Navy and the Nation: The Influence of the Navy on Modern Australia

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Navy and the Nation PAGES

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The Navy and the Nation


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Australian sailor. (WA Newspapers)

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The Navy and the Nation The influence of the Navy on modern Australia edited by

David Stevens and John Reeve


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This book is dedicated to all those naval men and women whose service has contributed to the building of the Australian nation.

First published in Australia in 2005 Copyright © David Stevens 2005 All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher. The Australian Copyright Act 1968 (the Act) allows a maximum of one chapter or 10% of this book, whichever is the greater, to be photocopied by any educational institution for its educational purposes provided that the educational institution (or body that administers it) has given a remuneration notice to Copyright Agency Limited (CAL) under the Act. Allen & Unwin 83 Alexander Street Crows Nest NSW 2065 Australia Phone: (61 2) 8425 0100 Fax: (61 2) 9906 2218 Email: [email protected] Web: www.allenandunwin.com National Library of Australia Cataloguing-in-Publication entry: Steven, David, 1958–. The navy and the nation. Includes index. ISBN 1 74114 200 8. 1. Australia. Royal Australian Navy – History – 20th century. 2. Defense industries – Australia – History. I. Australia. Royal Australian Navy. II. Title. 355.070994 Typeset in 11.5/14 pt Adobe Garamond by Midland Typesetters, Maryborough Printed by CMO Image Printing Enterprise, Singapore Index compiled by Russell Brooks


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Contents

Foreword Vice Admiral C.A. Ritchie, AO, RAN Contributors Illustrations and figures Abbreviations Acknowledgements

ix xii xxi xxiii xxvi

Introduction: the Navy and the birth of the nation David Stevens and John Reeve

1

Part I Concepts and contexts

9

1

The Navy for the nation: a shared responsibility George Baer

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The Royal Navy in the Pacific: sea power and imperial endeavour Geoffrey Till

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‘The last word in outward splendour’: the cult of the Navy and the imperial age Jan Rüger

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Part II The Navy and the nation

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Naval medicine and the European settlement of Australia Neil Westphalen v


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The search for a strategic sea-base and the founding of Australia Tom Frame

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The long triangulation: naval hydrography and the Great Barrier Reef, 1848–1973 Colin Jones

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Our land is girt by sea: popular depictions of naval imagery in the national press, 1908–1918 Robert Crawford

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The Royal Australian navy in Australian diplomacy Peter Edwards

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Part III Ships, industry and technology for Australia

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9

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HMAS Australia: a ship for a nation David Stevens

10 Australian shipbuilding and the impact of the Second World War John C. Jeremy

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11 HMAS Sydney (III): a symbol of Australia’s growing maritime capability David Hobbs

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12 The Navy and advances in Australian defence science David Wyllie

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13 Technology transfer, knowledge partnerships and the advance of Australian naval combat systems Geoff Cannon

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Part IV Naval people and the nation

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14 ‘Sailors to citizens, citizens and sailors, citizens to sailors’: naval men and Australia from 1788–1914 Bob Nicholls

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15 Alfred Deakin and the Australian naval story Judith Harley

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16 Vice Admiral Sir William Clarkson, KBE, CMG, RAN: building ships for the navy and the nation Chris Clark

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17 The naval professional: Admiral Sir Francis Hyde, KCB, CVO, CBE, RAN James Goldrick

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18 A life off the ocean wave: ex-navy people in the Australian community Ian Pfennigwerth

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19 Conclusion: maritime nations—the lucky league John Reeve

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Notes Index

385 431


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Foreword

The Australian national identity is undeveloped when compared to those of many other countries. As a sovereign state we are still relatively young and we sometimes struggle to understand not only our collective identity, but also what we want this identity to be. Given that until recently all those who came to settle in Australia arrived by ship, one may be forgiven for assuming our national identity should be largely supported by a significant attachment to, and affinity with, the sea. The more so, since the ocean remains a necessary part of our national life: an indispensable factor in our trade, the provider of a variety of important resources and the defining factor in our unique strategic environment. Yet, although our oceanic zones make up our largest area of national jurisdiction, Australians more commonly perceive the sea as a barrier, a boundary in mind if not in fact, which defines the limits of our national sovereignty and interest. It was probably their struggle with the harsh Australian landscape that turned the early European colonists away from their maritime heritage and dependence. Although in its first years the colonists relied solely upon sea communications, their longer-term survival relied upon conquering the environment in which they lived. But the ‘bush myth’, which has since coloured so much of Australian culture and tradition, is more concerned with looking inwards than outwards. Whatever its former value, such a vision is hardly enough to sustain a modern progressive nation, one which ix


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seeks to play a leadership role in its region and actively support the maintenance of a peaceful global community. To adopt a truly meaningful and mature national identity, we must routinely re-examine our unique cultural heritage. This requires far more than a simple retelling of Australia’s traditional historical account. History may provide the basis for awareness, but our heritage must say something about what we value now and how we wish to be portrayed in the future. My earliest predecessor, Vice Admiral Sir William Creswell, once remarked that ‘our future must be that of a maritime state’. ‘It is a truism,’ he continued, ‘that the defence of the frontier of a state should be in the hands of its frontiersmen. In Australia our seamen are our frontiersmen.’ This reflection still retains its relevance. At a time when encouraging the ability to camp outdoors, shoot and ride represented the apogee of Australian defence planning, Creswell understood the need for his countrymen to look well beyond their immediate shore for national security. He spent much of his life arguing that an independent and capable navy was an essential characteristic of Australian nationhood: a means to build economic and diplomatic strength in addition to defending the Commonwealth. One can imagine his satisfaction in 1914 when, in its first test of war, the Navy which he had worked so hard to promote, not only deterred attacks on its homeland and shipping, but also established a fighting tradition from which we can still learn much. This book represents another important step along the path towards greater recognition and understanding of Australia’s naval heritage. Drawing on the expertise of maritime historians from around the globe, the editors provide an eclectic selection of essays that bring to light many hitherto neglected aspects of our development as an independent sovereign nation. Such studies are not just of passing interest. The close interrelationship between their navy and the nation is something of which every Australian should be aware. Even though the connection has changed with the times, it remains as vital to our national growth today as it was in Creswell’s


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time. As such, the Australian Navy continues to sustain and build upon his maritime vision. From the Middle East to the Pacific Islands, and from the Southern Ocean to North Asia, our naval men and women remain at the forefront of their nation’s efforts to establish peace and reinforce security. More often than not they are the most visible and long-lasting indication of Australian interest in world events. I remain proud to say that Australians need have no doubts about the quality of that representation. Vice Admiral C.A. Ritchie, AO, RAN Chief of Navy


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Contributors

PROFESSOR GEORGE BAER George W. Baer has had a distinguished career as a diplomatic, naval and strategic historian, educator and analyst. He is the Alfred Thayer Mahan Professor of Maritime Strategy at the US Naval War College. He has been a professor in the Department of Strategy and Policy since 1981, and was its Chairman from 1992 to 2002. He previously taught history at Dartmouth College, and at the University of California, Santa Cruz, where he also served as Chairman of the Department of History. He received an AB from Stanford University (graduating with highest academic honours), a BA and MA from Oxford University, where he was a Rhodes Scholar and studied Philosophy, Politics, and Economics, and a PhD in History from Harvard University. He has published extensively and his most recent book, One Hundred Years of Seapower: The U.S. Navy, 1890–1990, received the Theodore and Franklin D. Roosevelt Naval History Prize, the Bonnot Award for Naval and Maritime History, and the Distinguished Book Award of the Society for Military History.

COMMANDER GEOFF CANNON, RAN Geoff Cannon joined the RAN as a Naval Artificer Apprentice in 1965 and subsequently specialised as a communications maintenance xii


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technician. He received a commission in 1980 and following professional engineering training in the United Kingdom served in a variety of specialist appointments as a weapons electrical engineering officer. He joined the Combat Data Systems Centre (CDSC) as Head of the Systems Engineering Group in 1996, becoming the Director in 2001. A significant proportion of his time at CDSC has been devoted to current and future combat system support issues within the Navy.

DR CHRIS CLARK Chris Clark is the RAAF Historian and heads the Office of Air Force History from his position on the staff of the Air Power Development Centre. He has written or edited more than twenty books in the field of Australian defence history from colonial times to the present. Several of these works have been on naval subjects, including the battles of the Coral Sea and Savo Island. His biography of Vice Admiral Sir William Clarkson appeared in 2002 and continues his work on naval industry in Australia in the twentieth century.

DR ROBERT CRAWFORD Robert Crawford is an Honorary Research Associate in the School of Historical Studies at Monash University. His PhD thesis, ‘Selling a Nation’, examined the images of Australian national identity contained in press advertisements between 1900 and 1969. His articles exploring advertising and its social and political impact in Australia have appeared in the Journal of Australian Studies, War & Society, and Labour History.

PROFESSOR PETER EDWARDS, AM Peter Edwards has studied the history of Australian foreign policy and diplomacy for three decades. He is the official historian of Australia’s


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involvement in the Malayan Emergency, the Indonesian–Malaysian Confrontation and the Vietnam War. His books include Prime Ministers and Diplomats (1983), Crises and Commitments (1992), and A Nation at War (1997). He is currently consultant historian to the Department of Defence, the Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade, and the Australian War Memorial. He is an honorary professor at Deakin University in Melbourne and a visiting professor at the University of New South Wales, Australian Defence Force Academy. In 2001 he was made a Member of the Order of Australia (AM) for his services to Australian military history.

THE RIGHT REVEREND DR TOM FRAME Tom Frame was born in Sydney and raised in Wollongong. He joined the Royal Australian Naval College, HMAS Creswell, as a sixteen-yearold cadet midshipman. After completing a PhD at the University of New South Wales, Australian Defence Force Academy, on the HMAS Voyager disaster, he resigned from the RAN in 1992 to complete a Master of Theology degree with a thesis entitled, ‘The Delphic Sword: Reconciling Christianity and Military Service in Australia’, as well as his training for the Anglican priesthood. He was ordained in 1993 and has held several appointments to parishes in Australia and in England. In June 2001 he was consecrated fifth Anglican Bishop to the Australian Defence Force. He is the author or co-author of fifteen books on a range of topics, including Stromlo: An Australian Observatory (2003), Living by the Sword? The Ethics of Armed Intervention (2004), The Life & Death of Harold Holt (2004), and No Pleasure Cruise: the story of the Royal Australian Navy (2004).

COMMODORE JAMES GOLDRICK, AM, CSC James Goldrick joined the RAN College in 1974 and went on to graduate with a BA degree from the University of New South Wales


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and an M.Litt degree from the University of New England. His career as a seaman officer has included command of HMASs Cessnock and Sydney, and in 2002 he commanded the Australian task group and the Multinational Interception Force deployed to the Persian Gulf to enforce UN sanctions against Iraq. After his return to Australia he was promoted to commodore and is currently Commandant of the Australian Defence Force Academy. He has lectured in naval history and contemporary maritime affairs at many institutions. His publications as author or editor include The King’s Ships Were at Sea: The War in the North Sea August 1914–February 1915 (1984), Reflections on the Royal Australian Navy (1989), Mahan is Not Enough: The Proceedings of a Conference on the Works of Sir Julian Corbett and Admiral Sir Herbert Richmond (1993) and No Easy Answers: The Development of the Navies of India, Pakistan, Bangladesh and Sri Lanka (1997).

JUDITH HARLEY Judith Harley was born Judith Deakin White in Melbourne, the daughter of Thomas W. White and Vera Deakin White, the daughter of Alfred Deakin who was the Prime Minister of Australia on three occasions. Judith completed a BA in History at the University of Melbourne, before moving to London when her father was appointed Australian High Commissioner. She later returned to Melbourne to live with her husband, the late Dr Geoffrey Harley, AM and their three sons. She was President of the Women’s Committee of the National Trust, and has had a life-long interest in Australian history and art. She has had two solo exhibitions, and has published numerous articles and stories. In 2001 during the Centenary of Federation celebrations she spoke to a wide variety of audiences about her maternal grandfather, Alfred Deakin.


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COMMANDER DAVID HOBBS, MBE, RN (RTD) David Hobbs joined the Royal Navy in 1964. As a Fleet Air Arm pilot he flew Gannet, Hunter and Canberra aircraft as well as Wessex Commando Helicopters, and served in a number of Royal Navy aircraft carriers. He retired from the active list in 1997 and is currently Curator and Deputy Director of the Fleet Air Arm Museum at RNAS Yeovilton in the United Kingdom. His publications include Aircraft Carriers of the Royal & Commonwealth Navies (1996), Aircraft of the Royal Navy since 1945 (1982), Ark Royal—The Name Lives On (1985) and Royal Navy Escort Carriers (2003). He is writing a book on British and Australian carrier operations and researching British carrier development in the post-1945 era.

JOHN JEREMY, BE, CPENG, FIEAUST, FRINA John Jeremy is a graduate of the University of New South Wales in naval architecture. He started work at Cockatoo Dockyard in 1960, and held a number of positions in the planning and technical areas before being appointed Technical Director of the company in 1976. In 1981 he was appointed Managing Director of Cockatoo Dockyard Pty Limited, which became a member of the Australian National Industries Limited group in 1986. He was Chief Executive of ANI Engineering Services Pty Limited from 1992 to 1997. He is a past national president of the Metal Trades Industry Association (MTIA), and past chairman of the MTIA Defence Manufacturers’ Council. He is also a past president of the Australian Division of the Royal Institution of Naval Architects, and has been a member of the Australian Division Council since 1971. His published works include Cockatoo Island: Sydney’s Historic Dockyard (1998), and he is currently Editor of The Australian Naval Architect.


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COLIN JONES Colin Jones was born in Brisbane and on his first birthday the Battle of the Coral Sea was being waged. He worked for thirty-eight years in the Australian Commonwealth Public Service, mainly in the administration of broadcasting, but devoted his spare time to research in other areas. Among his published books are Australian Colonial Navies (1986) and Wings and the Navy (1997), as well as books on tramways and radio broadcasting. He continues to pursue historical interests in retirement.

BOB NICHOLLS After relinquishing a naval career that included service in three navies and stretched over four decades, Bob Nicholls turned to writing. He has published seven books including, most recently, a study of the breastwork monitor Cerberus, The Three-Headed Dog: Towards the First Battleship (2001), which concentrates on the development of the naval engineering technology that made the design and construction of this significant ship possible in the late 1860s. He is currently President of the Naval Historical Society of Australia.

IAN PFENNIGWERTH Ian Pfennigwerth served in the RAN from 1958 to 1992, commanding the guided missile destroyer HMAS Perth from 1983 to 1984, and occupying a number of staff positions in the Australian fleet, Navy Office and the Department of Defence. Between 1979 and 1992 most of his time was spent in intelligencerelated postings. He spent more than ten years serving in the UK, USA, Hong Kong and China. On leaving the RAN he established a consultancy in international business development and retired in


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2000. He is presently completing a PhD in naval history at the University of Newcastle, and compiling an oral history of the members of his RAN College term.

DR JOHN REEVE John Reeve is Senior Lecturer and Osborne Fellow in Naval History at the University of New South Wales, Australian Defence Force Academy. A graduate of Melbourne University (MA) and Cambridge (PhD), he has taught at Cambridge, Yale (as a Fulbright Fellow), Hong Kong, and Sydney universities, has held visiting fellowships at Cambridge and London universities, and is a Fellow of the Royal Historical Society and a Member of the International Institute for Strategic Studies. He began his career as a political and diplomatic historian and for fifteen years has specialised in international, naval and strategic history and contemporary maritime strategic affairs. His publications include Charles I and the Road to Personal Rule (1989), (co-ed.) Southern Trident: Strategy, History and the Rise of Australian Naval Power (2001), (co-ed) The Face of Naval Battle: the human experience of modern war at sea (2003), and many articles, essays, chapters, working papers, and dictionary entries. He is writing a study of early modern diplomacy and strategy and is an Associate Editor of the Oxford Dictionary of National Biography (2004).

DR JAN RÜGER Jan Rüger is a Leverhulme Research Fellow and lecturer in Modern European History at Birkbeck College, University of London. He specialises in cultural and comparative European history of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. A graduate of the University of Munich and of Cambridge University, he recently held a Fox International Fellowship at the Yale Center for International and Area


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Studies. His work on the cultural role of the Navy has been awarded the Julian Corbett Prize of the Institute of Historical Research, London, and the Prize of the German Historical Institute, London.

DR DAVID STEVENS David Stevens is a former naval officer, a graduate of the University of New South Wales (PhD) and Australian National University (MA), and Director of Strategic and Historical Studies within the Sea Power Centre-Australia. His publications as author or editor include: U-Boat Far From Home (1997), Maritime Power in the twentieth century: the Australian experience (1998), (co-ed.) Southern Trident: Strategy, History and the Rise of Australian Naval Power (2001), the third volume in the Australian Centenary History of Defence: The Royal Australian Navy (2001), (co-ed) The Face of Naval Battle: the human experience of modern war at sea (2003), and The Royal Australian Navy in World War II (2nd ed. 2004).

PROFESSOR GEOFFREY TILL Geoffrey Till is the Dean of Academic Studies at the UK Joint Services Command and Staff College and Head of the Defence Studies Department, which is a part of the War Studies Group of King’s College London. An internationally renowned writer on maritime strategic issues, he is the author of various books including Air Power and the Royal Navy (1979), Maritime Strategy and the Nuclear Age (1984), Modern Sea Power (1987), and (with Bryan Ranft) The Sea in Soviet Strategy (1989). Recently he has edited Coastal Forces (1994), Sea Power: Theory and Practice (1994) and Seapower at the Millennium (2001). His latest book is Seapower: A Guide for the 21st Century (2003). His works have been translated into eight languages, and he regularly lectures at staff colleges and conferences around the world.


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COMMANDER NEIL WESTPHALEN MBBS, FRACGP, DAVMED, PSC, RAN Neil Westphalen qualified at Adelaide University in 1985 and joined the RAN as a medical officer in 1987. He subsequently served in a number of ships and establishments, including participation in sanction operations in the Persian Gulf in HMAS Sydney in 1993 and Exercise RIMPAC 96 in HMAS Perth. His civil postgraduate qualifications include the Fellowship of the Royal Australian College of General Practioners and a Diploma of Aviation Medicine from the RAF School of Aviation Medicine. On the military side, he completed the RAN staff course in 1996 and has some expertise in joint service health planning and NBC (nuclear, biological, chemical) medicine. At present he is Senior Medical Officer at HMAS Stirling in Western Australia and working for a Master of Public Health degree.

DR DAVID V. WYLLIE David Wyllie is Chief, Maritime Platforms Division, in the Defence Science and Technology Organisation (DSTO). Prior to this he was a Research Leader in Maritime Operations Division in Sydney with responsibility for coordinating DSTO’s support for the RAN’s Collins class submarines. Between 1969 and 1989 he conducted research on environmental acoustics, sonar systems, and sonar signal processing at the DSTO Research Divisions in Sydney and Adelaide, and at the USN Naval Oceans Systems Center, San Diego. During 1992 and 1993 he was the Navy Scientific Adviser in Navy Office in Canberra and between 1979 and 1982 was on the staff of the Counsellor (Defence Science) at the Australian Embassy in Washington, DC. In 1991 he completed an MBA degree at the University of California, Davis, and has a PhD in Physics (in Radioastronomy) from the University of Sydney.


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Illustrations and figures ILLUSTRATIONS p.iiii Australian sailor p.14 National Naval Memorial p.13 Farewell to HMAS Sydney p.16 Visitors to HMAS Australia p.21 Operation TROCHUS p.29 Captain James Cook p.40 Admiral Sir George KingHall p.45 HMS King George V p.51 Launch of HMAS Brisbane p.60 A ‘Venetian Carnival’ on Sydney Harbour p.63 Bicentennial Naval Salute p.73 Dr James Lind p.82 School of Underwater Medicine p.87 Sydney Cove p.99 Captain Arthur Phillip

p.106 Garden Island p.110 HMS Rattlesnake and Bramble p.116 Lieutenant Commander Harry Bennett p.121 Survey motor launches p.151 HMAS Adelaide at Noumea p.155 Divisions at HMAS Tarangau p.162 PSS President H.I. Remeliik p.167 Scuttling of HMAS Australia p.177 HMAS Australia entering Sydney p.181 HMAS Franklin p.190 HMAS Goulburn p.200 Cockatoo Island p.207 Cockatoo Dockyard Turbine Shop p.215 HMAS Sydney p.224 Sea Fury aircraft xxi


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p.230 p.236 p.242 p.245 p.255 p.260 p.275 p.277 p.282 p.291 p.299 p.302 p.306

SAS soldiers Ikara Kariwara Dakota aircraft Operations Room Combat Data Systems Centre Queensland Naval Brigade Captain Francis Hixson Naval Honour Guard Alfred Deakin US Great White Fleet Sailors from HMAS Melbourne Officers from HMCS Protector

p.313 Launch of HMAS Warrego p.324 Coffs Harbour visit p.325 Australians visiting HMAS Australia p.337 Admiral Sir Francis Hyde p.352 Opening of Sydney Opera House p.361 Apprenticeship week display p.367 Young Endeavour Youth Scheme p.372 Disaster relief stores p.377 Tenix shipyard p.381 Combined maritime exercise

FIGURES Figure 7.1. Illustration from the Bulletin, 10 September 1908 Figure 7.2. Cartoon from the Bulletin, 5 January 1911 Figure 7.3. The cover of a real estate brochure, c. 1916 Figure 7.4. Advertisement from the Bulletin, 8 July 1915

p.133 p.138 p.142 p.146


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Abbreviations

ACNB ADF ADM AEL AIF AIR ARL AOE ASB AWM BPF CAFO CDSC CinC CNF CNS COTS DARPA DDG DDL DDMU D(I)C DSC DSTO

Australian Commonwealth Naval Board Australian Defence Force Admiralty Files, Public Record Office, Kew, London Advanced Engineering Laboratory Australian Imperial Force Air Ministry Files, Public Record Office, Kew, London Aeronautical Research Laboratories Fast Combat Support Ship Australian Shipping Board Australian War Memorial British Pacific Fleet Confidential Admiralty Fleet Order Combat Data Systems Centre Commander-in-Chief Commonwealth Naval Forces Chief of the Naval Staff Commercial Off-the-shelf (US) Defence Advanced Research Projects Agency Guided Missile Destroyer Light Destroyer Double-Density Memory Unit Defence (Industrial) Committee Distinguished Service Cross Defence Science and Technology Organisation xxiii


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FEG FFG FMS FO2FEF HMAS HMCS HMNZS HMS IAC JANI JPTDS KCB

Force Element Group Guided Missile Frigate (US) Foreign Military Sales Flag Officer Second-in Command of the Far East Fleet His/Her Majesty’s Australian Ship His/Her Majesty’s Canadian Ship His/Her Majesty’s New Zealand Ship His/Her Majesty’s Ship Industries Assistance Commission Journal of the Australian Naval Institute Junior Participating Tactical Data System Knight Commander of the Most Honourable Order of the Bath KCMG Knight Commander of the Order of St Michael and St George NAA National Archives of Australia NATO North Atlantic Treaty Organisation NCDS Naval Combat Data System NHC Naval Historical Center, Washington NHS Naval Historical Section, Canberra NMM(G) National Maritime Museum, Greenwich, UK NQEA North Queensland Engineering Agents NTDS Naval Tactical Data System NWSA Navy Warfare Systems Agency PRO Public Record Office, London RAAF Royal Australian Air Force RAF Royal Air Force RAN Royal Australian Navy RANEL RAN Experimental Laboratory RANR RAN Reserve RANRL RAN Research Laboratory RANSID RAN Standard Interface Device RCN Royal Canadian Navy RN Royal Navy SNAF Soviet Naval Air Force


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USN USS WESS WRE WSP

United States Navy United States Ship Weapons Control Console Event System Simulator Weapons Research Establishment Weapon System Processor


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Acknowledgements

Most of the essays in this book began as papers presented at the third King-Hall Naval History Conference held in Canberra in July 2003. The conference was sponsored by the Royal Australian Navy in conjunction with the University of New South Wales at the Australian Defence Force Academy and the Australian Naval Institute. This book could not have been produced without the support of the contributors and a variety of individuals and organisations. Particular thanks are due to Mark Bailey, Alastair Cooper, Tim Coyle, Michael Dowsett, Brett Fotheringham, Lynne Hadley, Tom Lewis and John Maschke, who also presented papers to the conference; to David Griffin, Vanessa Bendle, Brett Mitchell, David Wallace and Joe Straczek of the Naval History Section; and to the Department of Veterans Affairs, the Australian War Memorial ANZAC Foundation, and the National Archives of Australia, which all assisted with sponsorship.

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Introduction: the Navy and the birth of the nation David Stevens and John Reeve . . . almost none of them [historians of the British Empire writing since 1945] has much familiarity with the relationship of sea-power to empire. The Royal Navy, by which, under God, the safety of all realms mainly depended does not ordinarily exercise their minds, and is certainly not a compelling factor in their calculations. In Canada and Australia they count Army corpses and work out ratios between the war dead and Canadian and Australian nationality . . . Such histories are good for patriotic memories no doubt, but they are not the stuff of empires. The vastness of the concepts and the needs of empire dwarfed the understandings of the soldier-dominated leadership in the wars and after, and such narrow thinking had an effect that was marked. The children of empire deserved a vision and have been given horse-blinkers. Donald M. Schurman, Imperial Defence 1868–1887 1

Most non-indigenous Australians seem to accept that their nation came into being with the Federation of the six self-governing colonies on 1 January 1901. The colonies were thereafter states in a binding association. When Australia came of age is less certain, because changing cultural values and shifting concepts of identity 1


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have allowed successive generations to claim variously the honour for themselves and their times. Nevertheless, the majority of modern Australians would probably nominate the loss of more than 8000 Australian lives at Gallipoli as a defining moment in the nation’s development. It was, after all, Charles Bean, the distinguished military historian and chronicler of the first Anzacs, who afforded an epitaph worthy of the sacrifice: ‘In no unreal sense it was on the 25th of April, 1915, that the consciousness of Australian nationhood was born.’ 2 War, it seemed, was the ultimate test of national character and, for those inspired by early twentieth-century nationalistic ideas, a necessary, if bloody, rite of passage. Although there remain various interpretations of the content and meaning of the Anzac legend, the 25th of April—Anzac Day—has become something of an alternative national day, while the story of Gallipoli continues to provide a well-thumbed guide to broader national ideals and the supposedly innate qualities of the typical Australian ‘Digger’. In the words of an earlier historian: ‘Volunteer forces, largely officered by amateur soldiers . . . demonstrated the effects of pioneering, of country life, of sport and of democratic freedom.’ 3 It is perhaps fortunate that in its becoming an allegory for Australian nationhood the Anzac legend has transcended the reality for those who actually fought. The more the folklore surrounding the first Anzacs is examined, the less the details stand up to scrutiny. In his book, The Anzac Illusion, the historian Eric Andrews went so far as to conclude that while ‘Anzac’ may have formed the basis for an Australian identity, it remains ‘a myth in every sense of the word’.4 His and other reassessments have pointed out that, by the time of Federation, Australia was already a highly urbanised society, that many of the Anzacs were not Australian-born, and that the propagation of the myth served ongoing political rather than national interests. More significantly for the Australian military tradition, uncritical glorification of the sacrifice at Gallipoli has hidden fundamental deficiencies in such areas as training, logistics and strategy. As Jeffrey Grey has argued in his recent study of the Army as an


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institution, the popular perception of Australian soldiers as inspired amateurs and uniformed larrikins has detracted from the very real, very necessary and thoroughly professional improvements that were progressively introduced into the Australian Imperial Force.5 To its credit, the Anzac legend has forged an emotional bond between the Australian military and the public which other nations might envy, but its conceptual limitations mean that the ongoing tendency to link ‘Anzac’ with a uniquely Australian ‘way of warfare’ must be treated with caution. If, as the contemporary strategist Michael Evans has suggested, a way of warfare should be seen as ‘a military operational manifestation of a society’s values and deepest beliefs about how it should defend itself ’,6 then in terms of future Australian security planning the legend may indeed have outlived its usefulness. This volume does not seek to provide another reassessment of the Anzac tradition, but the legend provides a classic example of a national foundation myth which distorts as well as simplifies an inherently complex set of historical circumstances. In effect, the ongoing political and popular focus on a limited aspect of the Australian military experience has hampered better understanding of the wider context of the role of the professional military in nation building. The aim of this book, therefore, is to highlight some of those broader but hitherto neglected perspectives on Australia’s national progress. More specifically, it examines the naval influence on both national development and identity. In this sense it breaks new ground as it addresses an issue which Australian historians never seem to have seriously pondered. Certainly, the role of the British Royal Navy in the first European settlement of the continent is not normally forgotten, but it has seldom been appraised in the terms of Donald Schurman’s ‘stuff of empires’.7 Still less attention has been given in national historiography to the contributions of Australia’s own Navy. Manning Clark in his epic, multi-volume A History of Australia—often considered a keystone to the understanding of Australia’s past— fails even to mention the arrival of the new Australian fleet unit in


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Australia’s long dependence on its seamen was recognised with Queen Elizabeth II’s dedication of a national memorial to the Royal Australian Navy on 3 March 1986. In front of a parade of 600 serving personnel and more than 1500 ex-navalmen and spectators, the Queen paid tribute to the Navy’s long, loyal and dedicated service: ‘For over 200 years Australia’s history has been dominated by the sea and seamen. The first settlers came by sea, the coasts were charted by seamen and since the RAN’s formation Australia’s security and independence have been guarded by her seamen.’ (RAN)


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Introduction 5

October 1913.8 Yet at the time this event was lauded as the most significant for European Australians since Lieutenant James Cook’s 1770 voyage of exploration.9 When one looks again at the historical context, it is easy to understand why. The costs associated with acquiring and maintaining an up-todate ocean-going fleet were enormous for any nation. For the barely established Commonwealth of Australia, still struggling with the expense of establishing a viable Federal infrastructure, it would largely contribute to the quadrupling of defence expenditure between 1909 and 1913.10 But these costs were not simply lost to the nation in the course of procuring a fleet. In seeking the approval of Parliament in November 1909, the Minister for Defence, Joseph Cook, assured his fellow members that the new naval proposals provided not only the best method of guaranteeing Australia’s safety, but also ‘greater industrial and progressive development’. Indeed, the direct and indirect increase in national strength and wealth would more than outstrip the additional expense on ‘preventatives of war’.11 More than this, however, the decision to assume local responsibility for naval defence was an important indicator of Australia’s progress as an autonomous member of the British Empire. The Director of Commonwealth Naval Forces, Captain William Creswell, had been arguing for years that the nation’s ‘sea efficiency’ was ‘the first and most urgent call upon responsible authority’.12 Australia now stood poised both to accept this responsibility and to take an active part in the collective security of the Empire. ‘In my judgement,’ Cook argued before the House, ‘we are in these proposals, beginning, almost for the first time, to realize the promise of Federation . . . we shall turn over a new leaf in the book of our evolution. Our tutelary stages are past, our time of maturity is here.’13 Cook’s words would have struck a familiar chord with John Foster Fraser, an English travel writer then visiting the new nation. ‘Australia’, he wrote, ‘presents a paradox. There is a breezy buoyant Imperial spirit. But the national spirit, as it is understood elsewhere, is practically non-existent.’14 With no interstate road system and five different rail gauges, physical communication within the nation was almost entirely by sea.


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For all practical purposes the states might have been so many islands. A national capital was still just an aspiration and, almost a decade after Federation, Fraser found each state an absolutely independent community: ‘fired with ambition to make itself the favoured land’.15 Enmity was in decline, but it would take something more than a Federal Parliament before a national sentiment came to either state politicians or citizens. In arguing that it was the shared experience of Gallipoli and the Great War that forged a true sense of national identity, historians have revealed only a part of the story. Throughout the war, the Army continued to recruit on a state basis and its formations up to brigade level were largely defined along state lines. By contrast, it was an immediate national priority to make the new Navy a thoroughly and recognisably Australian force. Even before 1914, the naval proposals offered the states a chance to participate in a national enterprise that was at once vital to their continued way of life and beyond anything they had yet attempted or achieved. Many accounts gloss over the racial background, but the shared vision for the nation was exclusively Anglo-Saxon and the government’s determination to maintain ‘a peculiarly Australian point of view’, in terms of immigration, ensured that every citizen of the new Commonwealth had to take a real interest in national security. It was widely understood that by barring Asiatics from settlement, Australia was out of sympathy with British policy and making few friends among its northern neighbours. It was also recognised that while the White Australia Policy might have passed into law, it ‘depended really on defence’, and that that defence was entirely naval. ‘Australia is the sea continent’, Charles Bean had expounded before the war.16 ‘The sea is Australia’s best means of defence; it is her only means of attack . . . She must employ some Navy to defend her.’ Previously that Navy had been ‘wholly English’ but, ‘right or wrong, the resolve of Australians to keep their country white is of an intensity undreamed of in England’.17 Hence in future the Navy must be Australia’s own. Modern Australians resile from this kind of high imperial racial nationalism. But Bean’s awareness of the maritime character of


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Introduction 7

Australia, and of the critical value of the Navy as a national institution is testimony to a wider historical context than that of which we are usually aware. Moreover, it was only the intended beginning. Often absent from the traditional narratives is the fact that the fleet unit agreed to in 1909 was envisaged as no more than the nucleus of Australia’s necessary naval expansion. World affairs in the twentieth century, already unsettled, seemed destined to revolve around the Pacific as empires and trade continued to expand. This was an area of direct interest to Australia and its ‘natural dominion’ according to at least one nineteenth century naval explorer.18 It was certainly a part of the globe where Australia’s influence might be felt more and more if the wealth and strength of its people were intelligently applied. To men such as Admiral Sir George King-Hall, then Commander-in-Chief of the Australia Station, such a vision would be realised only if Australia became ‘a great Naval Power in the Pacific’.19 To further this objective, in May 1910 the Commonwealth government invited the Royal Navy’s Admiral Sir Reginald Henderson to visit and provide advice on future naval policy. Predicating his subsequent report on Australia’s predicted national growth, Henderson advocated a progressive expansion of the fleet over the period of a generation. He estimated that by 1933 the Australian Navy should possess eight battle cruisers, ten light cruisers, eighteen destroyers, twelve submarines, four auxiliaries and 15 000 personnel. Henderson may have been pushing the imperial barrow, but in noting that such a force would allow Australia to assume prime responsibility ‘for the peace patrol duties of the South Pacific’,20 he was not out of touch with local aspirations. The government had not only eagerly accepted the plan but, before the Great War intervened, had also advanced parts of its schedule. Prime Minister Andrew Fisher went so far as to state in Parliament that ‘An unlimited amount will be spent should that course be considered necessary’.21 To King-Hall, who was closely involved in bringing the project for an effective Australian Navy to fruition, the Henderson plan constituted both recognition and satisfactory solution and he reinforced the connection between the new Navy and the new nation at every opportunity. ‘My hope as


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regards the Naval Policy adopted by the Commonwealth’, he wrote, ‘cannot be better expressed than in the words of the national motto, “Advance Australia”.’22 The contributors to this book present a fresh and intriguing collection of viewpoints on the wider context of Australian nation building. Beginning with an introduction to some of the concepts and contexts linking navies, nations, and sea power, the first section offers a considered perspective on relevant aspects of Australian and international naval affairs. Other sections highlight naval themes in national life, national economic and industrial development, and the contributions made by naval people. The individual chapters delve more deeply into the particularly Australian aspects of these themes, and they range from accounts of important individuals through to in-depth investigations of equally important, but lesser-known aspects of our history. Significantly, these essays feature the extensive and collective naval contribution, rather than the isolated incidents more usually associated with appreciations of Australia’s Navy. Taken together the contributors go some way to answering the question: ‘How significant has the naval factor been in the development of the nation?’ But they have only scratched the surface. Indeed they have tended to generate more questions than they answer. After all, if Australia’s national debt to the Navy is as great as most contributors seem to suggest, why has it received so little attention in considerations of Australian identity? And what further studies will redress the balance? And how can today’s naval leaders best respond to the ongoing challenge of nation building? In practical terms, how do they convince their nation that the Navy remains a unique national institution and something essential to the progress of a healthy Australian society? It is to be hoped that this book will encourage such further research and analysis, but if it has served only to stimulate new discussion then the editors will be well pleased. For this is not just a question of Australian history, but a case study in some of the ways a navy can contribute to the creation of a nation.


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Part I Concepts and contexts


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1 The Navy for the nation: a shared responsibility George Baer The call is for every Australian to thoroughly understand the Naval question, upon which so much depends, and, understanding it, to take it seriously and to thoroughly support the authorities, whoever they may be, who have the responsibility of making it a reality and a success. It is a call where we must be patriots first and politicians a long way to the rear, for it is of the utmost importance that the Navy should be outside the sphere of political warfare—it must be a national force and supported by the nation, whole-heartedly and without reserve. Admiral Sir George King-Hall, KCB, Commander-in-Chief Australia Station, 19121

In this chapter I want to explore how a navy defines its value to a nation and how a nation understands the value of its navy.2 As the first responsibility of a navy is combat, and it must be ready to fight at sea, my emphasis here will be about how naval means and national ends are matched for this purpose of military effectiveness. It is a reciprocal process, self-generating and at the same time self-limiting. Navies are, of course, subordinate to governments, 11


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dependent on the nation for their rationale, legitimacy, and existence. Still, national expectations and mission orders must not go beyond a navy’s operational capacity. In short, the navy obeys orders, but the options a navy provides will determine policy decisions. Therefore, both political and naval leaders must understand one another’s capabilities. Defining naval value, creating a navy for a nation, is a shared responsibility.3 It can be a problematic relationship. In 1912 Admiral King-Hall expected the new RAN to foster a spirit of Australian nationality. At the same time he opposed a top candidate for the new high command because he was born in Australia and only a captain. He was, King-Hall said, too close to the Australian politicians and the people. Therefore a British-born Royal Navy admiral was required to head the RAN, able to ‘stand up against them’;4 that is stand up against Australian politicians and people. King-Hall’s point, I take it, was that as a specialised combat force (no doubt, in King-Hall’s mind, to be used to further British imperial interests) the new RAN required professional discipline and autonomy. But he also saw that the RAN was a national institution. So the question was, and is: ‘How close, and on what terms, should the connection be between the nation and the navy?’ Obviously one model will not fit all cases. There are as many kinds of navies as the kinds of nations that create them. And navies like nations have both a foreign and a domestic dimension. Civilian political and social constituencies will ascribe their own values to a navy, and these also influence its creation and its use.5 A hundred years ago in the United States the new offensive battleship fleet was a source of civic pride, celebrated on Navy Day, but it was also opposed for enabling imperial expansion. Different values were given to the same ship. In the economic realm, most people understand a navy’s value in assuring access to strategic resources and protecting the movement of sea commerce. Navies for their part are quick to point out another domestic benefit: force procurement means jobs at home. In 1914, for example, the Royal Navy absorbed up to a quarter of the total


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Concepts and contexts 13

A navy’s military capability provides the fundamental reason for its existence, but a nation’s decision to use force in international affairs remains one of the most serious its leadership can make. When HMAS Sydney (IV) was deployed to the Iraq War in 2003, she was farewelled by (from left): the Prime Minister, John Howard; the Chief of the Defence Force, General Peter Cosgrove; the Governor-General, the Right Reverend Dr Peter Hollingworth; and the Maritime Commander, Rear Admiral Raydon Gates. (RAN)

British tax yield and a large part of the workforce was dependent on naval contracts. Hew Strachan observed that: ‘These links between the navy and the nation were kept active by a [RN] flair for publicity and propaganda that made nonsense of the idea of a “silent service”.’ 6 A navy and a nation are connected in many ways. In the final analysis, a navy’s justification depends on what it can deliver of what the state requires. Sea space is social space, political space, and a navy is the instrument of a nation to assure its use. It cannot decline its service. Does a nation want its navy for ocean mastery, littoral operations, or constabulary duties?7 For expeditionary offensives or regional control? For independent or combined operations? For ‘operations other than war’, such as enforcement of


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sanctions, maritime interception, fishery protection, or pollution control? Or for noncombatant operations, such as disaster relief, salvage, and search and rescue?8 To cover any range of missions, a navy must be prepared. So preparedness is what a nation must provide, and what a navy must expect of its nation. Here, in preparedness, is to be found the shared responsibility I am talking about. It is a responsibility declared by the definition of national interests and governed by its military capacities. What does the security environment call for, and for what should a navy prepare? And how are decisions on structure and on strategy to be made, between a nation and a navy? This requires broad and deep debate. As Hugh White wrote, thinking about Australia: Broader in the sense that it needs to engage the wider community and address the ideas and beliefs that underpin defence policy—our strategic culture. Deeper in the sense that the debate needs to analyse more critically how well new ideas apply to the specifics of Australia’s strategic situation, and how well they respect the inherent limits of armed force.9

But decisions will have to be made, and, I take it, the Australian government—the responsible political authority—expressed the matter at least for the moment with the 2003 update of the 2000 Defence White Paper. This nominally delimited the types of armed conflicts in which the government will choose to become involved. There is less concern stated for the territorial defence of Australia, and more for intervention operations. For this the Defence Capability Plan calls for a more flexible, mobile and sustainable force, terms that will define the RAN, and which vessels and forces the nation will have to provide.10 One naval value that straddles combat and peace-keeping is presence—combat credible forces ‘poised’ in persistent forward deployments or, as it used to be called, ‘gun-boat diplomacy’.11 Here, the principal naval value is the same whether within one’s own waters or on distant station. Presence is an expression of national


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purpose. It is a display of force that potentially commits a nation to action. General Peter Cosgrove said of the naval cover for the East Timor operation in 1999 that it was ‘an important indicator of national and international resolve and most reassuring to all of us who relied on sea lifelines. It was an easily defined case of the “presence” pillar of sea power.’12 And David Stevens added that, ‘While the RAN’s warships may not have fired a shot, it would be wrong to believe that their operations were in any way non-traditional.’13 Their value was in their potential to fight—as understood by a potential adversary. We learn the value of naval presence only by its effect. The value of power is how people respond to it.14 From a target state’s perspective the effect of a show of force is directly related to the political will of the nation which sent the warship. Will force be used or not? After all, a warship can just as easily sail away as stay and fight. The key fact of preparedness and of presence is that a navy must be able to do what it is supposed to do. That means getting the right blend of means and ends. And that requires officers who can identify a navy’s requirements to officials who can state the nation’s expectations. Thus, successful navies are created. Naval effectiveness, as Paul Dibb said, is about providing ‘professional military judgment and force structure analysis’ as a guide in making ‘policy decisions at the highest levels’.15 In the remainder of this chapter I will use US experience to pick some examples of efforts made by officers in the USN to connect maritime forces to national direction. I will show that Admiral A.T. Mahan popularly explained how a naval force fitted US foreign policy, how the conceptually brilliant ‘Maritime Strategy’ of the 1980s failed to make that essential connection, how the post-Cold War strategy of littoral intervention brought naval strategy and national policy back together and, finally, how the USN’s latest strategic statement, Sea Power 21, currently seeks that equilibrium in a period of transformation. My first example is Mahan, who spectacularly redefined the USN in the 1890s. Mahan framed what he called ‘sea power’ in


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Navies have an important and multifaceted diplomatic role, for although they may be designed for combat operations, warships are also used as highly visible ambassadors of goodwill. Australian naval diplomacy has extended much farther than the Asia–Pacific region. Here, Sub-Lieutenant (later Commodore) W.B.M. Marks, RAN, escorts Miss World contestants Miss Norway and Miss Denmark around HMAS Australia (II) on 3 July 1935 during a visit to Torquay. (W. Cook)

terms of a new vision of America’s position in world affairs. He connected his call for new naval capabilities to a new definition of national needs. Mahan argued that Americans must see themselves not as a continental nation whose territory could be protected by the Army’s coastal artillery, but as an island people living in a maritime world faced by fleets which they might have to engage at sea.16 In 1890, he said that Americans were newly faced with a maritime threat requiring a huge change in the US strategic outlook. This was akin to the radical reassessment of national vulnerability made after 11 September 2001. Around 1890, Mahan said that European naval competition and imperial rivalries transformed America’s strategic environment


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and ended America’s century of free security. Colonial rivalries would bring European fleets to the Caribbean, to bases in the western hemisphere. The US then would be vulnerable to direct threat of blockade. Here was a national security crisis. Mahan was sounding a wake-up call. If one follows the argument, one may see similarities with aspects of the debate over the Defence of Australia doctrine. Despite having a more offensive conception of sea power, Mahan would have agreed with John Reeve’s assertion that a seacontrol strategy is a necessity for Australia. ‘Continentalist and denial approaches,’ Reeve wrote, ‘insufficiently aware of the indivisibility of the maritime environment, have lost to maritime strategies for centuries . . . Blue water need not be a tool of naval chauvinism, but it is always a geographical reality.’17 For Mahan, the USN of 1890 was not up to the job of sea control. Its dispersed cruisers could not break a blockade. They could not engage an approaching fleet on the high seas. There was no agreement on naval operations, or on naval strategy, or on how to use the new steam and steel battleship. Mahan set out to end this confusion. His aim was to create a synthesis which merged a newly aggressive foreign policy with an appropriate naval strategy sustained by a new force structure: the offensive battleship fleet. In 1890 Mahan understood that a sound strategy must be based on popular consensus. So he used history to popularise a new national ideal, that of sea power. Sea power was to be the country’s new strategic consciousness. So Mahan made his definition of sea power broadly social and national, not just military. He tied it to national prosperity and the very nature of the country. He defined sea power as the national interest. America was a maritime nation. The threat was expanding foreign fleets. Defence must be forward, at-sea engagement by an offensive battleship fleet. And he stated a program for victory: decisive battle for sea control to secure homeland defence, free trade, and the capacity to blockade the enemy’s ports. The key to Mahan’s success was that the nation, the president, the Congress and the American people accepted his ideas and acted


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upon them. If they had not, if the administration had not integrated his thinking into national strategy, if Congress had not funded the expansion of the force—which of course provided their constituents with vast contracts in the process—Mahan would be just a curiosity of naval literature. As it was, his concepts of offensive sea control and forward deployment, that is, of power projection, dominated US policy and procurement for the next hundred years. My second example is from one hundred years later: the US Navy’s Maritime Strategy of the 1980s. The Maritime Strategy is an example of a Navy initiative which never became national strategy. The Navy’s problem in the 1980s was that existing strategy did not give the service a combat role in case of a general war with the Soviet Union. It is true that the US had a kind of maritime policy— NATO was named for an ocean after all, and the Navy supported the peripheral strategy of containment, as in Korea and Vietnam. But there was no major naval combat role prescribed in the event of a general war. The US Air Force had plans for strategic bombing— that is, against both civilian and military targets—a strategy the Navy embraced with their countervalue Polaris program, and the Army had tactical operations readied for central Europe. These, however, risked immediate escalation to a nuclear exchange. Indeed, the more horrifying their nuclear consequences were, the more likely they were to serve deterrence. Strategy was frozen: the choice was either war avoidance or mutual destruction. In either case, war without victory. All this was magnificent, but for the Navy it was not war. There was no room for strategic manoeuvre, and no fighting role for the Navy. Even the idea of naval lift didn’t make sense. Once a general war began, there would be no time to move troops by sea to Europe. So the Navy proposed to add a different kind of war, a war not against civilian populations but of military against military, one which could be fought and won on American terms. This war would be dispersed and progressive, and thus it might avoid immediate nuclear escalation. The Maritime Strategy exploited the


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strategic value of the sea and the Navy’s capacity for manoeuvre. It was an offensive counterforce strategy, destroying the Soviet strategic reserve of nuclear ballistic missile submarines while attacking Soviet flanks in the north Atlantic and the north Pacific. These would divide the Soviet thrust into the central front of Europe and force the Russians to fight a multi-front war of attrition. The US would control the timing and shape of the war, which is the purpose of strategy. Not since Mahan had the Navy presented in peacetime such a comprehensive theory of victory.18 Unlike Mahan’s sea power, however, the Maritime Strategy never became a national strategy. Policy remained deterrence, not victory; containment, not attack; war avoidance not fighting. Therein was the Navy’s problem. The Navy could not relate fighting to war aims because the country had no war aims. The US strategy was to prevent a war, not to win a war. The Navy tried to create a war-fighting role for itself, hoping to expand to 600 warships, and also hoping the nation would concur. That had worked for Mahan because he matched means to ends. It did not work for the Maritime Strategy because the means the Navy proposed did not fit the goals the nation prescribed. My third example is how the Navy successfully adapted itself to existing policy in the 1990s after the first Gulf War of 1990–91. In that war the Navy had failed to engage the requirements of jointness. The Navy component commander had stayed aboard a ship instead of joining the Army and Air Force combatant commanders who ran the war from Rihad. The consequent marginalisation led to serious rethinking of the Navy’s position. With the Russian Navy rusting in port, American sea control could be taken as a given. So why did the US need a navy? During the post-Cold War 1990s, navies of every state asked the same question and undertook similar and, often, radical re-evaluations.19 This time US naval officers carefully defined the value of their service squarely in terms of existing policy. That policy was to enforce political stability in the interest of global free trade. From stability and trade would come prosperity and liberal political systems, which in


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turn would support a peaceful and prosperous world. This process of globalisation, once started, would be self-perpetuating, except that it required political stability. That, according to US thinking, required American presence and intervention.20 Here was the opportunity for the Navy and the Marine Corps. They smoothly recast their inherent capabilities of flexibility and mobility into missions of influence and intervention. They defined their role in terms of a littoral strategy of presence and attack. In 1992 the Navy’s strategic statement, From the Sea, did not have to assert sea control. Nor did its successor two years later, Forward . . . From the Sea. They simply assumed sea superiority. They stated the services’ value in terms of coastal assault. Thus the naval services would shape the strategic environment of the economically vibrant and heavily populated oceanic rimlands. This time the naval services had closed their policy/strategy gap.21 They stated naval capabilities in terms of national goals. They gave the government useful naval options. And with strong publicity they helped the nation at large understand what the naval services could (and could not) do.22 Within a couple of years, however, America’s strategic picture was transformed. First, the policy itself split as trade was decoupled from humanitarian concerns over China. Then the Asian economic crises challenged the assumption of progress. Second, a threat of stand-off weapons, mines and missiles meant the Navy had to worry about its access to the littorals and its ability to control the sea. Intervention had to be rethought. Longer-ranged weapons were required to put naval fires ashore. New assault ships were required to put Marine boots on the beach, and get them off. Then came September 11, and the shock of American vulnerability which resulted in the National Security Strategy of today. Foreign policy became dominated first by the global ‘war on terror’, second by a determination to contain weapons of mass destruction, third by the invasion of Afghanistan, fourth by the invasion of Iraq, and over-all by an assertive, preemptive, even unilateralist approach to world affairs. The Navy’s response was Sea Power 21.


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Navies have an historically close and continuing relationship with domestic and international law enforcement. In Australia, the Navy’s role in the protection of the offshore estate has been particularly noteworthy. Here, in April 1975, a RAN Grumman Tracker aircraft overflies a group of traditional Indonesian fishing vessels during Operation TROCHUS. The patrol boat HMAS Advance is meanwhile acting as the response and enforcement arm of the maritime surveillance system. (RAN)

The lesson of 9/11 was that the greatest military force in world history had not prevented attacks on the three pillars of American strength: financial (the World Trade Center), military (the Pentagon), and political (the Capitol). A war against mysterious terrorists required a new view of geography, a new view of political agency, and a new foreign policy. Threats were now transnational, or non-national. The danger zones were now inside states, not between them. There was less talk of finding an international consensus, less talk of compromise with allies, and more of unilateral action; less talk of containment of a threat and more of its elimination; less interest in organisations of high ideals and general principles, and more in pragmatic, ad hoc, limited-mission alliances; less talk of stability and more of preemption. Sea Power 21 asserted the Navy’s familiar contribution of taking the fight abroad with the addition of a charge of homeland defence. But it is not easy to accommodate homeland defence with the


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other naval missions of sea control and attack. It is not even clear what constitutes a structure for homeland defence. The Australian military understands better than most that defence of the homeland may interrupt or put a great burden on forward operations, and vice versa. Previously, at least for the US, forward operations were the means to the end of homeland defence. Now, protective actions abroad and at home might be indistinguishable as defence or as offence, and might occur simultaneously. The prospect of simultaneous action puts great stress on armed forces, Australian and American. Sea Power 21 remains, today, a work in process. This is not surprising. The great changes of our time inspire uncertainty and innovation in all navies, in every state. There is no single answer to the question: ‘What is a navy for?’ Nor is there agreement on what navies need. ‘Transformation’ is the word du jour, but what that word denotes is hotly debated. Every nation will devise its own framework to create and use its force. Recent discussions in a number of countries over their navy’s involvement in constabulary operations are exemplary of current debates.23 In Australia the discussion was phrased broadly in terms of a security concept in which the nation’s economic interests were linked directly to defence and, by extension, to a change in the maritime force structure.24 That is how navies connect to nations. In conclusion, I have tried to note in this chapter how naval officers, naval scholars, naval contractors and politicians contribute to the process of coordinating purpose and power. David Stevens expressed the need for a broad connection in the final words of his centenary history of the RAN. He wrote: ‘. . . for the [Australian] navy in the twenty-first century, the key issue will be how well it can communicate its position as something unique and essential within Australian society’.25 That is well said. A navy is for a nation. And the creation of naval effectiveness is a shared responsibility.


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2 The Royal Navy in the Pacific: sea power and imperial endeavour Geoffrey Till The hope of British survival in the Pacific is not in mounted infantry and bushmen scouts—those admirable troops of proved excellence in modern war by land—it lies in means of local production and maintenance of battle power in that ocean . . . The mere fact of having to drag across the globe almost every single thing necessary for the repair and equipment of British ships is a heavy handicap in war with a nation or nations having the necessary sustaining power, so to speak, on the spot. Sir John Colomb, KCMG, MP, June 19011

Navies respond to the strategic environment in which they operate. The environment determines what they do and decides the level and type of resources with which they have to do it. For this reason, they act as a window into the problems, preoccupations and power of the nation states whose interests they seek to defend, a reflection of how that nation sees itself and its place in the world. Indeed representing the nation is often a principal justification for having a navy in the first place. The fourth of the nine functions of Chile’s 23


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Navy for example is ‘. . . to safeguard, strengthen and renew our historical and cultural identity’.2 Chile’s naval hero, Arturo Prat, continues to play an important part in that country’s sense of itself. The British too have long had a particular view of themselves as being mariners. For all that modern British sailors might lament the apparent ‘sea-blindness’ of their government and fellow citizens, maritime consciousness seems quite embedded in the British psyche. It certainly affects the language. While you rarely hear these days of people ‘crowding on all sail’ as they run to catch a bus, expressions such as ‘getting alongside’ or ‘taking aboard’ are certainly widespread. So for that matter is the less happy connotation of phrases like ‘all at sea’. This becomes especially clear in times of crisis and of decision. In 1786, for example, William Pitt considered the Navy was quite simply, ‘That great foundation of our strength, of our glory and of our characteristic superiority over the rest of the nations of Europe’.3 In 1929, the British prime minister, Ramsay Macdonald, put the matter like this: In our case, our navy is the very life of our nation. We are a small island. For good or ill, the lines of our Empire have been thrown all over the face of the earth. We have to import our food. A month’s blockade, effectively carried out, would starve us all in the event of any conflict. Britain’s navy is Britain itself and the sea is our security and our safety.4

Attitudes towards the Royal Navy reflect views of what Britain is and of what it does. The Royal Navy’s role in, and attitudes to, the Pacific over the past three centuries illustrates these points exactly.

SO, WHY THE PACIFIC? Up to the end of the nineteenth century, British sailors were attracted to the Pacific Ocean region for four basic reasons, all of which were attributes of the sea itself. Chronologically the first and


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probably the most important reason for many peoples’ urge to the Pacific was in search of its manifold resources, particularly fish. This hardly applied to British sailors initially, since what the Pacific had to offer was insufficiently rare and valuable to compensate for the costs and dangers of bringing it home, especially when compared to equally abundant stocks in the Atlantic Ocean and North Sea. By the end of the eighteenth century, though, there was a booming trade in sea otter fur along the American sea coast, and American and British whalers were beginning to have a presence in the South Pacific and Indian oceans. Second, it was a matter of trade. There were enormous profits to be made, despite the ship and crew losses of the early trading ventures. Europeans developing their trade in spices throughout the Indian Ocean could lose perhaps a quarter of their ships at sea and up to half their crew during the voyage but still turn in a profit. It was said that a merchant could ship six cargoes of spices and lose five, yet still make a profit when the sixth was sold.5 The China tea trade became really important to the British from the 1780s. The result was a web of four-way trading links between China, South-East Asia, the countries of the Indian Ocean and Europe, in which everyone participated regardless of religion, race or allegiance, and from which everyone benefited at least to some degree. Although overland trading routes were still important, it became largely an oceanic system. ‘What goods could bear the expenses of land-carriage between London and Calcutta?’ Adam Smith asked rhetorically in 1776. Water transport, however, made everything possible. As a result, ‘Those two cities . . . at present carry on a very considerable commerce with each other, and by mutually affording a market, give a good deal of encouragement to each other’s industry.’6 Liberal free-traders of the nineteenth century were equally keen to labour the point that the sea-based trading system was mutually beneficial. Nowadays, of course, these are the values and assumptions of the World Trade Organisation and contemporary advocates of globalisation. They emphasise, in Mahan’s words, the ‘. . . commercial interest of the sea powers in the preservation of peace’.7 But there is a


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darker side to all this, namely the mercantilist notion that trade often benefits one party to the transaction much more than it does the other and that one’s loss is the other’s gain. This could lead to intense commercial rivalry of the sort characteristic of the Dutch and English East India companies for example. This spilled over into lethal violence and both companies maintained their own armies and navies to defend their interests. Trade competition could in fact almost be regarded as a form of war between rival suppliers. The relationship between customer and supplier could be nearly as conflictual, especially when either, or both, sides sought to trade ‘with advantage’ and to force their terms of trade on others if necessary. Perhaps the most notorious examples of this approach were the two ‘Opium Wars’ between China and Britain and other Western powers in the nineteenth century. To buy British manufactures, Indian opium growers and country traders had to export their crop to China, even though this was entirely contrary to the wishes and interests of the Chinese authorities. In their turn, the Chinese would pay for opium by exporting tea to Britain—parenthetically, tea-drinking had become a tradition of ‘Britishness’, of course. The expressed purpose of the resultant maritime wars was to force the Chinese to participate in a balanced and global trading system that would, it was widely and genuinely believed, be in their own long-term interest. The maritime character of the two wars that resulted showed that, in Mahan’s words, ‘Commerce, the energiser of material civilisation can work to the greatest advantage, and can most certainly receive the support of the military arm of sea power.’8 Despite the cooperative expectations of liberal free-traders then, maritime trade could sometimes become bound up with conflict and war for two distinct reasons. First, simply because it was so central to the prosperity of nations, a nation’s share in maritime trade was bound to be the subject of acute competition in peace and attacked in war. Second, the global maritime trading system was sensitive and vulnerable, it needed military protection. And that meant a navy. The third reason attracting the British to the Pacific relates to the fact that the sea has always been a major medium for the gaining,


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exchanging and spreading of ideas and information. Historically, the sea served many of the functions of the twenty-first century Internet. Sometimes this exchange of information and values is conscious and deliberate. Early explorers discovered hitherto unknown crops and brought them home. In this way potatoes, tobacco, bananas, coffee, tea and so forth arrived in Europe. Maritime traders from South-East Asia and the Indian Ocean area brought early maturing rice, sugar cane, jasmine, cotton, pumpkin, cabbage and so on to China. These produced green revolutions and major markets for that country. China imported its first sweet potatoes by sea in 1593 and now produces 80 per cent of the world crop.9 Until 1800, the British were in the Pacific more to trade than to spread British values or to save the locals’ souls. However, this did become a ‘mission’ of the British Empire (to use Niall Ferguson’s useful phrase10) in the nineteenth century. When Charles Darwin first visited Sydney in HMS Beagle in 1836, he admired its streets and buildings and marvelled at the progress that had been achieved in the few short years of settlement: ‘It is a most magnificent testimony to the power of the British nation’, he wrote, ‘My first feeling was to congratulate myself that I was born an Englishman.’11 But it was also a question of gaining information as well as spreading it. Humankind’s urge to find out what was over the far horizon, and the reasons for that urge can be inferred from the case of Captain James Cook and his colleagues and rivals of the eighteenth century. Among their motivations were: •

High-minded Scientific Enquiry: This included helping to develop cartography and navigation (specifically by measuring the transit of Venus across the sun from Tahiti) and discovering flora, fauna, peoples and societies unknown to the Europeans (hence the large numbers of naturalists and artists embarked). The environmental historian Richard Grove demonstrated in his Green Imperialism of 1995 how frequently later British colonial administrators became convinced of the need to investigate, record and even preserve details of the complex


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•

and novel physical environments of plants and animals they encountered. Commercial Interest: Admiral Byron was sent to find Terra Australis Incognita ‘. . . in latitudes convenient for Navigation and in climates adapted to the product of commodities useful in Commerce’. Since the time of Ptolemy, the existence of a large temperate continent to the south, necessary to counterbalance the Eurasia landmass to the north was thought to exist. If found, it and its people, could be a tremendous market. Darwin celebrated what had been achieved in the Pacific by the mid-nineteenth century when he wrote: Besides the vast improvements in ships and naval resources, the whole western shores of America are thrown open, and Australia has become the capital of a rising continent. How different are the circumstances to a man shipwrecked at the present day in the Pacific to what they were in the time of Cook! Since his voyage a hemisphere has been added to the civilised world.12

•

Strategic Interest: New sea routes might have considerable strategic significance. Norfolk Island pine and Australasian flax might be a means of reducing Britain’s dangerous dependence on the Baltic area. The importance of bases as a means of supplying, repairing and helping defend merchant ships in their long oceanic voyages was crucial. This may indeed have been the real reason for the decision to establish a base at Botany Bay in 1788.13 It was certainly among the reasons for the careful surveying of the South American coastline by Beagle.

Of course, less worthy concerns sometimes spilled over into these high-minded ideals. On the one hand, the pursuit of knowledge was regarded as a universal good. For that reason, Cook was given immunity from attack by the French and others, even during war, because his activities were considered to be in the common interest.14 But there was also very real rivalry at play. Most obvious of these were when Cook and others found ‘new’ bits of desirable real estate


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Captain James Cook, RN (1728–79) from a 1776 portrait by Nathaniel Dance. Cook has long been the Royal Navy’s most renowned navigator, and his 1768–71 voyage to the Pacific was an example of Britain’s enthusiasm for a new style of exploration. These were naval expeditions which had as much to do with scientific as geographical discovery, but which also ensured Britain was well placed to profit from whatever commercial or strategic benefits were identified. (RAN)


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and did not simply record their existence, but claimed them for their countries—whatever the locals might have thought. The values of the peoples they discovered were often treated in the same way. On the one hand, many Europeans were surprisingly sensitive to local perceptions and interests. Mariners chancing across Tahiti thought they had discovered paradise and philosophers such as Denis Diderot pleaded for the Pacific to be left unexploited and uncorrupted. On the other hand, there were those who strongly disapproved of local social values (which was tyrannically stratified and included human sacrifice and infanticide on a large scale) and sought to reform the benighted for their own good. Mahan, writing much later during the relief expedition to Peking during the Boxer Rebellion, summed it up quite well. He supported the Western maritime right, ‘To insist, in the general interest, by force if need be, that China remain open to action by European and American processes of life and thought’.15 Inevitably, this takes us to the fourth and last reason why the British came to the Pacific—it was in simple recognition that the sea was a medium of dominion, a means by which one group of people can come to dominate the affairs of another. For example, the British Empire was based on sea power. Its strategists conceived of the Empire as a huge land mass divided by eight chunks of water—the Dardanelles and Bosphorous, the Caspian Sea, the Tigris–Euphrates rivers, the Nile, the Red Sea, the Aral Sea and River Oxus, the Gulf, and the Indus/Sutlej. Controlling these water areas assured control of the land. Losing them would result in imperial decline. The security of the Empire then, rested on a series of defensive and offensive strategies centred on controlling the sea.16 And that, again, meant the need of a navy.

CHARACTERISTICS OF AN ACCIDENTAL EMPIRE The British Empire in the Pacific, as elsewhere, was the almost accidental coming together of all these impulses. There was little in


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the way of a conscious ‘Imperial Project’ until the shock of the loss of the American colonies in the late eighteenth century sparked a re-evaluation of British policy towards the outer world. Before that, the Empire had been acquired largely because one thing had led to another. It had, nonetheless, become extremely large. Indeed, it was at its very largest in 1918, with the temporary acquisition of much of the old Ottoman Empire. Because it was large it was diverse and faced a multitude of threats both on the periphery and in the centre. This required constant adjustments in priority as local threats came and went. Nowhere was this more apparent than in the decade before the First World War, when the British were forced to consider their strategic priorities between the defence of the Empire and the defence of Britain-in-Europe. This was not simply the familiar question of the balance to be struck between maritime versus continental, with the assumption that the Navy would benefit from the first while the Army did so from the second. Instead, it was also a question of where the Navy’s priorities themselves should be. This was crucial since, as Ramsay Macdonald had claimed, the whole imperial project was bound together by the Navy. Maritime power was marvellously costeffective in that there was a virtuous circle at work. Trade provided the mercantile infrastructure that provided credit for the government to build and, more importantly, maintain the Navy—it funded the industrial and technological processes that kept the naval weaponry at the cutting edge. More importantly, it helped the political dominance of a mercantile class that kept British policy on track, and indeed determined its character. Earl (Robert) Nugent put the matter like this in 1745: Let us remember that we are superior to other nations, principally by our riches; that those riches are the gifts of commerce, and that commerce can subsist only while we maintain a naval force superior to that of other princes. A naval power and an extended trade reciprocally produce each other; without trade we shall want sailors for our ships of war, and without ships of war we shall soon


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32 The Navy and the Nation discover that the oppressive ambition of our neighbours will not suffer us to trade. [If ] our trade be lost, who can inform us how long we shall be suffered to enjoy our laws or our liberties, or our religion? Without trade, what wealth shall we possess? [A]nd without wealth, what alliances can be formed?17

It followed that the more sea-based the Empire was, the more cost-effectively it could be run. For this reason the British preferred their imperium to be provided through a public–private partnership with a major facilities manager, the East India Company, who would assume, with a little help from home, the burden of ruling much of the Empire, especially the Indian sub-continent—the jewel in the crown. Even before the Indian Mutiny in 1857, though, the limits of that device were becoming clear. The sense of threat underpinning Nugent’s remarks derived from the fact that Britain was not only the centre of an emerging Empire, it was also a comparatively small group of islands off the coast of mainland Europe that was frighteningly vulnerable to developments over the Channel. It was therefore, an Empire under threat to European rivals. As the Indian Mutiny showed, it was also vulnerable to local resentments. Both of these malign influences came together in the War of American Independence, where for the first time the Royal Navy failed to deliver the goods at the level of grand strategy sufficiently well to avoid the loss of some of Britain’s, admittedly, least valuable bits of Empire. But with the complete defeat of all possible maritime rivals during the French Revolutionary and Napoleonic wars, there seemed little prospect of a repeat performance throughout most of the nineteenth century—the era of Pax Britannica. There was some hope that the ‘British Way in Warfare’ would continue to be the modus operandi. Unionists and liberals both hoped that the coming war of 1914 would be one of limited liability. ‘To them, Britain’s contribution would be primarily naval; and financial; the decision on land would be secured by the French and Russian armies.’18 Well before the end of the nineteenth century,


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however, things were beginning to change for the worse. The European power-balance seemed increasingly likely to require a more substantial British military input while the Empire itself seemed to be getting more vulnerable. It was likened to ‘some huge giant sprawling all over the globe, with gouty fingers and toes stretching in every direction, which cannot be approached without eliciting a scream’.19 Given this, it was not going to be easy to provide, in L.S. Amery’s words for Lloyd George, ‘A strategical security which will enable that Southern British World which runs from Cape Town through Cairo, Baghdad and Calcutta to Sydney and Wellington to go about its peaceful business’.20 The British Empire was rarely if ever in the position of, in modern parlance, a hyper-power, able to stand alone against all enemies, foreign and domestic. It needed allies to counter-balance its adversaries, and it needed a readiness to compromise and judge to decide its priorities. Nowhere was this more obvious during the closing years of the nineteenth century than in Britain’s concerns about the burgeoning ambitions in China of Russia, Germany and Japan, and the involvement of imperial troops in the Boxer Rebellion, which was seriously increasing the level of local threat that needed to be countered. In August 1890, the New China Guardian put it with brutal candour: A Chinaman with a gun at two miles, or a rifle at one, is almost as good a man as a European, and if his weapons are slightly better, he is quite as good a man. The old canons that obtained in fighting Asiatics and Europeans have to be modified to allow for this new element.21

THE NAVY AND THE REQUIREMENTS OF IMPERIAL DEFENCE: EXPEDIENTS AND DEVICES To perform its function of helping to secure the Empire in the East, the Royal Navy had to resort to a large number of expedients and


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devices throughout the twentieth century. These mostly depended on the maintenance of a level of naval force sufficient to deter or defeat its most likely rivals. This estimated the level of naval strength against that of Britain’s main rivals. As Lord Selborne, the First Lord of the Admiralty, pointed out in 1903, it was, ‘. . . a terrific task to remain the greatest naval Power when naval powers are year by year increasing in numbers and naval strength and at the same time to be a military Power strong enough to meet the greatest military power in Asia’.22 By 1913, the Conservative opposition was concerned first that British naval expenditure was insufficient to meet the European challenges posed by the German, Austrian and Italian fleets and, second, even if it were, whether this might not be at the expense of the ‘outer margins’. Arthur Lee contended that ‘safety in the North Sea [would] not prevent disaster if we are found wanting in the Mediterranean and the Pacific and in other seas’.23 But, in fact, sufficiency was, against the odds, generally achieved. As late as 1931 the Royal Navy with its twenty capital ships compared favourably to the US Navy’s eighteen and Japan’s ten, and with its lead in cruisers and carriers the RN was still, just about, the world’s leading naval power. Even if this was true, in many ways it was not the point, since naval strength also has to be measured against the demands of its commitments. Here the picture was not so good, for the Empire was huge and the demands of its defence were enormously varied. Admiral Sir Herbert Richmond concluded that it was ‘the illusion that a Two-Hemisphere Empire can be defended by a One Hemisphere navy that sealed the fate of Singapore’.24 It was not even simply a question of being able to conduct high-intensity operations in many different places; more complicatedly, it could well be a matter of different kinds of wars in different places. Before the First World War it was likely to be a battlefleet war in Europe but a trade protection campaign in the Pacific. In the 1940s and the 1950s, it was a question of balancing the need for a naval contribution to the global war against the Soviet Union on the one hand against its Cold and


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limited war tasks on the other. The latter called for a navy able ‘. . . broadly to protect British interests, support the civil power, produce a rapid show of force in an emergency and uphold prestige and influence’.25 The first required traditional sea control assets, the second expeditionary ones capable of projecting power ashore. So, what did the Navy do to cope with all these challenges through the first part of the twentieth century? Basically, by recourse to three main sets of often complementary expedients and devices.

Concentrate at home but despatch squadrons to the East The first and most obvious strategy for imperial defence was to concentrate on the defence of home European waters, in the expectation that dominating them would control the waters of the outer world most cost effectively. This can be seen as the idea behind Admiral Sir John Fisher’s famous policy of calling the legions home before the First World War in order to release funds and personnel for greater security in European waters. Fisher’s defence of the policy in 1919 was unambiguous: To send squadrons all over the globe that were not there before! The globe did without them during the War—why not now? ‘Showing the flag,’ I suppose for that was the cry of the ‘baying hounds’ in 1905 when we brought home some 160 vessels of war that could neither fight nor run away—and whose Officers were shooting pheasants up Chinese rivers and giving tea parties to British Consuls. How those consuls did write! And how agitated was the Foreign Office!26

This notion was based on the assumption that essentially there didn’t need to be major strategic choice between European and global pre-occupations. The same policy would do for both. It was the same story in 1981 during the Nott Defence Review when the Navy thought it could do no other than acquiesce in the general view that the country had to focus on the most serious threat (in Europe), rather than on the most likely (outside it). In


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Margaret Thatcher’s words, the hard logic was perfectly clear: ‘No one . . . at the meeting openly contested that the NATO central front was bound to be the decisive area. Scenarios of conflict in the Third World might be more likely: but only on the central front could the war be lost in an afternoon.’27 The sense that the East/West divide in Europe was the strategic centre of gravity was reinforced by Mrs Thatcher’s view that the Soviet Union and its allies were responsible for many of the troubles in the Third World anyway, or at least hoped for significant profit from them. Accordingly, by concentrating on the Soviet threat in Europe, the British could hope to kill two birds with one stone. There were several problems with this approach, however, and they had to do with the fact that there were priorities to be decided and choices to be made. The rise of Japan as a threatening nonEuropean power in the early years of the twentieth century meant that being strong in home waters did not necessarily confer security in more distant ones. Secondly, the types of threat in Pacific waters might not be immediately controlled by battlefleet supremacy back in European waters. What really worried Fisher, for example, was the prospect of an adversary preying on the sea lines of communication that bound the empire together—hence his stress on the construction of armoured cruisers:28 hence also, in the interwar period the Royal Navy’s insistence on seventy cruisers, not fifty, in arms control negotiations with the Americans and Japanese. One possible way around this problem was the so-called ‘Singapore strategy’ of the interwar period, which culminated in the disastrous loss of Force Z (HM Ships Prince of Wales and Repulse) in December 1941 and the subsequent fall of Singapore and much of Britain’s Empire in South-East Asia. Planning for this strategy began back in 1924 with the production of War Memorandum [East]. This envisaged concentrating the fleet in the central strategic location of the Mediterranean and despatching much of it to Singapore in the event of likely trouble. Initially there was much confidence in this strategy, provided that sufficient resources were made available to maintain the fleet and to build up support facilities in Singapore


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itself. But as both the economic situation at home and the strategic environment in Europe deteriorated, the strategy was successively revised throughout the period. The result of all this simply could not be a ‘plan’ in the conventional sense of the word. Instead it was a bundle of alternative ideas about what should happen in the area before the fleet arrived, about what should and could be sent, and about what the fleet should do when it arrived. These alternative scenarios were heavily contingent on events in Europe, the resources available, the resolve and strength of the Japanese and, crucially, the attitude of the Americans. As things evolved, all these determinants turned out to be worse in late 1941 than anyone could possibly have imagined in the interwar period. The result was the despatch, against Admiralty advice, of a down-scaled version of the ‘flying squadron’ discussed from the late 1930s. It had been intended to act firstly as a general deterrent on the Japanese, secondly as a gesture of reassurance to the Empire, and thirdly as a force capable of fighting a careful defensive war against the Japanese until the main fleet did arrive. Then, and depending on the attitude of the Americans, the fleet would move over to the offensive with a campaign against Japanese sea communications designed either to compel Japan to retreat or to force it to fight and lose a decisive fleet battle. As things transpired, this did not work. Force Z did not deter the Japanese, who turned out to be much more resolute and effective than anyone had imagined, not least because of their previous demarche into French Indochina. The Americans, with their own preoccupations in the Central Pacific, were able to offer much less assistance than had been hoped for.29 Afterwards Admiral Pound summed it up like this: It was hoped that the arrival of these ships at Singapore would act as a deterrent to the Japanese and avert war. If, however, the Japanese were on the point of taking the plunge it was hoped that the presence of these ships would cause them sufficient anxiety to deter them from sending their expeditionary forces to the southward. Although the


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38 The Navy and the Nation Japanese were able to bring down a superior force, it was felt that the containing power of the strong American fleet at Hawaii would restrain them from any major venture into the Gulf of Siam . . .30

Nonetheless, it would be unfair to write this off as a doomed and vainglorious enterprise from the start. For much of the period it seemed a perfectly sensible and workable set of responses to a difficult and unpredictable situation. Even the final disastrous loss of Prince of Wales and Repulse is attributable more to a series of unwonted tactical failures and misunderstandings than to any sense of Wagnerian inevitability. A few fighters (operating from shore given the unavailability of the carrier HMS Indomitable, which had originally been intended to be part of Force Z) to defend those ships against a thin string of unescorted Japanese torpedo and bomber aircraft might have made a real difference. The loss of the Singapore campaign, Britain’s major maritime focus on the Atlantic and the Mediterranean, and then its focus on offering maritime support for the long-running Burma campaign, meant British forces in effect withdrew from the Pacific War from 1942 for the better part of two years. This necessary emphasis on home waters in the use of resources, which seemed scarcer by the minute when set against the commitments to which they could possibly be devoted, considerably restricted strategic possibilities in the Far East. With the approaching end of the war in Europe, of course, the British could begin to think about releasing naval and other resources for a new campaign in the Far East, although the urgent demands of postwar reconstruction and pressing manpower shortages limited and delayed those resources. In the end, the Royal Navy returned to the Pacific with an expeditionary force ready to cope with the requirements of a Pacific campaign quite different (especially in the sheer size and logistic demands of the Pacific theatre) from anything it had done in and around European waters. Even after five years of war there was much to learn from this experience of oceanic warfare.


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In the Cold War period, the same issues prevailed. The demands of dealing with the Soviet Navy in the Eastern Atlantic and Europe’s northern waters conflicted with and necessarily limited the forces available for the defence of Empire east of the Suez. However, the matter was complicated by two related issues of high strategy. First, there was the difficult issue of what was to be the role of the Royal Navy in a global war against a Soviet Union dominated by the decisive use of nuclear weapons. Second, there was the question of how likely this war would be anyway. The more doubts that were raised about these two issues, the more available were naval resources for a continuing role east of Suez. Indeed, many argued that with decolonisation and the likelihood of Soviet interference in the Third World the necessity for a naval defence of Western interests in this vast area was more likely to grow than decline. Activity of this sort required strategic mobility and the formation of power projection expeditionary task groups of the sort deployed for the Korean War in 1950–53, the Suez Campaign of 1956, Operation VANTAGE in 1961 to deter Iraq from seizing Kuwait, and the Indonesian Confrontation in 1963–66. But these were large and demanding exercises. Confrontation operations in Borneo and elsewhere, for example, represented a large-scale commitment. By late 1964, the Royal Navy deployed much of its Far East fleet to the task, including the carriers HMSs Victorious and Centaur, twelve escorts, nine coastal minesweepers and five submarines, together with support ships and three escorts and five sweepers from the Australian and New Zealand navies. By 1966 it absorbed 16 000 naval personnel and over seventy vessels. Although ultimately victorious this effort represented a serious over-stretch and increased the perceived need to ‘engage the enemy more cheaply’.31

Imperial solutions The contribution of the Australian, New Zealand and Canadian navies to these campaigns was significant. Of the fifty-five Commonwealth ships engaged in the Korean War, nine came from Australia


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(including the carrier HMAS Sydney), eight from Canada and six from New Zealand.32 In many ways this harked back to the Royal Navy’s second set of strategies for the defence of the Empire in the Pacific—deliberately enlisting naval support from the Empire itself. Making the defence of the Empire, to some extent at least, a collective responsibility could take off some of the pressure. Arranging all this proved highly complex. The problem was that the Royal Navy continued to be clear that the strategic situation required a strong centralised imperial Navy able to confront the main naval threat, wherever that was, in a classic campaign of sea control. The dominions on the other hand, conscious of their geographic distance from the mother country, were wary about the consequences of this for maritime defence in their immediate

Admiral Sir George King-Hall saw the new Royal Australian Navy as the visible embodiment of every Australian’s spirit of affection for the mother country and the Empire. As national and imperial defence were one and indivisible, Australia was simply taking its full share in defending the Empire in the East. King-Hall is seen here (front row, right) on 7 November 1911 at Government House, Melbourne. Also seated are the Governors of Tasmania, Victoria and South Australia and their wives. (R. Percival Maxwell)


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localities. There was therefore a constant search for a compromise between different strategic and political realities, which often fed into the issue of what combination of naval forces the dominions should aim to provide—capital ships or escorts, or some combination of the two in what Reginald McKenna, First Lord of the Admiralty in 1909, called a ‘distinct fleet unit’ (in modern parlance, a task force). Such a force comprising an armoured cruiser, plus three unarmoured cruisers, six destroyers and three submarines would do nicely. This could operate on its own or be inserted into an imperial fleet at will.33 These issues were explored again by the 1919 Jellicoe mission.34 Once again the result was a compromise that showed, in practical terms, the Empire was insufficiently cohesive politically or strategically to provide the degree of support the Admiralty thought it might need. The mother country and the dominions had different images of what their navies should be. The fall of Singapore and the effective withdrawal of support by the Royal Navy from the Pacific from 1942, moreover, gravely weakened these imperial links and one of the motivations behind the formation and function of the British Pacific Fleet (BPF) from 1944 was to try to repair some of the damage this had caused. The fervent response to the visit of the battleship HMS King George V to Melbourne in the autumn of 1945, when 30 000 people tried to get onboard the ship at the one time, suggests this policy was at least partially successful, even if it did not overturn the new strategic reality, that the dominions had to accommodate themselves to the fact that the United States was now the major power in the Pacific. Nonetheless, the old strategic linkages survived well into the 1960s. Commonwealth navies exercised and operated together in dealing with the major crises of the era; in return, the British continued to provide ships, equipment and training. Although their navies were obviously becoming increasingly independent in their outlook, Australia and New Zealand both expressed their concerns at the British withdrawal of the late 1960s. An indication of that was their support for even the fragile linkage of the Five Power Defence


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Arrangement, which for a time seemed likely to be all that was left of a British presence east of Suez.

Strategic alliance A third, generally complementary, set of devices was to enlist diplomacy and to seek a maritime accommodation with other powerful states in the Pacific as a means of redressing strategic imbalances that could not be sorted out by purely military means. When Russia was the perceived adversary before the First World War, it made sense to ally with Japan. When it became clear after the war that the continuance of this policy would raise concerns within the Empire while antagonising the Americans possibly to the extent of sparking off a naval arms race, which the British would almost certainly lose, the Japanese alliance was abandoned. This provoked outrage in Japan and helped turn it into the next most likely adversary in the area. Most senior officers were indeed convinced that Japan was an old friend turning into a new enemy.35 Thereafter, it was a question of building on the good day-to-day contacts of the British and American fleets in Asiatic waters to develop a closer relationship with the United States in the Far East. This would transform the strategic architecture for the better. Walter Runciman, Lord Privy Seal, gave some unequivocal advice on the matter in 1939. Since ‘our naval forces are not large enough to perform successfully in two theatres simultaneously’ and since ‘the Axis powers are looking on with malicious intent’ it would be best for the British not to be too pugnacious. But: If ultimately we are to be effective in our use of the Fleet, it will be wiser of us to look after the European position first of all, and when we are secure in this theatre we can later on deal with the Japanese navy. That I submit is the correct order. With the USA on our side, and provided we have played up to neutral opinion, I would go ahead, but to go to war with our present divided forces, without the active cooperation of the USA would in my judgement be disastrous . . .36


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The result was a push to secure some semi-formal cooperation with the US Navy, the offer of the use of facilities in Singapore to the US Pacific fleet and the possible deployment of major British forces to Manila for combined operations against the Japanese. The more the Japanese were to conceive of the British and the Americans as one unit, ‘. . . and that Japan cannot take aggressive measures against the interests of either nation without eventually becoming involved with the other’,37 the happier the Admiralty and the Foreign Office would be. Given the reluctance in some quarters of American opinion to be sucked into an avoidable war with Japan over the future of the British Empire in the Far East, and given American naval concerns about their security in the Atlantic, the establishment of this special relationship remained a delicate business for the British to handle. This was also the case in the much later debate over whether and how the Royal Navy should return in order to participate in the closing stages of the Pacific War. To do so would ensure that Britain would be better able to defend its particular interest in the region in the peace settlement. It would also be a means of cementing a strategic relationship with the United States that was likely to be of considerable importance in the new postwar world. For this the creation and use of the BPF was to be the main instrument, because it was the most immediately available, and because the profoundly maritime nature of the Pacific theatre made it seem the most sensible. Two models for this were on offer, both, curiously, similar in some respects to the choice facing the dominions about their involvement with the Royal Navy. The issue was whether to integrate, or merely to coordinate their efforts. Winston Churchill’s preferred option, at least initially, was for the Navy to participate in a campaign to reconquer British and other colonies in South-East Asia. This would help recover lost prestige, and avoid Britain’s being seen as clearly subsidiary to American power and aspirations.38 This would be a separate campaign, but one that was coordinated, of course, with the main America effort in the central Pacific.


