‘With my usual luck I met three different salvoes and am wounded as follows: upper and lower lips torn to pieces (since sewn together); three teeth removed; shrapnel hole through the throat - about the size of a 4/- piece; splinter hole in the right forearm and right ear cut; shot or splinter in the right chest; left hand burned ... ’

Lieutenant-Commander Paul Whitfield, late C.O. of H.M.S. Nomad, writing from captivity after Jutland

The outstanding Great War Jutland D.S.O., prisoner of war’s O.B.E. group of six awarded to Captain P. Whitfield, Royal Navy, who commanded the destroyer H.M.S. Nomad amidst a raging storm of fire - ‘Just about then the German 1st High Seas Fleet spotted us and started a “Battle Practice” at us with 6-inch or bigger guns. Salvo after salvo shook us ... It was grand practise for them, but murder for us’: badly wounded a taken prisoner, Whitfield added the O.B.E. to his accolades for his services as a P.O.W. - while his immediate senior in the 2nd Division, 13th Destroyer Flotilla, Bingham of the Nestor, was awarded the V.C.

Distinguished Service Order, G.V.R., silver-gilt and enamel; The Most Excellent Order of the British Empire, O.B.E. (Military) Officer’s 1st type breast badge, silver-gilt, hallmarks for London 1919; 1914-15 Star (Lt. Commr. P. Whitfield, R.N.); British War and Victory Medals, M.I.D. oak leaf (Lt. Commr. P. Whitfield, R.N.); Russia, Order of St. Anne, 3rd Class breast badge, with swords, by Eduard, St. Petersburg, 36 x 36mm., gold and enamel, with manufacturer's name on reverse and kokoshnik marks on sword hilts, the first with recessed obverse centre and the second lacking gilt owing to being polished, otherwise generally very fine or better (6) £6000-8000

D.S.O. London Gazette 5 October 1918: ‘Additional awards for services in the Battle of Jutland.’

The original recommendation states:

‘He took a prominent part in the battle of Jutland on 31 May 1916. The Nomad supported Commander Bingham with the greatest gallantry during the earlier phases of his attack. With the Nestor and Nicator she took part in the destroyer action. Unfortunately she was stopped by a shell from the enemy’s battle cruisers and was thereby cruelly deprived of enjoying the honour which her sister boats were to share. Lieutenant-Commander Whitfield was after this responsible for the sinking of a German disabled destroyer and finally fired all torpedoes at the High Seas Fleet, waiting for the last moment before doing so.’

O.B.E. London Gazette 17 October 1919: ‘For services in connection with the War.’

The original recommendation states:

‘He was Senior British Officer at Heidelberg. He prevented me from being sent to Staff Camp while I was suffering from wounds and waiting for an operation. He did a lot of good work for the British officers and was very persistent in his efforts to help them while I was at Heidelberg.’

This lot was sold as part of a special collection, Exceptional Naval and Polar Awards from the Collection of RC Witte.

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Collection

Paul Whitfield was born in Wimbledon, London, in July 1880 and entered the Royal Navy as a Cadet in July 1894.

Advanced to Lieutenant in October 1902 and to Lieutenant-Commander in October 1910, he received his first command, the destroyer Tigress, in March 1912, and was similarly employed on the outbreak of hostilities in August 1914, and quickly saw action at Dogger Bank in January of the following year. A fellow C.O. in the First Destroyer Flotilla at this time was Captain the Hon. Barry Bingham, with whom Whitfield would go on to share considerable honours at Jutland. In the interim, however, they shared the hazards of destroyer command under different circumstances, Bingham stating in Taffrail’s Bad Weather:

‘To steam 20 knots with the battle-cruisers in practically all weathers was no sinecure, and, while these enormous ships were slipping along comfortably, the unhappy destroyers were having a bad time of it. One could only marvel at the way they jumped and dodged the waves of a long head sea. But every now and then you would catch a huge wave in the wrong stride, and a sheer wall of green sea would fall over the whole ship. When the bridge started carrying away, we thought it was time to ‘submit’ this fact to the Admiral, requesting permission to ease down a few knots.

