01/06/2026
Following on from our post, yesterday we were very lucky to pick up a copy of ‘The Fighting at Jutland’, especially as this is the 110th Anniversary of the battle.
In the GWH Collection is the original Great War lifebelt of HMS Ardent, part of a collection of 26 which were kindly gifted by the Imperial War Museum.
HMS Ardent was an Acasta-Class Destroyer, launched in September 1913.
On 1st June 1916, during the Battle of Jutland, she was sunk at 12.30am by heavy fire from the German dreadnought SMS Westfalen. Seventy-eight men went down with the ship. There were only two survivors, including the Captain, Lieutenant Commander Arthur Marsden.
In ‘The Fighting at Jutland’ he gives a detailed account of the part played by HMS Ardent, and her fate, detailed below.
He finishes by paying tribute to the crew.
“All hands fought the ship with the utmost gallantry, and in a most tenacious and determined manner, till she sank beneath them…”
(As an aside, the next HMS Ardent was sunk during the Second World War and the next during the Falklands War).
This is Lt Cdr Marsden’s account:
Narrative of the Commanding Officer of H.M.S. "Ardent." One of the only two Survivors of the Ship.
“By about nine o'clock practically all firing had ceased, and the 4th Flotilla took station astern of the battle fleet in two lines, about a mile apart.
We were all steaming to the southward towards the Heligoland
Bight at about 17 knots. Various firings went on on either side of us, but I could not make out any ships.
Once our line eased down for some reason and nearly stopped, when the Fortune, which was next astern of me, opened fire from the starboard side, and we clearly saw a submarine on the surface which fired a torpedo at the Fortune, but missed.
We charged round at the submarine but she disappeared, and we didn't see her again.
It then became evident that the enemy were close at hand. We saw flashes and heard guns all round us, and several destroyers in our line opened fire.
Then I clearly perceived four big ships on a nearly parallel
but slightly converging course to us, on our starboard quarter.
They challenged several times, and their challenge was not an English one. They then switched on their searchlights, picked up the Fortune, and opened fire on her.
The leaders of my line appeared to increase speed and turn away to port. I could see the Fortune was hard hit, so altered round to starboard and fired a torpedo at the leading enemy ship.
We could all see it hit most clearly, and there was an enormous upheaval of water right forward. Her foremost lights went out, and she turned away.
By this time other searchlights were on us from the second ship, and fire was opened on us, but we got through and away with very little damage.
We caught a last glimpse of the Fortune, on fire and in a sinking condition, but fighting still and firing her guns in a most inspiring manner.
The Fortune had been in my sub-division for over two years, during which time we had always worked together, and her Captain, Lieut. Com. F. G. Terry, was in my class in the Britannia, and a very great friend of mine.
But the Ardent was not to survive the Fortune for long.
As we got away from this attack I could see that a most desperate action was being fought on our starboard hand, where our other line of destroyers were.
A great flame suddenly went up and lit up the sea for a great distance round. This burning ship turned out to be the Tipperary, our Captain "D.'s" ship. She burnt a long time.
It was now nearly midnight, and I found myself alone, and so resumed the course of the fleet and increased speed, hoping to pick up the rest of my division.
Smoke was reported right ahead, which I thought would be theirs but as I got nearer realised that it was not our flotilla, but a big ship steaming on exactly the opposite course to us.
I attacked at once, and from a very close range our remaining torpedoes were fired, but before I could judge of the effect the enemy switched on searchlights and found us at once.
I then became aware that the Ardent was taking on a division of German battleships. However, we opened fire and ran on at full speed.
The next moments were perhaps the most thrilling that anyone could experience.
Our guns were useless against such big adversaries; our torpedoes were fired; we could do no more, but wait in the full glare of the blinding searchlights for the shells that could not fail to hit us soon at such close range.
There was perfect silence on the bridge, and not a word was spoken. It must only have been seconds, but it seemed like hours.
At last it came, and as the first salvo hit I heard a seaman ej*****te almost under his breath, "Oo-ooh," as one does to a bursting rocket.
Shell after shell hit us, and our speed diminished and then stopped; then the dynamo stopped, and all the lights went out.
Our three guns that had been barking away like good 'uns ceased firing one by one.
I looked on to the forecastle and saw and heard the Captain of the forecastle exhorting the only remaining man of his gun's crew to "Give them one more," but that "one more" was never fired, and I saw later both these brave souls stretched out dead.
I myself was wounded by almost the first salvo, but felt no great pain or discomfort.
The actual feeling when I was struck was as if I had been hit on the thigh with an iron bar, though eventually a piece of shell about as big as my little finger was taken out of me.
The enemy ships suddenly switched off lights and "ceased fire." I could feel the ship was sinking, and said so to my 1st Lieutenant, who also was on the bridge, and told him to get out the boats and rafts, or what might be left of them.
I tried to get down the starboard bridge ladder, but that was shot away. The port one was hanging by a shred, and I slid down that.
The leading telegraphist came up to me in the quietest and most matter-of-fact way, and asked if he should make any report. I told him what to make, and he saluted, disappeared, and I never saw him again.
The leading signalman came up and said in the most cheerful way,
"Well, the old Ardent done her bit all right, Sir."
