Admiral Sir Max Horton was one of the best fighting admirals in the Royal Navy in the Second World War. Bold and daring, inspiring those who served under him with his confidence, his astonishing breadth of knowledge of naval affairs and ships, and his unshakable belief in victory.
Vice-Admiral Sir Max Kennedy Horton, RN
Knight Grand Cross of the Order of the Bath, Distinguished Service Order & two bars, Legion of Merit from the United States of America, Order of St George, Board of Trade Medal for Saving Life at Sea, Légion d’honneur, Croix de Guerre; Order of St. Vladimir, Order of St. Anna, Order of St. Stanislaus; Order of Orange-Nassau, Order of St. Olaf.
We should all know of the high-minded British Admiral of unimpeachable character, Sir Max Horton. He defeated Dönitz and his U-Boats and won the Battle of the Atlantic. Do not admire Dönitz. He was an anti-Semite (“I would rather eat dirt than have my grandson grow up in the Jewish spirit and faith.”) who agreed with the ideology of the Nazi Party and groveled and debased himself every time he met Hitler. He looked up to the evil Fuhrer as a great man.
Admiral Sir Max Horton RN, C-in-C Western Approaches, 1943
Unfortunately, today Dönitz continues to be well known, even admired by some. These admirers must be unaware– or undisturbed– by Dönitz’s shallow and conniving personality, his betrayal of his men as well as the highest traditions of his navy, and his revolting subservience to Adolf Hitler. He was such a lickspittle that other members of Hitler’s entourage referred to Dönitz as “Hitler Jugend Quex.” This was the name of a film about a true and loyal Hitler Youth who is the “Quex” of the title.
Dönitz’s unwavering loyalty to the man who started World War Two was rewarded after Hitler killed himself. In his last written orders, he appointed Dönitz as his successor.
Hence, it is a terrible irony of history that the upright, civilized man of strong character who bested Dönitz, his nemesis in the Battle of the Atlantic, is hardly known at all. That man was the English admiral, Sir Max Horton, perhaps the greatest fighting admiral produced by Great Britain in the 20th Century and one of the most important Allied commanders in the entire Second World War.
Horton never wrote his memoirs and would have regarded “public relations” as beneath the dignity of an Admiral of the British Royal Navy.
His attitude was not shared by Admiral Andrew Cunningham, C-in-C Mediterranean Fleet and later First Sea Lord, the professional head of the Royal Navy. Cunningham had a keen eye for publicity and wrote a long and windy memoir of his life and service in the Royal Navy. While overshadowed by Cunningham, Vice-Admiral Sir Max Horton was one of the great captains of World War Two at sea.
Adm. Sir Max Horton, C-in-C of the Royal Navy’s Western Approaches Command, addresses assembled Royal Navy sailors aboard HMS Loch Killian. While he spoke to ratings as part of a ship’s company, he never spoke to an individual enlisted man unless absolutely necessary. In fact, he often didn’t speak to anyone except to give orders.
He wasn’t the nicest man in the world, Sir Max. Ruthless, indifferent to anyone’s feelings, “as hard as nails and close as a clam.” A man so self-absorbed he barely knew the names of his staff officers. Horton possessed a “hardness which could at times be terrifying to even the toughest of men. He was a man of few friends…,” said his Chief of Staff in an interview years after the war and after Horton’s death.
A know it all. A driver. Aloof. Vain. Blunt to the point of rudeness. Uncaring of the personal issues which affected the men and women around him.
“…a staff officer reported that a certain cruiser had been lost, and that his son was on board. Horton instinctively replied, ‘Yes, but what happened to the ship?” If he had any friends, inside of the Royal Navy or out, no one knew who they were. Only after his death did those who knew him learn he often spent his leave with theater people in London, that he was a devotee of opera and a long time student of Catholic theology although not himself a Catholic. In fact, Horton was partly Jewish so his successful career in a very anti-Semitic Royal Navy was even more remarkable.
