A brace of 72 Squadron Tucanos rounds Beachy Head during the 75th anniversary commemoration of the original Channel Dash. The 43m lighthouse was built in 1902 at sea level because the top of the chalk cliff at 162m (531ft) is often shrouded in cloud.
On Sunday 12 February the British squadrons involved in the Channel Dash came together again by a storm-tossed English Channel to commemorate the 75th anniversary of the achievements and sacrifices of their forbears in the RAF and Luftwaffe, the Fleet Air Arm, Kriegsmarine and Royal Navy in one of the significant actions of WWII. In September a second commemoration will involve German forces as well.
February 1942 was not a happy time for the British people. True, America had just entered the war after Pearl Harbor two months before, and Hitler had rashly declared war on America, the latter agreeing with Britain that despite Pearl Harbor, the USA would give priority to the war in Europe over that in the Pacific.
The benefits of that were still in the future, however, with the USAAF not mounting its first raid in Europe until the following August.
On the Eastern Front the Russians were having some successes, but in North Africa the seesaw situation was again in Germany’s favour as Rommel advanced. The Far East was a disaster. Singapore had fallen on 15 January and already Japanese forces had advanced to the Solomon Islands and threatened Australia from just across the Arafura Sea.
Germany did not have nearly as powerful a surface fleet as the Royal Navy, and in 1942 Tirpitz was in Norway, while the two Scharnhorst-class battleships, Scharnhorst herself and Gneisenau, plus the heavy cruiser Prinz Eugen, were in Brest, threatening the vital North Atlantic convoys by their very presence.
At Brest, however, they were within easy range of RAF heavy and torpedo bombers (although not until the Tallboy bomb entered service in mid-1944 did the RAF really have an anti-capital ship weapon), and their movements were easily observed by the French Resistance.
Hitler decided that they should be back in German ports, both to menace what he felt was the likely possibility of the invasion of Norway and to be in a better defended—and less spied upon—location. In late 1941 he gave orders to the OKM (Ober Kommando der Marine) to move the ships back to Germany. The code name Unternehmen Zerberus was used, the mythical three-headed monster’s name giving a hefty clue as to the operation’s focus, unlike today’s randomly selected code words.
The Allies were well aware that this was in the offing. Apart from limited interception of Kriegsmarine Enigma texts, making capital ships ready for sea needs much preparation not likely to be unseen by local Allied sympathisers in the form of the French Resistance.
A plan, Operation Fuller, was thus in place to cover the three possibilities—sailing to Germany via the English Channel or north of Scotland, or possibly a break-out deep into the Atlantic to menace the Allied convoy lifeline.
As always, resources were not as the commanders wished.
In some ways, the Kriegsmarine was fortunate in that not only did a new moon give low light levels but also the accompanying spring tide gave a few precious extra knots up-channel and more sea room for the capital ships’ draught, maybe even lifting them over some mines. Additionally, the best time to leave Brest—dusk—meant passing the Dover Strait by day, favourable for the Luftwaffe fighter escort in the narrows.
However, the British knew the exact German route (not surprisingly, close to the French coast) from recent Kriegsmarine minesweeping operations, and replaced as many of those swept mines as possible. Rarely in war have both sides planned with so much firm intelligence to guide them.
The Dash
The Kriegsmarine plan was excellent, and luck was initially on its side. A British agent in Brest was unable to communicate due to intentional radio interference, the patrolling submarine HMS Sealion had withdrawn at dusk to surface and recharge its batteries, and the Lockheed Hudson patrolling the first detection line inexplicably did not detect the flotilla, while that patrolling a second line turned home with a failed ASV set and was not replaced. The third patrol line also failed to give a result.
Not until 10am, over 12 hours into the voyage, did 11 Group Fighter Command send two Spitfires from 91 Squadron out on patrol. They found the flotilla, but the pilots were inadequately experienced in ship recognition to appreciate what they saw, delaying their report until after return to base.
An hour later, two Spitfires from RAF Kenley, flown by Gp Capt Victor Beamish and Wg Cdr Findlay Boyd, took off on a self-authorised Jim Crow (coastal patrol) sortie to take advantage of the foul weather. Both were exceptionally experienced aces, and Beamish was RAF Kenley’s station commander.
They found bigger game than they expected in the form of two capital ships defended by a dozen Messerschmitt Bf 109s. Only on their hurried return to Kenley was the cat really out of the bag, but even so, their report of the ships just 16nm off Le Touquet did not engender a response for an hour, by which time the ships were entering the Strait of Dover. At last battle was joined in earnest, 16hr into the dash.
The coastal guns at Dover had sufficient calibre and range to be effective, but in the poor visibility, low cloud and falling snow, the fall of shot could not be observed and all 6in and 9.2in rounds landed astern of the ships without correction.