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The second model was to operate as closely with US naval forces in the central Pacific as was possible. The Foreign Office view was unequivocal. Failure to participate in the final assault on Japan itself, would be a ‘very grave handicap to us for years to come in all Anglo–American questions’.39 There were considerable worries both in Britain and the United States about American public opinion were the British not to participate in the final assault on Japan. Admiral Chester Nimitz and others in the US Navy were rather opposed to British participation on professional grounds that were, especially, to do with doubts about the BPF’s capacity to operate in such an arduous and distant campaign without tiresome recourse to American support and resources. On the other hand, there was also some hostility to the notion that the British were, after all, only really interested in taking advantage of the American war effort in the Pacific to recover their Empire. People of this persuasion insisted that the British should share the burden of the final campaign. In the end the British were able to integrate themselves into the US fleet and to play a part in the final victory. The BPF has fairly been described as ‘. . . the most powerful single strike force assembled by Britain in the course of the Second World War and, relative to its own time, was probably as powerful a force as any raised by the Royal Navy at any stage in its long history’.40 At various stages the force comprised four battleships, seventeen carriers (five fleet, four light and eight escort), forty destroyers, plus another 200 minor escorts, minesweepers, supply ships and submarines. The surrender ceremony in Tokyo Bay was watched by two British battleships Duke of York and King George V, the armoured fleet carrier Indefatigable, two escort carriers Ruler and Speaker, two light cruisers, nine destroyers, four sloops, one frigate, four corvettes and six supply ships. The ceremony marked the end, in the words of the British official history, of ‘the closest and most far reaching combination of sovereign states in war . . . that has yet been seen’.41


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Australia might have been within the US sphere of strategic responsibility during the latter part of the Second World War, but in July 1944 Prime Minister John Curtin informed Winston Churchill that only the British could remedy the South West Pacific Command’s weakness at sea. It was, Curtin continued, an ideal opportunity for the employment of a Royal Navy task force in the Pacific. After the British Pacific Fleet’s arrival in Sydney, a Royal Marine posed for the cameras astride one of the four 14-inch guns mounted in the forward turret of the battleship HMS King George V. (RAN)

Compared with the extraordinary naval power of the United States, the BPF was a small force. Its role was reasonably summarised by Samuel Morison like this: ‘The Royal Navy detachment, placed under Admiral Nimitz, was indeed a great help at Okinawa, but the United States Pacific Fleet could have got along without it’.42 Vice Admiral Sir Bernard Rawlings, commander of the British Task Force, summed up the experience like this: . . . Something has been forged here between our two fleets . . . looking back on all that has happened, I begin to see that which


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46 The Navy and the Nation matters is not the size of the British contribution, or what we were able to do, but that it is our being a part of that forging which overshadows everything else.43

How effective was the BPF as a means of cementing a strategically useful special relationship with the United States, as a means of defending interest in the Pacific? Probably quite a lot, not least because personal acquaintance with the American-style of long-range carrier strike warfare greatly helped the Royal Navy’s commanders in the next episode at securing a strategic relationship with the United States, the Royal Navy’s participation in the Korean War. In 1950 both Admiral E.J.P. Brind (Commander in Charge Far East Station) and Rear Admiral W.G. Andrews (who commanded the United Nations Western Fleet) had been senior officers in the BPF. The British certainly had grand expectations of the importance of this role. According to one Foreign Office official, ‘If we go about our business in the right way, we can help to steer this great unwieldy barge, the United States of America, into the right harbour. If we don’t, it is likely to continue to wallow in the ocean, an isolated menace to navigation.’ 44 More diplomatically expressed, this continues to be a theme of British foreign policy to this day.

THE UNEXPECTED RETURN Britain, of course, made a reluctant retreat from east of Suez in the 1960s, mainly due to the costs of maintaining such an imperial coda. There were residual commitments in terms of the colonial states in Hong Kong, regular naval deployments to the region, and the Five Power Defence Arrangement in South-East Asia. The years since the Iranian Revolution of 1979, however, have seen something of a revival of British–Asia–Pacific presence, with commitments in the Persian Gulf region down to the present day, as well as in East Timor and Afghanistan. But the Royal Navy east


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of Suez has become much less of a separate and independent entity than it once was, or is ever likely to be again. Only time will tell how long this unexpected return can be politically, strategically or economically sustained, or whether it will be looked back on by future historians as little more than a kind of post-imperial afterglow. Once again, the first indication of this may prove to be the fate and the extent of the Royal Navy’s carrier program.


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3 ‘The last word in outward splendour’: the cult of the Navy and the imperial age Jan Rüger These many speeches, these spectacles, all this ceremony . . . really seem as if they made some people think we had won a big battle. I should like to know how we could devise any special way of celebrating a victory, should we ever win one, for our celebrations are, as it is, the last word in outward splendour. Count Robert Zedlitz-Trützschler, 19041

It was a subtle, but indicative change that the Members of the British Parliament were introduced to in March 1910.2 As was usual for this time in the parliamentary calendar, the House of Commons was to discuss the Navy estimates. The debate was, as customary, opened by the First Lord of the Admiralty putting forward the First Lord’s Statement, a document aimed at convincing MPs that the Navy had spent its money well in the past year and that they should vote for the sums asked for in the current year. As usual, the Statement contained much administrative, technical and financial information. Its second part, however, differed markedly from the reports of previous years. 48


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For the first time, it drew attention to the public functions at which the Navy had been represented. It gave details about the naval displays and ceremonies that had taken place in 1909, public spectacles like the Coronation Naval Review at Spithead and the Home Fleet’s Thames visit. Giving space to questions of ceremonial and representation in the First Lord’s Statement was a novelty: until then it had been solely dedicated to issues of finance and organisation. The precedent was followed and expanded upon in the years to come. It went so far that the 1912 Statement featured an entire section called ‘Ceremonies and Visits’, detailing the major occasions at which the Navy had been represented publicly.3 What this change in the First Lord’s Statement acknowledged was the Navy’s new public role. No longer was its function only that of an instrument of power and defence; its symbolic and cultural role on the public stage mattered. It is this celebration of the Navy that the present chapter focuses on. Naval reviews and inspections, fleet visits and show exercises, the laying of the keel, the launching and commissioning of battleships—in the age of Empire these ceremonies were part of what can be called the ‘cult of the Navy’. In the decades before the First World War these spectacles multiplied and grew remarkably. They became more elaborate, more frequent, and more stage-managed than at any time since the late eighteenth century. This applied to Britain and its Empire as much as to other imperial nations, and especially to new, aspiring sea powers such as Germany and Japan. The rise of this public cult was reflected in new ceremonial files and records in which governments and admiralties systematically documented the expanding celebrations;4 it can be charted through a string of newly invented ceremonies, with the ‘Coronation Naval Review’ first staged in 1902 as perhaps being the best example; and it was mirrored by the rising costs involved. In Imperial Germany the expanding public celebration of the Navy caused such a rise in expenditure that the Imperial Audit Office had to reprimand the naval leadership. In November 1908, it wrote to the Imperial Navy Office and the Treasury, lamenting the massive increase in the cost


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of launch celebrations and urged a cut in these expenses. Originally, in 1876, when regulations for the launching of battleships had first been set up, launches had been regarded as low-key affairs without much pomp or circumstance and without causing more than a minimum of expense. Now, in 1908, wrote the Audit Office, ‘costs for such celebrations, which had formerly never been considerable’ had reached ‘very substantial heights’.5 Police and government reports underline how the celebration of the Navy expanded throughout the decades before 1914. A police report in the German town of Bremen noted in November 1900, ‘The rush of spectators at these occasions increases from year to year’.6 Tens of thousands flocked to launches. With the introduction of the dreadnoughts and the unfolding of naval rivalry, attendance figures reached between 20 000 and 40 000 in Germany and between 30 000 and 100 000 in Britain. Even during the war, when launches of warships were declared private in Britain and Germany, ‘about 10 000 people’ reportedly watched the launch of HMAS Brisbane at Cockatoo Island in Sydney Harbour in September 1915.7 How does one explain the extraordinary rise and attraction of this public spectacle? Historians have often seen the Navy and its public role in the imperial age as part of a modern-day program of ‘bread and circuses’ run by governments and right-wing lobby groups eager to popularise the fleet and manipulate the masses.8 To be sure, politicians and propagandists did discover launches of battleships, naval reviews and fleet visits to be an ideal arena for the advertising of the Navy and the nation’s mission on the sea. Monarchs, too, exploited (or were advised to exploit) the naval spectacle as a stage on which they could demonstrate their role and relevance to their own and to other nations. Their royal yachts resembled seafaring thrones at these occasions, in the centre of maritime rituals that were certainly aimed at impressing domestic and foreign audiences. However, it would be wrong to explain this naval theatre merely as an exercise in the manipulation of the masses. This was a complex public arena in which a number of


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The launching of HMAS Brisbane at Cockatoo Island on 30 September 1915. The construction of the cruiser was the most complex industrial project undertaken in Australia to that time. In his speech at the launching, the Minister for the Navy, J.A. Jensen, remarked that his government intended to do greater things if possible: ‘There is no reason why the Australian workman should not be able to produce practically everything required on a destroyer, a cruiser, a battleship, or a submarine’. (RAN)

actors played key roles; none of them could solely control the spectacle’s character and impact. Two of these actors in particular have to be investigated: the local initiative of civic, commercial and cultural agents; and the modern mass market of media, entertainment and leisure. In Britain, as much as in other European countries, the late nineteenth century saw the combined rise of local government, urban culture and commercial and industrial success. To the trading and industrial cities that were booming during the imperial age, public display and ritual offered the foremost ways of expressing civic pride and prosperity. And, because much of their wealth depended on


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shipbuilding and shipping, it was hardly surprising these cities turned to naval celebrations as a promising avenue for self-representation. Festivities and functions, receptions and speeches, garden parties, balls and dinners, visits and excursions—the layers of celebration that enveloped naval ceremonies were organised and financed by local society. The importance of local and civic initiative was most visible in the 1909 Fleet Visit to the River Thames. For an entire week the Home Fleet assembled in the Thames, with warships displayed from Southend all the way to Westminster. During this time, between three and four million people came to see the fleet, with tens of thousands boarding the dreadnoughts and torpedo boats. The show of naval might had been the initiative of the Lord Mayor of London rather than the Admiralty. Although the Admiralty was happy to oblige, it was on the Lord Mayor’s invitation that the fleet came to town. With an array of dinners, receptions and visits in the city, as well as the naval displays and parades, this was as much a celebration of London, the City and British financial power as it was a display of naval might and pride.9 The expanding industrial cities in northern England and Scotland were equally keen to have a share in the public celebration of the Navy. This could be observed at launches, naval exhibitions and visits of warships, and similarly at commemorations such as the 1912 centenary of the launch of the first commercial steamship in Glasgow, the Comet. The list of special guests for this occasion reflected local, national, commercial and naval levels: Prime Minister Asquith and the leading ranks of the Admiralty, including First Lord Winston Churchill, were invited, together with twentyfour members of parliament, a host of shipbuilders and shipping magnates, and Scottish peers, knights and deputy lieutenants. Most of the initiative was taken by the Glasgow authorities, but more precisely by a Special Committee. Both this committee and the municipal Lord Provost were keen for Whitehall and the Royal Navy to be strongly represented, at times appearing to make them centre stage.10 On the other side of the North Sea, local communities were similarly eager to play a part in the public celebration of the


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Navy. This was nowhere more evident than in the German cities of Hamburg and Bremen, for whom the sea lay at the core of their Hanseatic identity. Thus the Hamburg Senate worked together with a large number of voluntary committees and initiatives in organising the festivities for the 1895 inauguration of the Kaiser-Wilhelm-Kanal. The event was to celebrate Hamburg as much as the canal, the Kaiser and the Navy. Of the many public displays, the most spectacular was perhaps an artificial island set up in the middle of the River Alster. Featuring a triumphal arch made from two massive whalebones, it was illuminated at night with the help of six light masts. During the Kaiser’s visit it was the site of a series of firework displays, offering a spectacle, the Hamburger Nachrichten reported, ‘unlike anything the world has seen’.11 The city’s initiative similarly combined naval and national with local, civic and commercial themes at launching ceremonies. National rhetoric was appropriated for the local context. As Hamburg’s burgomaster Burchard explained in one speech, the launching of a warship put the ‘confident German bourgeoisie, blossoming under the Kaiser’s protection’ visibly on stage.12 The local governments of both Bremen and Hamburg eagerly acquired and jealously guarded privileges in the launching rituals. Thus it was established, after some lobbying with the Kaiser, that the Hanseatic cities’ first burgomasters were to be saluted by the guard of honour during launching ceremonies, a privilege otherwise reserved for royalty. In a similar fashion, the Hamburg Senate managed to introduce a separate Senatorentribüne into the arrangement of launches. This special stand, dedicated solely to the representation of the senators, was situated close to the ritual epicentre, marked by the launching platform. It was a most visible reminder of the city’s central role in the ceremony, of its civic, bourgeois and commercial pride. On a more general level, it underlined how much local civic and urban culture was a driving force in itself, responsible for a large share in the growing spectacle created around the Imperial Navy.


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A MODERN SPECTACLE The second key source of expansion in the cult of the Navy, and arguably by far the most influential, was the modern mass market of media and entertainment, which was unfolding rapidly in the late nineteenth century. In the two decades before 1914, press interest in naval reviews, launches of warships and other fleet spectacles rose steadily. This is reflected in the letters sent to the Admiralty by newspapers, magazines and press agencies, requesting admission to these events. The booming popular press were especially eager to have a share in the festivities. By 1911, the correspondents and reporters sent by the London tabloids and illustrated magazines outnumbered by two thirds those sent by traditional quality papers.13 Yet more important than the popular press was another new medium, rising from the mid 1890s: the cinema. By the turn of the century, picture houses were a common feature of cities and towns, offering, as an early historian of the cinema observed, ‘the most popular form of amusement of the day’: Fifteen years ago there were no picture palaces . . . The number of picture theatres throughout the world is now believed to be about 60 000, and the number increases by scores daily . . . Six years ago the total number of employees in cinematograph theatres in Great Britain was about 500. They now exceed 125 000.14

Launchings of warships, naval reviews and fleet exercises were prime subjects for this massively popular new medium. From the turn of the century onwards, film companies were writing almost incessantly to naval authorities to gain permissions to launches, reviews and other naval events. Film companies such as Pathé Frères, Gaumont and Éclair claimed that tens of millions of people watched naval spectacles in cinemas and theatres.15 Though naturally informed by a sense of self-advertising, such numbers did not have to be grossly exaggerated. As Charles Urban pointed out in 1907, naval topics ranked highly among the most popular ‘cinematograph film subjects of present-day events’, with pictures of ‘naval demonstrations’ and the


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‘launching of war vessels’ in especially high demand.16 In combination with the railway network, cinema brought the naval spectacle to remote villages and towns. Launches and reviews were no longer events that could only be participated in locally; they could now be watched and experienced nationwide. An additional layer of dissemination was provided by the entertainment industry. Perhaps more remarkable than the guides, souvenirs, picture books, postcards and memorabilia sold at these occasions were the popular shows at which naval events were re-enacted. In Britain, the 1891 Royal Naval Exhibition saw regular performances of a mock sea battle, with model warships exploding and sinking in front of a scenic panorama.17 In the two decades before the First World War such shows were so popular that inventors and naval dramatists registered copyrights for such spectacles. Among them was Arthur Francis Russell, a dental surgeon in Melbourne, who applied for and had approved the ‘dramatic copyright’ for a show he called ‘Naval Review and Battle’.18 Similar shows, called Marineschauspiele or Flottenschauspiele, toured the cities and towns of Germany. Even a critical observer like Alfred Kerr, the author of many scathing literary and theatre reviews, found them peculiarly attractive: The Marineschauspiele are very captivating. Their entrance looks like a ship. Behind this large construction is a square, especially built pool. Its background looks like a coastline with a fort—naturally made of pâpier mâché, but very deceiving. Reproductions of German warships, three meters long, move on the water . . . steered by a man, hidden inside. And they shoot, electrically propelled, with truly lightening-like speed over the surface of the water.

The mock fights that Kerr watched ended with a full naval review: In this fashion, the biggest victories are won and at the end the wonderfully white Hohenzollern sweeps through the waves, salutes are shot, the air is full with the smoke of gunpowder. The illusion is truly great while you can sit at the side and have a beer. These


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56 The Navy and the Nation victorious battles are fought five or six times a day, in intervals of two hours. To watch them costs only fifty Pfennige.19

More than anything this was commercial entertainment. Although the naval authorities approved, predictably, of such shows, these were not propaganda exercises by sinister government forces or lobby groups. Offered by astute businessmen to urban audiences as a leisure activity, the Schauspiele’s main function was that of entertainment. Programs promised spectators music between the different ‘acts’ of the naval spectacle and two intervals in which drinks and snacks could be purchased.20 As Kerr observed, compared to the real thing, the Schauspiele had the great advantage that you could have a beer while watching battles and reviews.21 Just as for entertainment businesses, naval celebrations meant good business for the growing tourism industry. Steamship companies and holiday operators, such as Thomas Cook or Henry Lunn, offered a variety of packages, ranging from inexpensive one-day tickets to luxury deals including dinner and accommodation.22 More than one hundred excursion and holiday steamers departed from Southampton for Spithead on 18 July 1902 for the Coronation Review and twentyseven special trains ran from Waterloo Station in London for the occasion. In addition, there were special trains and steamers from remote parts of the UK, bringing passengers from as far away as the Orkney Islands and the Shetlands to see the Spithead spectacle.23 The more the combined forces of modern transport, media, entertainment and leisure became part of the celebration of the Navy, the more they changed its character. The result was not only a dramatically widened geography of attendance and attention. The rituals themselves changed—and increasingly so, beyond the control of the supposed masters of ceremonies. The development of German naval reviews in the late nineteenth century provides a case in point. When Wilhelm II made his inspection of the fleet an annual institution it was intended as a private affair, without participation by the media or the public. A combination of precedence and lobby pressure, however, opened the royal ritual to the general


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public. Commercial interest and media attention were the driving forces of this transformation. The German naval authorities acknowledged this in 1911 when, with the Kaiser’s blessing, tourist steamers were formally allowed to follow the royal yacht in the review procession.24 Royal naval reviews had long been public affairs in Britain, but here also the modern mass market transformed the spectacle. Hundreds of excursion steamers hovered around the fleet and the royal yacht at reviews and constituted a visible sign of the fundamental changes to royal and naval ceremonial brought by the commercial leisure and tourist industries as early as 1887. But their growing role at reviews was increasingly felt to be intolerable. In 1902 the Commander-in-Chief of Portsmouth Dockyard, responsible for stage-managing the Coronation Review, wrote to the Admiralty: Complaints have been made to me by several of the [war]ships at Spithead, during the late assembly of the Fleet, of the behaviour of the Excursion Steamers; that they proceed at excessive speed through the lines, regardless of the traffic regulations, shave the ships dangerously close, to give their passengers a good view, and swamp boats, damage ladders &c, by their wash, to say nothing of the danger to smaller boats. These vessels carry on in this way with impunity, as they are well aware of the impossibility of stopping them when loaded with passengers and going 10 to 12 knots, and action at law is costly, difficult, producing doubtful results, but that something should be done is certain. On the occasion of the presence of a large Fleet at Spithead, they make use of the opportunity to make money, by rushing the vessels round the Fleet as often as possible, regardless of anything but getting back to take a fresh lot round, knowing that being crowded with passengers and going a good speed everything afloat makes way for them.25

Whether by such immediate interference or through discourse and dissemination, the modern mass market exploited the visual and technological fascination of naval spectacles as much as it channelled and moulded their public appeal and appearance. Almost all


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first-hand accounts of launchings and reviews, from the reports of royal dignitaries to those of dockyard workers, convey a strong sense of visual fascination: to see a dreadnought of unprecedented size slowly slip into the water; to watch hundreds of warships proceed to sea in formation; to view the fleet ‘lit up’, as it was, with the beams of the searchlights circulating and fireworks burning. Whether in diaries or notebooks, letters or journals, reports or telegrams, phrases such as ‘a grand sight’, ‘how vast to the eye’, ‘a great spectacle’ were recurrent.26 Such statements mirrored the fascination with and enthusiasm for the modern technology that characterised the late nineteenth century. Historians have recently explored this phenomenon extensively. Their analysis of general attitudes towards technology, as well as their readings of specific phenomena such as the zeppelin craze in Imperial Germany, shows that this was a dominant popular attitude.27 The cult of the Navy was at the core of this ‘techno enthusiasm’. The modern battleships, launched and paraded on the public stage, embodied the forefront of technological advance and scientific progress, together with national pride and power. The modern market forces of media and entertainment, in turn, articulated the demand for the display of this technological symbolism as much as they aimed to satisfy it. They also gave rise to a new actor, ‘the crowd’, that played an increasingly active part in naval spectacles. Indeed, launchings and reviews came to be considered real spectacles only if they involved crowds of spectators. Reports in news publications on ‘the spectators’ or ‘the crowd’ described their behaviour and noted whether there had been a good or a bad ‘launching-day crowd’.28 From the turn of the century, a growing tendency can be observed in the popular press to publish photographs of the crowd, often showing nothing but a mass of people with captions such as ‘London awaits the fleet’ or ‘The Ship and the Spectators’. In the popular papers, especially, the language and imagery depicting ‘the crowd’ showed a strong aesthetic tendency: ‘the crowd’ appeared as a homogenous entity, often personified as a single being. ‘[T]he great multitude


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seemed almost involuntarily to burst into one wild cheer’, reported the Portsmouth Evening News of the launching of HMS Dreadnought in 1906.29 Describing what it estimated to be 100 000 spectators at the launching of HMS Thunderer, the Daily Express wrote of ‘the cry’ that ‘went up from thousands of throats’.30 A similar tendency can be seen in relation to the illuminations and searchlight displays, and their coverage in the press. Illuminations were an expanding and immensely popular part of naval events. In the decade before 1914, the crowd was aesthetically integrated into this display of light, power and technology. Thus the battleships’ searchlights were not just displayed in front of the spectators, they were now also trained onto them. It was not only the ‘great black hulls’ that were ‘suddenly springing out of the blackness’, but also the masses watching on shore.31 A poignant example of how this aesthetic unity was depicted in the press was published in the Illustrated London News in July 1909. The illustration by ‘H. W. Koekkoek’ showed a mass of spectators picked out of the darkness by searchlights, with the headline running: ‘Revealed by the searchlights: friends, not enemies: searchlights of the fleet playing on the crowd’.32 Articulated by the media and emphasised by modern stagecraft, ‘the crowd’ itself had turned into an actor.

ON THE NAVAL STAGE It is not far-fetched to explain such spectacles in terms of a modern naval theatre. Accounts in both highbrow and popular papers underline this interpretation. They were impregnated with theatrical language. Spithead was described as an ‘amphitheatre’, the preparations for reviews and launches as ‘dress rehearsals’.33 Dockyard officials, too, concerned themselves with the theatrical effects of naval spectacles. When the Blohm & Voss yard in Hamburg introduced a major innovation in the staging of launchings in 1912, there was a sense of pleasing the masses and the media in the diary


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of one of the directors, Eduard Blohm. As soon as SMS Seydlitz had entered the water, he wrote: . . . the keel plate for the next warship, draped in fir branches, was lowered into the berth. The plate had been suspended over the ship, which was to be launched, by a crane. The many spectators were hugely impressed.34

Playing to the gallery had become an integral part of naval spectacles and was informed by an ongoing discourse about the aesthetics involved. Correspondents literally ‘reviewed’ naval events: the main actors were described; the mise en scène and innovations in the display were judged; and the best places for viewing were discussed. It is no exaggeration to say that the coverage of naval events regularly read like reviews of the latest West End shows. In fact, newspapers often compared the two directly.

On significant occasions, Australian audiences might also be treated to searchlight displays and warship illuminations. A ‘Venetian carnival’ was held on Sydney Harbour following the arrival of the Australian Fleet Unit. An illustration from the Sydney Mail, 8 October 1913. (Mitchell Library)


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Correspondents equated naval displays with shows at the theatre or scenes at the cinema.35 The growing theatrical character of naval spectacles can hardly be explained simply by reference to the supposed masters of ceremony or to monarchs and their eccentricities. Nor can it be seen merely as the result of governments’ eagerness to manipulate public opinion. As the evidence has suggested, it was mass media and popular culture that provided the dynamic which increasingly gave naval ceremonies the character of public theatre. The new visual culture of the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, most of all the cinema, pioneered ways of imagining and conceptualising naval celebrations as aesthetic and visual events. What, then, were the prime issues played out on this public stage? Here, it is important to appreciate the Navy’s peculiar position, as a cultural symbol, at the intersection of national and international contexts. On the occasion of the 1909 Spithead Review, the Times wrote, ‘that no amphitheatre ever presented such facilities of view for a display of naval strength as the sheet of water enclosed by the shores of Hampshire and the Isle of Wight’. The display given in this amphitheatre, the author continued, was intended for a foreign as much as for a domestic audience.36 The ‘Armada display at Spithead’, wrote the Labour Leader about the same event, represented a ‘theatrical climax’, a show designed to impress ‘the public both at home and abroad’, and above all ‘the German people’.37 Across the North Sea, the Socialist Hamburger Echo observed that launchings and reviews had turned into displays of Anglo–German rivalry and antagonism. The launch of the Imperator in May 1912, the Echo lamented, had been at once a ‘gawped-at spectacle’ and ‘a welcome opportunity to get the hated English’.38 Given this increasingly international impact, it is hardly surprising that domestic and foreign issues were closely intertwined on the naval stage. Central among them were national identity and the projection of power. Neither can be explored here in depth, but their conflation merits a brief discussion.


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David Stevens’s contribution to this volume draws attention to the history of HMAS Australia as a symbol of national and imperial sentiment. His chapter provides a welcome reminder of how powerful an arena the Navy and its public celebration presented for the projection of national identity in the imperial age. The cult of the Navy celebrated not only one of the foremost symbols of technological advance and innovation, a symbol in which the imagery of steel and guns, of the sea and adventure merged with ideas of gender and race. The Navy was also one of the few institutions ideally suited for the projection of national unity. Unlike the Army, which remained locally and regionally rooted, the Navy was unionist and imperial in its character and was closely associated with the crown. This was, after all, the Royal Navy, the Imperial Fleet, with the monarch as its head. And its function as a national symbol was the more appreciated when countries like the United Kingdom, Imperial Germany and even Australia could not take national unity for granted.39 The role of naval spectacle as an arena for the cultural processes of nation building was linked to its function as a display of the instrument of deterrence. In the era of naval rivalry and Anglo– German antagonism this function was increasingly important. Jon Sumida has demonstrated that the Admiralty was prepared to compromise essential elements of their ships’ fighting capability in favour of promoting strong deterrence effects. Sumida concluded: In having to choose between capital ships with larger guns and more effective fire control, the Admiralty was in effect confronted by the conflicting requirements of deterrence and war fighting; its decision in favour of the former amounted to the putting up of a bold front at the cost of operational capability.40

Nicholas Lambert has similarly highlighted the importance of deterrence for late nineteenth century naval policy. His study of naval reform under Admiral Sir John Fisher shows that politicians in Britain conceived of navies ‘in terms of deterrence and prestige rather than fighting capability’.41 In Germany, the putting


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The role of the naval review in national celebration did not end with the imperial age. In October 1988, the Royal Australian Navy hosted a Bicentennial Naval Salute to commemorate the naval role in the last 200 years of Australian history. Billed as the largest peacetime gathering of naval ships in Australia, and one of the most spectacular naval events of all time, the salute involved almost seventy warships and 18 000 sailors from fifteen nations. (RAN)

up of a bold front was similarly at the heart of naval policy. The Imperial Navy’s publicly stated raison d’être was one of deterrence. This was to be a Risikoflotte, a fleet whose very existence would pose too high a risk for the Royal Navy to consider attacking Germany.42 The concern with deterrence that underscored both British and German naval policy was informed by contemporary theorists and thinkers. In 1913 Percival Hislam wrote in The North Sea Problem that the command of the sea could be held ‘as long as our naval supremacy is so great and unquestionable as to compel peace by the simple threat of its employment in war’.43 The notion of compelling peace by the threat of war was central to the writings of Alfred Thayer Mahan, by far the most influential naval theorist of this period. Even if permanently inactive, and even if considerably smaller than its adversary, a fleet held in a strategic location could lock up a greater fleet. Power could be exercised, or ‘projected’, without having to engage the enemy directly. Command of the sea


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was thus as much about being able to exercise deterrence as about actual fighting capabilities.44 Sir Cyprian Bridge’s seminal article in the 1911 edition of the Encyclopaedia Britannica differentiated between an absolute and relative form of the ‘command of the sea’. The ‘absolute command of the sea’, he wrote, was a ‘condition . . . existent only in time of war’; it was only in battle that it could be proven who really ruled the waves.45 In times of peace, by contrast, sea power was relative. It was ‘an attribute’, in flux and open to challenges, with the fleet being the ‘visible sign of sea-power’.46 Bridge did not take this argument any further, but his insights are particularly illuminating in the context of deterrence and naval rivalry. Command of the sea could not be tested or ascertained in peace, but it could be claimed or postulated. The more one nation’s ‘relative command of the sea’ was contested, the more it had to be displayed and thus asserted symbolically. It is here that naval spectacle played a key role. The Anglo– German naval race can hardly be understood without exploring the theatre of deterrence between the countries. ‘Deterrence has always been, and still is, a matter of persuasion, of creating an image’, writes N.A.M. Rodger.47 Creating an image—a visual and emotional impression of threat—was critical. For intimidation to work, it had to be felt. The source of threat had to be shown and exercised. There was thus a strong need for the display of power. Naval reviews, launchings of warships and fleet visits were the few occasions that catered to this need. Here sea power could be represented and the instrument of deterrence publicly displayed. The naval historian and theorist Sir Julian Corbett saw naval reviews as the prime occasion for displaying the ‘silent pressure of sea power’.48 The Naval and Military Record put it more bluntly, commenting on the 1914 Spithead assembly: It is just as well that the world at large should know that we are, and intend to remain, the supreme sea power . . . The concentration at Spithead not only revealed the improvements which has been effected in our drafting arrangements, and the better conditions in


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Concepts and contexts 65 which our older ships are now being kept, but it conveyed an effective picture of our strength . . .49

This was, therefore, a theatre of identity and power, one in which a picture of strength could be portrayed for domestic and foreign viewers. On this international stage, power was performed and naval might enacted. As this chapter has suggested, a number of agendas and issues were closely intertwined in this spectacle. Its emergence and success cannot be understood without appreciating the rich fabric woven by local government, society, culture and business, the forces of the modern mass market, the public’s fascination with technology, nor the cultural value of the Navy as a symbol of national and imperial sentiment. The combination of these influences with those more traditionally associated with naval history, especially the naval race and Anglo–German rivalry, gave naval celebrations a new role in the imperial age and transformed them into spectacles that were, as the Kaiser’s Controller of the Household had it, ‘the last word in outward splendour’.50


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Part II The Navy and the nation


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4 Naval medicine and the European settlement of Australia Neil Westphalen From the earliest days of Australia as a British possession, the Royal Navy has played a leading part in its settlement, exploration, and defence; and the names of not a few naval medical officers have a permanent place in Australian History. Surgeon–Captain E.T.P. Eames, RN, Director Naval Medical Services, c. 19201

Arguably the contributions of naval medical practitioners to Australia’s national development were incidental to their roles as either naval officers or clinicians. Most Australians, for example, know of George Bass (1771–c. 1803), yet his contributions as an explorer during 1795–99 remain subsidiary to his role as the surgeon of HMS Reliance. Some other early naval surgeons whose contributions to Australia are still remembered include William Balmain, a career naval surgeon who spent fourteen years in the colony as a magistrate and convict advocate, and William Redfern, the exsurgeon’s mate on HMS Standard and the first medical practitioner to qualify in Australia, who also introduced smallpox vaccination to 69


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the colony.2 Both these men are recalled in the names of Sydney suburbs. Less remembered is George Worgan, who must have caused the first lieutenant of HMS Sirius some concern when he arrived at the dockside in 1787 with the only piano to be destined for the new colony. Even less well known is Dr Samuel Knaggs, who introduced St John first-aid training to Australia in 1881, incidentally to his role as a part-time staff surgeon (senior lieutenant) to the NSW Naval Forces.3 Such contributions have not ceased, and in the latter half of the twentieth century it was the skills and research efforts of the RAN’s School of Underwater Medicine which, applied and pursued in conjunction with naval clearance divers, gave Australia worldwide recognition for the quality of its civilian underwater and hyperbaric medical services. Indeed, the relevant civilian organisations existing today were largely formed by Navy underwater medicine specialists. This chapter will describe a far more fundamental contribution made by naval medicine to Australia. It will demonstrate how it was the medical advances achieved within the Royal Navy during the late eighteenth century which made the proposals to settle Australia even feasible. This can be illustrated by comparing the medical aspects of Commodore George Anson’s 1740–44 global circumnavigation with those of Captain James Cook’s three voyages between 1768 and 1780, as well as the First Fleet’s voyage to Australia under Captain Arthur Phillip during 1787–88 and subsequent convict voyages.

ANSON’S GLOBAL CIRCUMNAVIGATION OF 1740–44 The outbreak of war with Spain in 1739 resulted in Commodore George Anson leading an expedition to the Pacific. In addition to his flagship Centurion (carrying 60 guns and 521 men), his ships included Gloucester (50 guns, 396 men), Severn (50 guns, 384 men), Pearl (40 guns, 299 men), Wager (24 guns, 243 men), Tryal (8 guns, 96 men) and the store ships, Anna (16 men) and Industry


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The Navy and the nation 71

(12 men).4 Manning shortfalls were acute, and even before the squadron’s departure, twenty or thirty sick at a time were crammed into private premises ‘two or three in a Bed of different diseases, without proper Nurses or people to look after them’.5 Anson’s situation, however, was not all that unusual until he received 500 ‘invalids’ from Chelsea Hospital in London. The average age of these military pensioners was fifty-five, and they had disabilities ranging from limb and back injuries to blindness, deafness and epilepsy. In the end, only 259 invalids actually joined the expedition, after those who were fit enough to desert did so, and none of them survived the voyage. Anson’s passage from England to Cape Horn set the medical scene. Plagues of flies from rotting provisions were followed by outbreaks of dysentery and typhus, with Centurion and Severn alone losing seventy-five men, including Anson’s senior surgeon Thomas Waller.6 In South America the setting up of hospital tents in a mosquito-infested area led to malaria. Storms off Cape Horn resulted in dozens of injuries as well as cases of exhaustion from the physical efforts of pumping. The inability to wash left men swarming in vermin, while freezing conditions led to frostbite. These harbingers were followed by one of the worst outbreaks of scurvy ever recorded, with 751 deaths in three months. Scurvy is caused by a deficiency of vitamin C, but Surgeon Joseph Allen’s journal also described the neurological features of other vitamin deficiencies, such as lack of B1, B12 and folate.7 The scurvy began with the appearance in the men of large spots and ulcers, followed by swollen legs, putrid gums and rotting flesh, while depression and lethargy led to beatings. One seaman died after 50-year-old wounds from the Battle of the Boyne in 1690 fell apart, while limb contractures turned other men into permanent invalids. Despite its use for scurvy since the 1590s, no lemon juice was available, leaving either ‘elixir of vitriol’ (sulphuric acid, alcohol, sugar and spices) or ‘Dr Ward’s pill’, a fearsome laxative and diuretic. Anson’s new senior surgeon, Henry Ettrick, even hypothesised that scurvy was due to poor circulation in cold weather, which later had him stumped when it reappeared in the tropics.


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The squadron was scattered by South Pacific storms in April 1741 and Anson headed for Juan Fernandez Island, but its misplacement on the chart in this pre-chronometer era resulted in him searching the wrong area for nine days while another seventy men died. Centurion arrived with only eight men fit, besides the officers and their servants. Tryal arrived having lost forty-six men, while Gloucester was blown back to sea for another month after arriving on 21 June, losing 254 men. Anna was scuttled despite having no losses among her sixteen crew. Severn and Pearl turned back, Severn losing 158 men and Pearl fifty. Wager was wrecked on the Patagonian coast in May 1741, and a bleak future awaited. Poor discipline led to Wager’s captain, David Cheap, shooting one man dead after the wrecking. The longboat was cut in half, extended and renamed Speedwell, amid argument as to whether to head 600 miles north (risking probable imprisonment by the Spaniards) or 2500 miles south and back around the Horn. In October, eighty-one men headed south in Speedwell and two boats, leaving Cheap and fourteen men behind. One boat returned and the other sank, leaving Speedwell to reach the Rio Grande in January 1742 with thirty-three survivors. Meanwhile Cheap headed north, finally reaching Valparaiso in January 1743, having lost sixteen men out of nineteen, including Surgeon William Elliot. Cheap’s efforts therefore compare rather poorly with Bligh’s 1789 longboat voyage to Timor after the Bounty mutiny, during which the latter lost only one man out of nineteen. By September 1741 Anson had only 335 men left out of the 961 who had left England in Centurion, Gloucester and Tryal (the last having been scuttled). The men’s health recovered with a diet of fresh vegetables, fish and sea lion meat and Anson raided the South American west coast, losing two men killed in action. In May 1742, he decided to intercept the Manila treasure galleon off the Philippines. Although the Pacific crossing usually took two months, undertaking it at the wrong time of year led to delay and more scurvy. Gloucester was scuttled on 14 August, and by the time they reached Tinian nine days later another ninety-nine men had


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died and 128 were landed sick. Fresh greens worked their usual cure but it was not until 20 October that Centurion could sail for Macao to refit. The ship eventually made her attack and capture off Samar on 20 June 1743, losing only two killed and seventeen wounded. The Spanish lost fifty killed and seventy wounded, only fifteen of whom later died despite the efforts of surgeons Allen and Neasmith. Centurion left Macao on 15 December with 256 chests of silver, returning home in June 1744 with 188 survivors. Out of the 1967 men who had sailed from England, 1240 had died, representing a mortality rate of 63 per cent. Only four had been killed in action; some had died in accidents, but the rest had succumbed to illness and starvation.8 Observers noted that there were no deaths among Centurion’s commissioned officers and only six among her warrant officers, including two surgeons. After interviewing the survivors, physician James Lind (1716–94) determined to conduct an experiment. Aboard HMS Salisbury in 1747 he performed the first-known clinically controlled trial in medical history. He gave twelve scurvy cases the same diet, with pairs of them also receiving either a quart of cider, or twenty-five drops of elixir of vitriol, or two spoonfuls of vinegar, or half a pint of salt water, or a mixture of garlic, mustard and herbs, or two oranges and one lemon daily. A portrait of Dr James Lind (1716–94). In addition to his The last two returned to duty 9 work on scurvy and hygiene at after only six days. Although sea, Lind discovered that steam Lind erred in recommending generated by salt water was that lemon juice be preserved fresh, opening the way to the by boiling (thereby destroyprovision of distillers onboard ing the vitamin C), his 1753 ships. (RAN)


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Treatise on the Scurvy and other hygiene measures began a noteworthy reduction in seagoing mortality. Even so, it was not until 1795 that the Royal Navy issued fresh lemon juice for scurvy prevention as well as treatment, and it only became mandatory in British merchant ships in 1854.

COOK’S VOYAGES 1768–1780 The medical background to Cook’s voyages was established by his immediate predecessors. The crews of both Wager-survivor Captain John Byron and Captain John Wallis had had scurvy during their respective global circumnavigations (1764–66 and 1766–68) aboard HMS Dolphin. Although Byron’s crew had suffered severely, Wallis’s men took only two weeks to recover instead of the three months taken by Anson’s men. Cook downplayed Lind’s rediscovery of lemon juice as an antiscorbutic in favour of dietary advice from Wallis’s surgeon John Hutchinson, which included malt, mustard, vinegar, pickled cabbage (sauerkraut) and ‘portable soup’ (beef stock). Although none of these had much vitamin C, the efficacy of Hutchinson’s advice was never properly tested because Cook never stayed at sea for more than fifteen weeks at a time. On his arrival in Tahiti in April 1769 during his first voyage Cook wrote of his pleasure at the medical regime established in conjunction with Surgeon William Monkhouse (aided by his mate William Perry): The ship’s company had in general been very healthy owing to a great measure to the Sour Krout, Portable Soup and Malt; the first two were served to the people, the one on beef days, the other on banyan [meat-free] days. Wort was made of the malt and at the discretion of the surgeon given to every man who had the least symptoms of scurvy upon them.10

While Cook had no deaths from scurvy he still had several cases, including Sir Joseph Banks, who wrote of ‘flying to the lemon juice’


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after a fortnight of swollen gums, to ‘surprising’ good effect in less than a week.11 Cook still lost forty-one out of ninety-four men— from tuberculosis (3), accidents (5), alcoholism (1) epilepsy (1) and dysentery (31, acquired at Jakarta). On his second voyage (1772–75) limited supplies of lemon juice meant Cook still had twenty-three scurvy cases out of 118 men, although he only had four deaths (one from tuberculosis and three from accidents). On returning home, Cook and his surgeon James Patten still downplayed lemon juice in favour of malt, sauerkraut and portable soup. Cook’s third voyage (1776–80) continued the pattern, with the loss of two men from tuberculosis, three from other illnesses, three from accidents and five by violence in Hawaii (including Cook himself ). Nevertheless, even without lemon juice, it was Cook’s application of Lind’s hygiene advice which allowed long voyages without Anson’s mortality rates, and which enabled the European settlement of the distant continent of Australia.

THE FIRST FLEET 1787–1788 Captain Arthur Phillip’s First Fleet included the frigate HMS Sirius, the brig HMS Supply, the transports Scarborough, Friendship, Alexander, Charlotte, Lady Penrhyn and Prince of Wales, and the store ships Golden Grove, Fishburn and Borrowdale. In the original plans for the projected settlement, provision was made for only one surgeon at an annual salary of £182, 10 shillings and for two surgeon’s mates at £91, 5 shillings. On 24 October 1786, John White, surgeon of HMS Irresistible, was appointed Chief Surgeon and William Balmain his assistant. It was probably their efforts, supported by Phillip, that resulted in the medical organisation of the expedition being somewhat enhanced with a total of nine surgeons, so that only the store ships and Prince of Wales went without.12 The Fleet sailed on 13 May 1787 with 1473 people embarked, including 568 male and 191 female convicts and 226 marines. During the early part of the voyage, Marine Captain Watkin Tench


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of Charlotte noted that the number of sick aboard was exceedingly small and that the rest of the fleet was nearly as healthy. Reflecting the period’s varied understanding of medical practice he ascribed this auspicious circumstance to frequent explosions of gunpowder, the lighting of fires below decks, the liberal use of ‘that admirable antiseptic’ oil of tar, and bedding being kept dry. But it is the detailed journal by Surgeon Arthur Bowes Smyth of Lady Penrhyn— pronounced by White as the healthiest ship in the Fleet—which provides the best insight into the medical aspects of the voyage. Lack of drinking water was the most immediate problem and on 5 July Phillip ordered water rationing for all except the sick. At the time, Scarborough’s captain was dangerously ill, as were some convicts on Charlotte, while three lieutenants aboard Sirius had ruptures (hernias). The latter cases highlight the dangers faced by seafarers in the age of sail, and Bowes Smyth’s journal records a number of such events. Five days after crossing the equator the water ration was increased, but Alexander lost one convict overboard and another five died from illness. On entering Rio de Janeiro on 6 August a sailor suffered fatal head injuries after falling from Scarborough’s main yard. Three days after sailing, on 4 September, Charlotte also lost a convict overboard. After entering Table Bay on 13 October, Bowes Smyth visited Alexander and found many convicts and marines with a ‘putrid fever’, while White, who was himself ill, advised that Charlotte had another thirty sick with fever and dysentery. On 29 October Friendship lost her second mate overboard while drunk and a convict was rescued the following day after falling overboard from Penrhyn’s heads. On 11 November the Fleet sailed from the Cape of Good Hope for Botany Bay. On 15 November one female convict aboard Penrhyn gave birth to a boy and on 18 November another died of tuberculosis. A week later water rationing was re-introduced, while Phillip took four ships to scout ahead. On 29 November Bowes Smyth just missed having his legs crushed when the cable tier gave way in the steerage during high seas while he was dressing a sailor’s blister. Two days later he wrote the following oft-quoted comment:


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The Navy and the nation 77 It is pretty extraordinary how very healthy the Convicts aboard this Ship in particular and the fleet in general have been, during so long a passage and where there was a necessity of stowing them so thick together, if I except the Alexander where many of the Convicts were embarked from the different Goals [sic] with malignant disorders upon them, and consequently had many died on board, not less than 30—The Scarborough where they were embarked in a healthy state had not lost a single person during the passage. But this phenomenon will not appear so strange when I inform my readers how very well Government have provided for the accommodation of the Convicts—I believe I may venture to say, few marines going out of England upon Service were ever so amply provided for as these Convicts are, & the Surgeons & Officers of the different Ships pay such strict attention to their keeping themselves and their births [sic] well air’d & perfectly clean . . . In the Lady Penrhyn only two women have died since leaving England; one 82 Years of Age of a Dropsy which had long rained upon her, and the other of a Consumption, sent on board the Lady Penrhyn in the last stages thereof, from the Friendship, whilst we were at the Cape of Good Hope.14

Comparatively healthy conditions continued to prevail during the remainder of the voyage, although on 23 December Charlotte had an outbreak of food poisoning, which left one marine dead. On 25 December Bowes Smyth used his Christmas entry to describe his day. Following breakfast (including fresh-baked rolls) at 8 a.m. he began his rounds with the ship’s company followed by the convicts, doing his own dispensing before updating his journal and spending the rest of the day in the roundhouse or poop.15 Penrhyn arrived in Botany Bay on 20 January 1788, the same day Phillip left to explore Port Jackson. On 25 January, Phillip took Supply to Sydney Cove, with the rest of the Fleet following the next day. Since leaving England the Fleet had suffered the relatively small total of twenty-four deaths, plus a comparable number before sailing. Although landing with only thirty sick, conditions ashore were apparently not so healthy. On 29 January White wrote:


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78 The Navy and the Nation The laboratory and sick tents were erected, and, I am sorry to say, were soon filled with patients afflicted with the true camp dysentery and the scurvy. More pitiable objects were perhaps never seen. Not a comfort or a convenience could be got for them, besides the very few we had with us . . . The sick have increased since our landing to such a degree that a spot for a general hospital has been marked out and artificers already employed on it. A proper spot, contiguous to the hospital, has been chosen, to raise such vegetables as can be produced at this time of the year; and where a permanent garden for the hospital can be established.16

By 18 February, three convicts had died since landing. There were one hundred sick on 29 February, and 200 by 24 March, mostly with dysentery. By July 1788, however, an eighty-bed hospital had been established on the western side of Sydney Cove, ‘in a very healthful situation, entirely clear of the town; and is built in such a manner as to last for some years’.17 White remained in charge, with five assistants providing the medical staff. Between the landing and October 1788 there were seventy-nine deaths (fifty-six from illness), but there were only another seventy-two deaths to July 1790, including twenty-six from longstanding illnesses. It must be noted that the indigenous population were not so lucky, and a mortality rate of 50 per cent followed a smallpox outbreak in April 1789.18 Such a rate argued against the disease being indigenous to Australia, but Phillip stated unequivocally that there were no cases in the First Fleet. This suggests infection via either the French explorer la Perouse’s visit (26 January to 10 March 1788) or its introduction in an attenuated form via the First Fleet colonists, or perhaps via the bottled variolous material carried by the First Fleet surgeons.

THE SECOND FLEET 1788–1790 Although traditionally referred to as the Second Fleet, these ships left England more-or-less independently. They included the frigate


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HMS Guardian, the convict transports Lady Juliana, Neptune, Scarborough and Surprize and the storeship Justinian. The effects of the lack of a medical organisation comparable to that of the First Fleet were soon apparent. Juliana left Plymouth in July 1789 with 150 female convicts and one hundred marines. A stop at Teneriffe quickly led to the ‘flux’ (diarrhoea) while the ship sold all her wares to the crews of two slave ships. On departure Juliana met Guardian, the latter stopping only briefly after sailing far later than intended. Juliana’s line-crossing festivities were marred by a miscarriage, amid poor living conditions and water rationing, and after Surgeon Richard Alley diagnosed scurvy the ship diverted to Rio de Janeiro. Several impending births could have been a factor, although the ship’s leaks may have been more decisive. Juliana arrived on 1 November, Alley writing that there were five surviving babies (one his own child) out of between nine and twenty births, before she sailed for Cape Town. Meanwhile Guardian had hit an iceberg two weeks from Cape Town, struggling back on 21 February 1790. It was known from Sirius’s visit to Cape Town in early 1789 that the residents of Sydney were facing starvation, so on arrival on 28 February the Juliana was loaded with Guardian’s stores.19 Sirius returned to Sydney from Cape Town in May 1789 with only four months’ food for the colony. The Supply proceeded to Batavia where she hired the Dutch store ship Waaksamheyd, but on arrival in Sydney in December most of her cargo was inedible. In March 1790 Sirius was wrecked while relocating one third of the colonial population to Norfolk Island. With Juliana’s arrival on 3 June 1790, food shortages in the colony became acute, and morale plummeted with the news of Guardian’s mishap. Although famine was averted when Justinian arrived on 21 June, the colony was still facing disaster when the other three transports began to arrive a week later. Neptune, Scarborough and Surprize had left England with 928 male and seventy-eight female convicts. The ships masters were paid £17 7s 6p per convict, but without the stipulation that they had to be delivered alive there was little incentive to keep the


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convicts healthy.20 Appalling conditions resulted in the deaths of 273 convicts during the passage, while another 486 were landed sick. The Sydney hospital was full of Juliana’s convicts and there were only five surgeons available. Fortunately, Justinian had brought a ‘Portable Hospital’ and the following year houses were built for White and his assistants. The Portable Hospital was rebuilt in 1795, with other buildings added to act as medical storehouses and it remained Sydney’s only public hospital until the completion of Governor Macquarie’s ‘Rum Hospital’ in 1816.

THE THIRD FLEET AND AFTER The Third Fleet, consisting of the frigate Gorgon and ten transports, left England independently between March and July 1791 and also suffered badly from illness. Of 2459 convicts, 218 died en route and 576 were landed with dysentery, many ‘so thoroughly exhausted’, wrote Captain John Hunter, ‘that they expired without a groan and apparently without any kind of pain’. These losses accounted for most of the 288 deaths during the seven months to March 1792. Rations were cut again and mortality rates remained high even after more food arrived in July 1792. However there were only thirty-nine deaths in the twelve months from September 1793, after which Sydney was independent of outside food supplies. Between 1787 and 1800, the convict mortality rate at sea averaged 11.7 per cent for males and 3.5 per cent for females. Although this was an improvement on Anson’s voyage, the death rate was still unacceptable. It may be attributed mainly to the greed of shipowners, captains and agents. However, after Surrey lost fifty-one dead from typhus in 1814 (including the captain and the surgeon), a damning report by Redfern led to the appointment of naval ‘Surgeon-Superintendents’, who were made responsible for the care of convicts in each transport. As a result, the total average mortality rate among the 160 663 convicts transported between 1787 and 1868 was less than 2 per cent.21 This mortality includes 510 convicts


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lost in the only five transports (out of 852) to be wrecked en route to Australia.22 As the historian C. Bateson concluded: ‘When the history of naval surgeons is eventually written—and it is an absorbingly interesting and, in many respects, unique history—it is to be hoped that belated recognition will be accorded the individual surgeons who spent so many years of their lives in caring for the prisoners shipped to Australia.23

Moreover, the impact of these surgeon-superintendents was not limited solely to the physical health of the convicts. As another account related: By virtue of the wide powers with which they were invested, these officers exercised a wholesome influence over the masters of these vessels and raised themselves high in the estimation of the unfortunate passengers. This and the fact that they were better educated than the majority of the settlers, gave them a high social standing in the new colony.24

It was largely due to this acquired status that naval medical officers were to be well represented in early pioneering and exploration activities, and their opinions respected in many other areas of Australia’s national development.

THE LEGACY It was James Lind’s hygiene ideas, applied by his seagoing professional colleagues, such as Monkhouse and Bowes Smyth, and supported by naval commanders, such as James Cook and Arthur Phillip, that made the European settlement of Australia possible. This raises at least two points, which can similarly be observed in the more recent case of the RAN’s School of Underwater Medicine and its impact on civilian diving medicine. First, these cases can be characterised by clinical needs being driven by mission requirements, which led to consequent benefits


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In addition to its impact on civilian diving medicine, the RAN’s School of Underwater Medicine has conducted groundbreaking research in many other related fields. The work undertaken by Surgeon Lieutenant Commander Carl Edmonds in the early 1970s enabled him to write the textbook Dangerous Marine Animals of the Australasian and Indo-Pacific Region. The School, meanwhile, became the de facto ‘call centre’ for doctors all around Australia confronted by unfamiliar marine injuries. (RAN)


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for the wider civilian community. Rather than the contributions of naval medical officers to Australia’s national development being only incidental to their roles as either naval officers or clinicians, their roles as naval clinicians were pivotal to those contributions. Second, the effectiveness of these contributions was out of all proportion to the resources sometimes grudgingly made available by higher authorities. This apparently stemmed from a synergistic interaction between clinicians and their operational commanders. On the one hand this entailed having clinicians, such as John White, whose expertise extended beyond ‘only’ providing health care, to fully understanding their commander’s mission and their role in fulfilling it. On the other hand it entailed commanders, such as Cook and Phillip, who not only understood the clinical influences on their missions, but also accepted both the advice of their clinical subordinates and the responsibility for implementing the appropriate control measures. As the validity of these lessons has not lessened since, future operational commanders would do well to keep them in mind.


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5 The search for a strategic sea-base and the founding of Australia Tom Frame We got into Port Jackson early in the afternoon, and had the satisfaction of finding the finest harbour in the world, in which a thousand ships of the line may ride in the most perfect security, and of which a rough survey, made by Captain Hunter and the officers of the Sirius after the ships came round, may give your Lordships some idea. The different coves were examined with all possible expedition. I fixed on the one that had the best spring of water, and in which the ships can anchor so close to the shore that at very small expense quays may be made at which the largest ships may unload. This cove, which I honoured with the name of Sydney is about a quarter of a mile across at the entrance, and a half mile in length. Captain Arthur Phillip, Governor of New South Wales, 26 January 17881

Most general histories of Australia begin with the establishment of the British penal colony at New South Wales,2 but few ask the question: why did the imperial government in London ever express 84


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an interest in Botany Bay? There were, of course, a number of alternative sites more readily accessible and easier to colonise. In overlooking the matter of why the British opted for Botany Bay, historians could be missing something significant about the human character of the continent that later became known as Australia. We might begin to see our national history without the alleged ‘convict stain’ if it were shown that Europeans settled and developed this country for more complex reasons than those usually acknowledged. This chapter will examine some of the arguments both for and against this proposition.

STRATEGIC SEA-BASE OR PENAL COLONY? The British government’s need for a new penal colony to cope with an expanding number of convicts is the conventional explanation for why Australia was settled by Europeans. This is usually expounded as a matter of fact rather than a product of interpretation. Sir Keith Hancock’s pioneering study, Australia, published in 1930 stated the matter simply: ‘The Government of Pitt chose New South Wales as a prison, commodious, conveniently distant, and, it was hoped, cheap.’ Several decades later, Russell Ward confirmed the conventional view: ‘In 1788 the Australian nation was founded by and for Great Britain’s surplus of convicted criminals.’3 Manning Clark wrote that the British government was ‘looking for a place to send convicts sentenced to transportation . . . and Botany Bay was to be that place’.4 At first glance, this seems a valid explanation. After the loss of the American colonies in the War of Independence (1775–83), Britain needed a new place to dump its convicts and to rid itself generally of the products of the severe social conditions that led to an explosion in criminal activity and increasingly harsh sentences. The gaols and the prison hulks had become terribly overcrowded and there was a public scandal in the making. By the mid-1780s the problem was reaching a crisis point and the government of William


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Pitt ‘the Younger’ needed to do something about it. After a fair amount of procrastination and the surveying of several possible sites, it settled on Botany Bay as a suitable site for a penal settlement. It combined the possibility of a limitless capacity to take more convicts with the likelihood that many of them would never return to England’s ‘green and pleasant land’. But was there more to the choice? Did the British government have other agendas in mind? A little known Tasmanian researcher thought so. In an address delivered in 1952, Ken Dallas, a lecturer in economics at the University of Tasmania, developed what has become known as the ‘strategic sea-base’ theory.5 His interpretation did not attract much attention until 1966 when it was refined by Professor Geoffrey Blainey and incorporated into his best-selling account of the impact of distance upon Australian history: The Tyranny of Distance.6 Blainey attacked the penal settlement interpretation by arguing that it was highly improbable Australia should be colonised merely as a British gaol. It was simply too far from Britain. In 1784, the First Lord of the Admiralty, Richard Howe, had disparaged the idea as being too dangerous, too expensive and too slow a solution to an urgent problem.7 In July 1785, Das Voltas Bay on the West African coast was considered as a possible place of exile for criminals, but only if the commercial and political benefits justified the inevitable expense. When the site was found to be unsuitable, Botany Bay was suddenly more desirable. Why? British trade and security would be enhanced by a new settlement in such a location. Britain needed a new sea-base and refitting port to strengthen its position in the East.8 Botany Bay was ideally placed to service important British trading areas and commercial activities: the China tea trade, the Pacific coast of North America, whaling activities, and smuggling and privateering in the rich Spanish trade. As both the British and French were jockeying for position in the Indian Ocean, Botany Bay could not be allowed to become a French possession. In 1786 the French had based some of their forces in Mauritius and there were fears they might try to take India from Britain. It was also


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believed that Botany Bay would serve as a cheap source of high quality flax for sailmaking and of timber for ships’ masts and spars.9 This was an obvious attraction. Blainey argued: In letters in which British politicians explained their reasons for selecting Botany Bay they did not have to emphasise that flax and timber were vital to their country, it was too obvious to be spelled out. The men to whom they addressed their letters knew the importance of a secure supply of naval stores and the dangers facing Britain’s sources of naval stores.10

The earliest proposal to use Botany Bay as a penal settlement originated with James Mario Matra. But he also had an eye for trading opportunities and naval requirements. He put his suggestion to Evan Nepean, then Under Secretary for the Home Department, in August 1783. Matra argued that the:

An early engraving of Sydney Cove. On 3 July 1788 Governor Arthur Phillip wrote to his friend and patron, the Marquis of Landsdowne, telling him that Britain was correct in thinking of Port Jackson as more than a penal colony: ‘perhaps no country in the world affords less assistance to first settlers; still, my Lord, I think that perseverance will answer every purpose proposed by Government, and that this country will, hereafter, be a most valuable acquisition to Great Britain from its situation.’ (RAN)


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88 The Navy and the Nation . . . proposed colony of New South Wales might in time atone for the loss of the American colonies . . . and would improve the trade with China, and open up commercial intercourse with Japan, Korea, and the Moluccas. The timber and flax of New Zealand might become articles of commerce of great importance to the naval interests of England.11

He went on to suggest that the geographical position of New South Wales might give it ‘a very commanding influence in the policy of Europe’. In the event of war with Holland or Spain, it would furnish England with ‘a naval station of the greatest value’. Admiral Sir George Young, a distinguished former naval officer with a private commercial interest in British overseas settlements, also saw the many advantages of the proposal: The geographical position of the country placed it within easy communication with the Spanish settlements in South America on the one hand, and with China, the Spice Islands, and the Cape of Good Hope on the other. The facilities for extensive trade thus disclosed were not all; for should war break out between England and Spain, English ships would then have the tremendous advantage of a great naval station in the South Sea.12

The convicts, Young considered, could be sent to the colony to assist in its construction. They could be conveyed in ‘the China ships of the East India Company, which, by altering their route after leaving the Cape of Good Hope, might land the felons on the coast of New South Wales, and then proceed to their destination’. The proposal met with a favourable response from Lord Sydney, Attorney-General Pepper Arde and Sir Joseph Banks, who offered a first-hand recommendation.13 In 1784, the Admiralty was consulted. But the First Lord, Admiral Richard Howe, rejected the idea. A number of other sites for a settlement were proposed around the same time. They were led by Das Voltas Bay (at the mouth of the Orange River on the south-west coast of Africa), Gromarivire Bay (on the Caffre Coast east of Cape Town), Tristan da Cunha (in


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the South Atlantic) and Madagascar. These four were located within a circle of radius 1000 nautical miles. Botany Bay, on the other hand, was 7000 miles further to the east. Yet, it was the site ultimately chosen. There would appear to be only two grounds on which the British government would have selected Botany Bay given its distance from London. First, that it offered significantly greater potential for settlement to compensate for its distance from Britain. Second, that it must have offered some special advantage not offered by the others. The attitude of the Admiralty in all of this was pivotal. For its part, the Royal Navy showed no initial resistance to the plan or any hesitation either in accepting command of the First Fleet or later in nominating naval officers as the first four governors. In those years the Admiralty had enormous power and influence. It practically did only what it wanted to do. Although cabinet decided plans for overseas expeditions, the First Lord, who was invariably a cabinet minister and the only person publicly accountable for the administration of the Navy, ensured that cabinet’s decisions reflected his personal view. As maritime historian Nicholas Rodger has pointed out, ‘Although Cabinet orders began with the phrase: “Your Lordship will require and direct”, most often the First Lord had himself decided the tenor of the orders he was to receive.’14 This did not mean, however, that the Admiralty always managed to secure the funds it needed to protect Britain or its interests at sea. In the 1770s and 1780s, the Admiralty believed it was desperately short of funds and reminded the government that Britain was an island nation that needed to be a sea power and its people seafarers if it were to survive and flourish. A revitalisation of the Navy and greater attention to maritime security abroad coincided with renewed interest in Botany Bay. It was also prompted by a series of naval and military disasters between 1776 and 1782.15 The American War was a severe blow to Britain. France joined the war against Britain in 1778, to be followed by Spain in 1779 and the Dutch in 1780. Revenge was the motive and Britain was thrown back on home defence for its survival. At the same time its


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solid grip on the Mediterranean had begun to falter. It lost Minorca for the second time, and because its forces were engaged in relieving the blockade of Gibraltar, a French squadron was able to leave Brest for the Indian Ocean. On the way it defeated a British expedition sent to capture the Cape of Good Hope, then in Dutch hands. The French Admiral, Pierre Andre de Suffren, captured Trincomalee in Ceylon, and Britain came very close to losing its precious colony of India. If France were to secure South Africa, India would be virtually lost as France would gain complete control of the sea route to India and, effectively, those waters would be closed to the British.16 Trade would cease. The French had also won at Ushant and gained the strategically vital island of Grenada in the Caribbean. By 1782 Britain had experienced one of the blackest hours in its history. It had been evicted from North America and the Mediterranean.17 The Navy had clearly been neglected and the funds destined for maintenance and expansion had been embezzled. Sir Geoffrey Callender, in describing the state of the Navy from the mid 1760s, argued that: Not even in early Stuart times was speculation so rampant and embezzlement so rife. The First Lord [of the Admiralty] divided his time between the gaming table and the political arena. Funds voted for the Fleet were deflected by [the First Lord] to party needs or private purposes, and his subordinates at the Navy Office and elsewhere trafficked and bartered with the maritime stores committed to their keeping.18

There was another disastrous consequence of the long period of decline following the end of the Seven Years’ War in 1763. The lack of interest in the Navy had led to an absence of planning and foresight when it came to ships’ timbers. The principal source of oak for British ships had been the forests of England.19 But these had been consumed to provide for past fleets and, despite a vigorous planting program instituted in the reign of King Charles II, the new trees were not sufficiently developed. Europe had become the Navy’s


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chief source of trees, despite its timbers being inferior to those of Britain. The chief fear was that Britain might be excluded from Europe by a protracted war and so denied access to the vital forests with which to build and repair its warships. The successive defeats beginning with the American War had such an impact on Britain that things had to change, and change at the top. The dockyards and victualling yards were overhauled and administrative practices reviewed. Trustworthy men guarded the storehouses and stocktaking became more regular. In a logistic sense, the Navy began to prosper as it had not done since the time of Oliver Cromwell’s Commonwealth over a century earlier. In 1778 when the French declared war on Britain, naval expenditure was £875 000; just five years later it had risen to approximately £2 million, which was actually spent on the purposes for which it was intended. By 1783, Britain was on the verge of a new era in its naval power and was ready to regain what it had lost over the previous decade. The peace achieved by the signing of the Treaty of Versailles in September 1783 marked the start of a new phase in Britain’s naval development and the creative use of sea power. The overall British strategy was straightforward. By restricting or hindering the use of the seas by the other European powers, Britain would curtail their economic progress and arrest their national development. By guaranteeing the secure use of the seas for its own purposes, Britain could find new markets to exploit and consistently enlarge its economic and trading base. This would enhance its ability to maintain a navy and establish a global empire. Thankfully, the Royal Navy had survived the traumas of the previous decade, if only because its enemies were in a state of disarray. It was an opportunity for the Navy to lick its wounds and rebuild without the enormous and complicating pressure of war. Barely three months after the peace the administration of William Pitt ‘the Younger’ took office. Pitt was the prime minister the Navy needed if it were to recover its ascendancy. He knew well that it was the condition and efficiency of the Navy that had enabled his father to achieve such striking


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success in the Seven Years’ War. Putting aside Britain’s poor financial position in the early 1780s, he was determined to build a strong navy. His administration conducted some sweeping reviews of the dockyards and allocated funds for the building of twenty-four new ships-of-the-line. To man this enhanced fleet, the Navy grew from 15 000 to 18 000 men. Pitt was also aware that Britain’s position on the European continent would always be tenuous at best and that Europe could not be considered a reliable source of vital materials, particularly for shipbuilding. In the event of a sustained war with the European powers it would be Britain’s colonies, along with the massive expansion of the internal economy under the Industrial Revolution, which would sustain the Empire. The crucial link between the colonies and Britain was its merchant fleet, which would carry the cargoes, and the Navy, which would protect the source of supply and the transportation of commodities while searching for new markets and new areas to exploit. In short, owing to the location of its colonies, Britain needed to exert control of the seas. This involved guaranteeing the safe passage of its own trade and denying the seas to its enemies. All of this was reflected in the Navy’s strategic outlook at the time. The Admiralty realised that its participation in external policy did not end with fighting battles and winning wars. Naval power had much greater utility. The aim was for Britain to have enduring control of the seas. Consequently, the Royal Navy had a ‘trinitarian’ conception of its functions as a military, diplomatic and policing force. The military function consisted of engaging the enemy and principally of destroying his fleet. The diplomatic dimension consisted of using naval force in every situation short of war to highlight national interests and demonstrate national resolve. Policing took the form of protecting and safeguarding national interests, particularly the sea-borne trade plying the oceans of the world. The old Admiralty maxim was, ‘The seas are the world’s highway’. Britain needed to ensure that its trade could enjoy the freedom of the seas in the absence of interference. It was also


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evident that a country with a navy is potentially an effective ally or an enemy of all countries with a coastline. Britain needed the seas to sell the commodities it produced and hoped to expand that trade with sea-borne access to nearly every region on the globe. The possession of a large navy was also the source of immeasurable national prestige for Britain. This prestige was not just a matter of appearance but a concrete advantage. It won Britain respect, authority and deference in the international arena. The power of the Royal Navy was one of Britain’s chief propaganda weapons and gave it diplomatic strength that outweighed its actual potential. Oliver Cromwell, a man with a grasp of naval strategy that has been largely ignored, used the Navy to great effect in the days of the English Commonwealth and famously remarked that a warship is ‘a country’s best ambassador’. The protection of trade was Britain’s foremost objective in the East and was particularly important in relation to France, which was steadily expanding its commerce in the region. Heightening British concerns were rumours that the French were considering amalgamating their East India Company, which had been provided with 64-gun ships of the line made redundant by the peace of 1783, with that of the Dutch. For their part, the Dutch, although not at war with Britain, controlled the Cape of Good Hope. The British needed a safe harbour in the region to afford some protection for the India trade. The best Britain could do was to occupy the Andaman Islands in the Bay of Bengal. The Andamans, however, had proved a disastrous place for European occupation. Attempts at settlement by French Jesuits in 1711, the Danes in 1756, and the Austrians in 1778, had all ended in failure. An alternative was needed and was sought.20 Given its size and location astride three great ocean basins—the Indian, Pacific and Southern—Australia was too large a landmass to ignore and would inevitably become of some strategic value. As a storehouse for the Royal Navy, Botany Bay was remote from the major trading routes and therefore from potential areas of conflict, and it was ideally protected by distance. It was considered to be possibly the best site for the purpose for


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which it was intended. It would need wharfage and some refit facilities, in addition to stores and accommodation, before it would be of any use. But that was not a great problem. Its enormous strategic potential would outweigh the cost of building local facilities and infrastructure. In his groundbreaking study, Convicts and Empire, published in 1980, Alan Frost argued that Botany Bay was primarily intended to serve as a base for naval operations against the Spanish in South America and as a means of excluding, or at least counterbalancing, the French presence in the East.21 Britain’s trade with India was so crucial that the sub-continent could no longer go unprotected and New South Wales would serve as a strategic outlier to the Indian trade routes. Frost also attacked the trade and commerce theories by showing that Governor Phillip was given the most explicit instructions not to permit any kind of private trade between New South Wales and the European centres in Asia. There was also the closely guarded trade monopoly held by the British East India Company.22 According to Frost, the need for a new penal settlement played only a minor part in the British government’s thinking in regard to the establishment of a settlement at Botany Bay. The best-known response to the strategic sea-base interpretation championed by Blainey and developed by Frost is Robert Hughes’ account of the convict element in Australia’s history: The Fatal Shore.23 The book argues that the convict experience is integral to the evolution of Australian nationhood and the creation of an Australian identity. Hence Hughes had little choice but to enter the debate with a commitment to discarding the strategic and commercial theories and their claims. His ten pages of refutation are persuasive and perhaps conclusive to those unfamiliar with the debate. On closer inspection they are highly questionable and cannot be left unchallenged. Hughes opens his criticism of the ‘strategic sea-base’ theory by denigrating the author of the first proposal to use Botany Bay as a commercial and maritime base, James Mario Matra, whom he derides as an opportunist and a man bent on personal gain. He then


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suggests that the failure of Lord Frederick North, Secretary of State for the Colonies, to reply to the proposal is evidence that the suggestion was ‘ignored’ because of its silliness. But Hughes neglects to point out that North’s character would have prevented him from being interested in Matra’s proposal. North was, according to one biographer, a ‘man of peace; cultured, charming, adept at political manoeuvre and incapable of leadership’. He was dominated in all discussion of naval matters by the First Lord of the Admiralty, Lord Sandwich. In fact, North had told the First Lord in September 1772, ‘I do not recollect to have seen a more peaceful appearance of affairs as there is at the moment.’ 24 It is highly unlikely that he would have acted on Matra’s proposal, let alone given it support, whatever its merits, when he held those sentiments. It would have seemed irrelevant. Hughes also fails to mention Lord Sydney’s response to Matra’s suggestion.25 He uses the ‘argument of silence’, for which he is critical of Blainey, to say that William Pitt was not impressed by the strategic idea based on the attractive supply of flax. He does not say why the views of Alexander Dalrymple, the East India Company’s hydrographer, should have had the most weight in official circles.26 One would have thought Dalrymple’s opinions would have been heavily biased given that he was, as Hughes admits, in the employ of a company whose monopolistic charter would have been violated by the supply of flax. There is no reason why Dalrymple’s judgment should have been considered more expert when it came to assessing the quality of flax or discussing the matter of its growth anywhere else in the region. That Hughes is determined to give no credence to the strategic sea-base theory is perhaps suggested by his use of rhetoric when it comes to describing the manner in which the strategic proposals were handled. Lord Howe ‘curtly’ rejected them while their illogicality was ‘sharply’ pointed out by Dalrymple, who saw them as ‘ridiculous’. On the matter of their rejection by Lord Howe, Hughes forgets that Howe was not the principal adviser on naval affairs to the young Pitt. The scheming Comptroller of the Navy,


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Sir Charles Middleton, had Pitt’s ear. Yet Hughes implies that the Navy was against the idea because the First Lord was unconvinced. Of those whom Hughes names as having anything to do with the proposal, five are either advocates or supporters: Matra, Sir Joseph Banks, Sir George Young, Colonel John Call (formerly of the East India Company) and Pepper Arden (Pitt’s Attorney-General). Three—Pitt, North and Sydney—have no definite view ascribed to them. Only Dalrymple and Lord Howe were opposed, although Hughes fails to say why Howe rejected Matra’s early proposal. In sum, his critique is far too narrow and fails to give enough weight to Britain’s external concerns, particularly the protection of merchant shipping and its limited presence in the Indian Ocean. It is hard to deny that the state of British prisons by the mid1780s was little short of critical and that something had to be done. Hughes is right to point out the urgency of the problem and the role which Botany Bay could have played in alleviating the situation. This is reinforced by the British government’s subsequent actions. If anything was in abundance in New South Wales, it was convicts. The supply of convicts was constant and seems to have borne little relationship to the colony’s ability to sustain them. The penal settlement interpretation is still, however, inadequate in accounting for the selection of Botany Bay. The settlement of New South Wales was fundamentally a complicated maritime question with a number of dimensions. Would a new settlement on the coast charted by James Cook in 1770 serve Britain’s maritime interests and national security? The answer must be considered in context.

THE ROLE OF THE ROYAL NAVY Europe showed little interest in the island continent during the seven decades following William Dampier’s voyage to the ‘South Seas’ in Roebuck, and his landing on the west coast of Australia in 1699. In 1769, Lieutenant James Cook was given command of Endeavour and placed in charge of a scientific expedition in the


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South Pacific to observe the transit of the planet Venus. Although exploration was a secondary objective, Cook rounded the southeast corner of Australia and followed the coast as far north as Cape York Peninsula. He was impressed with what he found. Cook told the Admiralty that a place he had named Botany Bay was most suitable as the site for a new settlement, although he did not comment in detail on its purpose. In the years that followed, however, there was much, including the American Revolution, to distract Britain’s attention from establishing a new settlement so far from its shores. The convict problem continued. The American colonies were unavailable for the transportation of British convicts after the last shipment arrived on board Jenny at Virginia in April 1776. In 1779 the House of Commons ordered a commission to inquire into the problem of transportation, and if possible to develop a plan to relieve the congested state of the prisons and hulks. Transportation to Africa was abandoned in 1785 owing to the high rate of mortality from the harsh climate. There was a successful attempt to smuggle a shipload of convicts to America in 1783–84 but the number was very small.27 In any event, it did little to relieve the overcrowded gaols in Britain. But the problems associated with a growing convict population were not deemed to be as compelling nor as immediate as the fears that Britain’s enemies, especially the Spaniards, were rapidly improving their position in the New World. Alan Frost and Robert King have argued that it was not fear of the French or Dutch that played the central role in the selection of Botany Bay.28 They point to the Spaniards and their growing colonial interests. Both historians provide a wealth of evidence to show that Britain had become frustrated with its inability to attack the Spaniards in the Pacific, particularly their settlements on the west coast of America. There had been two failed attempts to capture the Falkland Islands from Spain. The first was in 1749 while the second, between 1764 and 1770, nearly led to war. By the mid-1780s, British resentment of Spanish action in claiming a right of exclusive navigation in the Pacific and the sole possession of


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the west coast of America had reached crisis level. For Britain to establish the Empire it desired there was no alternative but to challenge Spain, primarily over its domination of the entire eastern Pacific Ocean littoral. A British base at Botany Bay would give the Navy its best chance to mount an attack on the Spanish possessions with fresh ships and at a time that suited the British. This was precisely what Sir George Young told Captain Arthur Phillip on his departure from England in command of the First Fleet. The purpose of Botany Bay was not to attack the Spanish settlements directly but to establish ‘ports of shelter, and refreshment for our ships should it be necessary to send any into the South Seas’ in a war against Spain. Britain would strive for the demise of Spain in the Pacific in carving out for itself an Empire in the East. The existence of an imperial inclination is, however, disputed vigorously by historians holding the penal settlement interpretation. David Mackay argues: . . . those who put the foundation of the . . . [Botany Bay] settlement in the context of a ‘swing to the east’, and those who see its establishment as part of some great commercial endeavour, greatly overestimate the policy-forming resources and enterprise of the metropolitan government. They assume a capacity for long-term planning which did not exist. They assume the existence of a philosophy of empire without specifying exactly where such a philosophy might reside or how it might be expressed. In this way the New South Wales example poses the question of how well adapted the government was at this time to view any imperial question in a wider context of direction or purpose.29

In response to Mackay, it can be said that the place for such a philosophy was within the Royal Navy and its expression was the determination by Britain to achieve ‘command of the seas’. By the mid-1780s Britain needed an imperial strategy to extend and enhance its economic and trading position. That in turn gave rise to the need for Britain to have command of the seas and this, completing the circle, required an imperial outlook. The basis for


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Captain Arthur Phillip, RN (1733–1814) from a 1786 portrait by Francis Wheatley. Having commanded the fleet carrying the first contingent of convicts to Australia, Phillip became the first governor of the new colony. After much privation the new settlement prospered, thanks largely to Phillip’s firmness and the even-handed manner in which he dispensed justice. Phillip returned to England in 1792 and was eventually promoted to vice admiral. (RAN)


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and the validity of such a strategy already existed in Britain’s recent history. Britain’s maritime power was virtually interchangeable with its economic power. When it suffered naval defeats, as it had done since the mid-1750s, the entire nation suffered a setback. Control of the seas was vital to ensuring that Britain prospered and its enemies did not. The British naval strategist and historian Sir Julian Corbett argued that the high seas had important positive value as a means of communication and that this was at the heart of Britain’s interest in controlling them: For the active life of a nation such means may stand for much or it may stand for little, but to every maritime state it has some value. Consequently by denying an enemy this means of passage we check the movement of his national life at sea . . . It is obvious that if the object and end of naval warfare is the control of communications it must carry with it the right to forbid, if we can, the passage of both public and private property upon the seas.30

By denying other powers the use of the seas, Britain would curtail their economic progress and arrest their national development. By guaranteeing the secure use of the seas for its own purposes, Britain could find new markets to exploit and consistently enlarge its economic and trading base. This would enhance its ability to build and maintain a navy and detract from the ability of others to do the same. By the mid-1780s, the East held the greatest prospect for the expansion of trade. Trade with Atlantic countries accounted for £3 million in exports and £4 million in imports while that with the East was less than £1 million in exports and £2 million in imports. There was little doubt that trade with the East would expand and that ‘the flag’, carried by the ships of the Royal Navy, would need to follow. It is very hard to believe that in the entire British government administration there was no thought given to the grand strategic future and no attention devoted to planning. This was patently not true of the Admiralty. It was constantly concerned with the future as a product of the long-term character of building and


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maintaining naval power. The Admiralty, which had historically stressed the one-ness of the seas and the importance of Britain having guaranteed secure use of trade routes, favoured Britain developing an imperial outlook towards achieving command of the seas. This would account for the enthusiasm of the Navy to assist with undertakings throughout this period, such as the Botany Bay settlement. It was only to be expected then that men like Sir Charles Middleton of the Navy Board, Phillip Stephens at the Admiralty and Lord Mulgrave would play such a significant role in formulating a coherent imperial policy and strategy for Britain from the beginning of the Pitt administration. The ships of the Royal Navy would create for Britain the Empire it needed to sustain its economic growth, while undergirding its security in Europe. But for warships to perform the myriad tasks that were expected of them, they had to be served and supported by a network of bases. At these naval bases, ships would be refitted and reprovisioned with ammunition and supplies. The ship’s company would rest and replacements would be provided for those who had either died or were too ill to continue at sea. Without these bases the fleet could neither go to sea nor stay afloat in a distant colonial station. The availability of nearby bases also offered a vital tactical advantage. Most naval actions did not proceed to the entire destruction of an enemy fleet. Rather the fight was broken off when smashed spars, torn sails and a lack of cordage left the ships unable to fight, but capable of returning to a friendly port. The nation that could repair its fleet first gained an enormous advantage. It could either defeat a depleted enemy or blockade his harbours. Botany Bay was intended to add to Britain’s already considerable strategic advantage in the Pacific with a ready supply of flax, hemp and ships’ timbers. However, the supply of these items for the repair and maintenance of warships was principally for the dockyards in India, which had already gained a reputation for efficient refitting and shipbuilding.31 There remain some grounds for being sceptical of the extent to which the British government was led to


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make a decision in favour of Botany Bay on the basis of flax and Norfolk pine. In the first instance, there was little evidence that the flax was of superior quality or the timbers as good as reputed. There was the word of Sir Joseph Banks, although his survey had been conducted well over a decade before and had been queried by others besides Alexander Dalrymple. At best, the possibility of obtaining those commodities was the subject of speculation and the measures taken for the manufacture of sailcloth from flax grown in the East were very rudimentary.32 Had Pitt placed great importance on a new supply of the materials coming from Australia more effort would conceivably have been expended and the British government’s interest in the early results have been much greater. But if New South Wales was ‘too far’ and ‘too expensive’ for the dispatch of convicts, then should not the same be said about flax? Alan Frost points out that as the flax was initially meant for India this diminished the significance of distance. It was for these reasons that the selection of the site for a naval base was so important. Naval men nurtured their bases with care, constantly sought their improvement and development, and defined their requirements expansively. There were never enough bases and naval officers never tired of telling this to anyone who would listen. Such was the enthusiasm of naval officers for bases and support facilities that in the nineteenth century Lord Salisbury complained that, ‘if they were allowed full scope they would insist on the importance of the moon to protect us from Mars’. In spite of the natural reluctance to admit all of the Navy’s demands, the advantage of bases and facilities for a maritime force operating at considerable distance from home was self-evident. In sustaining a naval presence wherever its interests were located, the Royal Navy would shorten the time necessary for intervention in local conflicts, increase the length of deployments, enhance the refreshment of ships’ companies and expedite replenishment. A string of bases also allowed local repairs and maintenance and avoided the risk of losing ships returning to England. Naval bases also served a diplomatic function. Their existence was a symbol of Britain and a sentinel of


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its naval power. Well-supplied and fortified bases and tactically deployed ships meant that Britain’s political and economic hegemony would not be challenged without good intelligence and superior firepower. And the particular appeal of New South Wales was its location on a distant island beyond the usual commerce routes. There would be no immediate need of an army to protect the new settlement from a land attack or to prevent its occupation by another power. Britain would claim the island and there would be no serious threat from France, Spain, Portugal or Holland. For its part, the Royal Navy was not in the least bit interested in the government’s convict problem. It saw in the New South Wales expedition a wonderful chance to extend British naval supremacy. The expansion of British naval power and the extension of its reach were national preoccupations by the mid-1780s. They were manifestly the strength of Britain. After 1783, the revitalised Navy maintained by Pitt was looking to spread its influence and to engage in some diplomacy of its own. Sparing a few minor ships and some available officers for such a task was just the sort of bargain the Navy was looking for. As much of the work would be performed by convicts and at no expense to the Admiralty, the Navy would have been foolish not to make the most of this opportunity. Botany Bay was to be a low-cost experiment that met a number of needs while offering some general, attractive prospects for the future. For the Navy it would be one of those ‘come in handy’ bases bound to meet a need in the future. Given its location, there was no chance of the Australian continent not taking on some strategic significance. Although Botany Bay was not the best site in relation to the established trade routes, it appeared that a settlement there would stand a great chance of survival and offer prospects of imperial expansion into the South Pacific. At each point of the formal preparations for the First Fleet’s voyage after 1786, some provision was made for the settlers to meet every need and every hope embodied in the decision to establish the settlement. There was just enough equipment to allow some refit work to be conducted; just enough equipment to allow the local


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flax to be tested for its potential as sailcloth; and just enough stores and equipment for the whole colony to survive. It was the Navy’s timeless custom to give no more than the bare minimum it thought was required for the execution of a task. Some commentators point to the paucity of naval resources as a weakness in the strategic sea-base interpretation. Mollie Gillen, for example, argues that the British government: . . . sent 700-odd convicts to this marvellous source of naval supplies to struggle for more than two years without support before a single ship was sent to follow up—not with artisans, shipwrights, naval and military advisers to build a strong presence, but with a thousand more convicts, half of them sick and feeble . . . The flax was not exploited, the naval experts were not sent, the convicts did not build dockyards.33

Gillen quite rightly points out that, had the British been serious about establishing a strategic base, they would have done in New South Wales what they did in Halifax forty years earlier. There they sent a series of transports not with convicts but: . . . with carpenters, shipwrights, smiths, masons, joiners, bricklayers and all other artificers necessary in building or husbandry’, a hospital ship, military and naval advisers, surveyor, engineer, military stores. Even then there were difficulties, but the town was built, fortified, and became in truth a strategic base, with money voted to maintain it.34

Even Frost is forced to concede that ‘one cannot say that the New South Wales colony’s playing of its strategic part in the years between 1793 and 1802 was more than tentative’. This aspect of the debate has not been the subject of adequate attention. An historian could reasonably expect the attitude of the British government to the colony before 1788 to have been reflected in its actions over the first five years of settlement. And given that communication with the colony was extremely limited


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and the picture they were able to gain of it was at best very rough, the emphasis on transporting convicts to New South Wales strongly suggests at least part of their motive in establishing the colony. The counter-argument would be to say that the convicts were the vital source of labour necessary to create the strategic outpost that the colony was meant to be, but this fails to account for the absence of the other requirements for a naval base. It was not until 1795 that a navy yard was established and even then its capacity to serve as a place of refreshment and repair for ships other than the two attached to the colony was virtually non-existent. The only purely naval purpose the colony was able to perform by 1800 was to be a guaranteed friendly place for ships to anchor. In other words, it was known not to be hostile. Except for the valuable survey work that was carried out continuously from the earliest day of the settlement and which had great naval value, along with the availability of convicts to serve as seamen on ships plying the waters of the East, little else was achieved. In fact, it would not be until the late 1850s that New South Wales effectively had any naval value to Britain of consequence, and it was then more the product of local efforts than the result of imperial policy. However, it is clear that the colony was always intended to assist Britain’s strategic interests in the Pacific, even in a minor capacity as it turned out. Gillen and others overstate their case when they discount the strategic sea-base theory entirely.

