the future at that moment. (11)
   Once in the water though he found himself covered in viscous oil which covered his eyes only allowing him to see if he tilted his head back and look along his cheeks and to add to this he realised that he ha no life belt despite having had one in the Engine room earlier. Despite these setbacks he still was conscious of the dangers of lingering near a sinking cruiser. Despite how hard he swam he wa still caught in the vessel’s pull and a cursory glance revealed the ship’s outer 14-foot starboard propeller was resting with the shaft at the sea level churning and sucking nearby flotsam and survivors towards it with no way to escape. As he drew close to it the Cornwall suddenly lurched to port and lifted the propeller clear of the water allowing Drew to pass under it safely.
   Harold Swann had made his way to the Cornwall’s rail and encountered a nineteen-year-old South African Stoker, Lawrence Swann, who refused to leave the ship on account of his inability to swim. His commrades pleaded with him to come them and they would take care of him in the water between them but he refused. “Ofcourse the ship went down in ten minutes so he had absolutely no chance. He was one of the many who went with the ship.” (12)
   The Cornwall had entered its’ death throes and Drew had a vivid memory of the death of his ship for years to come:
   I remember watching the ship moving away from me. I saw the Walrus float off the catapult but it was then sunk by the ship’s wireless aerials coming down across the wings as she went on her side. The seaman in the lookout barrel at the top of the foremast had to remain there until he was able to jump into the sea from a height of eight feet as the ship listed over to port… I was about half a mile astern of the ship when shortly afterwards she went down by the head and her stern came right out of the water and she sank in a vertical position and about half her length stood out of the water as she went straight down into the Indian Ocean… It is hard to believe but I heard a faint cheer. (13)

HMS Cornwall sinking taken from one of the attacking aircraft.
   Having received a dead man’s lifejacket, with the assistance of Sub lieutenant Dougall (RCNVR), Edwin Drew was suddenly aware of the Japanese aircraft passing over them firing their machine guns into the stricken sailors as they struggled to survive in the water. Patrick Cannon recalled clearly the strafing run:
I looked up and the Japanese planes had mustered in line and they dived over us and they machine gunned is in the water and I heard all of the plop-plop-plop and then I put my head as deep as I could – one or two who had life belts tried to do it and found they couldn’t and they reported later their backsides were up in the air like ducks! They were only too happy to find their backsides hadn’t been blown off! I remember seeing the bullets hitting the water not far from me. (14)
   Another sailor recalled hearing a Japanese gunner firing his gun to sound like a “V” for Victory in Morse code as an insult to the British.

   With the enemy now passed and the two heavy cruisers slipped beneath the waves the survivors had to take stock of the situation. Both crews were separated by several miles, despite being able to hear each other, they were effectively separated by several miles, despite being able to hear each other, they were effectively their own microcosms. As both crews had abandoned ship whilst the cruisers were still underway the men were scattered in a line and the speed of the sinking meant that only two boats from each cruiser were launched and most of the crew were clinging to Carley floats and flotsam and for many of the crew the first jo was to gather together around anything that floated.
   Edwin Drew had managed to find a mess deck table top which was three by ten foot and clung to it whilst surrounded by dead bodies floating on the ocean. As he tried to take stock of his situation the Cornwall’s  PT Petty Officer swam past and implored him to swim with him toward the Senior boat, the ship’s motorboat, which was just visible over the rolling waves. Drew agreed but on alighting from his flotsam he trod upon a large fish which was passing below the surface and the experience distressed him so much that he returned to the safety of his table top. After he had calmed down and thought about his surroundings the thought of being alone in the dark surrounded by corpses made him revaluate his choice.
So I summoned up courage and eventually reached the motorboat just as darkness fell. I reported to Commander Fair who was in the motorboat and he put me in charge of one of the Carley floats which was all roped together around the motorboat. There were already over twenty ratings standing in my float which meant that the buoyant “sausage” from which the wooden centre is suspended was two feet below water level so it looked as if we were standing with the water at waist level! (15)
   In the case of both ships In the case of both ships the boats were reserved for the wounded and as a makeshift surgery with the surviving ship’s medics doing all that they could for the worse cases with meagre supplies they had. If a wounded man succumbed to his wounds his body was lowered over the side and his place taken by somebody else. The Dorsetshire’s First Officer, Commander Cyril Byas, although wounded,  refused to take a space in the boats insisting that others be treated before him. Finally a group of ratings around him physically pushed him into a boat and a cheer went around that “Commander Byas is alive”. Stoker Francis Anstis recorded that Commander Byas “was our commander who virtually ran the ship and dished out punishment. He wasn’t too well liked and considered a bit too strict and a little unfair sometimes, but he was a good Commander and had control.” (16) By contrast, her Captain, Augustus “Gus” Agar VC was a very well thought of gentleman, a hero of the First World War but now seen by some in a paler light as he was sat in the ship’s whaler at the tiller.
Captain Agar who was sat in the stern of the whaler. Somebody said that he was coordinating and rallying the men. That wasn’t so. Everyone in that water was a survivor and were doing their own thing. Men were surviving on their own merits and not accepting orders from anybody. When you are clinging to a piece of flotsam in the middle of the Indian Ocean and you’ve been there twenty odd hours you are not looking for guidance from somebody sat in a boat. You’re hanging on like grim death. (17)
   This observation by Patrick Cannon may habe been understandable due to the nature of the situation but somewhat unfair as Captain Agar was suffering from the effects of the Bends which he had contracted during the sinking. The fifty two year old had been caught in the Dorsetshire’s suction and been pulled deep below the water and despite a shrapnel wound to his leg he managed to swim for the surface where he gulped down quite a bit of water and oil. He was in no state to be in the water.


