Exceptional Naval and Polar Awards from the Collection of RC Witte

‘I began to realise that I had a charmed life. For some reason I changed my position at the last minute a couple of paces to port. The bomb dropped. Where I had just been was riddled with large holes. I only got a small graze on my right forearm.’

Forbes recalls one of numerous attacks made on the ill-fated gunboat Grasshopper.

The remarkable Second World War fall of Singapore D.S.C. group of eight awarded to Commander I. D. S. Forbes, Royal Navy, who somehow survived the loss of four ships - namely the sloop Bittern in April 1940, the battleship Prince of Wales in December 1941, the gunboat Grasshopper in February 1942 and the destroyer Stronghold in March 1942 - so, too, Prince of Wales’ perilous duel with the mighty Bismarck and, in his own words on Japanese hospitality, ‘three and a half years under the most savage soldiers and sailors on earth’

Distinguished Service Cross, G.VI.R., reverse officially dated ‘1946’, hallmarks for London 1948; 1939-45 Star; Atlantic Star; Africa Star; Pacific Star, clasp, Burma; War Medal 1939-45; Naval General Service 1915-62, 2 clasps, S.E. Asia 1945-46, Palestine 1945-48 (Lieut. I. D. S. Forbes, R.N.); Coronation 1953, mounted as worn, together with a set of related miniature dress medals, the campaign Stars sometime re-gilded, contact marks, otherwise very fine and better (16)
£4000-5000

D.S.C. London Gazette 29 January 1946:

‘For great courage whilst serving in H.M. Ships Grasshopper and Stronghold in the face of a superior Japanese force off Sinkep Island in February 1942.’

This lot was sold as part of a special collection, Exceptional Naval and Polar Awards from the Collection of RC Witte.

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Ian Dudley Stewart Forbes was born in September 1919, a scion of the Forbes of Newe baronets, and entered the Royal Navy as a Cadet at Darmouth in 1933.


Loss of the “Bittern”

A Sub. Lieutenant by the outbreak of hostilities, he first witnessed active service off Norway in the sloop H.M.S. Bittern, a short lived affair in light of events in Namsos Fjord on 30 April 1940 when, mistaken by the Luftwaffe as a cruiser, she was subjected to repeated attacks from Stukas:

‘The price they paid was not light, though only one ship, the Bittern at Namsos, become a total loss. Here, throughout April 30th, the Stukas in formations varying from three to nine aircraft had kept up an almost ceaseless attack. There had been rarely a moment when their ugly, broken-wing shape had not been in sight as they circled and waited for a suitable opportunity to bank over and scream down in their steep, plummeting dive.

By the late afternoon they had still failed to hit the indomitable little ship and at least two of them had been shot down. Still further waves of them kept appearing over the mountain tops, while the haggard, red-eyed gun crews groaned with weariness. At about 5 o'clock a formation of three Stukas split up and, while two came hurtling down on the Bittern's port bow, the third crossed over, wheeled steeply round and dived from right astern of her.

Bittern's four forward guns opened up at the two ahead putting up a barrage which was enough to put the pilots off their aim. The solitary Stuka astern was engaged by the after pair of guns and the 0.5-inch machine gun. The attack was but one of a dozen similar ones which had been successfully beaten off during the day, but at last the Bittern's luck had run out. There was no avoiding the bomb released by the Stuka coming in from astern. It struck the quarter-deck at the base of a steel locker holding high-explosive demolition charges. There were two tremendous concussions as first the bomb and then the TNT charges exploded and a great flash streaked forward the full length of the ship, the blast reaching to the bridge where it threw the captain to the deck.

When he picked himself up he could see that the stern had been blown off his ship and smoke was pouring from her, aft. Depth-charges on what was left of the quarter-deck were burning fiercely. Fire then spread between decks to the small arms magazine where ammunition began to explode. The ship's motor-boat was blazing on the upper deck. All fire pumps had been put out of action and the fires were quickly out of control. The executive officer, Lieutenant T. Johnston, with Stoker Petty Officer Hopgood plunged through the exploding inferno to release three men trapped in the after 4-inch magazine before flooding it.

The ship was soon untenable and Lieutenant-Commander R. H. Mills gave orders for all hands except the forward guns' crews to abandon ship. Fortunately, the destroyer Janus had come in during the day and her captain now brought his bow alongside that of the Bittern, allowing the survivors to trans-ship. The Bittern was now finally abandoned, her fires burning uncontrollably. Soon afterwards, the Janus was ordered to sink her with a torpedo.’