Six Swordfish of 825 Squadron Fleet Air Arm had been moved to RAF Manston as a part of Operation Fuller and were led by Lt Cdr Eugene Esmonde (who had recently attacked the Bismark).
They launched against impossible odds. Of the three RAF fighter squadrons detailed to escort them, only 11 Spitfires of 72, led by Brian Kingcome in Mk V AB150, made the rendezvous and accompanied them into the inferno, trying to hold off the Luftwaffe fighters. All six Swordfish were lost, with only five of the 18 aircrew surviving, and no torpedo hits were obtained.
No 72 Squadron’s exceptionally detailed record, the Form 541, lists half-a-dozen successes for apparently no loss:
P/O Bocock (AA914) One Fw 190 destroyed, two Fw 190s damaged
P/O de Naeyer (AA876) One Fw 190 destroyed
P/O Ingham (AB848) One FW 190 destroyed
P/O Rutherford (AB823) One Fw 190 probably destroyed
Sgt Garden (W3430) One Fw 190 damaged
Two other squadrons, 121 and 401, did not arrive until after the attack, and more confusion followed when some airborne Beauforts could not be contacted due to radio incompatibility problems. Other Beaufort and Hudson squadrons misunderstood their orders, compounded by the non-arrival of promised fighter escorts. Two Beauforts did release their torpedoes but without effect, and later Stirlings and Manchesters bombed the largely unseen ships without effect but with considerable loss.
Lt Cdr Eugene Esmonde was awarded a posthumous Victoria Cross. Adm Bertram Ramsay commented, “In my opinion the gallant sortie of these six Swordfish aircraft constitutes one of the finest exhibitions of self-sacrifice and devotion to duty the war had ever witnessed,” while Admiral Otto Ciliax aboard Scharnhorst described “the mothball attack of a handful of ancient planes, piloted by men whose bravery surpasses any other action by either side that day”.
As he watched the smoking wrecks of the Swordfish falling into the sea, Capt Hoffmann of the Scharnhorst exclaimed, “Poor fellows, they are so very slow, it is nothing but suicide for them to fly against these big ships.” Willhelm Wolf aboard Scharnhorst wrote, “What an heroic stage for them to meet their end! Behind them their homeland, which they had just left with their hearts steeled to their purpose, still in view.”
Uniquely, Esmonde’s VC was awarded on the initial recommendation of an RAF, not naval, officer, the only occasion when two services were involved in the award. Wg Cdr T.P. Gleave, Manston station commander, had met the 825 Squadron officers in the mess the night before. After the attack, just three bedraggled survivors were in the mess, and after talking to them he retired to write the citation for Esmonde, being his temporary superior.
Gneisenau had previously figured in another unusual award of the Victoria Cross. Four Beauforts of 22 Squadron had set out to launch torpedoes at it in Brest Harbour in 1941. Only one was able to launch its torpedo, and then only after being hit and ablaze, crashing immediately. The torpedo ran true and inflicted considerable damage.
As was common during that period of the war, the German forces gave the four crew a funeral with full military honours. When this was reported to London by the French Resistance, the process of the award was set in motion.
During the Channel Dash, the RAF’s contribution to such success as was achieved had in fact been made a few days earlier. About a hundred mines were dropped to replace those swept by the Kriegsmarine, and all three capital ships detonated mines, the Scharnhorst twice, being immobilised briefly both times, once in the Narrows. In better weather it would have been easily targeted while stationary.
Operation Fuller had failed, a British destroyer had been severely damaged and 42 aircraft had been lost in 398 RAF fighter, 242 RAF bomber and 35 Coastal Command sorties.
British public opinion was appalled and much prestige was lost at home and abroad. A leading article in The Times on 14 February 1942 read: “Vice Admiral Ciliax has succeeded where the Duke of Medina Sidonia failed. Nothing more mortifying to the pride of our sea-power has happened since the seventeenth century … It spelled the end of the Royal Navy legend that in wartime no enemy battle fleet could pass through what we proudly call the English Channel.”
Subsequent events
Even the Kriegsmarine was not fully satisfied by the outcome, calling it a tactical success but a strategic failure. Worse was to follow, with Gneisenau, in dry dock for repairs, being put out of action permanently by Bomber Command when the forward magazine exploded
Prinz Eugen was torpedoed by a submarine. Repaired, it survived to be surrendered and was used by the US Navy as a target during the Bikini Atoll nuclear tests. Only Scharnhorst, after considerable repairs due to its two mine encounters, ventured deep into oceanic waters again, being sunk in the Battle of the North Cape on 26 December 1943.
The 2017 commemoration
Two of today’s 72 Squadron Tucanos met with two 825 Naval Air Squadron’s current torpedo-equipped Westland Wildcat helicopters over the Ramsgate Harbour memorial to the Swordfish (and other participants’) sacrifice, in similar weather to 75 years ago.
