In 1940 England was reeling. Pounded incessantly from the air, her great armies forced from their tenuous footholds on the continent, the Germans ready to launch their final offensive across the channel against the shores of Dover—even the most optimistic observer in the United States had little faith in the survival of the last democratic bastion on the other side of the Atlantic.
The champion might be hanging on the ropes, but there was to be no throwing in of the towel in this fight. Though she had absorbed one of the most decisive defeats in her military history in the fiasco at Dunkirk, England refused to succumb. She would not capitulate when it seemed that all Hitler had to do to make his triumph official was to make a perfunctory crossing of twenty miles of English Channel. Instead, English shipping, decimated by the Luftwaffe and deprived of the protection offered by a friendly French coast, threaded its way across the ocean carrying the tnaterial with which the English hoped to stem the German invasion and later take the offensive.
At a time when Goering considered the skies of Europe his private hunting grounds, it was English shipping alone which maintained contact with the outside world. Without these ships, her last remaining links with America, England must surely be overpowered. But although she had entered the war with the largest fleet in history, the combined attacks of U-boats and land-based planes were taking a fearful toll. In a two- week period following the loss of Dunkirk, ten destroyers were sent to the bottom, and seventy-five more were damaged sufficiently to necessitate docking for repairs. The new destroyer escorts were hardly in the production stage, and the destroyers ordered from the United States were months away from completion. In the meantime, German sub skippers were having a field day in the Atlantic. Almost as much lend-lease material was going down as was reaching English shores.
The situation was critical. Then, in the early days of September, 1940, came an answer. President Roosevelt himself broke the news to this country. The United States had concluded an agreement with England whereby this country was to obtain long term leases on eight Atlantic bases: Newfoundland, Bermuda, the Bahamas, Jamaica, Antigua, St. Lucia, Trinidad, and British Guiana, in exchange for fifty of our over-age destroyers.
The announcement of the transfer caused political repercussions which were worldwide in scope. However, events moved rapidly in those days, and the memory of those fifty destroyers was relegated to an obscure position in the American mind almost as soon as they steamed out of South Boston Harbor.
With the coming of peace and the lifting of the blanketing censorship, we were able for the first time to discern just what part these tiny ships, whose combined displacement is less than that of the Queen Elizabeth, had played in the eventual victory.
First a word about the destroyers in general. For the most part they had a displacement of 1,190 tons, little better than half that of a modern Fletcher. They were 314 feet long, fast (35 knots) when new at the end of World War I, and fairly maneuver- able. However, the main fault found with them by their English crews was the comparatively large turning circle.
Time had to be allowed for these 18-year- old “Old Maids” to be rigged for modern warfare. Anti-aircraft batteries were added, hammocks replaced bunks, and in some instances modern engine room equipment was installed. Of course, the ships had to be renamed. Some system was sought whereby it would be possible to establish the historic significance of the transfer. It was finally agreed to name the craft after towns which were located in both the United States and England. Hence the former U.S.S. Fairfax (DD 93) was rechristened H.M.S. Richmond.
Seven of the fifty were sunk in action with the enemy, most of them after heroic struggles with subs. The first to go down was the H.M.S. Beverly, formerly the U.S.S. Branch. Prior to her sinking, the Beverly was engaged in shepherding convoys on the perilous voyage to Murmansk. On one of these missions the Beverly spotted a sub which had surfaced seven miles away. She managed to close the distance to three miles before she was sighted by the German. The sub crash-dived, but had waited too long, and a few moments later was brought to the surface by depth charges. After being hit by gunfire, the U- boat went down, this time for keeps. Forty of her crew were picked up by the English.
The Beverly, as part of a four-ship escort for a Murmansk convoy, also bested the Germans in another engagement. On this occasion the British convoy was pinned against a large patch of drift ice and the English escort ships had to pick their way through the floe in order to make contact with the enemy. After five attempts by the attackers to interpose themselves between the defending destroyers and the convoy, the Germans were finally driven off.
The Beverly eventually met her end at the hands of a sub on this same Murmansk run.
Second of the fifty to be sunk was H.M.S. Stanley, formerly the U.S.S. McCalla. She, too, proved a hard ship to kill. It was only after five days of furious running battle with a pack of U-boats in December, 1941, that the Stanley finally succumbed. She was engaged in convoy duty to Gibraltar when the first sub was encountered on December 17. Depth charges finished off this marauder, the U-231, just as another, the U-234, joined the battle. She, too, was polished off with depth charges, the crew being able to surface her just long enough to abandon ship. The following day still another raider was killed, but not before she had sought out the Stanley with a lone torpedo which sent this fighting ship to the bottom with all hands aboard.