Advanced to Lieutenant in October 1940, and having then served in the cruiser Aurora in the interim, Forbes removed to the battleship Prince of Wales in January 1941.

“Bismarck” action - a close shave

Subsequently present in the famous Bismarck action in May 1941, when the Prince of Wales was called to action stations in the early morning hours of the 24th, Forbes witnessed one of the greatest calamities of British naval history, namely the appalling explosion - likened to a ‘pulsating sun’ - that tore apart Hood with a loss of over 1400 lives: in fact so close was Prince of Wales at the time that Captain Leach had to order the helm over to avoid colliding with the wreckage.

Yet an equally big shock was to follow, for immediately after the loss of the Hood, Prince of Wales attracted the full attention of Bismarck’s guns, in addition to those of her consort Prinz Eugen, Ludovic Kennedy’s Pursuit vividly describing the ensuing carnage:

‘Before the blowing up of Hood, Prinz Eugen had already been ordered to shift her fire to Prince of Wales and now Bismarck had to make only the smallest of adjustments to find the range too. On Prince of Wales’s bridge they saw the burst of black smoke from Bismarck’s cordite and the long ripple of orange flashes from her guns, and knew this time without a doubt where they were aimed, what they were capable of doing. Yet Captain Leach was not despondent. His own guns had found Bismarck with the sixth salvo, straddled and hit. If everyone kept a cool head, they might win a victory yet. The salvo fell and then there was chaos. A 15-inch shell went clean through the bridge, exploded as it went out the other side, killing everyone except the captain and the Chief Yeoman of Signals, and the navigating officer who was wounded. Young Midshipman Ince was among the dead, aged eighteen and full of promise, at his prep school voted the boy with the best influence. On the deck below, the plotting officer, unable to distinguish between the hits from the Bismarck and the firing of Prince of Wales’s own guns, was unaware anything had happened until blood trickled down the bridge voice pipe, dripped onto his chart. The same shell did for Esmond Knight too. He remembered hearing the salvo, ‘like a great crushing cyclone’, then everything went hazy and he was having a dream about a band playing in Hyde Park, there was a high, ringing noise in his head and he came to, thinking he was dying, feeling sad about it, nothing more. He heard the crash of another salvo and cries of “Stretcher-bearer!” and “Make way there!” He was conscious of a weight of dead men on him and screams and the smell of blood, and the dreadful thin noise some men make when dying. “Get me out of here,” he shouted weakly, and strong hands pulled him to his feet. “What the hell’s happened to you?” a voice said, and Esmond turned and looked at him and saw nothing. The man whose delight in life was visual things, painting pictures, watching birds, was already among the ranks of war-blinded, would now never see the Harlequin Duck or Icelandic Falcon, or anything but dim shapes again.’

Yet still, the enemy’s accurate salvoes arrived at an alarming rate: ‘Now the two German ships turned back, confident, assertive, weaving in and out of the Prince of Wales’s shell splashes, dancing and side-stepping like boxers who suddenly sense victory in the blood. Bismarck’s salvoes thundered out every twenty seconds, Prinz Eugen’s every ten, the shell splashes rose around Prince of Wales like clumps of whitened trees. Now the British battleship was within range of Prinz Eugen’s torpedoes; but just as Lieutenant Reimann was about to fire, she turned away.

For after only another twelve minutes of battle, Prince of Wales had had enough. She had been hit by four of Bismarck’s heavy shells and three of Prinz Eugen’s. The compass platform, echo-sounding gear, radar office, aircraft recovery crane, fore secondary armament director, all the boats and several cabins had been wrecked. The shell that hit the crane landed just as the Walrus aircraft was about to be launched to spot the fall of shot, the launching officer’s hand was in the air: the wings were peppered with splinters, pilot and observer scrambled out, the plane was ditched over the side to avoid the risk of fire. The same splinters that blinded Esmond Knight also pierced a fresh-water tank, loosed a flood of water on to survivors of the bridge and men on the signal deck below. One 15-inch and two 8-inch shells hit the ship below the waterline, let in 400 tons of sea water. Another 8-inch shell found its way into a shell handling room, whizzed about several times without going off or hitting anyone, took two men to throw it over the side.’

Captain Leach had rightly concluded that it was better to withdraw and save a valuable ship, rather than continue in an unequal contest in which his battered command was unlikely to have a telling effect on the enemy. Pursuit concludes:

‘So after having fired eighteen salvoes, Prince of Wales made smoke and disengaged to the south-east. As she turned, the shell ring of Y turret jammed, rendered four guns in it inoperable. Her casualties were two officers and eleven men killed, one officer and eight men wounded. The time was 6.13 a.m., just twenty-one minutes after Admiral Holland in Hood had so proudly led his squadron in to battle.’

