Orders, Decorations and Medals

A rare Great War submariner’s D.S.M. group of five awarded to Chief Petty Officer S. H. Silvester, Royal Navy, who thrice shared in prize money for the destruction of enemy ships in E-class submarines, including one the earliest recorded cases of a “sub-on-sub” victory

Distinguished Service Medal, G.V.R. (180563 S. H. Silvester, P.O., H.M. Sub. E 16); 1914-15 Star (180563 S. H. Silvester, P.O., R.N.); British War and Victory Medals, M.I.D. oak leaf (180563 S. H. Silvester, Act. C.P.O., R.N.); Royal Navy L.S. & G.C., G.V.R., 1st issue (180563 S. H. Silvester, P.O., H.M.S. Duke of Edinburgh), together with Royal Visit to India 1911-12, small oval medallion, silver, worn, and a Coronation 1911 commemorative medallion, suspension bar a little slack on the third, otherwise generally good very fine (7) £2000-2500

D.S.M. London Gazette 21 January 1916.

Sidney Herbert Silvester was born in Waterlooville, Hampshire in May 1879, and entered the Royal Navy as a Boy 2nd Class in August 1894. Advanced to Petty Officer in November 1910, he was awarded his L.S. & G.C. Medal in August 1912 and transferred to the submarine branch in the same year.

Similarly employed by the outbreak of hostilities in August 1914, he quickly saw action, his service record noting that he was paid Prize Bounty ‘for the destruction of enemy ships in the Heligoland Bight action on 28 August 1914’. Though not confirmed, it seems likely he was serving in the E. 6 under Lieutenant-Commander Cecil Talbot, R.N., at this time.

Absolutely certain is he was in Talbot’s next command, the E. 16, when he received a further Prize Bounty payment ‘for the destruction of enemy ship T.B.D. V. 188 on 26 July 1915’ (his service record refers). Of this encounter with enemy destroyers, Edwyn Gray’s A Damned Un-English Weapon states:

‘26 July dawned clear and sunny and E. 16 set off for the area of Terschelling Island in search of fresh targets. Once again a Zeppelin kept them submerged for several hours and, at about 3 p.m., three German destroyers appeared over the horizon having been called in, apparently, by the airship. Talbot should have dived and escaped his hunters but, brought up in the exciting days of the 8th Flotilla, he decided to attack, which, he reminded himself, is always the best means of defence.

The destroyers were busy quartering the area and, after an hour’s careful stalking, E. 16 was within 600 yards of the unsuspecting V. 188. Talbot’s first shot took off her bows and, as her companions rushed in to aid their crippled companion, he stood off and awaited another opportunity. Realising that they were too busy rescuing survivors to hunt him, Talbot brought E. 16 to the surface for a few moments impudently displaying his presence to the enemy.

Without hesitation the two destroyers broke away from V. 188 and roared in at full-speed to dispose of her attacker. Using E. 16 like a matador fluttering his cape at an enraged bull, Talbot drew them into a suitable position and fired a second torpedo. This time it missed and the two destroyers returned to the crippled V. 188. Talbot repeated his bull-fighting tactics again and, once more, the German warships charged at him. But the third torpedo also missed, which was not surprising as the enemy ships were moving at over 30 knots, and, reluctantly, he moved away leaving the destroyers to continue chasing their own tails for several profitless hours. The sinking of the V. 188 won Talbot the D.S.O. and, as we shall see, he continued to harry the Germans for many months to come.’

But it was for one of the first “sub-on-sub” victories of the Great War, when the E. 16 sunk the U-6 off Stavanger, Norway, on 15 September 1915, that Silvester was recommended for his D.S.M. by Talbot - his letter to the C.-in-C., dated 26 October 1915, refers (copy included). Edwyn Gray’s history continues:

‘By 1916 a number of submarines, including Talbot and E.16, were attached to the Grand Fleet under the direct orders of the Commander-in-Chief and, with the depot ship Titania, they were constituted to the 11th (Overseas) Flotilla. Their main task was to patrol across the North Sea to Norway in search of enemy minelayers and, on 12 September, E.16 left Aberdeen bound for the fjords of the Norwegian coast. To the crew it looked like another barren, routine patrol but Talbot was full of optimism. Before leaving Titania he had been informed that a German submarine, the U-6, was cruising in the same area and had sunk three British sailing vessels the preceding week. Talbot wanted U-6’s scalp to add to his other trophies.

By all the rules the two submarines should never have met. The sea is a big place and, in the days before radar, contact sightings were limited by weather and visibility. But Talbot had that most essential requisite of the successful submarine commander, a nose for the enemy.

Pouring over the charts in the control room he tried to put himself in the mind of U-6’s captain. He plotted the three known sinkings and carefully traced the main trade routes. Where, he asked himself, would Herr Korvetten-Kapitan pounce next? E.16 changed course for Stavanger. Talbot’s eyes swept the empty sea for sign of the enemy submarine and, just as he was about to hand over the task to his First Lieutenant, he stiffened slightly and peered more intently into the eye-piece. The men in the control room exchanged glances. They knew the signs. “Down periscope. thirty feet. Steer starboard 30.”

The needles of the depth-gauges dropped a fraction as E.16 sank a little lower in the water. The helmsman turned his wheel and repeated back the new course to the captain.

“Group up. Full ahead both.”

The soft hum of the motors changed to a higher pitch as the E.R.As obeyed the command and Talbot moved back to the periscope.
“Up periscope - bring her up to twenty feet, Number One - steady - flood bow tubes.”

In the forward compartment the caps covering the tubes opened and sea water flooded into the narrow cylinders. The First Lieutenant reported:

“Bow tubes ready, sir.”

U-6 was on the surface, 1,000 yards ahead, steaming a straight course at a steady ten knots. Talbot could see five men in the conning-tower enjoying a smoke in the crisp air.

“Fire both!”

The propellers of the torpedoes bit into the water as they lurched from their tubes and, building up speed to forty knots, they raced towards the unsuspecting U-boat. They both struck together and the noise of the double explosion was audible even in the submerged E. 16.

Talbot clicked the handles of the periscope back into place.

“Stand by to surface. Shut main vents - blow all tanks.”

The submarine rose into the clear Norwegian air and the clutches to the diesels were engaged as she sped towards the grave of her victim. Debris and oil-scum sullied the water and E.16’s crew made their way down the slippery steel deck to haul the U-boat’s survivors aboard. Only five were saved, the same five Talbot had seen standing in the conning-tower, the rest, including the captain, had gone to the bottom. As the official historian, Sir Julian Corbett, noted: ‘No more was heard of U-boats in this quarter for a long time to come ...’ ’

Silvester and Talbot had departed the E. 16 by the time of her demise in the Heligoland Bight in August 1916, the latter taking up an appointment at the Admiralty. For his own part, Silvester remained actively employed in submarines, passed his Coxswain’s course in August 1917 and was mentioned in despatches (London Gazette 2 November 1917 refers). He was finally demobilised as a Chief Petty Officer in May 1919, when he was enrolled in the Royal Fleet Reserve.

Sold with a quantity of original documentation, including the recipient’s M.I.D. certificate, and his Certificate of Service and Gunnery History and Torpedo Sheet, together with two portrait photographs in uniform.