About 1800hrs the German submarine U29 was cruising at periscope depth when her captain Lieutenant Otto Schuhart sighted the carrier and the two escorting destroyers. Aircraft were still in the air scouting a wide area ahead of the ships. Their presence gave a feeling of security, no U-boat commander would dare risk his boat with aircraft buzzing around overhead; or so we thought. Lt. Schuhart had other ideas as he stalked his prey. A skilful and daring seaman, he knew the risks but was prepared to take them for the valuable prize on offer. The distress signal turned out to be false, probably sent to lure the destroyers away from the aircraft carrier, which it did. The two 'I' boats that left us earlier had still not returned as daylight faded. Dawn and dusk are notoriously dangerous times at sea and ships are at their most vulnerable. The disappearing light plays tricks with the eyes, and lookouts have difficulty spotting the low superstructure of a U-boat or it's periscope.

 

 As the daytime patrols finished, the remaining airborne planes started to return to the ship. To assist the aircraft to land, the normal procedure of turning the carrier into the wind was carried out. The 'Stringbags', landing on one at a time, had their wings folded back before being quickly lowered by lift to the hanger. Captain Makeig-Jones could not have suspected that the manoeuvre presented the ships' port side to the U-boat, offering a huge target to fire at.  Shortly after the last Swordfish touched down, and before the ship had resumed course, U29 attacked. I clearly remember someone asking me the time and as I was replying that it was four minutes to eight, there was a terrific explosion and I was knocked off my feet. It was the first torpedo hitting the ship, seconds later there was another almighty bang as the second one struck home.

 

 I was down below when the lights went out and the carrier began to list to port. As it lurched further over, everything that was not securely fastened down went crashing to one side. Groping my way through the darkened passages towards the upper deck I could hear the screams and cries of men trapped in the vastness of the big ship. I didn't know what to expect but when I finally made my way into the open I was bemused to see men jumping into the sea.

 

 Nobody seemed to have a ships' lifebelt, which was the old-fashioned cork type. They were stored in metal lockers in various parts of the ship but had not been issued to individuals. In the confusion nobody appeared to have found them in time. I asked what was going on and someone said 'Abandon ship' had been sounded, which was obvious from the number taking to the water. It felt cold but I hurriedly stripped down to my underpants and picked a suitable spot in the grey looking sea. Then taking, a deep breath, and without a lifebelt, I dived into the Atlantic Ocean. I struck out to get as far away as possible from the doomed ship before her final plunge sucked me under. Turning on my back I saw men struggling to release the lifesaving Carley Floats. They were plentiful but during the dockyard refit the painters had not bothered to remove them, they just painted over the lot, ropes and all. The hard dried paint on the ropework made it impossible to launch the floats in time. The slipshod work was indefensible and another contributing factor to the huge loss of life. Only one boat and one Carley Float got into the water, a mere token lifesaver for a crew of 1200.

 

 As I watched, the huge steel mass of H.M.S. Courageous disappeared beneath the waves the sea closed over her like a shroud.

I decided to try turning my back to the oncoming waves but they crashed over my head and left me spluttering for breath. I soon found it easier to swim into the 'rollers' and take air as I was lifted up on a crest.

 

 Darkness began to close in and it got much colder with a worsening sea. Those of us who had been fortunate enough to dive or belly-flop into the inhospitable water would have to call on all our reserves of stamina, plus a generous helping of good luck to survive. The two escort destroyers were chasing around trying to pinpoint the U-boat, frustrated that they couldn't depth charge the area for fear of killing the men in the water. It must have been agonizing for their captains to see so many helpless swimmers and not able to pick them up. To do so would run the risk of making themselves sitting targets for the U-boat. Earlier in the day the flotilla swept past a small tramp ship, the Dido, steaming on a parallel course. Her captain later said he had increased speed to follow the warships, assuming that our presence in the vicinity was cast iron security for his own ship. Now as darkness fell the little vessel came upon the tragic scene. With some disbelief, all they found was a wide area of oil covered ocean dotted with bobbing heads and waving arms, accompanied by desperate cries for help. H.M.S. Courageous had gone down in less than twenty minutes after being hit. 518 men and boys died that evening, including Captain Makeig-Jones, who was last seen on the bridge saluting the White Ensign.

It was an impossible task to rescue everyone, but bravely her captain disregarded any possible danger and stopped his engines to pick up those men strong enough to swim to his ship. Surprisingly there was a lack of flotsam immediately after the sinking, I would have expected lots of wood to come shooting to the surface for us to hang on to.

 

 When the ship first sank, men started singing 'Roll out the Barrel' to keep up their spirits. They turned to hymns when they realised there was an odds on chance of meeting their Maker before the night was out. Eventually the singing ceased and there was just a lot of shouting in the dark, mostly from men threshing about struggling to stay alive.

 

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HMS Courageous

HMS Courageous June-September 1939 from the book “Taking the King’s Shilling” by John Cannon