The Tigress, one of the destroyers in my division - in fact, my sub-divisional mate - encountered one of these enormous seas, which struck her fair and with sufficient force to drive the bridge rails about four feet aft on the compass and to pin her captain, Lieutenant-Commander Paul Whitfield, between the two. He broke two ribs and sustained some internal damage, yet nevertheless continued in command.’

High praise indeed from a V.C.-winner and a good omen for the challenges that lay ahead.


Jutland

Appointed to the command of another destroyer, the Nomad, in the 2nd Division of the 13th Destroyer Flotilla in March 1916, Whitfield went into action at Jutland alongside his old friend Bingham, for the port division of that force was commanded by the dashing Irishman in Nestor, their team being completed by Nicator, under Lieutenant Jack Mocatta (see Dix Noonan Webb, 13 December 2007, Lot 32): very shortly the home press would be buzzing with tales of their exploits.

‘At 4.15 the port division, led by Commander the Hon. Barry Bingham in the Nestor, swerved out of line at full speed to attack. Other divisions followed, until, steaming at full speeds of nearly 34 knots, as fast as they could be driven, a dozen destroyers were tearing for the area of “No Man’s Sea” between the opposing squadrons.

It was a chance vouchsafed to few destroyer officers, and then only once in a lifetime. They had started on the most exciting race in the world, a race towards the enemy, a race which had as its prizes honour and glory - possibly death. Almost as soon as our destroyers moved out to attack, 15 enemy destroyers, accompanied by a light-cruiser, the Regensburg, emerged from the head of the German battle-cruisers to deliver an attack upon our battle-cruisers.

The British destroyers steered at full speed for a position on the enemy’s bow whence to fire their torpedoes, their course gradually converging on that of the German flotilla. At 4.40 the Nestor, Commander Bingham, followed by the Nicator, Lieutenant Jack Mocatta, and the Nomad, Lieutenant-Commander Paul Whitfield, swung round to north to fire their torpedoes, and also to beat off the enemy’s destroyer attack. These three ships were followed at intervals by the Petard, Lieutenant-Commander E. C. O. Thomson, and the Turbulent, Lieutenant-Commander Dudley Stuart.

Immediately the Nestor, Nicator and Nomad turned in to attack the enemy’s light-cruisers, the German flotilla turned to an appropriately parallel course. Almost at once the destroyer fight started at a range of about 9,000 yards. Both sides fired rapidly as the distance decreased, and to onlookers the opposing flotillas were only seen as lean black shapes pouring smoke from their funnels as, with their guns blazing, they tore at full speed through a welter of shell-splashes. At about 4.45 the Nomad was hit in the engine-room, the explosion killing or wounding many men ... ’

Whitfield would later submit his own official report of the action, but in the interim one of his officers, Sub. Lieutenant David Wainwright, wrote home from captivity with the following description of the Nomad’s fate:

‘Think of the worst peal of thunder that you have ever heard, try to imagine it going on continuously and imagine that at the same time you are standing in the corridor of the Royal Scot with all the windows open, passing at full speed another express going in the opposite direction on the next set of rails. You will then have a faint conception of what it felt like on the bridge of a destroyer in the van of the battle cruisers - the state of tension while waiting for the meeting of the destroyers in shell and torpedo battle was the worst period that I passed through because it gave imagination a chance to work. What happened when the shells struck a ship and that dull red glow appeared? Was everyone immediately asphyxiated, burnt or mangled? I felt very empty inside as though I hadn't had a meal for ages though I didn't feel hungry. My tongue was dry and I smoked a cigarette hard, hoping that with its aid an illusion of sang froid and devil may carishness was accepted by my neighbours at its spurious value. I I busied myself with testing voice pipes and other accessories to my official function, that of fire control.

Our signal to attack came at last and we increased to full speed to draw ahead, gradually close the enemy, and then swoop down to fire our torpedoes. We were going thirty-five knots, and the whole ship vibrated with the strain. Simultaneously the German destroyers moved out towards us and we opened fire on each other. The din was ghastly. We were going all out, the ship shivering with speed; our three four inch, one on the foc'sle, one aft and one amidships were all firing; the German destroyers' shells were exploding round us, the projectiles from the big ships whistling over-head and the perpetual thunder of their guns rolling eternally. Control of our three guns from the bridge became a farce, what with the din and the fact that our ever-changing course and the movement of the German destroyers meant that each gun's target was continually shifting. The order for "Local Control" was given and I went down to the foc'sle gun. I remember ceasing fire on a destroyer in the belief that she was a friend, then the smoke cleared and we saw her colours plainly and got at her again until she started sinking - I noticed we seemed to be listing to port. The German destroyers had retired and both fleets had turned about to the N.N.W. We seemed to be moving very slowly and gradually we stopped and the list to port increased.

