Prologue

On the fine morning of 6 December 1917 the French steamer Mont Blanc was heading towards the busy port of Halifax, Nova Scotia to await a convoy prior to crossing the Atlantic. She was carrying a cargo of 5000 tons of munitions and explosives. Shortly after 8 am she collided with the Belgian vessel Imo, resulting in a huge explosion not to be equalled until Hiroshima. Over 1,900 people were killed immediately; within a year the figure had climbed well over 2,000. Around 9,000 more were injured, many permanently. Almost all of north-end Halifax, some 325 acres, were destroyed. As for the Mont Blanc, she was completely destroyed and  pieces of her were blasted over a large area. The barrel of one of her cannons landed three and a half miles away; part of her anchor shank, weighing over half a ton, flew two miles in the opposite direction. Windows shattered 50 miles away, and at a distance of  270 miles the shock wave was felt.

Introduction

The story of HMS Glatton is a simple but particularly poignant one, for her destruction took place in the final few days of the most horrifying war of modern times. The simplicity lies in the stark facts: an accident on board caused the ship to be a great danger to the surrounding area, so in order to prevent death and destruction on a huge scale, elimination of the danger was required.

The use of the word “accident” raises the hackles in many quarters nowadays in an ethos where loss, whether a tragedy or mere inconvenience, is immediately associated with financial recompense.

This article does not attempt to seek blame; for I am of a generation which, when faced with something bad happening, asked the question “What went wrong?” and not “Who’s to blame?” (or, even more sinister these days –  “Who can we find to blame”).

Background

In September 1918 the Great War was rapidly drawing to an end. Despite the German Army on the Western Front being reinforced by 46 divisions from Russia, the Ludendorff offensive of March had failed. The French counter-offensive at the second Battle of the Marne in July, and the August 8 offensive by the British 4^th Army had, by early September, driven the Germans back where they had been before March 1918 - behind the Hindenburg Line.

General Ludendorff said,  “August 8 was the black day of the German Army in the history of the war . . . It put the decline of our fighting power beyond all doubt . . . The war must be ended.” The German Crown Council concluded,  “We can no longer hope to break the war-will of our enemies by military operations,”

More German setbacks were to follow quickly. On September 12 Pershing's independent U.S. 1st Army cleared the triangular Saint-Mihiel salient between Verdun and Nancy that the Germans had been occupying since 1914.

To support the Allied offensive the East coast ports of England were scenes of frenetic activity. This is where HMS Glatton enters the story. 

Glatton was never designed for service in the Royal Navy. She was one of two vessels ordered in 1913 by the Royal Norwegian Navy as coastal defence ships to be named Bjoerqvin and Nidaros and to be built by Armstrong’s on the Tyne. Begun in May and June of that year their specifications were:

Displacement, 5700 tons

Complement, 303.

Length (o.a.), 310 feet. Beam, 73.66 feet. Max. Draught, 16.5 feet.

Guns  2 x 9.2 inch, 4 x 6 inch, 2 x 3 inch anti-aircraft, all in single turrets, 4 x 2 pdr. pom-poms. (The main armament was originally to be 9.4 inch but the barrels were sleeved down to accept the Royal Naval 9.2 inch shell).

Armour: 7" Belt, 4" Ends, 2" Deck, 4" Citadel, 8" Turrets, 6" Secondary guns, 8" Fore C.T., 6" Aft C.T. (although doubt exists if the belt and end armour was in fact fitted on either ship)

Machinery: Triple expansion. 2 screws. Boilers : Yarrow. Designed H.P. 4000 = 13 knots. Coal: maximum 364 tons + 170 tons oil.

The original beam was designed to be 55’ and the speed 15 knots. However, this was changed by the fitting of “blisters” on the hull which, when filled with water during a bombardment, allowed a more stable gun platform. In British naval terminology these ships were monitors, although the main armament was of a smaller calibre than other Royal Naval ships of the same category.