THE CHOICE OF NEW SOUTH WALES The decision to settle Botany Bay should be seen as being influenced by a combination of factors, but we are still unable to determine reliably the essential significance of those various elements in the formulation of British policy. Much that was critical in the decision making was never written down or recorded. We can speculate and offer interpretations based on the best evidence and


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Garden Island in the 1930s. The Royal Navy maintained an intimate connection with Sydney’s development for much of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, and arguably the most important legacy bequeathed to the Royal Australian Navy was the harbour’s naval infrastructure. The facilities available at Cockatoo Island and Garden Island were of the greatest importance during the two world wars and highlighted Sydney’s status as a strategic port. (RAN)

greatest plausibility, but those interpretations should not be treated as fact to the exclusion of other theories that undeniably have some merit. Botany Bay was arguably the ‘best fit’ for the British government in 1786. It offered the most attractive option based on the best information of the time. The combined force of the commercial, strategic and social imperatives and a measure of speculation led to New South Wales being chosen. This should not surprise anyone who is familiar with bureaucratic decision making. As Paul Appleby remarked, ‘In the executive branch as elsewhere . . . must be weighed sympathy, compassion, magnanimity, beauty, welfare


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and human unfolding along with order, defence, self-interest, bread, brick and machines’.35 Thus, Robert King properly concludes, ‘Two of Pitt’s most pressing concerns in 1786 were convicts and preparations for expeditions against Spanish America—in a single measure, one could serve the end of the other.’36 Convicts were apparently the means, attacks on the Spaniards the end. By 1786, the British government had observed two things about Botany Bay. First, the continent where it lies is situated astride the three great ocean basins of the southern hemisphere. As such, its strategically significant location could not be overlooked. For the British in the 1780s, its initial occupation and subsequent development by an adversary would have threatened directly their possessions in Central and East Asia. Second, as an island it afforded certain unique advantages to the occupying state. Mindful of the difficulties faced by a succession of aggressors in attempting to cross the English Channel after 1066, the Royal Navy recognised that occupation of the entire continent could be achieved with a minimum of fuss and a minimal demand for continuing protection. Once the Royal Navy had achieved command of the seas, the British government could develop Botany Bay at its leisure and without substantial expenditure on naval defence. The southern continent, therefore, was a strategic asset in the global imperial game, and its seizure was at the very least, a desirable objective.


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6 The long triangulation: naval hydrography and the Great Barrier Reef, 1848–1973 Colin Jones Under these favourable circumstances, coupled with the daily increasing prosperity of Brisbane, and the rapid extension of the white population towards the north, we cannot doubt that the whole eastern coast of Australia will ere long be opened up to navigation and commerce. In truth we are beginning to reap the fruits of those long years of toil and industry—the rewards of that skill and patience and perseverance which produced to the world the magnificent survey of 800 miles of channels within the reefs of this coast, a survey which when commenced must have appeared almost a hopeless undertaking, but which has led to the opening of a safe highway, soon to become the beaten track between India and Australia. Report, submitted to the Royal Geographical Society by the Hydrographer of the Navy, 18641

It was a story much told in previous generations, of the Kennedy Expedition of 1848: how Edmund Kennedy was killed by Aborigines, 108


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almost within sight of his goal at the tip of Cape York, and how the faithful Jacky-Jacky stood by him in all his tribulations. Kennedy was another of those doomed Australian explorers. The picture of him dropping his rifle as the fatal spear entered his back was once in all school textbooks. He started out from what is now Cardwell, with a heavily loaded party—carts, drays and so on—to travel up the densely rainforested coast, where even now there are few roads and bad ones at that, in order to discover what kind of country the Cape was. His failure looms large in history whereas the success of the other half of the expedition is forgotten. This was the parallel meticulous mapping of the coast by Captain Owen Stanley in the sloop Rattlesnake and Lieutenant Charles Yule in the schooner Bramble.

THE INNER PASSAGE The passage of the Queensland coast inside the Great Barrier Reef was going to be of growing importance as settlement spread north. It was necessary that it should be charted so expansion would be as safe as possible. Many ships had passed that way in the past, there had been almost as many wrecks and strandings, and it was highly inappropriate that dangers should be discovered by means of ships sitting on them. So Stanley and Yule were set the task of charting the way ships might safely go—some 600 miles. They would mark a path where other men had found a wilderness of reefs and shoals. Admiral Sir Francis Beaufort, the hydrographer, had warned, ‘It is not less than our duty to facilitate the navigation of the In-shore passage of all vessels who prefer its tranquillity and security to the risk of the [Outer].’ 2 In view of the contrast with modern hydrographic methods, it is worth looking at what these men did in a little detail. Explorers such as Cook and Flinders had been experts at a running survey, but this one was to be definitive. There was to be an unbroken series of triangulations, the points meticulously fixed by astronomic observation


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‘HMS “Rattlesnake” & “Bramble” tender commanded by Owen Stanley R.N. finding an entrance through the reefs into the Louisade Archipelago, S.E. extreme, New Guinea, June 14th 1849’, by Oswald Brierly. The exertions of the survey worsened the already poor health of Stanley and he died in 1850. His assistant surgeon in Rattlesnake, T.H. Huxley, paid him the following tribute: ‘He has raised an enduring monument in his works, and his epitaph shall [sic] be the grateful thanks of many a mariner threading his way among the mazes of the Coral Sea’. (By permission of the National Library of Australia, an11905521.)

and theodolite angles, matched with lines of soundings from the ships and their boats, and all carefully marked and charted. It was slow work, of necessity, progressing by sections of perhaps 25 miles at a time, between beach and headland on the one hand, and the coral structures of the great reef on the other. One can imagine Owen Stanley and his officers tediously working out dozens of calculations of lunar distances, comparing their results, agreeing on their starting point as being definitely 18° 08' S and 146° 02' E and measuring from there. Were their chronometers still correct since leaving the last observatory station? They would have to make sure.


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Between 23 May to 6 August 1848 they progressed from Dunk Island to Lizard Island via the present site of Cairns, places well known to modern tourists but wild and difficult then. By early October they emerged into the waters of Torres Strait. It may have been slow going, but naval officers were trained for this kind of trek and they did it quite a lot of the time. Some had been in the great Arctic expeditions. Thomas Huxley, the naturalist and later a staunch Darwinian, was just twenty-one years old and he did not realise how fortunate he was to be in the ship instead of with Kennedy when he petulantly wrote: Fancy for five mortal months shifting from patch to patch of white sand, from latitude 17 to 10 South, living on salt pork and beef, and seeing no mortal face but our own sweet countenances, considerably obscured by the long beards and moustaches with which, partly from laziness, and partly from comfort, we had become adorned.3

The question arises about which expedition was the more useful. The answer is most definitely that of the naval men since, as the Queensland government later encouraged the establishment of a steam shipping line from Indonesia to Brisbane via Torres Strait, these charts would indeed become vital. The first beacon for shipping in the whole Barrier Reef was the stone tower on Raine Island, erected in 1844, needless to say, by a naval officer, Captain Blackwood of the Fly. In his opinion it was an appropriate passage from the waters outside the reef to Torres Strait. The alternatives are redolent of early mariners and mishaps—Yule Entrance, Pandora Entrance, Providential Channel, Bligh Boat Entrance and Cook’s Passage. Providential Channel was indeed so for Cook as he conned his frail ship through the high seas and the forbidding wall of the reef, through a little gap where the tide ran like a mill race: ‘It is but a few days ago that I rejoiced at having got without the Reef; but that joy was nothing when Compared to what I now felt at being safe at Anchor within it.’4 It was Owen Stanley who gave the name to Thursday Island, although he thought he had called it Friday, in a sequence of islands


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named for the days of the week. It would seem that the alteration was made back in England by the Hydrographer himself—one does not argue with admirals.

THE COLONIAL SURVEY In 1860, Captain Richards of the Hecate was advising the new Queensland government that the better charting of the inner passage of the reef had led to a great improvement in shipping safety. In this same year the Admiralty decided that Australian colonial coastal surveys should be the responsibility of the colonies themselves. In the case of Queensland, E.P. Bedwell, Master RN, was provided with the colonial schooner Pearl to begin a systematic series of surveys to fill in the gaps, of which there were still many. Bedwell’s 1875 report indicated the problems: These groups were first surveyed in 1843 by Captain T.P. Blackwood in H.M. ship Fly, but those surveys were only corrected by chronometers with the Sydney meridian of longitude. The result of Captain Bedwell’s labors now shows Masthead Island to have been placed in the chart three miles east of its true position, and the detached islands and reefs in the neighbourhood to be almost equally misplaced in the same direction. Lady Elliots Island . . . was also found to be out of position in the chart about the same distance in an easterly direction. Rock Cod Shoal, which was in the first instance only passed over at night by H.M. surveying schooner Bramble, was ascertained to be nine miles W. by S. of its assigned position, and with only four fathoms of water on it, whilst in the earlier survey six fathoms is marked.5

It should be pointed out that in terms of actual Sydney time, Brisbane is seven minutes ahead, Keppel Bay is the same, Townsville is 17 minutes behind and Cooktown is 24 minutes behind. One’s chronometer has to be well calibrated for that kind of precision.


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The slow and leaky Pearl, always dependent on the wind, was replaced by the steamer Llewellyn in 1878, for which Bedwell was profoundly grateful: The area sounded over during the Llewellyn’s cruise of four and a half months was upwards of 2800 square miles; while during the previous season of 1877, when the Pearl, sailing schooner, was employed, only 660 square miles were examined, and the cruise occupied five and a half months.6

He would have been seconded by the master of the schooner Meda on the Western Australian coast, who fervently wrote that a single steam pinnace would be worth more than his sailing vessel and all her boats. Queensland colonial finances did not, unfortunately, run again to the continued support of the coastal survey for another seven years. Nevertheless, a quick scan of names on the map of the region of Halifax Bay, north of Townsville, indicates the role of the Navy in its geographic remembrances. The islands include Rattlesnake, Herald, Acheron, Havannah, Fly, Brisk and Esk, and further north are Fantome, Curacoa, Orpheus and Pelorus. On and around just one island, Great Palm, there are Electra Head, Fawn Head, Paluma Rock, Miranda Point, Challenger Bay, Elk Cliff and Calliope Channel. It is a roll-call of the ships of the Australia Station in the mid- to late-Victorian era. The Brisbane Portmaster, Captain Heath, reported to the Admiralty in 1886: With reference to the Whitsunday Passage, of course the work done by Captain Nares in HMS Salamander was an immense boon to the nautical world, and gave us a plan by which vessels could be navigated through the passage with safety, but like details of the survey are extremely incomplete. Again I would point out the case of Cleveland Bay: the positions of the principal points and headlands are so incorrectly shown on the chart that it is impossible to lay down with accuracy any positions either by angles or bearings.7


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It would seem that hydrography, like the proverbial woman’s work, is never done. And as present-day ‘Droggies’ would agree, it is arduous and requires a real element of skill and dedication. There is a saying in the Navy, ‘Once a surveyor, always a surveyor’, to describe the work—if done well, it is rather specialised. It is also exacting: All over the area, marks are erected in well-defined positions forming a chain of triangles whose sides may be several miles in length. At the site of each mark the angles subtended by suitably chosen pairs of the other marks are carefully measured with the theodolite. These angles once obtained, the whole system of marks may be plotted on paper.8

If one cannot erect a mark, one moors a buoy, sets up a tide pole and conducts soundings. The Queensland gunboat Paluma revived the colonial survey in 1885 to fix definitively the positions of reported dangers and eliminate those that were just things that had gone bump in the night. This is always useful and indeed vital. It is not only triangulations which are involved. Tide tables and lists of compass variations are more than just useful. The tidal rise and fall at Townsville, for instance, is between 6 feet 6 inches and 9 feet. In an awkward passage on the reef, that would be the difference between getting a vessel through and having an embarrassing maritime incident. Despite more work on the inner passage up to 1904, in 1907 the cruiser HMS Pyramus, with the Governor-General on board, ran aground on a reef north of Cooktown and spent a couple of days there before being freed. In this case, however, it was shown that the navigating officer was two miles outside the shipping channel and had passed a beacon on the wrong side. He should have been paying more attention to his charts. In 1884, the Queensland government issued the first official licences to masters for what was to become one of the most important pilot services in Australia: the Queensland Coast and Torres


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Strait Pilot Service. All the experience and skill that these men brought to bear, and all that their successors have done since and do still, depends on the meticulous work first undertaken by the Navy—there is often a naval link with the pilots themselves. Although they had also been master mariners in the coastal trade, C.J.V. Bartram had served in the cruiser HMAS Encounter during the Great War and Ralph Harry had been in the support ships Kurumba and Biloela. Another, ‘Tal’ Hervey, was previously First Lieutenant of the sloop HMAS Fantome in the early 1920s, responsible for a meticulous survey of the Prince of Wales Channel in Torres Strait.

A CONTINUED NEED Interest in the Great Barrier Reef arose again in the 1920s and the survey sloop HMAS Geranium, complete with the latest technology in the form of a Fairey IIID seaplane, was sent to the north. In particular, the water between the inner and outer limits of the coral was poorly charted and the only acceptable triangulation was near Cook’s Passage. The aircraft would materially assist the safety of the ship, and aerial photography, it was hoped, would clearly delineate the reef structure. The survey program was quite demanding, as Chief Petty Officer H.W.G. Madge recalled many years later: Imagine spending two weeks on the grounds, calling into Townsville or Darwin and coaling ship out of railway trucks on Saturday morning, taking on provisions and [going] out on the grounds early on Monday for ten months, and then back to Sydney for a refit and three weeks leave to each watch and then north again.9

Geranium’s captain, Lieutenant Commander H.T. Bennett, DSO, RN, was faced with a classic situation when he went to the rescue of the 4000-ton passenger ship Montoro that had gone aground on Young Reef, near Cape Grenville on the far north of Cape York. First there was a need to unload cargo from the forward


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Lieutenant Commander Harry Bennett, RN, taking observations during HMAS Geranium’s 1923 survey. During this cruise Bennett erected a memorial on Observation Island to another great Royal Navy navigator, Commander Matthew Flinders. In 1802–03 Flinders became the first European to circumnavigate Australia and his charts were the first to bear the name ‘Australia’. (RAN)

holds. Then, on 14 October 1923, he was successful in pulling the ship off with the help of another liner, the Marella, with a hundred of his men jumping up and down in unison on the stern of the stranded ship. A well-trained warship’s company can thus be useful, and Geranium would later figure in the rescue of two other vessels which had run aground on the Reef. On this voyage a laboratory had been installed for the use of the medical officer, Surgeon Lieutenant Commander W.E.J. Paradice, who spent much of his time in the study of tropical marine life. The survey ship could also preside over a local yacht regatta, as the Geranium did in Townsville. Australians not being a people to take things with undue seriousness, they noted that when her motor boat went to the rescue of an overturned yacht, it towed it so fast


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that it reminded them of the tugboat towing the sewage barge and trying to keep ahead of the smell. The advent of the Second World War saw many of the passages through the reef defensively mined, and the survey vessels doing most of their work nearer the fighting. Australia was given responsibility in 1943 of being the charting authority for Allied Forces South West Pacific, and by 1945 there were sixteen Australian ships surveying. In Torres Strait there was an urgent requirement for new surveys, and in 1944 the minelayer HMAS Bungaree and patrol boat Vigilant were required to chart a 1-mile-wide channel with a minimum depth of 34 feet, suitable for large aircraft carriers. The route led along the Great North-East Channel from Booby Island at the western end to Bramble Cay at the eastern, but they also mapped the narrow but deep Vigilant Channel and laid a network of beacons and lights, necessary for shipping safety. As a bonus, Lieutenant F.D. Simon of the Bungaree was later to join the Torres Strait pilot service, and so put to good use in the commercial sphere the work he had done in the Navy. It is easy to imagine the feelings of Captain Eric McWilliam, piloting a US submarine through the Magnetic Passage off Townsville in 1942. He knew it was mined and when they struck something, everyone was profoundly relieved that it was geography they had hit and not something the Navy had put there! The immediate postwar period was one of immense importance to the Navy and to the Hydrographic Branch in terms of its future development. Australia had been publishing its own charts since 1942, and in 1946 the government made the RAN fully responsible for surveying and charting Australian waters. So in 1947, a 25-year plan was put in place for a rigorous survey of much of the Australian coast, some of which, so it was said, had last been charted by Matthew Flinders. The three survey frigates, HMASs Lachlan, Barcoo and Warrego, each had a general purpose vessel as tender, respectively Brolga, Tallarook and Jabiru. One young sailor remembered: ‘In harbour it was discipline at its best, but once on the survey grounds it was all suddenly relaxed’.10 But the work was


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meticulous and demanding. The shore party sometimes breakfasted at 0430 and did not return from their labours until 2100.11 There is a small story to be told of one of these groups. John Watkins, one of Australia’s foremost aeronautical engineers, was on a holiday excursion to the Barrier Reef when, as the motor launch made its way back in the dark, he saw a faint distant flashing of SOS. Watkins had learned the Morse code when young and had once flashed signals to a friend across his Adelaide suburb with a torch. The boat was turned and in due course they discovered a Navy motor launch. The crew had been erecting markers on the reef and their engine had broken down, so they were very embarrassed and grateful to be towed back to land.12 Another curiosity involved a new shoal marked off Cape Bowling Green by ships sent to clear the minefields. In June 1947 it was investigated more thoroughly by Lachlan, using anti-submarine gear and echo sounders, with the result that they ascertained it was not a shoal, but a large wreck. It was, in fact, the steamer Yongala, overwhelmed by the sea with the loss of everyone on board in a cyclone in 1911. No one had ever known where the ship had gone down. The many tourists who dive on the wreck nowadays probably forget to thank the Navy. Once again, most of the inner passage was surveyed. This began with the area from Wide Bay to Cleveland Bay, as well as extensive work on the area out to sea from the southern end of the reef. Barcoo was accompanied in 1954 by the Jabiru and Warreen, both of which broke down and had to be rescued. Failure of the tenders was not entirely uncommon. Then during a violent blow, the frigate had to rescue the Breaksea Spit Lightship from the northern end of Fraser Island and tow it to Brisbane. All in a day’s work—and important work it was. As Australia’s trade grew, the number of ships handled by the Torres Strait pilot service doubled between the end of the war and the 1960s. There was also a rise in the average size of merchant ships. In 1947 a new tanker of 18 000 tons could be described as ‘colossal’, a word that would certainly not apply to the same ship just a few years on.13 Pilots had to be more careful


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with tidal conditions, with ships such as the 35 000-ton Regina Maersk drawing up to 35 feet of water. Coastal ports, in competition with each other, were steadily raising the size limits for ships using them, and this put pressure on both the pilot service and the Navy’s Hydrographic Branch. The actual development of the ports was the responsibility of the Queensland government. They had used their own ship to survey the Hinchinbrook Channel in 1928, but it was 1948 before they progressed from the use of a lead line to an echo sounder for the measuring of depths.

MODERN TIMES It was time for some upgrading of the hydrographic vessels and equipment. In 1959 the Minister for the Navy, Senator John Gorton, said, ‘Having regard to its size, the Royal Australian Navy is putting forth more effort in the scientific field than is any other navy in the world’.14 The result was the Navy’s first purpose-built survey vessel. To replace the old frigates, HMAS Moresby entered service in 1964. She was equipped with two shallow water echo sounders to record depths up to 900 fathoms and a deep echo sounder to measure up to 6000 fathoms. A helicopter enabled the erection of shore marks for visual fixing and the transportation of surveying parties ashore in the minimum of time. The helicopter also ensured regular mail and fresh provisions for the ship’s company, who were berthed in the greatest comfort yet seen aboard an RAN vessel. She carried three survey motor launches, two fitted for extended independent operation, and all had echo sounders. The ship also had Lambda position-fixing equipment and high accuracy radar. The complementary work of the Queensland government was also facilitated by better capabilities, with the use of electronic distance-measuring equipment for triangulations in their new boat Trilga. By 1970, much of their work was being contracted out to a private hydrographic company.


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Hydroscheme was the Navy’s five-year successor program beginning in 1965. This was to include a resurvey of the northern passages of the Barrier Reef from Torres Strait to Cape Melville. Moresby was specifically tasked with a possible improvement of navigation in Torres Strait so as to provide a passage with a depth of 41 feet, instead of the previous 33 feet. This would open up a better passage for bulk carriers, large aircraft carriers and submarines. Of the two possible candidates, the Gannet Passage was considered too liable to silt up, but Endeavour Strait, not surveyed for forty years, was a better chance, although it had a sand bar of 24 feet. Subsequent work has continued further south, in particular delineating passages through the reef from the Townsville and Mackay areas. The appropriately named Hydrographers Passage, a deep-draught passage off Mackay, is one of the outcomes. Discovered and surveyed between 1981 and 1983 it cut 500 miles off the round voyage to Japan and saves millions of dollars in fuel costs for commercial operators every year. Yet ships have continued to grow in size and the survey task never ends. In 1969 there was a ship of 58 000 tons regularly using the Inner Passage, and by 1977 the 150 000-ton mark had been passed. Even if care is taken with full tides etc., speed can be an issue. A 50 000-ton ship steaming at 15 knots may be expected to ‘squat’ or lower her stern by 2 metres. Pilots venturing off the beaten track have often suggested new surveys to the hydrographic service, which has responded by finding and accurately delineating areas of deeper water. These are then marked by the Lighthouse Department. John Gorton, while prime minister between 1968 and 1971, ensured that action was taken to improve hydrographic and tidal surveys. Another new survey vessel was needed, and HMAS Flinders entered service in 1973. Her navigational equipment allowed her to plot her position to within 2 metres in a range of 100 nautical miles, and samples could be recovered from the bottom 61⁄2 miles down. Satellite position-finding was soon to be added. Equipment has continued to change and improve, and the advent of the Laser


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Nothing has been more important to the foundation and expansion of Australia’s seaborne trade than the production of charts. The Navy is the national authority charged with carrying out the work required to meet Australia’s international charting commitments, and at 11.5 million square nautical miles this is one of the largest such areas in the world. The structure of the RAN’s hydrographic force has been developed to ensure that all areas are covered. The survey motor launches shown here generally operate in pairs and are designed for operations in the shallow waters of northern Australia. (RAN)


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Airborne Depth Sounder is described elsewhere in this volume, but today’s hydrographers remain as meticulous as any in the past. Nevertheless, while the days of sail may have a nostalgic attraction for some, at least modern navigators do not have to fill sheets of paper to calculate lunars to correct their chronometers. There remains the hydrographic heritage that the Navy has bequeathed to the people of Australia. The mapping of the coast and adjacent waterways, has benefited the shipping of all nations, but in particular the Australian national interest. It is a heritage of which Australia and its Navy can be proud.


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7 Our land is girt by sea: popular depictions of naval imagery in the national press, 1908–1918 Robert Crawford When we look at ideas about national identity, we need to ask, not whether they are true or false, but what their function is, whose creation they are, and whose interests they serve. Richard White, Inventing Australia1

Commenting on the state of Australia’s defence in 1910, Melbourne’s Argus lamented that ‘Defence is a subject which in Australia . . . arouses little public sympathy’. Of Australia’s maritime security, it noted sombrely that: ‘the average Australian has thought very seldom indeed’.2 A few months later, it reiterated these fears: The insularity of the country, the deeply indented nature of the coast, the proximity of alert and powerful enemies, who could be struck by means of sea-power and by no other means—these were, and still continue to be, great factors of British maritime supremacy. The situation in Australia is in almost every respect entirely different.3

123


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Australia, it claimed, had become ‘essentially a nation of landsmen’, whose attention focused inwards rather than outwards. In an increasingly volatile world, this precarious situation gave little comfort to the far-flung British dominion with a small population. The concerns of the Argus illustrate the anxieties of a young nation then entering upon the international stage. The degree to which ideas about Australian identity were permeated by such insecurities can be seen in the discourse concerning the nation’s maritime defence between 1908 and 1918. By examining the naval imagery featured in the nation’s leading press outlets, particularly cartoons and advertisements in the Bulletin, this chapter explores the conceptualisation of Australian identity from a unique vantage point. Widely regarded as ephemeral, cartoons and advertisements have traditionally attracted scant attention from historians. As Alison Broinowski noted, however, visual imagery offers an illuminating insight into the past: [I]f the arts both affect and reflect impressions, by revealing and inculcating images, then they are unacknowledged legislators . . . and worth the attention of anyone interested in issues of national identity.4

As I have argued elsewhere, these images ‘are neither passive reflections nor artificial constructions, but rather refractions of those dominant images of Australian identity that have appeared elsewhere’.5 By exploring the interrelationship between the creators of these images and the society in which they lived, this analysis will reveal some significant influences that affect the conceptualisation of national identities. Dependent upon a mass readership, advertisements and cartoons provide a means of identifying popular issues and opinions. In her historical survey of Australian political caricature, The Loaded Line, Marguerite Mahood commented on this populism:


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The Navy and the nation 125 In general the cartoon does not lead. Its action is reciprocal: it arises from public feeling and reflects upon it, warmly or coldly. It can intensify or cool it, but it is very unlikely to create it: it cannot reflect something that is not there.6

Whether persuading, entertaining, or confronting, cartoonists have undeniably affected the way in which the reading public has seen daily issues. This populist imperative was even more important for the advertising industry. One of the first Australian journals exclusively devoted to advertising, the Reason Why, thus stated, ‘The demand for a manufactured product must come from the consumer’, before adding, ‘He it is who makes or mars a product’.7 The Draper of Australasia similarly told readers, ‘Your advertising is the mirror the people look into; and if the reflection is poor, skimpy or half hearted, you won’t prove that you and your business are worth looking at.’8 In this way, commercial artists—whether cartoonists or advertisers—provide a public voice, albeit a highly mediated one. By examining the ways in which advertisements and cartoons both speak to and speak for the public, we can see the impact of cartoonists and advertisers upon the concepts of Australian national identity in the early twentieth century. In the process, we can underscore David Stevens’ assertion that ‘maritime forces have a far closer relationship with issues of sovereignty and foreign policy than any other section of the armed services’.9

DEFENDER, CONNOISSEUR, OR DRUNKARD? Prior to the advent of air travel, the sea was Australia’s primary connection to the outside world. It also proved an effective barrier to the entry of any undesirable groups, individuals, or ideas into Australia. Technological developments, however, gradually bridged this gulf, forcing Australians into closer contact with their neighbours. In 1905, Australia’s Prime Minister Alfred Deakin outlined the situation facing the island state:


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126 The Navy and the Nation Nowhere are maritime communications more important than to Australia, seeing that our dependence upon sea carriage is certain to increase rather than diminish as population and production advance.10

The prevalence of maritime imagery in the advertisements and cartoons of the Bulletin illustrates the importance of the sea and of those who fared its waves. Advertising imagery suggests that sailors had a daily presence in the everyday lives of urban Australians. Advertisements purporting to feature a cross-section of society thus featured sailors alongside businessmen, squatters and sportsmen to extol the virtues of products such as OT tonic, Vice-Regal tobacco, and Havelock tobacco. Commercial interest in maritime imagery can be attributed in part to Australia’s relationship with Britain. Australians took great pride in their British heritage. As proud descendants of the British race and an active member of ‘the greatest Empire ever known to man’, Australians revelled in the seafaring exploits of their brethren. It was not therefore incongruous that Havelock would identify itself as ‘Australia’s National Smoke’, yet featured references to the genius of the Bard and the seafaring history of the race: Shakespeare says: ‘There are the perils of waters, winds and rocks.’ The great shipping world knows these dangers, and faces them more cheerfully when the pipe draws clear and the ‘baccy’s’ rich, full-flavoured ‘HAVELOCK’.11

Other tobacco advertisers similarly depicted idyllic maritime images of yesteryear to underscore the superiority of their product. The image of the hardy seafarer was frequently offset by the stereotype of the drunken sailor. A Lionel Lindsay cartoon typifies this caricature. It featured two inebriated sailors; one lies in the gutter with his pipe while his mate leans over him: “Come on, Jack: letsh ’ave ’nother drink.” “Won’t ’ave nurrer dropsh.”


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The Navy and the nation 127 “Justsh one more, Jack. Don’t be a narksh.” “Wontsh!” “Why wontsher, Jack?” “’Cause I can’t gerrup.”12

Advertisers were reluctant to use this stereotype in their campaigns for obvious reasons, but a more subdued form nevertheless found its way into advertisements for scotch whisky. Thorne’s whisky thus depicted an officer saluting one of its bottles, its copy claiming (perhaps somewhat incoherently): ‘It is distinctively “Thorne flavor”—the element that has made it the chosen of the connoisseur.’ 13 The good taste of sailors and officers was not apparently limited to scotch whisky. ‘That connoisseur in pipe smoking, the sailor, knows but one tobacco—“Capstan”’, declared one 1913 advertisement.14 Unsurprisingly, advertisements for Capstan’s ‘navy cut tobacco’ made extensive use of naval imagery to sell the product. Tobacco advertisers often featured one of two drawcards. The first was the glamorous image. In one advertisement, stylish female guests marvel, ‘Isn’t naval life perfect?’ ‘Not quite!’ answers one of their seafaring hosts. ‘While on duty we can’t smoke. We miss the enjoyment of smoking our favourite brand.’15 The second more practical appeal featured sailors replenishing their stores. No glamorous women appeared in a Capstan advertisement featuring the newly commissioned HMAS Warrego storing ship: Before Australia’s ships [sic] put to sea, Capstan Tobacco must be aboard. Then for Jack there is a vast contentment and the pleasant hours that come only from the enjoyment of his favourite smoke.16

Spending long periods at sea, sailors were well aware of the need to be economical with their choice of tobacco. Their endorsement thus made economic sense to the prospective consumer. The use of escapism and of popular endorsement in Capstan advertising provides an insight into the social status of the Navy in Australia. Advertisers deliberately evoked naval imagery to project a highly masculine image. Whether in the captain’s cabin or below


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deck, life on the high seas was an exclusively masculine domain. In his study of tobacco and its opponents in Australia, Deadly Enemies, Ian Tyrell notes that the heady combination of smoking and adversity further enhanced this masculine idyll.17 Havelock tobacco thus featured a sailor (among various other overtly masculine occupations) to identify itself as ‘THE FAVOURITE AMONG MEN OF Skill and Daring, Brain and Muscle, Energy and Endurance, Young or Old.’18 Such imagery sought to strike a chord with the generation of young men who had been raised on Boy’s Own tales of heroic derring-do on the high seas—the very generation that would be called upon to man Australia’s new fleet.

THE FLEET OF GREAT HOPE On 17 March 1908, the Age announced ecstatically that the American ‘Great White Fleet’ had accepted Deakin’s invitation to visit Australia. Despite being a violation of imperial protocol, the impending visit saw London grudgingly acquiesce in the face of the excitement. While taking pride in American recognition of Australian nationhood, the Age’s interest nevertheless centred on the ‘flow of stronger currents’ underpinning this compliment: Mr Deakin’s hospitable message was in the inmost sense an invitation to the people of America to admit the common trust of the two white races whose destinies are bound up in Pacific dominance . . . With America, our friend and potential ally, navally predominant in the Pacific, Australia has nothing to fear from Asia.19

Advertisers moved quickly to exploit the event. Shortly after the announcement, a Yankee Doodle tobacco advertisement featured the American fleet alongside Deakin with his cablegram of invitation. Underneath, the caption opportunistically cites the nation’s leader, ‘Prime Minister Deakin calls for three cheers for “Yankee Doodle”.—Centenary Hall, Sydney March 14, 1908.’20


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The size and enthusiasm of the crowds that met the American visitors during August and September that year were overwhelming. More than a quarter of Australia’s population attended the plethora of functions and festivities celebrating ‘Fleet Week’. The advertising industry was equally swept up by the excitement. Shortly after the Americans departed Sydney, Reason Why described the impact of the visit upon the local advertising industry in glowing terms: Since our first number was published, a decided fillip has been given to advertising by the advent of the American Armada . . . This visitation caused a wonderful inrush of people to Sydney, and consequently advertising space in the newspapers was largely availed of. The dailies and weeklies rose to the occasion, and deserve every credit for the splendid publications put forth. Both from a news and advertising standpoint, the Fleet Week Newspapers deserve our warmest applause.21

Cartoons or advertisements in almost every newspaper and journal celebrated the Americans’ arrival. A cartoon by the Bulletin’s Livingston ‘Hop’ Hopkins commented satirically on this commercial interest: It is said that speculators have ‘cornered’ all the available recreation grounds about Sydney, and it now is up to some enterprising genius to ‘corner’ the view of the Harbour itself, charging admission to the foreshores, and, incidentally, covering the screen with ‘ads’. There’s millions in it!22

The Fleet Week advertisements can be divided roughly into two categories: those celebrating the military spectacle and those underscoring its national significance. Cartoons tended to focus on the latter. The vast majority of advertisements focused on the fleet, highlighting it as a visual spectacle. ‘The Two FINEST SPECTACLES, punned an advertisement for E. Wood’s optometry, juxtaposing the ships against a pair of glasses.23 Any advertiser whose wares were in some way or another connected to the American fleet sought to


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capitalise on the public goodwill. One advertiser thus claimed proudly that ‘ADMIRAL SPERRY’S Great Fleet has on board sixteen Pianola Pianos’.24 Fêted by his Australian hosts wherever he went, the commander of the fleet, Rear Admiral Charles Sperry, USN, appeared in a small number of advertisements as the beneficiary of Australian hospitality. His limited exposure, however, is suggestive of broader concerns regarding the state of Australia’s defence. Advertisers, it seems, were unaware of Sperry’s local equivalent, the Director of Naval Forces, Captain William Creswell. A similar trend can be discerned in the depiction of American sailors. Without an ocean-going Australian Navy, the Leviathan clothing store featured a stockman as the antipodean equivalent of the sailor.25 An advertisement for Kruse’s Fluid Magnesia juxtaposed Australian soldiers in slouch-hats and American sailors. Whether the exclusion of Creswell and the Commonwealth Naval Forces demonstrated a simple lack of knowledge on the part of the advertisers or an acute sense of national embarrassment remains unclear. The imagery depicted in other advertisements and cartoons provides a clearer picture, however. Animals were a common motif in Fleet Week advertisements. Finding a local counterpart for America’s bald eagle was not difficult, the kangaroo being the most popular choice. Some, however, felt uneasy about depicting Australia without reference to Britain or the Empire. The press therefore made it clear that Australia would remain true to Britain. Table Talk, for example, reminded readers of their roots, noting, ‘From England, Australia has derived its very being, its vast succours of loan moneys, its clean moral traditions, and its magnificent liberty. These are never to be sacrificed.’26 A conscientious decision to include Britain can thus be discerned in numerous advertisements. One features a cross between John Bull and Uncle Sam standing alongside two hybrid creatures— combining elements of the eagle, the lion, and the kangaroo.27 Entitled ‘We’re all one’, these hybrid figures symbolise what one contemporary described as a ‘union of the English-speaking races into one vast and all embracing brotherhood’.28


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The most popular figure for advertisers and cartoonists alike was Uncle Sam. With his wizened features and garish attire, he was an instantly recognisable figure. He also provided a perfect caricature through which commercial artists could express deep-seated sentiments. Of the Americans’ imminent arrival, the Clarion editorialised that ‘Australia welcomes the fleet in much the same way as the small boy welcomes his big, grown-up brother when the small boy has been threatened by the hobbledehoy next door’.29 This image closely resembles the figure that advertisers and cartoonists adopted as Uncle Sam’s antipodean counterpart—the Little Boy from Manly. He was the perfect ‘nephew’ for Uncle Sam, both physically and metaphysically. A well-known cartoon figure, the Little Boy embodied the national ideals of youth, masculinity and whiteness. He could be used to project brash confidence on the one hand, and the deep anxieties of a young nation on the other. Not surprisingly, advertisers featured an extremely confident image of the Little Boy. Cartoonists, however, were not bound by any such restrictions and their images illustrated the hopes and fears surrounding the Great White Fleet’s visit. Months before the arrival of the US Fleet, cartoons in the Bulletin were commenting on the impending event. Headed ‘Welcoming the U.S. Officers’, a Norman Lindsay cartoon featured thickset American sailors being greeted by the Governor-General and a jumbled band of children in uniform (one of whom rides a giraffe). Its caption read sardonically: The flags are all right, and the idea of painting the buildings in stripes was good . . . and the Governor-General looks well as he greets the U.S. Admiral, and it was a splendid idea to borrow the giraffe from the circus and to have kegs of free beer along the street. But it’s a pity the Commonwealth army isn’t a shade more imposing on such an occasion as this.30

The American presence highlighted Australia’s limited defence capabilities dramatically. Embarrassment thus gave way to frustration with Australia’s imperial naval connections. In a cartoon by Alf Vincent, the Little Boy and Uncle Sam viewed the US Fleet:


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‘“Wal”, asks Sam, “is yer Dad’s fleet anything like THAT?” “Dunno!” replies the Little Boy. “He never showed it to ME!”’ The visual spectacle of the Great White Fleet nevertheless stirred cartoonists. While the fleet itself did not appear in a cartoon by Hop entitled ‘The Relative Sizes of Things’, its size and strategic importance was central to the message being conveyed. In the cartoon, a giant Japanese sailor examining a map of Australia towered over the Little Boy. The caption stated: ‘The “Yellow Peril,” as it was in Australia a few weeks ago’. The Little Boy in turn towered over a minute figure carting water on a yoke; the caption read: ‘As it is now’.32 With an American ally apparently reducing a modern and dangerous Japan to a traditional and somewhat backward Asian nation, Australian optimists felt entitled to look forward to a significantly brighter future. While Figure 7.1 echoes this optimism, it recalls also the distressing situation that led Deakin to invite the Great White Fleet in the first place. Of the American visit, Arthur Jose thus noted, ‘The moral that Australians drew was simply that they must have a fleet of their own.’33

SETTING AN INDEPENDENT COURSE Although the much-vaunted Australian–American alliance failed to materialise, the visit did produce some positive outcomes. The Great White Fleet, notes Peter Firkins, ‘provided the hard core of Australians anxious to develop a reliable and modern navy with fresh ammunition to pursue their cause’.34 Taking office from Deakin shortly after the fleet departed, Labor Prime Minister Andrew Fisher prioritised the issue of national defence. Laying the groundwork for an ocean-going Australian Navy, the Commonwealth ordered the building of three torpedo-boat destroyers in early 1909—without consulting the Admiralty.35 Reactions to the ‘Dreadnought Crisis’ of early 1909 illustrate the conflicting attitudes generated by Australia’s quest for a credible national fleet. The revelation that Germany’s Navy would overshadow


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Figure 7.1 Illustration from the Bulletin, 10 September 1908.

the British by 1912 saw the Admiralty ask for more dreadnoughttype ships. The patriotic sentiments which were associated with this new battleship are in part reflected in an advertisement for Wincarnis. Appearing after the ‘crisis’ had subsided, the tonic nevertheless identifies itself as ‘The Dreadnought of Disease . . . BRITAIN’S BEST DEFENCE’ (and presumably Australia’s also).36 Many demanded that Australia emulate New Zealand’s offer to fund a dreadnought for the Royal Navy. With its own naval plans in motion, the Fisher Government viewed the crisis from a nationalist perspective. Neville Meaney observed, ‘The revelations of British weakness vis-à-vis Germany served to accentuate Australia’s fears of Asia rather than its dependence on Britain.’37 The Bulletin illustrated such fears. Mocking the New Zealand offer, a Hop cartoon depicts a ‘Hungry Maoriland Child’ requesting more butter. His ‘Harassed Mother’ responds, ‘No, my child we haven’t finished paying our share of the cost of the battleships which our patriotic Premier, Mr. Ward, presented to Britain 51 years ago, and we have to be very careful.’38 Maintaining Australia’s firm stance, Fisher came under increased pressure. He hoped that an imperial conference would be his salvation. By the time the conference began in June 1909, Deakin had replaced Fisher as Australian prime minister. The conference created


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a great deal of interest in Australian self-sufficiency, as an advertisement for Vicars’ Marrickville Tweeds indicated: The cables daily tell us how, at the Empire’s Press Conference, British statesmen ceaselessly impress our delegates with the necessity of Australia being self-contained in the matter of armaments and men . . . Australia should pay heed to her production. Australia must forge her own steel, wear her own woollens, use her own leather, and altogether live on her own produce. The profits on the forty millions of goods imported—the bulk of which can be supplied here if the Australian demands them—will provide sturdy craftsmen and money to defy Eastern menace, or give Australia’s quota towards defence of European machinations at the heart of the Empire.39

Well aware that the Anglo–Japanese alliance would soon expire, the Admiralty expressed its desire to build up its presence in the Pacific. Moreover, it would also support a semi-independent Australian fleet. While the result was met with acclaim among those who had long advocated such an idea, an Alf Vincent cartoon highlighted the scheme’s shortcoming: ‘the new Naval Agreement includes a subsidy of £250 000 from the Bri’sh Admiralty towards the upkeep of an Australian Navy, in which case Britain would have part control.’ The image featured the Admiralty and the Commonwealth pulling the Australian Navy in two opposite directions, with the comment: ‘No Sailor can serve 2 masters!’ Some feared that Britain’s offer would entitle the Admiralty to have the final say on Australia’s defence. In September, Cabinet gave its support to the acquisition of the Australian Fleet Unit and the ensuing Naval Loan Act saw a dramatic increase in defence expenditure—from £329 793 in 1909/10 to £1 465 034 in 1910/11.40 Orders for the construction of the battle cruiser HMAS Australia, and the cruisers HMAS Sydney and HMAS Melbourne were dispatched in December 1909.41 In May 1910, Britain’s Admiral Sir Reginald Henderson was invited to report on ‘all the measures to be taken, both forthwith and in the future, in the formation of the Fleet’.42 His visit followed


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that of Lord Kitchener, who had been invited to report on Australia’s military defences only a few months earlier. Having commanded the coastguard and naval reserves and worked as the Superintendent of Dockyards at Sheerness and Portsmouth, Henderson lacked Kitchener’s heroic reputation. While the daily press took an interest in Henderson’s visit, cartoonists and advertisers generally ignored him. Henderson’s report, completed in February 1911 and published the following month, proposed that a 52-vessel fleet be created over a 22-year period at a cost of £4 million per annum. Although farreaching, the plan seemed utterly unfeasible in terms of costs and manpower resources. The Sydney Morning Herald reflected: If we are to have a navy, as a Pacific Ocean complement of that mother navy, we cannot bargain concerning the cost. What we want now most of all is some inspiring voice in this country to convince us that the cost must not even be counted.43

Concerns about the costs came on the heels of the Australian Naval Defence Act. Passed in November 1910, the legislation sought to rectify the issue of ‘two masters’ by having the Commonwealth pay its own way. The attitude of the Bulletin throughout this period was ambivalent—an interesting stance given its rabid commitment to White Australia. In a very brief passage, it noted that Henderson’s report ‘says nothing that is unexpected’, before adding a characteristic warning: It is a broad hint to anti-Australians to jettison their unworthy point of view that this country is incapable of doing what even the Dago nations of S. America have achieved, and a pointed suggestion that they shall now wade in, self-respectingly, and assist the Commonwealth to do its belated duty.44

Australian delegates at the 1911 Imperial Conference in London worked to finalise the naval defence strategies proposed at the previous conference. No longer concerned about the funding


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arrangements, the Australians occupied themselves with the issue of who would control the fleet in the event of war. The solution was simple: if conflict arose, the Commonwealth would decide whether to hand over control of its fleet to the Admiralty. The ships would thus become a part of the imperial fleet and would remain exclusively under the Admiralty’s control for the duration of the conflict. Delegates also took pride in having been consulted about the renewal of the Anglo–Japanese alliance. While this consultation was not based on any new view of Australia’s status, the invitation was nevertheless regarded as a significant step for the young nation. Australia’s national pride swelled further in July, when its fleet received the regal prefix as the Royal Australian Navy. The connections with the Empire remained strong. In the words of the Argus: The principle that Australian defence and Imperial defence are one was the illuminating truth which became the basis of the Australian naval unit . . . The ‘Australia’ is the forerunner of ship after ship which will be built to preserve peace and security on that [Pacific] ocean. The ship may be built by Britain, by Australia, or by Canada; but they will sail under one flag, move under one command and in the day of need assemble all their combined strength to defend the honour and happiness of one nation.45

This newfound optimism did not last long. With Britain again turning its attention to the German threat, Australians again felt vulnerable to their nearby ‘ally’, the Japanese.

DRESS REHEARSALS Throughout this period, the Bulletin scarcely toned down its alarmist view of the Japanese. Nowhere was this more evident than in the journal’s famous cartoons. The staple image presented by the Bulletin saw Australia (usually represented by the highly vulnerable Little Boy from Manly) being assaulted, attacked or invaded by international enemies. Leading the march were Japanese troops with


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field caps prominently displaying the rising sun motif. This militaristic image underscored the type of threat that Japan was held to pose. Upon the renewal of the Anglo–Japanese treaty, a Norman Lindsay cartoon illustrated the Bulletin’s fears. On one side, the Little Boy has gone to sleep, his cap hanging on the bedpost. The caption stated ‘ten more years’. This was juxtaposed with a Japanese boy wearing his rising sun cap, forging weapons. Underneath, its caption read, ‘Ten more years’ preparation’.46 From 1911, these invasionist nightmares also featured pig-tailed Chinese and Kaiser Wilhelm-like Germans with greater frequency. Cartoons in the Bulletin also encouraged Australians to take a greater interest in their nation’s defence. A variation of the invasionist theme, Figure 7.2 identifies another enemy—Australia’s love of sports. A Norman Lindsay cartoon provides further insight into this spate of anti-sporting illustrations. In it, two footballers stood on the field while explosions ripped through the spectator stands in the background. Citing a report from a ‘Daily paper’, the first caption stated ‘Consternation exists among sport lovers and sporting bodies owing to the disastrous effect compulsory service is having, and will have, upon Australian sports.’ The second caption carried the footballers’ dialogue: ‘THE CAPTAIN: “Hey, Bill, slip over an’ tell them cows ter point their guns the other way—they’re spoiling the game.” ’ 47 This concern about a politically apathetic, sports-mad generation of young Australians resonates in what is arguably the first recruiting advertisement for the new Royal Australian Navy. Appearing in the Bulletin on 12 December 1912, the advertisement’s description of life on the high seas read like an excerpt from a Boy’s Own adventure: Before talking of the Sea, and the advantages of a Sea-Life in the Royal Australian Navy, it is just as well to create the right sort of atmosphere. ‘Of the complexity of the Sea, and of how it is manifold, and of how it mixes up a man, and may Broaden or Perfect him.’—Thus Hilaire Belloc in one of his delightful Sea Essays.


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Figure 7.2 Cartoon from the Bulletin, 5 January 1911. The original caption read: ‘NEW YEAR RESOLUTIONS. AUSTRALIA: “I’ll ease up on cricket and footy, and curb my gee-gee mania, until such time as I have taught myself how to shoot straight.”’ May Broaden or Perfect him! That’s one of the Sea’s Mysteries. Again listen to the same writer in praise of waves: ‘The long-haired wave, the graceful wave, the wave that breaks on an


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The Navy and the nation 139 Island a long way off, the sandy wave, the wave before, the wave that brings good tidings.’ And so on. Now Jack, Will and Tom Cornstalk, who have those waves stirring in your young blood, do you realise that the establishment of the Royal Australian Navy Means Opportunity? Opportunity to follow the sort of life you long for.48

More than a lifelong career, boys were being offered the chance to broaden and, indeed, perfect themselves. Significantly, the appeal to ‘Jack, Will and Tom Cornstalk’ and a prominent illustration of the Australian ensign are indicative of the RAN’s desire to identify itself with the nation. Echoing the increasingly ambiguous discourse of Australian national identity, the advertisement later identified the RAN as the ‘World’s Youngest Navy’—not as an adjunct of the Royal Navy. The RAN not only promised to redress the Bulletin’s fears by training Australia’s youth to defend itself, it also claimed that the Navy would enhance ‘Jack, Will and Tom’s Value as units in this virile young Commonwealth’. These distinctive appeals and claims illustrated clearly the Navy’s commitment to foster an Australian spirit and tradition among its members. The advertisement’s prediction that the arrival of the nation’s new flagship ‘will provide all the advertising necessary’ proved correct in attracting applicants for the boys training ship Tingira and, indeed, the RAN in general. On 4 October 1913, the Fleet Unit steamed into Sydney Harbour with Australia at its head. The Sydney Morning Herald reflected on the beginnings of the RAN: The thoughts of many Australians must go back . . . to the day not many years distant when they assembled to welcome the American fleet . . . The sight of so many ships-of-war manned by a people so closely in sympathy with our own was . . . a great inspiration. It forced Australians to think of the contrast between their responsibilities on the one hand and the efforts which for a long time past they had made to bear them.49


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The discussion then moved to Australia’s relationship with the Empire: [T]he creation of the Australian navy has been inspired by our sense of our duty to the Empire, as well as by a sense of our own needs . . . The two schemes of defence, the naval and the military, have earned for Australia the praise of statesmen through out the Empire . . . In time of war the Australian units will act with and become part of the British navy.50

The Bulletin scarcely mentioned the arrival of the fleet. It revealed the reason for its silence a week later, identifying itself as a longterm supporter of an independent Australian defence scheme. It truculently decried those ‘liars’ (such as the Sydney Morning Herald ) that had continually opposed an Australian Navy yet did an about face when the ships entered Sydney Harbour.51 Whether drawn by their patriotic commitment to Australia or the Empire, or simply by the spectacle, Sydneysiders turned out en masse to see Australia’s own fleet. Advertisers again seized the opportunity to exploit public goodwill for commercial profit. The Bulletin reported a publicity stunt whereby ‘an advertising expert of sorts went up in a balloon and came down safely in a parachute’.52 Others adopted a more orthodox approach. Recalling earlier slogans, Grace Bros. encouraged readers to look their best for ‘Fleet Week’.53 An advertisement for ‘Steelite’ boots similarly featured Happy Sam (who bears a striking resemblance to Uncle Sam) and an admiral (perhaps recalling Sperry). The copy, however, contains more contemporary references: Steelite Boots are more closely connected with the Navy than the Army—for just as the modern manufacture of Steel has made possible the building of Dreadnoughts, so the invention of Steelite has meant a big advance in the wearing qualities of sole-leather.54

Less adventurous retailers, though no-less opportunistic, simply inserted naval imagery into their advertisements. Only a handful of


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these remarked on the national significance of the event. Encouraging spectators to greet the arrival of the RAN in style, an advertisement for Gowing Brothers’ ‘Austral’ suits fused patriotism with consumerism. Beneath the image of two dapper gents greeting Australia, its copy read: AUSTRALIA’S OWN. The entry of the First Australian Fleet into Sydney Harbor [sic] marks an epoch in the history of the country of which every true Australian feels justly proud. Let your patriotism be practical. Do not let it stop at mere expressions of sentiment, but forward your country’s welfare by supporting Australian Industries.55

Arthur Rickard, a well-known real estate developer and innovative advertiser, used a similar appeal in one of his advertisements. In a somewhat incongruous ploy to use the RAN to sell land, the advertisement deliberately merged personal interests with those of the nation: Australia would form a rich prize indeed for the invader, and it is comforting to know that should such a thing as invasion come to pass, we have at least a splendid embryo Fleet, willing and capable, to defend our shores. Apart from purely patriotic sentiment . . . what definite, tangible reason would you have for answering a call to arms. Would you be fighting to defend your own land in very fact, or would you be laying down your life for some-one who grumbles when the drains go wrong, and who becomes positively unfriendly when your rent gets in arrears. If you have to fight, let it be for your own ground, your own home, your own property.56

Such verbosity should not detract from the fact that only a few advertisements celebrated the fleet’s arrival. It seems that most advertisers did not feel that the event supported their commercial imperatives. The Sydney Mail provided a further explanation for this subdued reaction. Its dramatic image of Australia steaming into port carried the caption:


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Figure 7.3 The cover of a real estate brochure, c.1916. ‘Arrival at Sydney of H.M.A.Ss. Australia . . . and Sydney’ . . . The memory of 16 American battleships at anchor in Sydney Harbour had taken the keen edge of novelty from a naval demonstration. Moreover, as the world views such matters, it was a small naval display. But that was hardly the point. The sight of the Australia and the Sydney meant more to the Australian than the visit of any foreign fleet. It was our expression of Australian


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The Navy and the nation 143 patriotism—ships of defence bought in love of Country and of Empire. The spectacle was inspiring, the soul of it was Patriotism, and behind all was the knowledge that it was only a modest beginning of a great part that Australia is destined to take in world affairs.57

Although the memories of the Great White Fleet clouded the spectacle, the event was nevertheless a successful public relations exercise. Advertisers such as Capstan tobacco and Thorne’s whisky thus continued to feature the RAN in subsequent advertisements.58

ON THE WORLD STAGE The opportunity for Australia to realise its national military destiny would arise a little under a year after the RAN fleet first entered Sydney Harbour. Australia, however, found itself at war against Germany, not Japan. War was in some ways a welcome development, although hardly an unexpected one. Concerns about the imminent conflict had, after all, helped prompt the establishment of the RAN. Advertisements prior to 1914 helped reinforce the popular view that war was inevitable. A 1911 advertisement for OT tonic thus depicted Kaiser Wilhelm with the statement: ‘The Kaiser in addressing the Cadets urged them to become abstainers. He said that the victory in the next war would go to the nation that had the least consumption of alcohol.’59 Headed ‘RUMORS OF WAR’, a 1913 advertisement for a steam engine importer warned consumers in no uncertain terms about the volatile state of international affairs: Disturbing cablegrams are being received daily, indicating troubles that may be expected in the near future and in order that our Clients may not be disappointed, we are importing large stock of Marshall’s World-Famed Steam Engines.60


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When war was finally declared, advertisers clamoured to voice their support for King and Country. Dusting off his 1913 advertisement, Rickard characteristically trumpeted his personal political beliefs: Keep Smiling! History has a habit of repeating itself. Napoleon at Waterloo found the bull-dog spirit of the British too much for him. The Kaiser is going to get a similar shock only on a larger and more disastrous scale, near the same place. As in Nap’s day so to-day BRITAIN RULES THE WAVES, and there’s nothing to even challenge her, let alone conquer her. The German fleet is HIDING . . . [proving] that EVERYTHING IS RIGHT AND BRIGHT—THAT WE AUSTRALIANS CAN GO ON OUR WAY REJOICING, BECAUSE WE ARE SECURE.61

The war also gave local advertisers an opportunity to attack their competitors. Alongside the King’s portrait, the Ad Club Magazine reminded readers how ‘the Germans had gradually crept into the Commonwealth markets until they reached the extent of eight million pounds worth last year’. The task of local advertisers, it continued, would be ‘the furtherance of British interests throughout our great Commonwealth’.62 Anything remotely German was denounced. Like Rickard, the ardent nationalist Octavius Beale exploited patriotic sentiments for commercial profit. Underneath a photograph of HMAS Australia, his company announced that ‘We Make Our Pianos in Australia’.63 Another advertisement revealed the reason for Beale’s patriotism. Featuring the launch of HMAS Derwent, it declared: ‘BEALE PIANOS are Made in Australia. Purchasers of Beale Pianos and Player Pianos do not contribute to the equipment of German Dreadnoughts.’64 Other nations’ commerce was attacked similarly. ‘If you use American Tyres’, announced Dunlop rubber, ‘that’s the eventual destination of your money—money that should stay in this Country’.65 With the Royal Navy focused on the German threat in home waters, Australia felt isolated. The national sense of vulnerability was exacerbated by the fact that the military effort could only be paid for by export earnings. Moreover, Australia had become


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increasingly dependent upon the protection provided by its Japanese ‘allies’. An advertisement in the long-running Cobra series in the Bulletin poignantly features a Japanese sailor holding hands with ‘Foxie’ the dog (with his Union Jack flag) rather than with ‘Bear’ the koala.66 The RAN’s operations in German New Guinea in late 1914 and, more spectacularly, its sinking of the German raider Emden were glowingly reported in the nation’s dailies. But advertisements appeared generally to be content with familiar imagery and appeals rather than with a more militaristic tone. The spectacle of war was a common motif. Rickard’s advertising copy demonstrates how references to Britain’s proud naval history were commonplace. Other advertisers depicted famous vessels—from HMSs Colossus and Iron Duke to France’s Gaulois. Only a handful of local advertisers featured RAN ships. Appearing after HMAS Sydney’s showdown with the Emden, the dramatic battle in Figure 7.4 resembles a cartoon from a Boy’s Own Annual more than an advertisement for pens. The vast majority of advertisements featuring naval imagery depicted nondescript ships battling against the foe or steaming across the seas. Advertisers who had long featured naval images in their appeals largely retained their pre-war strategy. Advertisements for products that could be sent to frontline troops frequently reminded consumers of their boys at the frontline. A Capstan advertisement carried the slogan: ‘Packed specially for our Soldiers & Sailors on active service’.67 Patent medicine proprietors made similar appeals: ‘In the Army and the Navy our gallant lads appreciate HEENZO’.68 For an industry that had long suggested that ‘Patriotism was . . . synonymous with vigorous good health’, such appeals served to reiterate earlier claims.69 These advertisements, however, rarely featured sailors without the Digger. Advertisers and cartoonists alike identified the Digger rather than the sailor as the real hero of the war. The reasons for this emphasis on the soldier are numerous. Before the first landings at Gallipoli, the Digger had already captured the imagination of a young nation wishing to prove itself in the ‘ultimate struggle’. In their slouch-hats, soldiers


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Figure 7.4 Advertisement from the Bulletin, 8 July 1915.

of the Australian Imperial Force (AIF) were identifiably Australian—a characteristic that more nondescript sailors could not immediately convey. Naval warfare, with long and arduous periods of cruising punctuated by brief spells of activity, appeared somewhat dull when compared with the horrors of modern trench warfare. Moreover, the RAN was by 1915 under the Admiralty’s control and had been dispersed across the globe. Conversely, AIF troops were more consolidated and were thus more easily identified as a specifically Australian contribution to the war effort. While advertisers and cartoonists generally focused on the Digger (and in turn reinforced his status as a national emblem), the ongoing naval presence in their work reminded Australians that the war was not limited to the trenches. A cartoon by Norman Lindsay featuring a koala sitting in the barrel of a ship’s gun proudly illustrated that the Navy had little trouble attracting recruits:


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The Navy and the nation 147 BILLY BLUE-GUM TAKES TO THE GUN-TREE.

There are 30 vacancies at the Royal Australian Naval College at Jervis Bay, and after closing of entries on June 30 it was found that 429 applications had been received.70

MARITIME INFLUENCE In 1910, the Argus had bemoaned the fact that Australia was ‘essenially a nation of landsmen’. By the end of the First World War, the national adulation given to the exploits of the Digger appeared to confirm this view. This chapter, however, has shown how such assumptions have been somewhat prescriptive. Although the popular image of Australia has certainly had a strong affiliation with the harsh interior, the concerns expressed by cartoonists and advertisers about Australia’s maritime defences demonstrate the role of external influences in the conceptualisation of Australian identity. In his history of Australia and the sea, Island Nation, Frank Broeze underscored this point: The influence of maritime Australia is not limited to the coastline or ships at sea but reverberates far and wide through the life and history of the nation. Moreover, as the total interaction of people and the sea is its organising theme, maritime Australia encompasses all aspects of human life.71

The role played by the nation’s leading commercial artists in the construction of Australian identity has been both significant and deliberate. Cartoonists have played an important, albeit ambivalent, role in the way audiences have reacted to public events. Their deft combination of imagery and commentary has enabled the general public to gain a grasp of complex issues. The Little Boy from Manly, for example, perfectly embodied the anxieties of a young nation. Cartoonists working for leading newspapers such as the Bulletin, however, were also limited insofar as they were directed to express the particular sentiments of their employer. While the fears and anxieties


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expressed in these cartoons and, indeed, their silences demonstrate the cartoon’s highly mediated nature, they nevertheless seek to express the perceived feelings of their readership. Cartoons thus share a unique relationship with their audiences. Negative reactions are not necessarily inimical to the cartoonist’s aims. By contrast, advertisers are required to be more attuned to their audiences. Any negative reaction to an advertisement can result in fewer sales. Hence advertisers, with their ‘functionally determined affinity for the middle of the road’, have little room in their copy for radical statements.72 While the inherent populism of advertising enables it to reflect social norms and values, it is a contrived populism. Advertisers in early twentieth-century Australia, such as Capstan with its Navy Cut tobacco, exploited British patriotism through nautical themes. Despite being a marketing ploy, the use of such imagery was calculated to appeal to the desires of a mass consumer market. Like Britons, Australian consumers had a strong emotional attachment to the Navy—a point further underscored by the upsurge in naval imagery at times of heightened national consciousness. The advertising industry was certainly aware of this connection, and it is hardly surprising that events such as the arrival of the Great White Fleet or the First World War could be regarded by advertising insiders as a ‘decided fillip’ to their business. The impact which these naval images have had upon the popular conceptualisation of Australian national identity should not be overestimated—cartoons and advertisements were, after all, regarded by their creators and audiences as being ephemeral. But we should also be aware of the subtle influence exerted through cartoons and advertisements. The clear correlation that existed between these naval images and the broader discourse of nationhood illustrates this influence. In reinforcing the popular view of Australian identity, advertisers and cartoonists effectively identified themselves and their interests with the nation. By expressing their perspective on the nation’s hopes, concerns and fears, commercial artists sought to connect with their mass audience. In doing so, they demonstrated the profitability of patriotic appeals.


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8 The Royal Australian Navy in Australian diplomacy Peter Edwards Is there any indirect return for the outlay upon a navy? What are its by-products, so to speak? Its direct product, we know is that theoretically it should be able to batter its country’s naval foes to inconsidered fragments, but this direct product will be a thing the world’s programme does not often provide opportunity for. Of course peace can very often be obtained by diplomatic manoeuvring, especially when that diplomacy is backed by the silent, steady, remorseless pressure of a powerful navy, known to be well able to give and take hard knocks . . . Now the truth is that the Navy is a service rich in by-products, and especially in those which are of value to a country in the early stages of development, as in our case. ‘The Peace Value of a Navy’ by ‘By-Product’, 19131

In 1971 Sir John McEwen achieved that rare accomplishment for a senior politician, retirement at a time of his own choosing. He had been prime minister briefly, but for many years deputy prime minister, with terms as acting prime minister totalling a year and a half. As leader of the junior partner in the conservative coalition, 149


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known first as the Country Party and latterly the National Party, he had been extraordinarily influential across the policy spectrum. In particular, he had been a formidable trade minister, respected and sometimes feared by his international counterparts. When he retired he was asked to name his greatest achievement. If the question was predictable, the answer seemed equally obvious. The 1957 Commerce Agreement with Japan, a foundation stone for Australia’s prosperity in the second half of the twentieth century, had genuinely warranted the often-made claims of vision, determination and high political courage. McEwen startled his listeners, however, by referring not to this agreement, but to an episode of which few Australians, then as now, were even aware. In 1940, for just a few months, McEwen was minister for external affairs, the only time that a member of his party has held that portfolio other than on an acting basis. During that time, immediately after the fall of France, the Australian government dispatched HMAS Adelaide to New Caledonia. This measure, ably handled by the Adelaide’s commanding officer, Captain Henry Showers, RAN, achieved the goal of ensuring that New Caledonia remained under the control of an administration sympathetic to the pro-Allied Free French, rather than to the pro-Japanese Vichy government in France. Showers achieved this goal without a shot being fired—a major achievement in the use of the threat of naval force to gain a diplomatic end. There is a very curious point about McEwen’s claim that this was his greatest achievement in Australian politics. The diplomatic and naval historians who have examined the episode have not found any documentary evidence that McEwen was in fact personally involved as a primary force behind the decision making, as he was inclined to claim.2 Most recently, the account of the episode given by David Stevens, and published in Maritime Power in the Twentieth Century: The Australian Experience, is well researched and documented, and does not even once mention McEwen by name.3 But McEwen himself made his claim many times during his subsequent thirty years at the top of Australian politics. He did so both


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HMAS Adelaide (II) at Noumea at September 1940. The support provided by Adelaide to the Free French in New Caledonia was critical to the movement’s successful and bloodless assumption of government. The presence of this single cruiser ensured that the Vichy French forces were unable to intervene in the local struggle for power. By this operation a potential strategic weakness in Australia’s region was converted into a strength. (RAN)

in media interviews and in private conversations with the cohort of young politicians that he was grooming for high office, including a future deputy prime minister, Doug Anthony, and a future defence minister, Ian Sinclair. It is possible that McEwen was more directly involved than the documentary evidence suggests, for it was the practice of Robert Menzies as prime minister to take many of his decisions in small meetings with relevant ministers, not necessarily recorded in formal minutes. It is at least equally possible that, from a small basis in reality, McEwen’s association with this episode grew in his mind over the years until it achieved the proportions of a


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major triumph for him personally, as minister for external affairs, as well as for the RAN. If so, why did it so develop in his mind over the years? And why should the episode concern us today? The answer is much the same to both questions. The coup in New Caledonia that Showers helped to orchestrate was a rare victory in a year of major defeats for the Allies, a considerable boost to Australian and Allied morale. Moreover, as we take a long-term perspective on Australia’s wartime strategy, the bloodless victory in Noumea looks even more important now than it did at the time. Australians have greatly underestimated the importance of the advice given by General Douglas MacArthur, the Commander-inChief of the South West Pacific Area command, to Prime Minister John Curtin on 1 June 1942, the day after the Japanese midget submarines entered Sydney Harbour. MacArthur made it brutally clear that the United States had come to Australia, not out of any sense of warmth, kinship or obligation to Australians, but simply to use it as a base for the counter-offensive against Japan.4 What mattered, then, to Allied strategy and to Australia’s national security was keeping the supply lines open across the Pacific. If New Caledonia had fallen into pro-Japanese hands, it would have been a major obstacle to Allied strategy. The successful use of the Adelaide was therefore a substantial contribution to the Allied cause, worth perhaps more than the brief treatment it is usually accorded in accounts of Australia’s wartime operations. This episode stands, then, as an outstanding example of my topic in this chapter—the use of the RAN to support Australian diplomacy, and especially of a particular type of such support. This was a strongly assertive form of naval action, almost aggressive, and commonly described as ‘gunboat diplomacy’. Part of McEwen’s version of the episode was his recollection that Menzies had earlier stated that Australia needed to exercise ‘aggressive diplomacy’, and that he (McEwen) had used this direction to convince Menzies of the value of using the Adelaide in this way. How much of all this was reconstructed in McEwen’s memory we will never know. The important thing is that it stands out because of its rarity.


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That is not to say, of course, that the RAN has not been used consistently to reinforce Australian diplomacy. As the naval volume in the Australian Centenary History of Defence concluded, ‘the use of the navy as a flexible diplomatic instrument in support of political objectives and foreign policy’ has a ‘record that stretches back to the earliest days of the RAN’s formation . . . [T]he navy has, on countless occasions, acted to support, reassure, deter, or coerce as a particular need arose.’5 But the theme of that volume, as of many naval historical conferences and publications, is that the Australian public and Australian governments do not give adequate recognition to this support, just as they do not recognise the extent to which Australian security has long depended on maritime power. What follows are some reflections of a diplomatic historian on this theme. In Maritime Power in the Twentieth Century there is an extensive list of examples of naval support for Australia’s external policies, ranging from the courtesies of formal naval visits to active involvement in various conflicts.6 But most of these examples fall towards one or other of the two extremities of the spectrum of naval involvement. At the one end, there are the cases of commitment of RAN assets, usually in a joint or tri-service context, to a coalition engaged in actual combat, such as to the Vietnam War, the Indonesian Confrontation with Malaysia, and the first Gulf War. The diplomatic goal here is often as much to do with keeping Australia’s alliance relationships in good order as with any more direct or immediate national interest; at the other end come the highly symbolic and pacific demonstrations of naval goodwill—courtesy visits to friendly navies and the like. The presence of weapons systems and platforms is clothed with friendly smiles and goodwill messages, but even so there can be a hidden message of a more severe nature. A diplomat who served in the South Pacific has commented on the use of RAN vessels as floating hotels on occasions such as meetings of the Pacific Forum in Pacific mini-states that simply do not have adequate accommodation for such conferences. Even in this most civil and civilian of functions, the mere presence of a large, grey warship sends its own message.


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All these are important functions, but they do not include the sort of assertive, bordering on aggressive, naval diplomacy that older and more famous navies have practised historically. In recent decades, think of the United States Navy (USN) in the Gulf of Tonkin or the Taiwan Straits, or the Royal Navy sending the aircraft carrier HMS Victorious through the Sunda Straits during confrontation. The 1940 episode involving the Adelaide constitutes a rare example of Australia flexing its naval muscle to make a diplomatic point. Why has this sort of ‘gunboat diplomacy’ been so rare in Australian experience? Why is it that Australian political leaders have so seldom followed the advice of Lord Palmerston, quoted by David Stevens: ‘If I had a difficult bit of diplomacy on hand, I’d send for a naval officer’?7 Why is it that, in Australia, use of the Navy to force home a point in international affairs has generally been either part of a major, tri-service contribution to coalition warfare or of ‘showing the flag’ in a generally peaceable manner, but not in terms of forceful demonstrations of exclusively naval power, threatening but not actually using that power? Answering these questions is, let me confess, an exercise in speculation, based on the history of Australian diplomacy but seeking to explain what is not there, rather than what is. As Sherlock Holmes once noted, we should take note of the dog that did not bark. And it is also largely a study in perceptions and images, rather than a record of facts and dates. I hope the reader will not find my methods, or some of my arguments, too tenuous. In large part, what we are examining is a function of the phenomenon too well known to need repetition: the way in which, in Australia, the tradition of armed service to the nation is seen overwhelmingly in Army terms. The Australian tradition of armed service is equated with the Anzac legend, a tradition founded by an army corps, while the RAN and the Royal Australian Air Force (RAAF) are constantly playing catch-up in the fight for the nation’s attention and loyalty. This theme is so familiar that I do not need to dwell on it. I only wish here to remark on some particular aspects of it, and some associated elements, which I believe contribute to


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The RAN played an important role in guaranteeing the security of Papua New Guinea both before and after independence. In this photo, taken on 14 November 1974, the Chief Minister of Papua New Guinea, Mr Michael Somare, and the Chief of the Australian Naval Staff, Vice Admiral H.D. Stevenson, inspect divisions at HMAS Tarangau prior to its decommissioning from the RAN and its handover to the maritime element of the Papua New Guinea Defence Force. The RAN also handed over five Attack-class patrol boats and two landing craft. (RAN)

the way in which naval power has been seen, or failed to be seen, by the politically conscious sections of Australian society, and especially by those responsible for directing its diplomatic endeavours. In the first place, and at the broadest level, much of the RAN’s history has been dominated by its close association with its parent, the Royal Navy, to some extent matched in more recent times by its links with the USN. There has long been a tension in Australian strategic and diplomatic policies between these two poles. (The


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argument in 2003 over involvement in Iraq has been merely the latest round in this continuing debate.) One view emphasises close association with great power allies. The military expressions of this emphasis take the shape of subordinate roles in coalition warfare, often in distant parts of the globe. The other emphasises the defence of the Australian continent and its immediate approaches, with an associated recognition that this requires more independence in military capacity, given that this part of the world will generally have a relatively low place in the priorities of London and Washington. Rightly or wrongly—and I will return in my concluding remarks to that point—the RAN has always been associated far more with the former view than with the latter. Partly this has been based on the facts of its involvement in the two world wars, in Korea, in Vietnam and in the Gulf. Partly it has been because the Navy itself has been concerned to equip itself for, and to emphasise its achievements in, such global activities. Thus the prevailing image of the Navy in the popular mind, and no less in the minds of civilian policy-makers, is of Australian ships and naval personnel doing their bit far from Australia’s shores and under the overall command of a powerful ally, rather than as meeting more strictly national requirements in our immediate area of strategic interest. The simple corollary is that policy-makers do not immediately think of the Navy as a potential instrument for making a diplomatic point when an issue arises close to home and outside the context of our alliance relationships. As naval histories generally acknowledge, for the first half of the twentieth century most Australians saw Australia as first and foremost a part of the British Empire, diplomatically, in naval terms and in most other respects. One side-effect was that even relatively simple exercises in naval diplomacy, such as a ‘showing the flag’ visit to a port reasonably close to our shores, became entangled in imperial protocol. National aims had to be subordinated to London’s concepts of what was appropriate and when. Outwardly at least, the RAN seemed to go along with these restrictions. They only served to underline the image of the RAN as a willing contributor to imperial or global strategies, directed by our great and


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powerful friends, rather than a potentially powerful instrument of national diplomacy within our more immediate region. In the latter part of the twentieth century, Australians came to place more emphasis on the national and regional dimensions of Australian foreign policy, and relatively less on imperial and global alliances. Thus arose the tension in strategic thinking to which I have just referred, between the global alliance emphasis and the national–regional. The RAN then came to be perceived as determined above all to retain its associations with great power allies and therefore to maintain its capacity to fight in coalition with great, ‘blue-water’ navies like the Royal Navy and the USN. It is hard to prove a negative contention, but I suspect that this may have a great deal to do with the fact that Australian civilian policy-makers during the twentieth century seldom saw fit to ‘send for a naval officer’ in order to handle a tricky bit of diplomacy. The contribution of the RAN to imperial strategy, or collective security, or alliance support, or a coalition of the willing, or whatever might have been the currently acceptable term for such actions, was well understood. On the other hand, there seems to have been much less awareness of what the Navy might potentially have contributed towards the other pole of Australian strategic and foreign policy, that directed towards our interests in the more immediate region. Neither our diplomats, nor our politicians, nor the Navy itself have seemed to direct their minds towards those issues. But while the RAN has long been, and been proud to be, associated with the Royal Navy, it has not inherited the RN’s romantic images of naval derring-do and heroic victories against the odds. Australian children have not been told stories comparable with those told to young Britons—of Francis Drake completing his game of bowls before despatching the Spanish Armada, or of Horatio Nelson putting a telescope to his blind eye and winning great national victories like the Nile, Copenhagen and Trafalgar by tactical brilliance. Whether these stories are historically valid is not important to my concern at the moment. My point is about images, and the RAN’s lack of images comparable with the episodes of the


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Armada and Trafalgar, or even Jutland and the River Plate. HMAS Sydney’s ability to ensure that the Emden was ‘beached and done for’ in 1914 was worthy enough, but is not comparable with the Armada or Trafalgar. It has to be admitted that in the 1960s and 1970s, the prevailing image of the RAN was all too often of disasters and tragedies, like the sinking of HMAS Voyager—the aftermath of which seems to be never-ending—HMAS Melbourne’s later collision with USS Frank E. Evans, and the bombing of HMAS Hobart by friendly forces during the Vietnam War. If one turns from romantic stories for children to other influences on opinion-forming, Australia has not had, either at the intellectual level or in the areas that shape high national policies, a great advocate of the use of naval power for national purposes. There has been, in short, no Australian equivalent of Mahan, or even Admiral Jacky Fisher. Leaders like vice admirals Creswell and Collins had great merits, but they did not capture the national imagination. So the mindset of those at or close to the seat of national power has seldom been that of a ‘former naval person’, as Britain’s greatest wartime leader famously described himself. Indeed it is worth remembering that Winston Churchill used that phrase in his correspondence with Franklin D. Roosevelt, reinforcing their relationship with the reminder that they had been respectively First Lord of the Admiralty and Assistant Secretary of the Navy during the previous world war. There is no counterpart in Australian political history with this overt pride in naval power. As it happens, many of those who had a founding role in Australia’s early ventures in foreign policy and diplomacy had a background in military affairs, and especially military intelligence, but for the most part the word ‘military’ has to be understood in its single-service sense. Between the two world wars, for example, when Australia began tentatively to toy with forming the nucleus of a foreign office and diplomatic service, foreign policy seemed to be conceived of as a kind of political extension of military affairs, and especially of military intelligence. People with such a background had some advantage in early appointments, so those involved


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included Major E.L. Piesse, Major R.G. Casey, Lieutenant Colonel W.R. Hodgson, and Lieutenant Colonel E. Longfield Lloyd. Some of the bright young men recruited to the new Department of External Affairs in the late 1930s and 1940s served during the Second World War, in some cases with distinction, but almost invariably in the Army. Our founding generation of diplomats had some knowledge of the Army, positive or negative, but little of the Navy or the Air Force. Where significant figures have had a naval background, it does not seem to have greatly influenced their approach to Australia’s activities in international relations. The most important example is that of J.G. (later Sir John) Latham, the minister for external affairs in the 1930s, the leader of an important mission to several countries in the Asia–Pacific region in 1934, and the first head of an Australian diplomatic mission in Tokyo, in 1940–41. As Lieutenant Commander Latham, RANR, of naval intelligence, he had been one of Prime Minister W.M. Hughes’ principal advisers at the Versailles Peace Conference. As adviser and then minister, he was a major figure in the early history of Australian diplomacy. We do not have a substantial biography of Latham, but I am not aware of any way in which his naval background notably affected his outlook or actions, either when he was minister for external affairs in the Lyons government or when he was in Tokyo in the critical months before Pearl Harbor. To take another example, John Gorton was minister for the navy before he became prime minister (and then, very briefly, minister for defence), and was highly regarded by the Navy as an advocate for them within the ministry. Gorton had been an RAAF pilot during the 1939–45 war, and this as much as his experience as minister for the navy may have affected his approach to defence issues. On questions such as the foundation of the Australian Defence Force Academy, he took a distinctly ‘single-service’ approach with little sympathy for ‘jointery’. But even Gorton did not, as far as I am aware, display any distinctly ‘navalist’ influence on his approach to diplomatic or strategic issues as prime minister.


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Let us now turn away from individuals and consider the strategic environment and requirements of the various commitments into which Australian governments entered in the second half of the twentieth century, particularly those in South-East Asia between 1948 and 1975. These commitments, especially those to Malaysia during Confrontation and those to Vietnam, were incremental in nature. Generally speaking, governments committed naval (and, for that matter, air) elements in two circumstances. The first was when they wished to restrict their commitments to the least provocative level possible, and also the level least liable to incur politically costly casualties. The second set of circumstances was after combat elements from the Army had been committed, to give logistic or command support to those forces. The implication was always that the politically significant—and potentially risky—commitment was that of troops, of ‘boots on the ground’. Thus the politics of these conflicts—both domestic and international—centred on the commitment of troops to Malaya in 1955, to Borneo in early 1965 and to Vietnam in mid-1965. This is not for a second to diminish the value, let alone the courage, of elements such as the clearance diving teams, the naval helicopter crews, or the crews of the ships providing naval gunfire support in Vietnam, or of those who served in essential support roles such as in the operations of HMAS Sydney, the ‘Vung Tau ferry’, transporting personnel and matériel back and forth. My point, once again, is about the image that the different services seem to have had in the minds of civilian policy-makers. The experience of the second half of the twentieth century seems to suggest that, when cabinets or senior ministers decided that serious military action, or the threat of such action, was appropriate, they thought principally of the commitment of troops, either infantry or more recently special forces. These were perceived as ‘the sharp end’ of the defence force’s support for the nation’s diplomatic and strategic goals. In some such situations, the reaction of an American president, backed by Congress and popular opinion, might be ‘send in the Marines!’, but the RAN has never developed an amphibious force of comparable nature. Naval (and indeed air) forces have been


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generally regarded as either supplementary and supportive, or as less provocative, less risky contributions to coalition commitments. These, then, are some of the reasons why I suggest Australia has not developed a tradition of ‘gunboat diplomacy’, of assertive action by an exclusively naval force to protect or promote a national strategic or diplomatic interest. I suspect it was because of this context that the episode involving the Adelaide and its commanding officer, Captain Showers, stuck so sharply, and perhaps grew a little in the mind of John McEwen after 1940. Not only was it successful, but it was so rare, so contrary to the normal pattern of support from the armed services for Australian diplomacy. But in one respect, it was perhaps not quite as rare as I have depicted it. The 1940 incident took place in New Caledonia. If we look again at the list of activities, to which I referred previously, it emerges that the RAN has had a more significant role in the South Pacific than has often been understood or portrayed even by sympathetic historians. Sometimes, as in 1940, this was in the context of an Australian commitment to a global coalition. Nevertheless, there has also been a greater sense than has generally been understood of the naval role in the self-reliant defence of Australia and its environs. We have recently taken to referring to the ‘arc of instability’ (a phrase coined, I think, by Paul Dibb). It seems to have been unstable for quite a time, if we take together all the references to putting down native rebellions throughout the twentieth century. Most recently we have see the arrival of a new collaborative mission in the Solomon Islands, with the RAN supplying logistic and command support for a force in which the ‘sharp end’ is provided by land-based elements; in this case police supported by troops. It seems all too likely that the arc of instability, stretching from Aceh through the Indonesian archipelago to the island groups of the South Pacific, will be the focus of much of Australia’s diplomatic, and potentially military, involvement for years to come. In all probability, such involvement will be, like those in East Timor and the Solomon Islands, joint affairs, with the Navy giving vitally important support but with most of the nation’s attention directed


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The Republic of Palau’s PSS President H.I. Remeliik on trials in May 1996. One of the most important examples of Australian naval diplomacy in recent times has been the Pacific Patrol Boat Project. Managed by the RAN, the project delivered 22 patrol boats to 12 South Pacific Forum nations between 1987 and 1997. Together with maritime operational and technical advisers, training, logistic support and refit facilities, this has meant that many small nations have acquired a capacity which they could not otherwise afford to police their substantial resource zones against illicit activity. (RAN)

towards the land-based forces. Nevertheless, if particular circumstances arise and if the Navy is prepared for those circumstances, it is just possible that policy-makers may perceive a need for exclusive naval support for Australia’s diplomatic goals in this region. Captain Showers might well become something of a symbol for what the RAN can achieve, and perhaps future foreign ministers might, like John McEwen, think, when they face a tricky diplomatic question, that they should send for a naval officer.


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Part III Ships, industry and technology for Australia


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9 HMAS Australia: a ship for a nation David Stevens There would be an element of tragedy in such an end to any ship; but when the ship represents as much, and suggests as much, as the Australia does the tragedy becomes great indeed, for into it is imported a national, almost a personal sense of loss as of the passing of a well-loved and heroic soul. The Australia was well named—she did in very truth, and in a higher way even than those who named her could have deemed possible, represent this Australian people; and by the dignity and worth and power of her representation she helped us largely to our nationhood. Editorial, Sydney Morning Herald, 12 April 1924

On Saturday 12 April 1924 the Royal Australian Navy made final preparations to scuttle its first flagship. Accompanied by the light cruisers Melbourne, Brisbane and Adelaide, and the destroyers Anzac and Stalwart, the battle cruiser Australia lay helpless and wallowing 24 miles east of Sydney Heads. She still flew the Commonwealth flag at her bow and the white ensign at her stern, but Australia was no longer a national or naval asset. Everything of value had been removed and everything warlike mutilated. Just eleven years old, the former ‘pride of the Southern Seas’ was now an unseaworthy 165


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18 000-ton hulk, streaked with rust and grime and already listing several degrees to port. Constructed with some 500 separate compartments, the whole ship had since been completely gutted. Daylight now penetrated from the upper deck through to the bilges, where it dimly revealed a sloshing accumulation of rainwater and a hopeless tangle of debris. Although the object of their attention was but an empty shell, those in the surrounding warships stood to silent attention and watched intently as the scuttling party completed its work. Just after 1430 there came the final message from Australia: ‘Everything is open’; followed by an exodus to the waiting Brisbane. Even as the last man clambered over her side, a smothered explosion shook Australia and blew a gaping hole in the bottom of her hull. The list increased only slowly, but with each succeeding swell, she heeled over a little more. ‘She was going to her death gracefully,’ remarked one observer, ‘in a manner becoming a great ship.’1 Finally, after some twenty minutes, the huge holes cut in her upper sides touched the waterline and the sea rushed in unhindered. In less than a minute Australia had rolled right over and plunged out of sight, stern first. An RAAF aircraft dropped a single small wreath onto the calm waters, and at five-second intervals Brisbane fired a rolling Royal Salute of twenty-one guns. Then all was silent. The remaining naval vessels formed into a single line and turned west towards home. Far more than being a simple and dignified naval ceremony, this had been an opportunity for the whole nation to ensure that Australia did not depart without honour. Prime Minister Stanley Bruce and other senior dignitaries were embarked in Melbourne, the Naval Board flew its flag in Anzac, and in Brisbane an army of pressmen, photographers and painters recorded the scene. Several large steamers crowded with thousands of sightseers were also there to pay their last respects, while floral tributes from clubs, societies and individual citizens meant that great masses of wreaths had hung from Australia’s mangled bridge. There had been no funereal music and no speeches, but the Sydney Morning Herald found the tense silence and subdued emotion of the event quite stirring. Comparing


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The scene on board HMAS Australia on 12 April 1924, before she was towed out to her final resting place. There was a rush of volunteers for the naval party which carried out the preparations for scuttling, but only men who had previously served in the battle cruiser were chosen for the work. (RAN)

the scuttling to the passing of a great man, the newspaper declared it, ‘One of the most deeply impressive scenes in Australian history’, which left on those watching, ‘the impress of sadness beyond articulation’.2 No other Australian fighting ship has ever received such solemnity and moving ritual at its end, and one must ask what it was that had made this vessel unique? After all, the relatively lightly armoured battle cruiser was considered by many to be a flawed design, and Australia earned no official battle honours for her part in the Great War. She missed the Battle of Jutland following a collision, and instead of firing her 12-inch guns in anger had spent almost four years employed on the essential, but monotonous and largely thankless task of North Sea patrol. It was an undertaking


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said to have driven at least one sailor insane,3 and was hardly a model for a nation which since 1915 had prided itself on the Anzac fighting tradition. Indeed, to understand the mixture of affection and gratitude shown by the Australian people at the battle cruiser’s end we must look before the war to the period when she was conceived, built, and then brought into service as Australia’s ‘first burst into nationhood’.4

CONCEPTION The re-birth of the Australian Navy that began after the Imperial Defence Conference of August 1909 is usually explained in terms of the determination of a few key individuals—notably William Creswell and Alfred Deakin—to pursue a capability for local naval defence in the context of Britain’s comparative decline as a global naval power. Faced with the growing German threat in the North Sea, the British Board of Admiralty responded by concentrating the Imperial Fleet at home and overturning its long-standing objections to separate dominion navies. ‘The vision splendid’ that followed saw Australia invest heavily in new naval construction in the belief that it was embarking on a great national and imperial strategic endeavour.5 The received wisdom, however, is that for the Commonwealth the reality fell well short of the vision. Despite the financial burden, naval expansion meant little to national development before the Great War and had only a marginal impact on Australia’s subsequent national military experience. The RAN, it has been argued, had a markedly British flavour, tied Australia too closely to imperial policies, and encouraged the retention of outdated ‘blue-water’ strategical theories.6 Less a national institution and more a local manifestation of its parent, the force was more aptly titled ‘the Royal Navy in Australia’.7 This explanation certainly suits the standard accounts of the era, but the deeper one looks, the more qualification becomes necessary. Nicholas Lambert, for example, has shown that the


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apparent reversal of Admiralty policy in 1909 was by no means sudden.8 Important concessions to Australian maritime aspirations had been made as early as 1904, and by 1907 the Admiralty had already resolved to encourage Australia to build a separate navy. Rather than abandoning the outer Empire, the First Sea Lord, Admiral Sir John Fisher, had remained committed to protecting wider imperial interests through the development and introduction of new technologies and the adoption of radical new methods of applying naval force. Instead of the destroyer or submarine flotilla advocated by local authorities, Fisher recommended that Australia should aim to acquire a ‘Fleet Unit’, comprising a number of smaller cruisers and destroyers operating around the citadel provided by a fast, heavily-gunned armoured cruiser (later battle cruiser) of the Indomitable type. Without the armoured cruiser, Fisher argued, the smaller vessels would be of little strategic value. They would be incapable of dealing unaided with the more powerful hostile commerce-destroyers, whereas the Indomitable, with her great speed and radius of action, could either catch up and destroy, or where necessary avoid, any vessel afloat.9 A fleet unit would make Australia a source of imperial strength rather than weakness. Moreover, by embracing a balanced force of small-, medium- and large-sized ships, it would allow the dominion to establish a credible permanent navy, one thereafter able to offer a life-long career to its members. When joined with two smaller fleet units on the East Indies and China stations, the Australian unit would initially form the basis of an Imperial Pacific Fleet. In time, however, it might allow Britain to leave Pacific naval defence almost entirely to the dominions. As Fisher explained in a letter: ‘It means eventually Canada, Australia, New Zealand, the Cape (that is, South Africa), and India running a complete Navy! We manage the job in Europe. They’ll manage it against the Yankees, Japs and Chinese, as occasion requires out there!’10 The fleet unit might be built on imperial defence foundations, but it would more than fulfil Australia’s desire for


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self-sufficiency in local defence. Even when acting as an autonomous force, an Australian fleet of the size proposed would be a formidable prospect, and more powerful than the forces of any other European nation in the Pacific. Creswell, after initial doubts, became an ardent supporter of the plan, advising his political masters that the armoured cruiser alone would fire a heavier weight of metal and be very much superior in fighting power than the Royal Navy’s existing Australian Squadron. With such a ship, he predicted, ‘The bombardment of our ports or the possibility of their being held ransom will . . . be so remote as to be hardly worth considering.’11 In any case, there was nothing inherently incompatible between an Australian navy’s imperial and national roles. Most Australians regarded themselves as British by sentiment and birth, and their nation as an integral part of the British Empire; in extent the greatest empire the world had ever seen. Australia’s total overseas and coastal trade already compared to some 15 per cent of the United Kingdom’s total, and since both nation and Empire depended upon unhindered maritime communications it would not be purely Australian commerce that stood to be protected by Australian warships. For more than a century the Australasian colonies had prospered under the umbrella of British naval mastery, but the Admiralty had now admitted that such protection could no longer be guaranteed.12 In an increasingly navalist and unsettled world, it was only natural that Australia, as it became more independent, should look at practical means of sharing the responsibilities of securing the Empire and making payment for the privileges of membership. Considering the instability of Australian politics during this period, the naval scheme proposed at the 1909 Imperial Defence Conference achieved a remarkable level of party political support, with the motion carried by a majority of thirty-nine to nine in the federal lower house. The armoured cruiser was to be laid down at once, and the other elements of the fleet unit later, so as to time the completion of the fleet for mid-1912.


