Exceptional Naval and Polar Awards from the Collection of RC Witte
Our signal to attack came at last and we increased to full speed to draw ahead, gradually close the enemy, and then swoop down to fire our torpedoes. We were going thirty-five knots, and the whole ship vibrated with the strain. Simultaneously the German destroyers moved out towards us and we opened fire on each other. The din was ghastly. We were going all out, the ship shivering with speed; our three four inch, one on the foc'sle, one aft and one amidships were all firing; the German destroyers' shells were exploding round us, the projectiles from the big ships whistling over-head and the perpetual thunder of their guns rolling eternally. Control of our three guns from the bridge became a farce, what with the din and the fact that our ever-changing course and the movement of the German destroyers meant that each gun's target was continually shifting. The order for "Local Control" was given and I went down to the foc'sle gun. I remember ceasing fire on a destroyer in the belief that she was a friend, then the smoke cleared and we saw her colours plainly and got at her again until she started sinking - I noticed we seemed to be listing to port. The German destroyers had retired and both fleets had turned about to the N.N.W. We seemed to be moving very slowly and gradually we stopped and the list to port increased.
Looking aft I saw clouds of steam amidships and going there found the deck a shambles. A shell had struck the starboard side, entered the engine room and severed the main steam pipe, effectively stopping our motive power. We had fired two of our torpedoes, one was left in a third tube with a merry little fire on deck underneath it which we soon put out and the fourth tube was out of action. A shell had struck just by it and blown the man whose job it was to sit astride it clean over the side. The bilge pumps were out of action, we were leaking badly and two men only were alive in the engine room.
Out of the haze on the starboard quarter an interminable line of battleships was approaching. Nomad was lying crippled in the path of the battle squadron of the High Seas Fleet. Among the best disciplined crew in the world a panic might have arisen but our captain was more than equal to the occasion. Orders were passed to prepare to be taken in tow. This involved getting most of the hands on the foc'sle and ranging the cables along the deck together with various wire hawsers. It kept our minds on a definite job of work and it kept us to the opposite end of the ship to the High Seas Fleet. There was however no hope of anyone towing us. A few minutes before, Nicator had lain off us and offered to do so but the skipper waved her away. Why risk a second ship? I spent a merry five minutes in the chart room routing out signal books, cyphers and charts and dumping them over the side. Meanwhile all boats were lowered to the deck level and rafts were cast loose. We still had our torpedo left, but in order to train the tube on the leading enemy ship it would have been necessary to turn the ship. As we couldn't do this we had perforce to wait until the target ship came into the line of sight instead. Just then the three leading battleships opened fire on us. We waited. No. 1 and I stood on the foc'sle. Between us and the enemy was a piece of painted canvas and its moral support was enormous. The first salvos passed over us. The next were short, the next salvo was wrong for direction. We went aft and watched the last torpedo fired but alas it missed.
At this moment they got our range and things began to happen. As we sank lower the order "Abandon Ship" was given. The whaler and motor boat were miraculously unhurt and drew ahead of the sinking ship. The dinghy was splintered but looked as if it would float. I was sent forward and the skipper went aft to see that no-one wounded was left on deck. The stern was now under water and the whole hull was an inferno of smoke, steam, explosions and hail-storms of splintered metal. The skipper returned staggering and badly wounded but we got into the dinghy and pulled clear. She had lain alongside with nine men in her waiting uncomplainingly for the captain to return. Suddenly we saw two wild figures on deck. We went back and took them into the dinghy, two stokers both scalded and half raving in their agony. They must have been knocked out, and missed the order to abandon ship. Only the fore half of Nomad was afloat now but the Ensign still flew at the masthead. All this time the dinghy had been making water steadily and now she gracefully sank under and we swam away. One by one we were picked up by the motor boat and as I was hauled over the side I turned and saw Nomad take her final dive. The Germans put a few parting salvos into the middle of the survivors in the water and then disappeared into the N.W. leaving two torpedo boats to collect us as prisoners.’
Advanced to Commander and awarded the Russian Order of St. Anne, 3rd Class with swords (London Gazette 5 June 1917 refers), Whitfield remained a prisoner in Germany and Holland until repatriated from the latter country in September 1918, following which he was admitted to the Prince of Wales Hospital in London. The award of his D.S.O. was announced in the following month. Having then returned to light duties at the end of the year, he received a final accolade by way of an O.B.E. in October 1919.
Whitfield was placed on the Retired List in January 1923, advanced to Captain (Retd.) in July 1925 and died in January 1953. Note:
Sold with the Second World War D.S.C. (officially dated ‘1944’) and related campaign awards attributed to his son, Lieutenant- Commander P. C. Whitfield, Royal Navy, who was decorated ‘for bravery and constant devotion to duty in many successful air operations from Malta against enemy shipping’ (London Gazette 2 May 1944 refers), as a member of No. 828 (F.A.A.) Squadron; complete with a set of related miniature dress medals and corresponding file of research.
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