On the commencement of the Great War construction of the two ships ceased, only to be resumed in 1915 when they were taken over by the Royal Navy. The Bjoerqvin was to be named Glatton and the Nidaros, Gorgon. When war was declared there were twenty-three warships being built in British yards for foreign powers and all were taken over by the British Government. In most cases these ships were requisitioned with the approval of their owners who saw Britain as the inevitable victor in a naval war (but at a cost – Glatton was acquired for £513,000). In the case of Turkey, however, Germany was happy to provide replacements for two dreadnoughts under construction in Britain, and this was one factor that decided Turkey’s entry into war on the German side after having been an ally of Britain for many years.

HMS Gorgon – Sister ship to HMS Glatton

Both ships were commissioned in June 1918. The long time between laying down and completion is largely explained by the emphasis placed by the Admiralty on completing ships more suitable for the naval war. Officially they retained their classification of coastal defence ships, but in reality they were monitors and their role was heavy coastal bombardment.

Glatton was not an attractive ship. Flush-decked and sitting low in the water, with her rangefinders housed in a huge “crow’s nest” on the after superstructure towering over her single stovepipe funnel.  Her huge main armament turrets giving an incongruous look – but there again, aesthetic lines do not necessarily make a good warship.

Glatton at Dover

 During late August 1918 Glatton took on oil and coal at Newcastle and completed her trials prior to being commissioned on the 31^st. On September 6 she took on all her ammunition and on the following day commenced final sea trials that lasted until her acceptance from the contractors on 8^th August. She was then to sail to Dover where, with Gorgon that had arrived there in late July, she would be part of a force of eight monitors detailed to bombard targets on the Belgian Coast.

HMS Glatton on trials off the NE coast in September 1918.

After experiencing some bad weather on her journey south Glatton arrived at Dover on September 11, where she remained until the 16^th when she was lying at a buoy about 500 yards from the shore just south of the Camber. Moored immediately next to Glatton was the fully loaded steamer Gransha, serving as an ammunition ship. Also moored in close proximity were many other ships laden with oil and munitions ready to be transported across the channel. A number of the Glatton’s crew were on shore leave and during the morning further coal was taken on board, and after washing down the crew turned to. From all accounts it was a mild day with a light breeze. There was an air of relaxation on board that contrasted with the activity in the harbour.

At 6:17 on that Monday evening Glatton was torn by a huge explosion amidships, which was quickly followed by a fire, the flames rising higher than the mainmast. This fire proved to be a major impediment in the attempt to salvage the ship and rescue the crew, a large number of which were killed or horribly injured immediately. Boats from other ships in the harbour were quickly launched to assist in the rescue. The Naval officer in command of the Dover Patrol, Vice Admiral Sir Roger Keyes, was spending the evening with his family in St. Margaret’s Bay and was walking with the commanding officer of the Glatton, Commander Neston Diggle, near the South Foreland lighthouse when they heard the explosion from the direction of the harbour. Admiral Keyes swiftly telephoned his office and was appraised of the situation. He immediately returned to Dover by car to take charge of the operation. Meanwhile his deputy, Commodore The Hon. A. Boyle, had ordered all ships in the harbour to raise steam. Such was the realisation of the seriousness of the situation.

It may be worthwhile to reflect on the situation at this tense stage; the scene in the harbour must have been chaotic. We must remember that this was a new ship and the crew could not have been expected to be fully conversant with her layout and the multitude of systems on board. All organisation on her must have, temporarily at least, broken down and, with the surviving crew clearly in a state of shock, it fell to the makeshift teams from other ships – the men mostly unknown to each other - to form fire control and casualty evacuation parties and to issue instructions. With excruciating slowness the ammunition ship Gransha managed to slip her moorings and move away to a safer position.

When Admiral Keyes arrived he was immediately briefed by Commodore Boyle. Arrangements were made with the Mayor of Dover, E.W.T. Farley, that the alarms should be sounded. As the town was under military command soldiers were stationed along the seafront to remove the civilian population from the scene. A nine-year old A.F. “Budge” Adams managed to avoid the soldiers and was later to recall:

“I was able to see much of the Glatton incident from behind the hedge in the garden of the house on the eastern corner of Marine Parade and Marine Place. I was on the sea front with a friend who lived in St. James’s Street, “Boney” Liddon. . . . . With fixed bayonets (why fixed bayonets?, surely there could have been no-one they could have used them on) – the soldiers cleared the occupants from the houses on the sea front and the townspeople who had gathered there at the sound of the first explosion were cleared off the Parade …….”