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CONSTRUCTION AND COMMISSIONING Even in 1909 there was an expectation among local politicians that the Commonwealth should eventually build its own capital ships. But they also understood there must be some delay before local shipbuilders could establish the necessary expertise. In consequence, on 9 December 1909, Australian authorities cabled London requesting that the Admiralty arrange for the construction of the armoured cruiser without delay.13 The Australian High Commissioner, Sir George Reid, sent particulars as to tenders for the hull and machinery on 7 March 1910, and a week later Prime Minister Deakin approved that submitted by John Brown and Company, of Clydebank near Glasgow. Separate contracts for the ship’s guns were signed with Armstrong and Vickers, with the total cost of the ship and fittings expected to be some £2 million. To avoid frequent consultation with Australia the larger contracts were between the Admiralty, on behalf of the Commonwealth, and the contractors, which also relieved the Australians of the immense amount of work involved in the supervision of construction. Nevertheless, Reid and the Australian Naval Representative in London, Captain (later Rear Admiral) Francis Haworth-Booth, RN, kept a close watch on developments and had to deal constantly with the countless other requirements associated with equipping and manning a major warship. While HaworthBooth provided the professional naval expertise, Reid’s involvement was more political, and appears at times to have been somewhat self-serving. Certainly there is evidence that initially he misunderstood the nature of the project, believing it to be Australia’s gift to the Admiralty, in a manner similar to the presentation of her sister vessel, HMS New Zealand, which was paid for by the government of New Zealand.14 One of the first matters requiring attention concerned the new ship’s name. On 6 May 1910 King Edward VII succumbed to a heart attack, and a week later Reid cabled home suggesting that the Australian flagship be named after the new sovereign, King George V.15


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The Commonwealth government, however, had already decided that the ship would be named Australia.16 This proved a popular choice, and carefully avoided any suggestion of favouritism towards any one Australian State. The ship’s badge maintained the national theme by featuring the Federation Star overlaid by a naval crown, while the motto ‘Endeavour’ reflected the ideal of the Australian spirit and recalled Lieutenant James Cook’s ship of 1768–71. Whether King George became aware of the rebuff is not known, but he nevertheless maintained a close personal association with and interest in the ship throughout her career. The first instalment of £64 160 to John Brown became due on 30 June 1910, a week after the first section of Australia’s keel was laid. The shipyard made steady progress, and by September 1911 the battle cruiser was approaching her launching date. Perhaps believing that he best represented a young and vigorous nation, Cabinet initially suggested that Master Henry Thomas, the son of Australia’s Postmaster-General and then living in England, be asked to perform the launching ceremony.17 Reid responded that a woman invariably christened a ship, and that the King had already expressed a wish that Reid’s wife should have the honour.18 Cabinet had little option but to agree, and on 25 October 1911 Lady Reid pressed the electric button that sent a bottle of Australian wine crashing against the ship’s side. The white and Commonwealth blue ensigns were both flying and, to a rousing cheer, Lady Reid declared, ‘May the grand old flag and the grand new flag fly together in peace and war’.19 The press made much of the event, as they would all the milestones in Australia’s career. The Standard of Empire noted that the workmen were aware that this was no ordinary vessel they were building, and described the launching of ‘this new flagship of the South’ as marking the beginning of a new era. Explaining in his luncheon speech why the battle cruiser had been built, Reid confirmed that she would both defend Australian territory against attack and support the rest of the imperial naval force. ‘Vessels of war,’ he continued, ‘launched to carry out a policy of aggrandisement,


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deserved no better reputation than a preparation for highway robbery. But a vessel launched in the interests of peace was a benefaction to the highest interests of mankind.’ ‘It is in this later spirit’, concluded the High Commissioner, ‘that I glory in the launch of the Australia.’20 The rapid pace of contemporary technological innovation made certain that the construction of more advanced ships had begun even as Australia was being completed. Nevertheless, wherever possible, new technical enhancements were incorporated into her design. The provision of much-improved armour plate proved the most difficult to achieve, and in the end caused serious delays in the thirty-month contract. Although a new type of armour produced by Armstrong and Company had excelled in Admiralty trials, the manufacturer then found difficulty reproducing the new plates at the original standard. Consequently it became necessary to revert to a former type of armour in some areas of the ship. The older pattern plates were less expensive, but could not immediately be procured, and this extended the completion date by more than six months.21 Notwithstanding the delays, John Brown delivered Australia £295 000 under budget.22 In mid-February 1913, Australia raised steam for the first time and sailed for Devonport to begin her gun, torpedo and machinery trials. These proved satisfactory although it was discovered that she had sustained significant damage to two hull plates on launching and would require docking before making her way to Australia. Having had the damage repaired, the battle cruiser completed a most successful full-power trial, maintaining 26 knots for eight hours, with 27.48 knots on her best run over the measured mile. Final acceptance trials began on 18 June and upon these being satisfactorily completed the ship was commissioned as an RAN unit at Portsmouth on 21 June 1913. Australia’s first commanding officer was Captain Stephen Radcliffe, RN. He had previously commanded one of the ‘P’ class cruisers on the Australia Station, and his appointment had the personal approval of Rear Admiral George E. Patey, MVO, RN,


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designated the first flag officer of HM Australian Fleet. The admiral hoisted his own flag in Australia on 23 June. Several official events followed, most of which seem aimed at impressing British statesmen with Australia’s national progress towards a more independent role in Pacific affairs. On 30 June, His Majesty the King, accompanied by the Prince of Wales and Sir George Reid, inspected the ship in a private capacity. The King, at least, was suitably impressed and repeatedly commented on the physique and appearance of the ship’s company, the fineness of the ship, and her excellent condition.23 Finally, in the presence of all assembled, the King called upon Patey and knighted him on the quarterdeck. In writing to thank the King for his personal interest, Governor-General Lord Denman made mention of Australia’s determination ‘to contribute of her sons and her resources to the maintenance of the sea-power of the Empire and the peace of the world’.24 Such a response is a measure of national as much as imperial sentiment, and it is worth noting that Commonwealth authorities kept a close watch on the proportion of Australians serving in the RAN. To man the new ships the Navy needed to expand from some 240 men in 1910 to at least 3400 by 1913. Finding suitably experienced sailors was an obvious difficulty, and for many years the Navy relied heavily on loan personnel from the Royal Navy. Even so, men with Australian associations were given preference. This was particularly the case with officers and almost all such appointed to the new flagship could claim an Australian connection, either through birth, relatives or marriage. On the day following George V’s visit, Patey hosted an official luncheon on board Australia for various imperial dignitaries, the guest list including Reid, the agents general for each of the Australian states, the high commissioners of Canada, South Africa and New Zealand, the Secretary of State for the Colonies Lewis Harcourt, and Winston Churchill, First Lord of the Admiralty. To reinforce the sense that this was also an occasion of national significance, the luncheon was followed by a visit and tea, hosted by the ship’s officers, for some 600 Australians then resident in London.


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Reid briefly addressed the crowd at the conclusion of the day’s events and highlighted that special bond between navy and nation which the British were felt to understand so well. Australians, he said, ‘could not understand their country becoming great unless it listened to that “call of the sea” which was whispered in their ears.’25 At the close of his address there were three cheers for both Reid and Patey, while a sailor perched on one of the 12-inch guns added: ‘Three cheers for Wallaby Land.’ A call, press reports noted, that was not lost on the listeners.26

SERVICE Australia sailed from Portsmouth on 21 July 1913, and her voyage home was seen as a further opportunity to stimulate public awareness and naval sentiment. In December 1912 the then defence minister, Senator George Pearce, recommended that an Australian journalist should embark in the battle cruiser and write an account of the passage for the better public appreciation of the RAN and its future role.27 Pearce suggested Charles Bean, who had published With the Flagship in the South 28 after a voyage in HMS Powerful some years before. Bean being unavailable, the task fell to Frederic Cutlack, who was already working for the publicity department at the High Commission in London. As a special correspondent Cutlack wrote reports which appeared in newspapers around the world. While procuring publicity for the Australian Navy, he also made deliberate and regular reference to the naval traditions which it had inherited. The achievements of Sir Francis Drake were a particular favourite, flowing perhaps from Patey’s knighting by the King being the first to take place onboard a man of war since Drake’s knighting by Queen Elizabeth I. The major event on the homeward passage was a visit to South Africa. Stops were made in both Cape Town and Durban, the first of these ports with the new light cruiser HMAS Sydney, which accompanied Australia for much of the journey. Although the 1909


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agreement had by this time broken down, Australian politicians still expected that the other dominion governments would in some measure follow their lead and contribute their quota to the Empire’s naval defence. The appearance of the Australian warships would, the Sydney Morning Herald remarked, provide a practical demonstration of the RAN as a ‘thoroughly competent, efficient, and considerable force’.29 As such, the visit should act as an inducement to naval development in much the same way that the 1908 visit by the USN’s Great White Fleet had demonstrated American sea power to Australians. Prime Minister Andrew Fisher had initiated the Australian naval visit to South Africa more than twelve months earlier with a private letter to General Louis Botha, South Africa’s prime minister.30 More detailed particulars followed as Australia sailed from England, and included an offer to take South African politicians on a short sea passage ‘or any other service in our power and which the Government of the Union might desire’.31 Patey and his officers were directed to extend every possible courtesy, and the visit proved very successful. It might not have altered South African defence plans, but it gave clear evidence that Australian authorities understood the diplomatic leverage they might obtain from the considered use of their new Navy. Such reflections on the varied capabilities of sea power may not have entered the minds of the many thousands of citizens who witnessed Australia’s arrival in Sydney, but they undoubtedly appreciated the spectacle. Leading the three light cruisers and three destroyers that made up the rest of the fleet, the battle cruiser first passed through Sydney Heads on the morning of 4 October 1913. Hailed as the most powerful fighting ship ever to enter Port Jackson, Australia was revealed to those who saw her as a thing both beautiful and majestic. No longer just a depiction on a printed page, she appeared to many onlookers as a ‘living sentient thing’. Although plenty of noise from steam whistles and hooters accompanied her arrival, there was at first very little cheering, rather a pregnant hush. The explanation, according to one politician, was that there was a lump in every person’s throat which


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HMAS Australia entering Sydney Heads on the morning of 4 October 1913. The atmosphere of awed silence which first greeted the ships was broken by a well-known Labor politician of the day, who remarked: ‘Considering how much these things have cost us, we might be a little more demonstrative’. Taking the hint, Prime Minister Joseph Cook took off his hat and ‘lustily hurrahed’. (RAN)

kept him silent. ‘Surely’, he later wrote, ‘upon that day the germ of Australian sentiment found lodgement in the hearts and minds of Australian men.’32 Federal politicians certainly took every opportunity to focus public attention on the significance of the occasion. For the defence minister, Senator Edward Millen, the fleet unit’s arrival was the most memorable event since Cook’s exploration of the east coast more than 140 years before: ‘As the former marked the birth of Australia, so the latter announces its coming of age, its recognition of the growing responsibilities of nationhood, and its resolve to accept and discharge them as a duty both to itself and to the Empire.’33


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Much of the rhetoric still alluded to using local naval power to guarantee the peaceful development of ‘Christian civilisation’ in Australia. The new fleet, according to Millen, was not merely the embodiment of force, but an expression of ‘Australia’s resolve to pursue, in freedom, its national ideals, and to hand down unimpaired and unsullied the heritage it has received, and which it holds and cherishes as an inviolable trust.’ Australia was therefore not looked upon as a symbol of war, but as a sign of ‘a peace which comes by being prepared for war’. Contemporary press reports reinforced the theme that the advent of Australia’s nationhood was endorsed by the acquisition of an ocean-going fleet. With the arrival of Australia and her escorts, the nation could soon expect to take up both a leading role in the practical aspects of collective regional defence and conceivably guide the British Empire’s diplomatic manoeuvres in the Pacific. ‘A navy is the instrument of foreign policy and a potent factor in diplomacy’, claimed Senator Pearce: The possession of a navy gives Australia a status in the Empire in regard to foreign policy that nothing else can do. The star of Australia’s destiny has risen over the Pacific. Small as our voice is it is now articulate . . . It is the destiny of the dominions to uphold the trident in the Pacific, and Australia has pointed out to her sister dominions their duties and responsibilities. It is only a question of time and statesmanship when the dominions on this question will have a common policy. Welcome to the fleet as an evidence of Australia’s coming of age.34

From the tone of the messages flowing in to Australia from the other dominions, it seemed that Pearce might be right. Canada, for example, tendered its sincere congratulations on the arrival of Australia, and added: ‘Be assured Canada stands shoulder to shoulder with Australia and the other overseas dominions in the firm resolve to safeguard our common heritage.’35 New Zealand likewise admired and congratulated the Commonwealth for ‘undertaking the heavy burden of the so splendid contribution towards


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the naval events of the southern seas. Australia may well be proud of the substantial mark of nationhood . . .’36 Arrangements were made at the first opportunity for the flagship to visit many of the principal Australian ports. Within a year she had called at Albany, Port Lincoln, Hobart, Glenelg and Melbourne, and steamed as far north as Townsville in a deliberate attempt to showcase the Navy to the widest national audience. Everywhere the battle cruiser and smaller units generated great interest, with local communities offering every hospitality to the officers and men of what was promptly referred to as the ‘National Navy’.37 The ship’s themselves were now ‘our Warships’, and Australia in particular the focus of an inclusive national pride. Indeed it may be argued that more than any other Federal creation before the Great War, the Navy helped break down the petty state jealousies that had so plagued the infant Commonwealth. It is unnecessary to detail Australia’s wartime service here. Suffice to say that she proved a vital strategic asset and was in all respects ready for operational service when the call came. In the almost bloodless capture of the German Pacific territories and the destruction of the enemy’s radio-network she provided an effective demonstration of the new reach and flexibility of Australian power. By deterring the hostile activities of Vice Admiral Graf von Spee’s German East Asian Cruiser Squadron, she potentially saved the nation inestimable loss and damage.38 ‘Australians slept more soundly in their beds because of the protection of Australia’, one senator declared later, and this was a view repeated by many significant figures in the aftermath of the war.39 Because Australia was on the scene in the South Pacific and manned by professionals she also saved the wider British Empire a vast amount of cost and effort that must otherwise have been devoted to the protection of imperial maritime interests. Even the years spent patrolling the harsh North Sea were valuable; the Committee of Imperial Defence concluding that ‘the vital need for vessels of this type during the war fully repaid the Commonwealth for the outlay incurred on this unit . . . the money could not have been better


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expended’.40 Without doubt, Australia did her best work by presence and deterrence rather than through action. After returning home in May 1919, Australia resumed the role of RAN flagship. A year later she played the leading part in the naval activities associated with the visit of the Prince of Wales in HMS Renown, but her time was rapidly running out. In the postwar era the Australian Navy’s activities could no longer stimulate the same national interest. The need for economy and the issues posed by the huge number of returned soldiers attracted far more political attention, and the RAN’s leaders soon found that too many Australians were no longer willing to invest the effort necessary to maintain an effective and independent navy. Australia’s sole battle cruiser had always consumed a large proportion of the Navy’s budget and manpower, and as funding was reduced the Naval Board decided that resources could be better applied elsewhere. Moreover, Australia was most definitely obsolescent, and in a list of twelve priorities adopted by the Board in August 1920, Australia was listed only eleventh.41 She was given a nucleus crew and her role downgraded to that of a gunnery and torpedo drill ship at Flinders Naval Depot with a secondary role as a fixed defensive battery. In November 1921 she returned to Sydney and the following month was paid off into reserve.

DISPOSAL Australia remained laid up in Sydney, while representatives of the major naval powers hammered out the future basis of Pacific security at the Washington Conference between November 1921 and February 1922. The signing of the Five Power Treaty on the Limitation of Naval Armaments on 6 February 1922 halted a looming naval arms race, but Australia’s tonnage was counted against the total allowed the British Empire, and the battle cruiser was singled out for disposal. Under the agreement she had to be rendered incapable of further warlike service within six months of the treaty’s ratification.


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The Royal Australian Navy conducted its first review in Port Phillip Bay on 28 May 1920. The event was in honour of a royal visitor, the Prince of Wales (later King Edward VIII). Here the reviewing ship, HMAS Franklin, steams past the fleet flagship, HMAS Australia. In the background is HMAS Una, previously the yacht of the Administrator of German New Guinea. Una was captured in October 1914 and converted into a sloop for war service. (Dumaresq Papers)

Although there was general satisfaction with the outcomes at Washington and the security they promised, not all Australians were happy to lose their old flagship. The Queensland Women’s Electoral League expressed their ‘very deep regret’ that such drastic action could be taken without the Australian people being given an opportunity to express their opinion.42 The mayor of Adelaide wrote on behalf of his citizens to urge that Australia be converted into a ‘War Trophies Ship’ and preserved as a national memorial to the great service and sacrifice of the Australian Fleet.43 Even an editorial in the Australian Worker protested bitterly about the decision, and labelled Prime Minister Stanley Bruce a ‘liveried


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lackey of overseas armament trusts’.44 Despite these and similar calls, there appeared little flexibility with respect to Australia’s fate. As party to the Washington Treaty through its membership of the British Empire, Australia had to meet, by necessity, the treaty’s obligations if it expected to receive its advantages.45 The battle cruiser had either to be permanently sunk—that is scuttled without the possibility of refloating, completely broken up, or converted exclusively to target use.46 The Empire was allowed only one capital ship as a target, and this was already serving with the Royal Navy, while there was as yet no machinery in Australian dockyards capable of fully destroying such a large armoured warship. Hence, in November 1923 the Federal Cabinet made the final decision that Australia should be scuttled in deep water. The RAN had already removed some of the ship’s equipment for use in other warships, and it now began the deliberate scrapping of Australia by extracting piping and other small fittings. In all more than £30 000 worth of matériel was retained for future naval use, while a further £35 000 worth of fittings was removed and allocated to the universities and technical colleges of the various states.47 At least some of these items remained in regular use as teaching aids for over fifty years.48 On 2 January 1924, the defence minister signed a contract with a syndicate which undertook to remove everything else of value for the sum of £3000. The syndicate also secured the rights to sell parts of the vessel to the public as souvenirs. The task remained great, but 359 men in two shifts had by 3 February rendered Australia unfit for warlike service. National newspapers followed the progress of scrapping closely, and as the day of final disposal drew near the import of the event drew much comment from press and public. None appeared to be against the idea that their Navy’s first flagship should receive all possible honours. ‘But for the Australia’, one tribute finished, ‘we might be unable to record that for 136 years this country has been free from enemy invasion.’49 Originally scheduled to take place on Anzac Day 1924, the event was advanced by Defence Minister E.K. Bowden to coincide


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with the visit of the Royal Navy’s Special Service Squadron, allowing them to take part in the ceremony and join an imperial salute with that from the Australian Navy.50 Brimming with emotion, an item in the Sydney Morning Herald on the day of the scuttling well reflected the public mood: ‘When the waters of the Pacific shall have closed over her still fluttering flag, and the thunders of the last saluting gun shall have died away. Australia will have lost, not only a namesake, but an emblem; not only a ship, but a sign.’51 The final words on Australia, however, are best left to Prime Minister Stanley Bruce, whose own heartfelt eulogy was widely reported on the night after her sinking: In the prime of her service, this, the first great ship of the young Australian Navy, was our contribution to the defence of civilisation. In her passing she symbolises our contribution to the cause of peace. We sacrifice her with a regret rendered poignant by the memory of her great service, but tempered with the hope that the world will see the magnitude of our offering, and the manner in which we make it, a measure of our practical belief in the principles enunciated at the Washington Conference, which constitute the only hope of a permanent international peace. The passing of Australia closes a glorious chapter in the history of the Australian Navy. We shall never forget that in the eventful days of 1914, when the fate of civilisation hung in the balance, it was the presence of Australia, manned by Australian seamen, that saved our shores and our shipping from the fate which overtook less fortunate nations.52

A SYMBOL AND A VISION Many countries have built national legends around military triumphs, but Australia is different. We usually claim that it was the bloody military defeat at Gallipoli that brought out and defined the features of our national identity. Yet in truth, no matter how courageous their actions, nor how impressive their character, thousands of young Australians died on a remote Turkish shore for little or no


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gain. To suggest that this tragic and unavailing slaughter was somehow a necessary national ‘rite of passage’ demeans the memory of these men. This is the more so because eighteen months beforehand Australians from all walks of life had readily accepted that their nation had progressed from birth to maturity. This maturity was reflected in a willingness to assume responsibility for the defence of national sovereignty, to contribute to the collective security of the region, and to fly the national flag proudly on the waters of the world in the cause of peace. British Prime Minister Stanley Baldwin stated in 1936, ‘. . . the Royal Navy is in some subtle way the repository of the spirit and tradition of our nation.’53 In 1913, Australia’s political leaders witnessed the arrival of a great warship, and felt that the seed of a similar idea had been planted in the minds of all Australians. Perhaps it is time for us to consider again how best this seed may be nurtured.


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10 Australian shipbuilding and the impact of the Second World War John C. Jeremy In the comparatively small compass of a ship, in her building and fitting out are brought together more human skills, more technical and scientific knowledge, more years of study and experience, than in any other work of man . . . An island which does not provide itself with ships and with the means to protect them gives, as tragic hostages to fortune, its own people. That is why, to Australia, a shipbuilding and ship-repairing industry is not a luxury but a necessity, and those who, against many difficulties, maintain it effectively and efficiently . . . deserve well of this country. Sir William Slim, Governor-General, 19561

On 12 June 1924, Mrs Earle Page, the wife of the Federal treasurer, named and launched the 9000 GRT refrigerated cargo ship Ferndale at Cockatoo Island. Ferndale was, with her sister ship Fordsdale, the largest merchant ship yet built in Australia. Her quadruple expansion engines were likewise the largest manufactured in Australia, and would give her a service speed of 14.5 knots. She was to be the last ship launched for the Commonwealth Line and the last 185


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trading vessel built for the Commonwealth for over a quarter of a century.2 The completion of Ferndale and Fordsdale marked the end of the First World War emergency shipbuilding program. Shipbuilding continued through the remainder of the 1920s, but at a very modest level. The order for the heavy cruisers HMAS Australia and HMAS Canberra from Britain was partly compensated for by the construction at Cockatoo of the seaplane carrier HMAS Albatross, completed shortly before Christmas 1928. Even before the start of the Depression, there was little work for the Commonwealth Dockyard at Cockatoo Island and as the decade drew to a close the Commonwealth attempted to sell it. No tenders were received, and by 1932 employment at the yard had fallen to 560, down from a peak of 4085 in December 1919.3 The future of the island dockyard was bleak.

OUT OF DEPRESSION On 3 February 1933, Cockatoo Island Dockyard was finally leased to a company founded specifically for the purpose. The terms of the 21-year lease provided for Cockatoo Docks & Engineering Co. Ltd to be compensated if Commonwealth work fell below an agreed level. The company was free to seek commercial work to supplement any naval work—a freedom denied Cockatoo as a Commonwealth dockyard by the High Court in 1926.4 Throughout the 1930s, shipbuilding in Australia remained at a very low level, with mainly small ships launched from the few yards active in the industry. Naval construction resumed in December 1933 with an order from Cockatoo for a Grimsby-class sloop, HMAS Yarra. In April 1934 the Commonwealth decided to strengthen the RAN by acquiring a modern light cruiser, HMAS Sydney, from Britain and to order a second sloop from Cockatoo Dockyard.5 HMAS Swan was ordered in September 1934. By 1937, when Japan invaded China, the world situation was clearly deteriorating. In April 1938, Prime Minister Lyons


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announced a further three-year defence program which included the purchase of two additional cruisers from the Royal Navy and the construction of two more sloops in Australia. The sloops, HMASs Parramatta and Warrego, were ordered from Cockatoo and were completed in 1940. It was later announced that two modern destroyers of the Tribal-class were to be ordered from Cockatoo Dockyard.6 The order in January 1939 for the construction of HMASs Arunta and Warramunga resulted in an acceleration in activity and a growth in the number of people working in shipbuilding just as the world was moving inexorably towards war.

SECOND WORLD WAR In the years prior to the outbreak of war, the Commonwealth had initiated moves to promote local shipbuilding and presented a Ship Bounty Bill to Parliament in September 1939. The Bill provided for a bounty to be paid on vessels from 100 to 1500 tons. British vessels could be imported free of duty, but there would be a general tariff of 15 per cent on imported vessels of the type eligible for bounty.7 The war soon overtook consideration of these proposals. In September 1939, most shipbuilding activity was centred on Cockatoo Island in Sydney. The dockyard was not only building and fitting out the new destroyers, sloops and two boom defence vessels, but was constructing the main engines, boilers and much equipment for the ships. It was a capability that was to prove invaluable in the coming crisis. Elsewhere, Evans Deakin in Brisbane was building an oil fuel lighter for the RAN,8 while Walkers in Maryborough, Mort’s Dock in Sydney and the Melbourne Harbor Trust’s yard in Williamstown in Victoria provided an embryonic capability. The construction of the destroyers, sloops and boom defence vessels was shortly to be supplemented. On 21 September the Secretary of the Naval Board, G. L. Macandie, wrote to Cockatoo Dockyard:


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188 The Navy and the Nation I am directed by the Naval Board to inform you that a number of Local Defence Vessels, a copy of the Plans and Specifications for which have already been forwarded to you, are urgently required for naval service. Several firms in various States have been invited to submit offers for these, but as your Company is the only one in Australia possessing a complete shipbuilding organisation, it is under consideration that, subject to a satisfactory financial arrangement, one of the vessels will be built by you, and that you proceed with all possible speed with the mould loft work, so as to be in a position to supply other builders such information as will reduce their loft work to a minimum, observing that this will be of material assistance to them. It is clear that it will be necessary to use all building facilities in Australia to the utmost during the War.

Other firms invited to tender were advised that: In order to ensure the greatest economy of effort in their production, interchange and circulation of plans between the builders will be arranged to the fullest extent practicable, so as to reduce drawing office and mould loft work to a minimum. Such parts as steel castings for the hull will be produced by one firm for all vessels. The boilers, being of naval design, will be built at Cockatoo Island or Garden Island, and the auxiliary engines, it is proposed, will be ordered independently by the Naval Board in numbers sufficient for all ships. The general standard of construction of the vessels and their machinery, except where otherwise specified, is to be in accordance with approved mercantile practice. All equipment of specially naval character will be supplied by the Naval Board and fitted to the vessel by the builder.9

So began the construction of the Australian-designed Bathurst-class minesweepers,10 a program that would re-vitalise Australian shipbuilding for the considerable challenges that lay ahead. The lead ship, HMAS Bathurst, was ordered from Cockatoo on 9 December 1939. Further orders were placed in April 1940. Two


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more were ordered from Cockatoo, one from the Melbourne Harbor Trust, two from Mort’s Dock, two from Walkers and two from BHP (The Broken Hill Proprietary Company Ltd). The latter order arose from a Navy Office request to BHP on 15 December 1939 to consider the construction of a shipyard at Whyalla to build LDVs (local defence vessels) to British Admiralty account. BHP agreed the same day and immediately began construction of what was to become Australia’s largest shipyard.11 Bathurst was completed on 5 December 1940. Ultimately sixty of these little ships would be completed in Australia, including six for the Royal Indian Navy. Most importantly, the program resulted in the rebirth of an industry, seeded by information, drawings and templates from Cockatoo Dockyard in Sydney. That industry was to play a vital part in the war effort, particularly following the outbreak of the Pacific war in 1941.

Merchant ships for Australia In 1941 the Commonwealth decided to revive merchant ship construction in Australia. In March 1941 the Australian Shipbuilding Board (ASB) was constituted under the provisions of the National Security Act 1939–1940. The board was to be responsible for the building of merchant ships and other vessels (other than naval vessels), for the repair and maintenance of all merchant ships, and for the provision of dry-docking and repairing facilities for merchant ships.12 The first task of the board was to inspect existing shipyards and engineering shops throughout Australia to assess the capacity of the industry and its potential for further development. The board also directed its attention to the construction of cargo carrying ships for overseas service (then regarded as the first priority) and to further investigate the need for small vessels for the coastal trade. Before the board had been formed, Rear Admiral P.E. McNeil, in his capacity as Director of Shipbuilding and Third Naval Member, had studied available ship designs for cargo carrying vessels


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The Bathurst-class Australian Minesweeper HMAS Goulburn fitting out at Cockatoo Dockyard after her launch in November 1940. These craft were Australia’s first locally designed and built warships. More commonly known as corvettes, they were the RAN’s ‘maids of all work’ during the Second World War, and some continued in service for many years afterwards. (RAN)

for overseas trade. He selected the design of Scottish Monarch from the Caledon Shipbuilding and Engineering Co., Dundee, as an appropriate ship for Australian needs. The ASB adopted this design (with modification) for the first shipbuilding program, and orders were placed for the construction of eight ships, two each by Cockatoo Dockyard, Mort’s Dock (later transferred to Whyalla), Evans Deakin and the Melbourne Harbor Trust at Williamstown.13 Orders were subsequently placed for five more of the 9000 GRT ‘A’-class ships. The Scottish Monarch design needed more modification than anticipated and the ASB had difficulty recruiting sufficient technical


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staff for its needs. Some key personnel were transferred from the existing yards, and a training program was started for young men with no prior shipbuilding experience. Throughout the war, considerable basic design work was carried out at Cockatoo Dockyard for the board. The board also provided funds for the development of shipbuilding capability for the merchant ship program at the yards mentioned above and at the New South Wales Government Engineering and Shipbuilding Undertaking in Newcastle (the State Dockyard). The spread of the war to the Pacific, and the loss of the dockyards in Hong Kong and Singapore, placed considerable demands on Australian resources, with Sydney becoming the main shiprepair base in the South West Pacific during 1942 and 1943. The construction of the Captain Cook Dock in Sydney (between 1940 and 1945) and the Cairncross Dock in Brisbane (between 1942 and 1944) would ultimately relieve the pressure, but not until the end of the war. Naval and merchant ship construction programs became a source of labour for ship repair and were consequently delayed. A third Tribal-class destroyer was ordered from Cockatoo in February 1940 but, with priority given to ship repair, HMAS Bataan was delayed and not completed until June 1945. The need for additional escort capability for the RAN had been identified in 1941. This ultimately resulted in orders being placed with Australian shipyards for twenty-two River-class frigates. Problems with the manufacture of machinery, the demands of ship repair and conflict with the merchant shipbuilding program resulted in only twelve ships ultimately being completed. Only six were completed in time to take part in hostilities. Eight were essentially the same as the many ships of the class built for Britain, Canada and the United States, but four were completed to a modified Australian design.14 The demands of ship repair meant that by early 1943 virtually all shipbuilding work had stopped at Cockatoo, and construction of the ‘A’-class cargo ships was delayed in all yards. The lead ship, River Clarence, was delivered by Cockatoo on 31 May 1943, but the next (from Evans Deakin) was not completed until December 1943. The


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original plan for sixty ships completed at the rate of twelve per year was clearly unrealistic. Moreover, the need for cargo ships for international trade had diminished, with a new demand developing for smaller ships for the coastal trade. On 20 May 1943 the prime minister chaired a conference in Canberra which resulted in a review of the program which reduced the number of ‘A’-class ships to ten. For the coastal trade, ten ‘B’-class 6000 DWT ships, ten ‘C’class 4000 DWT ships and two ‘D’-class 2000 DWT ships were planned. There were further changes to the program and not all these ships were ultimately completed.15 In the end, thirteen ‘A’-class, two ‘B’-class, eight ‘D’-class, and two ‘E’-class (ships of 550 DWT) were delivered, the last in November 1948.

Construction of small ships In August 1942 the ASB was given the task of implementing a program of small ship and boat construction on behalf of the US Army, the RAN, the Australian Army, the RAAF, the Central Cargo Control Committee and the Allied War Council. Vessels ranging from 120-foot steel cargo ships to 8-foot dinghies were ordered. Some 450 contractors, sub-contractors and suppliers participated, ranging from shipyards like the State Dockyard to automobile manufacturers and sports gear manufacturers. Many of the larger ships were of welded construction, built using construction techniques that would be familiar to today’s shipbuilders.16 On 23 October 1943, the ASB relinquished control of the construction of small craft and internal combustion engines to the Small Craft Construction Directorate of the Ministry of Munitions. The program was not without its problems, being plagued with shortages of skilled labour and problems with the timely supply of materials and components, particularly engines. Nevertheless, the achievements were outstanding, with US requirements in the Pacific being largely supplied from Australia. By December 1945, 34 191 vessels had been launched, including 21 300 steel pontoons. Manpower involved peaked at about 20 000 in mid-1944.17


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Equipment manufacture The naval and merchant ship construction programs for propulsion and auxiliary machinery placed considerable demands on Australian resources. Capability for this existed at Cockatoo Island and Mort’s dock, and the NSW government had agreed to provide extensive manufacturing facilities at the new State Dockyard site at Dyke End in Newcastle. But in 1941 the only yard equipped for the construction of marine propulsion engines was Cockatoo Dockyard. Most of this capacity was needed for the construction of turbines and boilers for naval vessels, and merchant ship engines would be limited to those for ships built in the yard. Only about half of the needs of the shipbuilding program could be met by the facilities available in May 1941. A new marine engine works was built at Rocklea in Brisbane, which was managed by Evans Deakin until March 1943, when the ASB took over direct management. A second factory was built at Port Melbourne, where operations began in early 1943. By December 1945 the Melbourne factory had completed eleven reciprocating steam propulsion engines and two exhaust turbines with gearing, as well as rudder stocks, stern tubes and propellers, propeller shafts and couplings. Main engines were also manufactured for merchant vessels by Mort’s Dock, Australian Iron & Steel Limited, State Dockyard and BHP. Cockatoo Dockyard manufactured most of the boilers used in naval vessels constructed in Australia. A total of 171 boilers were completed and delivered to shipbuilders throughout the country. At one time deliveries were being made at the rate of two per week.18 A wide range of other equipment was made in Australia for shipbuilding needs, from machine tools for the dockyards to auxiliary machinery for ships. The ASB undertook to purchase much of the equipment for the merchant ships for delivery to the shipyards, entailing contracts with some 400 different firms for the ‘A’-class ships alone.


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THE RETURN OF PEACE In a few short years a considerable shipbuilding and ship-repair industry had been established, based on the small nucleus of capability that had existed in the late 1930s. That industry built some 120 major naval and merchant ships and many thousands of small craft. But it had not been achieved without difficulty, and the capacity of the industry was stretched to meet the demands placed upon it, particularly in 1942 and 1943. In January 1944 the Commonwealth established an inter-departmental Committee on Postwar Shipping and Shipbuilding to consider the needs of a postwar Australia. Its development of policy for shipbuilding was heavily influenced by defence considerations.19 There was no desire to repeat the experience of the years following the First World War. In August 1945 the Cabinet decided to maintain a peacetime merchant shipbuilding program of some 32 000 GRT annually for defence purposes and to utilise the capability built up during the war. Freight and charter rates were to be controlled on interstate routes and the construction of ships was to be subsidised. Registration of ships for the coastal trade was to be limited to ships under twenty-five years of age. A reconstituted Australian Shipbuilding Board was to administer the program. Support for the industry was by subsidy rather than tariff so that the cost of sustaining the industry would not fall on ship operators. The subsidy (which took effect in 1947) was intended to offset the differences between the prices of ships built in Australia and those built in Britain up to a maximum of 25 per cent of the total Australian construction cost. The subsidy scheme was supported by an import prohibition which prevented the import of ships without the approval of the minister for shipping and transport.

NAVAL SHIPBUILDING When making the August 1945 decision to support merchant shipbuilding, Cabinet decided that naval construction was ‘an essential


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accompaniment to the planned merchant program’ but deferred a decision on the size of the naval program pending consideration of the peacetime size of the Australian Military Forces.20 In October 1944, the RAN ordered two Battle-class destroyers, one each to be built by Cockatoo Dockyard and HMA Naval Dockyard, Williamstown, establishing a pattern of naval construction that was to continue for over thirty years. Cockatoo built the machinery for both ships, and much of the armament was also built in Australia. HMASs Anzac and Tobruk were based on the planned Royal Navy 5th and 6th Flotilla Battle-class destroyers. The British ships were cancelled and the Australian ships were the only ones completed to this design, incorporating a new gun mounting. The last riveted destroyers built in Australia, Tobruk was completed in May 1950 with Anzac following in March 1951. They incorporated a number of significant Australian improvements, particularly to habitability, and were the first warships built for the RAN that used aluminium as a structural material. In April 1946 the Commonwealth approved the construction of four additional destroyers, of the Daring-class, two each to be built at Cockatoo and Williamstown. Modernisation of both yards was also approved to enable them to build the all-welded destroyers. Formal orders were placed in December 1946, when the builders were told of the conditions that applied to the construction of the ships as specified by the department of treasury: The approval in principle given by Cabinet to the building of four additional destroyers of advanced type may be regarded as authority to proceed with the placement of orders to ensure the maintenance of shipbuilding capacity in Australia. The main consideration involved in the maintenance of this shipbuilding capacity is its relation to: (a) the ultimate strength and composition of the postwar Australian forces, and (b) the balanced allocation between the Service and Supply Departments.


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196 The Navy and the Nation Until a decision is reached on these matters orders to be placed under the Cabinet approval should not exceed the essential minimum necessary to maintain production capacity from time to time. The necessity to continue the work of constructing the destroyers should also be reviewed at regular intervals.21

The machinery for the Daring-class destroyers was built at Cockatoo and the gun mountings and torpedo tubes were made by the Department of Defence Production in Bendigo. While the working drawings were supplied from Britain, the design of the Australian ships was considerably modified locally. The original program had anticipated the completion of the Sydney-built ships (Voyager and Vampire) in December 1949 and July 1950, with the Williamstown ships (Vendetta and Waterhen) to follow in June 1951 and April 1953. This schedule proved overly optimistic. Work on the first ship started in April 1947, but progress was slow with delays caused by industrial disputes, late deliveries of structural steel, forgings and castings for machinery, and long delays in the working drawings coming from Britain. By 1951, it was clear that the effect of these delays would be felt for some time. Not only was the supply of materials still a problem, but priority for labour was given to the reconversion of the requisitioned merchant ships Kanimbla and Manoora for commercial service, the modernisation of the destroyer Arunta and the conversion of the ‘Q’-class destroyers to Type 15 anti-submarine frigates. Treasury financial limitations also had a major influence on the rate of progress. The first ship, HMAS Voyager, was launched in March 1952 but not completed until February 1957. HMAS Vendetta was completed in November 1958 and the last ship, HMAS Vampire, in June 1959. HMAS Waterhen had been cancelled in March 1953. The delays experienced with the Daringclass were to flow on to another new naval construction project— the Type 12 frigates (later styled destroyers escorts). The Commonwealth approved the construction of six of these British-designed frigates in August 1950, three to be built at Cockatoo and three at Williamstown. Two were subsequently dropped from the program.


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When the ships were ordered, the design of the Type 12 was incomplete. The Type 12 frigate evolved from a requirement to combat the high-speed submarines developed towards the end of the Second World War, and was one of several classes of escort ship intended for rapid production in the event of emergency. Originally the classes were to be based on a common hull design but anticipated problems with the rapid production of the steam turbines needed for the higher speeds resulted in the common hull concept being limited to the diesel-powered anti-aircraft and aircraft direction variants.22 The design of the Type 12 was completed by late 1950, and six ships of the original design were completed for the Royal Navy. The design was updated in 1955, becoming the Rothesay class, and the first two Australian ships, HMAS Parramatta and HMAS Yarra, were based on this design. The second two ships, HMAS Stuart and HMAS Derwent, were intended to be similar but in late 1960 the RAN decided to make extensive changes to the ships to incorporate a new weapon. In 1958, Australia began the development of an anti-submarine weapon system to engage submarines at long range. As described later in this volume, Ikara delivered a homing torpedo to the vicinity of the submarine target by means of a ship-launched guided missile. Both Stuart and Derwent had been launched by the time the shipbuilders received the revised general arrangement. The changes to the design were extensive, and included the installation of a variable-depth sonar (VDS). Stuart was completed in June 1963 as the Ikara trials ship. Derwent was completed in April 1964 without Ikara (which was fitted later) but with the VDS. A further two ships were ordered from Cockatoo and Williamstown in May 1964 as replacements for Voyager, which had been lost in February that year in collision with the aircraft carrier HMAS Melbourne. HMASs Swan and Torrens were ordered as repeats of Stuart and Derwent, with completion intended in four years. Within six months it had been decided to radically change the design of the ships to incorporate many of the later Type 12


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changes that resulted in the highly successful Leander-class frigate. It was too late for some changes—the shipbuilders had already ordered the steel—but an almost complete redesign of the ships began in 1965. Political pressure for visible progress resulted in both ships being laid down in August 1965—much too soon. Construction was hampered by design delays, late equipment deliveries and constant design changes. Despite these problems, Swan was commissioned (incomplete) in January 1970, and Torrens was completed in January 1971. Torrens was to be the last major combat ship completed in an Australian shipyard for twenty-one years. This final Australian version of the Type 12 was very successful, but they were expensive ships. In 1940, the Commonwealth had entered into a wartime agreement with Cockatoo to facilitate contracting and control potential profits during the emergency period. The company was paid the actual cost of work undertaken for the Commonwealth, and the Commonwealth took the profit from any commercial work with the company being paid a modest management fee. This formula continued with only minor changes until 1972. With Williamstown being a naval dockyard, all the Daring-class destroyers and the Type 12 frigates were built ‘at cost’. The priority in the yards was technical excellence—not adherence to cost estimates. Fine ships were built, but the system could not continue. Change began in the early 1960s. One significant benefit of the postwar policy of maintaining a naval construction program was the development of a significant technical capability in the shipyards and in Navy Office. Traditionally, the design of most RAN ships had been of British origin. In the early 1960s this began to change with the order of guided missile destroyers from the United States and the design of non-combat naval ships in Australia. In 1960 a new survey ship was designed for the RAN in Navy Office. An estimate of the cost of the ship was sought from Cockatoo Dockyard for construction to full naval standards. The price was too high, and the ASB was tasked with modifying the


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specification to commercial standards before inviting tenders from commercial shipyards. HMAS Moresby was completed by the State Dockyard in 1964 and served the RAN well for many years. Moresby was the first ship (apart from the boom defence vessel Kimbla and some smaller ships) to be built for the RAN in a yard other than Cockatoo or Williamstown since the Second World War. The twenty Attack-class patrol boats followed, built very successfully by Evans Deakin and Walkers in Queensland to an Australian design and completed between 1967 and 1970. An Australiandesigned destroyer tender, HMAS Stalwart, was built at Cockatoo Dockyard and completed in 1968. The intended roles of Cockatoo and Williamstown dockyards were reviewed in the mid-1960s. Williamstown was designated as the primary yard for the construction and modernisation of destroyertype ships. Cockatoo was intended as the builder of combat ships beyond the capacity of Williamstown and of naval auxiliary ships, as well as being the sole yard for the refit and modernisation of Australia’s submarines. Plans for the modernisation of both yards were subsequently developed.23 The experience with the construction of Swan and Torrens prompted a further review of naval shipbuilding policy led by Mr T.P. Hayes, a deputy secretary in the Department of Defence, in 1969.24 The capability of all Australian shipyards to undertake naval shipbuilding was examined, and representatives of the commercial yards were invited to inspect Torrens under construction. Most were reluctant to commit their yards to this class of work, being concerned that the naval work could contaminate the commercial environment and that the differing standards would be difficult to manage concurrently. This view echoed the findings of a 1966 report by Lord Geddes on the British shipbuilding industry. It also reflected the Cockatoo Dockyard experience in building the then world’s largest roll-on roll-off passenger/vehicle ship, Empress of Australia, in 1962–65, a project which resulted in the only loss in the history of the lessee company. The 1969 review concluded that as future RAN destroyer construction was only likely to sustain one


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Cockatoo Island Dockyard on 24 November 1964. SS Empress of Australia is fitting out at the Bolt Shop Wharf. On No. 1 slipway at the bottom of the photograph is the future destroyer tender HMAS Stalwart. She had been laid down on 23 June and would be launched on 7 October 1966. The British submarine, HMS Tabard is undergoing a second refit in Fitzroy Dock. Two years earlier Cockatoo Island had completed its first submarine refit on Tabard, and had received high praise for the standards of workmanship achieved. (RAN)

yard, Williamstown was best suited for that task, with Cockatoo Dockyard available for overflow. The construction of Swan and Torrens and the Hayes review coincided with the development of the most ambitious naval construction program ever attempted in Australia before the 1980s. Following RAN experience during the Malaysian/Indonesian confrontation in the early 1960s, a requirement was developed in 1966 for a number of fast, simply armed ships, smaller than a conventional destroyer. Becoming known as the light destroyer


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(DDL), the ship’s concept was developed in 1967 and 1968 leading to a contract with YARD Australia for the preparation of a preliminary design.25 The DDL began as a ship of about 2100 tons, of which six were to be built—three each by Cockatoo and Williamstown. By 1971, the ship had grown to over 4000 tons and the number reduced to three, all to be built at Williamstown. Concurrently the RAN developed a design for a replenishment ship to replace the fleet oiler HMAS Supply. The Fast Combat Support Ship (AOE) was to be built to full naval standards, and given the need for the shipbuilder to be appropriately experienced, government approval was given for the ship to be built at Cockatoo Island without open tender. By December 1972, when the government in Canberra changed, the AOE was close to contract and the DDL was approaching detailed design.26 Early in 1973, design problems arose with the AOE when it became necessary to change the selected main engines. The estimated cost of the ship was also much higher than expected. The DDL was also in trouble, with design difficulties and high cost. In August 1973 the government suspended the DDL pending a review of the project, and cancelled the AOE. The DDL was abandoned in early 1974. In retrospect the cancellation of both projects was probably wise, but it marked a turning point in Australian naval construction. The benefits in technical experience gained from thirty years of steady (if not very efficient) shipbuilding were lost as a ‘perception developed that naval ship acquisition projects should only proceed on the basis of minimal technical risk, with the result that a reliance on overseas design returned with a vengeance’.27

COMMERCIAL SHIPBUILDING—PARALYSIS BY ANALYSIS The subsidy introduced in 1947 for the construction of merchant ships was available to seven so-called ‘recognised yards’: Walkers


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Limited, Maryborough; Evans Deakin, Brisbane; State Dockyard, Newcastle; Mort’s Dock and Engineering Company, Sydney; BHP Limited, Whyalla; and Cockatoo and Williamstown dockyards. The latter two were largely naval yards, so the benefit of the subsidy went mainly to five shipyards. Mort’s Dock closed in 1958 and a new yard, Adelaide Ship Construction, was added to the list. Government support for the industry was reviewed by the Tariff Board in 1955, 1959, 1963, 1971, 1976 and 1977. Following the 1955 review the subsidy was increased to a maximum of 33 per cent of the local construction cost. New ships were bought from the shipbuilder by the ASB on behalf of the Australian government and resold to the intended owners at a price equivalent to that of a similar ship delivered from a British yard. The loss to the government was the subsidy. In its report in 1963 the Tariff Board observed that the industry had unused capacity and recommended a reduction in the tonnage limit for subsidised ships. A program for the construction of coastal tankers followed this review, but the 1960s were a period of uncertain government policy for Australian shipbuilders, which delayed investment plans just as overseas yards were in a period of expansion and modernisation. Since the end of the Second World War the Department of Defence had been consistent in its expressed need for continuing commercial shipbuilding in the interests of defence. In its 1971 report, the Tariff Board noted: The information obtained from the Department of Defence shows that the primary defence requirement is for facilities for docking and repair and for building small vessels such as minesweepers, patrol vessels and landing barges. Capacity for the production of larger ships is regarded as a secondary requirement likely to be of importance only in the event of an extended conflict.28

Not surprisingly, the Tariff Board concluded: Capacity to build large vessels is only a secondary defence requirement and very costly production of the whole range of


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Ships, industry and technology for Australia 203 Australian demand for these vessels is not considered justifiable on defence grounds. The sectors of the industry which constitute the nation’s main defence requirements use resources relatively efficiently and the Board will recommend long term assistance designed to maintain and encourage the development of these sectors. They include: • most of the production of smaller ships • the production of some larger (usually more specialised) ships and floating structures, including dredgers; and • certain repair facilities.

The Board was no doubt referring to some of the new participants in the industry such as Carrington Slipways Pty Limited and NQEA (North Queensland Engineering Agents) Limited, which had developed without the benefit of subsidy. Following the 1971 review, in June 1972 the government increased the level of subsidy to the extraordinary level of 45 per cent, although it was intended to progressively reduce it to 25 per cent over five years. The system of ‘recognised yards’ was abandoned and all shipbuilders became eligible for the subsidy. The government changed the arrangements again in December 1973, when the rate of phase-down was varied. The size of eligible vessels was also reduced and the subsidy was extended to include vessels operated in the international trade and to certain modifications to existing ships. Following a change of government in 1975, the successor to the Tariff Board, the Industries Assistance Commission (IAC) was asked to review support for shipbuilding again. Their 1976 report was to have a profound effect on the structure of the industry, and in particular on the State Dockyard and the BHP Whyalla shipyard (Evans Deakin had withdrawn from shipbuilding). The IAC observed: The Commission received evidence from the Department of Defence which indicated that the defence considerations described in the 1971 Tariff Board Report remain substantially the same. Naval Dockyards undertake routine refits, repairs and modernisations and possess the necessary skills to construct warships. Commercial yards are used mainly for repair, refits and docking and for constructing smaller


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204 The Navy and the Nation vessels such as patrol boats. Given major contingencies greater demand for these services would be placed on commercial yards, as well as for the replacement of various cargo carriers. Such conditions would have significant warning time, and the ability to produce items such as engines, electronic equipment and weapons systems would be as important as hull construction.29

The IAC concluded: The type of vessels produced by the State Dockyard and BHP are not a primary defence requirement. The Commission has concluded that the production of large vessels by the State Dockyard and BHP is, and is likely to remain uneconomic. It appears probable that construction of large ships must cease sooner or later and postponement of such action would only increase the costs involved. The Commission has therefore recommended that there be no increase in assistance for the production of large vessels in Australia. If implemented, this recommendation is likely to result in the cessation of shipbuilding activities at BHP and State Dockyard.30

The government accepted the IAC recommendation and did not vary the rates of assistance. Import restrictions on vessels over 6000 GRT were also abolished. In advising the premiers of New South Wales and South Australia, Prime Minister Malcolm Fraser said: We appreciate that the decision we have taken is likely to lead to the decline of large ship construction in Australia. Our evaluations have made it clear, however, that the cost to the community of the assistance needed to protect that industry’s future in Australia would have been well beyond the level that could be justified on economic, social and defence grounds.31

As predicted, the government’s decision meant the end of large merchant ship construction in Australia. In the three decades after the war some hundred merchant ships of many diverse types were built in Australian yards, from general cargo ships to tankers,


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specialised product carriers and oil drilling rigs. An Australian shipyard built the world’s first purpose-designed cellular container ship, and another led the world in the introduction of industrial gas turbines to ship propulsion. In 1976, the minister for defence commissioned the Defence (Industrial) Committee to review the capability of Australian industry to support defence. Speaking to the United Services Institute Sir Ian McLennan, chairman of BHP and Chairman of the D(I)C, spoke of the review and reflected on the Second World War experience as related to the situation in the mid-1970s. He observed that, ‘There is no way of Australia retaining and developing its industrial sophistication except by “doing it”.’ 32 In respect of large merchant ship construction Australia stopped ‘doing it’ in 1977.

A NEW WAY OF DOING BUSINESS Whilst the 1970s were a period of great change in the Australian shipbuilding industry, they also heralded changes in the way the RAN did business with its shipyards and dockyards, and the start of the process that has created the industry we have today. The last of the Type 12s, Swan and Torrens, were built without a specification or even a contract. The ships were designed as they were being built, with the inevitable delay and cost escalation associated with the lack of pre-planning. In preparation for the AOE and DDL projects it was recognised that contracts should be placed on fixed prices with clearly defined specifications, determined before orders were placed.33 There was a pause after the cancellation of the AOE and DDLs, apart from the order at Williamstown for the construction of the Australian-designed oceanographic ship HMAS Cook. Originally intended for construction by a commercial shipyard, design and procurement problems dogged this project with consequent delay and cost overrun. After 1976, fourteen patrol boats were successfully built to a design by Brooke Marine Limited of Britain (the Fremantle class) by


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North Queensland Engineering Agents (NQEA) in Cairns, and HMAS Tobruk was completed by Carrington Slipways in 1981. She was based on an old British design dating from the early 1960s. The successor to the cancelled AOE, the fleet underway replenishment ship HMAS Success was built at Cockatoo between 1979 and 1986. Success remains the largest naval vessel built in Australia so far, and the first ever to a French design. The project was not without its problems.34 In the early 1980s, the Department of Defence again reviewed the future of its dockyards. In 1987, the minister for defence announced the government’s intention to sell the Williamstown Dockyard, and not to renew the lease of Cockatoo Island when it expired in 1992. Today, of all the yards that participated in shipbuilding during the Second World War, only Williamstown remains, owned and operated by Tenix, builders of the RAN and RNZN Anzac-class frigates. But that is another story.

IN RETROSPECT Despite the considerable achievements of the Australian shipbuilding industry during the Second World War, its main contribution was in ship repair and conversion and the construction of small ships. Few of the large merchant vessels were completed in time to make a contribution to the war (however useful they were in the years that followed), and the larger warships begun during the war did not enter service until late in the conflict. Had the industry existed in 1939 with the capability developed by 1945, the story would have been different. But the main defence role for the industry was to provide the skills and facilities needed to keep Australian and Allied ships at sea. This essential link between ship construction and repair was an important consideration in the postwar policy that sustained the industry for several decades. The contribution of the Australian shipbuilding and ship-repair industry to the Australian economy was much wider. With high


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When this photograph was taken in the early 1980s most of the turbines under repair in the Cockatoo Dockyard Turbine Shop were for New South Wales power stations. This important capability arose directly out of the dockyard’s experience in building the main propulsion steam turbines for Australian-built warships. (J.C. Jeremy collection)

quality engineering facilities and well-developed and versatile skills the industry made a major contribution to the development of Australian infrastructure after the war. The Snowy Mountains Hydro-electric Scheme uses components made by shipbuilders. Road and rail bridges, dam gates, power station plant, railway rolling


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stock, container cranes, mining equipment, and machinery for heavy industry like steel mills have all been built by the larger shipyards. Perhaps the most important contribution the industry made to Australia was to train people. Many thousands of engineers, naval architects, technicians and tradesmen began their careers as cadets or apprentices in the shipbuilding industry. Spread throughout Australian industry they have made a major contribution to the nation’s economy. In a submission to the 1988 IAC inquiry into ships, boats and other vessels, the department of defence said: It is Defence’s view that the Australian Shipbuilding and ship repair industries are facing a period of unprecedented change. In the Defence area this is based on: • a very substantial and long-term Defence workload, • restructuring of the major dockyard establishments, • restructuring within the establishments to dramatically improve efficiency, and • consequential improvements for competitive local production and, using government measures, exports to niche markets overseas. These changes, particularly those associated with the Defence workload and its own establishments, are such to provide sufficient capabilities and capacity to meet priority Defence strategic requirements. In contingent circumstances Defence could seek to use commercially sustained shipbuilding and ship-repair capabilities to supplement capacity established for, and directly supported by, on-going Defence work in peace. In Australia’s strategic circumstances, and having regard to the above outlook, there is no priority for using Defence funds to sustain non-Defence capacity for shipbuilding and ship repair in excess of that capable of existing on a commercial basis.35

In 2003 the Australian commercial shipbuilding industry is a highly competitive, world-leading industry, building small ships predominantly for export, especially in the high-speed aluminium sector. Steel shipbuilding has been mainly limited to


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Ships, industry and technology for Australia 209 defence requirements. Several very successful major projects, the construction of the Collins-class submarines, the Anzacclass frigates and the Huon-class minehunters, have been completed or are approaching completion. The defence role of the industry in the early twenty-first century is little changed from that of fifty or sixty years ago. The industry is vastly different, and the warships now built in Australia are much more complex than the warships built during the Second World War. We face new challenges in sustaining the capability to support these ships and build their successors, challenges addressed in the 2002 Naval Shipbuilding and Repair Sector Strategic Plan. In its opening paragraph this document says: Our self-reliant defence cannot be assured unless the capabilities exist in Australian industry to maintain, modify, upgrade and repair our warships. As the facilities, equipment and skills needed to build new warships could be vitally important if our strategic circumstances were to deteriorate, these are important long-term strategic assets.36

Australia may have changed a great deal since 1939, but some of the key maritime defence challenges we face are the same.


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11 HMAS Sydney (III): a symbol of Australia’s growing maritime capability David Hobbs [HMAS Sydney is now] the main striking force of the Fleet . . . And [her] silhouette, replacing that of the battle cruiser Australia and that of the three-funnelled second Australia and Canberra will become to Australians the most familiar symbol of their navy’s strength. The Navy, 19491

HMAS Sydney served Australia well for twenty-five years. A warship with an interesting history in its own right, her activities between 1948 and 1973 reflected the growing capability of the nation as a power in the Asia–Pacific region. She was unique in being the only aircraft carrier to be built in a Royal Dockyard and was one of a very small number, if not the only, of RAN warships to fight in the same war under both the old and new white ensigns during the Vietnam conflict. Most importantly, her acquisition allowed the RAN to become a Fleet again, capable of independent action, 210


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rather than a Squadron, limited to a supporting role in cooperation with other navies. She was laid down as HMS Terrible in April 1943 in HM Dockyard Devonport as one of sixteen ‘1942 design light fleet carriers’, part of the Royal Navy’s massive expansion of its maritime aviation capability in the latter half of the Second World War. Eight more ‘light fleets’ to an improved 1943 design and seven big fleet carriers were also ordered in one of the most ambitious new naval construction programs in British history.2 The 1942 design comprised two classes, the Colossus of ten ships and the six Majestics, built to an improved design capable of operating larger and heavier aircraft. The Majestics were laid down slightly later; all were suspended incomplete soon after the Japanese surrender and none saw service with the Royal Navy. Terrible had been laid up in Devonport before she was bought by the Australian government on 3 June 1947. Work re-commenced in the dockyard and she was completed to the original design eighteen months later. After being handed over to the RAN on 16 December 1948, she was commissioned by Mrs J.A. Beasley, wife of the Australian High Commissioner in London, on 5 February 1949.3 Even those who had worked so hard to establish a Fleet Air Arm did not, probably, realise how effective the new ‘air navy’ would become and how quickly or in how many useful roles Australia’s first aircraft carrier would serve her country.

ACQUISITION At the end of the Second World War the RAN was arguably weaker than it had been in 1914 or 1939. In 1914 the battle cruiser Australia had been a sufficient deterrent to divert Germany’s Von Spee’s Squadron to South America. In 1939 the RAN deployed five modern cruisers and several destroyers which constituted a powerful force.4 As the war progressed and naval air became a dominant factor at sea, however, the RAN ‘fell out of step with


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modern navies’ in that it had no tactical aircraft embarked and could not, therefore, form its own viable task force. At the end of the war morale was high throughout the fleet, both officers and men being rightly proud of their achievements. From a professional point of view they wanted a chance to display their worth and efficiency in future and it was ‘obvious throughout the fleet’ that this ‘would entail the introduction of Naval Aviation’.5 The acquisition of carriers and naval air squadrons to man them was not without controversy. Early in 1944, it had been clear to the Australian Commonwealth Naval Board (ACNB) that a carrier task group manned by the RAN would be the most politically significant method of contributing to the Allied war effort against Japan as well as being the logical focus of the postwar fleet.6 Negotiations for the transfer of a new light fleet carrier and two cruisers from the Royal Navy to the RAN at no cost to the Australian Government began in a ‘quiet and unofficial way’, and Admiral Sir Guy Royle, the First Naval Member of the ACNB and Chief of the Naval Staff (CNS) announced the scheme at a meeting of the Advisory War Council on 21 March. Unfortunately he had not discussed the matter beforehand with the other chiefs of staff or with Sir Frederick Sheddon, secretary of the defence committee. The latter took his disquiet to John Curtin, the prime minister, who reminded Royle that communication with the British Admiralty on such matters should be through government channels. Guy Royle continued to argue for the scheme when Curtin visited the United Kingdom for talks with the british prime minister, Winston Churchill. While Churchill’s arguments had considerable merit, which was recognised, his tactics gave ground for the suspicion that the British were merely trying to solve their own manpower crisis by obtaining Australian sailors to man new ships that could not otherwise be commissioned in 1945.7 The British offered two Colossus-class carriers, HMS Venerable and HMS Ocean. John Curtin continued to hold the line that the need for carriers should be examined as part of a study of postwar force structures.


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He did, eventually, accept the offer in February 1945, four days after the arrival of the British Pacific Fleet (BPF) in Sydney to an enthusiastic welcome. But the war ended before anything came of the scheme. Had anything come of it, the ships would have been ‘mix manned’, with the RAN providing the bulk of the ships’ companies but the Royal Navy providing the squadrons plus the air and air engineering departments. A similar arrangement had worked with the RCN in manning the Lend/Lease carriers HMS Puncher and HMS Nabob during 1944. During 1945 a number of pilots transferred from the RAAF to the RAN in order to continue the war against the Japanese mainland with the BPF. These would, no doubt, have found their way into the squadrons embarked in an Australian carrier. Volunteers would probably have been forthcoming from the Royal Navy personnel in such a ship to transfer to the RAN. Admiral Sir Louis Hamilton relieved Guy Royle in 1945. He was the last British admiral seconded to Australia to act as CNS and was determined to resolve the issue of aircraft carriers for the RAN. He commissioned a study into the need for Australian naval aviation and entrusted Lieutenant Commander (later Vice Admiral Sir Victor) V.A.T. Smith, DSC, RAN, who had served with the Royal Navy’s Fleet Air Arm for much of the war, with the task. Unlike his predecessor, Louis Hamilton ‘cultivated’ Sheddon and ‘worked on’ Mr Chifley, the new prime minister.8 He informed the latter that Britain could not, in its economically limited postwar state, adopt the same level of defence that it had in 1939 and that Australia would have to share some of the burden. The prime minister accepted this and agreed that a future fleet centred on two light carriers was capable of both defensive and offensive action as an independent unit. Agreement was finally reached that two carriers would be procured from Britain as part of a Five-Year Defence Plan but, with the end of hostilities, they would no longer be available free of cost. After some negotiation, the Admiralty agreed to sell two suspended Majestics for the estimated price of one, an early example of ‘buy one, get one free’. The program cost was, therefore,


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£2 750 000 for the two ships plus £450 000 each for their initial outfits of stores: a total of £3 650 000. Against this could be set the £427 000 for a replacement HMAS Sydney, raised by public subscription after the loss of Sydney (II) in 1941. Legislation could easily apply this sum against the cost of the first of the new ships after it was decided to name it after the cruiser. Many Australian citizens were, therefore, able to feel that they had contributed directly to the procurement of the RAN’s most powerful warship, and the whole nation could take pride in the perpetuation of a famous ship name. The fact that the ship was to be a carrier showed that the RAN was moving into a new technical era in a way that procurement of a traditional light cruiser could not have done. Despite Louis Hamilton’s hard work, mistakes were made. Unfortunately, the Admiralty made no allowance in the quoted price for the improvements that would, inevitably, be necessary to support new generations of aircraft at a time of rapid change in aircraft and their supporting systems. Considering the far reaching, and expensive, work being undertaken in the United Kingdom on projects such as the rubber landing deck and steam catapult, this oversight is surprising. In the early years, the Australian government was suspicious of every penny spent on what seemed, at first, a large aviation component within a small navy; and what appeared to be cost overruns did not help. As the Fleet Air Arm became ‘Australianised’ and the Five-Year Defence Plan progressed, these fears abated but they were to surface again in the carrier replacement debate of the late 1970s. Viewing the carrier procurement debate in hindsight, there can be little doubt that the Majestic-class ships were a good choice. They were available, affordable and, at the time of her completion, Sydney represented the ‘state of the art’. The completion of a second unit on a slower timescale to incorporate emerging technology was also a sensible move. Had Australia elected to procure one of the larger 1943 light fleet carriers, it is doubtful whether it could have been delivered before 1954—a considerable delay. It would also have been more expensive and difficult to man. Sydney had Admiralty


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HMAS Sydney (III) simultaneously displayed her capabilities as an aircraft carrier and transport on 17 July 1953 when about 300 miles south-west of the Mexican Pacific coast and 3000 miles from Pearl Harbor. The carrier’s 10 000th deck landing was made by a Firefly aircraft and the event marked by members of the ship’s company and the whole naval component of the Coronation contingent. They were supported fore and aft by members of the Australian and New Zealand Army and Air Force contingent components. (RAN)

three drum boilers and turbine machinery identical to that already in service. In an era when personnel were trained by and interchangeable with Royal Navy sailors, her standard British equipment was easy to absorb and the ship presented few operating problems.9 The RAN Fleet Air Arm was soon to develop its own distinctive character, but early growth from its Royal Navy basis made things that much more straightforward to achieve rapid progress. The fact that the ship was easy to assimilate from both handling and logistical support viewpoints meant there were fewer problems to


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be overcome, and also allowed attention to be focused on flying operations. The only viable alternative would have been a surplus USN escort carrier of the Commencement Bay class. With its different machinery, systems and ammunition such a ship might have been cheap to buy, but would have been expensive to absorb and run.10 Sydney proved herself to be a better carrier than ships of this class, such as USS Rendova, with which she operated off Korea. She was a better sea-boat and proved more adaptable to development. The problems of procurement and cost were not simple, but the concept that embarked aircraft formed a critical element in maritime warfare was not, at first, obvious to the RAAF. It sought to counter the proposed procurement of carriers, and even when a two-carrier force was accepted as part of the Five-Year Defence Plan in 1947, the minister for air had insisted that the RAAF provide the aircraft, aircrew and infrastructure. This was surprising, given the success of the obvious organic ‘role models’ in Britain and the USA. A joint staff study, however, recommended the establishment of a Fleet Air Arm along British lines. Despite objections by the minister for air that this was ‘not in the best interests of defence’, the prime minister accepted that the RAN’s air component would be in naval uniform, under naval control and backed by naval shore stations and facilities.11 The failure of the RAAF to recognise that aviation forms an important and legitimate part of its sister service’s operational capability left a political legacy that has been difficult to eradicate. It was the more surprising that men who believed themselves to be proponents of ‘air power’ actively sought to limit the RAN’s ability to deploy tactical air power in the national interest from the sea.

AVIATION IN OTHER NAVIES In 1945, after the defeat of Japan, only the Royal Navy and United States Navy had built, equipped, manned and deployed aircraft carriers successfully and continued to do so. Despite a rapid postwar ‘run-down’, both continued to deploy carriers in large numbers


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and were working on new aircraft including jet fighters and helicopters. Both had no doubt that aircraft carriers and their embarked aircraft formed the ‘cornerstone’ of the task forces with which future maritime wars would be fought. There were critics who argued that the atomic bomb had rendered useless all types of warship, but they knew little about the realities of maritime warfare, and the Korean conflict was soon to show how wide of the mark they were. The navies of France and Holland had embryo air arms centred on Royal Navy surplus escort carriers and squadrons trained by the RN during the war. Canada had accepted two light fleet carriers on loan from the Royal Navy to prepare for the outright purchase of a third, which was eventually completed to a standard similar to that of the Australian HMAS Melbourne. France, India, Brazil, Holland and Argentina were eventually to buy examples of the ubiquitous light fleet carrier type, similar to Sydney, from the United Kingdom. Between them these navies used the ships successfully in a variety of roles and operated a broad range of aircraft including jet fighters, fixed-wing anti-submarine aircraft and helicopters as large, eventually, as the Sea King. Only France and Spain operated surplus USN carrier hulls. The last light fleet carrier, the Brazilian Minas Gerais— the former HMS/HMAS Vengeance—survived in service until 2001. The whole class can be seen in retrospect to have been a sound design that offered excellent value for money. This was despite the fact that their original specification had called for a design that would last for the duration of the war or three years, whichever was less! The Royal Navy operated the 1942-design light fleet carriers until the mid-1950s because they were cheap to run and could operate the last piston engined fighters, the early jets, and helicopters. Only one was modernised with an angled deck, the others being retained as a war reserve and employed on training and ferrying duties without significant modernisation. They were all withdrawn from service by 1959, when the 1943-designed ships had come into service, replacing both the earlier light fleets and the


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older Illustrious class. Studies had been made and plans drawn up that showed the 1942 ships to be capable of ‘modernisation’ to operate the second generation jets such as the Scimitar and even the V/STOL jets anticipated for the 1970s, albeit in small numbers. However, the Admiralty was forced to discard the smaller carriers intended for trade protection duties after the 1957 Defence Review in order to concentrate its limited funds on the larger carriers and the construction of a new class of large strike carriers capable of embarking joint, tailored air groups. As a result, some capable hulls were discarded after a life of little more than ten years, only half of which had been operational. This ‘culling’ even applied to some large fleet carriers such as HMS Implacable and HMS Indefatigable. A comparison of Sydney with her sister ships in other Commonwealth and foreign navies would be valid, but a direct comparison with the vessels of the Royal Navy would be more difficult to make.12 The Royal Navy was itself finding it difficult to strike the right balance. No one doubted the importance of aviation in the postwar fleet, but full Admiralty control over its air component had only been achieved in May 1939. By May 1945 the force had expanded tenfold, and the majority of the aircrew that had fought the war were RNVR, with ‘Hostilities Only’ sailors forming the bulk of the maintainers. Many of these aircrew and sailors had to be absorbed into the regular Navy after 1945, at a time when it was proving extremely difficult to man the more conventional warships and when there was a desperate shortage of manpower ashore to rebuild the national economy. The Australian experience mirrored that of the Royal Navy to a certain extent but ‘starting from scratch’, without the same degree of wartime experience to use as a guide, made things that much more difficult. There were bound to be questions about how much the RAN should change to absorb the new technology and how quickly.13 While the answers appear obvious to us in retrospect, they were not so obvious at the time. The procurement of an operational carrier—and of the infrastructure ashore to support it—that was able to fight alongside the fleets of two more established allies


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after less than three years is greatly to the credit of those who made it happen. It was achieved against the background of a general shortage of manpower, and a larger ship, even if it could have been afforded, might not have been as successful.

THE RIGHT SHIP FOR AUSTRALIA AT THE RIGHT TIME The ACNB was rightly concerned about the extent of the change that creation of a Fleet Air Arm would bring to the RAN. It also had to balance a desire to acquire a realistic capability with its ability to afford, man and operate a carrier navy within the planned national defence budget. There would be little point in buying larger ships if they could not be manned or maintained. In January 1948, the British prime minister cabled the Australian prime minister with the comforting statement that the Majestic class would ‘be capable of operating all the naval aircraft that will be in service in the middle fifties and possibly well beyond that date’. Rear Admiral John Collins, who relieved Hamilton in February 1948, was the first Australian to be appointed CNS and professional head of the RAN. It came as a ‘shattering blow’ to him to learn from a Confidential Admiralty Fleet Order (CAFO) in September that even modernised ‘Majestics’ were only deemed capable of operating trade protection aircraft by the mid-1950s.14 The CAFO had been written for United Kingdom eyes from a narrow UK standpoint, but it was nonetheless insensitive in that it was bound to be seen by customers for light fleet carriers in Australia and Canada. Collins wrote to the British First Sea Lord, Admiral Lord Fraser of North Cape. Fraser was the former commander-in-chief of the British Pacific Fleet based in Sydney and a good friend of Australia. He was able to reassure Collins that the relevant paragraph in the CAFO was incorrect and had been cancelled.15 This exchange of letters highlights Australian concerns that they desperately wanted


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the right ships for their large capital outlay (a feeling with which anyone who has dealt with a used-car salesman would sympathise). It also reflects the enthusiasm of the British to move towards a new generation of large carriers. The incident did have a positive outcome, however. The First Sea Lord explained that the CAFO in question had been meant to indicate that the Admiralty hoped to develop a large, twin-engined night fighter that would be incapable of operation from a 1942 light fleet carrier. This evolved into the Sea Vixen which, after a convoluted development process, entered service ten years later in 1958. The realisation that this large aircraft would be limited in the number of ships from which it could operate led the Admiralty to shelve it. In its place, the smaller Sea Venom was procured,which could operate from light fleet carriers and which was to enjoy a long and successful career in both the Royal Navy and the RAN. The fact that the Admiralty continued to see the 1942 light fleet carriers as fulfilling an important role can be seen from policy documents written as late as 1954.16 In these the Admiralty saw three roles for carriers—strike warfare, trade protection and miscellaneous duties such as ferrying and training. The actual role depended upon the composition of the air group rather than the size of the ship. Thus fleet carriers could be used in a trade protection role with a suitable air group and light fleets could operate in the strike role, albeit without many large aircraft embarked. Britain’s notorious 1957 Defence White Paper had forced the Admiralty to accept general purpose air groups operating from the remaining large carriers. The trade protection role and the light fleet carrier that would have been used to implement it both had to be discarded. The Royal Navy moved towards strike carriers with a limited trade protection capability, whereas the RAN had trade protection carriers with a limited strike capability. Viewed in hindsight, the initial Australian worries were natural and inevitable. Once naval aviation had been absorbed into the RAN, Australians rapidly understood its complexities and used the new equipment to good effect. Many departments within the


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Admiralty proved very helpful and eased the way forward with good advice and much training and equipment.

A NEW FORM OF WARFARE The creation of a Fleet Air Arm and its deployment in HMAS Sydney, albeit with much initial Royal Navy support, was a triumph for the RAN. Sydney brought aviation into the Service and turned its operational element into a Fleet, rather than a Squadron. Her Air Group was capable of the major roles of fleet air defence, anti-submarine warfare and strike missions against both ships and shore targets. The ship itself had command, control and communications facilities that were in advance of anything previously operated by the RAN. She made it possible for Australia not only to form a modern task force at sea, but one that would be recognised by her allies, Britain and the United States, as well as respected as a symbol of national resolve within the Asia–Pacific region. This was, arguably, a key factor in Australia’s process of ‘engaging’ with its regional neighbourhood. The name Sydney undoubtedly helped. It was one with which the general public could identify, and it helped to give the ship’s operations a distinctively Australian flavour. No matter what her role at any given time, Sydney always afforded the nation’s policy-makers the option of deploying three acres of Australian sovereign territory anywhere, any time, over three quarters of the earth’s surface, with a ‘reach’ inland that covered most cities. Sydney could also give the RAN’s senior officers command experience that was both recognised and respected by the big carrier navies. The operational experience that was soon to come in the Korean War Zone emphasised this fact and produced a generation of ‘operationally seasoned’ personnel for the future, and a generation that had a keen eye for the realities of warfare.17 In due course, the RAN was able to capitalise on this experience to become one of only three navies—the USN, RN and RAN—that could


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direct South-East Asia Treaty Organisation (SEATO) exercises after the organisation’s creation in 1954. The experience of procurement of course had its complications, and the press made unfavourable comparisons with the larger USN carriers deployed with the Pacific Fleet. At first, a lack of detailed carrier knowledge meant that the ACNB had to rely on Admiralty from London. This was sometimes ‘off-hand’ and failed to make sufficient allowance for particular Australian circumstances. Viewed through UK eyes, naval aviation had been provided to Australia at a modest price, but it had also been at a large cost in terms of Australian defence expenditure. With the associated need to establish air stations, stores facilities and training schools for aircrew and maintainers, the creation of a Fleet Air Arm was causing a major change in the structure and organisation of the RAN.

THE COLD WAR There is a tendency outside navies to think of aircraft carriers in stereotypical form, to ‘pigeon hole’ such ships in terms of one stated role and to fail to recognise other capabilities inherent in the vessel’s size and form. Sydney was a good example of what a carrier hull can achieve, and she projected power in two distinct ways with only minor modifications. Each was right at the time and very important and the second came after a period in reserve, which nearly ended with her being declared surplus to modern requirements and scrapped! Sydney was procured at a time when the Cold War between the Communist bloc and the West was taking shape. Like other units of the Australian Fleet, she was expected to fulfil an anti-submarine role using her aircraft to extend the range of surveillance beyond that possible with land-based types. Her fighters were intended to provide air defence for the fleet against the Soviet Naval Air Force (SNAF), which was capable of operating over the open ocean. Sydney’s retention in the mid-1950s, without modernisation,


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reflected the desire to retain a reserve of ships which would be useful in an all-out war. It fully matched the retention of similar ships in the UK and USA. Although thankfully the Cold War never turned ‘hot’ on a global scale, it was nonetheless a war and one of the longest and most successful fought by the Western navies in the modern era. The ‘war’ of course influenced national and international policies and relationships, and Sydney deserves a place in history as a potent symbol of Australia’s intention to play its part and not just rely on others.

KOREA British light fleet carriers operated throughout the Korean War, mainly off the west coast of the peninsula. By 1951, HMSs Triumph, Theseus and Glory had alternated with USN escort carriers to support the army ashore, to enforce the sea blockade and to interdict roads, railways and other forms of Communist logistical movement. These were among a whole variety of tasks for which the light fleet carriers proved to be particularly well suited. Sydney’s deployment followed a request from the British First Sea Lord, Admiral of the Fleet Lord Fraser, to Vice Admiral Sir John Collins for ‘Sydney to relieve Glory for two or three months operational flying if the Korean business is still going’.18 This would allow Glory, the carrier on station, to refit in Australia and to give her ship’s company a rest between deployments, since Ocean, the next Royal Navy carrier planned to join the Far East Fleet, could not deploy until May 1952. The Australian government agreed to the use of Sydney on 11 May 1951—a substantial increase in the nation’s commitment to the war and a significant development in Australian history, since she would be the first Australian aircraft carrier to go into action.19 The RAN was to establish itself as one of the first of the ‘second generation’ air navies capable of using aircraft in operations as part of a balanced fleet. An earlier, informal request had been refused


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Sea Fury aircraft are readied for a strike on board HMAS Sydney (III). Australia became the third nation, alongside Britain and the United States, to gain experience in operating an aircraft carrier in combat in the Cold War era. This, together with Sydney’s record of proficiency, gave Australia some useful prestige in its future dealings with both allied nations. (RAN)

due to concerns, shared by all the allied nations, that Korea was a ‘side-show’ designed to hide the real target of Communist aggression, and that substantial forces should be held in readiness for the ‘real war’. Sydney worked up to a war footing off Jervis Bay in July 1951 with two squadrons of Sea Furies, 805 and 808, and one of Fireflies, 817, embarked. She was commanded by Captain David Harries, RAN, with Commander V.A.T. Smith, RAN, who had done so much to introduce carriers into the Australian Navy, as executive officer. She sailed north with HMAS Anzac and HMAS Tobruk in company, the three Australian ships forming a powerful battle


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group manned by a considerable proportion of the fleet’s trained manpower. On 27 September she secured close to Glory in Kure, Japan, in order to embark extra aircraft and personnel. These included the USN Dragonfly helicopter and its crew, who were to act as a combat rescue team in place of the Sea Otter amphibian biplane previously used in the role by both the Royal Navy and the RAN. Sydney sailed to the eastern coast of Korea for her first patrol on 3 October 1951, operating as part of the Commonwealth Task Force under the command of Rear Admiral Scott-Moncrieff, Flag Officer Second-in-Command of the Far East Fleet (FO2FEF). On only her fifth day of operations, she equalled the record for the number of operational sorties flown in a single day by a light fleet carrier—eightynine, which had been set by Glory. This feat produced a number of congratulatory signals, among them one from Admiral Collins: I would add my congratulations to a personal message I have received from the First Sea Lord conveying his congratulations on Sydney’s outstanding performance on her first operational patrol.

And from FO2FEF: Your air effort in the last two days has been unprecedented in quantity and high in quality. It has been a magnificent achievement on which I warmly congratulate you. 89 sorties in a single day is grand batting by any standard, especially in the opening match.

Judged by the standards set by its peers with their wartime carrier operating experience, the Australian Fleet Air Arm, which had only been created in 1948, had done extremely well. After the first patrol, Sydney had to ride out Hurricane ‘Ruth’ at sea, losing aircraft from the deck park and suffering minor damage. During her third patrol, she flew the flag of Admiral ScottMoncrieff and, like many of her patrols, this one took her to the west coast where the majority of Commonwealth ships operated. She was no stranger to operations off the east coast, however, a typical event there being Operation ATHENAEUM, a series of air


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and surface ship strikes coordinated against targets in Hungnam in cooperation with the US Seventh Fleet. On 26 January 1952, Sydney returned to Sasebo Dockyard in Japan after her seventh and last war patrol. Her aircraft had flown 2366 sorties on forty-three operational flying days, an average of 55.2 per day. She had lost three pilots and fifteen aircraft with others wounded and damaged. FO2FEF described the performance of Sydney and her air group as ‘quite excellent’. Ammunition expenditure during a typical patrol in January 1952 was 73 440 rounds of 20-millimetre ammunition, 1197 rockets, 144 five-hundred pound and 10 one-thousand pound bombs. After the 1953 armistice, Sydney returned to Korean waters in company with HMAS Arunta to carry out searches for violations of the cease-fire agreement. Time at sea was interspersed with visits to Hong Kong, Iwakuni and Kure. In March 1954 she embarked the Sabres of 77 Squadron RAAF by lighter from Iwakuni and ferried them to Singapore. At one stage she had sixty-eight aircraft on board.

