The Collection of Medals Formed by Bill and Angela Strong

An emotive Second World War “V.C. action” group of three awarded to Telegraphist P. A. Childs, Royal Navy, among those lost on the occasion of the celebrated action between HMS Glowworm and the Hipper off Norway in April 1940

1939-45 Star; Atlantic Star; War Medal 1939-45, in their card box of issue addressed to the recipient’s father, ‘Mr. W. C. Childs, Trisco, Newland, Sherborne, Dorset’, the edge of the box further inscribed ‘D.N.A. Wills 3454/40’, together with original cap tallies for H.M.S. St. Vincent and H.M.S. Glowworm, two portrait photographs and several others including a snapshot of the Glowworm in heavy seas in 1939, a bronze Royal Life Saving Society Medal (P. Childs, July 1934), and two H.M.S. St. Vincent swimming medals for 1934 and 1935, good very fine (6) £400-500

This lot was sold as part of a special collection, The Bill and Angela Strong Medal Collection.

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Ex Captain K. J. Douglas-Morris collection, 12 February 1997 (Lot 592).

Philip Albert Childs was born in Sherborne, Dorset in September 1917 and entered the Royal Navy as a Boy 2nd Class at the training establishment St. Vincent in February 1934. A Telegraphist serving in the destroyer H.M.S. Grenville by the outbreak of hostilities in September 1939, he subsequently transferred to the Glowworm, and he was similarly employed at the time of her epic engagement with the Hipper in April 1940.

That same month, the British War Cabinet, pressed by the French, had resolved to mine Norwegian waters around Narvik, in order to stem the flow of Swedish iron ore to Germany. And the British Expeditionary Force, originally intended for service in the Finnish Winter War, was rapidly recalled and placed on standby in the event of Nazi intervention. In the event, the mining operation, which had been due to commence on the 5th, was delayed until the 8th, due to the French backing out of an agreement to launch some mines on the Rhine in exchange. As it transpired, this was a vital delay.

On 7 April the battle cruiser Renown, steaming northwards in the Norwegian Sea to take part in the mining operation, received a signal from one of her four escorting destroyers, the Glowworm, reporting a man overboard and requesting permission to turn back and carry out a search. Given the affirmative, the Glowworm scoured the area for two hours but in vain, and her Captain, Lieutenant-Commander G. B. Roope, R.N., called the search off. That night, as the weather deteriorated, Glowworm was forced to reduce speed, falling yet further behind the Renown and her consorts.

Shortly after daybreak on the 8th, Roope sighted a destroyer to the north which at first identified herself as Swedish, but which was in fact the German Paul Jakobi. Without further ado, the latter opened fire. Glowworm responded in kind, with 12 salvoes from her 4.7-inch guns, before switching her attention to another German destroyer, the Bernd von Arnim, which was crammed full of enemy troops for the invasion of Trondheim. Roope decided to shadow her to see whether she would lead him to intelligence of any enemy capital ships.

Thus far, the Glowworm was in relatively good shape, although her gun control tower had been flooded by the heavy seas and another two crew members swept overboard. Seven others, too, had been injured by the destroyer’s violent rolling.

A short while into her shadowing of the Bernd von Arnim, about five miles to the north-west of her earlier contacts, the Glowworm came upon the 10,000-ton heavy cruiser Hipper, armed with eight 8-inch and twelve 4-inch guns. The latter was also crammed with enemy troops destined for Trondheim. And Roope had barely got away his enemy sighting report before the Hipper’s very first salvo found its mark. Although facing impossible odds, he now swung his 1345-ton destroyer onto course for a torpedo attack, under cover of smoke, but had barely uttered the words of command when another enemy shell found its mark, killing or wounding the Surgeon’s sick bay party. Another shell brought down part of the foremast and wireless aerials, which fouled the steam siren on the funnel, so that Glowworm embarked on her final journey accompanied by the sounds of a strange, tortured wail.






Inevitably, perhaps, her spread of her five torpedoes failed to stop the Hipper, none of them finding their mark. Meanwhile, another direct hit had started a large fire in the engine room, but the gallant Roope ordered a second torpedo attack, emerging from smoke to cross the enemy’s bow from port to starboard, a scene captured by a camera aboard the heavy cruiser. Again, however, the strike failed, and Roope now ordered a sharp turn to starboard to ram the enemy, an objective achieved at 20 knots, the impact resulting in 100 feet of armoured plating being torn from the Hipper’s starboard side. But no vital damage had been inflicted on the enemy, and, as Glowworm drew away, she was swept by fire from smaller weapons at point-blank range. It was at this juncture, when Glowworm had drifted to a range of about 400 yards, that her surviving gun crew got away a final salvo that found its mark.

At 10 a.m. Roope gave the order to abandon ship but remained on the bridge himself, smoking a cigarette. Later, however, some survivors saw him assist others into their lifejackets, and again, in the water, alongside the Hipper, but by then too weak to take a rope. According to John Winton’s The Victoria Cross at Sea:

‘Gerard Roope was a large, burly man, with a broad face, firm jaw and forthright manner. He was a career naval officer, devoted to the Service. His ship’s company called him ‘Old Ardover’, for his habit of altering course violently towards his objective whether or not it was the men’s mealtime or any other consideration. It was typical of him to go straight for Hipper ...’

The chivalrous enemy commander, Captain Helmuth Heye, actually stayed for over an hour to pick up survivors, eventually rescuing one officer and 30 ratings out of Glowworm’s original complement of 149 men, but Philip Childs was not among them. The son of William Charles and Annie Childs of Sherborne, Dorset, he was 22 years of age and is commemorated on the Portsmouth Naval Memorial.