Many individual acts of bravery were recorded in the rescue attempt. Among those of Glatton’s crew decorated were Sub Lt. D. Evans, Petty Officer A.E. Stoker and Able Seaman E. Nunn. Surgeon Lt. Commander E. Atkinson was given special mention for rescuing several crew members from the after section of the ship despite being severely wounded. Lt. G.D. Delben of HMS Thetis was also awarded the Albert Medal.

At great personal risk Admiral Keyes was then taken aboard the blazing Glatton. Already alongside the ship were Capt. John Iron’s tugs that were fighting a losing battle with the fire. Even though the forward magazine had been successfully flooded, it was impossible to reach the pumping gear that would allow the flooding of the after magazines. Keyes immediately decided that, to avoid catastrophic damage to the harbour, ships and town the Glatton must be sunk where she lay. The devastating effect of ship explosions must have been clear in his mind, for it had been in 1914 when the battleship HMS Bulwark exploded on the Medway with a loss of 796 lives and, also on the Medway, in 1915 the minelayer HMS Princess Irene blew up and of the 377 men on board, just one dockyard worker survived. Nothing can be said to mitigate the tragedy of these losses but it must be considered that the location of these ships lessened the risk of what nowadays we euphemistically term  “collateral damage”:  however, Glatton was moored in an enclosed harbour almost surrounded by ships loaded to the gunwales with explosives.

Admiral Keyes transferred to the destroyer HMS Myngs. Being aware that a number of the Glatton’s crew were trapped below decks he nevertheless, an hour after the first explosion, made the agonizing decision to complete the removal of the wounded and then to sink the her with torpedoes.

“Budge” Adams continues his account:

“Boney and I had seen the smoke and flames when the ship caught fire but as everyone was shooed off the sea front we didn’t see the torpedoes fired or the resulting explosion. I think it was the noise that drew us back to the sea front, inquisitive to discover what was happening. Perhaps the soldiers were short-sighted, or didn’t care, but we crept along close to the houses in Marine Parade, until we reached the garden of the corner house, where we squeezed through a space in the bomb damaged iron fence and hid in the thick privet hedge . . . . .  We peered through the hedge, a few metres from the soldiers and saw what we were not intended to see. The badly-burned men were brought ashore on the Promenade Pier, just a little off to our right, south-eastwards. This picture, as with all the Zeebrugge aftermath, will be with me always”.

The first torpedo from Myngs failed due to the incorrect setting of the safety fan, the second blew a hole in the starboard blister. Wishing to sink the ship on an even keel Keyes moved Myngs around to Glatton’s port side but it was considered too risky to other shipping to fire from that position. Returning to Glatton’s starboard side, but closer this time, a final torpedo was fired into the existing hole where it exploded, causing the ship to heel over to starboard and sink at 8 pm. Fifty-eight trapped men went down with the Glatton.

By the following day it was revealed that over three-quarters of the complement of 303 men were killed or injured, many suffering appalling burns.

Looking at the accounts of the tragedy another option springs to mind. I wonder why Glatton was not towed out of the harbour, and clear of the shipping lanes prior to sinking her, perhaps off Fan Bay or South Foreland? This would have at the very least significantly reduced the danger to the town and ships in the harbour. This course of action must have been considered by Admiral Keyes and, as I don’t profess to know anything about marine salvage or rescue, I cannot comment any more on his decision to sink her in the harbour – perhaps someone far more knowledgeable than I can offer an explanation.

The Inquiry

A summary of the Court of Enquiry held the following year was remarkably thorough. The report is now held in the National Archives at Kew. The Court’s findings were drawn up by men who knew really their trade, and what is apparent is the emphasis laid upon the prevention of such a tragedy happening again.

Although Glatton now rested at the bottom of Dover harbour, and would remain there for a number of years; her sister ship HMS Gorgon was brought in to shed light on the tragedy. To all intents and purposes these two ships were identical. They had been built in the same yard at virtually the same time by, evidently, the same work-force. The initial findings of the Court were undisputed in that:

The explosion occurred in the midships 6-inch gun magazine.