‘CONFRONTATION’ AND VIETNAM Sydney operated fixed-wing aircraft for the last time in 1956, by which time she was decidedly ‘dated’ as a conventional carrier although capable of modernisation to the same standard as Melbourne. She saw further use as a training ship, as did her sisters Ocean and Theseus in the Royal Navy. She was decommissioned in 1958 after an appraisal into other possible uses, which included conversion into a minesweeper support ship. It was, however, decided that she was no longer required. Even though there was insufficient money to modernise her to the same standard as Melbourne, Sydney was just that bit too valuable to discard, and was maintained in reserve with a small ship’s company capable of taking her to sea at four months’ notice. A change of heart came in 1961 when the Chiefs of Staff Committee agreed to refit the ship as a fast troop transport ‘as a short term expedient in offsetting our


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deficiency in strategic mobility’. The Chief of the Air Staff was the only dissenting voice and he was ‘unable to agree to the importance of such a move’, perhaps because he wished to press for large-scale funding in his own equipment acquisition program. He appeared not to be considering how to get his own helicopters and light aircraft into the war zone. Both Navy and Army, however, were enthusiastic, and their ideas would lead to joint cooperation between the Services on the largest scale since 1945. Sydney returned to service for her new role in March 1962 with a small ship’s company, about half the size of that during her previous incarnation. It included a small Army detachment. The first operation, after several joint exercises, was to carry Australian troops and equipment to Malaysia as part of the commitment to counter Indonesian aggression during the period of ‘Confrontation’. In April 1965 the Australian government decided to deploy combat forces to Vietnam and joint planning staff were tasked with finding the best way of getting them there. The choice was between air and sea movement with the latter well within the capacity of Sydney, but the former beyond the capacity of the RAAF transport fleet. The new Hercules force already had a number of military commitments and was, in any case, due to deploy to Vietnam itself. Boeing 707s could be requisitioned from Qantas but at a cost to its commercial operations. The Joint Planning Committee chose Sydney as the best and most logical option. She was in refit at Garden Island at the time, but this was rapidly curtailed and she began to embark men, vehicles and equipment of the First Battalion, Royal Australian Regiment on 23 May 1965. She sailed at 0100 on 27 May, the time of sailing itself being a reflection of the intense debate within Australia on the ‘rightness’ of the Vietnam War and a precaution against possible civil opposition as she moved out of the Dockyard. During her voyage north she was escorted by HMAS Duchess and HMAS Parramatta, and anchored off Vung Tau on 8 June.20 On that first disembarkation it took three days to unload the military force with everybody on board working flat out. The subsequent fitting of extra cranes, as well as landing craft and


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pontoons that could be carried on the flight deck and lowered into the water when at anchor, allowed this time to be dramatically improved. The landing craft and the latent ability to embark helicopters also gave the ship a credible assault capability beyond anything previously available to the RAN. Between 1965 and 1972 Sydney carried 16 094 troops, 5753 tons of cargo, 2375 vehicles and fourteen aircraft to and from Vietnam. She steamed 345 000 miles during that period; 80 000 of them in 1971, a greater annual mileage than any RAN warship had steamed in the Second World War. She carried out twenty-five round trips, on two of which she carried overseas aid cargoes rather than military stores. A typical round trip lasted twelve days, with the outward voyage giving the troops a chance to prepare for war together and to focus on what was required of them; in other words she acted as a ‘springboard’—both material and psychological—into the war zone. The voyage home gave soldiers a chance to ‘wind down’ before meeting loved ones and returning to society. Those who flew back missed this ‘safety valve’ or ‘breathing space’ between war and home.

SHOWING THE FLAG Sydney was a beautiful ship with graceful lines, especially so for an aircraft carrier. Throughout her life she was notable as ‘being there’ for Australia, a symbol of national resolve and capability in peace as well as war. She was at the Coronation Review of 1953 and, after it, circumnavigated the globe, passing through the Suez and Panama canals during her ‘Coronation Cruise’. She was present when Britain exploded her first atomic bomb in the Monte Bello Islands. In her career she visited Aden, New Zealand, the United Kingdom, Malta, Ceylon, Japan, Hong Kong, Singapore, Libya, Panama, Hawaii, Vietnam, the USA, Canada, Papua New Guinea, Indonesia and Malaysia. Her guard and band took part in major ceremonial events ashore, and her sailors dressed as pirates for children’s parties on board. For many people she was all they knew of Australia.


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She operated with allied navies in peace and war. These included the RN, the RCN, the USN, the RNZN and the Dutch and French fleets. The experience would help Australia operate closely with allies when the need arose. The need for navies to understand each other’s signals and work as a team ‘from day one’ is well understood today but was an idea in its infancy when Sydney joined the fleet. It was her generation that made the concept viable.

A FERRY CARRIER In the age of air-to-air refuelling the need for a ferry carrier tends to be forgotten, but it was once extremely important. In her time, Sydney ferried Sea Furies and Fireflies from the United Kingdom, RAAF Sabres from Japan to Singapore, Skyhawks and Trackers from the USA, and helicopters from Australia to Vietnam. When she was taken out of service early, commercial shipping had to be hired to carry out a return trip to the USA to ferry Chinooks for the Army Air Corps back to Australia. The potential for carriers to operate a variety of aircraft other than those for which they were designed should not be underestimated.

THE END OF A DISTINGUISHED CAREER After Australia’s withdrawal from Vietnam, a planned refit was cancelled and Sydney was withdrawn from service early—another example, perhaps, of politicians identifying a ship with a single role without comprehending the wider strategic picture. The announcement was made on board by Rear Admiral A.M. Synnot, the Flag Officer Commanding the Australian Fleet on 20 July 1973. The white ensign was lowered for the last time on 12 November 1973 and Sydney was placed on the disposal list. During her career she had steamed 711 549 miles of which 395 591 were in the troop transport role. Efforts were made by the Naval Historical Society to


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In her last role before retirement, HMAS Sydney (III) became the test platform for new concepts in joint service cooperation. Further development plans were shelved, however, after she was paid off for disposal in November 1973. Here soldiers of 3 Squadron Special Air Service Regiment disembark from RAAF helicopters of 9 Squadron. They were taking part in the joint exercise ‘Rising Tide’ at Jervis Bay in March 1972. (RAN)

have her preserved as a Maritime Museum but this proved too expensive and she was sold to the Dong Kuk Steel Mill Company of South Korea for scrap in 1975. She realised $673 516.

WHAT CAN WE LEARN FROM SYDNEY ’S CAREER? HMAS Sydney fought for her country twice and flew both of Australia’s white ensigns. She carried the contingents that represented Australia at the coronation of HM Queen Elizabeth II, took


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part in the fleet review, and embarked the Firefly squadron that participated in the fly past. In addition, she represented Australia all over the world and offered a significant variety of different capabilities when defence planners and politicians needed them. The purchase of a larger carrier with its supporting infrastructure would have meant a ship too difficult to man and absorb within the FiveYear Defence Plan. The RAN, like the other navies that chose 1942 light fleet carrier designs as the core of their plans, undoubtedly took the right decision in terms of how best to start a Fleet Air Arm. The ship’s deployment to Korea was remarkably efficient and a major escalation of the Australian commitment to the war, providing a tangible image of national resolve that won the respect of Australia’s allies and achieved obvious results in a way that extra troops on the ground or land-based aircraft could not have done. She provided the right degree of force in the right place and at the right time, something that aircraft carriers are inherently good at doing. After Korea, Sydney was not discarded and went on to ‘be there’ for Australia throughout the Vietnam War. For many Australians, she was the beginning and the end of their involvement in that conflict in more senses than one. She was large enough to retain the ability to operate helicopters during this period and she embarked aircraft from 725 and 817 squadrons in 1967. With her premature retirement in 1973, attention focused too sharply on the strike role which Melbourne possessed and not enough on the other carrier roles carried out so well by Sydney; these had shown just how versatile this type of warship can be. The carrier replacement debate of the early 1980s did not take into account everything such a ship could do. Melbourne may well have been the more capable design, but Sydney had led the way and demonstrated a usefulness in a wider range of roles. To several generations of Australians, she was the RAN. Would such a ship be useful today? I firmly believe that it would. Even the most casual study of the operations carried out by Australian forces since the end of the Cold War would show how valuable such a ship would be to a maritime nation. Such a vessel is


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potentially so useful that several maritime nations are focusing attention on the procurement of new, large carriers and plan to have at least one in service in the twenty-first century. The United Kingdom, Spain and Italy plan to increase their carrier fleets. All three nations are developing new ships that are capable of operations across the whole spectrum of carrier operations. Other nations such as Brazil, China and India may well follow. Australia has purchased options on the Joint Strike Fighter, two versions of which can operate from carriers such as the one being designed in the United Kingdom. Can the RAN, a medium navy with major regional responsibilities, afford not to go down this route? The ability of even a modest-sized carrier to provide influence and project power is ably demonstrated by the career of Sydney. The capabilities she gave Australia are exactly those that are relevant today, including war fighting, presence, humanitarian relief and ‘showing the flag’ in support of the nation. To procure such a capability again is a vision worth fighting for.


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12 The Navy and advances in Australian defence science David Wyllie

With regard to [Australian naval] experiment and research, in the future, it will be desirable, when funds are available, to form a scientific body to deal primarily with anti-submarine and other problems, and secondarily with general naval questions of a scientific nature, particularly with reference to the Pacific. Admiral of the Fleet Lord Viscount Jellicoe of Scapa, 12 August 19191

The rapid and continuous rise of the Soviet submarine threat after 1945 ensured that the impetus for the development of new anti-submarine weapons and technology was maintained among Western nations throughout the Cold War. In a significant first for an Australian service, in 1956 the Commonwealth Naval Board established the Royal Australian Navy Experimental Laboratory (RANEL) at HMAS Rushcutter to undertake underwater detection experiments in local waters. The utility of scientific backing for naval development was soon apparent and RANEL afterwards 233


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increased the scope of its work to include operational research and analysis of all areas of naval interest.2 Since then the Australian defence science organisation has continued to grow in importance and, working together with the RAN and industry, defence scientists have conceived, developed and introduced into service a number of unique maritime capabilities. This chapter traces briefly the early phases of five major projects selected from a wide variety of worthy examples, and which were developed and tested over a twenty-year period beginning in the early 1960s. These projects are Ikara, a rocket-launched torpedo; Barra, a high-gain, directional sonobuoy; Mulloka, a surface-ship hull-mounted sonar; Kariwara, a slim-line towed array for submarines; and the Laser Airborne Depth Sounder (LADS). With the exception of LADS, these projects provided for the enhancement of the RAN’s anti-submarine warfare capabilities. Several resulted in operational systems that were also deployed with foreign defence forces. Non-defence applications and substantial export earnings have also flowed from this work. All these projects are excellent examples of Australian innovation realising operational capabilities through the partnership of the Australian Defence Force with industry and Australian defence science.

IKARA Project Ikara (or throwing stick) was one of the very early projects in which close liaison was established between the then Weapons Research Establishment (WRE) in Adelaide and the RAN. It was developed to provide the Navy with a ship-borne anti-submarine weapon which could be used out to a range of at least 10 miles, a reach far in excess of any other ship-launched anti-submarine weapon then available or planned. Essentially it was a rocketlaunched vehicle that deployed a commercially available torpedo. The concept was a refinement of an earlier French weapon codenamed Malafon.3


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Approved by Minister for Defence Athol Townley in November 1959, the program was a joint effort. The Department of the Navy ‘specified the detailed characteristics required for operational service and also assumed responsibility for the design, development and proving of the magazine, handling and launching system’. The Aeronautical Research Laboratories (ARL) in Melbourne, and WRE in Salisbury,5 were responsible for the ‘research, development, design and manufacture of the vehicle (missile less payload), the associated data processing, tracking and command guidance systems, and the evaluation of system performance’.6 The Government Aircraft Factories in Melbourne, EMI (Australia) Ltd in Salisbury, and approximately 200 sub-contractors also contributed to the manufacture or detailed design of Ikara. The vehicle and payload had a distinctive shape: it was: 3.4 metres long with horizontal delta-shaped wings 1.5 metres in span and vertical fins at the rear. The body section was ovate, 65 centimetres from top to bottom including a faired-in bay on the underside where the torpedo nestled. It had a composite boostsustainer solid motor, and was guided in flight by the twist and steer method using movable flaps on the trailing edges of the wings. The torpedo—selected for its light weight—was the American Mk 44, 2.5 metres long, which homed on the target using active sonar guidance.7

Later the improved Mk 46 torpedo was also integrated into the Ikara system. Ikara’s guidance system relied upon a computer located on board the controlling vessel, ‘which received the position of the target by sonar or from a support ship or a sound-ranging device lowered into the sea by a helicopter’.8 The guidance system ensured that the missile flew to the continuously updated optimal dropping position. Release of the torpedo from the Ikara vehicle was controlled by the onboard computer. After release, the torpedo descended by parachute. On reaching the sea the parachute was discarded and the torpedo carried out its homing search.


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A cutaway diagram of the Ikara anti-submarine missile. (RAN)

With such a complex project there was a long process of development. Initially a test site was established in 1960 at Fort Largs, South Australia, where trials to validate the findings of the concept study were conducted.9 In 1961 and 1962, trials on scale models were undertaken at Woomera, where failed missiles could be recovered and investigated. The first full-scale trials using ‘launcher proving missiles’ were conducted from HMAS Stuart off Sydney in August 1963, with the first production version of Ikara entering service in HMAS Derwent in January 1966.10 Additional development, modification and trialling of the Ikara system occurred, during which time it gained international recognition. In early 1966, a joint sea trial with the US Navy off Hawaii resulted in two hits against submerged submarines travelling at 9 knots. The first public firing of Ikara from HMAS Perth, off Jervis Bay, occurred on 9 August 1968.11


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Meanwhile, in 1967, the Royal Australian Navy Ikara Training Establishment was instituted at Salisbury as the principal training establishment for the weapon system. Courses began for the training of RAN personnel in all aspects of maintenance and operation in 1968.12 Delivery of modified Ikara systems to the RAN began in September 1968, to the Royal Navy in 1972, and to the Brazilian Navy, under the name Branik, in 1978. The Royal New Zealand Navy adopted the system when it purchased HMNZS Southland (ex-HMS Dido) from the Royal Navy in 1983. The thousandth missile came off the production line and was delivered to the RAN in 1977. Although a technically excellent system, Ikara was not updated to incorporate solid-state electronics. Increasingly expensive to maintain, it was withdrawn from service by the RAN in 1991. The last user of the system, the Brazilian Navy, had totally phased out Ikara by 2004.

BARRA The Barra (or fish hook) passive array sonobuoy is one of the Defence Science and Technology Organisation’s (DSTO) most successful defence joint development projects. Dr W.A.S. (Alan) Butement, the first Chief Scientist for Defence in Australia, invented the concept for the sonobuoy, which was developed by scientists of the WRE led by later chief scientist, Henry d’Assumpcao.13 The Weapons Systems Research Laboratory began working on this new concept in 1964. Known at the time as Project Nangana, it was aimed at developing a new sonobuoy system that could be deployed from aircraft and helicopters to detect, locate and classify quiet submarines and surface ships.14 There was a departure from previous technology in that it provided accurate bearings on targets. During the initial development, an underwater test facility was established at a natural sinkhole at Kilsby’s Hole, near Mount


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Gambier in the south-east of South Australia, to study the characteristics of the sonobuoys as and after they entered the water. Results were checked by means of an underwater buoyancy chamber fitted with remote controlled cameras at varying depths and with banks of lights to provide illumination.15 These trials and the information obtained led to an improved sonobuoy model that was more efficient in the manner in which it was packaged, launched from aircraft and deployed under water.16 Sea trials followed initially in St Vincents Gulf in July and August 1967 and later off Jervis Bay, where there was close collaboration with the RAN and the RAAF.17 These trials admirably complemented the RAN’s research into ocean waters off the Australian coastline—research which aided knowledge of the transmission of sound.18 After 1971, fully operational high-gain sonobuoys were developed with the assistance of Australian industry. It was during production that the sonobuoys were given the name ‘Barra’.19 The sonobuoy consists of two parts: a surface float and a subsurface canister that separate on impact with the water after being deployed from an aircraft. The canister releases a horizontal array of twenty-five hydrophones (five on each of five extending arms) at either 21.5 metres or 121.5 metres depth. The array acts as an underwater microphone which picks up relevant data and then sends it via the surface float to a sonics processor in the aircraft. The sonobuoy has a selectable operating life of either one, two, three or four hours and is sensitive to frequencies between 10 and 2000 Hz. It can point to an acoustic source to within one degree of accuracy. Two or more sonobuoys working together permit the detection of multiple noise sources and their direction of movement. The sonobuoy scuttles itself upon reaching the end of its selected operational life. On 9 August 1975, Australia entered into an agreement for the production of the Barra sonobuoy with the United Kingdom. Under its terms, Australia designed and manufactured the passive sonobuoy while the British designed, developed and manufactured the airborne processor.20 In 1977, AWA Limited was awarded the initial contract to produce Barra sonobuoys.21 The first production


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Barra was presented to the British High Commissioner in Australia on 25 February 1980.22 This marked the beginning of deliveries of the Barra sonobuoy to the air forces and navies of both Australia and the United Kingdom. Improvements continued to be made, particularly in the miniaturisation of components. This lead to a new-generation sonobuoy designated EBARRA.23 Barra remains the most effective directional sonobuoy system in operational use. However, since 1993, the limitations of passive sonar systems for detecting modern, quiet submarines have led DSTO and its industry partners to enhance their capability in terms of multistatic active sonobuoy systems. An active sonar system uses an acoustic source to actively transmit a signal and a receiver to listen for any signals reflected back by underwater objects. An active multistatic sonobuoy system is an active sonar system in which acoustic sources and receiver sonobuoys are not located together. The Barra sonobuoy, with its high directionality, is well suited for use in such a system.

MULLOKA In 1971, at approximately the same time as the operational high-gain Barra sonobuoys were being developed, the Advanced Engineering Laboratory (AEL) of DSTO and the RAN Research Laboratory (RANRL)24 in Sydney were undertaking a design study to determine whether the British Type 177M sonar, designed to operate in North Atlantic conditions and fitted to the RAN’s six River-class destroyer escorts, could be re-engineered using modern technology.25 The sonar provided ‘important input’ into the Ikara fire control system and the Navy hoped that better range and bearing information on submarine targets might be obtained. The study, which was completed in late 1971, influenced the Mulloka (or water devil) project that followed.26 The basic philosophy behind the design of Mulloka, an advanced medium-range active sonar system, was that it would be


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more suitable for Australian waters. It also involved ‘a significant increase in operating frequency and transmitting power, beamed in such a way as to exploit duct leakage effects in the ocean’.27 This was a radical departure from the technology previously used in the British system. Honeywell Marine Systems Division of Seattle, USA, was responsible for the later design and development of the acoustic transducer array.28 The system was mounted inside a dome beneath a ship’s hull, and enabled ‘search transmissions to penetrate deeper into the thermal layers near the surface of the water’ thus enhancing its ability to detect targets.29 The proposal to develop the new sonar system—now known as Mulloka—was officially accepted in early 1972 and work began on constructing a prototype for fitting to one of the oldest of the ‘River’ class, HMAS Yarra. This prototype was completed near the end of 1974 and trials began in March 1975, continuing through to July 1976. These trials were only partly successful. Although the Mulloka system demonstrated superior detection capabilities relative to existing medium-range sonars, problems arose with water ingress and corrosion.30 This required the re-design of some sub-systems,31 and the removal of the prototype so that major refurbishment could occur to correct these deficiencies. Sea trials recommenced in 1978. The results indicated that ‘the major design aims had been met’. However, several modifications requested by the RAN were required and AEL carried out a ‘second extensive repair program’ on the transducer array.32 A final series of tests was concluded in mid-1979 and on 17 August 1979 the RAN accepted the prototype Mulloka system as an operational unit. Mulloka also underwent a series of trials using United States test equipment at Long Beach, California, in April 1980.33 Meanwhile, in December 1979 and March 1980, contracts were let to EMI Electronics (Australia) for the design and manufacture of the first production model, and to Honeywell (USA) for the design and development of the transducer array.34 Eventually all of the ‘River’ class and the two Australian-built guided missile frigates, HMA ships Melbourne and Newcastle, were fitted with Mulloka.


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Two units were also installed at the shore establishment, HMAS Watson, for training purposes.

TOWED ARRAYS: BOOLEE AND KARIWARA The strong research and industrial development effort in underwater sonar technology that resulted in the Barra and Mulloka projects was also evident in the Kariwara towed array, again developed for the RAN. A towed array is the receiver component of a passive sonar system which listens only for other ship and submarine noises. It consists of a long line of hydrophones, and is towed behind a ship or submarine. The sensors convert the underwater sounds to electrical or optical signals that are then transmitted via a cable to the towing ship. The long length of the array both enables it to be used as a directional ‘antenna’ for obtaining accurate bearings on distant targets and places it in a quieter environment further away from noise sources in the towing vessel.35 Towed array research and development began in Australia with the purchase in 1968 by RANRL of an array named ‘Towflex’ from the Chesapeake Instrument Company. This was a large diameter liquid-filled array with its strength members in the hosewall. This was trailed from the oceanographic ship HMAS Diamantina with studies focusing on array performance and acoustic measurement. Minor design faults were detected initially, but by 1970 significant problems had become evident in the array and handling systems. A joint Australian–US project followed. Named ‘Boolee’, the five-year study between WRE and the US Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency (DARPA) focused ‘on the utility of long towed arrays for the long range detection of acoustically quiet targets’.36 The array was installed in Diamantina by 1974 with sea trials being conducted between 1975 and 1979 in a number of areas in the Indian and Pacific oceans. The experience and knowledge acquired resulted in the decision to focus on research and development of thin-line submarine towed arrays.


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The crew of an Australian Oberon-class submarine deploy a Kariwara towed array. (RAN)

Following a request from the RAN, DSTO initiated a feasibility study into developing such an array. Responsibility was entrusted to the Weapon System Research Laboratory with major input from AEL. Mathematical modelling was undertaken with sea trials using sample arrays being carried out aboard the RAN’s Oberon-class


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submarines. The opportunity was also taken to use the capabilities of Australian industry to establish ‘basic manufacturing techniques’.37 The slim-line buoyant fibre towed array that was designed became known as Kariwara. It had a diameter of approximately 30 millimetres and was mainly of woven construction. The hydrophones and electronics were embedded in a polypropylene rope core that was strengthened with Kevlar. Gel was used as the infill to avoid the leakage problems that had arisen in the previous oil-filled arrays.38 The resultant technology was ‘radically different’ and provided many advantages over a liquid-filled array with its modular and compact construction, robustness, slim line, environmental friendliness and enhanced acoustic performance.39 The feasibility study concluded favourably in early 1985. By late 1985, a Project Definition Study had begun in partnership with industry to develop and test the technology, and in December 1986 the RAN nominated the Kariwara array ‘as Australian Government Furnished Equipment’ for the Collins-class submarines.40 Meanwhile, the decision was taken to construct a prototype array as part of the full-scale engineering development phase that would be carried out by Australian industry in a transfer of technology from DSTO. In early 1989, the Towed Array Development Project Office was established within the department of defence to meet the RAN’s requirements for managing the development of this technology. The first three arrays were delivered by industry in 1997: one array for further trials and development, and the other two for trials with the first two submarines of the Collins class.41 The Kariwara slim-line array technology has since been the basis for further developments by local industry. The primary civilian application has been in seismic survey work leading to a very successful export program. The transfer of technology to industry and the collaborative research between DSTO and companies such as Philips, GEC-Marconi Systems and more recently with Thales Underwater Systems has ensured that Australia retains its international competitiveness in the area of sonar technology.


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LASER AIRBORNE DEPTH SOUNDER The design and development of LADS had its beginnings in 1972 when WRE, in response to a request from the RAN, began investigations into devising faster and more efficient techniques to aid the Navy in conducting hydrographic surveys of Australia’s continental shelf.42 The RAN had been using ship-borne, acoustic depthsounders to undertake the work and at existing rates of progress estimated that it would take eighty years to complete the task.43 Codenamed WRELADS, the first phase of the work—the development of efficient and reliable hardware that established basic system design and processing algorithms44—was begun in 1975 by the Electronics Systems Research Laboratory with assistance from AEL. An experimental system was constructed—WRELADS I —and installed in a ‘Beechcraft’ Queenair aircraft. Test flights involving 148 hours of flying time were made over South Australian and Queensland waters between November 1976 and June 1977, to ‘validate basic design concepts’.45 WRELADS II followed. This was a more advanced system designed to explore fully the Navy’s requirements. Having full scanning, data recording, and horizontal position fixing capabilities, WRELADS II was installed in a Dakota aircraft and 550 hours of flight trials were undertaken over north Queensland, Western Australian and South Australian waters between August 1979 and May 1984.46 When scanning, the onboard Nd:YAG infrared laser operates at 168 infrared pulses per second from a stabilised platform located within an aircraft that flies over the sea at an altitude of 500 metres. This infrared output is frequency-doubled to produce an additional green beam. The laser pulses are reflected from the sea surface to the aircraft equipment to provide an initial scanning reference. A scanning mirror directs the green pulses to form in a rectangular pattern back and forth across a path width of 240 metres to obtain reflections from the sea surface and the sea bed. These, too, are reflected back to the aircraft where the information is recorded on


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The nose of the Dakota DC3 aircraft used for WRELADS II trials between 1979 and 1984. (RAN)

tape for later processing and analysing. The measure of sea depth is the difference between the two beams’ times of arrival.47 Meanwhile, analysis of the data collected in the evaluation trials enabled a depth bias model to be developed for the system now known as LADS. In 1987, tenders were called for the construction and trials of an operational version for the RAN. BHP Engineering and its partner Vision Systems, were awarded this contract.48 On 28 January 1992, at a ceremony at Adelaide Airport, Minister for Defence Personnel Gordon Bilney launched LADS, marking not only the completion of its manufacture and its installation in a Fokker F27 aircraft, but also the beginning of the optimisation trials and acceptance tests program.49 The RAN accepted LADS for operational use on 8 October 1993.50 Over the past ten years the LADS technology has generated over $100 million for Australian companies and continues to find


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new markets for different applications.51 This is especially so in the United States where the Australian-owned Tenix LADS Corporation’s US subsidiary, Tenix LADS Inc., recently signed a contract worth up to US$12 million with the US National Oceanographic & Atmospheric Administration to provide ‘LADS laser survey services for the next three years’.52 This, in turn, has benefits for DSTO in that it has the potential to deliver royalties worth up to half a million Australian dollars.

A RECORD OF ACHIEVEMENT The Ikara, Barra, Mulloka, Kariwara and LADS projects are all excellent examples of innovative Australian defence research and development, which has been followed by successful prototype development and production by industry. The resulting systems have provided an enhanced operational capability for the RAN, and in several cases have been successfully exported. All these projects were complex and required risky technical developments. They involved both new concepts and significant improvements in available technology so as to realise successful project goals. The development of rocket motors, and of communication and control equipments for Ikara, of miniaturised electronic components and sophisticated mechanical design for the directional sonobuoy Barra, of high repetition-rate blue-green lasers for LADS, of low-noise solid-filled towed array sections for Kariwara, and of transducers and processing equipment for Mulloka have all been remarkable examples of technological challenges addressed and achievements registered. What of the future? The rapid advances in many fields of technology, the globalisation of the industrial base for the development of defence systems, the acceptance and management of project-risk, and the evolving nature of warfare are together just some of the factors which will influence the types of projects that might be undertaken in the future. It is unlikely, for example, that the


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development of a weapons system such as Ikara or a sensor system such as Mulloka would again be undertaken in Australia. Australia has had an excellent record of achievement in relation to maritime technical developments such as this. It is to be hoped that the spirit of invention and innovation which inspired all these successful outcomes will continue to be nurtured in the partnerships involving the ADF, Australian industry and the scientific and technical communities as new challenges in maritime warfare come upon us.


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13 Technology transfer, knowledge partnerships and the advance of Australian naval combat systems Geoff Cannon Maintaining and operating an effective navy is highly demanding of national industrial and technological capabilities. Keeping up with the application of emergent technology is even more difficult, particularly as it brings with it the prospect of risk and failure. But properly directed expenditure on naval systems and platforms can itself encourage industrial growth and technological development, creating additional strengths and opportunities for a nation’s economy. Australian Maritime Doctrine, 20001

The combat effectiveness of a modern warship is mainly determined by the way its automated combat data system connects withits weapons and sensors. This chapter provides an outline of combat system technology development and management based on 248


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the more than thirty years of work undertaken at the RAN’s Combat Data Systems Centre (CDSC) at Fyshwick in Canberra. Since the early 1970s this centre has been responsible for the management and in-country development of combat systems in the RAN’s three Charles F. Adams- (or Perth-) class Guided Missile Destroyers (DDGs) and subsequently the six Oliver H. Perry- (or Adelaide-) class Guided Missile Frigates (FFGs). But, while CDSC’s primary role has been software developmental support, it has also acted as a centre of excellence in combat data systems knowledge for both the RAN and the whole Australian Defence Force. This has allowed defence to become a far better informed customer. Further, the experience and technological knowledge gained by those who have worked at CDSC has often been passed on to the benefit of Australian industry. It is no coincidence that several of Australia’s most innovative high technology and software development companies remain based in the Canberra region. The first four directors of Compucat Research, to take just one example, were CDSC-trained and readily admit to the significant benefits gained from the experience of developing and supporting a real-time combat system.2

THE NCDS PROJECT The Australian Navy of the early 1960s was largely comprised of ships and weapons systems of British origin. But in acquiring the American-built DDGs (HMA ships Perth, Hobart and Brisbane) from 1965, the RAN launched itself into a new support environment focused on the United States Navy (USN). Fitted with the Tartar surface-to-air guided missile system and offering multiple channels of fire, the DDG represented a significant leap in anti-air warfare technology. Indeed, the missile system and the need to provide effective anti-air defence for the fleet were decisive in selecting the American design over a British alternative. As one historical assessment noted: ‘The selection of the DDGs was nothing short of


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a revolution for the Royal Australian Navy but it was a necessary revolution if the RAN was to sustain the combat power it needed in the missile age’.3 When first operated by the RAN, however, the DDG’s operations room functioned in a manner similar to that of existing fleet units. Management of combat information remained based on manually updated plotting boards and tables, using tactical data separately received by visual means, radar, sonar, weapon designation systems and electronic support measures. A ship’s combat effectiveness depended largely on its command team’s efficiency in correlating, ranking and presenting this information for the captain’s decision. The process had been refined during the latter part of the Second World War and after, but was clearly inadequate in coping with the multiple threats and increasing pace characterising modern naval warfare.4 The inherent problem, a RAN journal explained in 1973, was the time involved in piecing all the bits of information together, calculating the engageability of each target and then displaying the results: A poor or incomplete job means that the decision taken may be wrong. Also, was the decision taken on data which represented where the contacts were or where they actually are now? Stale information may lead to the wrong decision. Armed with pencil and paper or magnetic symbol and plot, the operator struggles to perform tasks for which human capabilities do not adequately equip him—data processing. It is an area where machines are infinitely superior to man. The modern representation of that machine is the digital computer . . . The effect is that at last we can have the tactical picture presented to the captain in what is called real time, that is, ‘like it is’ and not ‘like it was’. And no operation’s room crew can match that feat even if their lives depended on it.5

The RAN had begun exploring automated command and control systems in 1968, and to better inform the eventual assessment set up the Naval Combat Data System (NCDS) Project under


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the then Director of Weapons and Electrical Engineering, Captain P.R. Hutson, RAN. The project team worked extensively with defence scientific organisations and industry, using data-handling knowledge gained during development of the Ikara anti-submarine weapon project. Having considered feasible systems, the RAN selected one based on the USN’s Naval Tactical Data System (NTDS). NTDS, which had been at sea since 1962, was the USN’s first seaborne digital computer system. The product of an extensive development effort starting in the early 1950s, NTDS aimed to markedly reduce response times to fast aircraft and missile attack.6 It had since become one of the USN’s most successful major projects, and the agreement to transfer such ‘state-of-the-art’ military technology to the RAN underlined the continuing importance of the alliance partnership to both navies. In 1972, the Australian government approved an ambitious $33 million upgrade of the DDGs to fit them with NCDS: ‘the “great leap forward” needed to take the ship’s nerve centre into the “missile age” and to join the sensors and weapon systems to make an integrated fighting system’.7 Also included were improvements to the missile launcher and fire control radars to allow the three destroyers to fire the longer range Standard SM–1 missile. An extensive collaborative effort was already underway in Australia and the United States to develop the NCDS program from the version of NTDS used in the USN’s DDGs and known as the JPTDS (Junior Participating Tactical Data System). On 31 July 1974, HMAS Perth, the first DDG to be scheduled for upgrade, sailed from Sydney for the Long Beach Naval Shipyard near Los Angeles, where the modernisation would take place. In September 1975, she returned from the United States with her weapons updated and her manual plotting equipment largely replaced by computer-driven consoles. Her commanding officer throughout the upgrade and initial NCDS at-sea trials was Captain Hutson, and he stayed with the ship until May 1976. The modernisations of Hobart and Brisbane followed during 1976–77, but were carried out in Australia.


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ESTABLISHMENT OF THE COMBAT DATA SYSTEMS CENTRE In the lead up to the introduction of NCDS the RAN had reassured its officers and sailors that although specialist training relevant to the new equipments would be necessary, ‘it is not revolutionary—and you won’t need a degree to operate or maintain the system’.8 This comment, however, presumably referred only to using NCDS at sea. As software upkeep was an unfamiliar function, the Navy had already foreseen the need to set up a highly specialised facility ashore for NCDS support and programming. Under Captain P.G.N. Kennedy, RAN, the CDSC was established in July 1974.9 To ensure that the centre could adequately modify and test the NCDS program the Navy installed a suite of military specification equipment and staffed CDSC with a mixture of service personnel, defence civilians, and contractor staff. The internal organisation was designed around several separate but integrated groups. Eventually these included an administration group, an operational design group, a programming group, a test and development group, a systems engineering group, a training group, and the on-site contractor. The use of separately contracted technical support was a notable development because the Navy’s weapons system maintenance was then focused on the government-owned facilities at Garden Island, Williamstown and Cockatoo Island dockyards. CDSC thus held a unique position within the RAN’s support infrastructure. Furthermore, although originally a hardwaremaintenance effort, the contractor’s task would eventually expand to cover both hardware and software support. Through a continuum of changing company ownership many contractor staff worked at CDSC for twenty years or more and so had vast corporate knowledge of NCDS development.

NCDS DEVELOPMENT The Univac UYK–7 military computer used as the core of NCDS represented a leading edge technology when first introduced into


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the RAN. It was remarkable for the density of component packaging, using a mixture of discrete and integrated circuit components on small cards of specific purpose. An earlier version of the UYK–7 had been used to calculate the trajectory shaping of the Apollo missions to the moon. That this processor continues in use today is something of a tribute to its designer, Seymour Cray. The original JPDTS program employed a low-level CMS2 macro assembler language called ULTRA, similar to that used in all USN major surface combatants before the huge AEGIS Project took over in the 1980s. The derivate NCDS program was also based on the CMS2 operating system and in RAN service was initially labelled 4XXX.10 The program provided a digital structure for the receipt and distribution of contact data collected from all ship sensors. It then displayed this for the command team as standardised symbology on top of the raw radar video. NCDS could also assign weapons automatically to counter a threat, and thus needed to interface with the two separate software programs which controlled the gun and missile systems. Since the USN provided these weapon control programs, all their development and testing occurred overseas. Similarly, many elements of the combat system remained fully supported by the USN. The lasting challenge faced by CDSC was to preserve the collaborative support arrangements for NCDS while maintaining indigenous software that worked seamlessly with the integrated weapons system programs. Throughout their service, the DDGs were the RAN’s most capable missile platforms and, after the withdrawal of the aircraft carrier HMAS Melbourne in 1982, they were invariably task group command ships. These extra demands, not faced by USN destroyers, meant that NCDS needed far more comprehensive functionality than its NTDS cousin. Fortunately, the continuing need to oversee program performance as well as to record activity for analysis, allowed CDSC to rapidly improve and refine its knowledge of the system. In addition, as users became more familiar with the technology it became plain that the operator requirements for the software—for example how NCDS displayed information to


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users—would change incrementally. This situation produced a software change management process involving both user needs and problem fixes, through which CDSC could fine-tune the features. Software may never wear out, but command and control systems do not perform in a technological vacuum. Preserving the effectiveness of a tactical program in ever changing circumstances needs constant review. In responding to the combat lessons emerging from the Falklands War, for example, casualty modes of operation became increasingly important to allow ships to deal with battle damage and system degradation. Over time, CDSC applied a vast effort to maintenance and development of both the NCDS program and the ancillary simulation and test programs. The reward for such effort was the ability to respond rapidly to shipboard problems and create program fixes. A specific example of this occurred during the 1990–91 Gulf War. As recalled by HMAS Brisbane’s then direction officer: While patrolling the northern Persian Gulf on 30 December 1990, Brisbane was operating in close proximity to USN and RN units all of whom were connected via a Link–11 data transfer network. The data link specifications of the RN units, in particular HMS Gloucester, were based on a NATO standard. Brisbane’s was based on the USN operational specification. Gloucester had a recurring fault with her combat system which resulted in her leaving the Link network at irregular intervals, at which time in accordance with USN specifications, another ship, in this case Brisbane, would report her position. However, this action resulted in Gloucester’s system crashing 18 times as this was not in accordance with NATO specifications. Brisbane reported the problem to CDSC and the software was changed within 18 hours and over New Years Eve. This permitted combined data link operations close to Iraq to continue. It remains to be seen whether the commercial support arrangements of today could match such an operational ability.11

This activity, and a second rapid response program delivery earned the centre a Maritime Commander’s Commendation.


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Members of the action information team operate multi-function displays in the Operations Room of a guided missile destroyer in the early 1990s. (RAN)

CDSC’s unique role in providing technical support altered only slightly in its first two decades. Nevertheless, the broad concept of the centre, and its supporting infrastructure, evolved to deal with new and changing needs. Perhaps the most significant development was, as highlighted above, support for digital data link


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development, since one of the most important features of NCDS would be the ability to share near real time information between the ships and aircraft of an integrated force. The exchange of tactical data was essential for task force operations, but this added to the complexity of preserving a common and accurate tactical plot, given that corrupt or false data could easily confuse the picture if it were not closely monitored. Early efforts to in the mid-1970s to refine data link operations saw further extensive collaboration between CDSC and its USN counterparts. In a notable achievement, the first long-range data link transmission was successfully achieved from CDSC in 1976, while working with a USN warship off the Western Australian coast—a tribute to the determination and effectiveness of the relatively small Australian team. The early involvement of the RAN in Link–11 technology has since paid large dividends, and the extent of exchange of technical and operational information has undoubtedly improved RAN systems interoperability and hence tactical effectiveness when working with the USN.

YEARS OF EXPANSION By the late 1970s, CDSC had already absorbed almost all aspects of naval combat system support, including the training of system operators, maintainers and managers. Instructors provided trainees with the most up-to-date information and the latter benefited from opportunities to use and be assessed on the actual combat system. The quality of technical support and management was also strengthened by military personnel undertaking instructional roles and developing their understanding of the system’s design and functions. In truth, the centre had achieved an effective synergy by co-locating and coordinating all key elements of combat system technical and operational support. This was a fortunate outcome, for the workload and customer base were about to expand significantly. In 1976, after a protracted debate over proposals to build an indigenous light destroyer (DDL),12 the Australian government


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ordered the first two FFGs (HMAS Adelaide and HMAS Canberra) followed by a third vessel (HMAS Sydney) the next year. US shipyards were again contracted for the task and the ships would be delivered to a largely standard USN configuration. The DDG experience, however, had given the RAN great confidence in the skills residing within CDSC, and the Navy determined that instead of the USN-installed WSP (Weapon System Processor) software the FFG would also use the Australian NCDS program. CDSC carried out the work on the FFGs after the ships arrived in Australia, using the early DDG program as the baseline, but redesignated 5XXX to show that a different software version was hosting NCDS. Support for the original CMS2 program at CDSC had required a painstakingly slow punched card reader system to produce the code. To assist in development and debugging for the FFG program, however, CDSC transitioned to a ‘high-level’ version of CMS2, which used recognisable words in a sentence-like structure to trigger program functions. Also incorporated was a new USN compiler system called SHARE–7, which thankfully saw an end to punched cards. With the FFGs came more UYK–7s and the next generation of military computer, the UYK–20 which, although not necessarily faster, used larger multifunctional cards with solid-state technology and more condensed capacity. NCDS did not use the UYK–20 but the computer did provide increased processing power for the FFG’s weapon systems and sensors. Unlike the DDG configuration, the FFG NCDS program interfaced with a single weapon control program for both missile and gun engagements. Other differences between the programs centred on display technology, with the FFG version needing to provide greater amounts of information to the operators. Subsequently the RAN ordered another FFG (HMAS Darwin) from the United States and built two more (HMAS Melbourne and HMAS Newcastle) in Australia, the final vessel entering service in late 1993. This extended delivery timeframe meant that the combat systems installed in the last three ships differed in some respects


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from those in the first three. But, together with the DDGs, the purchase ensured that the RAN would manage nine front-line warships with similar combat system hardware and software technology. One of the many benefits of this commonality was the streamlining of training for officers and sailors, as well as more efficient collaboration within the development and support teams at CDSC. As before, support arrangements remained heavily dependent on the USN for many aspects of the combat system. But CDSC continued to provide an effective source of ‘in-house’ knowledge for deciding the Navy’s needs and implementing these within the NCDS software. The process cycle for turning a ‘change requirement’ (of whatever origin) into a fielded and proven system change requires a range of experience and expertise. The understanding of intra-system functionality and technical interfaces within CDSC enabled its staff to influence the USN’s development of weapons system software programs. Indeed largely through this expertise the RAN came to be considered one of the more credible and influential partners in dealings with the US Foreign Military Sales (FMS) organisation. Had the RAN acquired a replacement aircraft carrier from the Royal Navy or elsewhere in the 1980s, CDSC would have provided resources and expertise to support its combat system integration. As things stood, from the mid to late-1980s the CDSC team of experts was busy planning and implementing a substantial overhaul of the DDG combat system. This was the first attempt to manage locally a major combat system upgrade, but it was again incorporated into a broader ‘DDG Modernisation Project’. The changes affected every aspect of combat system functionality, and included updating track data displays, and installation of the AN/SYS–1 autotracker to relieve the operators of yet another manual task. Moreover, all these developments had to be linked to the technical upgrading of the gun and missile fire control systems. To accommodate these changes CDSC had to completely rewrite the NCDS program, the new version being known as 6XXX. Although subsequently


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upgraded, this was the final version change for the DDGs and remained in use until the last vessel retired in 2001. The DDG Modernisation Project involved extensive assistance from the Australian defence support industry and resulted in the Navy setting up a dedicated commercial software support group at CDSC to work on combat system tasks. As a by-product of this and similar work, many former CDSC staff moved into the expanding industrial sector, taking with them expertise which was then returned to Navy in the form of improved industry support. The Navy, for its part, learned much about the complexity of combat system design, integration and testing. It also became far more aware of the problems that can arise in hardware and software management, and in maintaining organisational and contractual relationships. The DDG Modernisation Project was undoubtedly challenging but it was also successful, and by further broadening the Navy’s knowledge base the experience improved its performance as a future customer of complex combat systems.

COMMERCIALISATION As we have seen, contractor involvement at CDSC had been an integral part of the support infrastructure from the beginning. The contractors had changed over the years, and their task had expanded to encompass logistical support and direct technical assistance to fleet units. Although based essentially on a ‘specific tasking’ rather than ‘service provider’ form of requirement, the contract retained sufficient flexibility to allow support for fixed long-term, as well as fluid short-term and short-notice activities. Because of the similar levels of knowledge possessed by CDSC staff and the on-site contractor team it was also possible to establish and sustain a high degree of interaction and integration between them. This professional working relationship thus sustained CDSC’s capacity to effectively oversee the tasking of contractor resources. One particular advantage of this arrangement was CDSC’s ability


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Contractor staff getting into a display problem at CDSC. (RAN)

to manage complex contract tasks effectively. Such oversight is rarely possible with the technical ‘performance based’ contracts which have since become more common in defence. CDSC was fortunate to retain the long-term expertise of its contractor staff. This stability was due largely to the specialist nature of the NCDS work, a productive technical environment, and the relative isolation of Canberra from other areas of defence technical support. From this close working relationship many technical innovations evolved. Some projects reached fruition and others, rightly or wrongly, remained just good ideas. One early and significant problem for engineering staff at CDSC was the lack of ship environmental data to test new and updated software. The military equipment supplied simulated inadequately many system inputs such as radar, pitch, roll and wind information, and the contractor’s team were frequently asked to design and build


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devices which allowed software testing to proceed as if in a ship installation. Such systems included the Weapons Control Console Event System Simulator (WESS)—a microprocessor-based device which sought to emulate all the FFG weapons systems beyond the weapons control console in the operations room. CDSC supplied further versions of this equipment to the tactical training building at HMAS Watson. Other simulation projects included a Link–11 noise generator, NCDS interface simulators, a gun system emulator and a Tartar missile simulator. Of even greater importance, however, was the work to develop major replacement components for existing NCDS equipment. Because of the high cost of many military specification replacement parts (and their unsure availability), it was at times necessary to release items for use in the fleet, replacing those in the relatively benign CDSC environment with commercial quality substitutes. Another major project enthusiastically taken on by the contractor team was to develop a replacement Double-Density Memory Unit (DDMU) for the UYK–7 computer. This story shows clearly the innovatory nature and potential of such activities.13 The project arose after increasing memory requirements for NCDS software created a need for more DDMU modules. Since military production of the units had ended, and retooling costs were prohibitive, CDSC asked the contractor in early 1985 to prepare a feasibility study of the possibility of local manufacture. By the end of 1987 the prototype units had been designed, built and tested in all CDSC systems. A major hurdle was the lack of design information about the original unit, so it was necessary to resort to complete reverse engineering. This entailed the purchase of expensive and at the time exotic test equipment including 128 channel logic analysers and storage oscilloscopes, but the aim was achieved. The Navy approved a small production run of fifteen units, and with the help of local industry the modules were built in the contractor’s workshop at CDSC. Significantly, during nearly fifteen years of RAN service only a few minor faults have occurred in the equipment. Nor was the RAN the only customer for these units. Rising tension in the Middle East in late 1990 prompted the USN and US


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Marine Corps to enquire about the purchase of DDMU modules to supplement their own dwindling supply of spares. The Australian government negotiated an agreement between the USN and AWA Defence Industries for about twenty-five of the CDSCdeveloped units plus a tester module developed at the same time. Following trials at Norfolk, Virginia, these were delivered to the USN in August 1991 as emergency spares. The issue of advancing commercial capabilities raises the question of the use of commercial off-the-shelf (COTS) technology. The military use of commercial systems is not new, but the incorporation of commercial standard equipment into systems normally needing military specifications is a relatively recent phenomenon. Perceived cost savings and speed of introduction have been major factors in the decision to use COTS equipment, but one of the most significant drivers has been the dramatic expansion of business computing. Consequently, commercial rather than defence needs have largely spurred technology development. Keeping pace with technological change has seldom been easy, but the RAN’s infrastructure must be sufficiently flexible to adapt. In the 1990s CDSC developed an important item of COTS equipment for NCDS in a cooperative effort with the Honeywell company. The RAN Standard Interface Device (RANSID) was a program loading and data recording unit which replaced unsupportable tape reading and printing equipment. RANSID was installed both in the DDGs and FFGs, and has most recently been modernised at CDSC for use in the FFG Upgrade Program (FFGUP)—indeed it is one of the few previous combat system elements remaining in the upgraded FFG. The issue of frequent modernisation is a particular facet of using COTS solutions, made necessary because advancing design often makes long-term support uneconomic. Other collaborative COTS projects undertaken at CDSC included the Seahawk helicopter data link simulator, produced with Computer Sciences of Australia in Canberra, and a simulator for the SLQ–32 electronic warfare system produced with Comptek Federals Systems in the United States. The latter project


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used a Macintosh PC to emulate combat system inputs to NCDS. All these examples illustrate the combination of specialised defence expertise with commercial capability, a form of partnership which was characteristic of CDSC’s innovative professionalism.

THE INTRODUCTION OF NEW COMBAT SYSTEMS The 1990s also saw CDSC installing the next (and last) generation of military computer for the FFG combat system, the UYK–43. Incorporating large multifunctional and reconfigurable components, the UYK–43 may be considered two computers in one. It was also faster than its predecessors, had built-in test and redundancy features and the ability to install commercial modules to interlink with COTS and so remain a highly capable unit. Installation of the UYK–43 required a major program change to exploit the new hardware enhancements. As a temporary measure CDSC delivered an interim NCDS version known as 7AXX to use the UYK–43 in a ‘compatibility mode’, which allowed the newer computer to emulate the functionality of the UYK–7. Completion of a full capacity or ‘native mode’ NCDS program required a complete software rebuild using a new executive program (the USN CGN2). The centre completed this extensive development, incorporating operational enhancements and problem fixes, into the final program product known as NCDS version 7CXX. The centre’s final NCDS improvements involved the use of an ex-DDG display component, known as CIGARS (Console Internally Generated And Refreshed Symbology), to bring all FFGs to a similar configuration, as well as program changes to incorporate the latest data link message specifications. This innovative work required deep technical appreciation of the system hardware and software unique to CDSC; the low cost but high value of the change underscores the effectiveness of such in-service capability. As its title suggests, CIGARS provided for processing of data within the display console, work previously done in the NCDS computer.


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The changes improved symbology display times in the older FFGs and released memory capacity in the UYK–7. Advances in information handling and display technology have obviously not ceased, with more capable sensors and more powerful data fusion techniques allowing the automated detection, classification and tracking of targets. At the same time improved data storage and display capabilities have provided much better analysis of the tactical situation. In the eight new Anzac-class frigates the Navy introduced a new combat system known as the CelsiusTech 9LV 453 Mk3, which successfully incorporated many of these technological advances.14 Not only did this project expose the Navy to alternative combat system technology, but it also ushered in an era of commercial support for the managing of software. The decision to establish a combat support centre using the equipment scheduled to be installed on a later built vessel allowed the prime contractor and subcontractors to refine and test the combat system before installation in the first vessel, HMAS Anzac. This innovation played an important role in the delivery of Anzac in 1996, on time and with a fully functional combat system. Recognising the benefits of the combat support centre in systems integration, defence has adopted a similar approach for other military procurements.15 Another major advance took place in 1996, when the director of CDSC was designated as the Australian Defence Force (ADF) tactical data link authority. Although the centre had been the technical authority since the early 1990s it had not been responsible for operational policy and developmental advice. Thereafter, CDSC was responsible for interoperability assurance and tested all ADF combat systems against a known and mandated standard. This ensured that Australian data link systems would remain interoperable with Allied forces in accordance with government policy. The FFG Upgrade began in 2003 and with it the final move away from NCDS. Although NCDS will remain in Adelaide and Canberra until their departure from RAN service in 2006, the remaining four vessels will all have their NCDS replaced by a new locally produced system known as ADACS (Australian Distributed


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Architecture Combat System) by 2007. Based on commercially available software, ADACS has been developed locally by Australian Defence Industries. Significantly, the upgrade has also introduced the Navy to the next generation of data link, Link–16. This advance alone increases dramatically the quantity and quality of tactical information available within the combat system.

FUTURE CAPABILITY AND TECHNICAL MANAGEMENT In 2000 the Navy adopted a new approach to capability management which saw seven Force Element Groups (FEGs)—based on ship types—created within Maritime Command. For many years CDSC had remained a component of the Directorate of Naval Technical Services, but with its specific focus on FFG support the centre came under the FFG Capability Element Manager within the Surface Combatant FEG. A separate Capability Element Manager was established for the Anzac class. This change in CDSC’s status reflected the way different systems were being managed within Navy and within the new Defence Matériel Organisation. With the variety of combat systems in service in ships and submarines there was no longer a single entity that could meet Navy’s requirements or oversee the introduction of technological improvements. CDSC’s management of naval combat system support and development spanned a period when one could still demarcate such areas of responsibility. But the substantial change in Navy’s method of ship management has required a reconfiguration. Defence recognised that it needed common management processes to capture the benefits of changing combat system technology and the potential of partnerships with industry. By 2002, the intention was to establish a Navy Warfare Systems Agency (NWSA) in Sydney, which would replace CDSC as Navy’s centre of combat system expertise and fulfil the needs of the various support authorities. Now operating using military and civilian staff released from CDSC, NWSA provides a composite knowledge base for combat system support


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and development, and oversees the technical regulations concerning contracted activities. Although focused initially on support for the Anzacs and FFGs, NWSA is expected ultimately to embrace all Navy combat systems. This will foster the technical interoperability and networked capabilities now seen as essential to military operations. With the transfer of its remaining functions to Sydney, CDSC will cease operations in mid-2006. As Navy’s internal support infrastructure has changed, commercial contracts have expanded. But while this new approach to combat system maintenance and development has clearly strengthened the role of industry, it has not changed the need for collaboration and partnership. As a senior manager within Computer Sciences Australia wrote in the early 1990s: The complementary nature of this partnership will come from Naval personnel explaining what is required in naval operational terms and supplying the end-user knowledge. Industry personnel will provide the skills, expertise and experience of technology, hardware, software engineering, design methodologies and implementation techniques that will be used to translate those requirements into an effective working system.16

The aim of the Navy throughout has been to provide the most efficient support for its capabilities and in turn a more effective fleet able to meet a wide range of threats with reduced manpower. But while the benefits of these initiatives have certainly been evident, it should not be forgotten that there has been a dilution of defence’s own expertise, both military and civilian, in combat system technology. Indeed there are parallels between the situation today and that existing in the 1960s, when digital systems were first mooted for the RAN. Despite the revolution in combat systems since then, the broad and flexible expectations of the fleet are much the same, and today the Navy faces a similar order of challenge. Having become used to digital combat systems, the next big leap is in information technology, and it is difficult to predict how far networked systems will make the current ‘site-specific’ hardware and software obsolete. Already


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there has been a dramatic expansion in satellite communications and networked secure message facilities. The traditional dividing lines between global communications, administrative computing networks, and combat systems are crumbling. Like Irwin McNally and Erick Swenson, pioneers of NTDS in the USN, we have an idea of where technology can take us but the route and the detail are often elusive.17 If we are to learn from the past, it is essential to remain focused on achieving real benefits in the operations of ships at sea. After all, ‘going in harm’s way’ is the nature of naval business. Projects are now underway which are likely to reshape methods of data exchange, video transmission, and digital information processing. The amount of information becoming available is already enormous, and commanders and their operational staffs must rely increasingly on decision support systems to better refine the available data. But since almost all these innovations are commercially based, the Navy must adapt to a future warfighting environment with only a limited appreciation of the effects of change. In the networked context of the future, decisions concerning combat system capabilities and operational requirements will be all the more critical. They will at least need to involve the following dimensions: the networked sharing of tactical data and strategic information; the testing and development of systems interoperability within networked systems; increased usage and reliance on automated command processes; redundancy and commonality issues in software and hardware; recognition of, and acting on, defence industry viability and capacity issues, thereby allowing the system to thrive in a contract-orientated support environment. While this is but a broad sampling of potential future issues, the point is that knowledge is the key in dealing with combat systems. Knowledge aids the customer in making the right decision, providing the right advice, resolving design and implementation issues, keeping the system working, and adapting and improving the system throughout its life. The range of considerations is undoubtedly vast, and deciding what is most important is largely a function of the customer’s expertise and experience. Rather than, ‘Can


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it be done?’—since today the answer is usually ‘yes’—the question the future Navy must answer is: ‘What are the consequences?’.

A KNOWLEDGE-BASED MISSION For more than thirty years CDSC supported Navy’s combat systems and sustained a deep understanding of the use of the technology as it developed. This chapter has provided a brief account of these events and the uncertain path the Navy followed in developing CDSC’s capacity and capability. For a relatively small investment in terms of resources and infrastructure, CDSC delivered front-line combat system support and behind-the-scenes development of the software essential to the system’s effective use. Beyond this, however, has been a major contribution to the knowledge base of the Navy organisation and the expertise of its people. Perhaps unwittingly, the Navy created a productive technical environment that fostered the sharing of information and ideas with industry in an early example of collaboration and partnership. The current evolution of Navy’s technical support infrastructure has great potential, but the lessons of CDSC’s involvement in combat systems development underscore the value of Navy’s in-house engineering expertise. This is an asset acquired through the existence of dedicated facilities and the work of committed personnel. Although resources will always be scarce, the application of the right information and advice, at the right time, can save extensive and expensive remedial work. The future management of combat systems will clearly be a partnership between defence and industry, but to achieve a practical partnership the Navy must understand the nature and detail of its business, knowing what is acceptable and achievable. Knowledge is the key: knowledge of what is possible; knowledge of how technology may best meet Australian needs; and knowledge of how to maintain and improve that technology in Australia. CDSC may no longer be the appropriate means, but its mission must continue. For that mission has served both the Navy and the nation.


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Part IV Naval people and the nation


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14 ‘Sailors to citizens, citizens and sailors, citizens to sailors’: naval men and Australia from 1788 to 1914 Bob Nicholls It has been said that the Australian is a poor seaman and does not take readily to sea work. This scarcely needs contradiction, Australia has inherited her due share of the Nation’s genius for sea enterprise, either for war or for commerce. The scheme put forward has been designed to develop our naval capacity at the least (if any) additional cost to the country, but I would respectfully ask whether it would not be in the true interests of Australia and the Empire, even at considerable cost, to develop those qualities of race, and that sea profession which first gave us and has since held for us the land we live in. Captain W.R. Creswell, Naval Commandant Queensland, 28 September 19011

Over the years a great deal of investigative effort has been expended on the comparatively worthy subjects of Messrs Cook, Bligh, Flinders 271


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and others, but nothing seems to have been done in the way of considering the contribution made by the ordinary ‘Jolly Jack Tar’ to the development of Australia. This chapter takes an initial look at the question from 1788 to the turn of the twentieth century.

SAILORS TO CITIZENS One reason for the relative lack of research into the role of the ordinary sailor is probably that in the first years of colonisation the Royal Navy’s strength in Australia was insignificant—and as a result there is little to go on. The New South Wales State Archives hold the only reliable lists of migrants who arrived either as convicts or, later, as part of the British government’s migration scheme. Many thousands of unsponsored migrants who just turned up have their names recorded somewhere, but they are in a hopeless jumble. In any case, they were not obliged to give their profession on arrival. Finding a record in which a man stated that he had been in the Royal Navy thus presents a nearly impossible task. The census might have helped, but the records were destroyed in a fire in the mid-1880s.2 Moving ahead to the 1850s proves more helpful. In this period the Admiralty changed their method of recruiting a crew for a particular ship. Previously, a crew had been recruited for a commission and only paid the balance of their wages when the ship paid off. The incentive was therefore to remain with the ship. However, 1853 marked a turning point in the manning of the Royal Navy. The introduction of a fixed term of continuous service, coupled with the regular payment of wages, made it possible for men to have this period terminate before the end of a commission and therefore ‘take their time’ in Australia (or wherever). Additionally, it became a Royal Navy requirement that young lads should have a period of training on shore before being sent to sea. This meant that young seamen and stokers joined their first ship with the advantages of training, discipline and a basic nautical knowledge. They could look after themselves and had received a moderate level of education.


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Naval people and the nation 273

Unfortunately, there are no specific records of sailors taking their time in Australia, but there is one category of sailor about whom details exist and from which some conclusions might be drawn. This was the deserter. From 1852 onwards, every edition of the New South Wales Gazette, followed by the Police Gazette, published a list of absconders from merchant ships and of deserters from HM ships. An analysis of all seamen deserters whose names appeared in these publications contains around 10 000 names for the period from 1852 to Federation in 1901.3 Of these, merchant seamen occupy pride of place from 1852 until 1857, when prospecting for gold was all the rage. From that date however, deserters from RN ships replace their merchant service colleagues in the lists, thereafter almost entirely dominating the records. In total, some half of these 10 000 names are of naval men. This coincides with an increase of Royal Navy ships on the Australia Station. Finally, therefore, we have significant numbers to analyse. The majority of deserters were from Port Jackson, which was where warships spent most of their time. They tended to run from their ships in two circumstances—on arrival on the Australia Station and before final departure to the United Kingdom at the end of a commission. They were predominately younger boys or ordinary seamen, usually teenagers, but some older men also featured. There was also a high proportion of Royal Marines of whom, for some unfathomable reason, bandsmen feature prominently. Some ships had a higher percentage of deserters than others. One was HMS Pearl, the flagship of Commodore J.G. Goodenough, who would be killed by natives in the Santa Cruz Islands in August 1875. During the course of the ship’s commission on the Australia Station he lost no fewer than 40 per cent of his ship’s company. Earlier, Goodenough had written: . . . eight lads, under 18 years of age, have been decoyed away from HMS Pearl Sydney. Rewards are offered, and Commodore Goodenough offers a reward of £20 for such information as will lead to the conviction of the offending crimp.4


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Standard naval rewards were £3 in cases up to three months absence, £2 in up to six months and £1 in up to twelve months. After that, no reward was paid. To these sums, some colonial governments added a further £5. We find no trace of bounty hunters. Perhaps the incentives were too small. In any event, only 483 of the 5000 deserters were recovered. From the 1870s onwards, the stampede of men away from their ships reached the proportion of an avalanche. In 1882, for example, HMS Nelson lost 193 of her crew in one year from a total ship’s complement of just over 500, that is 38 per cent. Desertions continued until the Royal Navy was finally succeeded by the RAN in 1913 and left Australia. What contribution did this class of migrant make to the development of the country? In general, the training these young men received and the characteristics which that training encouraged would have made them resourceful, self-reliant, excellent allrounders, and used to getting along with others and turning their hands to a number of tasks. This would have given them an advantage over the run-of-the-mill migrant from a rural English or Irish background. As one contemporary assessment had it: A genuine man-o’-war’s man . . . was always in good humour and if you understand how to manage him, would do anything he was asked to do—whether he could or not! He would make brooms, milk the cows, play at cricket, march, fight, run, dance, sing, play the fiddle, smoke a pipe, drink a glass of grog and mind the baby. That he had his weaknesses and shortcomings cannot be denied, but take him all in all he was a splendid fellow—and I suspect we shall never see his like again.5

Anecdotal evidence suggests that naval deserters may have participated in the spread of the railway system through the laying of tracks and general infrastructure work. This is where experience in handling heavy weights could have come in handy. Moreover, from the middle of the 1850s, a growing number would have


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Members of the Queensland Naval Brigade pose for a portrait c. 1887. The brigade had been formed in 1883 from waterside workers and seamen of good experience, many of whom had served in the Royal Navy. Essentially a reserve force, members of the naval brigade were twice called out for continuous service. In 1885, the very real threat of war with Russia resulted in a detachment being sent to Thursday Island to act as a guard for the coal hulks there. The Queensland government mobilised its volunteers for a second time in 1891, during a period of widespread industrial unrest. (RAN)

been experienced in the basic operation of steam machinery. One contemporary report placed deserters in sugar mills along the Clarence River in northern New South Wales. Deserters could all, of course, have turned out to swell the ranks of the common criminals, but it is fair to say that there is no evidence of this. Deserters were unlikely in later years to have admitted the method of their irregular arrival in the colonies. Nevertheless, in later life, Chief


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Petty Officer Thomas Ives provided a rare insight into the time he spent in Australia in the flagship HMS Powerful, from 1905 to 1911: Hundreds deserted out there because they were offered the jobs. In Melbourne I went to a club with a Signalman who had deserted previously. I had gone into a restaurant to have a cup of tea and he must have seen me from out in the back there. When I went out he came round and I was amazed to see him. He had deserted about a year previously. And he said, ‘Oh, I’m getting on all right.’ I said, ‘Doesn’t anyone know you?’ ‘No,’ he said, ‘I’ll take you up to my club.’ And I went up to this club—I went up to a Police Club and a Detective-Sergeant was there an ex-sailor—deserted ten years previously! And quite openly! And I said to him, ‘What about the warrant for your arrest?’ He said, ‘I’ve still got that in my pocket. I’m going to arrest myself one of these times.’ That was the fun and games that went on there. The Australian Press was wholly in favour of these healthy English boys being out there, and that was it.6

CITIZENS AND SAILORS While some Royal Navy sailors were voting with their feet, a different type of person was moving in the opposite direction and taking up the naval profession. These were members of the naval militia who formed the crews of the small warships comprising the naval forces of several of the Australian colonies. Because of perceived threats of foreign depredations by, at different times, the French, the United States and the Russians, as well as attack by marauding brigands or privateers, the larger and more settled colonies had provided some form of coastal defence for their territories’ shores. Thus the legislatures of Queensland, Victoria, Tasmania and South Australia had all voted money for coastal defence ships. New South Wales does not feature in this list, the colony never being terribly serious about naval defence matters, primarily because Sydney was the homeport and base for the Royal Navy’s Australia Squadron.


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Captain Francis Hixson (1833–1909) and his family c.1898. A surveyor in the Royal Navy, Hixson was involved in charting the east coast of Australia in the 1850s. He later became president of the Marine Board of New South Wales and founded that colony’s Volunteer Naval Brigade in 1863. He was still in command of the New South Wales naval forces in 1900, when a contingent was sent to the Boxer Uprising. Three of his sons were lieutenants in the colony’s naval forces and a fourth served in the Queensland Naval Brigade. Hixson is remembered as the father of the Australian Naval Reserve. (State Library of NSW)

These coastal defence ships did not represent the latest in naval technology. They were laid up for most of the year, with occasional training trips of a week’s duration at most. Each ship had a small core crew to maintain the hull and fittings and care for stores and ammunition. They were public servants whose wages were voted


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each year by the colonial parliaments. They were thus subject to retrenchment in difficult economic times. The majority were exRoyal Navy personnel, having legitimately taken their time on the Station. Their level of expertise diminished as time went by—and they got older. However, this was not all that important as their charges were never updated. In times of tension or for training periods the core crews were augmented by naval militia, or by paid volunteers. These men received a retainer, so the depth of their commitment to the defence of their homeland can be challenged. They tended to be mature men, employed in occupations associated with the water: tug crews, wharf labourers, barge crews or perhaps specialists such as stokers at the local gasworks. They also tended to live near the naval depot, because they had to walk to parades—or perhaps catch the tram. In return for their retainer they were expected to turn up for weekly drill nights and periodic training cruises. These cruises usually took place around public holidays, since in most cases men had to take unpaid time off from their employment in order to serve. The numbers of locals employed as naval militia also tended to reflect a colony’s financial health, with wholesale laying-off being the case in hard times. The South Australian naval force almost ceased to exist at one stage in the 1890s, and the Victorian Navy sold both of its comparatively new gunboats in the same period, when funds ran short. It is difficult to estimate how effective these colonial naval militias might have been in action. The only example we have is that of the contingents from New South Wales, Victoria and South Australia who went to the Boxer Uprising at the turn of the century. The contingents from New South Wales and Victoria were employed on shore in Beijing and Tientsin in guard and police duties, and thus many of their professional naval abilities were never tested. South Australia’s gunboat was employed on despatch duties. As the century waned, the naval services of the Australian colonies steadily slipped into genteel obsolescence with the naval militia, who tended to be in the job for the retainer, getting older by the year. In addition, the prospect of the federation of the


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Australian colonies did not encourage those colonial governments that still retained naval forces to spend any money on them. The annual reports of the various colonies’ naval commandants to their legislatures during the 1880s and 1890s are replete with items such as numbers of men enrolled, drill nights attended, the annual training cruise, and marksmanship courses conducted, indicating the drudgery involved in running a colonial naval service. Nevertheless, there was certainly a contribution to naval affairs by a select segment of the population, and in fairly restricted situations, the activities of the naval brigades, as they were sometimes termed, obviously played a prominent part. There was, however, no apparent professional connection between the colonial naval forces and the Royal Navy. By the turn of the century, and with Federation in sight, the various naval forces were in a parlous state.

CITIZENS TO SAILORS In all the excitement of Federation, the defence forces got lost. The Constitution gave the Federal government the power to make laws for the naval and military defence of the Commonwealth. On 1 March 1901, the former Australian colonies—now states— transferred their naval forces and employees to federal control. The previous colonial naval brigades now became the Commonwealth Naval Militia. They numbered 1700, of whom 300 were the almost defunct New South Wales Naval Artillery Volunteers, and no fewer than 729 came from Queensland where there was also a small corps of naval cadets. The latter had been raised to give elementary naval training to youngsters under military age, much the same as nowadays. Passing the law was the first step, but nothing happened until the promulgation of the Commonwealth Defence Act in 1904. This led to the setting up of a Board of Naval Administration. It did not, however, have anything significant to administer.7 For all the talk over the first decade of the century about creating a fleet for the


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defence of Australia, there was precious little consideration given to how it would be manned. There was though, a possible solution. In the 1890s, an auxiliary squadron of the Royal Navy in Australia had been formed to defend the country’s shores. For various reasons this arrangement had failed, and at the Colonial Conference held in London in 1902 it had been proposed that the arrangement be abolished, and that in its turn Great Britain would keep a squadron of modern light cruisers, and of a specified strength, based in Australian ports. For this the Australian government would pay a subsidy. One or two vessels of the squadron would be earmarked for local service as ships in which Australian or New Zealand seamen could train and serve. An agreement concluded in 1903 permitted 700 Australian and New Zealand men to be taken on board these ‘drill’ ships. The scheme also allowed for the training of up to thirtythree officers, but nothing seems to have occurred in this direction apart from continuing the practice whereby a small number of youngsters were trained in the United Kingdom. The reasoning behind the agreement was the perceived requirement for a reserve of trained Australian sailors who could be called on to serve in ships of the Royal Navy on the Australia Station in time of emergency, and perhaps, if it ever came to fruition, in ships operated by the Commonwealth itself. Several drawbacks soon emerged. Only very basic training could be given in these static drill ships. For the acquisition of any advanced skills, men would have to be sent to the United Kingdom to one of the Royal Navy’s specialist schools. The Admiralty and the local commander-in-chief (CinC) had their own particular worries. The first was the question of bending (as they saw it) Australian youths to the Royal Navy’s discipline with the attendant risk of Jolly Jack being subverted by the larrikin colonial. But this nightmare, real or imagined, paled in comparison with the vexed question of pay. At the time, the base pay for an able seaman in the Royal Navy was about a shilling a day. On the other hand, entry pay for his Australian equivalent was in the vicinity of 5 shillings a day, rapidly rising to around 7 shillings. Civilian firemen in the steamers plying the Australian coast were meanwhile


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receiving 10 shillings a day. Even unskilled labourers on government relief were getting 7 shillings a day.8 Their lordships fretted about having ships’ crews working alongside each other with such a discrepancy. When this was coupled with the discipline problem, the whole idea did not seem attractive. Before long a solution emerged, undoubtedly from the mind of a public servant. Why not ostensibly pay the Australian sailor a shilling a day from Royal Navy funds and have the balance, paid by the commonwealth, put directly into the Commonwealth Savings Bank, thus giving the appearance of parity? This seemed so attractive that it was adopted. The scheme had been running for a couple of years before it was discovered that of the £32 200 the Commonwealth had paid into these accounts, only £2800 was left. Local sailors had, quite understandably, been drawing out their money as soon as it was paid in. The legislation had to be re-thought. There was yet another concern. As the then CinC, Admiral Sir Arthur Fanshawe, remarked, ‘Holiday making is so greatly the custom here in Australia that local men will certainly expect and probably demand leave far in excess . . .’ 9 The British Naval Estimates for 1904–05 planned for an increase in strength of 4000 men. Of these, 400 were to come from Australia and New Zealand. This figure was later increased to twenty officers and 560 ratings. At the end of 1906 Vice Admiral Sir Wilmot Fawkes, the new CinC, was suggesting that Australians (and in this context New Zealanders) be sent to the United Kingdom for further experience and training. Training on board stationary drill ships in Sydney and Melbourne remained unpopular because it did not satisfy the basic motive of the recruit in deciding to ‘join the Navy and see the world’. This was so much so that the 710 men entered in the years from 1904 to 1906 had been whittled down by the discharge as unsuitable or by desertion to 173 men. The glowing reports that Australian sailors received from the captain of the Royal Navy flagship of the station, a fully-operational ship, and from the captains of the training establishments in the United Kingdom, testify to the keenness of the motivated


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Members of the nascent Australian Navy provided an honour guard for the arrival of the Duke of York at St Kilda Pier in 1901. On this, the second Royal visit to Australia, the Duke’s main task was to inaugurate the first Australian Federal Parliament in Melbourne. The officer standing next to the small dog is Paymaster (later Paymaster-Captain) A.M. Treacy (1869–1938). The previous year he had been the Assistant Paymaster of the Victorian Navy’s contingent to the Boxer Uprising. Treacy went on to become the RAN’s first Paymaster-in-Chief and the Director of Naval Stores, Victualling and Contracts. (RAN)

Australian sailor. However, later figures show that of the seventynine ratings sent to the United Kingdom for training, who having returned and completed their five years of service, seventy-two had taken their discharge and only seven had re-engaged for another eight years. Of those who had ‘taken their time’ none had entered the reserves. Morale, although the phrase was alien in those days, was not helped by the fact that the Australian government seemed incapable of providing any ships for these men to join and of which they could become proud. This marked the nadir of Australian naval recruiting.


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Matters improved when the Australian government at last ordered three destroyers in 1909. These were of the ‘River’ class, which prompted one ignorant parliamentarian to ask of what use they might be if their duties restricted them to Australia’s inland waterways. This decision was soon followed with the revolutionary suggestion by the British government that the Commonwealth acquire what was called a ‘Fleet Unit’. This was the Edwardian equivalent of a balanced task group, consisting of an armoured cruiser (soon to be known as a battle cruiser), three light cruisers, destroyers and submarines. As far as recruiting was concerned, this proved a much more attractive force structure. The only problem was that the new ships would require a minimum of 2300 officers and men from the Permanent Naval Force to crew them, even without manning depot ships and training establishments. By the middle of June 1912 a training program was in full swing. A report outlined progress: A training school has been established at the naval depot at Williamstown to which the gunboat Paluma and two torpedo boats [all dating from the 1880s] were attached as tenders. The total number of people who can be accommodated at the depot and the tenders is about 300 and the accommodation is full. On 25th May [1912] the total was 307, and of these 135 are recruits under training. It is proposed to erect at Flinders naval base as soon as possible accommodation for at least 400 men. The Boys’ Training Ship Tingira has been commissioned and will commence to receive boys from 1st June [again 1912]. 100 boys will be entered then. 315 applications having been received up to date; of these 100 will be selected. A further 100 will be entered in September. There are already serving in the Imperial Squadron in Australia 341 Australians, and in China waters 106, in addition to these there are 63 undergoing higher training in Royal Navy establishments in England, in all 510. These men are serving under the conditions arranged in the Naval Agreement of 1903 [that is to serve as reservists] and of these at least 320 will transfer to the Royal Australian Navy; those now in Australia will be sent to England and will come out again in ships of the Fleet Unit.10


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As has already been noted, the introduction of training ships for young Australians was primarily intended to provide an Australian and New Zealand reserve of sailors for the Royal Navy, and in fact the force was originally termed the Royal Naval Reserve (Australasian Branch). Now, the acquisition of Australian warships resulted in these reserves being converted to regular sailors to form their crews. To complicate matters, however, in 1911 the government introduced compulsory peacetime training, the first such scheme to be introduced in an English-speaking country. The Citizen Naval Forces raised under the Universal Training Scheme were divided into two categories, the Commonwealth Naval Reserve (O) Obligatory and Commonwealth Naval Reserve (M) Militia. Those over the age of eighteen, and therefore not liable for compulsory service, and the rump of the ex-Militia were transferred to the Naval Reserve (M) and the youngsters to the Naval Reserve (O). In July 1911, with the granting by King Edward VII of the title ‘Royal Australian Navy’ to the Commonwealth Naval Forces, the two categories assumed the title Royal Australian Naval Reserve (M) and (O) respectively. The Citizen Naval Forces were later to be re-badged as the Naval Brigade. During the 1914–18 war their tasks included forming part of the Naval Expeditionary Force in 1914, part of the RAN Bridging Team at Gallipoli in 1915, and various guard duties in and around Australian ports. Australian authorities had some clear ideas concerning the manning of the fleet, and these in turn closely reflected national priorities. In August 1912, for example, the Melbourne Argus noted approvingly: Of the dozen officers to be appointed to HMAS Melbourne, which will be the first fighting ship of the Commonwealth fleet unit to arrive in Australia, all except Captain Silver can claim close association with Australia. Nine were born on Commonwealth soil, while another boasts an Australian wife. The remaining two are described as ‘having relations in Australia’.11


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The other side of the coin is shown by the absence of a member of HMAS Australia’s crew when she sailed from the United Kingdom in June 1913. The man had been entered through one of the Royal Navy’s shore barracks, as had become the custom, with his papers subsequently being sent to Captain Francis Haworth-Booth, the RAN’s representative in London, for final approval. When reviewing his papers Haworth-Booth discovered that the man was ‘coloured’. By the time the barracks had been notified of the problem, the man was already on board Australia. He was promptly discharged, upon which his lawyer called for compensation for breach of contract. Haworth-Booth, reporting this, wrote: I regret that I did not originally think it was necessary to point out to the Admiralty and recruiting staff that no coloured rating could be entered into the RAN and I certainly thought that Australia’s White Policy was now known to every responsible person.12

This was a rare hiccup, and by the time Australia found itself at war a year later, the manpower situation had stabilised at around 3800 officers and men in the Permanent Naval Force. Of this number 78 per cent were members of the RAN, with the balance, predominantly higher specialist ratings and more senior officers, having come on loan or exchange from the Royal Navy.13 It is not known how many of the Permanent Force had been previously in the Royal Navy and had migrated and joined on expiration of their service. The naval reserves, who were about to revert to their original designation of the Naval Brigade, numbered 1650 with another 3100 cadets.14

A NAVY’S PEOPLE This has been a brief examination of a topic which has not as yet attracted much professional historical attention. Researchers in the field of naval history are too often more concerned with ships, fleets, battles, strategy and tactics. It is however, a navy’s people who are ultimately responsible for making sure that a fleet is effective. It


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was ordinary men who had left their naval employment for whatever reason, who contributed to the development of Australia; it was ordinary men who provided the militia for the various colonial naval defence forces and, finally, it was the adventureseeking young ordinary Australians who volunteered for the new naval service in the years leading up to the outbreak of war in 1914. Those who have followed owe them an enormous debt.


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15 Alfred Deakin and the Australian naval story Judith Harley

The British man-of-war and the British seaman awaken enthusiasm whenever they visit our ports because, being English, they are inseparably associated with our race and history; but the squadron supposed to be paid for in part by us is not specially Australian any more than it is Anglo–Indian or representative of the Straits Settlements, to which it may be called at any time. What is really required is that any defences, if they are to be appreciated as Australian, must be distinctively of that character . . . No Commonwealth patriotism is aroused while we merely supply funds that disappear in the general expenditure of the Admiralty. Alfred Deakin, 28 August 19051

I never met my grandfather, Alfred Deakin, for I was born ten years after his death; but my mother Vera’s—his youngest daughter’s— recollections of her father are among my earliest memories.2 When I was growing up in Melbourne, politics and history were food and drink to me as ours was a political household. My father, pioneer aviator Tommy White, held the portfolio of minister for air and civil aviation. During his twenty-two years in Federal Parliament, 287


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defence matters were always a key issue for him as they had been for his father-in-law, Alfred Deakin. In 2001, the year of the centenary of Federation, public attention was focused on Deakin and the important role he played in the federation of the colonies into one nation. During that year I made a particular study of my grandfather’s life.3 Deakin had a global view of the world. He had a respect for Britain and the Empire which was practical rather than deferential, reflected in his agitation for the development of an Australian Navy. When he was prime minister in 1908 he welcomed the United States fleet to Australia, and in the same week he spoke at the jubilee dinner of the Australasian Football League. He devoted himself to persuading the people of every state to think of themselves as Australians. His family background helped to make him the man he was. I believe it was his personal qualities and outstanding people skills that enabled him to achieve so much. Deakin differed from many other politicians in that he worked behind the scenes as a negotiator, avoiding the limelight as much as possible. With his experience as a journalist he became a keen observer of men. With his many interests he had a wide circle of friends, many of whom trusted him and enjoyed his company, despite having directly opposing political views. I believe also that his skills as a behind-the-scenes negotiator were of immeasurable help during the struggle to develop an independent Australian Navy. Alfred Deakin’s political career ran almost exactly parallel with the story of the beginnings of the Australian Navy. In 1887, the problem of colonial defence was discussed at the first ever Imperial Conference attended by representatives of all the British colonial legislatures. The meeting was held in London to coincide with the Jubilee of Queen Victoria. As a result of the discussions that took place at this conference, the Australasian Defence Act was passed by the United Kingdom Parliament, and later passed in all the Australian colonial legislatures. This act provided for an auxiliary naval squadron partly subsidised by the Australian colonies to supplement the British squadron already in Australian waters.4


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Alfred Deakin was then the thirty-year-old Chief Secretary of the Colony of Victoria and was the leader of the Victorian delegation at the London conference. He was thus on deck and in a commanding position when the first important steps were taken towards the founding of the Australian Navy. His political career had just ended when twenty-six years later on 4 October 1913, after a long labour, the first elements of the Australian fleet unit sailed into Sydney Harbour. A few months earlier Alfred Deakin had just retired after thirty years as a member of the Victorian Colonial and Federal parliaments, including three terms served as prime minister of Australia. Stepping down also on 4 October 1913 was the last commander-in-chief of the Australia Station, British Admiral Sir George King-Hall, who then lowered his flag. The officer commanding the Australian fleet, Rear Admiral Sir George Patey, flying his flag in HMAS Australia, assumed command. Who was Deakin the man, and what part had he played in this naval and national achievement?

DEAKIN THE MAN Alfred Deakin was born in Fitzroy, a suburb of Melbourne, in 1856. His place of birth influenced his outlook on the world. He, like many of his Australian-born contemporaries, grew up proud to be a subject of the British Empire and with respect for its institutions—including the British system of parliamentary government and the Royal Navy, and well aware of the advantages of being part of that Empire, but at the same time Deakin was a fiercely independent Australian. It is probably significant that the three founding fathers who were successful in having the Australian Commonwealth Bill passed by the British parliament in London in 1900—Edmund Barton, Charles Kingston and Alfred Deakin—were all born in the Australian colonies and not in Britain. As Australian natives they


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were born into a minority. When Barton was born in Sydney in 1849, Kingston in Adelaide in 1850 and Deakin in Melbourne in 1856, the vast majority of the population of the Australian colonies had been born in Britain. Deakin was the only son of William Deakin who was born in Oxfordshire and migrated with his wife Sarah, seeking a better life in Australia. William was an account keeper for the coaching firm of Cobb & Co. It is said that Alfred inherited ‘the gift of the gab’ from his Welsh-born mother Sarah Deakin (née Bill). He had an older sister Catherine who never married and became Alfred’s political confidante throughout his life. It was from his father that Deakin inherited a love of reading, writing and debating the issues of the day with a large circle of friends. He had a vivid imagination and a mind ever receptive to new ideas. I believe his leadership skills were fostered by the encouragement he received from his close-knit family. Deakin also loved the sea—and indeed was almost a naval midshipman.5 As a lad he used to watch the ships sail in and out of Port Phillip Bay bound for far off lands. Inspired by the adventure stories of Marryat, he thought he would like to go to sea. He won his father’s reluctant consent, and enquiries were made about Alfred becoming a midshipman. But before final arrangements were made he changed his mind. If he had not changed it we might conceivably have had, instead of Prime Minister Deakin, an Admiral Deakin. The sea, however, remained part of Deakin’s consciousness. This was of course an era of travel by sea, with plenty of time on long voyages to ponder its place in the national and international life of the day. As a young man Deakin revelled in life aboard ship. He travelled by sea to the United States, India, Egypt, Britain and Europe both as an investigative journalist and as a cabinet minister. His extensive travels made him acutely aware of the importance of sea power in keeping Australia’s and the Empire’s sea lanes and trade routes secure. He also fostered a family legend connecting the Deakins to naval life. For a time the family crest was printed on the top of Alfred Deakin’s personal writing paper. The words ‘Strike Dakyns the devil’s in the hempe’ are printed beneath a mailed arm


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and hand holding a battleaxe. This crest was granted to the Elizabethan sailor Arthur Dakyns for his brave action in battle: hacking through the ropes of a Spanish ship. With his vivid imagination and love of history and adventure, Deakin liked to think that he was a descendant of Arthur Dakyns and that he had the blood of an Elizabethan fighting sailor running in his veins, although his biographer John La Nauze was later sceptical of this connection.6 The boy Deakin attended Alfred Deakin (1856–1919) on the Melbourne Grammar the front beach, Point Lonsdale, School where he was only an Victoria, c. 1910. Deakin has average student, but a probeen called the chief architect digious reader. On leaving of Australia’s defence and foreign policy framework from school he was more interested 1903 to 1910. (Deakin in becoming a dramatist, poet University Library) or philosopher than a lawyer. He studied law, attending evening lectures at Melbourne University and teaching by day to earn his living. This legal training was invaluable when he became Attorney-General in the first Commonwealth Parliament and headed a department which drafted bills for the foundation of the new nation. As a young man Deakin joined the Melbourne Progressive Lyceum established by the spiritualists of Melbourne. It was as a leader in this society (my mother told me) that he learned how to run meetings, have amicable discussions, and reach agreement amongst a disparate collection of both women and men. It was an excellent apprenticeship for politics.