Loss of the “Prince of Wales”

In August 1941, the Prince of Wales conveyed Winston Churchill to the signing of the Atlantic Treaty with Roosevelt, the ship’s wardroom witnessing a memorable dinner for 20 American naval officers - all of whom were delighted when Forbes emerged in ‘pink whiskers and a kilt, marching over furniture as though across his native heath, playing a horrible lament on his bagpipes’ (his Daily Telegraph obituary refers).

Having then lent support to a Malta convoy, Prince of Wales was ordered to the Far East, where, famously, in company of the Repulse, she was lost to Japanese aircraft on 10 December 1941. In his definitive account of the incident, Battleship, Martin Middlebrook ascertained from Forbes confirmation of the unfortunate stoppages which inhibited the proper use of the pom-pom guns (a.k.a. 'Chicago pianos') aboard the Prince of Wales. Forbes, who commanded the pom-pom atop B Turret, recalled how it jammed just as a low-flying Japanese aircraft passed by. He reckoned it could have been shot down with ease. In all probability, however, little could have saved the Prince of Wales or Repulse, for their failure to immediately signal for air support had sealed their fate. As the mighty battleship commenced her final plunge to the seabed, Forbes was lucky to reach the water and climb onto a Carley float, where he was joined by Lieutenant-Commander Colin McMullen. Forbes' modest account of awaiting rescue appears in Battleship:

‘We had an agreeable time there for, perhaps, two hours as rescue operations were conducted by the escorting destroyers. We were fully aware that the Japanese planes would not return (Why should they?) and so there was an air of pleasurable release, sitting in a warm and sunlit sea. A British aircraft flew over from time to time, which was greeted with waving and ribald remarks. This, I believe, was reported as being a sign of wonderful morale. I don't suppose our morale was any different from the rest of the Fleet but, when released from such an event, no one solemnly considers, at that moment, the vast historic implications, such as the fall of Singapore, the total ending of all Colonial possessions, etc. All hands are happy to be alive and to wave and cheer accordingly.'

At length, Forbes was picked up by the destroyer Electra and taken back to Singapore, but the unpredictable nature of this theatre of war would soon see him back in the drink.

Loss of the “Grasshopper”

Having in the interim commanded a ‘battalion of 300 sailors’ for the defence of Singapore dockyard, and served as an Assistant Beach Master at the northern end of the Johore Causeway, before withdrawing to Singapore Island with the Argyll & Sutherland Highlanders, Forbes escaped from the doomed island in the river gunboat Grasshopper on 15 February 1942 - one of the last ships to depart, Grasshopper’s passengers included sailors like Forbes, whose previous ships had been sunk, together with Royal Marines, Army officers, wounded men, nurses, a dozen Japanese P.O.Ws, two heavily pregnant Dutch women and another who was blind, a journalist, and the ship’s mascot, a pedigree pointer bitch called “Judy”.

In company with her sister ship Dragonfly, and two paddle-boats and a tug, also laden with civilians and a motley mixture of servicemen, she edged her way towards the Berhala Straits, the first rays of daybreak emerging from a seemingly empty sky. Commander Hoffman, the convoy C.O. aboard Grasshopper, altered course for the cover of some islands. He only dared sail under cover of darkness. But as this precautionary manoeuvre was in the making, out of the sky came a solitary Japanese bomber. Grasshopper’s brace of 3-pounders swung into action, accompanied by an assortment of rifle and Bren-gun fire, but sadly all in vain as three bombs found their mark, crashing through the decks before exploding. The scene below was indescribable. Then around midday, as the crippled Grasshopper was but a few hundred yards off Lingga Island, nearly 30 Japanese aircraft returned to deliver the coup de grace. A glimpse of her final moments is recounted in Singapore’s Dunkirk, by Geoffrey Brooke, a fellow Naval officer:

‘His C.O. [Hoffman], brought back from retirement, had very bad eyesight and during the ensuing major attacks Forbes told him where the aircraft were at the point of bomb release and which way to turn. The ship wriggled and squirmed, gradually making towards the beach. Survivors from the tug St. Breoch, were ashore on one of the islands and told me later that they watched the Grasshopper’s last fight for two hours with bated breath. Each stick exploding completely enveloped the little ship in great curtains of water. But each time she popped out again with her 0.5 guns rattling away. Eventually a bomb hit us aft ... It was obvious that the after magazine should be flooded at once, but where the flooding valve should have been there was a gaping hole ... ’

Ironically, Grasshopper was the last of the convoy to sink, for in the first few moments of the action the tug St. Breoch disappeared in a large cloud after a direct hit, while the paddle-boats and Dragonfly were seen to capsize in rapid succession, the latter in just three minutes, with heavy loss of life. What followed was a desperate scramble for survival, amid scenes of suffering which defy description, the whole mercilessly met by Japanese strafing - many died in the water, while others were cut down on the beach. In fact, by the time the enemy aircraft had departed, a mere two dozen survivors from Grasshopper had made it to the cover of the jungle on Lingga Island. Forbes was among them, so, too, Commander Hoffman, badly wounded, and, incredibly, the two pregnant Dutch women and their blind compatriot.