In fact the weather meant the planned close escort formation had to be expanded for safety reasons. To quote the formation leader:
“Waves of drizzle scurried across the airfield as we started to roll as a pair from the intersection of RAF Brize Norton’s enormous runway. Vortices screwed back over our canopies as the propellers clawed at the damp air; at least it was just above freezing, de-icing the aircraft with brooms and towels would not have been fun this morning.
“As soon as we rotated, thick wintry cloud enveloped us, a check of the mirror, yes; number 2 was tucked in there nicely. I’ve known him for 20 years and am completely confident he will stick, search and report while keeping me out of trouble. We climbed through the all-enveloping cloud, ice slowly forming on the canopy and leading edges. No anti icing on this aeroplane—we need to get out of these conditions.
“Each time the cloud thinned, a quick check, he’s still rock steady on my wing. The met man had promised us the tops will not be higher than 4000ft, and sure enough, we break out of a uniform layer of stratus into the winter sun above. Levelling at 5000ft in clear air, my wingman eases out into arrow and we relax a bit and think about the job in hand.
“It is 12 February 2017 and we are flying Tucanos of 72 Squadron. Seventy-five years ago to the hour our forebears were doing much the same in Spitfire VBs of much the same performance and in much the same weather. Our task pales into insignificance compared to theirs; we plan to let down below the weather at Southampton and work our way round the coast to Ramsgate, rendezvousing with two 825 Naval Air Squadron Wildcat helicopters to conduct a flypast commemorating the 104 RAF and 13 FAA aircrew who didn’t make it home 75 years ago. 72 Squadron was the only fighter squadron able to rendezvous with the six Swordfish, and we sure don’t want to let the side down today.
“Breaking out of cloud at 800ft on the approach to Eastleigh, we turn south to follow the river out of their zone. Cranes and buildings pass below, their ghostly outlines in the mist appearing as sentinels to the Solent. Once feet wet it is down to 500ft and pour on the coals to regain our timeline. Skimming along at 240kt with cliffs on the left wingtip and a fishbowl of grey to the right, we fix our position on each headland and drive out into the murk across the bays. No ice down here, thankfully, but the sea looks very grey and cold.
“We have the benefit of the VOR/DME stations of Seaford, Lydd and Dover that our forebears did not; they provide situational awareness but fundamentally we are working with stopwatch and compass heading across the bays and planning landfalls. The weather briefly improves as we round Beachy Head; a chance for a few photos from the number 2 before he tucks in again. The coastal firing ranges at Lydd are active so we navigate slightly inland and follow the line of red flags, meant more as a warning to walkers but useful today.
“Lydd airfield is on side so through their overhead at a few hundred feet, then coast out again around another restricted area. The stopwatch says we’ve cleared it, so 30 degrees left for another landfall.
“The original plan of holding south of RAF Manston is out; the cloud is on the deck. Thankfully the Wildcats are on frequency and assure us the Sandwich Flats are clear and that we can share their hold. Another modern aid, TCAS, allows us to close the Wildcats safely and establish in a hold outside theirs; they are flying at a most ungentlemanly 90kt! We can’t reach our hold or IP. Oh well, be there and cope.
“The Wildcats set off. One orbit later we set off with a 90deg turn onto the line of attack yet to do, great for sorting out the timing but for the wall of cloud ahead on the coast restricting options. It is 40sec from the coast to the target at 240kt; 20 seconds to lose with the number 2 hanging onto my wingtip. I’ll apologise to him later; I know he adheres to the ‘be there and cope’ mantra and will follow my wild antics, even if only out of curiosity.
“Finally we turn direct to target, number 2 slipping effortlessly into a tight line astern as we pass a few hundred feet above and to seaward of the Wildcats as planned. That was harder than we thought it would be; time to go home.”
Weather, like 75 years ago, played a huge part. As a torpedo bomber pilot, low cloud is either something to hide in or something that prevents your close escort finding you. If your role is to visually seek out fast-moving ships you need to be below the cloud and at the mercy of any enemy aircraft in that same clear band.
As an escort fighter, finding and remaining with your charges, at one third of your speed, in such a limited height band is challenging to say the least. Any foe can pull up into the cloud at will to reposition, but in 1942 both close escort and torpedo bombers were restricted to the visual arena if they were to find success.
The anniversary was also commemorated at the Fleet Air Arm church near RNAS Yeovilton. Adm The Lord Boyce KG GCB OBE DL, patron of the Channel Dash Association, said, “Royal Navy history is rich in stories of actions that have been taken in the full knowledge that the ‘Ultimate Sacrifice’ was inevitable.”
- Report by Jonathan Pote, photographs by Jonathan Pote & Graham Cooke.