The resulting intense fire amidships was largely due to paraffin stored in the superstructure; but the possibility of fuel oil igniting, due to ruptured tanks, was not discounted. Significantly, it was held that neither the nature of, nor any operation in connection with, the coal, oil fuel, provisions, or stores breached storage guidelines, nor could they in any way be connected with the cause of the explosion (The Official Enquiry into the Princess Irene disaster discovered careless priming of mines by inadequately trained personnel).

The origin and manufacture of the ammunition shells, cordite fuses, and even a few fireworks on board, were in no way responsible. Meticulous enquiries removed them from suspicion.

The question of sabotage was ruled out.

Flooding the aft magazines was not possible due to the controls being situated in the after superstructure, and therefore inaccessible due to the intensity of the fire.

But this did not answer the main question – why did the explosion occur? An examination of the basic design of the ship showed that the magazines and shell rooms for the two midships 6-inch turrets were placed between the engine room and after boiler room, without any air spacing between. The magazine was protected by a lining of wood, and the 4½ to 5 inch space between the bulkhead and the wood lining was filled with granulated cork, as an insulating material.

Investigations showed that the temperature of the 6-inch magazine, as recorded by temperature tube, had been quite normal, and that it was, in fact, one of the coolest magazines in the ship. The shell rooms alongside the magazine were, however, inclined to be hot, though not abnormally so, on account of the feed tanks which adjoined them.

 The Court learned that it had been the practice in Glatton, after cleaning fires, to place clinker and ash in the after boiler room against the after bulkhead, in a pocket between two groups of pumps. This pocket was underneath the ash hoist and was, in fact, the only place in the stokehold where it was possible to stow the ashes preparatory to hoisting them on deck to be discarded.

So was the truth beginning to emerge? – the Court was not convinced; and with admirable tenacity the investigations continued.

This led to a critical examination being made of the magazine and stokehold bulkheads of Gorgon. The wood lining of the magazine bulkhead was removed, and it was found that the paint on the magazine side of the bulkhead was blackened and blistered in three distinct and separate places, these places being opposite the pocket used for clinker and ash in the stokehold. On dismantling the wood lining, no cork lagging was found over a space about 6 feet in width, the greater part of which was abreast the pocket. Besides this, a number of old newspapers were found stuck behind the lining. Further, there was a hole in the bulkhead, ½ inch in diameter, about 4 feet to port of the centre of the pocket and on the same level. As Gorgon was built and completed at the same time and by the same firm, it is impossible to avoid the inference that the same condition of affairs had probably existed in Glatton.

Exhaustive tests were then continued, both on Gorgon and using mock-ups on shore, which paid particular attention to the temperature build-up on he bulkhead during which it was found that the cork granules used in the lagging was unsuitable for the purpose. A process of destructive distillation in the cork commenced at relatively low temperatures, and that parts of the products of distillation were inflammable gases, and, furthermore, that the residue of partial distillation was readily ignited in the presence of air.

Another line of enquiry was the possibility of contamination of the cork lagging by fuel oil from the tanks immediately below. An experiment was also carried out with a replica of the bulkhead and lining built up on shore - the cork insulation being saturated with oil fuel. This was a possible, though unlikely, contingency in Glatton. A fire was built up of coal on the "stokehold" side of the dummy bulkhead. No ignition of the cork or the lining occurred, although the conditions were severe, the possibility cannot be entirely ignored.

From the above results, and taking into consideration the conditions existing in Gorgon, it appeared that the piling of the clinker against the magazine bulkhead in Glatton  provided all the conditions necessary for the ultimate ignition of the cordite in her midships 6-inch magazine, if there was sufficient access of air to the lagging. If the existence of a hole such as would be left by the omission of a bolt or rivet and a plus pressure in the boiler room be assumed, the opportunity for such access of air in sufficient volume existed. The conclusion was therefore arrived at that the slow combustion of the cork lagging of the magazine led to the ignition of the wood lining and then of the cordite and thus caused the explosion. Not proven beyond all doubt but by far the most likely explanation in the circumstances.

The Court also noted that the regulations concerning the supervision of the magazines had not been complied with, but due consideration was given to the speed at which the ship had been completed and the short time she had been in commission. More frequent inspections of the magazine just might have disclosed the fault, but we are entering the world of hindsight and I would rather stop there.