An immediate search of the island revealed no sign of other life but soon afterwards a lifeboat came into view. It contained 20 survivors from the Dragonfly, who had landed at another island. At this stage, Forbes - who had been told by Hoffman to go and get help - and a Malay sailor, swam to the neighbouring island, where a Malay fisherman was persuaded to take them all to Sinkep, but not before some anxious moments. Forbes takes up the story in his official report:

‘As stated in my report on the loss of H.M.S. Grasshopper, I was ordered to contact the outside world. When I swam from the desert island on which we were beached to a neighbouring island, which was inhabited, a Malay sailor volunteered to come with me and his astute handling of his fellow countrymen saved my life. On first meeting me they were of a mind to put me to death. Through his intervention they changed their minds and became most helpful to me and to the survivors on the island I had left.’

From Sinkep, in a number of local boats, they made for Pedang, and, after further adventures, some of them got clean away from the encircling Japanese - a story related at length in Singapore’s Dunkirk, with much eye witness material from Forbes. But his extraordinary luck was about to run out.



Loss of the “Stronghold”

Having reached Tjilatjap harbour in a Dutch steamer, Forbes was mighty relieved to see ‘that ever heartening sight to a sailor, the White Ensign’ - namely the ensign fluttering aboard H.M.S. Stronghold, a destroyer of Great War vintage. And duly embarked, he was present in the disastrous battle of Java Sea, a costly and protracted action which finally ended on 1 March 1942. At first, however, it seemed Stronghold had escaped and a course was set for Australia. Then on 2 March, in a situation all too familiar to Forbes, she was met, and engaged by a far superior Japanese force. Once more the gallant Lieutenant was compelled to take to the water. His official report, written as the ship’s senior surviving officer on returning from captivity, states:

‘The two Japanese destroyers in company with the cruiser then opened fire ... once they started hitting considerable damage was done ... the forward tubes were hit first, then the Galley flat, then the front of the bridge, wounding the commanding officer, Lieutenant-Commander Preytor Pinney, R.N., in the left thigh. Speed dropped rapidly owing to damage in the hull. The Japanese ships were closing the range rapidly, the cruiser fine on the starboard quarter, the two destroyers on our port quarter. Stronghold then turned to carry out a torpedo attack with the after tubes against the cruiser. We closed the range to between 4,000 and 5,000 yards, by which time the Stronghold was almost stopped. We fired our torpedoes, but both missed. During the torpedo attack great damage was caused on board. The engine room was on fire and had to be abandoned. No supply of ammunition was possible from below and the ready-use ammunition was expended.

Stronghold then lay stopped, but with slight way upon her. The cruiser lay at 3,000 yards range on our starboard bow and the two destroyers at 2,000 yards on our port beam. The commanding officer sent aft for Commander St. Aubyn, R.N., to take command. He never reached the bridge. The commanding officer then collapsed and the First Lieutenant, Lieutenant McFarlane, R.N.R., ordered the ship to be abandoned at 1930 hours. When I had seen the upper deck and bridge cleared of able bodied men I abandoned ship and within five minutes the Stronghold was torpedoed or blew up and sank instantaneously.

I could see the calcium flare of a Carley float some distance astern. I swam to this and rallied another float to me which I ordered to remain in company. I was aware of other men in the water, but I could not see them, although the moon was full, because the sea was rough. From the two floats we shouted in unison and received shouts in reply, but the direction and distance could not be judged. Shortly after dawn on 3 March, a K.P.M. steamer, captured the day before by the Japanese, closed and picked up the personnel of the two floats, numbering 50, consisting of myself, 47 Naval ratings and two Chinese Stewards ... the fate of the rest of the ship’s company and passengers is unknown. Later that morning we were transferred to the cruiser Maia and conveyed to Macassar in the Celebes ...’