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Deakin was called to the Bar and was a fluent and rapid speaker, but as his briefs were few he earned his living as a journalist. David Syme, the dour editor of the Melbourne Age, took a liking to young Deakin and engaged him as his artistic and literary correspondent. He soon became the leader writer for the Age, writing on a variety of subjects including politics. I believe Deakin’s experience as a journalist helped to hone his skills as an observer of men. He also wrote plays, poetry and philosophy, as well as hundreds of prayers, for he was constantly seeking after religious truths. In 1878, he was elected at the age of twenty-two to fill a casual vacancy in the Victorian Legislative Assembly. When Parliament met he surprised everyone when he made his maiden speech his resignation speech. There had been insufficient ballot papers at one of the polling booths on election day. Even if sufficient papers had been provided he would have won, but for Deakin it was a matter of honour. He put policy before party and, as he saw it, principle before personal gain. After two failed attempts he was re-elected to the Victorian Legislative Assembly in 1880 and soon after became the youngest person ever to become a minister in the Victorian Parliament. Typical of the social legislation he initiated was the first factory act ever passed in the British Empire to limit the working hours of women and children. In 1882, Alfred married Pattie Browne. Her parents reluctantly gave their consent to their daughter’s marriage to the radical penniless lawyer. Her father, Hugh Junor Browne, was a successful manufacturer of spirits but Pattie did not inherit any of this wealth. The marriage was a happy one. I have evidence of this in the copies of the poems Alfred wrote to his wife on each birthday and wedding anniversary. In 1885, as Victorian minister for water supply, Deakin travelled to the United States to report on irrigation in dry climates—a report which led to the Murray River irrigation scheme. With his wife Pattie and baby Ivy they sailed to California and back. The sea also dealt the Deakins a terrible blow. On the eve of their departure Pattie learnt that two of her brothers had been lost at sea on a fishing trip. A large shark had been caught, and in


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its belly were the remains of her brothers’ clothing with their gold watches and cuff links. Deakin first travelled to the heart of the Empire—London—in 1887 when he led the Victorian delegation to the Imperial Conference. It was later observed by Walter Murdoch that at this conference, ‘The representatives of the seven disunited Australasian colonies were rarely or never in accord on vital issues.’ 7 Charles Kingston and Deakin realised that nothing worthwhile could be achieved by the Australian colonies until they were united and spoke with one voice. They believed that it was the only way the Australian view would carry weight with the Colonial Office. The Australian colonists saw their future security as being threatened by strategic developments in the Pacific—by the increased activity of Germany in Samoa and of France in the New Hebrides. Deakin spoke at the conference of the disdain and indifference with which he believed the Colonial Office had treated this problem. Deakin tackled the formidable British prime minister, Lord Salisbury, on the matter of the French acquiring the New Hebrides. Due partly to Deakin’s insistence, the New Hebrides became a condominium ruled by Britain and France rather than a purely French possession. Several of the delegates, including Deakin, were acclaimed in London, but the adulation did not go to his head. This appears in a family story. Alfred sent a package home to Pattie from London and I still have it. Inside was a pen wiper, fashioned into a small doll dressed in the academic robes of a Doctor of Laws of Oxford University. There was a note to Pattie which said the enclosed was all she would have as a reminder that he had thrown away her chance of being Lady Deakin as he had declined a knighthood as well as an honorary degree from Oxford. Deakin did not believe in accepting honours for service in office, and believed university degrees should be earned and not bestowed on people. Deakin returned to the law and practised as a barrister, declining all ministerial office between 1890 and 1900 to devote himself to the cause of Federation. He was a delegate at every Federation convention


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and was tireless in his efforts to bring about the federation of the Australian colonies. While defence was not a major issue in bringing this about, it was an inextricable factor and Deakin was well aware of its importance to the emerging new nation.8 Australian defence issues would occupy much of his attention during his service as prime minister. He returned to London to assist with the passage of the Australian Constitution Act which was then passed by the colonial legislatures. In 1901 he became a member of the new Federal Parliament, as the Member for Ballarat and Attorney-General in the first Federal Cabinet. In 1902, he became acting prime minister during Barton’s absence in London at the Imperial Conference at which a new naval agreement was negotiated. Deakin succeeded Barton as prime minister in September 1903 and served in the office three times before resigning on account of ill-health in 1913. He had a vision of the British Empire as a family of independent nations. In 1907, he attended the Imperial Conference as prime minister and advocated an imperial partnership of free nations, equal in status and organised for their common welfare. Part of his policy was to establish a preferential trade tariff between the countries of the Empire. For the first decade of the new Federation, Deakin wrote a monthly anonymous column for the London newspaper The Morning Post—for which, incidentally, Winston Churchill had also been a correspondent.9 Deakin’s aim in doing this was to inform the British public of the progress of the young country. He believed that Britons should know of the progress Australia was making towards the building of a nation, with its own institutions—including a navy—and its own economic prospects and financial stability. Throughout his long political career Deakin liked to get away from official life and be with his family. Alfred and Pattie had three daughters—Ivy, Stella and my mother Vera—who all lived to the ripe old age of eighty-seven, helped no doubt by their Spartan upbringing. The girls holidayed with their parents by the sea, at Point Lonsdale by the entrance to Port Phillip Bay, where Alfred built a holiday house ‘Ballara’. One could approach Point Lonsdale


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by steamship, passing the naval defences on Swan Island.10 The girls went swimming and took long walks and bicycle rides with their father, who avoided social occasions whenever he could. After Deakin left parliament he maintained his interest in international affairs and in 1915 represented Britain and Australia in San Francisco at the Panama–Pacific Exposition celebrating the opening of the Panama Canal. His health gradually deteriorated and he died in 1919. Alfred Deakin as prime minister was thus unusually wellequipped to understand the need for an independent Australian navy and to promote its cause. He was an accomplished and influential politician with a flair for creating consensus. He had a vision of a new Australian nation within a British imperial family. He was aware of Australia’s location in the Pacific and of the fluid nature of strategic rivalries within the region. He had something of a background in defence issues, and he had a love of the sea and of naval lore, and an awareness of the importance of sea power and of seaborne trade, particularly to Australia as a maritime nation. What role, specifically, did Deakin play in the development of the Australian Navy?

THE NAVAL STORY Deakin was concerned to promote the building of a new and united Australian nation. He understood that sea power was integral to its national development. The first naval agreement between Britain and her colonies had been made in 1865 prior to the withdrawal of British troops from the colonies. This allowed each colony to buy small naval vessels which were manned by volunteers. But Britain would not allow these ships to patrol beyond a 4-mile maritime limit. British strategy was to retain control over the Empire’s trade routes and over access to its coaling stations. Moreover, with technological change and the costs of personnel, the financial aspect of naval defence remained a problem.


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Most of the difficulties Australia faced in the development of her navy were evident at the 1887 Imperial Conference. Essentially they derived from a lack of understanding and poor communication between the Australian colonies on the one hand and the British Cabinet and Colonial Office on the other. Deakin, as we have seen, was particularly worried by what he saw as the British government’s lack of interest in strengthening British imperial interests against those of France and Germany in the Pacific. One minor proposal Deakin made at this conference was for the introduction of measures to preserve life at sea, by recommending that there should be a uniform law requiring vessels to carry adequate equipment for the safety of passengers. This idea came to nothing as it was said that it would reduce profits for the ship owners. Deakin saw the 1887 discussions, which led to the subsidising of the auxiliary squadron, as producing a makeshift agreement which was the best that could be managed at the time. In his view it was regrettable that the British government alone could determine when and where the fleet was to be used. Deakin would have preferred a fleet which was manned, built, owned and directed by Australia and this remained part of his vision. At the end of the nineteenth century, therefore, the Royal Navy was maintaining both the imperial and auxiliary squadrons on the Australia Station. In 1901, at the time of Federation, all colonial naval vessels passed into Commonwealth control. Captain William Rooke Creswell became the Director of Commonwealth Naval Forces in 1904. Prime Minister Barton reached a new naval agreement in London in 1902, negotiating as best he could within the limited financial resources of the new nation. Both Deakin and Creswell deplored the fact that this agreement did not go further and meant only an increased Australian monetary subsidy of £200 000. This, they believed, did not sufficiently promote an Australian patriotism in relation to national defence issues. As far as Deakin was concerned the agreement was an indignity for Australia and simply the paying of tribute. During his three terms as prime minister, between 1903 and 1910, he promoted the


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concept of an independent Australian navy, engaged in negotiations for the development of such a force with the imperial authorities in London, explored various options for a naval force structure and essentially sought to mediate between Australian and imperial ideas for a national fleet. Real political achievements require time, influence and tact. Deakin was neither a naval officer nor a strategist. In retrospect he may have been mistaken in some of the strategic kites he flew. What he did have, however, was the concept of an Australian fleet. He also possessed the political skills and opportunity to lobby for such a cause. It must be remembered that in the struggle for naval development it was the democratically elected politicians such as Barton and Deakin who did the negotiating with the British government and the Admiralty. Deakin realised that any concessions obtained from London had to be achieved with its goodwill and cooperation. This often went unacknowledged by the Australian naval advocates who were impatient but ultimately impotent unless the right political moves were made. Creswell, however, seems to have been appreciative of Deakin’s efforts in the naval arena. In April 1904, when Deakin was stepping down as prime minister, Creswell wrote to him, ‘I may I hope as a private Australian person say how sincerely I regret that at any rate for a time the country will lose you as Prime Minister.’11 Deakin and New Zealand Prime Minister Seddon reached agreement with London in 1903 for an expansion of the Australasian Squadron and for Australasian sailors to be trained in it.12 But this was still not a satisfactory agreement for anyone concerned and Deakin persisted. The Anglo–Japanese alliance of 1902 had provoked fear in Australia of Japanese intentions even before the Russo–Japanese War. Deakin’s concerns were broader, however, and with the naval and colonial potential of all the Pacific great powers. He appreciated the change brought about by the Japanese defeat of the Russians at Tsushima in 1905, making a public statement: ‘A new international situation has been established and the balance of power in the north Pacific has most materially altered . . . it is


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madness for Australians to live in a fool’s paradise of fancied security.’13 He was concerned about the threat to Australian trade from Japanese and German cruisers. In 1905, he also wrote to the Governor-General: ‘Nowhere are maritime communications more important than to Australia, seeing that our dependence upon sea carriage is certain to increase rather than diminish as population and production advance.’14 Creswell’s mission to London in 1906 was not a success, and the Committee of Imperial Defence made clear that it did not favour the development of Australian naval power. Nor did it sympathise with Australians’ sense of insecurity in their region. Deakin’s reaction was to turn to the ideas of Creswell for coastal defence by destroyers and torpedo boats, but he still wanted an ocean-going Australian navy to be closely linked to the Royal Navy.15 At the 1907 London Conference, imperial defence was the main item on the agenda. By this time the Admiralty had changed its position and was encouraging Australia to develop its naval capability. Deakin agreed with the Admiralty that there should be an independent naval force manned by Australians. But he was also concerned to keep up Australian military standards.16 He extracted a concession from the Admiralty that the personnel for an Australian flotilla should be recruited and trained to Royal Navy standards and be interchangeable with the parent service. The Admiralty also conceded that control of the Australian force must formally lie with the Australian government. There was, however, a hiatus of seven months during 1907–08 between Deakin’s submission of his proposals to London and the Admiralty’s basic approval of his plan. At least part of the reason for this time lapse is that the Admiralty needed more details and neither Deakin nor Creswell had the professional ability to supply them.17 It is also conceivable, however, that the Admiralty was dragging its feet in approving a difficult and complex scheme. Whatever the reason or reasons, it was at this time that Deakin created a spectacular opportunity to promote the cause of


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The US Great White Fleet approaches Sydney Heads on 20 August 1908. The impact that the Fleet’s visit had on the Australian public was considerable. It drew bigger and more enthusiastic crowds than anything in Australian history to that point and, as Alfred Deakin had hoped, the visit did much to stimulate greater navalist sentiment. (NHC NH 67143)

Australian naval power. In January 1908, he invited the US Navy’s ‘Great White Fleet’ to visit Australia during its Pacific cruise. His motives in doing so were apparently complex, but they included promoting the cause of an independent Australian navy by stimulating greater navalist sentiment in Australia and playing the ‘American card’ with the British.18 Deakin indicated to the Admiralty that a British battleship had never been seen in Australian waters. Deakin felt that after Britain had made a treaty with Japan she had ignored Pacific interests in concentrating her efforts in building better ships to keep pace with the growing strength of Germany. The visit in August 1908 was a great success. Glowing messages of goodwill flowed along the Pacific cables between President Theodore Roosevelt and Prime Minister Deakin. More than 12 000


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officers and men from sixteen battleships visited both Sydney and Melbourne. One ship, USS Kansas, had to stay behind to pick up the 200 sailors who could not be found. Eventually about half turned up but one hundred had disappeared. Presumably the descendants of these sailors are living in Australia today. At a state banquet to mark the fleet visit Deakin made clear his aspirations for a blue-water Australian fleet. He speculated ‘that from our own shores some day a fleet will go out not unworthy to be compared in quality, if not in numbers, with the magnificent fleet now in Australia’.19 During the fleet visit, he also gave a speech at the Royal Yacht Club of Victoria in the presence both of Australians and of officers of the US Navy.20 It displayed both enthusiasm and political astuteness. He said: Here in Australia we have a vast continent of enormous resources, and fortunately we live under the shelter of the British flag and the British navy. [cheers] But for the British navy there would be no Australia. But does that mean that, therefore, Australia should sit still under the shelter of the British navy? [voices: no! no!] Those who say that we should sit still are not British, and are not worthy of the name of Briton. You cannot be content to expect defence at any other hands than your own. You must do your own share. But the share of 5,000,000 people is not the share of 45,000,000. The share of Australia is not a fleet of 16 battle-ships. Australia cannot afford so many, or such a magnificent display of maritime power for a long time to come; but she will never possess marine power or naval capacity if she is not content to creep before she can walk, and walk before she can run. We have been too long before we have attempted to creep, and do something on our own behalf. We cannot displace the squadrons in these seas, but we can add from our blood and our intelligence— which we take leave to believe and trust in—something that will make such a commencement as shall launch us upon the beginning of our naval career.


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Naval people and the nation 301 The visit of this fleet to Australia means an awakening to us. We must improve our harbour and coastal defences, and we may in time create a defence which will rank in the defences of the Empire.

In speaking thus Deakin wanted to influence the Australian public, the British imperial authorities, and the Americans whom he sought to win over to the British cause rather than the German. It is of course difficult to measure the success of such a ploy. But during the next two years Deakin’s ambitions for an Australian fleet were achieved. Throughout his dealings with London on naval issues Deakin was at pains to retain the goodwill of the Admiralty, doubtlessly realising that nothing could be achieved without it. He had had private conversations with the reformist First Sea Lord, Admiral ‘Jacky’ Fisher, in London in 1907, and a subsequent letter he wrote to Fisher struck a chord in the Admiral; both men were dissatisfied with the existing naval agreement.21 There was in fact an emerging point of political contact between Deakin’s desire for an Australian fleet and his view of an imperial family on the one hand and Fisher’s desire for tailored blue-water naval assets—his ‘fleet unit concept’— on the other. It was this which set the stage for the creation of the Australian fleet unit. Deakin was in political opposition when the Australian government offered in March 1909 to pay for a dreadnought for use by the Royal Navy in European waters. He quickly came around to supporting the idea, however, just before the Federal election which returned him to the prime ministership in June, and his motives may well have been somewhat political. Immediately on returning to power he renewed the Australian offer of a dreadnought. Deakin did not attend the 1909 London Naval Conference, but was in constant touch with his representative Colonel John Foxton. The Admiralty had become concerned about the Japanese naval factor in the Pacific, and Fisher presented his fleet unit concept as the force structure for an Australian navy centred on a battle cruiser—the ship which eventually became


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HMAS Australia.22 Foxton was impressed and after some discussion Deakin telegraphed Australian approval. The fleet unit would be built, maintained and subsidised by Australia, trained and supported by the Royal Navy, with personnel interchangeable with the Royal Navy’s, and under the political control of the Australian government. Before Deakin left office in 1910 he had authorised the building of the battle cruiser and the acceptance of tenders for construction of the ship. The new prime minister, Andrew Fisher, oversaw the passage of the Naval Defence Act 1910, which created the legal basis for the Royal Australian Navy. Deakin had seized the political opportunity afforded by Jacky Fisher’s strategic ideas to implement his vision of a national fleet

A postcard home from two HMAS Melbourne (I) sailors on wartime service. One of Alfred Deakin’s priorities in his plans for the Australian Navy was to ensure that its members were fully equal to those serving in the Royal Navy. The pre-war insistence on common training and full interchangeability paid immediate dividends during 1914–18. The steadfast efforts of Australian officers and men ensured that the epithet ‘Wallaby Navy’ went from being a term of derision to one associated with well-manned, efficient ships ready to go anywhere. (D.J. Perryman)


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which served imperial interests. He had been prepared to abandon Creswell’s ideas for a more limited naval force to get the deal he wanted. But many years later even Creswell paid tribute to Deakin as the political father of the Australian fleet unit. He wrote, ‘Without question it was due to Deakin that we were ready in 1914—He ordered the building of the Fleet.’23

BRINGING PEOPLE TOGETHER Deakin has been criticised in his handling of naval issues as being political and erratic and as lacking expertise.24 But he had to be political and flexible as a democratic leader and diplomatic negotiator. And while Deakin was not a naval person, he had a certain strategic insight thirty years ahead of his time—Japan became a threat to Australia and the American alliance was important in defeating it. Above all, Deakin had a vision for Australian naval power. In the words of his biographer John La Nauze, ‘What he did was sometimes the despair of the service officers; what he gained they could never have achieved by themselves.’ 25 It is a rare political operator who can bring political and military people together to achieve a common goal. What Deakin did in the naval area was what he did elsewhere—bring people together—just as he had done in the causes of Federation and nation-building. He used his political gifts in what he saw as worthwhile causes. In the case of the Navy, he believed in a national naval force because he understood the importance of sea power to a maritime nation in the Pacific. This was true in his time and it remains true today.


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16 Vice Admiral Sir William Clarkson, KBE, CMG, RAN: building ships for the navy and the nation Chris Clark We are of the opinion that, in order to induce the ship-builders in Australia to make preparations for building vessels of the class proposed [destroyers], a definite scheme should be agreed to . . . it is considered that any increase in cost due to these vessels being built within the Commonwealth should not be charged against defences, but should be regarded as a subsidy or bonus given for the initiation of an important industry, that of ship-building calculated to be of immense benefit to the trade of the Commonwealth. Committee of Naval Officers of the Commonwealth, 12 September 19061

After years of debate, and not a little political procrastination, early in 1909 the newly elected Labor government led by Andrew Fisher took the first decisive steps towards creating a sea-going navy for Australia. On 5 February the minister for defence, Senator George Pearce, announced that two destroyers for the Commonwealth 304


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Naval Forces (CNF) would be ordered from Britain. These ships were to serve as prototypes for similar vessels to be built in Australia, in a shipbuilding yard which the government would set about establishing. As a sign that the government was serious in its intent, it was also announced that the first task for the new yard would be to build a third destroyer of the same type.2 In one fell swoop, Australia was both acquiring the beginnings of a new national navy and laying the foundations for a new shipbuilding industry. These were important nation-building steps, and the story behind them and what followed can, surprisingly, be told largely through following the career of just one man, an Australian naval engineer officer named William Clarkson. In 1909, Clarkson was only a commander, but thirteen years later he would leave the service as Engineer Vice Admiral—the only three-star appointment the engineering branch of the Royal Australian Navy has ever had. Clarkson is not a well-known figure in RAN circles, despite being a contemporary of Vice Admiral Sir William Creswell, whose career was a close parallel to his own. This chapter, therefore, in addition to being a tribute to the role of the individual in history, also seeks to highlight the contribution of the other little-known founder of the Australian service.

CLARKSON AND CRESWELL Clarkson’s connection to the process which culminated in Pearce’s momentous 1909 announcement went back at least three years. In a sense, it might be said to have gone back more than twenty years—to the period in the 1880s when Clarkson and Creswell served together in the large gunboat Protector, the flagship (indeed, sole warship!) of the South Australian Naval Forces. Clarkson had actually been with that vessel from the time it was completed in England, at Newcastle upon Tyne, and sent out to the colony in 1884; Creswell not until a year later. Clarkson’s association with


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The officers of HMCS Protector photographed in 1897. Chief Engineer Clarkson (1859–1934) is seated on the left, Captain William Creswell (1852–1933) is in the centre. The variety of important positions which Clarkson filled in his lifetime, in addition to his main naval appointment, gave him a public profile that few serving naval officers have ever achieved in Australia. When knighted in 1918 he was already acknowledged as pre-eminent in the nation’s maritime affairs for both his administrative and technical skills. (RAN)

Protector stemmed from having been an employee of the Tyneside marine engineering firm which installed the gunboat’s engines, a role that he had performed dozens of times before in vessels ranging from merchantmen to large warships.3 It should be noted, therefore, that Clarkson was well-schooled in both shipbuilding and the navalist aspirations for Australia which Creswell began expressing from 1886. Familiarity with Creswell’s views probably led to Clarkson being appointed in 1906 to a seminal committee of naval officers


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that effectively laid the groundwork for Pearce’s announcement some three years later. The committee, which Creswell chaired in his capacity as Director of the CNF, famously dared to argue against the advice of the Committee of Imperial Defence in London and recommended in favour of Australia acquiring flotillas of destroyers and torpedo-boats.4 These proposals, which quickly received endorsement from the prime minister of the day, Alfred Deakin, provided a crucial planning basis. Equally notable was a suggestion of this committee that less than half of the twenty-four vessels to be acquired under the so-called ‘flotilla scheme’ should come from shipyards in Britain; the rest were to be constructed locally, and thus provide the basis for an ‘important industry, that of shipbuilding’. From Clarkson’s membership of this committee it might be inferred that he shared Creswell’s views, or at least sympathised with them, but we do not know this for sure. Clarkson was a taciturn Yorkshireman notorious for speaking his mind bluntly and with little tact. For all the expectations that such a reputation might create, the fact is that he left very little in the way of writings that provide insight into his thinking. Unfortunately, detailed records regarding the deliberations of Creswell’s committee also do not seem to have survived, so we do not know precisely who was behind any individual element of its findings and recommendations. It should be noted, however, that the only one of its six members with specialist knowledge and experience of shipbuilding was Engineer Commander Clarkson. As the senior engineer on the Commonwealth Naval Forces List, Clarkson was to the fore during practically every subsequent step of the process leading up to the first construction of a warship in federated Australia.

1907 NAVAL MISSION OVERSEAS When Creswell gained ministerial approval in March 1907 to send a mission to England to begin the process of selecting the pattern of ship for an Australian flotilla, Clarkson, naturally, was one of


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the two officers chosen to go. Creswell had argued that tenders submitted by potential shipbuilders would need to be assessed by some persons competent to judge their merits, to ensure that Australia was getting ‘the best bargain possible’. Ideally, these same people should be involved in preparing the specifications against which tenders were to be called, since any other arrangement would entail ‘endless correspondence and delay’. The other officer who Creswell proposed for this role was another member of the committee of naval officers from the previous year, Commander William Colquhoun. It was envisaged that while Clarkson would busy himself during the months before construction of Australia’s ships began by ‘visiting Engineering and Shipbuilding Works and in investigating the latest developments in Naval Architecture and Engineering’, Colquhoun would gain experience on attachment to a Royal Navy destroyer flotilla. Once construction was underway, both officers would be available to supervise and help avoid mistakes or neglect.5 All this advice was accepted by the minister, Thomas Ewing, with the result that the two commanders received written instructions later that month to proceed abroad for a period of at least six months, during which they were required to make enquiries ‘into the latest naval developments, more particularly in respect to the organization, service, and construction of torpedo [boat] destroyers and other classes of torpedo craft, [and] also into improvements in naval armament’. This was a mission that took them first to Japan, where the pair spent several weeks exploring a range of shipbuilding and other heavy engineering facilities as guests of the Imperial Japanese Navy,6 before moving on to the United States, Canada and eventually Britain, where they arrived at the end of June. In London they met with the director of naval construction at the Admiralty, Sir Philip Watts, before embarking on an extensive tour of shipyards and shore establishments—beginning with those on Clarkson’s old turf along the Tyne.7 It was while Clarkson was away that plans for an ocean-going Australian navy finally got the essential push that they needed. At


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the Colonial Conference held in London during April 1907, the Admiralty gave its blessing to the flotilla scheme—though not before urging a modification that involved adding submarines. This was not a revision welcomed by Creswell, who saw such craft as untried and unsuitable to Australian conditions, but that did not prevent Deakin from announcing his government’s acceptance of the change. In any event, Deakin was losing his grip on power at this time and, by November 1908, he was out of office—replaced by Fisher’s Labor ministry. It was then that, as noted above, Creswell reminded the new minister for defence, Senator Pearce, about the plan to purchase torpedo-boat destroyers (or destroyers, as this type soon became universally known), and Pearce responded by finally announcing plans to order.

CONSTRUCTING THE RAN’S FIRST SHIPS By this stage, Clarkson had returned home to Australia in March 1908, after his investigatory mission with Colquhoun, only to find himself sent back off to London four months later to make arrangements for purchasing machinery required for a Small Arms Factory which the government had decided to build at Lithgow in New South Wales.8 Being on the spot in England, he found that he now had an additional role to play in the new developments on the naval front. He was instructed to assist Captain Muirhead Collins, the former naval officer who was Australia’s official representative in Britain, in calling for tenders for the ships that Pearce had committed the government to order, then to analyse and assess all the proposals received. It was his advice to Collins which favoured the bid for a fast oil-burning turbine-driven vessel of 700 tons, put forward by a consortium of two Glasgow firms: William Denny & Bros of Dumbarton, and the London & Glasgow Engineering Co. (later Fairfield Shipbuilding & Engineering Co.) of Govan. In his judgement these ships would be superior to any other then in service worldwide.9 The result was that in March 1909 the


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Denny/Fairfield consortium was announced as the successful tenderer. By now it had also been decided that the third destroyer, which was planned to be purchased, would also be constructed in Britain, but then dismantled and shipped to Australia in components for re-erection—thereby helping to bolster local capacity to build further vessels of the type. Throughout the actual period of construction, Clarkson continued to be involved in the capacity of naval engineering representative. This placed him in an extremely frustrating and even exasperating position vis-à-vis Professor John Biles of Glasgow University, who was engaged to provide consultancy services as naval architect. Although Biles regarded himself as ‘directly responsible for everything’, Clarkson was nonetheless directed by Navy Office in Melbourne to ‘make himself available to consult with Biles and assist generally’.10 This role retained sufficient importance so that when, soon after the first of the Australian destroyers (Parramatta) was launched in early 1910 and it was suggested that he could now proceed home to Australia, Creswell protested in horrified terms that Clarkson still carried heavy responsibilities for supervising and inspecting the ships as they were completed. That his role was valued was demonstrated in July of that same year when he was promoted to Engineer Captain. 11 In the words of then-Lieutenant Henry Feakes, who took the nucleus crews for Parramatta and her sister ship Yarra to England for training, and who also acted as naval liaison officer in London during this period, Clarkson had made himself ‘highly regarded in upper technical circles, both at the Admiralty and Clydeside shipbuilding yards, for his understanding of modern engineering developments’.12

THIRD NAVAL MEMBER By this time, other important steps had been taken along the path towards transforming the CNF into a real ocean-going navy. In May 1910 the Australian Government invited Admiral Sir Reginald Henderson, newly retired from the Royal Navy, to carry


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out a review of local conditions and to furnish a comprehensive plan for the development of naval defence. The fruits of Henderson’s consideration became available in March 1911, when he submitted a report containing recommendations on a range of infrastructure and administrative matters, including a proposal to expand the board which had controlled the CNF since 1905 into a body more closely resembling the Board of Admiralty in London. Whereas the old three-man body included just one naval officer, among the five members of the reconstituted board there would be three: a First Naval Member concerned broadly with operations; a Second Naval Member handling personnel and stores; and a Third Naval Member responsible for the construction and engineering of ships, for ships’ repairs and for control of naval dockyards and bases. In view of all that had gone before, there could be no surprise that it was Clarkson who was appointed to this lastmentioned post. Although appointed Third Naval Member in March 1911, Clarkson did not return to Melbourne to take up his duties in Navy Office until June.13 He found himself almost immediately at variance with the shipbuilding policy adopted by Creswell, who was now promoted to rear admiral and knighted in his capacity as First Naval Member. Creswell was keen to see use made of the New South Wales government’s dockyard at Cockatoo Island for new construction work. This was essentially to save on the time and money that would be needed to establish a new facility from scratch to meet Navy’s needs. Clarkson, however, was flatly opposed to this expedient, declaring in November that, ‘In my opinion Cockatoo Island Dockyard has neither the staff organisation nor the facilities for building vessels for the Royal Australian Navy with . . . efficiency, economy or dispatch. I consider that if the proposal to build vessels there is carried out the result will be disastrous.’14 In the beginning, Clarkson was probably more inclined to favour proposals that were drawn up under the Henderson scheme for a major new naval depot at Westernport in Victoria. These


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plans, devised in August 1911 by the Director of Naval Works, Herbert Fanstone, included provision for shipbuilding facilities. But after visiting the area Clarkson rejected it as a viable alternative; interestingly, he declared that Westernport was ‘much inferior’ to Port Lincoln in South Australia as a shipbuilding site, which at least indicates where his preference lay.15 In reality, however, there was no practical means of escaping a reliance on Cockatoo Island, if only because both major political parties in the Federal Parliament were committed to supporting local shipbuilding, and this objective could not be pursued immediately anywhere else. Accordingly, Commonwealth authorities purchased the dockyard site from the state government in January 1913.16 Regardless of his personal views about the yard’s inherent suitability, Clarkson simply had to get on with making the arrangement work. Given Clarkson’s British background, it might seem reasonable to suspect that he may have been expressing a form of the familiar belief that ‘British is best’, and that his preference was not merely to avoid building at Cockatoo Island but, indeed, anywhere within Australia. Was the attitude he evinced just another way of pushing to ensure that Australian naval construction continued to be sourced from British yards? In fact, it seems clear that he was genuinely supportive of the goal of establishing a local shipbuilding industry. The key to this conclusion lies in the enthusiasm he displayed towards negotiations conducted in 1912 for establishing a Chair of Naval Architecture at Sydney University. This was recognised as an important means of providing scientific training for the engineering and technical staffs that would become necessary with the development of the RAN and its associated dockyards. In consultation with Associate Professor Henry Barraclough from the university’s School of Engineering, Clarkson came up with a scheme for a five-year course aimed at ‘training up a community of shipbuilders in Australia’. Unfortunately, the financial backing for the plan was never provided by the Federal government—despite further pleas by Clarkson in September 1913—and eventually the idea was simply allowed to wither.17


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BUILDING WARSHIPS AT COCKATOO Clarkson’s resistance to using Cockatoo Island was realistic, and based on entirely justified concerns about that yard’s suitability. This is borne out by historical accounts of the state of that establishment by writers such as Roger Parker and John Jeremy. The assembly of HMAS Warrego, the third destroyer of the initial order for the RAN, had been undertaken there after the vessel arrived in parts from England. The keel had been laid at Cockatoo in December 1910, but the ship was not completed until June 1912; the work had ‘taken six months longer than planned and had not been without its

The launching of HMAS Warrego on 4 April 1911. British workers were brought to Australia to assist with the destroyer building program, but their experience was expected to bring far wider benefits to the nation’s industry. As one assessment had it: ‘. . . we can confidently predict that [their skills] will find their way to outside works and by their gradual adoption raise the standard of shipbuilding ability in all parts of Australia. From among the large number of skilled artisans, mechanics, and apprentices employed in the construction of these pioneer vessels will come the “missionaries” who will preach the doctrine of better technical methods.’ (RAN)


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problems’.18 Even allowing that this was all understandable in terms of gaining ‘essential experience’ in warship construction, the fact remained that there were serious deficiencies in the set up of the yard. The island, for instance, had an inadequate power supply which was to prove particularly crippling until after the end of the First World War. Shortages of workshop machinery and tools were another major weakness which also lasted for years. Not all the problems lay directly with the dockyard. Some were within the province of the Naval Board itself. As was discovered by John King-Salter, the yard’s general manager from 1914, dealing with the board on matters of administrative policy was a particular source of frustration, for the simple reason that no individual member had full responsibility. Clarkson, as Third Naval Member, might be in charge of construction and mechanical engineering, but Creswell controlled civil engineering at the island through the Naval Works Branch which reported to him, and the Second Naval Member retained overall responsibility for personnel. The day-today management of the dockyard was placed in the hands of the senior naval officer in Sydney.19 Despite such problems, a great deal was achieved in beginning a construction program at Cockatoo. No sooner had work on Warrego been finished than orders were placed in August 1912 for a new light cruiser (a sister ship of Sydney and Melbourne, both of which had been built in Britain) and for three more destroyers of the same type as Parramatta, Yarra and Warrego. The keels for the light cruiser Brisbane and the first two destroyers—Derwent (finished as Huon) and Torrens—were laid in January 1913, so construction of these three vessels was underway when the Australian Fleet made its official entry into Sydney Harbour in October of that same year. The keel of Swan, the third destroyer, followed in January 1915. All four ships were completed and delivered to the Navy during the course of 1916. This was a particularly fine effort, with the destroyers being the first steel warships to have been built wholly in Australia. Adding to the achievement was the laying down in November 1917 of a further cruiser, and of a coal storage vessel, Mombah, also


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required for the RAN. In April 1919, the 9930-ton naval collier Biloela was laid down at Cockatoo Island in what has been described as ‘another step in Australian shipbuilding’. Designed within Navy Office—presumably within Clarkson’s branch—and constructed wholly of Australian materials (including all the machinery and auxiliaries), this vessel was ‘the largest non-fighting ship to be built in the country up to that time’.20 By the time Biloela was completed in July 1920, construction effort had moved on to two cargo ships for the Commonwealth government’s own line of steamers. Dundula (5600 tons) was launched in July 1919 and entered service in May 1920, while Eudunda (6200 tons) left Cockatoo in December of that year. The keels of two refrigerated cargo vessels, Ferndale and Forsdale, followed in 1922–23. Both of 12 500 tons deadweight, they were the largest and fastest merchant ships yet built in Australia. By then it could truly be said that Australia had achieved its goal of establishing the basis for national shipbuilding, although international conditions and high local costs were already conspiring to ensure that this was more or less the high-tide mark of this new Australian industry. As head of the Navy Office branch with primary carriage of shipbuilding matters, Clarkson could claim much of the credit for what was achieved—the more so since after the outbreak of the First World War, it was his technical expertise that helped speed up the completion of these vessels. It was at his suggestion, in September 1914, that boilers for the destroyers were manufactured in the New South Wales Government Railway workshops at Everleigh in Sydney, rather than awaiting the arrival of these items from Britain.21 Clarkson was also heavily involved in discussions surrounding the modified design of the planned new cruiser which became HMAS Adelaide.22 Clarkson’s contribution became all the more remarkable in view of the great many other war measures that became his simultaneous responsibility during the war years. One of the first of these tasks involved converting commercial vessels for use as troop transports needed to convey overseas contingents of the Australian Naval &


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Military Expeditionary Force and the Australian Imperial Force, as well as subsequent reinforcement drafts. Clarkson was made chairman of a special committee called the Naval Transport Board, with the title of director of transports. This, and his appointment in 1917 to head a board to control Australia’s maritime trade (culminating in his appointment as controller of shipping the following year), emphasised that his position in Navy Office was one of the few that actually meant anything—given that Australia had handed control of its major warships and their personnel over to the British Admiralty at the start of the war. The importance of his role was effectively recognised by his promotion to rear admiral in 1916, and by a knighthood bestowed on him in 1918.23

IN SUPPORT OF A NEW SITE None of Clarkson’s experience and achievements modified his attitude towards the suitability of Cockatoo Island for the purposes expected of it—quite the contrary in fact. Shortcomings in the dockyard’s work and accounting practices and in its performance had been highlighted several times during the First World War. In 1919 this led to the establishment of a committee to investigate the administration of both Cockatoo Island and the nearby Garden Island naval depot. Reporting in January 1920, this body concluded that, because there was no further room for expansion at Cockatoo, the dockyard there should cease to be ‘a Naval concern’ and should be confined to constructing merchant ships.24 This change of arrangement was duly effected (although not until June 1921), with both Cockatoo Island and Williamstown Dockyard in Melbourne being placed under a Shipbuilding Board of Control within the prime minister’s department. In the meantime, fresh controversy over affairs at Cockatoo Island led to a royal commission in the first half of 1921, at a time when the RAN was looking into the possibility of building two submarines there.25 This gave Clarkson the opportunity to renew


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his objection to building naval ships at Cockatoo. In giving evidence to the commission in May, the admiral stated that the Naval Board recognised that Sydney could not be retained permanently as a principal base; in this regard, Clarkson again expressed his preference for Port Lincoln, but for shipbuilding he declared that Hobart was ‘an almost ideal place’ for carrying out such work along modern lines.26 In the event, Clarkson was appalled at the outcome. The royal commission’s findings criticised both the Cockatoo Island management and the oversight and support for dockyard operations provided by the Naval Board. It recommended that a permanent naval base, under the full control of the Department of the Navy, should be established somewhere other than at Cockatoo Island. Until that occurred, however, all Navy work such as ship repairs and fittings, should be carried out at Cockatoo by the Shipbuilding Board of Control.27 Clarkson believed it was crazy to put naval construction under a civilian agency, and he said so.28 In this he was supported by a minority report submitted by a member of the royal commission, William McWilliams, who agreed that Cockatoo ‘could never be an economically worked dockyard’: As a naval dockyard Cockatoo Island is an impossibility. To quote Rear Admiral Sir William Clarkson, it can only be regarded as a stop-gap; and every pound spent on that site is so much money wasted. There is not one redeeming feature in Cockatoo Island as a modern dockyard.29

Cockatoo Island continued, of course, to be just such a stop-gap, remaining in use throughout the Second World War and beyond. It was only eventually closed in 1992, by which time Clarkson’s point about its unsuitability had been established beyond all question. Despite his being ultimately vindicated on this score, there is nevertheless some irony in the fact that, a year after Clarkson retired from the RAN in 1922, he was appointed to the Commonwealth Shipping Board which inherited Cockatoo from the Shipbuilding Board of Control and which attempted to make the dockyard more of a


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commercial operation. In his role as a member of the board, he was sometimes even heard to utter favourable words about the place.30 If Clarkson had been prescient in predicting the demise of Cockatoo Island as a home for Australian shipbuilding, he had arguably been equally so in his identification of Tasmania as a suitable location, in view of the recent emergence of the Hobartbased company Incat as one of the highest profile fast-ship makers in the global market. In addition to the production of hi-tech catamarans for use by the US Armed Forces, and the Australian Defence Force during operations in East Timor, this company builds high-speed vehicle ferries for customers worldwide. There is further irony here, considering that one of Clarkson’s last public duties, in 1929–30, was to investigate for the Commonwealth government the technical aspects of establishing a ferry service connecting Victoria and Tasmania. His report identified a requirement for three ships, which he argued could be bought overseas for less than half the cost of constructing them locally.31 How interesting, then, that in 2003 the Tasmanian government ‘firmed up’ plans to bring into operation a third fast ferry connecting the island state to the mainland, with Premier Jim Bacon travelling to Europe to find a suitable vessel for the new run.32

BUILDING BEHIND THE SCENES The last fifteen years of Clarkson’s naval career in Australia are a useful prism through which to view the critical years in which the RAN came into being. His opinions on the problems faced by the Navy in acquiring its fleet and in developing shipbuilding in the years immediately before, and during, the First World War have a particular resonance, coming as they did from a man who was so intimately involved in the processes behind the scenes. Above all, the extent of his involvement as the RAN’s senior engineer confirms that he should be seen as a founder of the Navy of no less importance than Sir William Creswell.


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17 The naval professional: Admiral Sir Francis Hyde, KCB, CVO, CBE, RAN James Goldrick He was a naval officer first and last, constantly keeping his mind in tune with the latest developments in warship design, armament, tactics, and fleet organisation. He never lost an opportunity of stressing the importance of being prepared for eventualities or of warning the public of the danger that would threaten Australia in the event of another war. His chief pre-occupation, in this connection, was the maintenance of the Commonwealth’s small fleet at the highest possible pitch of efficiency, and the guarding of its best interests from the detrimental interference of politicians. In this regard, his services to the Commonwealth will long be remembered as a manifestation of his patriotism and devotion to duty. Sydney Morning Herald, Obituary, August 1937

Admiral Sir Francis Hyde, First Naval Member of the Australian Commonwealth Naval Board and Chief of Naval Staff from 1931 to 1937 and the first RAN officer to achieve the rank of full Admiral, remains, despite his achievements, an enigmatic figure. He died in office and before the full extent of the British Empire’s strategic 319


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failure in the period between the wars had become apparent. Perhaps with the benefit of hindsight, historians have judged him harshly for his apparently uncritical support for the British ‘main fleet to Singapore’ strategy.1 But they have been slower to suggest alternatives available to an officer who had as his task the preservation of a credible national naval capability in an unfavourable financial environment. Recent research has indicated the extent to which the ‘main fleet’ strategy not only evolved but possessed multiple and sometimes conflicting aspects.2 The concept cannot be considered as a whole without precise attention to the details of strategic, policy and technological developments as they unfolded over two decades, and Hyde’s record deserves equal care in its analysis. This chapter seeks to begin the process, not of whitewashing Hyde, but of setting his work within a more coherent context. George Francis Hyde was born in Southsea in England on 19 July 1877, the son of Ebenezer Hyde, a clerk in Madison’s Bank, and Maria Alexander. Hyde was educated at his uncle’s private school and developed early a burning ambition to join the Royal Navy as an officer. He had neither the money nor the connections to enter the RN as a cadet, but there were other avenues, the most important through service in the merchant navy as a deck officer and entry to the Royal Naval Reserve (RNR). Hyde had to overcome considerable domestic opposition, but his parents finally gave way and he became an apprentice in the sailing ship Mount Stewart. The ship seems to have been carefully chosen by Hyde’s father and the captain soon developed a high opinion of his new apprentice, writing enthusiastically about his rescue of a small boy.3 In Mount Stewart, Hyde made several passages to Australia and was befriended by local families, particularly that of Dr Robert ScotSkirving, a leading Sydney medical practitioner. They recognised his quality—and ambition—and took up the nickname ‘Lord John’, which had been given Hyde in Mount Stewart.4 In 1896, Hyde entered the RNR as a midshipman. After discharge from Mount Stewart, he joined the barque Amulree as


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second mate for another voyage to Australia to complete the service necessary to gain his master’s ticket. This accomplished, Hyde began full-time training in the RNR, being promoted to acting sub-lieutenant on 3 January 1900, and undertaking courses at the Royal Navy’s torpedo and gunnery schools. With such specialist knowledge to back his seamanship and navigation, he was ready to take his place as a professional naval officer. Hyde had the advantage of timing. The Royal Navy was under intense pressure—manning levels increased by more than 30 per cent between 1897 and 1905 as large numbers of new battleships and cruisers were brought into service.5 An expert seaman of Hyde’s quality was a valuable asset and he found little difficulty in repeatedly extending his periods of full-time service. He served in succession in the small cruiser Tribune, the battleships Nile, Magnificent and Victorious and the armoured cruisers Bacchante and Leviathan. Hyde’s combination of intellect and outstanding practical skills should have made him an ideal candidate for transfer to the RN from the Reserve, but this was a dark period for him. It is clear that he was the subject of prejudice because of his lower middle class and RNR origins.6 Repeated efforts to secure a transfer failed. One personal decision indicated the pressure that he was under: at some point, Hyde converted to Catholicism, an extraordinary step for a man with his ambitions in the anti-Catholic Royal Navy of the period. His older friend, Robert Scot-Skirving, an ardent Presbyterian, was appalled and noted Hyde’s ‘curious instability of character in some things’, a judgement only partially coloured by prejudice. Scot-Skirving later doubted, ‘that Hyde had any real religious faith at all’.7 This judgement was endorsed by Hyde’s secretary and friend, Bernard Foley, himself a practising Catholic, who commented ‘. . . Hyde was brought up as an Anglican, but often told me that he had no time for most of them. He would say, “I think your bloody religion is probably the best of them”.’8 What is certain is that he refused to discuss the subject with his low church family and, a few years later, he was expressing strongly anti-religious sentiments.9 The fling with Catholicism was clearly put quickly behind him.


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While serving in the Mediterranean Fleet in 1904 Hyde’s chance came at last. He produced the winning essay on the Russo– Japanese War in a competition sponsored by the commander in charge, Vice Admiral Lord Charles Beresford. In an early assessment of the lessons to be learned from the war in the Far East, Hyde presented a shrewd analysis of the key issues. He had some sensible ideas on intelligence work and on the need for speed in ships, for the strategic concentration of forces, for training in night action and under harsh weather conditions, and for a greater concentration on offensive and defensive mine warfare. In all, the paper indicated not only that Hyde possessed an incisive mind but that he was well up with contemporary naval thinking, particularly that of the new First Sea Lord, Sir John Fisher.10 Despite being twice refused by the Admiralty, Beresford pressed Hyde’s case to such good effect that in 1905 a special Order-in-Council was issued, making Hyde a Lieutenant RN with seniority of 19 July 1902. Significantly, he was not transferred to the supplementary list with limited potential for promotion to higher rank, as was often the case with ex-RNR officers, but to the permanent list. The order was clearly regarded as exceptional at the time and there are suggestions that Fisher himself eventually took a hand in it.11 For Hyde, the step was a source of great personal satisfaction but also, on moving from the RNR to the RN, the cause of his pay being reduced by two shillings a day—a serious matter12 as money was always a concern for Hyde, even if never his main interest. There were other drawbacks to such special recognition. Hyde’s second wife later wrote that his early time in the RN was marked by ‘jealousy and resentment’ and was one of the most painful periods of his life.13 It must have been a relief for him to get away from the atmosphere of big ships. Hyde took up his first command, Torpedo Boat No. 6, based at the Nore, in 1907, and went on to captain the much larger Riverclass torpedo boat destroyer HMS Rother. During these years he came under the eye of Commodore (Destroyers) Lewis Bayly, who


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later described Hyde as ‘a remarkable man’.14 Hyde was at the height of his powers and the young Sub-Lieutenant H.J. Feakes, who served on loan from the Australian Commonwealth Naval Forces (CNF) in Rother in 1909, noted how much he owed him for his guidance.15 Later that year, Hyde returned to watchkeeping in the battleship Bulwark and the armoured cruiser Shannon. The creation of the Australian fleet unit offered an irresistible opportunity to Hyde, who had developed a deep affection for Australia and probably appreciated its relative lack of class distinctions. Furthermore, although he had been recommended for promotion,16 Hyde was not yet a commander and remained concerned about his financial situation as a lieutenant.17 Australia, therefore, offered a surer solution to both problems than remaining with the main British fleets. In late 1910, Hyde was nominated for loan service with the new torpedo boat destroyers of the CNF and shortly afterwards was given an acting promotion to commander. He took a little time to survey the scene in Australia but made the plunge in April 1912, applying for transfer to the newly titled RAN. This was granted with the permanent rank of commander. Hyde himself always insisted that he had been ‘asked’ to transfer,18 presumably by Sir William Creswell, the First Naval Member, but in any event he was on his way despite his reservations about the leadership of the new Navy.19 Hyde got the destroyer flotilla off to an excellent start, commanding first HMAS Parramatta and then HMAS Warrego, but did not remain with it for long. He left for the United Kingdom in December 1912 to stand by the new battle cruiser HMAS Australia as her commissioning executive officer. This was an important step in his career. It was also arguably the logical selection, for Hyde had now not only substantial fleet experience but some understanding of handling Australian sailors. He made a success of Australia from the first. Hyde was personally praised by King George V ‘for the excellent appearance of the ship’ at Portsmouth on 30 June 1913, and it is clear that he was an extremely effective executive officer.20 No admirer of either his


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Even before the arrival of the RAN Fleet Unit in October 1913, the Commonwealth Naval Board had begun a successful program of port visits to show Australians their new Navy. Leaving from Melbourne in March 1911 the destroyers Parramatta and Yarra visited ports along the east coast, sailing as far north as Cairns. Hyde was the senior officer of the force and is seen here at Coffs Harbour with his two commanding officers and members of the local Chamber of Commerce. (Coffs Harbour Historical Society and Museum)

Captain, S.H. Radcliffe, or his Admiral, Sir George Patey,21 he appears to have kept his opinions to himself throughout the ship’s remaining months of peacetime service, during the 1914 campaign against the Germans in the South West Pacific, and during the long voyage to the United Kingdom which followed. Hyde did not stay with Australia after she joined the Grand Fleet in early 1915. Circumstantial evidence suggests this was because of the influence of Vice Admiral Sir Lewis Bayly, who had been selected to take the leading role in the anti-U-Boat campaign as commander on the coast of Ireland. In May 1915 the Admiralty formally requested Hyde’s services from the RAN and he was appointed in command of the light cruiser HMS Adventure


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Hyde served as the commissioning executive officer of HMAS Australia. On 1 July 1913 he and his officers hosted an afternoon tea for some 600 Australians then living in London. (RAN)

and as Bayly’s flag captain on 14 July.22 As Bayly took up his duties on 20 July the inference that Hyde was his personal selection is clear.23 Despite increasing mechanical defects, Adventure had a busy time over the next two years, including involvement in the operations to suppress the Easter Rising in Dublin in 1916. Hyde justified the high opinion that his CinC held of him and, on Bayly’s strong recommendation, was promoted captain in April 1917. In May 1917, a new element entered Hyde’s professional life in the form of the first American destroyers, sent over to assist in the campaign against the U-Boats and placed under Bayly’s command. The Admiral did much to ensure that the coalition forces operated in an atmosphere of good will, and Hyde was closely involved with the USN on many occasions, both professional and social, striking up a friendship with the senior destroyer officer, Commander Joseph K. Taussig.24 Hyde’s experience of the USN was to be an important factor in his consideration of the postwar strategic situation in the Western Pacific.


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The increasingly poor condition of Adventure limited her operational employment and Hyde became progressively more dissatisfied. This became a frequent refrain in his meetings with Taussig, who observed in late October 1917 that he was ‘very downcast . . . the Adventure is in such bad shape they won’t send her to sea and she has been swinging around the buoy for over two months . . . Captain Hyde feels he is wasting his time.’25 Hyde did not have long to wait. Adventure was sent in to pay off and refit, and he was appointed to the Mercantile Movements Division of the Admiralty War Staff in December 1917. This was only a few weeks before the replacement of Admiral Sir John Jellicoe as First Sea Lord, but long enough, it may be inferred from later events, for Hyde to impress his personality upon Jellicoe. Hyde’s six months in the Admiralty were spent in the section most directly concerned with winning the campaign against the U-Boats. Two points may be noted here. The first is that Hyde never as First Naval Member lost sight of the key importance of protecting sea communications as a naval task, something which was probably the result of his wartime experience. The second is that he would have come into contact with a number of officers who became senior members of the Admiralty Board in the 1930s.26 Perhaps most significant is that Fleet Paymaster Eldon Manisty was also in the Mercantile Movements Division and would have been in daily contact with Hyde. Manisty, a formidable intellect, had played a key role in the formation and early years of the RAN and never lost his interest in Australia.27 In June 1918, Hyde was posted as Senior Naval Officer at Holyhead, which brought him back into the campaign against the U-Boats. In August, however, he was called home to Australia to meet the ‘pressing requirements’ of the RAN.28 Hyde nevertheless found time to marry Alice Trefusis (nee Spicer) on 10 August. She was an officer in the newly formed Women’s Royal Naval Service29 and the widow of a soldier and the daughter of a clergyman.30 It was a whirlwind courtship and Hyde’s friends viewed the marriage and the eighteen-year gap in their ages with concern.31


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Hyde arrived home on 25 October 1918 and was appointed as Chief of the War Staff, relieving Captain W.H.C.S. Thring. He was not happy with what he found. The war had effectively cut Melbourne off from developments in the Admiralty. As Hyde noted in April 1919, there was an almost complete lack of information on ‘many important matters’, particularly advances in naval technology. A partial remedy was already in prospect. As far back as the 1917 Imperial Conference the need for a fresh look at the naval defence of the Empire had been identified and talks continued in 1918. The Canadian and Australian prime ministers proposed that an Admiralty representative visit the dominions, and Jellicoe’s name came up early in the discussions. With the end of the war, the scheme was rapidly brought to life and, in February 1919, Jellicoe embarked on what became a tour of most of the British Empire.33 As part of his arrangements with the Australian government, he sought the services of Captain G.F. Hyde.34 Hyde boarded the battle cruiser HMS New Zealand to join Jellicoe in Albany on 21 May 1919. He had already played a key part in preparations for the visit,35 and would serve as a member of Jellicoe’s staff, first in a liaison role and then as captain of the chartered merchant ship Suva, which took Jellicoe around the South West Pacific. Rear Admiral Sir Percy Grant, the newly arrived First Naval Member on loan from the RN, also joined the party and this would not only have given Hyde the opportunity to impress his personal views upon the British admirals, but also have given Grant the chance to develop his own view of Hyde’s potential. These three months were a critical experience for Hyde, and his policies as First Naval Member in the 1930s would be centred upon principles laid down by Jellicoe. The RAN did not show itself in its best light during Jellicoe’s visit. The Navy had expanded beyond its competence, nearly doubling in size since 1914. Professional standards were, at best, varied, while many were longing for discharge. There were significant problems with administration, sufficient to have brought on a Royal Commission in 1917,36 and the leadership of the RAN was in a state of flux with the pending retirement of the


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ageing Creswell. In early June 1919, disciplinary problems arose aboard Australia at Fremantle on her return from the Grand Fleet, a few days after Jellicoe arrived in Australia. Hyde himself described ‘a large proportion’ of the crew of the newly commissioned Suva as ‘a dirty, untrained and ill-disciplined mob’, a verdict firmly endorsed by Jellicoe.37 On the other hand Hyde, and in his turn Jellicoe, had the benefits of several years of hard work by the Australian war staff. Although Thring and his subordinates had been isolated from Admiralty thinking, they had not been idle. In producing his assessment, Jellicoe could call upon some sophisticated Australian analysis of possible basing and operating concepts for the RAN and British forces in northern Australia and New Guinea.38 Two of Jellicoe’s conclusions became key to Hyde’s thinking. These were that the efficiency of the RAN depended upon maintaining the closest possible links with the RN and that, in times of conflict, the navies of the Empire should pass to the operational control of the Admiralty to ensure unity of command. The voyage of the Suva also consolidated the experience Hyde had gained of Pacific conditions during the 1914 campaign. From the evidence of the 1921 and 1934 conferences of local commanders-in-chief, it is clear that he had developed a reasonably sophisticated view of the nature of naval operations in the Pacific and the implications of its vast distances. Hyde remained wedded to the concept of unitary wartime command which Jellicoe had espoused. Jellicoe’s Empire tour was a key formative experience for Captain Hyde in other ways. Jellicoe became a role model for him. A self-sufficient and supremely dedicated officer, himself the son of a merchant navy captain, he was likely to appeal to one who had faced the social barriers of the RN.39 There is certainly evidence that Jellicoe, for his part, viewed Hyde as a shining exception to his strictures on former Naval Reserve officers in the RAN. Their friendship was renewed during Jellicoe’s governor-generalship in New Zealand and later in the UK.40 In 1930, Jellicoe sponsored Hyde’s nomination to the Honourable Company of Master Mariners in London.41


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Hyde did not remain at Navy Office after Jellicoe’s tour. The cancellation of Captain Thring’s appointment to command HMAS Brisbane due to ill health meant that Hyde took command of the newly returned cruiser on 27 August 1919. His most important experience during this commission was his participation in the commanders-in-chief conference at Penang and Singapore, at which the commanders-in-chief of the East Indies and China stations met with the First Naval Member to discuss war plans for the Indian Ocean and the Pacific. Hyde acted as Grant’s chief of staff in these meetings, at which the wartime concept of a single-shore command for the entire theatre based at Singapore was endorsed and arrangements refined for coordination between the stations.42 It is likely that Brisbane was selected as Grant’s flagship because of Hyde. In April 1921, Hyde made a special request to proceed to the UK to undertake courses to bring him up to date with the latest developments in the RN. This was a logical step and one endorsed by Grant while still onboard Brisbane. There was, however, rather more to Hyde’s request than met the eye. His marriage had not proved a success and his wife, who had already returned to Britain, appears to have suffered a serious mental illness. Hyde’s presence was required to sort out the situation. Alice Hyde was confined to an asylum and their relationship effectively ended, but Hyde continued to support her financially for the remainder of her life.43 Hyde spent a year in the UK, for only about half of which he was on duty. He had better news before his return to Australia with his appointment as Second Naval Member, responsible for the RAN’s personnel, and he took up his new duties in January 1923. Hyde soon faced critical questions of strategy, which were coming to a head when he took over temporarily as First Naval Member from Vice Admiral Sir Allan Everett in August 1923. The Admiralty had been pressing the issue of Far Eastern naval policy and the need for the development of the naval base at Singapore, but there were persistent doubts as to the validity of the British strategic concept, depending as it did on the transfer of the majority of the British fleet from home and Mediterranean waters.44


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An Imperial Conference was called for late in 1923 and, in preparation, Prime Minister Stanley Bruce sought expert advice. During the second Australian Council of Defence meeting which dealt with the subject, Hyde took a sophisticated approach, pointing out that the Washington treaties had left the Americans with no proper bases in the Western Pacific. In the event of the United States becoming embroiled with Japan, use of the Singapore base would allow the USN to ‘render powerful aid’ to Britain and Australia even if the British could not send a fleet to the Far East.45 The implication was, of course, that the Americans could thereby substitute for the British in the Western Pacific, a prospect with which Hyde, at least, seems to have had little difficulty. The uncertainty in Australia over the direction of British strategic policy for the Western Pacific reflected the extent to which the British had yet to go in working out the implications of their situation. The irony for the British Empire was that its capacity to provide the combatant forces required for a war with Japan progressively diminished as its ability to support those forces in theatre fitfully improved. Until the late 1920s, despite the immediate effects of the Washington Treaty, Britain’s naval strength was much greater than Japan’s in capital ships and carriers and also in categories such as cruisers.46 But there was no first-class naval base with the facilities essential for a protracted campaign and, above all, there was little or no oil.47 Looking ahead, 1928 appeared to be the earliest year of likely danger in terms of Japan’s capacity to move south, and planning began on the basis that a fleet centred on the RN’s battle cruisers would be based in the Western Pacific from that time.48 Hyde’s own future had been under close consideration. He was now the most likely prospect within the RAN for eventual service as First Naval Member. Admiral Everett had urged that Hyde needed further RN service to prepare him for higher command, and Bruce approached the Admiralty on this subject at the end of 1923.49 The Admiralty was not yet willing to give open season on higher level exchanges but Hyde’s credentials were sufficient to be considered as an exception. They offered HMS Vindictive. Hyde


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completed his term as Second Naval Member at the end of May 1924, conscious that a successful appointment at sea with the RN would mean that he would go on to command the Australian Fleet. One of the largest and most modern cruisers in the RN, Vindictive had started life as a hybrid cruiser-carrier. A refit returned the ship to her cruiser role, but retained her large hangar forward and included a new experimental catapult. Such a command indicated not only that the Admiralty thought well of Hyde but also that it had made a shrewd assessment of what would be most suitable in terms of his professional development. In bringing the ship out of refit and setting her up for operational trials with embarked seaplanes, Hyde had the opportunity to develop a deep understanding of the tactical combination of cruiser and scouting/spotting aircraft that was to be a key operating concept of the RAN for the next twenty years. Ironically, Hyde’s restriction to a year in command—then standard for senior captains in a period when major commands were few—meant that he left Vindictive the day before she conducted her first ‘live’ catapulting in October 1925, but the extent of preparatory work already completed is indicated by the fact that the ship could deploy to the China Station with a fully operational flight in January 1926.50 Appointed Commodore First Class, Hyde assumed command of the Australian Fleet on 30 April 1926. Over the next three years he oversaw the transition from the Town-class light cruisers to the new heavy cruisers Australia and Canberra, preparations for the seaplane carrier Albatross, and the introduction of the submarines Otway and Oxley. Although the majority of time was spent in Australian waters on the annual cycle of port visits, exercises and maintenance, there were some noteworthy activities. Hyde’s tenure included the visit of the Duke of York in HMS Renown in 1927 for the opening of Parliament House in Canberra, for which he was awarded a CVO (Commander of the Royal Victorian Order). He had already been created CBE (Commander of the Order of the British Empire) for his services to the RAN. In June the same year Hyde took HMAS Sydney to Timor and in September to Noumea.


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In October, HMAS Adelaide conducted punitive operations in the Solomons. In March 1928, Hyde was promoted rear admiral. Hyde’s command was marked by a constant struggle to maintain efficiency in the face of increasing financial constraints, and his realism was demonstrated by his suggestion that the Australian Fleet be renamed the Australian Squadron, which occurred on 1 August 1926.51 Much of his focus had to be on the production of trained personnel to man the new cruisers. Given Hyde’s hard work, it would have been a source of great satisfaction when he shifted his flag from the soon to be scrapped Melbourne to the newly commissioned HMAS Australia (II) in Portsmouth on 2 May 1928. After working up, Australia sailed for home via North America, while HMAS Canberra took the more usual route through the Suez Canal. Bernard Foley has written an evocative description of Hyde at this time: GFH’s manner was brusque—almost to the point of rudeness, which he did NOT mean. He was in fact socially rather a shy, diffident and generous person . . . He was restless, his mind was always on things ahead . . . He had no real interests outside the Service . . . He was inept at games such as golf or tennis, and would play them for exercise only . . . He kept fit mainly by walking, and when at sea, or on board in harbour, almost wore a track in the quarterdeck . . . He wanted people to like him . . . but he couldn’t mix with ease and was quite incapable of ordinary idle chatter . . . In some respects he was rather intolerant—he certainly would not suffer fools gladly . . . He was completely honest and downright, and for anyone to tell him a lie was the end.52

This is a fair picture of a man who was clearly a highly competent sea-going commander. It remained to be seen, however, how Hyde’s character would translate into the domain of politics. In histories of the RAN, Hyde’s three years in the squadron have been overshadowed by the role of the flamboyant British Rear Admiral E.R.G.R. Evans (later Lord Mountevans) of Antarctic exploration fame, who took over from him in 1929. This overshadowing


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was not wholly undeserved.53 Evans was also the victor of a spirited destroyer action in 1917, and Hyde loathed the self-publicity in which ‘Evans of the Broke’ delighted. But, whatever his motives, Evans had a realistic vision of the need to present the Navy to Australians. Rear Admiral Feakes later observed that the dispersed arrival of the new heavy cruisers and submarines in Australia missed a great opportunity to ‘revive naval consciousness’ in the country, and there is some justice in this comment.54 On the other hand, Australia’s passage via the eastern seaboard of the United States provided both a useful opportunity to remind the USA of Australia’s existence in a naval context and a chance for Hyde to renew the personal ties that he had developed with the USN at Queenstown. Furthermore, on arriving in Sydney (after visiting Brisbane) in October 1928, Australia was open to visitors and received more than 60 000 people onboard in five days before she embarked on a series of visits to Adelaide, Melbourne and Hobart. With Canberra receiving similar exposure in the west, it was not exactly a quiet arrival.55 The transition to the ‘new’ Squadron was completed in February 1929 with the arrival of HMA submarines Oxley and Otway following the commissioning of HMAS Albatross. Although overshadowed by increasing economic difficulties, Hyde had a few months in which to work up the force and experiment with Albatross and her Seagull III amphibians.56 Hyde already had clear ideas about the RAN’s structure, particularly with the budget under increasing pressure. In December 1928, he criticised the use of the submarines. He did not believe that they were very useful in a defensive role on the Australia Station, while their offensive potential could only be realised if they were stationed much closer to the Japanese threat.57 By December 1929, Navy Office was discussing their future with the Admiralty.58 In May 1929, Hyde hauled down his flag and proceeded to the UK to undertake technical courses and participate in the London Naval Treaty negotiations before going to sea as a flag officer with the RN. The Admiralty had agreed to his undertaking this further


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exchange appointment to continue his preparation to be head of the RAN. Hyde had another personal cause for celebration. He had fallen in love with the much younger Isla Robertson, the daughter of a squatter in the Bourke district. Hyde succeeded in obtaining an annulment and married Isla in Sydney according to Presbyterian rites on 16 February 1929. This new relationship was a success and they were to have one child, a daughter. In early 1930, Hyde served, together with Vice Admiral W.R. Napier, the First Naval Member on loan from the RN, as adviser to the Australian representative, the minister for customs, J.E. Fenton, at the Five Power Naval Conference. The Australians’ role in the discussions was essentially passive, as the Admiralty fought hard behind the scenes to prevent the further restrictions which the British government was intent on achieving. But it would not have escaped Hyde that the overall effect of the treaty would be to further weaken both the absolute and the relative naval strength of the British Empire, particularly in relation to the Far East.59 This was not the only axe wielded against the structure of the ‘main fleet’ strategy; the British Labour government had already slowed the development of the Singapore base and, within weeks of signing the treaty, publicly confirmed that decision.60 Hyde had been intended for service in the Mediterranean Fleet but the billet was abolished, and he was instead given the Third Battle Squadron. This was by no means the premier unit of the RN, consisting of two old battleships of the Iron Duke-class,61 but it nonetheless represented an acknowledgement by the Admiralty of his quality. Furthermore, its employment around the UK, largely in training junior ratings, allowed Hyde more freedom as a commander than he would have had in the Mediterranean as a junior flag officer.62 The timing was unfortunate, however, in that Admiral Sir Ernle Chatfield, the outstanding RN officer of his generation, who was to serve as First Sea Lord from 1933 to 1938, transferred to the Mediterranean in the same month that Hyde joined the Third Battle Squadron. Many of the senior officers with whom Hyde worked in his year at sea became embroiled in the Invergordon


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mutiny a few months later and did not go on to fill other positions in the RN of the 1930s.63 Furthermore, Hyde’s time in the UK did not include attendance at the newly established Imperial Defence College (IDC). The Admiralty had recognised the potential benefit of the course for Hyde—to the extent of offering an extra place—but the timing did not fit. Not undertaking the IDC represented an important opportunity lost. It would have put Hyde among a widely diverse group from all the British services, its departments of state and from around the Empire. Instead he spent three months in Whitehall. Although he was shrewd enough to realise that this extra time at the Admiralty was more important than undertaking additional tactically and materially focused technical courses, Hyde still had little experience outside the naval sphere. The three months were marked by the shadow of the Depression. Preoccupied by the politics of disarmament and the worsening financial situation, the Admiralty was in no position to lay out a coherent plan for the future relationship with the RAN, particularly as the First Sea Lord, Admiral Sir Frederick Field, was in poor health. 64 An inter-departmental Economy Committee had begun sitting in March 1931 and rigorous cuts were clearly inevitable. By late August, the crisis had brought about the collapse of the Labour government and the installation of a coalition.65 Equally significant was the Japanese intervention in the Mukden incident in China in September 1931, which demonstrated the fragility of Britain’s position in the Far East.66 Matters financial were even worse in Australia, as Hyde discovered on his appointment as First Naval Member in October 1931. The Squadron had been reduced to four ships in commission and the force, apart from the new heavy cruisers and Albatross, was ageing rapidly. Further reductions in manpower had been enforced and the Financial Emergency Act would reduce officers’ salaries, including his own, by 25 per cent.67 Ratings’ pay would go down by 7.5 per cent, a smaller cut in relative terms but extremely serious in its implications for married men, in particular.


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Hyde was not to know that the RAN had already reached its nadir and that the financial situation would progressively, albeit slowly, improve. The collapse of the Australian Labor government and the formation of the coalition under J.A. Lyons lay ahead. Hyde’s overwhelming requirement was the need to maintain the efficiency and strength of the RAN. In dealing with this challenge, he faced many difficulties. The new First Naval Member was very much the man alone. Relationships with the other chiefs of staff were correct, even personally friendly, but never close.68 Given the strains under which everyone operated, little more could be expected. Budgetary constraints were so extreme that the contributions of the individual services to defence policy-making were largely ones of survival. Hyde was not a resigner, and the quandary faced by a service chief in implementing policies which he knew to be inadequate for the long-term defence of his country is one deserving of sympathy.69 Hyde was not well supported within the RAN. He was rigorous in his application of high standards for promotion—if an officer had not undergone exchange service with the RN and been recommended for promotion according to Royal Navy standards, he would not be promoted—and he did not consider any senior Australian officers as worthy of flag rank. The only captain he viewed as having potential, Charles Farquhar-Smith, proved a disappointment as Second Naval Member in 1933–35, Hyde finding him slow and lacking in initiative.70 This approach caused some bitterness among the early entrants to the RAN who consequently fell by the wayside.71 The graduates of the RAN College were already showing great promise, but the first of these would not reach commander’s rank until 1932. Hyde watched their progress with anxious care, but his relationship with them was inevitably remote. Hyde’s increasingly close friendship with his secretary, Bernard Foley, may have been a reaction to this. Although the majority of the personnel reductions had been achieved before Hyde became First Naval Member, some followed. The First Naval Member fought hard for pay and conditions,


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A formal portrait of Admiral Sir Francis Hyde (1877–1937). (RAN)

although his concern appears to have been more for his officers than his sailors,72 perhaps a legacy of his consciousness of the better situation of the Australian lower deck than that of the British. There was an additional motivation, made the more acute by the shock of the events in the RN at Invergordon in September 1931. As Hyde pointed out, ‘the Navy was the only fully disciplined force in the country in the event of domestic troubles, and that if the government alienated the Navy they might well be cutting their


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own throats’.73 Neither he nor the other chiefs of staff were prepared to be labelled as having advised pay reductions and their strong reaction to an incautious ministerial comment in October 1932 that suggested they had done so forced the government into a formal clarification.74 The state of discipline in the Squadron was a subject of constant attention by the Naval Board throughout the 1930s, and for good reason in the wake of the pay cuts. Navy Office had its own methods of domestic intelligence gathering, but Hyde’s greatest concern seems to have been the effect of press commentary on both the service and on public opinion as a whole. At the Naval Board’s urging, the government prosecuted the publisher of the Truth for inciting mutiny in suggesting that there was unrest in the Squadron in November 1932. The action failed, and its proceedings suggested that, although the Truth’s approach had been scurrilous and exaggerated, there was some basis to the suggestions of discontent.75 There were also urgent force structure problems. Although the dominions were considered to be part of one British Empire in setting tonnage limitations within the London Treaty, their increasingly independent status meant that the Admiralty could not assume that their naval forces were completely at Britain’s call. There were many circumstances in which Britain might be required to exert military force without dominion support being forthcoming,76 and this had been recognised in the constraints placed upon the employment of exchange cruisers on foreign stations.77 It was in this context that the limitations on cruiser and destroyer tonnages became a serious matter. Every ton counted and this coloured the Admiralty’s approach in a way that few historians have fully appreciated. The dominions’ ambiguous status created matching ambiguities in the value that the Admiralty placed upon their naval development. In warship categories (such as sloops), in which there were no limitations, the Admiralty would enthusiastically endorse expansion, but it pursued a much more careful line in relation to the restricted types.78


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Hyde’s approach was necessarily pragmatic. His first care was the destroyer force. Doctrine had evolved since the 1920s when destroyers were not a high priority for Australia in a war with Japan. The vulnerability of the cruisers to submarine attack now required an effective escort, which could be provided only by destroyers, while there was a requirement for anti-submarine vessels to contribute to defensive operations around Singapore.79 The RAN’s half flotilla, however, was unsuitable for South-East Asia. The five ‘S&T’-class destroyers were too small and possessed limited endurance, being designed for the North Sea.80 As they were included within the tonnage available under the London Treaty, their ineffectiveness was a concern. In discussions before the treaty, the Australian delegation had admitted that there was unlikely to be any money to replace the destroyers before they became over-age in 1936. This raised the possibility that some of the larger and more useful (but slightly older) British ‘V&W’-class would have to be scrapped first to keep within the Treaty limits.81 The obvious solution was to exchange the S&Ts for V&Ws, but Hyde identified an alternative which was a gift or loan of the newly built half flotilla of ‘C’-class destroyers. From his Admiralty time, Hyde would have been aware that there were concerns over the forced reduction in the order for the ‘C’-class from a full flotilla of nine ships to five because of the difficulty of employing them as a tactical unit in a major fleet. They seemed, however, made to order for Australia.82 The Admiralty was sympathetic, but the arrangement with which Hyde had to be content involved the transfer of a leader (HMAS Stuart) to replace the even older and increasingly worn HMAS Anzac and four ‘V&W’-class destroyers in the place of the S&Ts.83 Hyde kept the RAN’s options open as long as he could. Anzac and the S&Ts were kept on the effective list for as long as possible, one even serving as a training ship for Flinders Naval Depot as a cheaper alternative to a V&W. Only when the Admiralty formally asked for the ships to be scrapped in 1936 to maintain the Treaty limits were they sold—a bitter irony in view of their likely utility in 1939.84


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Hyde’s second ploy concerned the increasingly urgent need to provide a replacement for the cruiser HMAS Brisbane. The Australian record of building more complex warships was not good, with a history of delays and cost overruns.85 At a time of extreme unemployment, any proposal to build a new ship in Britain would arouse even more controversy in Australia than it had before the Depression, but the alternative promised to require more funds than were likely to be available. Hyde proposed that Australia use its money to operate additional cruisers whose construction would be paid for by the UK.86 He had reason to think that the Admiralty would agree since it had been sufficiently eager to increase Canada’s minuscule naval effort to suggest, during the London Treaty discussions, that, in default of buying a cruiser, the RCN could man one or more units on loan.87 While it had some attractions, this idea also failed on the issue of operational control, since it would increase the number of units in the RAN but reduce the number in the RN itself. The Admiralty came up instead with a compromise. Payment for a newly built cruiser would be staggered over several years, reducing both the strain on the Australian budget and the prospect of further controversy over the money being spent in the UK and not Australia.88 The Admiralty’s motives were not entirely altruistic, despite its readiness to face the British Treasury and even suffer the criticism of the Parliamentary Public Accounts Committee.89 Further disarmament efforts were not proving a success. Their effective collapse in October 1933 had long been anticipated by the Admiralty, which expected a cruiser building race as an early consequence. The moderate dimensions of the Leander-class would not be a sufficient reply to the big Japanese and American cruisers.90 Transfer of a unit to the RAN would provide funding for a larger ship. Acquisition of the modified Leander-class cruiser HMAS Sydney (II) was supplemented by other measures, including the construction of a sloop in Australia. There was, however, poison in the Sydney chalice. With the prospect of the cruiser Adelaide becoming over-age in 1938, the government took fright at the cost. It seized


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on the excuse of Sydney’s greater size and capability to justify the decision that the new ship would have to replace Adelaide as well.91 This would reduce the Squadron to three cruisers, creating a new problem in that the force would not be strong enough to reinforce the British in the north and provide for trade defence on both the east and west coasts of Australia. Hyde was faced with the prospect of a long battle to recover the fourth cruiser. It would only be won after his death in 1937. There were other causes for concern. At the end of 1932, Hyde was diagnosed with epithelioma, a cancer at the base of his mouth and on the right side of his tongue. An operation followed on 25 February 1933. Supplemented by the new radium therapy, it proved a success, but Hyde paid a heavy physical price. His old friend Dr Robert Scot-Skirving noted that Hyde aged considerably, losing much of his good looks and developing bags under his eyes.92 Contemporary photographs confirm this description. Hyde was hospitalised until 10 March 1933, but his return to duty a few days later was premature. He was again in hospital on 18 March and this time did not return to Navy Office for nearly three months.93 Scot-Skirving, who was qualified to judge, claimed that Hyde suffered continuing pain in the years that followed and this must have proved a drain on his energy. Policy development in Navy Office was very slow between 1933 and 1935, suggesting that the RAN paid a price for Hyde’s illness and Farquhar-Smith’s inadequacy. Navy Office, without a firm guiding hand, possessed little capability for innovation. The naval staff was simply too small and Hyde could call on fewer experts for the warfare aspects of naval policy development than could the CinC of a British fleet or station. In 1932 the Naval Staff Branch consisted only of a commander and two lieutenant commanders, with another commander and a small staff in the Directorate of Naval Ordnance and Torpedoes. The situation had improved by 1937, but only marginally.94 Furthermore, there was an associated and similarly unfavourable consequence for Hyde and for the Navy. The medical treatment meant that his speech was slurred, as though he had been drinking.


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Hyde disliked public speaking, but he had been prepared to do his duty in this matter in his first months as First Naval Member. He could not do so after 1933. The recurrent pain may have had other effects. Although Rear Admiral Feakes is not a wholly reliable witness, there is some truth in his comment that Hyde’s ‘one handicap was not unusual in the individualist long accustomed to the use of autocratic power. He was totally unable to tolerate any difference of opinion from that strongly held by himself . . . Teamwork was difficult with him.’95 It is significant that Hyde’s relations with successive squadron commanders were rarely good. There was a natural tendency for the squadron commander, a junior flag officer lent from the RN, to regard himself, consciously or not, as the real leader of the RAN. Both rear admirals W.T.R. Ford (1934–36) and R.H.O. Lane-Poole (1936–38) irritated the government by intemperate speeches on defence matters, while Lane-Poole involved himself in a controversy over the smuggling of duty-free alcohol for which his personal responsibility was, at best, ambiguous.96 With the Squadron based at Sydney and Navy Office in Melbourne, opportunities for personal contact were necessarily infrequent, yet there is evidence that Hyde failed to maintain a sufficient level of communication with the admiral at sea.97 This was inexcusable because the latter represented an important potential source of support; but perhaps it was understandable in an overworked man in pain. Hyde was also increasingly isolated by circumstances. Parliament had moved to Canberra in 1927. The amalgamation of the navy and defence departments as an economy measure in 1925 made the relationship between the minister and his professional advisers more remote, a process assisted by Secretary of the Department M.L. Shepherd, who clearly disliked the military.98 Hyde’s relations with his first minister, Ben Chifley, and with his successor, the experienced Senator Sir George Pearce seem to have been amiable enough. The latter, despite formally making the secretary in 1932 ‘the channel of communication between the minister and the different boards’,99 had the background in defence matters to make the arrangements


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work.100 But the situation deteriorated in 1934 with the arrival of the self-important Archdale Parkhill. An MP from Sydney, he disliked Canberra and hated Melbourne and was inclined to do business by remote control. This was not, as British Cabinet Secretary Sir Maurice Hankey observed after his 1935 visit to Australia, a good formula for administering the machinery of defence.101 Parkhill also came increasingly under the influence of Frederick Shedden, a career public servant who returned from a period of service in the UK in 1933 to resume duty as secretary of the Defence Committee. Parkhill, an expert machine politician with a profound dislike of debate,102 found Shedden’s assiduous attentions much more congenial than those of the chiefs of staff. Significantly, Parkhill’s relationships with both Hyde and Lavarack, the CGS, broke down from 1935,103 and that with Williams, the CAS throughout the period, does not seem to have been much better.104 To Parkhill, Shedden offered an approach to defence policy that was comforting in that it adhered to imperial concepts of defence, and reassuring in that it did not create new demands on Australia’s limited financial resources. As Hyde’s successor later complained, ‘the dead hand of financial control lay over everything that was done and . . . this was a matter of settled Government policy’.105 Naval spending, even as the government’s first priority for defence, did not revive substantially until the 1934/35 financial year and it was only after Hyde’s death in 1937 and with war imminent that expenditure began to approach the levels of the mid-1920s.106 The ‘dead hand’ was critical, not only in absolute terms, but also psychologically in that it coloured the approach to any question of new spending. The attitude of Defence to technological issues was also unsophisticated. Shedden and, in turn, Parkhill were inclined to treat any guidance from Whitehall as holy writ and use it to undermine local advice, however soundly based. As Foley remarked, any RAN proposals which were not in accord with the Admiralty would be ‘murdered’ by Defence.107 Ironically, in the same period during which Parkhill was directing the chiefs of staff to confine themselves to providing ‘technical’ advice,108 Hyde’s judgement was being


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questioned in relation to the need to modernise the heavy cruisers and to proposed changes in force structure which clearly derived from changes in operational requirements. While the CNS may have been less than adept at explaining such issues to an unsympathetic secretariat, contemporary ministerial documents are querulous in tone and ingenuous in content, suggesting that Shedden’s and the minister’s interest in naval policy was not matched by their technical understanding.109 The secretariat and the minister thus did not provide the level of support for the Navy that might have been expected. The bitter debates of the 1930s between the RAN and the Australian Army and between the Army and the minister of defence over the allocation of resources have attracted most of the attention of historians of the period. But within the context of apparently uncritical support of the ‘main fleet’ strategy, an equally bitter conflict occurred between Hyde on the one hand and Parkhill and the defence secretariat on the other. One of the main arguments concerned the requirement for new destroyers, but this was symptomatic of wider divergences. In essence, many of Hyde’s problems resulted from the fact that he was not a cipher of the Admiralty. While devoted to imperial defence, his assessment of local naval needs differed increasingly from that of Whitehall—as, significantly, did that of the CinC China from 1933–1936, Admiral Sir Frederick Dreyer.110 At the same time that his health at least partially recovered, the First Naval Member’s thinking crystalised. After the 1934 Singapore Conference, Hyde and the other naval commanders of the region wanted to ensure that local forces were adequate to cover the period before the main fleet could arrive from Europe.111 Thus, although Albatross had to pay off in 1933 to provide manpower for the additional destroyers, Hyde insisted against treasury opposition that a catapult be acquired for the ship in addition to units for the heavy cruisers because the carrier and her seaplanes would be an important addition to Singapore’s maritime defences.112 He also supported the RAAF order of 24 Seagull V amphibians in 1934 since this would


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not only provide aircraft for the cruisers but enough machines to make a catapult-equipped Albatross a much more useful weapon system than she had been in her first commission. Only lack of funds prevented the recommissioning of the ship in the mid-1930s.113 Hyde’s interest in Albatross reflected a personal awareness of the importance of aviation in maritime warfare that, if limited in the context of the technological developments then on the horizon, was nevertheless consistent throughout his service as a senior officer.114 Hyde thus judged the RAN’s needs for new construction on the basis of both the requirement for trade defence units for the Australia Station and the need for an effective force for the South China Sea. In this context, the Japanese had embarked upon the construction of large destroyers which outgunned the standard British model. The Admiralty planned to match them by constructing a new class of heavily armed ships that became known as the Tribal class.115 Hyde’s visit to the UK in 1935 gave him exposure to thinking on the type. For Australia, they had the potential to combine something of the capabilities of the light cruiser and the destroyer—a multipurpose ship with a capacity for independent operations, thus contributing to both major naval tasks. The difficulty was that the Admiralty was still constrained by the London Treaty and loath to lose control of such valuable tonnage. Sloops were under no such restriction and the Admiralty’s preference remained for these to be Australia’s priority. Shedden accepted this line without fully understanding the implications and the last years of Hyde’s term as CNS were marked by a protracted battle over the question. Hyde was embittered by Shedden’s and the minister’s complaints over the divergence of Admiralty advice from that of the Naval Board.116 Only after the lapse of the London Treaty and Hyde’s death would Parkhill decide in favour of destroyers.117 As the political situation deteriorated, Hyde took a more aggressive approach to the resolution of British strategic dilemmas than did the British naval staff in the Admiralty. During the Abyssinian crisis, he supported the retention of Australia in the Mediterranean and the return there of HMS Sussex, her exchange


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unit in Australia, as well as the attachment of the brand new Sydney to the Mediterranean Fleet to supplement British strength. Furthermore, the remaining units of the Squadron were concentrated at Darwin in readiness for despatch to the Red Sea.118 Hyde was willing to denude Australia of its active units in order to deal with an immediate threat, Italy, rather than guard against an indefinite one, Japan. This aggressive—and inherently logical—approach mirrored that of the British naval authorities in the Mediterranean,119 and was in stark contrast to the British First Sea Lord’s desperate desire to avoid war with Italy on the grounds that the inevitable naval losses in achieving victory would weaken Britain’s capacity to deal with Japan.120 Cheered by the award of a knighthood (a KCB) in 1935, Hyde found some comfort in the progress that was made. Recruiting had resumed and the modest building program of sloops at Cockatoo Island was in good shape. Systematic planning began for the installation of anti-submarine defences and Hyde’s visit to the Admiralty in late 1935 focused, among other things, on war plans and the requirement to modernise the RAN.121 In 1936, the small naval intelligence staff was strengthened and a key appointment made in the form of the new Assistant Director of Naval Intelligence, Lieutenant Commander R.B.M. Long.122 By early 1937, however, the strain was becoming too much. Hyde’s relations with Parkhill were poisonous, to the extent that Parkhill refused to keep him informed about the plans for his relief later in the year, a source of increasing anguish for him.123 Parkhill added insult to injury by failing to take Hyde to the 1937 Imperial Conference in London, at which he and Shedden would have discussions with the Admiralty on a number of key issues. Closer to home, the situation with Squadron Commander Lane-Poole remained unsatisfactory. Hyde was suffering from arthritis, for which he had been under treatment since 1934. Although the cancer had not returned, he had lost much of his natural resilience. In June 1937 he suffered several falls.124 A further shadow which lay over Hyde was the fact that he would not receive a pension from the RAN on retirement, but an


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inadequate sum from his deferred pay. The small pension from his RN service would not be enough to give him financial security. Tired and depressed, Hyde was further distressed by an accident in which a pedestrian was killed by the car he was driving. Although the inquest cleared Hyde of blame, the pressure made him vulnerable. An attack of bronchitis rapidly developed into pneumonia and, on 28 July 1937, a few days after his sixtieth birthday, Admiral Sir Francis Hyde died in hospital.125 Hyde’s legacy remains a difficult one to measure, but can be expressed most accurately by saying that he, more than any other officer, gave the RAN a culture of professionalism. The Navy would probably have survived the 1930s had he not been the First Naval Member, but it might not have survived with the same standards or with the same spirit. Hyde’s achievements in defence policy are more ambiguous. He deserves some credit, nevertheless. However limited his vision and imperfect his efforts, he was and remained his own man. Hyde’s view of where Australian strategic interests lay was very different to that of other local experts, but it was clearly an Australian understanding and not something cloned uncritically from Whitehall. World events moved very quickly between 1935 and 1937 and even faster between Hyde’s death and the outbreak of the Second World War. Given the political and budgetary restraints which he faced, with the imperfect machinery of defence decision making and the personalities involved, it is not easy to see how he could have done other than he did. Hyde was very much a creature of his time and one working within tight constraints, but he was neither stupid nor complacent and very clearly did his best to prepare the RAN to meet developing threats. The Navy was the most combat ready of the Australian services in 1939 and contributed substantially to the protection of imperial—and thus Allied—sea communications from the outset of the war, and continued to do so until the end. This was as Hyde had intended, and was exactly the means by which the RAN could best serve the nation and the Allied cause.


