EYEWITNESS AT JUTLAND
In May 1916 Albie Smith was a steward on board HMS Caroline
At a time when the centenary of the First World War is being commemorated in every conceivable way, it is especially poignant that 94-year-old José Loosemore, who has lived in the East Sussex village of Chiddingly for nearly 40 years, is able to personally recall the part played by her father, Albion Percy Smith, who served in the light cruiser HMS Caroline at the Battle of Jutland on 31st May/1st June 1916.
The battle, between the British Grand Fleet and the German High Seas Fleet, was the first major action for the Royal Navy since Nelson triumphed at the Battle of Trafalgar over a century earlier. Two hundred and fifty warships clashed in an encounter in the North Sea near Denmark which might have reshaped the political map of Europe and the world for ever. In the event, although one in 10 of the ships involved was sunk and 9,000 men lost their lives, the Grand Fleet, which lost more warships than its German opponent, enjoyed the strategic advantage of a victorious fleet and continued to do so for the next half century.
Such thoughts, however, would have been furthest from the mind of 26-year- old Albion (a patriotic name meaning “England”, popular with his mother’s family) when he wrote a long letter describing the battle to his brother and sister-in-law in Rotherfield, East Sussex. His graphic account was published in The Crowborough and Uckfield Weekly on 23rd June 1916. For a man who was born on 16th January 1890, one of eight children, at his home in Rotherfield (his father died when he was two years old) and was educated at the village school before being apprenticed to a local harnessmaker, it is an extraordinary eyewitness account of an historic battle.
Befriended by the lady of the manor, Miss Catherine Pullein, who in 1912 secured a position for him as an assistant steward in a merchant ship, Albion joined the Royal Navy in 1915. As a result of his merchant service, he was eventually rated Leading Steward and on joining HMS Caroline, affectionately known as the “Carrie”, became the personal steward and valet to the ship’s captain, Captain (later Admiral Sir) Henry Ralph Crooke. They were to stay in touch for the rest of their lives.
“Albie”, as he was called by his family, wrote the letter, which vividly reflects the excitement he and so many other brave young men would have experienced in action, while it was still fresh in his memory to share with loved ones at home.
“No doubt you are anxious to know how I fared and what I saw during the big naval fight. Well, I will do my best to give a slight description, but the first thing to impress on you is that it was the Caroline’s first time in a really big action, and the same applies to most of the ship’s company with very few exceptions. During the time that I have been in the “Carrie”, my action station has been up on the open bridge in charge of the rangefinder which enables me to help the guns to get a more precise range. Many times during
the two winters I’ve passed in the North Sea, when it’s been bitter cold, I’ve wished for a warmer station down below inside the ship, but now I’m glad I’ve stuck an outside number for so long, because I had the chance of seeing the most terrible sea fight ever known.
“On the morning of the never-tobe-forgotten 31st May we were out at sea with Sir John Jellicoe’s Fleet. In the early part of the afternoon we had the news by signal that Sir David Beatty was also out with a squadron, and he had run across some of the enemy and engaged them at once. This news excited us a bit as we wondered if we would get a look in. Some of the men were hard to convince we would most probably be in action in a few hours, and they even went so far as to say it was only a ‘buzz’, Navy slang for rumour, while one chap offered to bet me 10 shillings that the Carrie would never see action; we would not have luck enough. It was a pity I didn’t accept the wager, for I should now be 10 shillings better off. The sea was dead calm, with only a slight wind and occasional gleams of sunshine, the temperature being slightly chilly, with a haze hanging around the horizon. We knew that Norway was somewhere near.
“About 4pm we heard the sound of distant guns. Imagine our excitement and joy when we knew that after months of dreary watching and waiting we were soon to ‘have a go’ at the Germ-huns. Soon after our ships arrived on the scene and then the enemy, knowing that their huge force was equalled, turned and made steam to get away. This commenced a running fight which continued for hours. From the moment we got within range the sights and sounds which met our view were too varied to be fully described. It was a grand, yet at the same time an awful sight. We were ahead of most of our fleet, this owing to our high speed and purpose for which our ship was built. Then the huge guns of our battleships opened fire. Added to this was the din of the fight already taking place. Guns were hurling 15" shells into the opposing fleet with roars and flashes as if scores of thunderstorms had met and got angry.
