Young gunner’s baptism of fire during war at sea

WHEN the call to arms came in the fading summer of 1914, it was perhaps inevitable that Cecil Doughty would choose the navy rather the army.

His great, great, great-grandfather was Captain John Quilliam who, as a first lieutenant, stood alongside Admiral Nelson on board HMS Victory at the Battle of Trafalgar in 1805. He was even mentioned in dispatches by Admiral Collingwood, Nelson’s number two, for outstanding bravery under enemy fire.

Captain Quilliam was a naval hero who fought in arguably the most important battle in British maritime history. These were big boots to fill but Cecil felt compelled to carry on the family’s seafaring tradition.

Born in York in 1899, he had a fascination with the sea from an early age having been brought up on stories of Quilliam’s exploits.

In 1917, at the age of 17, Cecil joined the Royal Naval Reserve and captured his war story in his diary and notebooks, which offer a rare glimpse into life on board ship.

Cecil was a gunner on board SS Orduna, a converted ocean liner built by Harland and Wolff, which was pressed into service as an auxiliary cruiser and troopship. It made repeated journeys from Canada to Liverpool ferrying soldiers to Britain, including notable figures such as Quentin Roosevelt – youngest son of President Theodore Roosevelt – who was killed in action in 1918.

The American government had been sending food and supplies to Britain and the Orduna was one of the ships used, making numerous trips back and forth across the Atlantic. It was a journey fraught with danger, with raging seas and the U-boat menace, both a constant threat.

Cecil made his first voyage on August 22, 1917, travelling from Liverpool to New York. On board were a handful of British government officials and “high ranking” army officers.

The return journey was somewhat different. “The ship was laden with 2,000 troops and the four holds were packed with food and war material and we joined a convoy of six troopships escorted by American warships,” wrote Cecil.

This particular journey was uneventful but the battle between the Atlantic convoys and the German U-boats was a crucial, yet often overlooked, chapter in the story of the First World War.

By 1917, the war had reached an impasse on land with both sides effectively cancelling each other out. The Germans declared open submarine warfare and in April that year the British Admiralty adopted a convoy system to help combat the threat posed by the U-boats.

The Germans took a calculated risk that they could starve Britain out of the war by sinking merchant vessels at such a rate that it brought the country to its knees.

Cecil Doughty was one of those involved in this crucial frontline at sea. For these sailors, life was a constant routine of drill exercises. They each took it turns to keep watch, with four hours on and four hours off, seven days a week. He describes his early days at sea. “They were robust days and nights, especially in the North Atlantic winter gales of rain, snow and ice, towering 30 to 40 feet waves and ice spray finding its way through the storm collars of our oilskins to trickle down one’s backbone.”

He writes, too, about the sense of camaraderie on board ship. “I was the ‘baby’ in a team of hard-bitten matelots, whose ages ranged from the mid-20s to mid-50s. I was a mere 17 year-old callow youth and came in for much leg-pulling at first.”

But the teasing stopped on November 27, 1917. Cecil had been on the “graveyard” shift from midnight to four in the morning. But a few hours later as the ship was heading close to the Mull of Kintyre bound for North America, a submarine was spotted off the port bow.

Cecil and his fellow gunners rushed into action. It was now a race against time to see which vessel could strike first. He had given the gunner the instructions of where to fire but was out by 100 yards and had to quickly readjust the sights. He describes it in his diary. “‘Fire’, I shouted again, and offered up a little prayer that my correction was true.”

To his relief it hit the U-boat just as it was disappearing beneath waves. “This second shell hit the base of the conning tower fair and square. The shell exploded with a most spectacular display of orange flames, with debris flung into 
the air.

“If the second shell had missed, the submarine would have completed her crash-dive below the surface and most probably attempted to torpedo us before we could escape.”

The U-boat and its crew met a watery end, but for Cecil the over-whelming emotion was one of relief. “If that second shell had not given the ‘coup de grace’, that submarine would have waited at periscope depth until another merchant ship appeared out of the fog, probably to meet her doom.”

In August 1918, after nearly 12 months serving on the Orduna, Cecil was discharged. With the tide of the war having turned decisively in the Allies favour he was transferred to a new ship involved in the fight against a new threat, the Bolsheviks.

Today, his son Pete, who lives near Beverley, in East Yorkshire, looks back with pride on the part his father played in the war.

“He didn’t talk about it really. But he wrote about what happened and I think it’s important that people today understand what my father’s generation went through, because they sacrificed a lot.”