Scapa’s forbidden wreck – The Royal Oak

On the night of 13 October 1939, Günther Prien navigated U-47 through Kirk Sound, scraping past the blockships in the narrow channel between Lamb Holm and the mainland, penetrating the defences of the Home Fleet anchorage of the Royal Navy. Germany and Britain had been at war for six weeks.

German intelligence had revealed a weak point that could be exploited. Fearing air attack, most of the fleet, including the battlecruiser HMS Hood and the aircraft carrier HMS Furious, had been ordered to disperse the previous night, leaving just one battleship and four cruisers remaining at anchor. Prien failed to locate the heavy cruiser Belfast, but after searching the harbour, he spotted HMS Royal Oak, which was stationed in Scapa Bay to provide anti-aircraft cover for the anchorage and the town of Kirkwall.

Shortly after 1am on the morning of 14 October, Prien ordered a salvo of four torpedoes from the bow tubes. One of the torpedoes failed to launch, two missed their target but the fourth struck the starboard bow of HMS Royal Oak, waking her crew. At first, it was thought to be an internal explosion, as the very concept of a U-boat loose in Scapa Flow was simply unthinkable.

On U-47, Prien waited for the response that never came. The order was given to reload the bow tubes before launching a second salvo, and this time three torpedoes found their mark, striking the Royal Oak amidships. During the ensuing chaos, Prien turned U-47 towards Kirk Sound and escaped on the ebbing tide, slipping through the blockships and hugging the shore of Lamb Holm before returning to Germany for a hero’s welcome. After losing power, HMS Royal Oak was plunged into darkness, quickly listing to starboard as the sea water flooded in. In less than 14 minutes, the ship rolled over and sank, sealing the fate of the 834 crew.

Today, HMS Royal Oak lies on its starboard side at a depth of 30m, the decks tilted at a 45-degree angle and the upturned hull rising to within 5m of the surface. On calm, clear days, the wreck is visible from the surface, its presence indicated by the rainbow hue of small droplets of fuel oil that leak from the wreck. Underwater, the sheer scale of the ship is astonishing. The upturned hull stretches beyond the limits of visibility, blanketed by the filter feeders and marine growth.

The Royal Oak is a British war grave, and is officially off limits to recreational divers, but members of the Royal Navy’s Northern Diving Group regularly visit the wreck to survey the structure. Each year on the anniversary of the loss, Royal Navy divers return to the stern and raise a battle ensign over the wreck as a mark of respect and tribute to those lost. As the 70th anniversary of the sinking approached, the MoD agreed to make a rare exception to the ban on civilian divers, and allowed me to join the Navy divers to document the raising of the ensign and the condition of the wreck.

There was little or no current running across the hull, but divers who bear the responsibility of securing the ensign say it always unfurls and flies as if in a stiff breeze, no matter the state of the tide. The battleship is never left without a battle ensign. Every October, the previous year’s ensign is recovered and cleaned of the marine growth before being presented to the Royal Oak Association, and a fresh flag is secured to the prop shaft to await next year’s ceremony. The sight of the ensign raised above the wreck is a poignant reminder of the sacrifice of war.

I had a unique invitation to photograph the wreck’s features and find out what it is like to dive a British shipwreck that has been protected from souvenir-hunters. As I dropped over the port side, the deep shadow of the wreck initially presented itself as a featureless shadow, but as my eyes adjusted I started to recognise the ship’s features. Weapons of war are now encrusted in marine growth, softening the hard lines of steel and disguising their original purpose. The 6in casement guns along the port side at 20m are covered in plumose anemones and one of the original barrels has become home to an edible crab.

In deeper water, the softer, delicate filter feeders that dominate the shallows give way to harder marine growth. Here, the wreck has more form and shape, and recognisable artefacts such as the admiral’s barge can be found lying on the sea bed next to the twisted remnants of the fighting deck, still complete with range-finding equipment and speaking tubes. One of the masts has flattened the stern section of the barge, but the wooden bows and brass air inlets that fed the small steam engine are in relatively good nick.

Further forward, and close to the sea bed, the boxes of ready ammunition lie stacked, and close by the multi-barrelled anti-aircraft gun they would have fed is still fixed in its mounting. The most impressive piece of firepower is the main armament: when the ship sank, the 15in guns swivelled on their mountings and the barrels now lie embedded in the sea bed, but the top covers of the turrets have fallen off, revealing all eight enormous breeches. Higher up the superstructure, a pair of large-calibre anti-aircraft guns point skyward, and on a bulkhead lies a paravane – a torpedo-shaped device with sharp fins at the front, towed by the ship to cut the moorings of submerged mines. At the stern are four large prop shafts and the huge single rudder, now covered in anemones. The bronze propellers themselves were removed for scrap in the 1950s, but all other attempts to salvage the wreck were halted after a public outcry.

I found diving the wreck an intensely moving experience; evidence of what happened to the ship and the crew are everywhere – from the twisted steel where the first torpedo struck the bow, to the rows of open portholes hanging inwards along the port side, to the stern section of the barge flattened under the collapsed superstructure. All poignant reminders, but the most haunting sight was a deck hatch, hanging open to reveal a ladder that stretched into the darkness, deep below deck. It was impossible to look at the ladder without imagining the last set of boots to climb its rungs.

HMS Royal Oak is a war grave, protected from interference by its status as a Controlled Site by the Protection of Military Remains Act of 1988. The history of the wreck, coupled with the force of law, has ensured it has remained relatively untouched, complete with much of its original navigation and fighting equipment. It is now the sole example of a British battleship wreck in shallow water anywhere in the northern hemisphere, and serves as a time capsule of early 20th-century naval technology. But the wreck is more than a museum or historical record. Encrusting marine life has blanketed the hull with delicate growth and the iron and steel of the ship has become a monument to its crew. HMS Royal Oak is now a place of tranquil beauty.

• Simon Brown would like to thank Lt Cdr Jason White of the Northern Diving Group and the Ministry of Defence for their support for the project to document the wreck, and the officers and divers of the Northern Diving Group for their assistance during the week of diving in Scapa