 A number of further recommendations were proffered, one important one being the positioning of the stop-cocks in a place where they can be accessed from the weather deck.

The final opinion of the Court was that had it been possible to flood the after 9.2-inch and 6-inch magazines, it would not have been necessary to torpedo the ship, and she would probably have been afloat after the fire had burnt out.

The Aftermath

The casualties from Glatton were removed to hospital at Deal and to Dover’s military hospital on the hill below the Western Heights where Burgess Engineering now stands. Here is no common grave for most of the dead that were recovered following the explosion but just four headstones, each bearing two interments, can be seen at St. James’s Cemetery in the Zeebrugge plot. Four of the casualties are unknown and the others being:

Able Seaman W. Brown

Able Seaman J. Spence

Stoker Cornelius Costello (although the CWGC gives his name as Robert Costello)

Private J. Gillimer, Royal Marines Light Infantry 

These men would have died as a result of the initial explosion and fire but it is touching to think that they lie just a couple of feet away from the man who was forced to make the painful decision to allow their shipmates to die; for just in front - in the next row - Admiral of the Fleet The Lord Keyes is buried beneath a simple War Graves Commission stone.

HMS Glatton remained in Dover harbour, an obstruction to shipping and her hull, morbidly visible at low tide. The Admiralty, despite many objections, had blocked attempts to have her raised on the spurious grounds that the work would involve the temporary closure of the eastern entrance – a rather weak argument considering that the Royal Navy, although under control, no longer used the harbour.

The upturned hull of HMS Glatton (pointed) in Dover harbour after WW1. The Royal Naval ships in the Camber are awaiting disposal

The Camber today and the place where the tragedy occurred, now passed over regularly by cross-channel ferries.

The hull of HMS Glatton lying alongside the West Pier prior to breaking

In 1923 the Royal Navy relinquished control and responsibility was returned to the Dover Harbour Board. Plans were drawn up for the removal of the wreck and, following a number of setbacks, Glatton was raised in March 1926 by a team led by Capt. John Iron. Her upturned hull was placed alongside the West Jetty ready for breaking up, which was finally completed at the scrap yard in the Camber. It is not known if further evidence for the cause of the explosion was discovered. The ship’s bell was recovered and was placed in the offices of Dover Harbour Board, but at the time of writing it is in Dover Museum as part of an exhibition.

The remaining bodies were finally removed to the Woodlands Cemetery at Gillingham where they were, with formal naval ceremony, interred in a communal grave in April 1930.

So there ends the tale of HMS Glatton. It is difficult to imagine what would have happened had her remaining magazines exploded. Perhaps the feared domino effect would not have occurred. However, the worst must be considered.

Deflected by the cliffs on each side of the town the shock waves would have been channelled up the Dour valley, carrying all manner of blazing debris. There are many maps and photographs showing the nature of the tightly-packed streets of Dover at that time, and of course not forgetting the Pier District. The whole town was potentially a tinderbox awaiting fearful devastation.

In my years of interest into, and research of, historical events I have seen the rise of the Internet, allowing information to be obtained at the touch of a button rather than hours, weeks or years. I have seen smug complacency and jingoism replaced with intelligent analysis: but on the other hand I do despair at the trend in some quarters to sensationalise and denigrate, merely for effect or profit. As a result I allow myself to be guided in these situations - and none more appropriate than that of HMS Glatton - by a simple phrase: We don’t know – and probably never shall.

A Chilling Postscript

On April 14 1944 The British steamship Fort Stikine, carrying 1,400 tons of munitions and cotton, caught fire in Bombay harbour, India. The ship exploded, showering the city with blazing cotton and sinking or badly damaging 27 ships.  We will never know the full extent of the casualties. An incomplete count recorded 1,500 dead and 3,000 injured. 100,000 tons of allied shipping destroyed, valued at over 1 billion dollars. The unknown number of those killed could have raised the official count by 1,000 or more.

Acknowledgements – Grateful thanks is extended to:

Derek Lynch MBE of the Dover Society for allowing me to quote extracts from Budge Adams’s memoirs.

Mark Frost and the Staff of Dover Museum for providing photographs from the Budge Adams Collection.

The Staff of Dover Library.

Dr. Anthony Lane

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