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18 A life off the ocean wave: ex-Navy people in the Australian community Ian Pfennigwerth . . . the Navy is in the first place a magnificent school of discipline . . . Into this great school the young town or country-bred Australian enters in all his crudeness, and emerges smart, alert and self-respecting. If at the end of his engagement our young Australian returns to civil life, who will contend that he is not all the better and more valuable unit in our young Commonwealth for the discipline he has submitted himself to? . . . we must all surely recognise the value to the nation of a training which inculcates good manners, and a teaching which makes for fine bearing and general alertness and intelligence . . . The constant flow through such a school must be a splendid leaven to the community as a whole. ‘The Peace Value of a Navy’ by ‘By-Product’, 19131

This book rightly addresses the theme of the Australian Navy’s contribution to the Australian community beyond its active naval operations. I recall the very many conversations I have had around desks and while propping up wardroom bars about the problems of retaining naval personnel. A truism frequently invoked was that ‘the 348


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Navy is one of the country’s biggest training organisations’, the implication being that people joined the Navy to get a good training and then left to use those skills and qualifications in more lucrative civilian employment. Anyone who has been involved with an employee retention program would agree that the issue is more complex. Whether the ‘truism’ is right or wrong, the Navy’s loss is undoubtedly the nation’s gain, especially since naval training has now been so closely aligned with civilian. Trained ex-Navy personnel do make a contribution to the Australian community, not that the manpower planners—or is it ‘career managers’?—can take much comfort from the observation. Furthermore, many ex-Navy people take with them much more than simply professional experience and academic or technical qualifications. For good or ill they have, perhaps unwittingly, absorbed a number of other attributes associated with service life. The term I use for these is ‘naval values’ so as to indicate that they are distinct from the values generally associated with civilian life, and that they are inculcated because the individual has been exposed to the service environment. To quote from the book Civvy Street by Judy Hinz: As a person who has never been in a defence force, I see military life in many ways as a ‘closed’ society . . . It has a language and a structure all its own . . . It is highly selective about who it admits to membership and at what level that membership is granted. Having been accepted, the system then demands more of its members than just the daily commitment to work. Its ethos and its value systems inevitably dictate the conduct of its members, not just during working hours, but in their whole life.2

From this observation comes my proposition, which is that ex-Navy people make a continuing contribution to the Australian community through their application of naval values in civilian life. I would attach a codicil to this. I do not claim, nor does my research suggest, that all ex-Navy people make such a contribution, nor that it is their naval values alone that are at play in the contribution they


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make to the community. But I do believe that the influence of those values is sufficiently significant to make the proposition of interest. To set about proving such an argument, I first delved into the available literature, of which there is very little of relevance. This is not a subject that seems to have attracted much interest until now.3 It appears that the only way to test the argument is to ask ex-Navy people about their views and experiences. This I did through exnaval associations such as the Naval Officers’ Club and the RAN Communications Branch Association, to name just two. In the course of this research I spoke with, interviewed or corresponded with more than one hundred ex-Navy people from every part of Australia. Many of them, in turn, put me in touch with others or drew my attention to the post-service careers of ex-Navy people. Some sent collations of information about former shipmates and I would note the usefulness of the Ex-WRANS Association’s Requiem for a WRAN.4 My research methodology was not scientific, nor does it lay any claim to statistical rectitude, but it forms the basis of this chapter. Recent Defence studies have demonstrated a pattern of separations from the Navy during the past fifteen years.5 In general most people leave after four, eleven or twenty years. The impact of naval service upon the individual will arguably accumulate as the length of service does, but even the shorter-term ‘sprogs’ leave with some naval values. The absolute numbers departing bear a direct correlation to the state of the civilian job market: when the grass is greener on the civvy side of the fence more will leave to graze on it. Another part of the investigation has been to ask how many ex-Navy people there have been in Australian society. At the rededication of the Air Force Memorial in Anzac Parade in Canberra in 2003, the Chief of Air Force stated that over 400 000 Australians had served in the Royal Australian Air Force (RAAF). According to the Defence Personnel Executive, however, there is no way of establishing an equivalent figure for the Royal Australian Navy. Using statistics on naval manpower from various sources and assuming a


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12 per cent per annum average wastage rate (with allowance for a large post-1945 demobilisation), one can suggest an estimate of 175 000 naval separations over the course of a century. This is not very many, and in any given year the number of people leaving the Navy was and is a minuscule proportion of the Australian population—something of the order of 7 in every 100 000. The conclusion one can reach from these admittedly dubious figures is that the contribution made by ex-Navy personnel to Australian life, when analysed quantitatively, should not be overstated, but nor should it be regarded as insignificant. What are ‘naval values’? According to the respondents to the investigation, they can be listed as: • • • • • •

• • • •

loyalty to one’s organisation and to one’s fellows integrity, and honesty with oneself and in dealings with others belief in the necessity for organisation as a key component of problem solving a willingness to make decisions and to exercise leadership in their implementation—the ‘can do’ spirit belief in teamwork, rather than individual effort, as a means of getting the job done an understanding that people are the most important factor, and a commitment to work in the interests of others and not just of oneself general ‘people skills’ a habit of self-improvement a willingness to accept and discharge responsibility—a sense of duty self-confidence.

None of these should come as any surprise to former or serving members of the RAN. But these are the values that the respondents believe they acquired in their naval service and which have proven useful to them in civilian life. I should add that almost all the respondents list the same values—an interesting outcome in its own right.


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It may sometimes seem that the Navy’s impact on national life is taken for granted, but it is nonetheless pervasive. After the opening of the Sydney Opera House on 20 October 1973, the New South Wales premier, Sir Robert Askin, wrote: ‘The success of this great national occasion could not have been achieved without the willing and efficient cooperation of many sections of the community. The Navy as has been usual on great occasions, played a leading role and all the officers and men who were associated with the opening carried out their duties in a most enthusiastic and effective manner.’ (RAN)

In terms of demonstrating the truth of my proposition, I would suggest that there are distinct categories in which ex-Navy people have given service to the Australian community, and will begin with the most senior of these—high public office.

VICE REGAL OFFICERS AND POLITICIANS There has been but one Australian governor-general with experience of regular naval service, and that was Sir Zelman Cowen, who served in the RAN from 1941 to 1945 as an intelligence officer. I rather think it was Sir Zelman’s distinguished legal career that made


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him a candidate for the top job but, as a former Director of Naval Intelligence myself, I would like to think that his naval intelligence experience was an asset. Another former governor-general, Bill Hayden, was a Navy national serviceman in the 1950s. From Arthur Phillip’s arrival in 1788 until William Bligh’s departure in 1808, the first four governors of New South Wales were all naval officers, but there are another four state governors with a more direct and recent Australian naval association: Commodore James Ramsay (1977–85) in Queensland, Rear Admiral Brian Murray (1982–85) in Victoria, and Rear Admirals David Martin (1989–90) and Peter Sinclair (1990–96) in New South Wales. These officers were recently retired at the time of their elevation to vice-regal status, and their naval values clearly recommended them to the premiers of the day. Richard McGarvie, governor of Victoria from 1992 to ’97, was a teenaged able seaman during the Second World War, but his subsequent and very distinguished legal career probably weighed more heavily in his appointment. On the political stage, we are yet to have an Australian prime minister with a naval background. The RAN did rescue Flight Lieutenant John Gorton—later of course minister for the navy, for defence, as well as prime minister—from the sea during the Second World War and perhaps this should be seen as an outstanding contribution to Australian society by the Navy, but it does not count in terms of this discussion. There have been several Federal Cabinet ministers with naval service to their credit. The former lieutenant commander (and intelligence officer) Sir John Latham was arguably the most distinguished, becoming deputy prime minister in 1934 and then Australia’s first minister to Japan in 1939. Other worthy holders of high political office with naval service to their credit include Athol Townley—perhaps the only minister in any parliament to have a submarine sinking to his credit—who was defence minister from 1958 to ’63; Peter Howson, who served in the Fleet Air Arm; and Malcolm McKay, who later served as the minister for the navy from 1971 to ’72. Alan Street and Senator Reg Withers, both with RAN service, were ministers in the Fraser government, installed in


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1975. Captain David Hamer was a Victorian senator from 1977 to ’90. Another ex-Navy cabinet minister of the period was Fred Osborne who, curiously, became minister for air. At state level there has been one premier of New South Wales with saltwater in his veins—T.R. Bavin (1927–30), who was also an officer in the Naval Intelligence Division (NID) during the First World War. Shane Stone, a former chief minister of the Northern Territory (1995–99), served in the RAN Reserve (RANR). Liberal Party leader in New South Wales (1995–98) before his consignment to political oblivion, Peter Collins held the rank of commander in the RAN Reserve. In the 1970s two former naval officers, I.F. McGinty and I.R. Griffiths, held the posts of New South Wales minister for housing and of chief secretary respectively, while Sir Asher Joel— another NID officer—sat in the Legislative Council from 1958 to ’78. Other state parliaments have had a smattering of ex-naval members. Both Queensland and Western Australia have each had one ex-naval parliamentarian, South Australia none and Tasmania no less than four. In the case of the four state governors, there is no doubt that naval values provided a personal code for the discharge of their viceregal duties. Admiral Sinclair, in commenting on his term as governor, noted the application of his sense of duty, leadership and people skills: ‘Indeed, it was in many ways like being part of a very large ship’s company!’ For the politicians, it would perhaps be a more complex task to demonstrate how far naval values influenced their contributions to Australian society. Nevertheless, although the numbers of ex-Navy people in the community may have been and are small, their contribution in terms of the discharge of high public office is worthy of note.

PUBLIC SERVICE An interesting statistic from the Department of Defence 2001 Defence Attitude Survey Report is that nearly 77 per cent of members


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of the RANR have had prior service in the RAN. Another is that 30 per cent of RANR members are employed in the Australian Public Service. This is no surprise, since the sterling service given to public authorities such as the Australian Maritime Safety Agency, Air Services Australia and Emergency Management Australia by exNavy personnel is, or should be, well known. But we should note that this is not new. Ex-Navy communicators provided much of the technical and management skills in the old Department of Civil Aviation, the former Postmaster-General’s Department, and other such instrumentalities. Perhaps at the pinnacle of public service were two former chiefs of naval staff, one as a high commissioner and the other as an ambassador—Sir John Collins in New Zealand from 1955 to ’62 and Sir Alan McNicoll the first Australian Ambassador to Turkey from 1968 to ’73. Commodore Eric Johnson was a highly respected and enthusiastic administrator of the Northern Territory where, one is reliably informed, he applied naval values to the hilt. More recently, Commodore Bill Taylor has been the administrator of Australia’s Indian Ocean Territories since 1999. Ex-Navy people can be found in many Federal government departments, and not only confined to the more obvious employers such as the defence and security agencies. Again, this is not a new phenomenon. The conditions of both world wars released relatively large numbers of ex-Navy personnel into the civilian job market and the expansion of the Commonwealth role in national development, especially after 1944, provided a ready range of opportunities for them. The naval ‘diaspora’ extended far and wide. One can surmise that at least part of the attractiveness of ex-Navy personnel to public service employers lay in the values they had absorbed during their wartime service. Some, of course, had left departmental employment to serve in the Navy and resumed their careers after demobilisation, but they brought back to the workplace more than just a fund of war stories. Naval service had shown them the operation of a flexible and efficient system, which was in some ways the antithesis of the highly compartmentalised public


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service bureaucracy. Some were unable to re-adjust and did not stay. Others rose to high positions. The tradition of post-Navy public service continues. Public service employers in areas as diverse as health and the Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Commission found ex-Navy people attractive candidates. Foreign service continues to exert its appeal. I was delighted to find an ex-chief petty officer submarine coxswain in the security guard detail in the Embassy in Beijing; there was a man who really employed his naval values, especially when it came to extracting stores out of the consular section! Australia’s principle immigration officer in Mumbai is an ex-Naval aviator. At the other end of the temperature scale, the RAN’s long involvement in Antarctic exploration and support continues with the director of operations at the Australian Antarctic Division being a former commodore. Arguably a greater proportion of ex-Navy personnel have served in the state and territory public services. This is hardly surprising. With the Commonwealth public service centred in Melbourne until the 1940s—and in the case of some departments long after that—it was the state services that beckoned for recruits from other parts of the country. There was also an attraction in other service-like state agencies, such as the police forces and fire brigades, for young ex-Navy personnel. For others, positions with direct relationships to their naval service made the transformation to civilian life easier to manage. Ports and harbour authorities attracted ex-Navy personnel, and still do. High profile ex-Navy personnel are represented by the former commissioner of the New South Wales Fire Brigade, Vice Admiral Ian McDougall, and the former head of NSW Waterways, Commodore Matt Taylor, whose position was then assumed by Rear Admiral Chris Oxenbould. But there are others in just about every department and agency, involved in both the development of policy and the administration of services. The contribution of ex-WRANS in the health and community services area is also significant. Public service employment has the appeal of a certain continuity for ex-Navy people. How might they have brought their naval


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values to bear in their new workplaces? My respondents cite their willingness to work in teams, their self-confidence, and their acceptance of responsibility as being important elements in their public service work. One can certainly see these qualities as being useful in the less rigidly structured public service workplace of today. Unfortunately, there is little data available on how things were for this type of ex-Navy person in earlier days.

THE PROFESSIONS Many ex-Navy people have returned to their books and gained degrees granting entry to the professions. Law seems to have been particularly popular, a leading example being the legal career of Rear Admiral Harold Farncomb after he retired. Hardly less prominent was the career of Sheila McClemans, who was a pioneer in terms of legal careers for women in Western Australia before her wartime service in the WRANS, and who took up the law again with distinction after leaving the naval service. Other distinguished lawyers with a naval background include Sir Lawrence Street, the former Chief Justice of the New South Wales Supreme Court. There appears to be no particular synergy between the law and the Navy, indeed Farncomb is reported to have declared that the Navy ‘administer[ed] justice not the law!’,6 but according to respondents naval values are at work here. Unsurprisingly, but of interest, is their identification of teamwork and personnel management as key attributes. As might be expected of ex-Navy members of the financial community, they identify naval values of loyalty, integrity and responsibility as being pertinent. A stockbroker has noted the value of his Navy-imbued abilities to set and meet deadlines and make decisions based on a plan. An actuary has stated that organisation has been the attribute of most value to him in his career after the Navy. Other professionals in fields such as engineering and architecture also value the ability to make decisions and set and implement goals. Here, too, teamwork and personnel management play their roles.


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None of this is to suggest that only professionals with naval service are any good at their jobs. As respondents point out, they are a minority in their professions, although several have reached positions of high professional regard. But they differentiate their approach to professional issues from those of others because of their application of naval values.

COMMERCE AND INDUSTRY Referring back to the 2001 Reserves Survey, RANR members’ responses reveal that 15 per cent were self-employed and 32 per cent worked for non-government employers. One is pleased to observe that the RANR had a smaller proportion of members on unemployment benefits at 6 per cent than either the Army or Air Force reserves. Nearly 17 per cent were neither employed nor seeking work. These statistics support what my empirical research has suggested—that most ex-Navy people seek work outside government. Many do so with conspicuous success. Few, perhaps, rise to the heights of R.C.H. Mason, an ex-submariner who became chief general manager of the petroleum company Ampol, but there are many successful executives involved in the management of significant Australian companies who have naval service to their credit. The reasons given for gravitating towards the ‘big end’ of town include the relative ease of adjusting to the environment of a large company after naval service and the propensity for ex-Navy managers to take a long-term view of developments. Instructively, considerable numbers of ex-Navy people make their careers in management consulting. Their credentials for doing so must surely include those naval values of organisation and planning, teamwork and personnel management. An interesting comment made by one consultant respondent was that after undergoing all the training provided by the Navy, it is second nature to be passing on one’s skills to others. Another relates the ease of moving from contract to contract to the experience gained in


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moving from posting to posting, where one has in short order to learn and understand the underlying philosophy and ethos of the new organisation so as to pull one’s weight. Other ex-Navy people are prominent in institutional and associational management, and the proportion of professional and business associations who appoint these people as their executives exceeds any statistical norm by a wide margin. Nor is the range of these associations necessarily restricted to those with some tenuous relationship with the Navy—although the oil and gas and tobacco industry associations might qualify. A significant example was set by Rear Admiral Bill Rourke during his leadership of the Institution of Engineers (Australia) and one might also include the groundbreaking term in office of Commander Wally Rothwell as executive director of the Australian Telecommunications Users Group. The management, representational and mediation skills acquired in the Navy have clearly made an impact on this segment of Australian industry and commerce. A different cohort of ex-Navy people finds a civilian role in employment in areas having an affinity with their naval experience. One respondent provided an account of his days at ‘HMAS Shell ’, the refinery at Clyde in Western Sydney, where the company employed a large number of ex-Navy people to operate, maintain and manage the plant, which bore a striking similarity to any naval steam plant. Another former electrical sailor describes an apartment block as ‘a ship turned on its stern’ in explaining how he applies his naval expertise and experience in the civilian world. An interesting comment came from a former petty officer cook who progressed up the ranks of executive chefdom to a senior position. He found the new responsibilities to his liking—it was, he said, ‘much more like his job in the Navy’. One is also advised of the existence in the senior management ranks of Western Australian engineering firms of the ‘Ex-Nirimba Mafia’. The respondent reporting this phenomenon observed that it should come as no surprise, given the stringent entry standards for the former apprentice training establishment HMAS Nirimba


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and the excellent education provided there. As the then Chief of the Defence Force, Admiral Alan Beaumont, wrote after the establishment’s closure: HMAS Nirimba enriched many lives and contributed an enormous quantity of quality to the Nation as a whole . . . Whether uniformed or civilian and whether technical, administrative or other support staff—all those who served in Nirimba made a useful contribution to Australia’s well being. And not just up to 1993, for time will show that the effect will go well beyond that date. And not only in Defence, for here thousands of young people in the Royal Australian Navy, the navies of several other nations and the Royal Australian Air Force learned the fundamental skills of self-reliance, dependence on mates, commitment to a team, and decency towards the nation.7

A recurring comment from respondents employed in industry was the advantage they enjoy over their colleagues in the management and care of their workforce. People leaving the Navy might not believe that the service always treated them as ‘the most important factor’, but the divisional system had certainly made them aware of their responsibilities towards employees. This is informative, given a stereotype of the military system as authoritarian and careless of its ‘cannon-fodder’. To this must be added the observation that management could hardly live in closer quarters with their workforce than in a warship. A second recurrent comment is that ex-Navy people tend to think of the future well-being of the firm, rather than exclusively of personal gain—another naval value. According to some industry observers, this could be a drawback in terms of one’s personal career, but it is clearly good for the firm, its employees and for the Australian economy. The 2001 Reserve Survey findings on self-employment are also broadly in line with the responses I have received. One has only to consider the qualities required to establish and operate a small business to see how naval values would be of direct relevance. As the saying goes in the consulting industry: ‘Businesses don’t plan to fail:


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In 1967 the Navy held a display at David Jones’ Sydney store as part of Apprenticeship Week. The display showed the work of naval apprentices at HMAS Nirimba, and of civilian apprentices at the Garden Island Naval Dockyard. Nirimba was decommissioned on 24 February 1994, having trained more than 12,000 apprentices, adult ‘phase’ sailors and foreign students during its thirty-eight years. (RAN)

they fail to plan.’ My small business respondents speak highly of the value of their naval experience in terms of organisation and planning, employee management and, somewhat surprisingly, of their naval exposure to technology, which puts them in the vanguard in using technological advances in their businesses. I say ‘surprisingly’ because a former weapons electrical engineer officer observes that technical status is generally lower in the Navy than in equivalent commercial enterprise. Among the ex-Navy small business pioneers were those who left the service after the First World War and moved to the new


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frontiers of Papua New Guinea and the Pacific islands. These schooner skippers and copra planters formed the backbone of the RAN coastwatcher service, which proved of such value to the Allies in the Pacific War. More followed in their wake at the end of the Second World War. Then there is a rich tradition of ex-Navy people in agriculture. It is not difficult to find graziers of fine wool sheep, mohair goats, and prize cattle, breeders of thoroughbreds, growers of crops of all kinds, and indeed vignerons with naval service in their background. Exactly how naval values are applied in primary industry is not clear. Perhaps persistence is the key to success.

DEFENCE INDUSTRY One should make special mention of the contribution of ex-Navy people to Australia’s defence industry, first because it is a recent phenomenon and secondly because it has been spectacular. The late blooming of Australia’s commercial defence industry has only occurred since the divestment of Commonwealth assets controlled by the Department of Supply. Until then the sector was relatively undeveloped and offered few prospects for entrepreneurship and innovative management. Navy people were late comers to the area, one is reliably informed, because until the 1970s, technical officers and personnel with managerial experience were actively discouraged by the Navy from leaving to take up positions in defence industries, presumably because the Navy did not want to lose their services. They were told that they would be unattractive employment prospects, that they would be likely to have difficulty in competing in the industrial world, and that there would be adverse tax consequences for their pensions. Two respondents made this point; I would have liked to have it confirmed by more. I do dimly recall being told by senior officers that we were lucky to inhabit our sheltered workshop of the Navy because we would never be able to achieve the standards demanded by civilian industry. They were very wrong!


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While observing that Australia’s defence industry is a relatively recent phenomenon, we should note the role of Vice Admiral Sir William Clarkson in the establishment and management of the Commonwealth Small Arms Factory at Lithgow in 1911–12, and his major role in the development of Australian naval shipbuilding.8 But the more recent emergence in Australia of companies such as Australian Defence Industries, Amecon, Transfield, Australian Shipbuilding Industries and the Australian Submarine Corporation, together with the attraction to this country of local entities of international defence-related firms, has given the sector a whole new image and Australia a new industrial capability. In their turn, these companies have spawned many smaller and agile competitors and partners. While businesses such as CEA Technologies, LOPAC, Scientific Management Associates, Nautronics and Mercadier may not be household names, they are significant contributors across the range from technological research and development to logistical support. Their common denominator is that they were founded by ex-Navy people and that they attract and employ many more of their ex-Navy colleagues. Not only do they service and support Australia’s defence needs, but the majority are also exporters of technology and services. Their contribution to Australian engineering and logistics not only enhances the reputation of this country overseas, but it also helps the Australian economy and balance of trade. Their contribution to the Australian community, in short, is that they have created capabilities and opportunities where none previously existed.

EDUCATION AND TRAINING For a military service that regarded tertiary education as an expensive luxury until the 1960s, the RAN has a surprising number of professors among its alumni. This trend was most marked after the Second World War, out of which came no fewer than four that I have been able to identify. One must observe, however, that the


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single-minded purpose and towering intellect that were the hallmarks of Dorothy Hill, Professor of Geology at Queensland University, were only loaned to the Navy during that war, and that it was women like her who infused their values of service and excellence into the WRANS, rather than any program of the Navy’s. At less senior, but hardly less important levels, ex-Navy people have been well represented in the ranks of Australian educators. Many moved from instructional tasks in the Navy to equivalent roles in civilian life; others made a more challenging transition. A former able seaman, for example, is now a lecturer in journalism at the Royal Melbourne Institute of Technology. Many ex-WRANS moved into school teaching, occupational instruction or secondary colleges, probably for the very good reason that these were some of the few careers open to women in the postwar world. One respondent stated that it was her naval service that gave her the selfconfidence and courage to rise to positions of increasing authority and responsibility in the secondary education sector. The naval educational tradition continues. Many training consultancies provide ex-Navy people with the opportunity to pass on their experience and knowledge to the next generations of defence personnel, and to service all levels of the Australian defence organisation. But naval experience is also sought and valued outside the defence orbit. The significant naval values at work in education and training would appear to be knowledge of the subject, the ability to plan and a genuine interest in student outcomes. One respondent identified her contribution in the sector in terms of selfdiscipline, understanding and patience. Beyond instructional institutions, ex-Navy people provide the core of organisations such as the Naval Cadets and Sea Scouts, encouraging and training youth and passing on their knowledge.

COMMUNITY SERVICE It is surely no coincidence that a remarkably high proportion of respondents have been engaged in community service of various


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kinds. They do not always advise whether it was they who volunteered or whether they were ‘volunteered’ by others but, even in the latter case, they seem to have accepted the challenge and responsibilities involved in their community roles. I have not attempted to differentiate between the many manifestations of community service, but the wide range of experiences reported by respondents is humbling. One of the most common forms of contribution is involvement with ex-Service organisations. The senior echelons of organisations such as Legacy have been distinguished by a succession of ex-Navy people. The Naval Association, of course, draws its leadership exclusively from ex-Navy ranks. The Regular Defence Forces Welfare Association, the Returned and Services League and Vietnam Veterans organisations all have prominent ex-Navy contingents. These are complemented by the large number of associations based on service in a particular branch or arm of the service, and in individual ships or ship classes. These do not exist merely to march behind banners on Anzac Day; they are important sources of personal support and of contact for veterans, as well as being priceless repositories of elements of Australia’s naval history. They have often campaigned for recognition of their members’ service by a forgetful government or service, and remain sources of information and inspiration for the wider community. It is encouraging—and supportive of my proposition about the transference of naval values—that leadership roles in these organisations are frequently not taken by former officers. Judging by respondents’ remarks, it is former sailors who have taken up the considerable challenge and hard work of keeping these organisations running and viable. There are moving accounts of dedication by ex-Navy people to their former shipmates, and here the exWRANS again set a shining example. Their contribution to the community in terms of relieving the public health and welfare systems of a significant caseload through mutual support activities goes largely unrecognised. These invaluable and practical expressions of naval values need little explanation or elaboration.


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Beyond their ex-service-based community activities, respondents have given and continue to give time to organisations like the Country Womens’ Association, the Police Wives Associations, and Guides Australia—in which several have attained high rank—as well as fundraising committees for a wide variety of causes, church committees, service clubs such as Rotary, Lions and Probus, community service organisations such as Meals on Wheels, and the coaching and administration of sports teams of all kinds. Many have led business associations or have worked in industry task forces. According to several respondents, ex-Navy people bring to such organisations the full range of naval values, most particularly organisational and planning expertise, but with hefty doses of people skills and teamwork also. On the subject of organisation and management, the contribution of ex-Navy people to the local government sector should be recognised. Large numbers of mayors, aldermen and office holders in other community-based organisations such as progress associations have had Navy service. Their contribution to the community is largely through their application of naval values to the causes of community growth and development. Ex-Navy historians and writers on naval topics have made and continue to make their contribution to the Australian community by reviving, recording and explaining the Navy’s role in the development of our nation in peace and war. There are prominent names and lesser lights—the number of self-published works is impressive. Nor should the work of those volunteers who manage, operate and maintain our historical records and relics be forgotten, nor the guides and explainers in organisations such as the Naval Historical Society of Australia, the Australian National Maritime Museum and the Australian War Memorial, and a host of regional museums and collections. Without their contributions of time, knowledge and enthusiasm our community would be a poorer place and our knowledge of Australian naval history and achievements less. Let us record also the contribution of the naval artists and the writers of naval fiction. The well-known author J.E. Macdonnell


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The Navy’s positive involvement in the Australian community extends well beyond those actually serving. For example, the RAN operates the sail training ship Young Endeavour on behalf of the Young Endeavour Youth Scheme. The scheme aims to provide young Australians with a unique, challenging and inspirational experience that increases their self-awareness, develops their teamwork and leadership skills, and creates a strong sense of community responsibility. The Navy crewmembers conduct the training program and are responsible for the safety and efficiency of operations. (RAN)


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was the subject of a presentation at the 2001 King-Hall Naval History Conference and his works are now remembered in a commemoration project sponsored by the Naval Historical Society. He is perhaps the most prominent of many who have attempted to convey the essence of naval service to the wider community through their writing. Special examples are the books of Ray Parkin on the sinking of HMAS Perth (I) and the suffering of her company as prisoners of war,9 and of the story told by Geoff Feasey of his naval career.10 In the visual arts, many will know that ex-WRAN Jean Nysen designed the beautiful WRANS memorial window in the Garden Island Naval Chapel. I would also highlight the comment of another ex-WRAN, who deprecated her post-service contribution to Australian society because she had never held any important positions or worked in a key industry, but she did make the observation that she had passed on her naval values to her children. Surely, there can be no more tangible, important and enduring example of an ex-Navy person’s contribution to Australian society.

A BENEFIT TO THE COMMUNITY As is so often the case with research, there is far more to be done. There are many sources that remain untapped. My ‘haul’ of respondents represents only a small proportion of those ex-Navy people who have had an impact upon the Australian community. But within the limits of this research, it can be demonstrated that there is a set of values generated through naval service, which is recognised and shared by ex-Navy people. It can also be shown that the application of those values across the Australian community is to the benefit of that community at an individual, local and national level. The wider community appears to acknowledge that ex-Navy people have distinctive values and apparently appreciates their application in a variety of roles. Nevertheless, a former naval commander should perhaps have the last word:


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Naval people and the nation 369 When I left the Navy I was very fortunate to be offered a job almost immediately as the personnel and training manager of an advertising agency. My new employer was a self-made man of strong values drawn, as he was frequently wont to mention, from growing up in the Depression. He was surprisingly keen to employ me: ‘Job needs a Navy man,’ he said a number of times. He wanted me to call myself ‘Commander’ and so on. After I’d been with the firm a couple of months I felt I knew him well enough to ask why the job needed a Navy man. He avoided answering, so I asked someone who’d worked for him for many years. She nodded and smiled. ‘He was very excited that you were joining. He mentioned that he thought they still flogged people in the Navy and he was hoping you’d bring your whip with you!’


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19 Conclusion: maritime nations—the lucky league John Reeve For the regulating and better Government of his Majesties Navies, Ships of War, and Forces by Sea; wherein under the good Providence and Protection of God, the wealth, Safety and Strength of this kingdom is so much concerned. Preamble to the statute embodying the Royal Navy’s articles of war, 16611

Navies have been, for centuries, probably the most complex institutional creations of human society and certainly of human governments. The British Navy—the strategic weapon which built the greatest empire the world has ever seen—was, by the eighteenth century, arguably the largest and certainly the most sophisticated organisation within British society. To build and sustain a navy has, traditionally, required the balancing and integration of human, technological, environmental, fiscal, economic, political, diplomatic and military factors. Perhaps unsurprisingly, few states have managed to perform such a feat—and to use such a force and its infrastructure—very successfully, although many have tried. Those 370


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which have succeeded since the sixteenth century, as we shall see, have important things in common. But navies have had an historical significance for these particularly maritime states and nations beyond their role of protecting and advancing the national interest. Navies have, in their turn, helped to shape in profoundly important ways the states and societies which have created them. It has been the purpose of this volume to outline at least some of the ways in which the Navy has contributed to the development of modern Australia, and thus to offer a case study of a navy and a nation. This concluding chapter seeks to characterise that case study and connect it with a wider historical and international context. In so doing, it suggests that there are broader and perhaps deeper ways in which navies have helped to build nations and indeed international systems, and that these are historical legacies for which the citizens of those nations have cause to be grateful.

NAVIES AND THE NEED FOR HISTORICAL CONTEXT Navies, like all other historical phenomena, do not exist in a vacuum. Historians of navies have, for more than a century, been conscious of the need to study them within a wider historical context, although they have done so less often than not. Alfred Thayer Mahan made clear in his first book, The Influence of Sea Power Upon History 1660–1783, published in 1890, that sea power is not simply a military but a social configuration. His intellectual vision and standing as one of the nineteenth century masters rests upon his being a ‘war and society’ writer avant la lettre. As George Baer points out, Mahan defined sea power not just in military but in social and national terms, so as to link it with the cause of wider national prosperity and interests.2 Why have few naval historical writers since Mahan followed this lead? Naval history has generally been written by professional naval officers or by those who have sought to serve them, certainly in the early twentieth century. Mahan himself and Sir Herbert


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The inherent characteristics of navies include mobility in mass, readiness, access, flexibility, adaptability, reach and persistence. These all proved particularly important in the aftermath of Cyclone Tracy in 1974. Within hours the Navy had despatched thirteen vessels to Darwin carrying thousands of tonnes of building materials and relief stores. Able to operate independently of local support, and hence having no detrimental impact on scarce local resources, the ships provided immediate aid and a skilled work force of 1200 men. The mayor of Darwin was fulsome in his praise: ‘We owe the Navy the greatest debt of all.’ (RAN)

Richmond, for example, served at sea and reached flag rank. A great historian such as Julian Corbett was enlisted in the causes of naval education, propaganda and official history. Stephen Roskill and Samuel Eliot Morison were official historians who had, moreover, been to sea. Such writers made contributions of enormous value, while being influenced—directly or indirectly— by the inwardness of the warrior culture which is compounded in the case of navies by technological expertise and the bond of going to sea. Their naval history was, by and large, that of strategy and


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operations, policy and procurement, and they set the naval intellectual scene. As the modern historical profession has developed over the course of the last hundred years, navies have themselves become progressively more technical and technocratic, creating further barriers between themselves and the world of humane scholarship, still more between themselves and the general reader. Perhaps significantly, the reading public finds naval romance today in the age of sail as portrayed in the novels of Patrick O’Brian— learned vehicles of escape from the stress and materialism of a highly technical age into a lost world of human pace, human scale, honour, courtesy, friendship, gentlemanly adventure and geographical discovery. Historians of early modern navies have tended, it is generally acknowledged, to locate their subjects within a wider social context—Nicholas Rodger’s classic portrait of the Georgian Navy, The Wooden World, being a prime example.3 But the growth during the last generation of war and society studies, of which Sir Michael Howard has been the intellectual standard-bearer, has largely bypassed naval history.4 Paul Kennedy, in his Roskill memorial lecture in 1997, made this point and called for a more contextual socio-maritime history rather than a narrowly politico-naval one— arguing, in effect, for a war and society genre of naval history.5 More recently, Andrew Lambert has stressed the point that naval history can only be understood in broader context.6 The last thirty years have seen milestones erected along this road. Paul Kennedy’s The Rise and Fall of British Naval Mastery (1976), Nicholas Rodger’s The Safeguard of the Sea (1997) and The Command of the Ocean (2004), and Peter Padfield’s Maritime Supremacy and the Opening of the Western Mind (1999) have taken the longer story of British and international naval history and connected it with the economic, political and cultural dimensions respectively.7 Within the Australian context, the late Frank Broeze has provided a framework for a total national maritime history.8 It is within such broader contexts that the influence of navies in shaping nations can be discerned.


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THE NAVY AND THE NATION The Royal Navy was the initial creator of modern Australia. The first British settlement was intended to serve the strategic interests of a global maritime empire, and the Navy was the protector and effectively the director of the new colony.9 Port Jackson was selected as a location largely because it afforded an ideal harbour, and the first four governors of New South Wales were naval officers. These naval national origins carried long-term imperial baggage. Guarded for generations by the British fleet, European society in Australia only gradually perceived the need to accept responsibility for its own defence. This is part of the significance for Australia’s national story of Geoffrey Till’s elucidation of the role of the Royal Navy in the Pacific.10 The acquisition of an Australian fleet unit after the federation of the colonies was a compromise between national and imperial aspirations, priorities and resources. Australia, it has been said, acquired a fleet, not a navy in terms of the industrial and administrative infrastructure which naval capability entailed.11 While this had implications in terms of the lack of connections between the Navy and the nation, it meant also that the development of such infrastructure was highly evolutionary, and it remains unfinished business. The issues of ship construction and systems development overseas or at home have been a perennial feature of Australian naval policy debate. Australian sea power, more broadly, has been a partial capability historically. During the First and Second world wars the nation lacked the merchant carrying capacity to provide logistic and therefore strategic independence.12 The imperial connection had less tangible but no less important legacies. The RAN’s residual link with the Royal Navy was lasting (as Admiral Hyde’s career demonstrates), and it still endures in important ways today.13 It was of major strategic importance to Australia until the mid-twentieth century. The Navy’s cultural orientation thus lagged behind the dynamic of emerging Australian nationalism for more than a generation. When to this situation were added the popular emotional investment in the achievements


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of the 1st AIF between 1915 and 1918, the legends of landward exploration and pioneering, and the relative invisibility of the Navy itself, the result was public sea blindness and a Navy not properly incorporated into standard conceptions of national identity. Despite these material and cultural disconnections, however, the Australian Navy has had an affinity with the nation and influenced its development in subtle, important, and evolving ways. From its early days, the Navy has been a vehicle for the generation of national pride and identity at critical times. Australia’s constitutional birth in 1901 coincided exactly with the Mahanian era in which sea power and nationalism were increasingly linked. The place of naval events as important public spectacles during this period is consistent with the excitement which greeted the arrival of the new Australian fleet unit at Sydney in 1913, as well as with the role of the flagship—the battle cruiser HMAS Australia—as a symbol of the new nation.14 The RAN’s defeat of the German raider Emden the following year began Australia’s Great War record with a victory.15 In 1941, during the darker days of the Second World War, half a million people crowded the streets of Sydney to cheer the crew of the cruiser HMAS Sydney (II), returned from their victory over the Italians at Cape Spada. The Navy also helped to mould Australian regional identity and international standing in Korea and the post-colonial conflicts. As David Hobbs points out, the aircraft carrier HMAS Sydney (III) was a diplomatic asset as an independent strategic capability.16 More recently, the role of the Navy in the Persian Gulf region, including its command of the Multinational Interception Force enforcing United Nations sanctions, has been a highlight of Australia’s contribution to post-Cold War stability and the ‘war on terror’. Navies have the potential to make a dual economic contribution to the societies which maintain them. The Navy’s contribution to the nation has been tangibly material in its roles as a guardian of seaborne trade and as a promoter of industrial infrastructure. Modern Australia has always depended upon sea transport for its economic well-being. At the end of the twentieth century, over


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70 per cent of Australian foreign trade by value and over 95 per cent by volume travelled by sea.17 Naval use of Sydney as a strategic port after 1788 caused the development of an entire maritime industrial infrastructure which lasted until the late twentieth century.18 The role of the RAN in developing and sustaining the Australian shipbuilding industry has been a major economic as well as strategic contribution.19 Contemporary maritime defence science has generated Australian export earnings and civilian applications while enhancing warfare capabilities and alliances.20 As the military and economic servant of a society based upon enterprise, the Australian Navy has been a major functionary of a liberal society. It has also, by its very nature, been an integral part of a constitutionally governed state. Rather than becoming politicised in the manner, for example, of the early twentieth century German navies, it has seen itself consistently as the servant of a democratic government and people. The very significant financial support which has sustained it has been appropriated as a consensual national investment. This was the kind of Australian sea power which Prime Minister Alfred Deakin sought to promote.21 It continues a century later in the form of the air warfare destroyer project recently re-endorsed by the findings of a parliamentary enquiry.22 The Navy has, too, been a participant in the kind of scientific endeavour which flourishes in free societies. Its contributions to cartographic and medical knowledge are part of a long tradition of naval scientific achievement based upon maritime education and practical needs. The work of the Royal Navy and then of the RAN in charting the Australian maritime environment has defined the very national territory of Australia.23 The Australian Navy has, therefore, been both creature and contributory creator of the Australian nation: the servant and friend of a society which has been remarkable—on the whole—for its democracy, enterprise, prosperity, intellectual freedom, and good international citizenship. Such a society, while it possesses its own national characteristics, is not, however, unique. It is a fully qualified member of a network of nations marked by good fortune and


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shared origins in the English-speaking maritime diaspora. We may term them the lucky league.

THE LUCKY LEAGUE As the maritime residue of the British Empire, including the United States—in the British Isles, North America and Australasia—the lucky league is effectively an extended family bound by various treaties and by informal but powerful bonds. As with all extended


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families, its members’ perceived interests are not identical. It has had its differences of opinion and disagreements over the years, notably during the Suez crisis of 1956. It members’ fortunes have varied and their relative standing has evolved. Their links with other powers and international groups have had their parallel—and sometimes dominant—stories. In the broadest sense the league has overlapped with the community of free nations (much of which is significantly maritime), and on several occasions (particularly in 1918 and 1940–41) has been critical to their survival. As societies, the members of the league contrast most sharply with Germany and Russia: continental states with extensive land frontiers, limited maritime strategic options, and therefore generations of history as military autocracies. In terms of such a comparison, a hybrid nation such as France has long had to negotiate a path between centralising authority and liberal society. The maritime environment has not shaped the societies of the league in any monocausal or simply deterministic way. It has, however, set the highly influential geographical parameters within which they have evolved. With the rise of their state navies (and a consequent ability to project power selectively on land) the sea has provided them with strategic security and hence political selfdetermination and economic opportunity. Historically, the league has been linked by the sea—physically and commercially, politically and culturally—in ways modified by air transport, technological change, and commercial realignment only within the last two generations. As societies shaped and sustained by the sea, the league’s members have survived by remembering it. Without controlling their maritime environs and protecting their sea lanes—individually or in combination—they allow the sea to become a highway for their enemies. Indeed, one does not have to invade an island to defeat it, as the German U-Boat command understood and as the Japanese learnt to their cost. Global geography is not uniform, and league members and other maritime nations approximate to the maritime model in differing ways and degrees. The most famous and durable form of


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the model is that of Mahan and his six factors promoting sea power: geographical position, physical conformation, extent of territory, number of population, national character, and character of government.24 His historical model was Britain, the founder of the diaspora and particularly well-suited to maritime development. Yet Australia, for example, while being deficient in some aspects of the Mahanian scheme, has a highly advantageous maritime geography. It enjoys the rare luxury of a national territory which is an island—with no land frontier to defend—and hence conforms to one of Mahan’s critical shaping factors.25 It has good deep water ports and easy access to the oceans. While it lacks the central position and control of a choke point favoured by Mahan, its strategic geography, conversely, does not create necessary threats (it came closest to doing so in 1941–42 when the Japanese Admiral Yamamoto saw it correctly as a base for Allied counter-attack). The major Australian weakness, in Mahanian terms, is smallness of population and hence limited naval resources relative to coastline.26 Australia has traditionally solved this problem by means of its alliances and, over the last generation, by striving for a higher level of infrastructural independence while leveraging high technology. In a post-Mahanian sense, Australia has become a highly maritime nation under the new provisions of the law of the sea, being at once possessor and custodian of one of the world’s largest maritime territories. Each member of the league constitutes its own case study, and Australia is not alone in conforming partially, but extensively, to classic preconditions for sea power. The lucky league is bonded not only by commerce and geography, but by shared history and values. English seafaring built on the great achievements of Portuguese and Spanish mariners during the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. Spain had created an American empire whose treasure underwrote the cost of its European armies. But the modern maritime league had its origins in the age of Drake, in England’s sixteenth century excursions overseas in search of profit and strategic security.27 The Elizabethan naval epic, with its story of the defence of the realm against the Spanish superpower, soon created its own powerful mythology. Early seventeenth century England was


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already influenced by a legend linking sea power with liberty, Protestantism, and private enterprise. This mythology was important in sustaining public support for naval power, and played a role in confronting Stuart pretensions to prerogative rule. By the late seventeenth century it was becoming an essential symbol of English national unity.28 In the nineteenth century it was incorporated into the retrospective ‘whig’ reading of British history. While it contains a measure of truth, it cannot be accepted uncritically in any discussion of the rise of English sea power. Paul Kennedy, for example, has pointed to the importance of continental strategy and politics in Elizabethan England’s national survival.29 The building of English sea power, moreover, is part of a wider historical phenomenon which historians have debated under the rubric of the early modern ‘military revolution’.30 It involved inter alia the development of gunpowder weapons, the rise of large armies, and progressive control by European states over the means of making war. In the case of navies, the causal relationships between military, political, financial, and social developments have been the subject of discussion.31 But England and Holland adopted the military revolution in a particular way which revolved around a nexus of maritime, commercial and parliamentary interests.32 Naval power was notably compatible not only with economic enterprise but with constitutional government. Financial support of a state navy required a high level of social co-operation, while such a navy was a military force which could not be used to coerce the population. By the early eighteenth century, the British and the Dutch, despite their contrasts, lived in a kind of society which essentially differed from the rest of Europe.33 It was highly commercial, significantly constitutional, relatively socially mobile (the Royal Navy itself was remarkable as a career open to merit), and intrinsically bound up with sea power.34 While having no monopoly, it was also increasingly interested in theoretical and applied science. The decline of Dutch economic power during the first half of the eighteenth century left Britain, and its emerging empire, as the standard-bearer of this kind of society. The Navy became a critical social investment, funded by


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In a practical demonstration of collective responsibility, ships from the RN, USN, RAN and RNZN participate in a combined maritime exercise in the late 1960s. Such exercises have been a feature of the Western naval network for many years. Rather more than air forces and considerably more than armies, almost all modern navies operate from a very large base of shared international doctrine. This allows for a level of mutual understanding that also manifests itself at much higher levels of command. (RAN)

taxes on expanding consumption trades, and received on average 60 per cent of the budget for the armed forces during the eighteenth century.35 Early British industrialisation meant that the victory won over France in 1815 could be transformed, during the new naval age of steam, into continuing world power. That power lasted well into the twentieth century, when the British Empire was dismantled and maritime leadership was assumed by the United States. It was during the twentieth century that the league made its greatest contributions to international stability and the principle of


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self-determination through its roles in the two world wars and the Cold War. Sea power, with its ability to create global efforts, was fundamental to those contributions. Only navies could take Australians to France and Palestine, Britons to North Africa, New Zealanders to Italy, Canadians to Normandy, and Americans to the South West Pacific. Only navies could support Russia in the 1940s, and surround it in the 1980s. But the league, with its maritime power, has done more than help to defeat tyranny. For almost half a millennium it has promoted international contact and commerce, enhanced scientific knowledge, and (despite its own origins in legalised piracy) gone on to fight pirates and slavers. It still has its work cut out for it. Its relations with the great powers of Asia and the states of the Middle East will be critical to the future of world peace. The achievements, as well as the values, of these maritime powers must be weighed in the balance. As military forces, they have made their fair share of mistakes and have suffered some terrible defeats. In social terms, the process of globalisation they have promoted for centuries, and which still continues, has its dark side. It is a story of Western oligarchy, of exploitation and deprivation on an epic scale, of bourgeois acquisitiveness and often bovine materialism. The league, however, has no monopoly on such things, which in the great span of human history are, at all events, beyond measure. At its best, as well as being prosperous and powerful, the league has been enterprising and cosmopolitan, intellectually free and imaginative, self-sacrificing, generous, democratic and humane. It has generally eschewed ideology, valuing pragmatism and peace. The inherent conservatism of its navies and their ability to apply graduated force have long been stabilising influences in world affairs. Not surprisingly, the league has had distinguished advocates and champions. Mahan, in arguing at the beginning of the twentieth century for an Anglo–American naval consortium, had a vision of its strategic potential but also of its basis in shared values.36 Winston Churchill, in describing himself to Franklin Roosevelt as a ‘Naval Person’, was not simply enlisting charm in the cause of international


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politics.37 In the midst of a world crisis he was appealing to the common principles of maritime peoples. The Atlantic Charter, which the two men drew up at sea in 1941, proclaimed to the world the principles of political self-determination, economic opportunity and security, peace between nations and freedom of the seas.38 This draft Allied agenda for the postwar world was also the motto of the lucky league with deep roots in its shared history. The league today is not exclusive in its membership or connections, but willing to associate with those who share its interests and values. Increasingly, it has many partial members, friends, fellow travellers and overlapping commitments. It is deeply international, as sailors always have been. In the Asia–Pacific region, Japan—a great maritime power in its own right—has for decades been a de facto member, and India, after pursuing non-alignment during the Cold War, has recently become a fellow traveller—appropriately for the world’s largest democracy and a rising sea power. A shared framework of historical reference is assisting India and the traditional maritime powers in seeking mutual strategic understanding. China is a power with maritime as well as continental traditions. To what extent it finds meaningful points of contact with the league over the next half century is a question of fundamental importance to global security. Membership of the league is one of Australia’s most valuable national assets, from which it has benefited enormously. This is no reflection on its national sovereignty, but very much a function of its national interests. That membership confers not only strategic advantages but socio-political ones. In practical terms, the membership dues are the maintenance of a credible maritime capability and the willingness to use it both in the national and the international interest. While we cannot afford complacency, in these senses our history is fairly encouraging. Australia is not the lucky country, but a founding member of the lucky league.


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Notes

INTRODUCTION 1 D.M. Schurman, Imperial Defence 1868–1887, J. Beeler (ed.), London: Frank Cass, 2000, pp. 1–2. 2 C.E.W. Bean, The Story of Anzac: From 4 May 1915 to the Evacuation, Sydney: Angus and Robertson, 1941, 12th edition, p. 910. 3 A. Grenfell Price, Australia Comes of Age, Melbourne: Georgian House, 1945, p. 76. 4 E. Andrews, The Anzac Illusion, Melbourne: Cambridge University Press, 1993, p. 215. 5 See for example, J. Grey, The Australian Army, Melbourne: Oxford University Press, 2001, p. 37. 6 M. Evans, ‘Strategic Culture and the Australian way of warfare: perspectives’, in D. Stevens and J. Reeve, Southern Trident: Strategy, History, and the Rise of Australian Naval Power, Sydney: Allen & Unwin, 2001, p. 90. 7 Schurman, Imperial Defence, p. 2. 8 M. Clark, A History of Australia, Melbourne: Melbourne University Press, 1962–87. 9 Statement by Senator Edward Millen, Australian Minister for Defence, in a brochure to commemorate the arrival of the Australian Fleet, Sydney, 4 October 1913. 10 See J. Beaumont, Australian Defence: Sources and Statistics, Melbourne: Oxford University Press, 2001, Table 1.2, p. 30. 11 Commonwealth Parliamentary Debates, House of Representatives, 24 November 1909, p. 6251.

385


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386 The Navy and the Nation 12 ‘Captain Creswell’s Memoranda to Senator Pearce’, 22 February 1909, in G.L. Macandie, The Genesis of the Royal Australian Navy, Sydney: Government Printer, 1949, p. 252. 13 Commonwealth Parliamentary Debates, House of Representatives, 24 November 1909, p. 6251. 14 J.F. Fraser, Australia: The Making of a Nation, London: Cassell and Company, 1911, p. 11. 15 ibid., p. xx. 16 C.E.W. Bean, Flagships Three, London: Alston Rivers, 1913, p. 218 (emphasis in original). 17 ibid., pp. 206, 214, 219. 18 Admiral Sir John Moresby, cited in F.M. MacGuire, The Royal Australian Navy: Its Origin, Development and Organisation, Melbourne: Oxford University Press, 1948, p. 37. 19 See Admiral Sir George King-Hall, ‘Introduction’ in The Royal Australian Navy: Why it is Needed, Sydney: F. Cunninghame & Company, 1912. 20 Admiral Sir Reginald Henderson, The Naval Forces of the Commonwealth: Recommendations, 1 March 1911, p. 4. 21 Speech by Andrew Fisher, 26 September and 3 October 1912, Commonwealth Parliamentary Papers, pp. 3480–6. 22 King-Hall., The Royal Australian Navy: Why it is Needed.

Chapter 1 1 Admiral Sir George King-Hall, ‘Introduction’ in The Royal Australian Navy: Why it is Needed, Sydney: Cunninghame & Co, 1912. 2 Responsibility for the argument of this chapter is the author’s alone, and it is not to be taken as representing official opinion of the US Navy. 3 For a discussion of the concept of shared responsibility, see D.L. Bland, ‘A Unified Theory of Civil–Military Relations’ in Armed Forces and Society, Fall 1999, pp. 7–26. As Clausewitz might say, the relationship is governed by a common logic, the national purpose, expressed through two ‘grammars’; one naval, the other political. Cf. Carl von Clausewitz, On War, edited and translated by M. Howard and P. Paret, Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1976, reprinted 1989, bk. 8, chap. 6, pt. B. For a recent development of the theme of ‘grammar’ in strategy, with a strong assertion of the value of sea power—‘Mahan was (mainly) right’—see C.S. Gray, Modern Strategy, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999, chaps 8 and 9.


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Notes 387 4 K. Spurling, ‘A Strategy for the Lower Deck of the early Royal Australian Navy’ in D. Stevens and J. Reeve (eds), Southern Trident, Sydney: Allen & Unwin, 2001, p. 266. 5 See an important collection discussing the American experience, P. Trubowitz, E.O. Goldman, and E. Rhodes (eds), The Politics of Strategic Adjustment: Ideas, Institutions, and Interests, New York: Columbia University Press, 1999. Note especially, Rhodes, ‘Constructing Power: Cultural Transformation and Strategic Adjustment in the 1890s’; M. Shulman, ‘Institutionalizing a Political Idea: Navalism and the Emergence of American Sea Power’; P. Trubowitz, ‘Geography and Strategy: The Politics of American Naval Expansion’; J.S. Breemer, ‘Technological Change and the New Calculus of War: The United States Builds a New Navy’; and E.A. Smith Jr., ‘. . . From the Sea: The Process of Defining a New Role for Naval Forces in the post-Cold War World’. 6 H. Strachan, The First World War, vol. 1, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001, p. 375. 7 For South-East Asia, and the powerful connection of navies to national politics there, see J.N. Mak, ‘Fighting the Maritime War in the 21st Century: War? What War?’ in D. Wilson (ed.), Maritime War in the 21st Century: The Medium and Small Navy Perspective, Canberra: Sea Power Centre Australia, 2001, pp. 41–71. 8 For some comments on the RN in this regard, see G. Till, ‘The Royal Navy in a New World, 1990–2020’ in P.P. O’Brien, Technology and Naval Combat in the Twentieth Century and Beyond, London: Cass, 2001, pp. 219–37. 9 H. White, ‘Australian Defence Policy and the Possibility of War’ in Australian Journal of International Affairs, 56:2 (2002), pp. 253–64. See the discussion in terms of organisation in J. Goldrick, ‘A Fleet Not a Navy: Some Thoughts on the Themes’ in Southern Trident, pp. 291–5. Also, in the same volume, M. Evans, ‘Strategic Culture and the Australian Way of Warfare: Perspectives’, pp. 83–96. See also J. Reeve, The Development of Naval Strategy in the Asia-Pacific Region, 1500–2000, Canberra: Sea Power Centre Australia, Working Paper No. 4, May 2000, pp. 15–16. Richard Hill argued that a balanced maritime force and a strategy of self-reliance is the most appropriate structure for a mediumsized naval power: R. Hill, Medium Power Strategy Revisited, Working Paper No. 3, Canberra: Sea Power Centre Australia, 2000. For support of this position while remarking on its limitations, see the very pertinent


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10

11

12

13 14

M. McGwire, ‘Australia as a Regional Seapower: An External View’ in Seapower ’79, Canberra: Australian Naval Institute, 1979. Australia’s National Security: A Defence Update, Canberra: Commonwealth of Australia, 2003. See also A. Dupont, ‘Straitjacket Off as Defence Gets Real’ in the Australian, 27 February 2003, and, calling for such a change, Dupont, ‘Transforming or Stagnation: Rethinking Australia’s Defence’ in Australian Journal of International Affairs, April 2003, pp. 55–76, making this argument under the headings of ‘geography’ (attacking as misguided and inadequate the ‘maritime strategy’ of the Defence of Australia doctrine), ‘risk assessment’ (asking who threatens Australia), ‘what kind of wars are likely?’ (considering terrorism, urban combat, and asymmetrical warfare), and, finally, ‘what should the ADF do?’ (arguing for an increase in capacity for operations other than war). BR 1806, British Maritime Doctrine, second edition, London: TSO, 1999, pp. 26, 31. ‘Poise’ is defined as ‘an attribute of a maritime force which permits it to remain in international waters for long periods while retaining the ability to become engaged in events ashore or withdraw without risk of embroilment’, p. 228. For the US definition, see the ‘2000 Naval Strategy Planning Guidance’, p. 20, and various CAN studies, such as D.J. Whiteneck, Naval Forward Presence and Regional Stability, September 2002. P. Cosgrove, ‘The ANZAC Lecture at Georgetown University, 4 April 2000’ in Journal of the Australian Naval Institute (JANI ), April–June 2000, p. 9. D. Stevens, ‘Letter to the Editor’, JANI, Autumn–Winter 2001, p. 7. It is possible that deployments may even destabilise, may be misinterpreted, or be only selectively effective. Frank Uhlig notes that foreign military and naval presence in China before the Second World War resulted in Chinese hostility toward those powers, that Japan in the 1920s and 30s was not restrained by presence, and that US naval deployments in the Persian Gulf did not deter Saddam Hussein in 1990. Gunboat diplomacy by itself is not enough for regional stability. A recent study could not ‘differentiate the specific contribution of naval forces’ from the values of other instruments of policy, or ‘prove that combat-credibility is essential’, Whiteneck, Naval Forward Presence and Regional Stability, p. 24. See also J.H. Kahan and J.I. Sands, Alternative Deployment Concepts: Demand for Deployed Naval Forces, 1992–1999, Alexandria: Center for Naval Analyses, 1991, pp. 2–6, and M. Allen, ‘Are Naval Operations


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Notes 389

15

16

17 18

19

Unique?’ in Naval Review, January 1996, pp. 19–23. Studies of twenty years of Confidence Building Measures, meant to make states’ actions more transparent by reducing the danger of surprise attacks, show these are of very limited value in constraining the behaviour of states and contributing to international security. For a review of the issues, see MarieFrance Desjardins, ‘Rethinking Confidence Building Measures: Obstacles to Agreement and the Risks of Overselling the Process’ in Adelphi Paper 307, London: International Institute for Strategic Studies, 1996. P. Dibb, Planning a Defence Force Without a Threat, Canberra: Strategic and Defence Studies Centre, 1996, p. 21, quoted by S. Woodman, ‘Defending the Moat: Maritime Strategy and Self-Reliance’ in D. Stevens (ed.), In Search of a Maritime Strategy: The Maritime Element in Australian Defence Planning since 1901, Canberra: Strategic and Defence Studies Centre, 1997, p. 140. J.T. Sumida, Inventing Grand Strategy and Teaching Command: The Classic Works of Alfred Mahan Reconsidered, Washington, DC: Woodrow Wilson Center Press, and Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1997, gives a fine analysis of Mahan’s ideas of an alliance structure for the maintenance of good order at sea. For an Australian discussion on the connection of security to prosperity, see Evans in Stevens and Reeve, Southern Trident, pp. 83–96. Much thinking is going on now about the value of navies in assuring access in the age of globalisation ‘beyond the sea’. See Captain S.J. Tangredi, USN, ‘Beyond the Sea and Jointness’ in Proceedings, September 2001, pp. 60–63, and, for the naval contribution to market stability, ‘Elysium’ (pseud.), ‘British Economic Interests and the Future of the Royal Navy in Asia’ in Naval Review, January 1997, pp. 19–22. Globalisation issues are discussed in S.J. Tangredi (ed.), Globalization and Maritime Power, Washington DC: National Defense University Press, 2002. J. Reeve, Maritime Strategy and the Defence of the Archipelagic Inner Arc, Working Paper No. 5, Canberra: Sea Power Centre Australia, 2001. The Maritime Strategy is discussed, in the context of NATO’s ingenious plan of the same period by P.M. Swartz in his important paper, ‘Preventing the Bear’s Last Swim: The NATO Concept of Maritime Operations (CONMAROPS) in the Last Cold War Decade’, publication forthcoming, delivered at the IVth Pelagic Meeting, Kefallonia, Greece, May 2001 (revised August 2001). The Swedish Navy offers an instructive example. See the Royal Swedish Society of Naval Sciences, Swedish Naval Defence in the New Europe,


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20

21

22

23

24

25

Stockholm, 1999, and B. Hugemark, ‘Crisis Management in the Baltic Sea Area—Some Strategic and Operational Assessments’ in H. Zettermark, M. Hagg, and C. von Euler (eds), The Baltic Room: Extending the Northern Wing of the European House, Stockholm: National Defence College, 2002, pp. 169–76. For the UK, see British Maritime Doctrine, second edn, 1999, which should be compared to the first edition of 1995. For the British analogue, see W.R. Louis and R. Robinson, ‘The Imperialism of Decolonialization’ in Journal of Imperial and Commonwealth History, September 1994, pp. 462–511, and for a similarly RN perspective see op. cit. ‘British Economic Interests and the Future of the Royal Navy in Asia’. A fine review of American moves is provided by E. Rhodes, ‘“. . . From the Sea” and Back Again: Naval Power in the Second American Century’ in Naval War College Review, Spring 1999, pp. 13–54. Not that any service said much about what they could not do. The importance of ‘telling the story’ is widely understood by services in every country and, recently for the USN, was specifically recommended as imperative by G.V. Cox, Naval Defense Planning for the 21st Century: Observations from QDR–2001, Alexandria: Center for Naval Analyses, 2001. A Canadian conclusion, expressed in the Osbaldston Report of 1990, opposed the full consolidation of the ‘single fleet’ option. All the Ships that Sail: A Study of Canada’s Fleets, Ottawa: Treasury Board, 1990. See A. Forbes, Protecting the National Interest: Naval Constabulary Operations in Australia’s Exclusive Zone, Canberra: Sea Power Centre Australia, Working Paper no. 11, 2002. D. Stevens (ed.), The Royal Australian Navy, Melbourne: Oxford University Press, 2001, p. 296.

Chapter 2 1 Monthly Review, cited in D. Stevens (ed.), In Search of a Maritime Strategy: the Maritime Element in Australian Defence Planning Since 1901, Canberra Strategic and Defence Studies Centre, 1997, p. 151. 2 Catalogo de la Industria de la Defensa en Chile, Chile: ministero de Defensa nacional, 2002, p. 7. Many of these ideas are further explored in my Seapower: A Guide for the 21st Century, London: Frank Cass, 2003. 3 Speech of 27 February 1786, reprinted in The Speeches of the Right Honourable William Pitt in the House of Commons, 4 vols, London: 1806.


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Notes 391 4 R. MacDonald speech, 11 October 1929, quoted in Public Records Office, London (PRO): AIR 9/108. 5 Sir James Cable, The Political Influence of Naval Force in History, London: Basingstoke, 1998, pp. 22–23. 6 Adam Smith, The Wealth of Nations, vol. I, London: 1776, p. 29. 7 A.T. Mahan, The Problem of Asia and its Effect upon International Politics, London: Sampson, Low, Marston, 1890, p. 99. 8 ibid., p. 177. 9 Gang Deng, Chinese Maritime Activities and Socio-economic Development c 2100BC–1900AD, Westport, CT: Greenwood, 1997, pp. 155–8. 10 N. Ferguson, Empire: How Britain Made the Modern World, London: Penguin, 2004. 11 Charles Darwin, The Voyage of the Beagle, Ware, Herts: Wordsworths (reprinted) Edition, 1997, p. 409. 12 ibid., p. 475. 13 G. Blainey, The Tyranny of Distance, Sydney: Macmillan, 2001, pp. 27–9. 14 R. Hough, Captain James Cook: A Biography, London: Hodder and Stoughton, 1994, p. 1. 15 Mahan, The Problem of Asia, p. 174. 16 A thesis explored at length in Edward Ingram, The British Empire as a World Power: Ten Studies, London: Frank Cass, 2000, esp. pp. 126–7. 17 Earl Nugent speech, reported in The Gentleman’s Magazine, September 1745, pp. 465–6. 18 R. Williams, Defending the Empire: The Conservative Party and British Defence Policy 1899–1915, New Haven: Tale University Press, 1991, p. 229. 19 G.P. Gooch and H. Temperley, British Documents on the Origin of the War, London, HMSO, 1928, III, Appendix B, p. 430. 20 Cited in K. Jeffrey, ‘Sir Henry Wilson and the Defence of the British Empire, 1918–22’ in The Journal of Imperial and Commonwealth History, May 1977, p. 279. 21 Cited in North China Herald, 1 August 1900. 22 Lord Selborne, January 1903, cited in Williams, Defending the Empire, p. 59. 23 Arthur Lee, cited in ibid., p. 208. 24 Sir Herbert Richmond, Statesmen and Sea Power, Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1946, p. 328. 25 Admiralty Board Minutes 5016 and 5021 of July 1956, PRO: ADM 167/146.


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392 The Navy and the Nation 26 Admiral of the Fleet, Lord Fisher, Memories, London: Hodder and Stoughton, 1919, p. 42. See also N. Lambert, ‘The Opportunities of Technology: British and French Naval Strategies in the Pacific, 1905–09’ in N.A.M. Rodger (ed.), Naval Power in the Twentieth Century, Basingstoke: Macmillan, 1996, pp. 41–58, for an important and different spin on this argument. 27 M. Thatcher, The Downing Street Years, London: HarperCollins, 1993, pp. 250–1. 28 Lambert, ‘The Opportunities of Technology. British and French Naval Strategies in the Pacific, 1905–09’. 29 This passage owes much to C. Bell, ‘The Singapore Strategy and the Deterrence of Japan: Winston Churchill, the Admiralty and the Dispatch of Force Z’ in The English Historical Review, June 2001, pp. 604–34, and The Royal Navy, Seapower and Strategy Between the Wars, Basingstoke: Macmillan, 2000, pp. 59–98. For an even more detailed review, which comes to much the same conclusions, see A Field, Royal Navy Strategy and Tactics in the Far East, London: Frank Cass, 2004. 30 Memo by Admiral Sir Dudley Pound, 25 January 1942, PRO: ADM 119/913. 31 See the chapter by Christopher Tuck in G. Kennedy (ed.), The Royal Navy East of Suez, London: Frank Cass, 2004, from which this material is largely derived. 32 BR 1736(54), Naval Staff History, British Commonwealth Naval Operations Korea 1950–1953, London: Naval Historical branch, 1967, pp. 103–12. 33 Memo, 20 July 1909, Canadian Sessional papers, Commons 1909–10, no 29s, p. 24. 34 S. Roskill, Naval Policy Between The Wars, vol. I: The Period of AngloAmercian Anatagonism 1919–1929, London: Collins, 1976, pp. 274–88. 35 A.J. Marder, Old Friends, New Enemies: The Royal Navy and the Imperial Japanese Navy: Strategic Illusions 1936–1941, Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1981, pp. 3–27. 36 Letter of 19 June 1939 to Neville Chamberlain, Runciman Papers WR 284, cited in G. Kennedy, ‘What worth the Americans? The British Strategic Foreign Policy Making Elite’s View of American Maritime Power in the Far East, 1933–41’ in Kennedy, The Royal Navy and East of Suez. 37 Telegram, US Ambassador to Japan to Secretary of State, Cordell Hull, cited in ibid.


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Notes 393 38 H.P. Willmott, Grave of a Dozen Schemes, London: AirLife Publishing, 1996. 39 Internal memo of 2 June 1944, Public Records Office, London: FO 954/7/117. 40 H.P. Willmott, ‘Just Being There’, 1986, prize-winning essay for the Julian Corbett Prize in Modern Naval History, p. 2. 41 J. Ehrman, Grand Strategy, vol. VI, October1944–August 1945, London, HMSO, 1956, p. 350. 42 S.E. Morison, History of the US Navy in World War II, vol. XIII: The Liberation of the Philippines, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1959, p. 257. 43 ‘Reports of Naval Operations Against Japan 17 July 1945–2 Sep 1945’, PRO: ADM 199/1478. I am indebted to my colleague Jon Robb-Webb for this and the following quote, and for his views on the BPF. 44 Memo of 21 March 1944, Public Records Office, London: FO 371/38523.

Chapter 3 1 Count Robert Zedlitz-Trützschler, Twelve Years at the Imperial German Court, London: Nisbet & Co, 1924, p. 104, entry for 19 November 1904. This is the English translation of the diary that Zedlitz kept during the years from 1900 to 1910 as Wilhelm II’s Controller of the Household. Zedlitz-Trützschler made these observations after he had watched the German emperor launch the battleship Deutschland at the Germania yard in Kiel on 19 November 1904. 2 I would like to thank David Stevens and John Reeve for their comments on this chapter; and I am extremely grateful to Richard J. Evans, Christopher Clark and David Cannadine for their valuable suggestions on the ‘cult of the navy’. 3 Naval Annual (1910), p. 379; Naval Annual (1911), pp. 389–90; Naval Annual (1912), p. 373; Naval Annual (1913), pp. 426–27; Naval Annual (1914), pp. 405–6. The ‘First Lord’s Statement Explanatory of Navy Estimates’ was customarily distributed at the introduction of the navy estimates in parliament. For 1910 this was 14 March, compare Hansard Parliamentary Debates, fifth series, vol. xv, p. 38. 4 See Public Record Office, London (PRO): ADM 1/6871, ADM 116/131–134, ADM 116/1146–1148 and ADM 116/1156–1157 on


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5 6 7

8

9 10

11 12 13 14

15

16 17 18 19

coronation reviews; and Bundesarchiv-Marinearchiv (BA-MA): RM 1618–1629 on launches of battleships. Imperial Audit Office to State Secretary of the Imperial Treasury, 17 October 1908, BA-MA: RM 3/118, Bl. 99. Staatsarchiv Bremen, VIII.F.31, Nr. 22, Bl. 1, 30 November 1900. Official Report of Speeches at the Launching of the Cruiser “Brisbane” at the Commonwealth Naval Dockyard on the 30th September, 1915, p. 1, Naval Historical Section (NHS), Canberra: HMAS Brisbane file. W. Mark Hamilton, The Nation and the Navy: Methods and Organization of British Navalist Propaganda, 1889–1914, New York and London: Garland, 1986; Volker R. Berghahn, Der Tirpitz-Plan: Genesis und Verfall einer innenpolitischen Krisenstrategie unter Wilhelm II., Düsseldorf: Droste, 1971; Hans-Ulrich Wehler, Das Deutsche Kaiserreich 1871–1918, seventh edn, Göttingen: Vandenhoeck, 1994. Wehler’s and Berghahn’s interpretation drew on Eckart Kehr’s pioneering studies, Schlachtflottenbau und Parteipolitik 1894–1901, Berlin, 1930, and Der Primat der Innenpolitik, second edn, Berlin, 1970. The details are recorded in PRO: ADM 1/8048. Glasgow City Archives, G 2/1/8: ‘Comet’ Centenary, 1912; G 1/1/17: Lord Provost to Secretary of the Admiralty, 1 August 1912; Minutes of the Corporation of Glasgow, Nov 1911–April 1912, pp. 1249–57, 2285–93. Hamburger Nachrichten, 14 June 1895 (Hauptblatt). Staatsarchiv Hamburg, 132–1 I, 2282. Coronation Naval Review 1911, Press, PRO: ADM 116/1159. Valentia Steer, The Romance of the Cinema: A Short Record of the Development of the Most Popular Form of Amusement of the Day, London: C. Arthur Pearson, 1913, pp. 11–12. Pathé Frères Cinema Ltd. to Secretary of the Admiralty, 3 June 1911, PRO: ADM 116/1157; Pathé Frères Cinema Ltd. to Admiral Superintendent, Portsmouth, 5 February 1913, PRO: ADM 179/53. Charles Urban, The Cinematograph in Science, Education and Matters of State, London: Charles Urban Trading Co, 1907, pp. 22–23. See Pieter van der Merwe, ‘Views of the Royal Naval Exhibition, 1891’, Journal of Maritime Research, September 2001. National Archives of Australia, Canberra: A1336/2831. Alfred Kerr, Wo liegt Berlin? Briefe aus der Reichshauptstadt 1895–1900, Berlin: Aufbau-Verlag, 1998, p. 156.


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Notes 395 20 Programm der Deutschen Flottenschauspiele, BA-MA: RM 3/9834, Bl. 6. 21 Kerr, Wo liegt Berlin? Briefe aus der Reichshauptstadt 1895–1900, p. 156. 22 For a flavour of the arrangements, see Thomas Cook catalogue, Coronation of H.M. King George V. Programme of Facilities for Witnessing the Royal Naval Review at Spithead on June 24th and the Coronation Processions in London on June 22nd and 23rd 1911, London, 1911. 23 Times, 17 June 1902, PRO: ADM 116/132, vol. 2. 24 Marinekabinett to Flottenkommando Kiel, 22 August 1911, BA-MA: RM 2/106, Bl. 188. 25 Hotham to Secretary of Admiralty, 3 July 1902, PRO: ADM 1/7579. 26 Churchill Archives, Churchill College, Cambridge, BGGF, 1/62: Captain Sir Bryan Godfrey-Faussett, private diary, 24 June 1911; RNM, 1997: Diary of James Colvill, 24 June 1911; Frank Fox, Ramparts of Empire, London: Adam & Charles Black, 1910, p. 100. For a detailed analysis see Jan Rüger, ‘The Public Celebration of the Fleet in Britain and Germany, 1897–1914’, University of Cambridge, PhD thesis, 2003, chapter 4. 27 Peter Fritzsche, A Nation of Fliers: German Aviation and the Popular Imagination, Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1992; Guillaume de Syon, Zeppelin! Germany and the Airship, 1900–1939, Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2001; Thomas Rohkrämer, Eine andere Moderne? Zivilisationskritik, Natur und Technik in Deutschland, 1880–1933, Paderborn: Schöningh, 1999; Joachim Radkau, Technik in Deutschland. Vom 18. Jahrhundert bis zur Gegenwart, Frankfurt: Suhrkamp, 1989, esp. pp. 22–39. 28 Naval and Military Record, 30 October 1912. 29 Portsmouth Evening News, 10 February 1906 (emphasis added). 30 Daily Express, 2 February 1911. 31 The Sphere, 9 August 1902. 32 Illustrated London News, 24 July 1909. Similarly Daily News, 19 July 1909. 33 Times, 1 June 1909; Daily Chronicle, 15 August 1902. 34 Staatsarchiv Hamburg, 622–1/2: Eduard Blohm, Werfterinnerungen 1877–1939, p. 257. 35 Daily News, 21 July 1909; Daily Express, 20 July 1909. 36 Times, 1 June 1909. 37 Labour Leader, 18 June 1909.


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396 The Navy and the Nation 38 Hamburger Echo, 26 May 1912. 39 For a detailed discussion see Jan Rüger, ‘Nation, Empire and Navy: Identity Politics in the United Kingdom, 1887–1914’, Past & Present, 185, November 2004. 40 Jon Sumida, In Defence of Naval Supremacy. Finance, Technology and British Naval Policy, 1889–1914, London: Allen & Unwin, 1989, p. 338. 41 Nicholas A. Lambert, Sir John Fisher’s Naval Revolution, Columbia: University of South Carolina Press, 1999, p. 15. 42 Jonathan Steinberg, Yesterday’s Deterrent: Tirpitz and the Birth of the German Battle Fleet, London: Macdonald, 1965; Paul M. Kennedy, The Rise of the Anglo-German Antagonism 1860–1914, London: Allen & Unwin, 1980, chapter 13. 43 P.A. Hislam, The North Sea Problem, London: Holden & Hardingham, 1913, p. 96. 44 A.T. Mahan, The Influence of Sea Power upon History, 1660–1783, London and Cambridge, MA: Sampson Low, 1890. 45 Encyclopaedia Britannica, vol. 24, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1911, p. 530. 46 ibid., p. 560. 47 N.A.M. Rodger, The Safeguard of the Sea: A Naval History of Great Britain, vol. 1, London: Harper Collins, 1997, p. 380. 48 H.W. Wilson (ed.), Navy League Guide to the Coronation Review, 28 June 1902, London, 1902, p. 7. 49 The Naval and Military Record, 29 July 1914, p. 481. 50 Zedlitz-Trützschler, Twelve Years at the Imperial German Court.

Chapter 4 1 E.T.P. Eames, ‘Medical Service with the Royal Australian Navy’, in A.G. Butler, Official History of the Australian Army Medical Services 1914–18, vol. II: Problems and Services, Canberra: Australian War Memorial, 1943, p. 351. 2 C. Lloyd and J. Coulter, Medicine and the Navy 1200–1900, vol. 4: 1815–1900, London: E&S Livingstone, 1963, pp. 132–3. 3 I. Howie-Willis, A Century for Australia: St John Ambulance in Australia 1883–1983, Canberra: Brown Prior Anderson, 1983, pp. 163–5. 4 L. Heaps, Log of the Centurion: Based on the Original Papers of Captain Philip Saumarez on Board HMS Centurion, Lord Anson’s Flagship


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5

6

7 8 9 10 11 12

13

14 15 16 17 18

19 20

During His Circumnavigation 1740–44, New York: Macmillan, 1973, pp. 26–7. G. Williams, The Prize of All the Oceans: The Triumph and Tragedy of Anson’s Voyage Round the World, London: Harper Collins, 1999, pp. 16–18. Many of the details of Anson’s voyage contained in this chapter have been derived from this book. J. Watt, ‘The Medical Bequest of Disaster at Sea: Commodore Anson’s Circumnavigation 1740–44’ in Journal of the Royal Navy Medical Service, 1999, 85, pp. 33–9. ibid. Heaps, Log of the Centurion, pp. 26–7. C. Lloyd and J. Coulter, Medicine and the Navy 1200–1900, vol. 3: 1714–1814, London: E & S Livingstone, 1963, pp. 300–1. Quoted in Lloyd and Coulter, Medicine and the Navy, vol. 3, p. 310. ibid., p. 311. P.G. Fidlon and J.A. Ryan (eds), The Journal of Arthur Bowes Smyth: Surgeon, Lady Penrhyn, 1787–1789, Sydney: Australia Documents Library, 1979. L.F. Fitzhardinge, Sydney’s First Four Years: Being a Reprint of a Narrative of the Expedition to Botany Bay and a Complete Account of the Settlement at Port Jackson by Captain Watkin Tench of the Marines, Sydney: Library of Australian History, 1979, pp. 19–20. Fidlon and Ryan, The Journal of Arthur Bowes Smyth, pp. 45–6 (abbreviations extended). ibid., pp. 52–7. Quoted in T. Flannery (ed.), The Birth of Sydney, Melbourne: Text Publishing Company, 1999, pp. 52–3. ibid., p. 85. The introduction of smallpox to Australia has been discussed by several medical writers, including Dr J.H.L. Cumpston in The History of Smallpox in Australia 1788–1908, Melbourne: Government Printer, 1914; Dr J.B. Cleland in the Journal of the University of Sydney Medical Society, 1911–1913; and F. Tidswell in the proceedings of the Australasian Association for the Advancement of Science, 1898. For a more detailed account see S. Rees, The Floating Brothel, Sydney: Hodder Books, 2001. R. Rienits (ed.), Australia’s Heritage: the Making of a Nation, vol. 1, Sydney: Hamlyn House, 1971, p. 100.


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398 The Navy and the Nation 21 Lloyd and Coulter, Medicine and the Navy, vol. 4, p. 134. 22 G.A. Mawer, Most Perfectly Safe: The Convict Shipwreck Disasters of 1833–42, Sydney: Allen and Unwin, 1997. 23 C. Bateson, The Convict Ships, 1787–1868, Glasgow: Brown, Son and Ferguson, c1959, p. 253. 24 Eames, ‘Medical Service with the Royal Australian Navy’, pp. 351–2.

Chapter 5 1 Phillip’s first despatch from Sydney, Historical Records of New South Wales, vol. 1, part 2 (1783–92), p. 122. 2 Although a little dated, the background to the debate outlined in this chapter is comprehensively examined in G. Martin (ed.), The Founding of Australia: the Argument about Australia’s Origins, Sydney: Hale & Iremonger, 1978. For a useful general work see, V.T. Harlow, The Founding of the Second British Empire 1763–1793, vol. II: New Continents and Changing Values, London: Longmans, 1964; on the debate in the wider context see, G. Williams, ‘The Pacific: Exploration and Exploitation’ in P.D. Marshall (ed.), The Oxford History of the British Empire, vol II: The Eighteenth Century, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1998, p. 566. 3 R. Ward, Australia, Sydney: Walkabout, 1969, p. 24. 4 C.M.H. Clark, ‘The Choice of Botany Bay’ in Historical Studies, vol. 9, 1960, pp. 221–3; see also Clark, A Short History of Australia, revised edition, Melbourne: Heinemann, 1969, p. 9. 5 K.M. Dallas, ‘The First Settlement in Australia: considered in relation to seapower in world politics’ in Papers and Proceedings, Tasmanian Historical Research Association, 1952, no. 3. See also his later work, Trading Posts or Penal Colonies, Hobart: Fullers Bookshop, 1969. 6 G. Blainey, The Tyranny of Distance: How Distance Shaped Australia’s History, revised edition, Melbourne: Sun, 1983. 7 Howe’s view is cited in W. Oldham, ‘The Administration of the System of Transportation of British Convicts, 1763–1793’, a University of London thesis, 1933, p. 314. 8 M. Roe, ‘Australia’s part in “the swing to the East”’ in Historical Studies, 8, 1958, pp. 202–13. 9 See G.S. Graham, British Policy and Canada 1774–1791, Westport: Greenwood Press, 1974, pp. 105–13; and R.G. Albion, ‘The Timber


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10 11

12

13

14 15

16 17 18 19 20

21

22

Problem of the Royal Navy, 1652–1862’ in The Mariners Mirror: the Journal of the Society for Nautical Research, 1952. Blainey, Tyranny of Distance, pp. 29–30. J.M. Matra, ‘A proposal for establishing a settlement in New South Wales, 23 August 1783’ reprinted in Historical Records of New South Wales, vol. 1, part 2, Sydney: Government Printer, 1892. Sir George Young, ‘The Following is a rough outline of the many advantages that may result to the nation from a settlement made on the coast of New South Wales’, facsimile, Royal Commonwealth Society Library, London 1785. For Banks’ opinion of Botany Bay see the ‘Report of the Select Committee on the Returns of Felons’ in Journals of the House of Commons, vol. XXXVII, 1779. N. Rodger, The Admiralty, Lavenham: Terence Dalton, 1979. A useful account of the Royal Navy’s practical and tactical difficulties in this period is provided by E.P. Brenton, The Naval History of Great Britain from the Year 1783 to 1822, London: Rice, 1823–25, part I. For a general account see P.J. Marshall, Problems of Empire: Britain and India, 1757–1813, London: Allen & Unwin, 1968. For a fuller description see G.S. Graham, Sea Power and British North America 1783–1820, New York: Greenwood Press, 1968. Sir Geoffrey Callender and F.H. Hinsley, The Naval Side of British History 1485–1945, London: Christophers, 1952, p. 166. See R.G. Albion, Forests and Sea Power, Cambridge Mass.: Archon Books, 1926. See G. Mackaness, ‘Some Proposals for Establishing Colonies in the South Seas’, Journal and Proceedings of the Royal Australian Historical Society, vol. 29, part 4, 1943, pp. 263–80. A. Frost, Convicts and Empire: A Naval Question, 1776–1811, Melbourne: Oxford University Press, 1980. Frost later expanded on his earlier work in Botany Bay Mirages: Illusions of Australia’s Convict Beginnings, Melbourne: Melbourne University Press, 1994. A. Frost, ‘The East India Company and the Choice of Botany Bay’ in Historical Studies, vol. 16, 1975, pp. 606–16. For general histories of the Company in this period see C.H. Philips, The East India Company 1784–1834, Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1961; and, L.S. Sutherland, The East India Company in Eighteenth Century Politics, Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1952.


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400 The Navy and the Nation 23 R. Hughes, The Fatal Shore: A History of the Transportation of Convicts to Australia, 1787–1868, London: Collins Harrill, 1987. 24 North to Sandwich, 10 September 1772, quoted in G.R. Barnes and J.H. Owen, The Private Papers of John, Earl of Sandwich, vol. 1, Navy Records Society, vol. 69, p. 20. 25 Lord Sydney’s response was reprinted in V. Harlow and F. Madden, British Colonial Developments 1774–1834: Select Documents, Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1953, p. 435. 26 A. Dalrymple, A Serious Admonition to the Public on the Intended Thief Colony at Botany Bay, 1786, edited and reproduced including a memoir by G. Mackaness, Sydney: D.S. Ford, 1943. 27 See A.R. Ekirch, Bound for America: The Transportation of British Convicts to the Colonies, 1718–1775, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1987. I am also grateful for a personal email from Professor Ekirch clarifying this matter. 28 R.J. King, ‘“A Regular and Reciprocal System of Trade”—Botany Bay, Nootka Sound and the isles of Japan’ in Mariners Mirror, vol. 19, no. 1, 1997, pp. 1–29. 29 D.L. Mackay, ‘Direction and purpose in British imperial policy, 1783–1801’ in Historical Journal, vol. 17, 1974, pp. 487–501. This was later incorporated into A Place of Exile: The European Settlement of New South Wales, Melbourne: Oxford University Press, 1985. 30 J.S. Corbett, Some Principles of Maritime Strategy, E. Grove (ed.), Annapolis: Naval Institute Press, 1988, reprint of 1911 edition, pp. 94–5. 31 See Sir Herbert Richmond, The Navy in India 1763–1783, London: Ernest Benn, 1931. 32 See G.C. Bolton, ‘The Hollow Conqueror: Flax and the Foundation of Australia’ in Australian Economic History Review, viii, March 1968, pp. 3–16. 33 Mollie Gillen, ‘The Botany Bay decision, 1786: Convicts not Empire’ in English Historical Review, vol. 97, part 385, October 1982, pp. 740–66. See also an essay with the same title in Gillian Whitlock and Gail Reekie (eds), Uncertain Beginnings, Brisbane: University of Queensland Press, 1993, pp. 25–35. 34 ibid. 35 P. Appleby, Morality and Administration in Democratic Government, Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press, 1952, p. 258. 36 King, ‘“A Regular and Reciprocal System of Trade”—Botany Bay, Nootka Sound and the isles of Japan’.