Looking aft I saw clouds of steam amidships and going there found the deck a shambles. A shell had struck the starboard side, entered the engine room and severed the main steam pipe, effectively stopping our motive power. We had fired two of our torpedoes, one was left in a third tube with a merry little fire on deck underneath it which we soon put out and the fourth tube was out of action. A shell had struck just by it and blown the man whose job it was to sit astride it clean over the side. The bilge pumps were out of action, we were leaking badly and two men only were alive in the engine room.

Out of the haze on the starboard quarter an interminable line of battleships was approaching. Nomad was lying crippled in the path of the battle squadron of the High Seas Fleet. Among the best disciplined crew in the world a panic might have arisen but our captain was more than equal to the occasion. Orders were passed to prepare to be taken in tow. This involved getting most of the hands on the foc'sle and ranging the cables along the deck together with various wire hawsers. It kept our minds on a definite job of work and it kept us to the opposite end of the ship to the High Seas Fleet. There was however no hope of anyone towing us. A few minutes before, Nicator had lain off us and offered to do so but the skipper waved her away. Why risk a second ship? I spent a merry five minutes in the chart room routing out signal books, cyphers and charts and dumping them over the side. Meanwhile all boats were lowered to the deck level and rafts were cast loose. We still had our torpedo left, but in order to train the tube on the leading enemy ship it would have been necessary to turn the ship. As we couldn't do this we had perforce to wait until the target ship came into the line of sight instead. Just then the three leading battleships opened fire on us. We waited. No. 1 and I stood on the foc'sle. Between us and the enemy was a piece of painted canvas and its moral support was enormous. The first salvos passed over us. The next were short, the next salvo was wrong for direction. We went aft and watched the last torpedo fired but alas it missed.

At this moment they got our range and things began to happen. As we sank lower the order "Abandon Ship" was given. The whaler and motor boat were miraculously unhurt and drew ahead of the sinking ship. The dinghy was splintered but looked as if it would float. I was sent forward and the skipper went aft to see that no-one wounded was left on deck. The stern was now under water and the whole hull was an inferno of smoke, steam, explosions and hail-storms of splintered metal. The skipper returned staggering and badly wounded but we got into the dinghy and pulled clear. She had lain alongside with nine men in her waiting uncomplainingly for the captain to return. Suddenly we saw two wild figures on deck. We went back and took them into the dinghy, two stokers both scalded and half raving in their agony. They must have been knocked out, and missed the order to abandon ship. Only the fore half of Nomad was afloat now but the Ensign still flew at the masthead. All this time the dinghy had been making water steadily and now she gracefully sank under and we swam away. One by one we were picked up by the motor boat and as I was hauled over the side I turned and saw Nomad take her final dive. The Germans put a few parting salvos into the middle of the survivors in the water and then disappeared into the N.W. leaving two torpedo boats to collect us as prisoners.’

Advanced to Commander and awarded the Russian Order of St. Anne, 3rd Class with swords (London Gazette 5 June 1917 refers), Whitfield remained a prisoner in Germany and Holland until repatriated from the latter country in September 1918, following which he was admitted to the Prince of Wales Hospital in London. The award of his D.S.O. was announced in the following month. Having then returned to light duties at the end of the year, he received a final accolade by way of an O.B.E. in October 1919.

Whitfield was placed on the Retired List in January 1923, advanced to Captain (Retd.) in July 1925 and died in January 1953.

Note:

Sold with the Second World War D.S.C. (officially dated ‘1944’) and related campaign awards attributed to his son, Lieutenant-Commander P. C. Whitfield, Royal Navy, who was decorated ‘for bravery and constant devotion to duty in many successful air operations from Malta against enemy shipping’ (London Gazette 2 May 1944 refers), as a member of No. 828 (F.A.A.) Squadron; complete with a set of related miniature dress medals and corresponding file of research.