The ship was nearly gone, so it only remained for us to try and save
as many of the crew as possible.
HMS Ardent Sinks (soon after Midnight).
A terrible scene of destruction and desolation was revealed to me as I walked aft (with some difficulty).
All boats were in pieces. The funnels looked more like nutmeg graters. The rafts were blown to bits, and in the ship's side and deck were holes innumerable.
In the very still atmosphere, the smoke and steam poured out from the holes in the deck perfectly straight up into the air.
Several of my best men came up and tried to console me, and all were delighted that we had at length been in action and done our share. But many were already killed and lay around their guns and places of duty.
Most of the engine-room and stokehold brigade must have been killed outright.
I walked right aft and sat down on the ward-room hatch. I could do no more as my leg was very stiff and bleeding a lot. My servant and another seaman, both of whom had been with me over two years, came aft to look for me and to help me.
I sent them forward and told them to pass the word for each man to look out for himself.
For a moment or two I was quite alone; the smoke cut me off from those further forward, and there was absolute quiet and stillness.
Then all of a sudden we were again lit up by searchlights, and the enemy poured in four or five more salvoes at point blank range, and then switehed off her lights once more.
This would be about ten minutes from the time we were first hit.
The Ardent gave a big lurch, and I bethought myself of my "Gieve" waistcoat (life jacket). I blew and blew without any result whatever, and found that it had been shot through.
Another lurch, and the ship heeled right over, and threw me to the ship's side. I could feel she was going, so I flopped over into the sea, grabbing a lifebuoy that was providentially at hand.
The Ardent's stern kept up a few moments, then she slowly sank from view.
As the smoke and steam cleared off I could see many heads in the water-about forty or fifty I should think.
There was no support beyond life-belts, lifebuoys, and floating waistcoats, so I was afraid that few of us could possibly survive, especially as I realised that all the destroyers had gone on, and that no big ship would dare to stop, even if they saw us in the water.
I spoke to many men, and saw most of them die one by one. Not a man of them showed any fear of death, and there was not a murmur complaint, or cry for help from a single soul.
Their joy was, and they talked about it to the end, that they and the Ardent had "done their bit" as they put it.
While there were still many alive, a German came close and fired a star-shell over us. I could see her distinctly, and was all for giving her a hail, but the men all said "No"; they would sooner take the remote chance of being saved by an English ship than be a prisoner in Germany.
I was nearly done-in once or twice in the first hour by men hanging on to me in the last stages of exhaustion, and I was separated from my lifebuoy and was pulled right over in the water, but managed to recover myself and the buoy.
None of the men appeared to suffer at all; they just seemed to lie back and go to sleep.
After a long weary while the sun came up, and then I was feeling much more comfortable than two hours previously.
I found a skiffs oar floating past, and put it under my arms. I began to feel very drowsy, and dropped off into a sort of sleep several times, only to be awakened again by waves slapping into my face.
There was quite a swell, but the surface of the water was smooth, owing to the masses of oil floating about from sunken ships.
I woke again, after what I felt to be a long time, to hear a shout, and could see ships a long way off.
I took a sort of detached interest in them, heard and gave an answering shout to "Stick it, Ardent's!" to someone in the water near by, but whom I could not see, and watched the ships disappear again without much interest, and dozed off again.
Once more I woke to find a flotilla leader - the Marksman - close alongside me.
I sang out for help, and in reply got a welcome and reassuring shout, " You're all right, sir; we're coming," and once again relapsed into unconsciousness, and have no recollection at all of being actually got on board.
The time I was picked up was just after six o'clock.
I began to take an interest in the outside world again about 7.30, and from that moment, with the exception, of course, of my leg, which was very stiff and painful, and also a few odd scratches and cuts, I felt absolutely no ill effects whatsoever from my long period in the sea.
We had rather a rough passage back, but they were very kind to me in the Marksman.
I got quite a start once when the forecastle guns right over my head opened fire, but I got a reassuring message the same moment from the Captain to say that they weren't in action, only sinking the Sparrowhawk, which had been so badly damaged in collision that it was impossible to tow her back.
I was placed on board the hospital ship China on June 2nd, and was operated on that night.
I could not finish a narrative like this without a word about my crew.
They were really a splendid lot, and all through the long, weary months of waiting they were as cheery and contented as possible.
I always felt that their great spirits, confidence, and the alacrity with which they tackled every job was a much greater source of inspiration and help to me than anything I did was to them.
I was lucky, too in my officers. The 1st Lieutenant, Lieut. Egan, on that last great night, was calmness personified.
The torpedo-gunner (Mr. Livermore) seemed almost as much pleased that his torpedo, which scored the first hit, hadn't "broken surface" (a great matter for professional pride with gunners (T)) as that it had hit.
The artificer engineer and his staff did just what was wanted, and faithfully fulfilled every order from the bridge till death overtook them.
All hands fought the ship with the utmost gallantry, and in a most tenacious and
determined manner, till she sank beneath them, and then met their death in that composed and happy spirit that I am convinced comes to all those in that composed and happy spirit that I am convinced comes to all those who do their duty to the end.
May they rest in peace.”