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Notes 401

Chapter 6 1 Quoted in G.C. Ingleton, ‘A Brief History of Marine Surveying in Australia’ in Royal Australian Historical Society Journal and Proceedings, vol. XXX, part II, 1944, p. 137. 2 Quoted in J.C.H. Foley, Reef Pilots, Sydney: Banks Bros & Street, 1982, p. 16. 3 Quoted in A. Lubbock, Owen Stanley R.N., Melbourne: Heinemann, 1968, p. 220. 4 J.C. Beaglehole (ed.), The Voyage of the Endeavour, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1955, p. 380. 5 Queenslander, 25 December 1875. 6 Queenslander, 4 January 1879. 7 Quoted in W. Davenport, Harbours & Marine, Brisbane: Dept of Harbours and Marine, 1986, p. 123. 8 R.T. Gould, ‘Survey Ships at Work’ in C. Winchester (ed.), Shipping Wonders of the World, London: Fleetway House, c.1936, p. 1451. 9 Letter from H.W.G. Madge, 28 May 1982, Naval Historical Section: HMAS Geranium file. 10 R. McAuslan, H.M.A.S. Barcoo, Sydney: IFIX, 1995, p. 22. 11 ibid., p. 30. 12 Personal communication to author, 1999. 13 Foley, Reef Pilots, p. 116. 14 John Gorton, Senate Debates, 2 September 1959, p. 452.

Chapter 7 1 R. White, Inventing Australia: Images and Identity 1788–1980, Sydney: Allen & Unwin, 1981. 2 Argus, 10 November 1910, p. 6. 3 ibid., 25 February 1911, p. 16. [author’s emphasis] 4 A. Broinowski, The Yellow Lady: Australian Impressions of Asia, Melbourne: Oxford University Press, 1996, 2nd edn., p. 232. 5 R. Crawford, ‘Selling a Nation: Depictions of Australian National Identity in Newspaper Advertisements, 1900–1969’, PhD Thesis, Monash University: School of Historical Studies, 2002, p. 23. 6 M. Mahood, The Loaded Line: Australian Political Caricature 1788– 1901, Melbourne: Melbourne University Press, 1973, p. 281.


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402 The Navy and the Nation 7 Reason Why, vol. 1 no. 3, September 1908, p. 17. 8 The Draper of Australasia, vol. 8 no. 1, January 1908, p. 12. 9 D. Stevens, ‘Introduction’ in David Stevens (ed.), Maritime Power in the Twentieth Century: The Australian Experience, Sydney: Allen & Unwin, 1998, p. 2. 10 Letter, Deakin to Governor-General, 28 August 1905, Commonwealth Parliamentary Papers, no. 98, 1906. 11 Bulletin, 30 January 1913, p. 19. 12 ibid., 9 May 1912, p. 38. 13 ibid., 12 December 1912, p. 51. 14 ibid., 19 June 1913, p. 19. 15 ibid., 15 August 1912, p. 19. 16 ibid., 24 April 1913, p. 17. 17 I. Tyrell, Deadly Enemies: Tobacco and Its Opponents in Australia, Sydney: University of New South Wales Press, 1999, pp. 34–6. 18 Bulletin, 7 December 1911, p. 17. 19 Age, 17 March 1908, p. 4. 20 Bulletin, 26 March 1908, p. 17. 21 Reason Why, vol. 1 no. 2, August 1908, p. 9. 22 Bulletin, 28 May 1908, p. 17. 23 Sydney Morning Herald, 25 August 1908, p .9. 24 Bulletin, 3 September 1908, p. 23. 25 Argus, 22 August 1908, p. 21. 26 Table Talk, 3 September 1908, p. 36. 27 Sydney Morning Herald, 20 August 1908, p. 7. 28 C.L. Butchers, ‘Introduction’ in Souvenir of the Visit of the American Fleet to Australia and New Zealand 1908, Sydney: unknown, 1908, [unpaginated]. 29 Clarion, vol. 1 no. 5, August 1908, p. 7. 30 Bulletin, 18 June 1908, p. 17. 31 ibid., 27 August 1908, p. 11. 32 ibid., 13 August 1908, p. 17. 33 A.W. Jose, The Royal Australian Navy 1914–1918, Sydney: Angus & Robertson, 1937, 4th edn, p. xxvii. 34 P. Firkins, Of Nautilus and Eagles: History of the Royal Australian Navy, Sydney: Cassell, 1975, p. 16. 35 N. Meaney, The Search for Security in the Pacific, 1901–1914, Sydney: Sydney University Press, 1976, pp. 176–7. 36 Bulletin, 21 October 1909, p. 38.


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Notes 403 37 38 39 40 41 42

43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65 66 67 68 69 70

Meaney, The Search for Security in the Pacific, pp. 178–9. Bulletin, 8 April 1909, p. 5. ibid., 1 July 1909, p. 19. Meaney, The Search for Security in the Pacific, p. 277. Firkins, Of Nautilus and Eagles, p. 18. ‘Naval Forces. Recommendations by Admiral Sir Reginald Henderson’, 14 September 1911, Commonwealth Parliamentary Papers, vol. 2 no. 7, 1911. Sydney Morning Herald, 15 March 1911, p. 10. Bulletin, 16 March 1911, p. 8. Argus, 28 October 1911, p. 24. Bulletin, 20 July 1911, p. 6. ibid., 8 August 1912, p. 7. ibid., 12 December 1912, p. 47. Sydney Morning Herald, 4 October 1913, p. 19. ibid. Bulletin, 9 October 1913, p. 6. ibid. Sydney Morning Herald, 29 September 1913, pp. 4, 6. ibid., 3 October 1913, p. 6. Bulletin, 2 October 1913, p. 15. Sydney Morning Herald, 4 October 1913, p. 9. Sydney Mail, 8 October 1913, pp. 26–7. See Bulletin, 24 April 1913, p. 17; 8 January 1914, p. 25; 18 August 1914, p. 15. ibid., 24 August 1911, p. 37. ibid., 24 April 1913, p. 28. Sydney Morning Herald, 29 August 1914, p. 8. Ad Club Magazine, vol. 1 no. 2, September 1914, pp. 3–4. Bulletin, 20 August 1914, p. 23. ibid., 7 January 1915, p. 29. ibid., 4 January 1917, p. 25. ibid., 30 December 1915, p. 34. ibid., 7 September 1916, p. 15. ibid., 31 January 1918, p. 23. D. Walker, ‘Continence for a Nation: Seminal Loss and National Vigour’ in Labour History, no. 48, May 1985, p. 1. Bulletin, 19 August 1915, p. 5.


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404 The Navy and the Nation 71 F. Broeze, Island Nation: A History of Australians and the Sea, Sydney: Allen and Unwin, 1998, p. 4. 72 A. Wernick, Promotional Culture: Advertising Ideology and Symbolic Expression, London: Sage, 1991, p. 43.

Chapter 8 1 ‘By-Product’, ‘The Peace Value of a Navy’ in Australasian Naval & Military Annual 1912–13, Sydney: Angus & Robertson, 1913, p. 7. 2 See the discussion, and sources quoted, in Peter Golding, Black Jack McEwen: Political Gladiator, Carlton: Melbourne University Press, 1996, pp. 102–107; and P.G. Edwards, Prime Ministers and Diplomats: The Making of Australian Foreign Policy 1901–1949, Melbourne: Oxford University Press, 1983, p. 103. 3 D. Stevens, ‘“Send for a naval officer”: HMAS Adelaide at Noumea in 1940’ in D. Stevens (ed.), Maritime Power in the Twentieth Century: The Australian Experience, Sydney: Allen & Unwin, 1998, pp. 103–18. 4 W.J. Hudson and H.J.W. Stokes (eds), Documents on Australian Foreign Policy 1937–49, vol. V, Canberra: Australian Government Publishing Service, 1982, document 510, pp. 818–23. I have discussed the importance of this document in my John Curtin lecture at the John Curtin Prime Ministerial Library, 8 October 2001, and in ‘Another look at Curtin and MacArthur’, paper at the ‘Remembering 1942’ conference at the Australian War Memorial, 2002. 5 ‘Conclusions’ in D. Stevens (ed.), The Royal Australian Navy, vol. III of The Australian Centenary History of Defence, Melbourne: Oxford University Press, 2001, p. 296. 6 See appendix: ‘Australasian maritime operations 1901–97’ in Stevens, Maritime Power in the Twentieth Century, pp. 276–90. 7 Stevens, ‘Send for a naval officer’, p. 103.

Chapter 9 1 Sydney Morning Herald, 14 April 1924. 2 ibid. 3 Lofty Batt, Pioneers of the Australian Navy, Sydney: Naval Historical Society, 2002 (reprint of 1967 edition), p. 86. 4 Sydney Morning Herald, 22 March 1924.


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Notes 405 5 See I. Cowman, ‘“The Vision Splendid”: Australia, Naval Strategy and Empire, 1911–23’ in In Search of a Maritime Strategy: The Maritime Element in Australian Defence Planning since 1901, Canberra: Strategic and Defence Studies Centre, 1997, pp. 43–66. 6 See, for example, J. McCarthy, Australian and Imperial Defence 1918–39: A Study in Sea and Air Power, St Lucia: University of Queensland Press, 1976. 7 T. Frame, Pacific Partners: A History of Australian–American Naval Relations, Melbourne: Hodder & Stoughton, 1992, p. 19. 8 N. Lambert, ‘Sir John Fisher, the fleet unit concept, and the creation of the Royal Australian Navy’ in D. Stevens and J. Reeve (eds), Southern Trident: Strategy, History and the Rise of Australian Naval Power, Sydney: Allen & Unwin, 2001, pp. 214–24. 9 ‘Notes of the Proceedings of a Conference at the Admiralty’, 10 August 1909, Public Records Office, London (PRO): ADM 116/1100, p. 5. 10 Letter, Fisher to Viscount Esher, 13 September 1909, quoted in A.J. Marder (ed.), Fear God and Dread Nought; The Correspondence of Admiral of the Fleet Lord Fisher of Kilverstone, vol. II, London: Jonathan Cape, 1956, p. 266. 11 ‘Captain Creswell’s views on result of Imperial Conference, 16 November 1909’ in G.L. Macandie, The Genesis of the Royal Australian Navy, Sydney: Government Printer, 1949, p. 252. 12 See N.A. Lambert, Australia’s Naval Inheritance: Imperial Maritime Strategy and the Australia Station 1880–1909, Canberra: RAN Maritime Studies Program, 1998, p. 183. 13 ‘Armoured Cruiser “Australia”’, NAA(VIC): MP1185/6, 11/4023. 14 See cablegram from High Commissioner, 22 September 1911, NAA (VIC): MP178/2, 2310/14/33. 15 op. cit., ‘Armoured Cruiser “Australia”’. 16 B. Nicholls, Statesmen & Sailors: Australian Maritime Defence 1870–1920, Balmain: self published, 1995, p. 174. 17 Minute by Pearce, 18 September 1911, NAA(VIC): MP178/2, 2310/14/33. 18 Cablegram from High Commissioner, 22 September 1911, NAA(VIC): MP178/2, 2310/14/33. 19 The Standard of Empire, 3 November 1911. 20 ibid. 21 op. cit., ‘Armoured Cruiser “Australia”’.


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406 The Navy and the Nation 22 ‘100 years of Defence Finance’ in Defence Information Bulletin, 2001, pp. 12–13. 23 Captain Haworth-Booth, 38th Report, 4 July 1913, NAA(VIC): MP472/1, 16/13/7920. 24 Message, Governor-General to His Majesty the King, 30 June 1913, NAA(VIC): MP472/1, 16/13/7920. 25 Plymouth Western Morning News, 2 July 1913. 26 Dundee Courier, 2 July 1913. 27 Minute from Minister of Defence, 10 December 1912, NAA(VIC): MP472/1, 2/13/10293. 28 C.E.W. Bean, With the Flagship in the South, London: T. Werner Laurie, 1909. 29 Sydney Morning Herald, 6 October 1913. 30 Letter, Fisher to Botha, 17 May 1912, NAA(VIC): MP472/1, 16/13/8787. 31 Letter, Cook to Botha, 26 June 1912, NAA(VIC): MP472/1, 16/13/8787. 32 Letter, Senator J. Newland to the editor of the Melbourne Argus, 14 January 1924. 33 Brochure, ‘To Commemorate the arrival of the Australian Fleet, Sydney October 4th, 1913’, NHS, Canberra 34 Sydney Morning Herald, 6 October 1913. 35 ibid. 36 Cited in ‘Battlecruiser Australia 12 April, 1924’, in The Navy, April 1984, p. 9. 37 ‘Souvenir and Official Programme’ for the visit of HMAS Australia and HMAS Sydney to Albany, 19–28 September 1913, NHS, Canberra. 38 See, G. McGinley, ‘Divergent paths: problems of command and strategy in Anglo–Australasian naval operations in the Asia–Pacific (August–November 1914) in Stevens and Reeve, Southern Trident, pp. 242–61; and P. Overlack, ‘The commander in crisis: Graf Spee and the East Asian Cruiser Squadron in 1914’ in J. Reeve and D. Stevens (eds), The Face of Naval Battle, Sydney: Allen & Unwin, 2003, pp. 70–91. 39 Letter, Senator Newland to the editor of the Melbourne Argus, 14 January 1924. 40 Memorandum, printed for the Committee of Imperial Defence, 19 June 1923, NHS, Canberra.


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Notes 407 41 See R. Jones, ‘A Fall from favour: HMAS Australia, 1913 to 1924’ in Journal of the Australian Naval Institute, vol. 19, no. 4, November 1993, pp. 53–61. 42 Letter, Queensland Women’s Electoral League to the Minister for Defence, 14 April 1924, NAA(VIC): MP124/6, 603/206/258. 43 Letter, Lord Mayor of Adelaide to the Acting Prime Minister, 16 February 1924, NAA(VIC): MP124/6, 603/206/205. 44 Cited in D. Diment, ‘The End of HMAS Australia’ in The Navy, November 1979, p. 13. 45 For a contrary view see ‘A loss more symbolic than material’ in the Sea Power Centre—Australia’s newsletter, Sempahore, no. 5, May 2004, 46 Letter, Bowden to Town Clerk, Norwood, South Australia, 22 January 1924, NAA(VIC): MP124/6, 603/206/258. 47 Letter, Bowden to Queensland Women’s Electoral League, 14 May 1924, NAA(VIC): MP124/6, 603/206/258. 48 Newspaper clipping, ‘Australia’s Pumps Finished at Last’, c. 1970. 49 Sydney Morning Herald, 11 April 1924. 50 Letter, Bowden to Town Clerk, Norwood, South Australia, 22 January 1924. 51 Sydney Morning Herald, 12 April 1924. 52 ibid., 14 April 1924. 53 Prime Minister Stanley Baldwin in the House of Commons, 5 May 1936.

Chapter 10 1 Quoted in R.G. Parker, Cockatoo Island: A History, Melbourne: Nelson, 1977, p. 73. 2 R. McDonell, Build a Fleet Lose a Fleet, Melbourne: The Hawthorn Press, 1976, p. 141. 3 J.C. Jeremy, Cockatoo Island: Sydney’s Historic Dockyard, Sydney: UNSW Press, 1998, p. 250. 4 ibid., pp. 36–8. 5 G. Hermon Gill, Royal Australian Navy 1939–42, Canberra: Australian War Memorial, 1957, p. 32. 6 ibid., p. 39


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408 The Navy and the Nation 7 Defence Industry Committee, The Australian and New Zealand Ship Construction and Repair Industry, Canberra: Department of Defence, 1995, p. 34. 8 Discussion by E.T. Bell on paper by Robert Campbell, ‘An Appraisal of Australian Shipbuilding since 1940’, in Bicentennial Maritime Symposium, Sydney 1988. 9 Letter, Navy Office to Cockatoo Docks & Engineering Co. Pty Ltd, 21 September 1939. 10 The Local Defence Vessels were restyled Australian Minesweepers (AMS) in 1940, see Australian Fleet Order 1628/40 ‘1940 New Construction Program—Names’. Apparently the term Local Defence Vessel tended to cause misunderstanding in signals and London orders. 11 D.M. Riley, The Iron Ships: A Maritime History of BHP 1885–1992, Melbourne: BHP Transport Limited, 1992, p. 46. 12 A History of the Australian Shipbuilding Board, March 1941 to 31 December 1945, Australian Shipbuilding Board, c.a 1947 (unpublished). 13 The Williamstown Dockyard was taken over by the RAN on 28 October 1942, becoming HMA Naval Dockyard, Williamstown. 14 T. Ryan, ‘River Class Frigates’ in The Navy, January 1989. 15 op. cit., A History of the Australian Shipbuilding Board, March 1941 to 31 December 1945. 16 ibid. 17 S.J. Butlin and C.B. Schedvin, War Economy 1942–1945, Canberra: Australian War Memorial, 1977, pp. 406–10. 18 Jeremy, Cockatoo Island: Sydney’s Historic Dockyard, p. 165. 19 Butlin and Schedvin, War Economy 1942–1945, pp. 762 to 764. 20 ibid., p. 764. 21 J.C. Jeremy, ‘Australia’s First All-welded Warship’ in The Australian Naval Architect, November 2002. 22 For a detailed description of the Australian Type 12 frigate program, see J.C. Jeremy, Naval Shipbuilding: Some Australian Experience, Canberra: Strategic and Defence Studies Centre, Australian National University, 1990. 23 Jeremy, Cockatoo Island: Sydney’s Historic Dockyard, pp. 43–4. 24 DIC, ANZ Shipbuilding and Ship Repair, pp. 39–40. 25 The background, concept and construction plans for the DDL are well set out in a series of articles in Navy Quarterly, vol. 1, no. 4, October 1972.


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Notes 409 26 See Jeremy, Cockatoo Island: Sydney’s Historic Dockyard, pp. 102–5 and 176–8. The story of the AOE is also told in detail in Jeremy, Naval Shipbuilding: Some Australian Experience. 27 J.C. Jeremy, ‘Naval Shipbuilding in Australia’, Bicentennial Maritime Symposium, UNSW 1988. 28 Tariff Board Report, Shipbuilding 25 June 1971, Canberra, Commonwealth Government Printing Office, 1971, p. 18. 29 Industries Assistance Commission Report, Shipbuilding 20 September 1976, Canberra: AGPS, 1976, p. 30. 30 ibid., p. 2. 31 Letters, Prime Minister to Premiers of NSW and South Australia, 11 August 1977. 32 Sir Ian McLennan, ‘The Defence Capability of Australian Industry’, presented to the USI of ACT, May 1977. 33 For example, considerable effort went into defining the AOE before Cockatoo submitted its tender in May 1972 on a ‘fixed price incentive’ basis. Even the yard’s tender comprised five or six printed volumes and some 250 drawings. This contrasts with the 1964 Navy order for Torrens, which simply stated, ‘To construct one only Type 12 frigate, generally similar to HMAS Stuart previously constructed by your company. Price: TBA.’ 34 See Jeremy, Naval Shipbuilding: Some Australian Experience. 35 Shipbuilding and Ship Repair for Defence, Submission to the Industries Assistance Commission, Department of Defence, March 1988. 36 Naval Shipbuilding and Repair Sector Strategic Plan, Canberra: Department of Defence, August 2002, p. xi.

Chapter 11 1 Cited in D. Stevens (ed.), The Royal Australian Navy, Melbourne: Oxford University Press, 2001, opposite p. 161. 2 D. Hobbs, Aircraft Carriers of the Royal and Commonwealth Navies, London: Greenhill Books, 1996. 3 V. Fazio, RAN Aircraft Carriers, Sydney: The Naval Historical Society of Australia, 1997. 4 J. Grey, Up Top—The Royal Australian Navy and South East Asian Conflicts 1955–1972, Sydney: Allen & Unwin, 1998. 5 Letter, Admiral Sir Louis Hamilton to the First Sea Lord, Admiral Sir John Cunningham, 18 March 1947, Naval History Section (NHS), Canberra.


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410 The Navy and the Nation 6 A. Wright, Australian Carrier Decisions, Papers in Australian Maritime Affairs no. 4, Canberra: Maritime Studies Program, 1998. 7 J. Goldrick, T.R. Frame and P.D. Jones (eds), Reflections on the Royal Australian Navy, Kenthurst: Kangaroo Press, 1991. 8 ibid. 9 C. Jones, Wings and the Navy 1947–1953, Kenthurst: Kangaroo Press, 1997. 10 N. Polmar, Aircraft Carriers, London: MacDonald & Co, 1969. 11 Agenda 5/1947 for the Council of Defence, 3 July 1947, with comments by Admiral Sir Louis Hamilton to the First Sea Lord, Admiral Sir John Cunningham, NHS. 12 N. Friedman, British Carrier Aviation—The Evolution of the Ships and their Aircraft, London: Conway Maritime Press, 1988. 13 Stevens, The Royal Australian Navy. 14 Letter, Collins to Fraser, 7 September 1948, NHS. 15 Letter, Fraser to Collins, 20 September 1948, NHS. 16 Long Term Plans for the Navy, 6 February 1954, PRO: ADM 205/102. 17 S. Bateman and R. Sherwood, Australia’s Maritime Bridge into Asia, Sydney: Allen & Unwin, 1995. 18 J.R.P. Lansdown, With the Carriers in Korea—The Fleet Air Arm Story, London: Four Square Publications, 1992. 19 BR 1736 (54) Royal Navy Staff History, British Commonwealth Naval Operations, Korea 1950–1953, London: Ministry of Defence, 1967. 20 D. Fairfax, The Royal Australian Navy in Vietnam, Canberra: Australian Government Publishing Service, 1980.

Chapter 12 1 ‘Report of Admiral of the Fleet Lord Viscount Jellicoe of Scapa on Naval Mission to the Commonwealth of Australia, May–August 1919’, vol. 1, p. 97. 2 W.F. Hunter, The Development of the RAN Research Laboratory, Melbourne: DSTO Aeronautical and Maritime Research Laboratory, 1996, pp. 5–6. 3 P. Morton, Fire Across the Desert: Woomera and the Anglo–Australian Joint Project 1946–1980, Canberra: Australian Government Publishing Service, 1989, p. 350. 4 Department of Supply, IKARA: Australia’s Long Range Anti-submarine Weapon System, Maribyrnong, Victoria: undated, p. 1.


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Notes 411 5 These organisations, which were at that time in the Department of Supply, were later to be major elements of DSTO. 6 Department of Supply, IKARA: Australia’s Long Range Anti-submarine Weapon System, p. 1. 7 Morton, Fire Across the Desert, pp. 350–52. 8 B. Williams, Dr W.A.S. Butement: The First Chief Scientist For Defence, Canberra: Australian Government Publishing Service, 1991, p. 20. 9 J.W. Crompton, The Making of a Missile Guidance System, Thorn EMI Electronics Australia Pty Limited, March 1986, reprinted April 1986, pp. 12–13. 10 M.C. Warren, The ARL Contribution to Guided Weapons Research and Development in Australia, Melbourne: Aeronautical Research Laboratory, undated, pp. 25–6. 11 Department of Manufacturing Industry, ‘VIPs Witness First Public Ikara Firing’, SCODOS, South Melbourne, vol. 3, no. 2, September 1968, p. 7. 12 D.R.G. Agar, ‘Royal Australian Navy Ikara Training Establishment’, Journal of the Australian Naval Institute, February 1985, p. 27; Department of Supply, SUPPLY 1967, Canberra: Commonwealth of Australia, 1967, p. 21. 13 Williams, Dr W.A.S. Butement: The First Chief Scientist For Defence, p. 21. 14 ‘At the Bicentennial Air Show: Project NANGANA—The Forerunner of the Barra Sonobuoy’, DSTO Australia, DSTO 27 Brochure, 1988, p. 1. 15 A. Drummond and A.F.W. Langford, ‘The Design of Sonobuoy Launcher Mk.2, Kilsby’s Hole, South Australia’, The Engineering Conference, Adelaide, 14–18 April 1980, p. 315. 16 op. cit., ‘At the Bicentennial Air Show: Project NANGANA—The Forerunner of the Barra Sonobuoy’. 17 Department of Supply, NANGANA Directional Sonobuoy, WRE, Australian Defence Scientific Service, Adelaide, September 1970, p. 21. 18 This research is noted in Williams, Dr W.A.S. Butement: The First Chief Scientist For Defence, p. 21. 19 op. cit., ‘At the Bicentennial Air Show: Project NANGANA—The Forerunner of the Barra Sonobuoy’. 20 Department of Defence, Weapons Systems Research Laboratory Annual Report 1978–79, Adelaide: Defence Research Centre Salisbury, 1979, p. 17. 21 DMC Newsletter, ‘Project Barra’, MTIA Defence Manufacturer’s Council, 3 March 1991, p. 8.


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412 The Navy and the Nation 22 Department of Defence, Missile, Official Organ of Defence Research Centre Salisbury Institute, October 1979–January 1980, vol. 26, no. 1, p. 2. 23 Department of Defence, ‘The EBARRA Sonobuoy—A Triumph of Electronic Miniaturisation’, DSTO Australia, DSTO 23 Brochure, 1989, pp. 1–3. 24 RANRL was the new designation (1968/69) for RANEL. 25 J. Wisdom, A History of Defence Science in Australia, Melbourne, DSTP, May 1995, p. 160. 26 ‘Mulloka, Sentinel of the Deep’, Defence, vol. 12, no. 7, July 1981, pp. 483–4. 27 ibid. 28 Wisdom, A History of Defence Science in Australia. 29 C.G. Heath, ‘Mulloka—The Australian Designed Sonar System’, Pacific Defence Reporter, April 1980, p. 643. 30 Department of Defence, Defence Report 1977, Canberra: AGPS, 1977. 31 John Wisdom notes these as the audio and Doppler systems, see Wisdom, A History of Defence Science in Australia, p. 161. 32 op. cit., ‘Mulloka, Sentinel of the Deep’, p. 484. 33 Department of Defence, Defence Report 1980, Canberra: AGPS, 1980. 34 ibid. 35 Department of Defence, ‘Kariwara Towed Array’, DSTO Minute, Edinburgh, undated, p. 1. 36 G.A. Dunk, ‘Kariwara—Australia at the Leading Edge of Towed Array Development’, Maritime Studies, January–February 1993, p. 1. 37 R. Pengelley, ‘Australia expands its sonar horizons’, International Defense Review, vol. 20, no. 12, 1987, p. 1632. 38 ‘Towed Array Sonar Systems’, NAVY International, January 1989, p. 9. 39 Dunk, ‘Kariwara—Australia at the Leading Edge of Towed Array Development’, pp. 4–5. 40 ibid., p. 1. 41 A.W. Grazebrook, ‘RAN pushes ahead with towed arrays’, Asia–Pacific Defence Reporter, April/May 1997, p. 22. 42 M. Calder, ‘WRELADS—The Australian Laser Depth Sounding System’, International Hydrographic Review, Monaco, LVII(1), January 1980, p. 31. 43 P. Grad, ‘Laser charts ocean floor rapidly’, Engineers Australia, 25 November 1985, p. 20.


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Notes 413 44 M. Penny, ‘The Launching of LADS’, Connections, DSTO Australia, Salisbury, no. 1, May 1992, p. 3. 45 M. Penny et al., ‘Laser Airborne Depth Sounding in Australia’, Paper prepared for Fifth International Navigation Congress, Tokyo, 1–4 October 1985, p. 1. 46 M. Penny et al., ‘Airborne laser hydrography in Australia’, Applied Optics, vol. 25, no. 13, 1 July 1986, p. 2046; op. cit., ‘Laser charts ocean floor rapidly’. 47 Grad, ‘Laser charts ocean floor rapidly’. 48 ‘LADS at last’, Royal Australian Navy News Pictorial, vol. 30, no. 23, 27 November 1987, p. 1. 49 Penny, ‘The Launching of LADS’. 50 ‘Mike Penny honoured with shoal naming’, Connections, DSTO Australia, Salisbury, no. 11, December 1993, p. 1. 51 ‘Innovation alive and well in DSTO’, Connections, DSTO, Edinburgh, no. 70, May 2003, p. 9. 52 D. Johnston, ‘LADS captures markets from Adelaide to Alaska’, Connections, DSTO, Edinburgh, no. 71, June 2003, p. 7.

Chapter 13 1 Commonwealth of Australia, Australian Maritime Doctrine, Canberra: Sea Power Centre—Australia, 2000, pp. 126–7. 2 E-mail, P. Mogg, Managing Director Compucat Research to D. Stevens, 24 June 2004. 3 See P. Jones and J. Goldrick, Struggling for a solution—the RAN and the acquisition of a surface to air missile capability, Canberra: Sea Power Centre—Australia, 2000, pp. 12–13, 15. 4 For a discussion of developments in technology and information handling in the field of anti-submarine warfare, see M. Llewellyn-Jones, ‘The pursuit of realism: British anti-submarine tactics and training to counter the fast submarine 1944–52’ in D. Stevens and J. Reeve (eds), The Face of Naval Battle: the Human Experience of Modern War at Sea, Sydney: Allen & Unwin, 2003, pp. 219–39. 5 ‘Combat Computers’ in Navy Quarterly, vol. 2, no. 2, Autumn/Winter 1973, p. 22. 6 This story is recounted in D.L. Boslaugh, When Computers Went To Sea: The Digitization of the United States Navy, Hoboken, NJ: Wiley-IEEE Computer Society, 1999.


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414 The Navy and the Nation 7 op. cit., ‘Combat Computers’. 8 ibid. 9 The Director of CDSC remained a uniformed position until 1990, when the then civilian superintendent, Mr Tony Bone, took over. He remained director until his retirement in 2001. 10 The first character listed in the designator indicates the processor that hosts the program. The second character is altered incrementally each time the program undergoes major development. The third character is altered likewise each time one or more modules is added or replaced during major development. The last character is changed each time one or more patches is added to the program. 11 E-mail, Captain R.T. Menhinick, RAN, Commanding Officer HMAS Anzac, to D. Stevens, 7 July 2004. 12 For a discussion of the DDL Project, see D. Stevens (ed.), The Royal Australian Navy, Melbourne: Oxford University Press, 2001, pp. 218–21. 13 Informal recollections of Pat Lynch who retired from SERCo/CDSC in 2003 after twenty-three years’ service. 14 Two additional Anzac frigates were built for New Zealand. 15 D. Ironfield, Impact of Major Defence Projects: A Case Study of the ANZAC Ship Project, Canberra: Tasman, Asia, Pacific: Economic Management & Policy Consultants, 2000, pp. 7–9. 16 A. Johnson, ‘Navy and Defence Industry will jointly deliver today’s highly complex maritime systems’ in P. Jones (ed.), Australia’s Navy 1990–91, Canberra: Australian Government Publishing Service, 1990, p. 86. 17 See Boslaugh, When Computers Went To Sea: The Digitization of the United States Navy.

Chapter 14 1 N. Lambert, Australia’s Naval Inheritance: Imperial Maritime Strategy and the Australia Station 1880–1909, Canberra: Maritime Studies Program, 1998, p. 85. 2 Information from NSW State Archives, January 2003. 3 J. Melton, Ship’s Deserters, 1852–1900, including Stragglers, Strays and Absentees from HM Ships, Sydney: Library of Australian History, 1986. 4 ibid., p. 313. 5 Quoted in, J. Wells, The Royal Navy: An Illustrated Social History 1870–1982, Stroud: Royal Naval Museum, 1994, p. 38.


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Notes 415 6 Quoted in, H. Baynham, Men from the Dreadnoughts, London: Hutchinson, 1976, pp. 195–6. 7 For a comprehensive coverage of the development of the Australian naval force, see B. Nicholls, Statesmen & Sailors, Balmain: self-published, 1995. 8 In the 1950s, an acting sub-lieutenant RAN on board a Royal Navy destroyer was paid only slightly less than a commander RN in command. 9 Fanshawe to Admiralty, 27 April 1903, National Library of Australia: MPM/G 1809. 10 Report, 12 June 1912, NAA (VIC): MP 178/2, 2230/3/197. 11 Argus, Melbourne, 12 August 1912. 12 Nicholls, Statesmen & Sailors, p. 222, quoting NAA (VIC): MP 1049/1, 13/083. 13 A.W. Jose, The Royal Australian Navy 1914–1918, St. Lucia: Queensland University Press, 1987 edition (first published 1928), Appendix 5. 14 T. Frame & G. Swinden, First In, Last Out, Kenthurst: Kangaroo Press, 1990, pp. 109–110.

Chapter 15 1 Letter, Deakin to the Governor General, 28 August 1905, quoted in N.A. Lambert, Australia’s Naval Inheritance: Imperial Maritime Strategy and the Australia Station 1880–1909, Canberra: Maritime Studies Program, 1998, pp. 115–16. 2 This chapter draws upon the Deakin papers in the National Library of Australia and other Deakin papers held by the family. On Deakin and his life, see W. Murdoch, Alfred Deakin—A Sketch, London: Constable, 1923, and J.A. La Nauze, Alfred Deakin: A Biography, 2 vols, Melbourne: Melbourne University Press, 1965. I am grateful to Dr John Reeve for assistance in the preparation of this essay. 3 J. Harley, ‘My Grandfather’s Legacy’, in The Alfred Deakin Lectures: Ideas for the Future of a Civil Society, Sydney: ABC Books: 2001, p. 3. 4 Lambert, Australia’s Naval Inheritance, pp. 7–8. 5 Murdoch, Alfred Deakin—A Sketch, p. 11. 6 La Nauze, Alfred Deakin, p. 4. 7 Murdoch, Alfred Deakin—A Sketch, p. 120 8 In Deakin’s view the naval defence arrangements that came out of the 1887 Imperial Conference were actually an important proto-federal step. See S. McIntyre (ed.), ‘And Be One People’: Alfred Deakin’s Federal


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9

10

11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18

19 20 21 22 23 24 25

Story, Melbourne: Melbourne University Press, 1995, pp. 23–4. See also J. Grey, A Military History of Australia, second edn, Melbourne: Cambridge University Press, 1999, pp. 50–1, 79; R. Norris, The Emergent Commonwealth. Australian Federation: Expectations and Fulfilment 1889–1910, Melbourne: Melbourne University Press, 1975, pp. 5, 49, 51–2, 108–9. See A. Deakin, Federated Australia: Selections from Letters to the Morning Post 1900–1910, J.A. La Nauze (ed.), Melbourne: Melbourne University Press, 1968. C. Jones, ‘The view from Port Phillip Heads: Alfred Deakin and the move towards an Australian navy’ in D. Stevens and J. Reeve (eds), Southern Trident. Strategy, History and the Rise of Australian Naval Power, Sydney: Allen & Unwin: 2001, p. 160. Letter in Deakin papers, National Library of Australia. N. Tracy (ed.), The Collective Naval Defence of the Empire, 1900–1940, Aldershot: Navy Records Society, 1997, pp. xii-xiii. Quoted in P. Overlack, ‘A vigorous offensive: core aspects of Australian defence concerns before 1914’, in op. cit., Southern Trident, pp. 148–9. Quoted in Lambert, Australia’s Naval Inheritance, p. 116. ibid., p. 17. N. Lambert, ‘Sir John Fisher and the fleet unit concept’ in op. cit., Southern Trident, p. 216. Lambert, Australia’s Naval Inheritance, pp. 18–19. La Nauze, Alfred Deakin, pp. 490–1; J.R. Reckner, ‘A sea of troubles: the Great White Fleet’s war plans for Australia and New Zealand’, in Stevens and Reeve, Southern Trident, pp. 181–2, 333. Quoted in R. Lamont, ‘A.W. Jose in the politics and strategy of naval defence’ in Stevens and Reeve, Southern Trident, p. 204. Copy of speech in family papers. Tracy, The Collective Naval Defence of the Empire, p. xiv. Lambert, ‘Sir John Fisher and the fleet unit concept’, in op. cit., Southern Trident, p. 222. Quoted in La Nauze, Alfred Deakin: A Biography, p. 585. Lamont, ‘A.W. Jose in the politics and strategy of naval defence’, in Stevens and Reeve, Southern Trident, pp. 202–5. La Nauze, Alfred Deakin, p. 518.


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Notes 417

Chapter 16 1 N. Lambert, Australia’s Naval Inheritance: Imperial Maritime Strategy and the Australia Station 1880–1909, Canberra: Maritime Studies Program, 1998, p. 137. 2 B. Nicholls, Statesmen & Sailors: Australian Maritime Defence 1870–1920, Balmain, NSW: self-published, 1995, p. 142. 3 See C. Coulthard-Clark, Without Peer: Sir William Clarkson KBE CMG (1859–1934), Engineer Vice-Admiral, Royal Australian Navy, Sydney: Warren Centre for Advanced Engineering, Sydney University, 2002, pp. 5, 9–10. 4 Lambert, Australia’s Naval Inheritance, pp. 135–8. 5 NAA (VIC): MP178/2, 2286/3/33. 6 ibid. 7 Nicholls, Statesmen & Sailors, p. 124. 8 Coulthard-Clarke, Without Peer, pp. 36–7. 9 Nicholls, Statesmen & Sailors, p. 143. 10 NAA (VIC): MP1049/14, 1911/3653. 11 Commonwealth of Australia Gazette, no. 7, 4 February 1911, p. 145. 12 H.J. Feakes, White Ensign-Southern Cross: a History of the Navy in Australia, Sydney: Ure Smith, 1951, p. 136. 13 Commonwealth of Australia Gazette, no. 15, 11 March 1911, p. 736; F. B. Eldridge, A History of the Royal Australian Naval College, Melbourne: Georgian House, 1949, p. 11. 14 NAA (VIC): MP1049/1, 11/059. 15 NAA (VIC), MP472/1, 18/12/5721. 16 J. Jeremy, Cockatoo Island: Sydney’s Historic Dockyard, Sydney: University of NSW Press, 1998, p. 26. 17 NAA (VIC): MP472/1, 5/17/4504. 18 Jeremy, Cockatoo Island, p. 25. 19 ibid., p. 28. 20 R.G. Parker, Cockatoo Island: a History, West Melbourne: Thomas Nelson, 1977, pp. 25, 27. 21 J. Mortimer, ‘HMAS Huon—Australia’s first locally constructed destroyer’ in Journal of the Australian Naval Institute, November 1979, pp. 16–17. 22 NAA (VIC): MP1049/1, 1914/0394. 23 Sydney Morning Herald, 16 March 1918.


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418 The Navy and the Nation 24 25 26 27 28 29

Jeremy, Cockatoo Island: Sydney’s Historic Dockyard, p. 31 NAA (VIC), MP1049/1, 1920/0416. Sydney Morning Herald, 20 May 1921. Jeremy, Cockatoo Island: Sydney’s historic dockyard, p. 33. Sydney Morning Herald, 27 June 1921. Coulthard-Clark, Without Peer, pp. 68–9; Jeremy, Cockatoo Island: Sydney’s Historic Dockyard, p. 34. 30 Sydney Morning Herald, 12 September 1923. 31 Coulthard-Clark, Without Peer, pp. 78–9 32 Weekend Australian, 28–29 June 2003.

Chapter 17 1 See, for example, J. McCarthy, Australia and Imperial Defence: A Study in Air and Sea Power, St Lucia: University of Queensland Press, 1976, pp. 59–60. 2 See, for example, C.M. Bell, The Royal Navy, Seapower and Strategy Between the Wars, Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2000; J. Moretz, The Royal Navy and the Capital Ship in the Interwar Period, London: Frank Cass, London, 2002; A.D. Field ‘The Development of the Royal Navy’s Strategy and Tactics for a War in the Far East, 1919—1930’, MPhil Thesis, University of Leeds, 1999; D. Stevens, ‘The Royal Australian Navy and the Strategy for Australia’s Defence 1921–42’ in D. Stevens (ed.), In Search of a Maritime Strategy: the Maritime Element in Australian Defence Planning Since 1901, Canberra: Strategic and Defence Studies Centre, ANU, 1997; and N. Primrose ‘Australian Naval Policy 1919–1942: A Case Study in Imperial Relations’, PhD Thesis, ANU, 1974. 3 Letter, Captain Pryde to Ebenezer Hyde, AWM: MSS 1492, Item 2. 4 Extract from ‘Memoirs of R. Scot-Skirving’, AWM: MSS 1492, Item 2. 5 J.T. Sumida, In Defense of Naval Supremacy: Finance, Technology and British Naval Policy 1889—1914, Boston: Unwin Hyman, 1989, p. 21. 6 Captain J.B. Foley RAN, Memoirs (unpublished and incomplete copy held by author) Chapter 8. 7 Memoirs of R. Scot-Skirving. 8 Foley, Memoirs, Chapter 8. 9 Letter, Hyde to Arthur Hyde (brother), 3 October 1906, AWM : MSS 1494 Item 4.


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Notes 419 10 Hyde’s ‘Essay on the Lessons to be Learned by the British Empire and More Particularly by the British Navy as Regards—1. Organisation and Training for War, 2. Conduct of a War, and specially as regards Naval Strategy and Tactics’, August–September 1904. AWM : MSS 1494 Item 3. 11 Letter, Isla Hyde to R. Hyslop, 20 February 1965, AWM: MSS 1494 Item 2. 12 Letter, Hyde to Arthur Hyde, 1905, AWM : MSS 1494 Item 4. 13 Letter, Isla Hyde to R. Hyslop, 20 February 1965. 14 Admiral Sir Lewis Bayly, Pull Together!, London: Harrap & Co, 1939, p. 182. 15 H.J. Feakes, White Ensign—Southern Cross: A Story of the King’s Ships of Australia’s Navy, Sydney: Ure Smith, Sydney, 1951, p. 223. 16 His ‘flimsy’ from the captain of Bulwark dated 28 Feb 1910 noted that ‘I should be glad to have him as my executive officer’. AWM : MSS 1494. 17 See letter, Hyde to Arthur Hyde, 5 December 1911, comparing his situation in Australia with the ‘beastly struggle to survive at home’. AWM : MSS 1494 Item 4. 18 Foley, Memoirs, Chapter 8. 19 For Hyde’s opinion of Creswell, see diary entry, Admiral Sir George KingHall, 1 April 1911, Naval Historical Section, Canberra. 20 Letter, Naval Representative to ACNB, 4 July 1913, NAA(VIC): MP1049/1. 21 See comments from his wife and brother in letters to Hyslop, AWM : MSS 1494 Item 4. 22 NAA(VIC): MP6161/1, Box 2. 23 The Navy List January 1918, London: HMSO, 1918. 24 See William N. Still, Jr (ed.), The Queenstown Patrol, 1917: The Diary of Commander Joseph Knefer Taussig, USN, Newport RI: Naval War College Press, 1996, pp. 55, 80, 112, 116 & 161 for social occasions and 85 & 92 for professional encounters. It is clear from Taussig’s accounts that Hyde’s interactions with the USN officers were frequent and his attitude generous and friendly to the new arrivals. In the relevant footnote on Hyde in the book (fn 190), he is misidentified as Captain Richard Hyde, RN, although the succeeding footnote correctly quotes Bayly’s assessment of Hyde in Pull Together! 25 ibid., p. 161. 26 See The Navy List January 1918, pp. 1813–17. Including Captain, later Admiral, Sir Cyril Fuller; Captain, later Admiral of the Fleet, Sir Dudley


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27

28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38

39

40 41

Pound; Captain, later Admiral, Sir William James; and Captain, later Admiral, Sir William Fisher. Their later careers were: Fuller: Third Sea Lord May 1923–April 1925, Second Sea Lord May 1930–August 1932; Pound: Second Sea Lord August 1932–September 1935; James: Deputy Chief of Naval Staff October 1935–November 1938; Fisher: Deputy Chief of Naval Staff May 1928–June 1930. James also seems to have served a month with Hyde in the battleship Victorious. Manisty became a Paymaster Rear-Admiral, a KCB and the head of his specialisation as Paymaster Director-General. For evidence of his interest in the RAN see Foley, Memoirs, Chapter 9. The fact that he had an Australian wife would also have helped. Minute by 2NM, 12 July 1918. NAA(VIC) : MP124/6, 404/202/51. Her personal file is in PRO : ADM 318/120. Hyslop, ‘Admiral Sir George Francis Hyde’, typescript, p. 5. Memoirs of R. Scot-Skirving. NAA(VIC) : MP 1049/1, 19/0256. See A. Temple Patterson (ed.), The Jellicoe Papers, vol. II, 1916–1935, London: The Navy Records Society, 1968, pp. 266–7. A.W. Grazebrook, ‘The First Admiral’ in The Open Sea, June 1979, pp. 29–30. NAA(VIC) : B6161/2, Box 2. J. Sears, ‘An Imperial Service 1919–1929’ in D. Stevens (ed.), The Royal Australian Navy, Melbourne: Oxford University Press, 2001, pp. 56–7. R. Hyslop, Australian Naval Administration 1900–1939, Melbourne: The Hawthorn Press, 1973, p. 104. D. Stevens ‘Defend the north: Commander Thring, Captain HughesOnslow and the beginnings of Australian naval strategic thought’ in D. Stevens & J. Reeve (eds), Southern Trident: Strategy, History and the Rise of Australian Naval Power, Sydney: Allen & Unwin, 2001, pp. 239–40. Jellicoe hailed from Southampton. The key difference in their backgrounds related to Jellicoe’s mother being from an old and well-connected naval family. See J. Winton Jellicoe, London: Michael Joseph, 1981, p. 8. Letter, Isla Hyde Letter to R. Hyslop of 9 September 1963, AWM : MSS 1494, Item 2. R. Hyslop ‘The Mount Stewart and the RAN’, Australian Sea Heritage, 33, p. 20.


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Notes 421 42 PRO: ADM 116/3100. See extract in N. Tracy, The Collective Naval Defence of the Empire, 1900–1940, London: Navy Records Society, 1997, pp. 279–80. 43 See letters to Hyslop in AWM : MSS 1494, Item 4. Her date of death is unknown and she may have survived Hyde. 44 J. Neidpath, The Singapore Naval Base and the Defence of Britain’s Eastern Empire 1919–1941, Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1981, pp. 55–80. 45 See P. Sales, ‘The Naval Mission and Australian Security after the First World War’ in D. Stevens (ed.), Maritime Power in the Twentieth Century: The Australian Experience, Sydney: Allen & Unwin, 1998, p. 47. 46 See F.J. Dittmar & J.J. Colledge, British Warships 1914–1919, London: Ian Allan, 1972, pp. 47–50 and H. Jentschura, D. Jung & P. Mickel, Warships of the Imperial Japanese Navy, 1869–1945, London: Arms & Armour Press, 1977, pp. 79–110. 47 Field, ‘The Development of the Royal Navy’s Strategy and Tactics for a War in the Far East, 1919–1930’, pp. 62–6. 48 ibid., pp. 63, 82. 49 NAA(VIC) : MP 124, B4. 50 Hyde handed over his command on 2 October 1925. The ship conducted her first catapult launch on 3 October 1925 and sailed for the China Station with a six aircraft flight on 1 January 1926. See R.D. Layman, Before the Aircraft Carrier: The Development of Aviation Vessels 1849–1922, London: Conway Maritime Press, 1989, p. 66. 51 NAA(VIC) : MP 124, Series 6, 404/201/87, cited in Primrose ‘Australian Naval Policy 1919–1942’, p. 168. 52 Foley, Memoirs, Chapter 8. 53 See, for example, Sears ‘1929–1939: Depression and Rearmament’, p. 81. 54 Feakes, White Ensign—Southern Cross, p. 215. 55 ‘Activities HMA Squadron April 1926 to May 1929’, NAA(VIC) : B6161/1 Box 2. 56 See R. Jones Seagulls, Cruisers and Catapults: Australian Naval Aviation 1913–1944, Taroona: Pelorus Publications, 1989, pp. 51–2. 57 NAA(VIC) : MP 1049/5, 1855/2/16; op. cit., ‘Australian Naval Policy 1919–1942’, p. 175. 58 ibid., p. 173. See also PRO: ADM 116/2807. 59 See J. Ferris, ‘“It is our Business in the Navy to Command the Seas”: The Last Decade of British Maritime Supremacy, 1919–1929’ in K. Neilson


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60

61

62 63

64

65 66 67

68

69

70

& G. Kennedy (eds), Far Flung Lines: Studies in Imperial Defence in Honour of Donald Mackenzie Schurman, London: Frank Cass, London, especially pp. 155–8. I.C. McGibbon, Blue-Water Rationale: The Naval Defence of New Zealand 1919–1942, Wellington: Historical Branch, Department of Internal Affairs, New Zealand Government, 1981, p. 204. The 3BS had been transferred from the Atlantic Fleet to be an independent command of the Reserve Fleet from 1 January 1930. Moretz, The Royal Navy and the Capital Ship in the Interwar Period, p. 82. Cable, Secretary of State for Dominion Affairs to Prime Minister of Australia, 18 December 1929, NAA(VIC) : MP 692/1, 559/205/577. The CinC Atlantic Fleet, Admiral Sir Michael Hodges, was forced to retire from ill health. The VA Battle Cruiser Squadron, Wilfred Tomkinson, was made the scapegoat for Invergordon and not employed again. Ironically, one who survived was Hodges’ Chief of Staff, the then Rear Admiral Ragnar Colvin, who was to succeed Hyde as First Naval Member in 1937. N. Tracy, ‘Admiral Sir Charles Madden & Admiral Sir Frederick Field’ in M. Murfett (ed.), The First Sea Lords: From Fisher to Mountbatten, Connecticut: Praeger Press, 1995, pp. 150–1. See S. Roskill, Naval Policy Between the Wars, vol. II, The Period of Relutant Rearmament, London: Collins, 1976, pp. 89–91. O. Babij, ‘The Royal Navy and the Defence of the British Empire, 1928–1934’ in Neilson and Kennedy, Far Flung Lines, p. 180. For Hyde’s financial arrangements, see Minute by First Naval Member, ‘Appointment of First Naval Member’, 21 July 1931, NAA(VIC) : MP 692/1, 559/205/577. The body language of a photograph of Hyde, Lavarack and Williams taken together in 1937 suggests they could share a quiet joke. It is reproduced in R. Williams, These are Facts, Canberra: AWM & AGPS, 1977, facing p. 254. Foley makes some significant comments in his memoirs about the attitude to this issue of Admiral Sir Frederick Field, First Sea Lord, 1930–33. Hyde would have been privy to Field’s concerns and general thinking from his period in the Admiralty in 1931 and from Foley, who had served on Field’s staff and gained his friendship. See Foley, Memoirs. A judgement endorsed by the flag officers of the RN’s Mediterranean Fleet during Farquhar-Smith’s exchange service 1936–38. Minute, NAA to 2NM, 30 January 1945, NAA(VIC) : MP 1049/5, 1930/2/69.


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Notes 423 71 As in the case of H.J. Feakes, who was retired on promotion to rear admiral in 1933. See J. Goldrick, ‘Henry James Feakes’ in B. Nairn & G. Searle (eds), The Australian Dictionary of Biography, vol. 8, 1891–1939 Chi-Gib, Melbourne: Melbourne University Press, 1981, p. 476. 72 See Foley, Memoirs, and Minute, 1NM to the Minister for Defence, 16 June 1932, Foley Papers. 73 J. Goldrick ‘Selections from the Memoirs and Correspondence of Captain J.B. Foley’ in The Naval Miscellany, vol. V, London: Navy Records Society, 1984, p. 514. 74 Hyslop, Australian Naval Administration 1900–1939, pp. 224–5. 75 T. Frame & K. Baker, Mutiny! Naval Insurrections in Australia and New Zealand, Sydney: Allen & Unwin, 2000, pp. 127–31. 76 Primrose, ‘Australian Naval Policy 1919–1942’, pp. 188–90. 77 Sears, ‘1919–1929: An Imperial Service’, p. 70. 78 Primrose, ‘Australian Naval Policy 1919–1942’, p. 188. 79 D. Stevens ‘The Anti-Submarine Defence of Australia’, PhD Thesis, UNSW, 2001, p. 93. 80 Little more than 1200 nautical miles at 25 knots. See H.T. Lenton British Fleet and Escort Destroyers, vol. I, London: MacDonald, 1970, p. 15. 81 Primrose, ‘Australian Naval Policy 1919–1942’, p. 218. 82 Letter, 1NM to First Sea Lord, 1 March 1932, PRO: ADM 116/2910. See Tracy, The Collective Naval Defence of the Empire, p. 459. 83 Minute by First Lord, 20 September 1932. ibid. 84 Primrose, ‘Australian Naval Policy 1919–1942’, p. 219. 85 See J. Jeremy, Cockatoo Island: Sydney’s Historic Dockyard, Sydney: UNSW Press, 1998, pp. 71–83. 86 See Goldrick, ‘Selections from the Memoirs and Correspondence of Captain James Bernard Foley’, pp. 517–19; and Tracy, The Collective Naval Defence of the Empire, pp. 471–4. 87 Minute, Secretary of the Admiralty to Secretary of the Treasury, May 1938, PRO: ADM 1/9843. 88 Minute by DCNS, 26 January 1933, PRO: ADM 116/3349. 89 Minute by J.S. Barnes, Principal Assistant Secretary in the Admiralty, 19 June 1935, PRO: ADM 116/4080. 90 Roskill, Naval Policy Between the Wars, pp. 164–5. 91 Letter, Sir Archdale Parkhill (Minister for Defence) to Sir Maurice Hankey, 1 August 1935, PRO: CAB 21/397.


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424 The Navy and the Nation 92 Memoirs of R. Scot-Skirving. 93 NAA(VIC) : B6161/1, Box 2. 94 See The Royal Australian Navy List, January 1932, pp. 63–6 and July 1937, pp. 67–70. 95 Feakes, White Ensign—Southern Cross, p. 222. 96 Primrose, ‘Australian Naval Policy 1919–1942’, p. 269. 97 RACAS signalled on 26 August 1935: ‘Newspapers report First Naval Member has left for England. Request confirmation.’ The ACNB’s reply suggested this was indeed the first he would have known about the trip. See the exchange of signals in NAA(VIC) : MP 124/6, 404/202/788. 98 See, for example, Williams, These are Facts, p. 195. 99 E. Andrews, The Department of Defence, Melbourne: Oxford University Press, 2001, p. 80. 100 Although Williams found Pearce much more difficult in 1932 than in earlier years and suspected the influence of Shepherd. Williams, These Are Facts, p. 205. 101 B. Lodge, Lavarack: Rival General, Sydney: Allen & Unwin, 1998, p. 34. 102 See M. McNarn, ‘Sir Robert Archdale Parkhill and Defence Policy 1934–1937’, BA(Hons) Thesis, UNSW, 1979. This is particularly informative on Parkhill’s political history and attitudes to perceived subordinates. 103 Lodge, Lavarack: Rival General, p. 68. It is notable that none of the chiefs of staff were allowed to accompany Parkhill and Shedden to the 1937 Imperial Conference. 104 Williams, These are Facts, p. 200. 105 Admiral Sir Ragnar Colvin, Memoirs, Durley: Wintershill Publications, 1992, p. 125. 106 ‘Defence Expenditure 1901–39’ in J. Beamont (ed.), Australian Defence: Sources and Statistics, Melbourne: Oxford University Press, 2001, p. 30. 107 Goldrick, ‘Selections from the Memoirs and Correspondence of Captain J.B. Foley’, p. 515. 108 Lodge, Lavarack: Rival General, p. 51. 109 See, particularly, letter, Sir Archdale Parkhill to Sir Maurice Hankey, 16 August 1935, Hankey Papers, MS 107, copies held in Academy Library, UNSW at ADFA; and Memorandum, ‘The Type of Squadron for the Royal Australian Navy’, Paper no 7 prepared for the Imperial Conference of 1937, signed by Parkhill, NAA(VIC) : 5954/1, 1058/5.


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Notes 425 Both documents were almost certainly drafted by Shedden. 110 Roskill, Naval Policy Between the Wars, p. 186. 111 PRO: ADM 116/3647. I am indebted to Dr C. Bell for access to his notes. 112 R. Hyslop, Aye Aye, Minister: Australian Naval Administration 1939–59, Canberra: AGPS, 1990, p. 83; and Stevens, ‘The Royal Australian Navy and the Strategy for Australia’s Defence, 1921–42’, p. 75. 113 Jones, Seagulls, Cruisers and Catapults, pp. 74–5. 114 See Hyde’s 1923 comments on this issue in McCarthy, Australia and Imperial Defence 1918–39, p. 34. 115 E.J. March, British Destroyers, London: Seeley Service, 1966, pp. 323, 327. 116 Hyslop, Aye Aye, Minister, p. 192. 117 NAA(VIC) : 5954, 1006. 118 Sears, ‘Depression and Rearmament’, p. 95. 119 See Admiral of the Fleet Viscount Cunningham, A Sailor’s Odyssey, London: Hutchinson, 1951, pp. 173–4. 120 Roskill, Naval Policy Between the Wars, p. 261. 121 Hyslop, Australian Naval Administration 1900–1939, pp. 192–3. 122 B. Winter, The Intrigue Master: Commander Long and Naval Intelligence in Australia, 1913–1945, Sheldon: Boolarong Press, 1995, p. 25. 123 Foley, Memoirs, Chapter 8. 124 Hyslop, ‘Admiral Sir George Francis Hyde’, p. 10. 125 ‘The late Admiral Sir Francis Hyde’ statement of circumstances of death by Director of Naval Medical Services, undated, AWM: MSS 1494, Item 6.

Chapter 18 1 ‘By-Product’, ‘The Peace Value of a Navy’, in Australasian Naval & Military Annual 1912–13, Sydney: Angus & Robertson, 1913, p. 7. 2 J. Hinz, Civvy Street: Take the Easy Road to Civvy Street Success! Manly Qld.: PMA Books, 2000. 3 See, for example, C. Coulthard-Clark, ‘Soldiers in Politics’: The Impact of the Military on Australian Political Life and Institutions, Sydney: Allen & Unwin, 1996. The following reference books also contain many examples of ex-service men and women who have contributed significantly to Australian national life: J. Ritchie (ed.), Australian Dictionary of Biography, Melbourne: Melbourne University Press, 1994; M. Herd (ed.), Who’s Who in Australia 2002, Melbourne: Crown Content, 2002.


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426 The Navy and the Nation 4 At this point let me gratefully acknowledge the contribution of the exNavy people at all levels who were kind enough to respond to my request for assistance and to provide me with information. 5 Directorate of Strategic Personnel Planning and Research, Royal Australian Navy Exit Survey Report (DSPPR Research Note 1/99), Canberra: Department of Defence, 1999; Directorate of Strategic Personnel Planning and Research, Report of the 2000 Australian Defence Force Exit Survey—Reasons for Leaving (DSPPR Research Note 2/2001), Canberra: Department of Defence, 2001; Directorate of Strategic Personnel Planning and Research, 2001 Australian Defence Force Reserves Survey Report (DSPPR Report 4/2001), Canberra: Department of Defence, 2001; Directorate of Strategic Personnel Planning and Research, 2001 Defence Attitude Survey Report (DSPPR Research Report 5/2001), Canberra: Department of Defence, 2001; Directorate of Strategic Personnel Planning and Research, Defence Personnel Environment Scan 2020, Canberra, Department of Defence, 2001. 6 Quoted in T. Holden, The Administration of Discipline in the Royal Australian Navy 1911–1964, Canberra: Royal Australian Navy, p. 48. 7 Admiral Alan Beaumont, ACD, RAN in Foreword to R. Robb, Flight of the Pelican: A History of the Schofields Aerodrome and HMAS NIRIMBA at Quakers Hill, Quakers Hill: HMAS NIRIMBA Welfare Committee, 1993, p. iii. 8 C. Coulthard-Clark, Without Peer: Sir William Clarkson KBE CMG (1859–1934), Engineer Rear Admiral Royal Australian Navy, Sydney: The Warren Centre for Advanced Engineering, 2002. 9 Originally published in the 1960s these books were recently combined in a new edition, Ray Parkin’s Wartime Trilogy: Out of the Smoke; Into the Smother; The Sword and the Blossom, Melbourne: Melbourne University Press, 1999. 10 G. Feasey, Very Ordinary Officer, Unknown: self-published, 1999.

Chapter 19 1 N.A.M. Rodger, Articles of War. Statutes Which Covered Our Fighting Navies, 1661, 1749, and 1886, Homewell, Hampshire: Kenneth Mason, 1982, p. 13. 2 See Chapter 1. 3 N.A.M. Rodger, The Wooden World: An Anatomy of the Georgian Navy, London: Collins, 1986.


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Notes 427 4 See, for example, M. Howard, War in European History, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1976. 5 P. Kennedy, ‘The Boundaries of Naval History’, Seventh Stephen Roskill Memorial Lecture delivered at Cambridge University, February 1997. I am grateful to Professor Paul Kennedy for a copy of this lecture. 6 A. Lambert, ‘Laughton’s Legacy: Naval History at King’s’, inaugural lecture delivered at King’s College, London, November 2002. I am grateful to Professor Andrew Lambert for a copy of this lecture. 7 P. Kennedy, The Rise and Fall of British Naval Mastery, London: Allen Lane, 1976; N.A.M. Rodger, The Safeguard of the Sea: A Naval History of Britain, Volume One: 660–1649, London: Harper Collins, 1997; P. Padfield, Maritime Supremacy and the Opening of the Western Mind: Naval Campaigns that Shaped the Modern World 1588–1782, London: John Murray, 1999. On these issues see also J.B. Hattendorf, Doing Naval History: Essays Toward Improvement, Newport, RI: Naval War College Press, 1995. 8 F. Broeze, Island Nation: A History of Australians and the Sea, Sydney: Allen and Unwin, 1998. 9 A. Frost, The Voyage of the Endeavour: Captain Cook and the Discovery of the Pacific, Sydney: Allen and Unwin, 1998, pp. 120ff. 10 See Chapter 2. 11 J. Goldrick, ‘A Fleet Not a Navy: Some Thoughts on the Themes’ in D. Stevens and J. Reeve (eds), Southern Trident: Strategy, History and the Rise of Australian Naval Power, Sydney: Allen and Unwin, 2001, pp. 292–5. 12 M. Bailey, ‘Changing Under Impact: Australia, the Imperial Trade System, and the Impact of War’, paper presented to the third biennial King-Hall Naval History Conference, Canberra, 2003. 13 See Chapter 17. 14 See Chapters 3 and 9. 15 This was further to the role of the RAN in the seizure of Germany’s Southwest Pacific possessions in 1914. See D. Stevens (ed.), The Royal Australian Navy, Melbourne: Oxford University Press, 2001, pp. 35–6. 16 See Chapter 11. 17 Australian Maritime Doctrine: RAN Doctrine 1, Canberra: Sea Power Centre—Australia, 2000, p. 14. 18 T. Coyle, ‘Sydney as a Strategic Port: Its Development Under the British Empire’, BA (Hons) thesis, School of Social Sciences, Australian National University, 2003.


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428 The Navy and the Nation 19 20 21 22

23 24 25 26 27

28

29 30

31 32

33 34

See Chapters 10 and 16. See Chapter 12. See Chapter 15. Report of the Joint Standing Committee on Foreign Affairs, Defence and Trade, Australia’s Maritime Strategy, Canberra: Parliament of the Commonwealth of Australia, 2004, p. 95. See Chapters 4 and 6. A.T. Mahan, The Influence of Sea Power Upon History 1660–1783, Boston: Little Brown, 1890, repr. London: Methuen, 1965, pp. 29ff. ibid., p. 29. ibid., p. 43. See in general N. Canny (ed.), The Origins of Empire: British Overseas Enterprise to the Close of the Seventeenth Century, The Oxford History of the British Empire, Volume I, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1998. N.A.M. Rodger, ‘Queen Elizabeth and the Myth of Seapower in English History’, Transactions of the Royal Historical Society (forthcoming). I am grateful to Professor Nicholas Rodger for a copy of this article. See also S. Adams, ‘Spain or the Netherlands? The Dilemmas of Early Stuart Foreign Policy’ in H. Tomlinson (ed.), Before the English Civil War, London: Macmillan, 1983. Kennedy, The Rise and Fall of British Naval Mastery, p. 35. The major text is now G. Parker, The Military Revolution: Military Innovation and the Rise of the West 1500–1800, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, second revised edn, 1996. See also C.J. Rogers (ed.), The Military Revolution Debate: Readings on the Military Transformation of Early Modern Europe, Boulder: Westview Press, 1995. Rodger, Safeguard of the Sea, p. 432; Padfield, Maritime Supremacy, p. 4. Rodger, Safeguard of the Sea, pp. 430ff; J. Reeve, ‘Britain or Europe? The Context of Early Modern English History: Political and Cultural, Economic and Social, Naval and Military’ in G. Burgess (ed.), The New British History: Founding a Modern State 1603–1715, London: I.B. Tauris, 1999, pp. 300–2. On the financial and administrative advances in seventeenth century England, which were a requirement for a standing navy, see J.S. Wheeler, The Making of a World Power: War and the Military Revolution in Seventeenth Century England, Stroud: Sutton, 1999. England and Scotland were united under the Act of Union in 1707. On the eighteenth century RN as a career open to talent see Rodger, The Wooden World, p. 272.


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Notes 429 35 D.A. Baugh, ‘The Eighteenth Century Navy as a National Institution, 1690–1815’ in J.R. Hill (ed.), The Oxford Illustrated History of the Royal Navy, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1995, p. 157. 36 J.T. Sumida, Inventing Grand Strategy and Teaching Command: The Classic Works of Alfred Thayer Mahan Reconsidered, Washington DC and Baltimore: Woodrow Wilson Center Press and Johns Hopkins University Press, 1997, pp. 80ff. 37 R. Hough, Former Naval Person: Churchill and the Wars at Sea, London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson, 1985, p. 156. 38 ibid., pp. 223–4.


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Index Adelaide, HMAS 150, 151, 152, 154, 161, 165, 249, 257, 264, 315, 332, 340, 341 Adelaide-class guided missile frigates 249 Adelaide Ship Construction 202 Adventure, HMS 324–5, 326 air arm 216–19 aircraft carriers 210–32 Albatross, HMAS 186, 331, 333, 335, 344–5 advertising and maritime imagery 126–32, 143–7, 148 Aeronautical Research Laboratories (ARL) 235 Afghanistan 20 Albatross, HMAS 186, 331, 333, 335, 344–5 Andaman Islands 93 Andrews, Rear Admiral W.G. 46 Anglo-Japanese alliance 134, 136, 137, 297 Anson, Commodore George 70–4, 80 anti-submarine weapons systems 197 Anzac, HMAS 165, 166, 195, 224, 264, 339 Anzac Day 2, 182, 350, 365 Anzac legend 2–3, 154, 168 Anzac-class frigates 206, 209, 264, 265, 267, 377 AOE see Fast Combat Support Ship (AOE) Attack-class patrol boats 199 Arunta, HMAS 187, 196, 226 Australia, HMAS 62, 134, 139, 142,

144, 165–84, 186, 211, 284–5, 289, 302, 323, 325, 375 Australia (II), HMAS 16, 332 Australia Station 7, 113, 173, 273, 280, 289, 296, 333, 345 Australian Commonwealth Naval Board (ACNB) 212, 219, 222, 233, 319 Australian fleet unit 3, 60, 134, 139–43, 168–70, 283, 289, 301, 303, 323, 374, 375 Australian Navy Reserve 277 Australian Shipbuilding Board (ASB) 189, 190, 192, 194, 202 Australian–American alliance 128–32 Balmain, William 69, 75 Banks, Joseph 74–5, 88, 96, 102 Barcoo, HMAS 117, 118 Barra passive array sonobuoy 234, 237–9, 241, 246 Barraclough, Henry 312 Bartram, C.J.V. 115 Bass, George 69 Bataan, HMAS 191 Bathurst, HMAS 188, 189 Bathurst-class minesweepers 188, 190 Bavin, T.R. 354 Bayly, Commodore Lewis 322 Beale, Octavius 144 Beaufort, Admiral Francis 109 Bedwell, E.P. 112, 113 Bennett, Lt Commander H.T. 115, 116 Biles, John 310 Biloela 115, 315 Blackwood, Capt T.P. 111, 112

431


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432 The Navy and the Nation Blainey, Geoffrey 86, 87, 94, 95 Boolee 241–3 Botany Bay 28, 77, 85–7, 89, 93–4, 96, 97–8, 101–2, 103, 105–7 Bowes Smyth, Arthur 76–7, 81 Boxer Rebellion 30, 33, 277, 278, 282 Bramle, HMS 109, 110, 112 Bridge, Cyprian 64 Brind, Admiral E.J.P. 46 Brisbane, HMAS 50, 51, 166, 251, 254, 329, 340 British Pacific Fleet (BPF) 41, 44–6, 213 Broeze, Frank 373 Brolga, HMAS 117 Brooke Marine Limited 205 Bulwark, HMS 323 Bungaree, HMAS 117 Butement, W.A.S. 237 Byron, John 74 Callender, Geoffrey 90 Canberra, HMAS 257, 264, 332 Carrington Slipways Pty Ltd 203 Casey, Maj R.G. 159 Charles F. Adams-class guided missile destroyers 249 Chatfield, Admiral Ernle 334 Chifley, Ben 342 Chile 23–4 Clark, Manning 85 Clarkson, Vice Admiral William 304–18, 363 coastal surveys 108–22 Cockatoo Island Dockyard 50, 106, 185, 186, 187, 188, 189, 190, 191, 193, 195–6, 197, 198–202, 206, 207, 252, 311–12, 313–18, 346 Cold War 39, 222–3, 224, 231, 233, 275, 382, 383 Collins, Vice Admiral John 219, 223, 225 Collins, Capt Muirhead 309

Collins, Peter 354 Collins-class submarines 209, 243 Colossus-class aircraft carriers 211, 212 Colquhoun, Commander William 308, 309 Combat Data System Centre (CDSC) 249, 252, 253–66, 268 combat system technology 248–9, 252, 263–5, 266 Commonwealth Naval Forces (CNF) 5, 130, 284, 296, 304–5, 307, 310–11, 323 Commonwealth Naval Militia 279 convict settlement 85–97, 102, 103–5 Cook, HMAS 205 Cook, Capt James 27, 28, 29, 74–5, 81, 83, 96–7 Corbet, Julian 64, 100, 372 Cosgrove, General Peter 15 Cowen, Zelman 352–3 Creswell, Vice Admiral William 5, 130, 158, 168, 170, 271, 296, 297, 298, 303, 305–7, 308, 309, 310, 311, 314, 318, 323, 328 Curtin, John 45, 152, 212 Dallas, Ken 86 d’Assumpcao, Henry 237 Daring-class destroyers 195–6, 198 Darwin, Charles 27 Darwin, HMAS 257 Das Voltas Bay 86, 88 DDGs (guided missile destroyers) 249–51, 253, 257–9, 262 DDL class 200–1, 205, 256 Deakin, Alfred 125, 128, 132, 133, 168, 171, 287–303, 307, 309, 376 defence establishment of Australian 3–6 expenditure 5, 134, 222, 343 Defence Capability Plan 14 Derwent, HMAS 144, 197, 236, 314 BHP Whyalla shipyard 189, 193, 202, 203, 204, 205


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Index 433 Diamantina, HMAS 241 Dibb, Paul 15 Diderot, Denis 30 diplomacy and RAN 149–64 Dolphin, HMS 74 Double-Density Memory Unit (DDMU) 261, 262 dreadnought-type ships 132–3 Dreadnought, HMS 59 Dreyer, Admiral Frederick 344 Duchess, HMAS 227 Dundula 315 East India Company 26, 32, 88, 93, 94, 95 East Timor 15, 46, 161, 318, 331 Edmonds, Carl 82 Emden 145, 158, 375 Empress of Australia 199 Encounter, HMAS 115 Eudunda 315 European settlement 3, 28, 69–83, 85–96, 101–7, 109 Evans, Rear Admiral E.R.G.R. 332–3 Evans Deakin 187, 190, 191, 193, 199, 202, 203 Everett, Vice Admiral Allan 329 Falkland Islands 97 Fanstone, Herbert 312 Fantome, HMAS 115 Farncomb, Rear Admiral Harold 357 Fast Combat Support Ship (AOE) 201, 205–6 Feakes, Sub-Lt H.J. 323 Fenton, J.E. 334 Ferndale 185, 186 Ferry service, Tasmania/Victoria 318 Field, Admiral Frederick 335 Firkins, Peter 132 First Fleet 75–8, 79, 89, 98, 103 Fisher, Andrew 7, 132–3, 176, 302, 304

Fisher, Admiral Sir John 35, 36, 62, 169, 301, 322 Five Power Defence Agreement 41–2, 46, 180, 334 Fleet Air Arm 211, 213, 214, 215, 216, 219, 221, 222, 225, 231, 353 Flinders, HMAS 120 Flinders, Matthew 109, 116, 117, 271 Flinders Naval Base 180, 283, 339 Fly, HMS 111, 112 Ford, Rear Admiral W.T.R. 342 Fordsdale 185, 186 Fraser, Malcolm 204 Fremantle class 205–6 Frost, Alan 94, 97, 102, 104 Gallipoli 2, 6, 145, 183, 284 Geranium, HMAS 115, 116 Gibraltar 90 Gillen, Mollie 104, 105 Glory, HMS 223, 225 Goodenough, Commodore J.G. 273 Gorton, John 159, 353 Goulburn, HMAS 190 Grant, Rear Admiral Percy 327 Great Barrier Reef 108–22 colonial survey 112–15 inner passage 109–12 Griffiths, I.R. 354 Gulf War 19, 153, 254 Hamer, Capt David 354 Hamilton, Admiral Louis 213, 214 Hancock, Keith 85 Hankey, Maurice 343 Harries, Capt David 224 Harry, Ralph 115 Hayden, Bill 353 Henderson, Admiral Reginald 7, 134–5, 310–11 Hixson, Capt Francis 277 Hobart, HMAS 158, 249, 251 Hobbs, David 375


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434 The Navy and the Nation Hodgson, Lt Col W.R. 159 Howard, Michael 373 Howe, Richard 86, 88, 95, 96 Howson, Peter 353 Hughes, Robert 94–6 Hunter, John 80 Huon-class minehunters 209 Hutson, Capt P.R. 251 Hyde, Admiral Francis 319–47, 374 hydrography and the Great Barrier Reef 108–22 identity, Australian 1–3, 6, 8, 24, 61–2, 65, 94, 123–5, 139, 147–8, 183, 375 Ikara anti-submarine weapon 197, 234–7, 246–7, 251 Implacable, HMS 218 Incat 318 Indefatigable, HMS 218 India 86, 90, 93, 94, 101, 102, 108, 169, 232, 383 Indian Mutiny 32 Indian Ocean 25, 27, 86, 90, 96, 329, 355 Indonesian–Malaysian Confrontation 39, 153, 154, 160, 200, 226–8 Industries Assistance Commission (IAC) 203–4, 208 Iraq 20 Jabiru, HMAS 117, 118 Joel, Asher 354 Johnson, Commodore Eric 355 Jose, Arthur 132 JPTDS 251, 253 Kariwara 234, 241–3, 246 Kennedy, Edmund 108–9, 111 Kennedy, Paul 373, 380 Kimbla, HMAS 199 King, Robert 97, 107 King-Hall, Admiral George 7, 11, 12, 40, 289

King-Salter, John 314 Knaggs, Samuel 70 Korean War 39, 46, 217, 221, 223–6 Lachlan, HMAS 117, 118 Lambert, Andrew 373 Lambert, Nicholas 62, 168 Lane-Poole, Rear Admiral R.H.O. 342, 346 Laser Airbourne Depth Sounder (LADS) 234, 244–6 Latham, Lt Commander John 159, 353 Lee, Arthur 34 Lind, James 73, 74, 75, 81 Lindsay, Lionel 126 Lindsay, Norman 131 Llewellyn 113 Long, Commander R.B.M. 346 Longfield Lloyd, Lt Col E. 159 McClemans, Sheila 357 Macdonald, Ramsay 31 McDougall, Vice Admiral Ian 356 McEwen, John 149–52, 161 McGarvie, Richard 353 McGinty, I.F. 354 Mackay, David 98 McKay, Malcolm 353 McNeil, Rear Admiral P.E. 189 McNicholl, Alan 355 Mahan, Admiral A.T. 15–19, 25–6, 30, 63, 158, 371, 379, 382 Mahood, Marguerite 124 Majestic-class aircraft carriers 211, 213, 214, 219 Marella 116 Martin, Rear Admiral David 353 Maritime Strategy (US) 15, 18–19 Mason, R.C.H. 358 Matra, James Mario 87, 94–5, 96 Meaney, Neville 133 medicine 69–83 Melbourne, HMAS (aircraft carrier) 197, 217, 226, 231, 253


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Index 435 Melbourne, HMAS (cruiser) 134, 165, 284, 302 Melbourne, HMAS (guided missile frigate) 240, 257 merchant ships 28, 74, 92, 96, 118, 185–6, 189–92, 193, 194–5, 196, 201, 204–5, 206, 273, 306, 315, 316, 320, 327, 328, 374 Middleton, Charles 101 Minorca 90 Mombah 314 Monkhouse, William 74, 81 Moresby, HMAS 119, 120, 199 Morison, Samuel Eliot 372 Mort’s Dock 187, 189, 190, 193, 202 Mulloka 234, 239–41, 246, 247 Murray, Rear Admiral Brian 353 Nabob, HMS 213 Napier, Vice Admiral W.R. 334 nationality and navies 12–15, 374–7 NATO 18 Naval Combat Data System (NCDS) project 249–51, 252–6, 257, 258, 260–4 naval defence establishment of Australian 3–8 strength 7 naval displays 59–65 naval reviews 52–3, 54–9, 63, 64 Naval Tactical Data System (NTDS) 251, 253, 267 navies domestic and international law enforcement 21 and nationality 12–15, 374–7 Nelson, HMS 274 New Caledonia 150–2, 161 New South Wales Botany Bay 28, 77, 85–7, 89, 93–4, 96, 97–8, 101–2, 103, 105–7 penal colony 84, 85–97, 103–5 settlement 96, 97–8, 101–7

New Zealand, HMS 327 Newcastle, HMAS 257 Nimitz, Admiral Chester 44, 45 Nirimba, HMAS 359–60, 361 North, Frederick 95 North Queensland Engineering Agents (NQEA) Ltd 203, 206 Nott Defence Review 35 Nugent, Earl (Robert) 31, 32 Nysen, Jean 368 Oberon-class submarine 242–3 O’Brian, Patrick 373 Ocean, HMS 212, 223, 226 Oliver H. Perry-class guided missile frigates 249 Opium Wars 26 Osborne, Fred 354 Otway, HMAS 331, 333 Oxenbould, Rear Admiral Chris 356 Oxley, HMAS 331, 333 Pacific and Britain 24–30 Pacific Patrol Boat Project 162 Padfield, Peter 373 Paluma 114, 283 Paradice, Surgeon Lt Commander 116 Parkhill, Archdale 343 Parkin, Ray 368 Parramatta, HMAS 187, 197, 227, 310, 314, 323, 324 Pearce, George 304, 342 Pearl (schooner) 112, 113 Pearl, HMS 273 penal colonies 84, 85–96 Perth, HMAS 236, 251, 368 Perth-class Guided Missile Destroyers 249 Phillip, Capt Arthur 75, 81, 83, 84, 98 Piesse, Maj E.L. 159 Pitt, William 24, 85, 91–2, 95, 101, 102, 103 Port Jackson 77, 84, 87, 176, 273, 374 Port Lincoln 312, 317


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436 The Navy and the Nation Pound, Admiral 37 Powerful, HMS 276 Prat, Arturo 24 Prince of Wales, HMS 36, 38 Project Nangana 237 Protector, HMCS 305, 306 public service 354–7 Puncher, HMS 213 Pyramus 114 Queensland Naval Brigade 275 Radcliffe, Capt Stephen 173 Raine Island 111 Ramsay, Commodore James 353 RAN and Alfred Deakin 295–303 Australian diplomacy 149–64 Australian fleet unit 3, 60, 134, 139–43, 168–70, 289, 301, 303, 323, 374, 375 and combat 14 defence science 233–47 education and training 363–4 fleet 132–4, 139–43, 168–80, 323–5, 331–4 Fleet Air Arm 211, 213, 214, 215, 216, 219, 221, 222, 225, 231, 353 Hydrographic Branch 109, 117, 119–22, 244 medicine 69–83 and nationality 12–13, 374–7 and peace-keeping 14 personnel 348–69 regal prefix 136 role of 13–22 sailors 284–5 School of Underwater Medicine 70, 81, 82 shipbuilding 132–3, 185–209, 304–18 ships 132–4, 307–9 and Royal Navy 374–7

WRANS 350, 356, 357, 364, 365, 368 Rattlesnake, HMS 109, 110 Rawlings, Vice Admiral Bernard 45 Redfern, William 69 Reliance, HMS 69 Rendova, USS 216 Renown, HMS 331 Repulse, HMS 36, 38 Richards, Capt 112 Richmond, Admiral Herbert 34, 371–2 Rickard, Arthur 141 River Clarence 191 Rodger, Nicholas 64, 89, 373 Roskill, Capt Stephen 372 Rother, HMS 322, 323 Rothwell, Commander Wally 359 Rourke, Rear Admiral Bill 359 Royle, Admiral Guy 212, 213 Royal Australian Navy Experimental Laboratory (RANEL) 233 Royal Navy (British) 3, 12, 62, 63, 69, 70, 74, 133, 139, 144, 154, 157, 168, 174, 182, 184, 187, 195, 197, 258, 280–1, 283–5, 298, 301, 302, 308, 310, 320–1, 380 1909 Fleet Visit 52 Admiralty powers 89, 91, 101 aircraft carriers 211, 212–13, 215, 216–18, 220, 221, 223, 225, 226, 237 attitudes towards 24 Australia Station 7, 113, 173, 273, 280, 289, 296, 333, 345 Australian Squadron 276–9 and Botany Bay 93–4, 97–8, 103–7 and convict settlement 103–5 deserters 273–6 development 91–3 expenditure 90, 91 imperial defence 33–46 imperial solutions 39–42 in the Pacific 23–47 power 103


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Index 437 and RAN 374–7 reviews 51–2, 55, 57–9 role of 96–105 sailors 272–7 ship building 90–1 Singapore strategy 36–8 strategic alliance 42–6 ‘strategic sea-base’ theory 85–96, 98–100, 103–4, 105 Runciman, Walter 42 Rushcutter, HMAS 233 Russell, Arthur Francis 55 Scott-Moncrieff, Rear Admiral 225 scurvy 71, 72, 73, 74–5, 78, 79 Sea Fury aircraft 224, 229 Sea Power 21 20, 21, 22 Second Fleet 78–80 Shannon, HMS 323 Shedden, Sir Frederick 212, 213, 343–4, 345, 346 Shepherd, M.L. 342 shipbuilding 132–3, 185–209, 304–18 Showers, Capt Henry 150, 152, 161, 162 Sinclair, Rear Admiral Peter 353 Singapore campaign 36–8 Smith, Admiral V.A.T. 213, 224 Solomon Islands 161, 332 South East Asian Treaty Organisation (SEATO) 222 Soviet Union 39 Spain 70, 88, 89, 97–8, 103, 217, 232, 379 Stalwart, HMAS 165, 199, 200 Standard, HMS 69 Stanley, Capt Owen 109, 110, 111 Stone, Shane 354 ‘strategic sea-base’ theory 85–96, 98–100, 103–4, 105 Street, Alan 353 Street, Lawrence 357 Stuart, HMAS 197, 236, 339

submarines 7, 19, 39, 41, 44, 51, 118, 120, 152, 197, 199, 200, 209, 222, 233, 234, 236, 234, 236, 237, 239, 241, 243, 251, 265, 283, 309, 316, 331, 333, 339, 353, 363 Success, HMAS 206 Suez Campaign 39, 46, 378 Sumida, Jon 62 Supply, HMAS 201 Sussex, HMS 345 Swan, HMAS 186, 197, 198, 199, 200, 205, 314 Sydney, HMAS (I) 134, 142, 175 Sydney, HMAS (II) 214, 340, 346, 375 Sydney, HMAS (III) 40, 160, 210–32, 375 Sydney, HMAS (IV) 13, 257, 331 Sydney Cove 87 Synnot, Admiral A.M. 229 Tallarook, HMAS 117 Taylor, Commodore Bill 355 Taylor, Commodore Matt 356 technology, weapons 248–68 Tench, Watkin 75 Terrible, HMAS 211 terrorism 21 Theseus, HMS 223, 226 Third Fleet 80–1 Thunderer, HMS 59 Thursday Island 111 Tingira, HMAS 139 Tobruk, HMAS 195, 206, 224 Torrens, HMAS 197, 198, 199, 200, 205, 314 Torres Strait 111, 115, 117, 118, 120 Townley, Athol 235, 353 trade 7, 17, 19–20, 25–7, 31–2, 34, 86, 88, 90, 91–4, 100–1, 103, 115, 118–19, 120, 121, 150, 170, 189–90, 192, 194, 203, 218, 220, 290, 294, 295, 304, 316, 341, 345, 363, 375–6, 381


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438 The Navy and the Nation Treacy, A.M. 282 Trilga 119 Triumph, HMS 223 Type 12 frigates 196–8, 205 Tyrell, Ian 128 ULTRA 253 Una, HMAS 181 United States, War of Independence 85, 89, 90 United States Navy (USN) 15–20, 43–4, 128–32, 249, 251 Great White Fleet 128, 131, 132, 143, 148, 176, 299 Vampire, HMAS 196 Venerable, HMS 212 Vengeance, HMS/HMAS 217 Vietnam War 18, 153, 156, 158, 160, 210, 226–8, 229, 231, 365 Vigilant, HMAS 117 Vindictive, HMS 330, 331 Vince, Alf 131, 134 Voyager, HMAS 158, 196, 197 Walkers 187, 189, 199, 201 Wallis, John 74 Ward, Russell 85

Warramunga, HMAS 187 Warrego, HMAS 117, 187, 313, 314, 323 Waterhen, HMAS 196 Watson, HMAS 261 Weapons Control Console Event System Simulator (WESS) 261 Weapons Research Establishment (WRE) 234 White, John 75 Williamstown Dockyard 187, 195–202, 205, 206, 252, 283, 316, 377 Withers, Reg 353 Worgan, George 70 World War I 31, 147, 148, 150–2, 186, 194, 314, 315, 316, 318 World War II 36–8, 43, 44, 45, 117, 159, 185–93, 197, 199, 202, 205–6, 209, 211, 228, 250, 317, 347, 353–4, 362, 363, 375 WRANS 350, 356, 357, 364, 365, 368 Yarra, HMAS 186, 197, 240, 310, 314, 324 Yongala 118 Young, Admiral George 88, 98 Young Endeavour 367 Yule, Lt Charles 109

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