H.M.S. Belmont (U.S.S. Satterlee) went down in February of 1942. H.M.S. Bath (U.S.S. Hopewell), H.M.S. Broadwater (U.S.S. Mason), and H.M.S. Rockingham (U.S.S. Swasey) all followed. The details of their sinkings have been Admiralty secrets. However, the story of the last of the seven ill-fated ships is no secret. Rather, it is a saga which is as stirring as any in British naval annals.
This is the story of H.M.S. Cambeltown, which, when an American ship, was the U.S.S. Buchanan. It was the Cambeltown that steamed into St. Nazaire in the famous commando raid on that harbor in 1941. St. Nazaire was the only harbor on the west coast of France capable of receiving the Tirpitz. It was also a large nest for Germany’s submarines. It was vital that St. Nazaire be put out of the war. The Cambeltown was chosen to perform the job.
With five tons of explosives in her bow, she steamed into the harbor in the face of deadly crossfire and rammed the main gate of the harbor. Her crew was taken off in motor launches, and in a short time the delayed-action fuses detonated the main charges, knocking out St. Nazaire at a time when the base was desperately needed by the Nazis.
The Cambeltown was not alone in her display of valor while operating with the commandos. H.M.S. St. Albans (U.S.S. Thomas), manned by Norwegians and Danes, distinguished herself during raids on the coast of Norway. Added to the St. Albans’ laurels was the killing of a dive bomber while she was under fire on the Murmansk run after five days of uninterrupted bombing attack. No ship has come closer to disaster than did the St. Albans. After withstanding the air raids, she finally reached Murmansk. While she was unloading supplies, three torpedo planes swooped out of the Arctic haze and directed their torpeodes against the ship. The nearest fish churned twenty feet from her bow as the crew continued to unload supplies.
Two U-boats went down before H.M.S. Broadway (U.S.S. Hunt). The first was destroyed in August, 1941, in one of the most violent sea battles of the war. The Broadway claimed her second kill within five days of her first. Both attacks came while the Broadway was in a convoy which included the escort carrier Biter, another “lend-lease” vessel. The fray carried to within the range of land-based aircraft and resulted in three subs sunk and two probables.
H.M.S. Leamington (U.S.S. Twiggs) made her kill, the U-587, on March 27, 1942.
Hardly able, because of their lack of AA batteries, to scare off a horsefly, when first traded to the British, the fifty destroyers were outfitted with a more potent air defense and as a result were able to hold their own against air attacks. H.M.S. Leeds (U.S.S. Connor) furnished an excellent example. While on convoy duty she single-handedly drove off an attack of five Dorniers and one JU-88, scoring telling hits on two of the attackers. No ship in the convoy was so much as scratched.
Though the ships were welcomed with open arms by the British, they could hardly be classed as world-beaters. The Richmond, for example, reported a roll of 58 degrees. Even so, the majority of them proved to be reliable work-horses, and though creaking with age managed to turn in amazing records. H.M.S. Lincoln (U.S.S Yarnall) travelled 40,000 miles in 190 days of continuous duty and traversed the North Atlantic 35 times without casualties. The Lincoln was manned by Norwegians who made their escape from Norway to Scotland in an open boat. H.M.S. St. Mary's (U.S.S. Doran) was able to give her crew overnight liberty on but two occasions in seven months because of the exigencies of the situation at the time. It was this same St. Mary’s which was forced to go to sea with a bent propeller shaft because there was no other with which to replace it.
Though of ancient vintage, the ships were able to withstand not only the enemy, but the North Atlantic storms as well. During one encounter with the elements H.M.S. Sherwood (U.S.S. Rodgers) acquired the nickname of “H.M.S. Horizontal.” In the midst of a particularly vicious squall the captain of the Sherwood, while descending the ladder from the bridge, suddenly found himself hanging from his hands, dangling twenty feet above the open sea. At the same instant, a cake sitting on a table in the officers’ mess was hurled from the table to the overhead directly above.
They weren’t sleek or well armored—those old destroyers. Neither were they as fast and maneuverable as their modern counterparts. But those fifty ships turned in a performance as honorable and courageous as can be found anywhere in naval history. To those fifty “Old Maids” belongs much of the credit for stemming the German tide and preparing the way for the eventual Allied triumph.