“The sea, which before had been calm, became churned into waves and foam, this being caused by the speed and movement of scores of ships of all sizes. The falling of the enemy shells around us caused huge columns of water, rising many feet high. It was indeed hell let loose and the screams and sobs of the shells as they flew over and around defies description. How our lads cheered as some of our shots got home on the German packets, causing them to burst into flame. The last I saw of the ill-fated Invincible was the stern and bows pointing tragically out of the ocean; the explosion had broken her amidships, and in this way she sank to her last resting place. With her went hundreds of gallant men and boys answering to the last great Call as nobly and as bravely as they responded to the call of King and Country.
“Soon after that I had the grim satisfaction of seeing one of the enemy ships meet a similar fate. Events then flowed so quickly that it’s impossible to remember exactly what happened. The sky became thick and overcast by vast clouds of dense smoke, belched out by scores of funnels. Picture to yourself the shafts at Jarvis Brook Gas, Water and Brick Works, smoking at full pressure; combine the lot, and you have an idea of the tremendous amount of smoke which one ship alone can make. The sun, which was shining at first, got blotted out by smoke
and haze. Only once more did the sun shine all day, and that was for a few seconds, when it shone down in a single beam and showed up a German three-funnel battleship; it made pure white on a black background.
“About 11pm the foe got away in the darkness, but our destroyers hunted them all night, and the flash and roar of guns went on all around us until early morning. At times, while the fiercest of the fight proceeded, it was difficult to distinguish our ships from the enemy. How we came through the ordeal unscathed in this way is beyond my comprehension. Our ship’s black cat must indeed be a lucky mascot! At times I wonder if we have been through that inferno and come out alive. One thing I felt proud of that day, when I saw the Union Jack and the White Ensign drive the Eagle back to port, was that I did not have to be fetched to do my bit. Nothing was ever near approaching the thrill of the great battle and all of you can rest secure in the knowledge that the Navy will never fail to do its duty, and keep dear ‘old blighty’ free from invasion. We were ready for them again the next day, and are always ready.”
Albion stayed in the ship until 1917 when he was asked by Captain Crooke, who had been appointed in command of HMS Excellent, the RN Gunnery School at Whale Island, Portsmouth, to join him there. On arrival he was greeted with a laconic “So you’ve arrived, Smith”. He served there until the end of the war when he returned to the Merchant Navy. On 1st October 1921 he married Violet Kirk in London. Their two daughters, Iris (José) and Olive were born in 1922 and 1924.
During the Depression, life became increasingly difficult for merchant seamen and Albion was fortunate to secure a position as Cook/steward on the private steam yacht Mandolin owned by wealthy landowner Mr. Daniel Hanbury. The yacht took part in King George V’s Jubilee Review of the Fleet at Spithead in 1935 and his daughters were invited on board. He later worked for Mr. Hanbury on his estate in the New Forest and became steward of the village hall in Minstead where he was involved in looking after thousands of soldiers billeted in the area during the Second World War. It was here that his daughter, José, met her future husband.
HMS Caroline not only survived the Battle of Jutland but stayed in commission until 1924 when she became the Headquarters of the Ulster Division of the Royal Naval Reserve in Belfast. She remains there to this day, the only surviving warship from the First World War still afloat. In 1966, on the 50th anniversary of the Battle of Jutland, Albion visited the ship with two other survivors of the action still alive at the time. He died aged 87 on 25th April 1977.
In 2013 José was invited to visit the ship on the 97th anniversary of the battle. “It was the proudest moment of my life,” she says, “standing in exactly the same position on the platform next to the bridge where my father’s action station had been at the Battle of Jutland nearly a century before.”
At the end of his letter home, Albion wrote “It’s not our own possible fate that ever worries us, but the thought of those we leave. So here’s ‘To sweethearts and wives’ and may we soon talk of the war as a thing of the past.”a century later, few would disagree.