   As can be expected by a lot of blood and dead bodies in the water sharks and other marine predators began to circle the shipwrecked men. The men did all they could to defend themselves which was to keep a sharp lookout and on spotting a fin the men would thrash vigorously and shout seemingly scaring the shark off. But this was only ever a temporary fix and the men were worried that they would suffer a similar fate to that of the shipwrecked crew of HMS Dunedin. The crystal clear water of the Indian Ocean gave a fantastic view of the schools of sharks massing beneath them.
A school of sharks went right underneath us, you could see them, they were well down in the water, but you could see the whole family. The thing that struck me was they were in V formation, but the blunt end was first…They were always there but you never thought of them too much unless they got too close. There were a lot of fish in the water. (18)
Another way to avoid shark attack was the pushing of dead bodies out of the group in the middle and out to the periphery believing that the sharks would more than likely take them first before the living.

   As the day dragged on the men had to fight off exposure, fatigue and their own wounds. Rupert East was somewhat philosophical about his thirty hours in the water commenting that “There is nothing you can do about it. If you’re in the water, nice warm water, and you are floating and not hurt there’s not very much you can do about it. You just continue floating.” (19). For the wounded the wait was unbearable and many succumbed to the shock or fatigue though Edwin Drew found the water very soothing on his burns. As clothes grew water logged and jettisoned other pieces of clothing were fashioned into head gear to keep off the sun’s heat. Much to Drew’s amusement and Lieutenant Archibald’s life long dismay the latter shed his trousers and condemned them to the deep before realising too late that the £50 note was still in the pocket.

   Fear of being picked up by the Japanese fleet, taken by sharks or that they would die out here was a constant despite the singing, talking and swimming competitions. It was believed that Somerville would not risk the rest of the fleet looking for them and that the ships had gone down so fast that no accurate position had been reported. As night fell and the temperature dropped several men began cheering believing a star on the horizon was an approaching ship and the delusion spread through the men bobbing in the ocean and there was a rolling cheer until the Officers quietened them down and pointed out the truth. This was not the worst delusion though and men suffering from stress, exhaustion, hunger and exposure began imagining things with fatal consequences.
I heard a boy called Jones (Able Seaman William Jones), I never could understand why he was screaming but he kept shouting “The Russians are coming, the Russians are coming.” Now we didn’t have any conflict with the Russians and for a boy seaman to shout about Russians was most unusual and he kept shouting. Then he died. (20)
Harold Farmer witnessed another incident;
This chap went a bit silly. He was in one of the rafts and so quite safe but he decided he was going to get a taxi and dived into the water. As he dived in we saw this shark come along and he never surfaced again so we imagine he was picked up by the shark. (21)
As men died due to their injuries, such as Engineer Lieutenant Mike Edgar of the Cornwall, the survivors often found themselves talking to the bodies of their former comrades with Patrick Cannon later recalling that he was talking for a while to a corpse and that a precaution they began taking was to ask a question at the start to see if they got a response. During the night Crossky, who was still laying on the flotsam, turned to Cannon and whispered that a man was trying to push him off and handed his pocket knife to Cannon and asked him to stop the man. Cannon said that should it happen again that Crossky should give him a nudge and he would deal with it. A short time later Crossky nudged him and Cannon shouted “Get off or I’ll cut your throat.” The drowning man pleaded that he too was from Torquay like Cannon and that he should help him but Cannon was firm in the defence of his wounded comrade. “I never saw him again. I’m presuming he drowned but that’s just hard luck.” (22)