Captivity

In his own words, Forbes went on to endure ‘three and a half years under the most savage soldiers and sailors on earth’, being incarcerated in camps in Maccasar and Java. Fortunately for posterity’s sake, much of his time in captivity was passed with Lieutenant-Commander George Cooper, R.N., who later published Never Forget, Nor Forgive, a no-nonsense account of the appalling treatment meted out to officers and men alike by their Japanese captors. Cooper first met Forbes at Macassar in early March 1942, after he had been taken prisoner on the loss of the Exeter:

‘It was not a very inviting place. Sixty-three officers were put into the office block of four rooms, while the men went into various barrack buildings designed for native troops. There was nothing in the way of furniture. Just nothing. Across the road we spotted a number of British prisoners, and by hiding in doorways so that the guards could not see us signalling, we learned by semaphore that they were from H.M.S. Stronghold and the oiler Francol. There was one naval officer among them - the only surviving officer from Stronghold and a previous survivor from the Prince of Wales. He was Ian Forbes, a most efficient young Lieutenant who had been sunk three times in three months, apart from once before that in the Norwegian campaign. The mosquitoes that night were frightful. That torment, with the discomfort of lying on the floor, the fatigue and hunger, made sleep impossible. Besides, the full realisation of our captivity was upon us. We had had a glimpse of the malice. The implications were not encouraging ... ’

The camp commandant, known to one and all as “Yosh”, was renowned for his sadism and brutality. Cooper continues:

‘Most of the guards gave a hand in the terrible beatings that prisoners had to endure, but it was Yosh who dealt out the majority. In the early months he used the baseball bat already mentioned - a wicked weapon; but later he devised one that was far worse a club of the same shape, but slightly lighter and about a yard long. If this was not readily available, he soon found a suitable substitute. During a beating it was unwise to utter any sound, as this only inspired the Nip who was administering the flogging to even greater efforts; on the other hand to stick it quietly earned the victim the guards' respect - they would give him the thumbs up sign and say "Good" in Malay.

The great danger was in falling down. For some reason this made Yosh and any guards in the vicinity go quite wild, and they would rush round the victim kicking and stamping on his face and body with their hobnailed boots; they would in fact kick him back into the standing position. Serious injury was liable to be inflicted to the head, spine and limbs. Burst ear-drums were by no means uncommon.

Often before and after a beating the victim would be subjected to judo-throwing. The guards would take turns, and, each time the prisoner, already suffering from the shock of his corporal punishment, staggered to his feet, he would be thrown again. He might be thrown twenty times, but that was not always the end of it. He might then have to go down on the ground in the stoop-fall position - the position on the hands and toes from which you do press-ups - and stay like that over extended periods. On one occasion, having broken a man's wrist, Yosh still made him do press-ups.

Other forms of punishment included standing in the sun or doubling round the camp on wooden clogs for periods up to three hours. In addition there were punishments, some of them bizarre, which Yosh thought up on the spur of the moment. Once, on finding a Dutchman up a mango tree in the camp, he ordered that, since the prisoner acted like a monkey, he could stay in the tree all night.

Reprisals were frequent on officers and petty officers in charge of barracks or working parties and inflicted in full view of the men. I myself was assaulted more than fifty times in various ways.

Yosh would wait months to catch people he particularly disliked, so the extent of a beating varied not only with the alleged crime but also with the man. Normally, the number of strokes in a beating would be between twenty and thirty. The maximum was received by one of our stokers who had two hundred and seven with a wooden club. He never uttered a sound and was still standing at the end. Even Yosh was defeated - he was too exhausted to continue. The man was on the sick list for a long time, but he was much respected by the Nips for his courage.’

Forbes, who was moved to Java in either January or of October 1943, continued to endure such conditions until his liberation in August 1945. He was gazetted for the D.S.C. on his return from captivity.

Post-War

Post-war his first appointment was in the cruiser Ajax, in which capacity he was present in operations off South-East Asia 1945-46 and Palestine 1945-48 (Medal & 2 clasps), the first of several seagoing appointments, including later command of the Loch Veyatie and Maenad. And his appointments ashore included stints in the Naval Intelligence Department, in addition to service as Naval Attache, Stockholm. Advanced to Commander in June 1954, and latterly having served with N.A.T.O., he was placed on the Retired List in the mid-1960s. Eventually settling in Dumfriesshire, the Commander died in 1992.

By way of an endnote, Grasshopper’s mascot, “Judy”, miraculously survived the War and was awarded the “Animals’ V.C.”, the Dickin Medal - her bark was broadcast worldwide by the B.B.C. in the Victory Day programme in June 1946, though whether Forbes heard it, or indeed cared much about it, remains unknown.