   As the second day in the open ocean unfolded the meagre rations available were issued to the men. For the Dorsetshire’s crew they had to swim up to the whaler where they were issued a piece of hard tack biscuit the size of a postage stamp and allowed to dip their tongues into a tin mug so that they could moisten their lips. The Chief Petty Officer was holding the tiller threatening to wallop anyone who took a sip or if there was a danger of the boat being swamped by over enthusiastic crewmen. By contrast the Cornwall crew were eating tinned fruit. One of the ship’s doctors had petitioned the Admiralty to change the supplies in the lifeboats from the standard. The tins were punctured and passed amongst the men to take a mouthful of juice each. The tins were later opened and the fruit shared out.

   Tue first sign of salvation came as a Fairey Swordfish flew over them and rumour was spread that a jam jar was dropped with a message saying the fleet was searching for them. Word spread quickly and the men grew jubilant though the eventual sight of approaching ships concerned them at first as they feared the Japanese had found them until they saw the white ensign fluttering above HMS Enterprise and her attending destroyers HMS Paladin and HMS Panther. Somerville had received a garbled wireless transmission the previous day that talked about having a “shadower” and it wasn’t until 2 p.m. that they were able to identify the sender as the Dorsetshire but by then it was too late. The admiral had attempted to move towards the last known position of the two cruisers with one of his destroyers ahead  of him to begin the relief effort but they had to abandon the hunt because of the proximity of the Japanese fleet. As it was he had ordered the Enterprise that they had a limited time to find the survivors and not to be separated from the main fleet for too long lest they join the Cornwall and the Dorsetshire and the Enterprise’s Captain had already gone past the deadline when they spotted the men in the water. As the rescuers arrived they were ordered to stay where they were in the water and the Cruiser and destroyers would come to them and lower lifeboats but for the men in the water salvation was too tempting and several began to swim towards the ships though they found that their legs ached from fatigue and despite the mind’s willingness to get to safety quickly their bodies refused to budge.  As the Paladin approached the Dorsetshire’s survivors the crew began throwing over chunks of wood for them to hang onto as well as lowering scrambling nets for the men. As the ship went by, a South African seaman, Jeffrey Berlyn, reached out and grabbed Patrick Cannon by the hair and dragged him through the water and eventually onto the scrambling net.

   Once the operation was complete and the crewmen were pulled aboard their rescuers they were stripped of their oily clothes and washed off before being given what spare clothes were aboard and room to sleep and food to eat whilst wounded men were taken care of. Of the two ships a total of 1122 of 1546 men were rescued from the sea and sharks despite the Paladin having to bury twelve men who died that first night  but their deaths were kept a secret from the rest of the survivors to save them from upset.

   Somerville, though elated that so many of his men had survived being in the ocean for so long, was also sceptical of his chances of military success in the theatre believing that whomever was in charge would be unable to do any better. He wrote to his wife saying that “I’ve come to the conclusion that until I get a proper fleet out here I will simply have to hide, more or less.” (23)



(1)    Harold Farmer, IWM Sound archive Catalogue number 20500

(2)    M. Okumiya, J Horikoshi, M Caiden Zero! The Air war in the Pacific during World War Two from the Japanese view point, Zenger Publishing, Washington, P. 150-1

(3)    Patrick Cannon, IWM Sound archive Catalogue number 12811

(4)    Harold Farmer, IWM Sound archive


(6)    Ibid.

(7)    Patrick Cannon, IWM Sound archive

(8)    Ibid.

(9)    Roland East, IWM Sound Archive Catalogue number 10806

(10) Patrick Cannon, IWM Sound archive


(12) Harold Farmer, IWM Sound archive


(14) Patrick Cannon, IWM Sound archive.



(17) Patrick Cannon, IWM Sound archive

(18) Harold Farmer, IWM Sound archive

(19) Roland East, IWM Sound archive

(20) Jack Cannon, IWM Sound archive

(21) Harold Farmer, IWM Sound archive

(22) Patrick Cannon, IWM Sound archive

(23) The Somerville papers p. 401