HOW HIS CAPTAIN’S VIEWED HIM
Escort, by Commander D.A. Rayner, RNVR, is one of the best memoirs of World War Two convoy duty in the Royal Navy by an officer who served under Max Horton in Western Approaches. (In fact, if you only want to read one memoir by an escort commander, read this one, although it barely edges out Convoy Escort Commander by Peter Gretton, RN). D.A. Rayner was a keen observer of life around him and a natural leader of men with an instinctive grasp of how to command a ship in action. He was one of the best escort commanders the Royal Navy had in World War Two and the only Royal Naval Volunteer Reserve officer to command an escort group.
D.A. Rayner, RNVR. 1943.
This memoir stands out from others because Rayner not only had a wonderful and self-deprecating sense of humor, he was keenly observant of the events and people around him. His success in the unrelenting Battle of the Atlantic marked him as one of Horton’s stars and he interacted with Sir Max on a level which few ever did. Writes Commander Rayner:
From 17 November 1942 to 15 August 1945, Admiral Sir Max Horton was known by the Wind-in-the-Willows sounding acronym: CINCWA (sinkwa), Commander in Chief, Western Approaches — the largest operational command in the entire Royal Navy — over 121,000 men and women with over 300 escort ships. So why had Prime Minister Winston Churchill himself put Sir Max at the head of the most important command in the Royal Navy? Because CINCWA commanded all British forces contesting German U-Boats for control of the North Atlantic — the most critical battle of the war. “It isn’t the most important battle of the war,” said First Sea Lord, Sir Dudley Pound. “It is the war.”
merchant ship sinking after being torpedoed
And the British were losing. Ship after ship being sunk by U-Boats — an average of four merchant ships each and every day by the winter of 1942/1943. By March, the United Kingdom had only a three week supply of food. Unless they could receive the goods being sent over the seas from America, Great Britain would be forced to surrender.
In a gray month, in a gray time, Sir Max came to Derby House in Liverpool, to a top-secret command bunker built several years before on Churchill’s orders. It is now a museum. In the beginning, few liked the man — and that was the high point of his popularity. Not that Max cared. Desperate times call for ruthless men. You had served with him in the past? Perhaps as a young officer in the Great War? That mattered for nothing. If you weren’t up to snuff, Sir Max sent you packing. He rid Western Approaches Command of “incompetents – of whom there were plenty…” said one of his best seagoing escort captains, Commander Peter Gretton, who retired from the Royal Navy in 1963 as Vice-Admiral Sir Peter Gretton KCB, DSO & Two Bars, OBE, DSC.
Just a few days after he walked through the guarded steel door of the bunker, everyone throughout the command began to feel the dragon’s breath. Sir Max inspected, asked questions. Lots of questions. If you didn’t know the answer, you were out. Dockyard superintendents slow getting work done; supply officers who could not get organized; escort captains not aggressive enough; training officers who didn’t know enough? They were dismissed. All of them. Immediately. On the spot. This did not happen gradually. It happened in the first few months and kept on happening if anyone slacked off.
Royal Navy convoy escort destroyer HMS Inglefield in heavy seas.
No matter what one’s assignment, Sir Max impressed on each and every man and woman in his command that they had but one goal: bring the convoys safely through the wolf-packs in the North Atlantic by sinking U-Boats. Sir Max focused everyone on this goal. Nothing else mattered. And one of the best ways to sink U-Boats was by ceaselessly training the men and the women who comprised Western Approaches Command. No matter what task you performed, you could perform it better.
Escort captains went to a special school. Anti-aircraft gunners trained in realistic simulation booths created by the British motion picture industry. Individuals were sent to one course after another. Entire escort groups were pulled out of the battle and trained and trained till they could not only execute every command but correctly anticipate every command. Training, training, and more training. Realistic training. Everyone one cursed him for it. Officers and ratings began to call him “Der Fuhrer.” And they came up with a slogan, parroted by all, “Max knows everything. Max knows everything.” And he did — or most of it anyway. He was the most competent, most informed, most knowledgeable, and most experienced officer in the Royal Navy. He knew it and so did everyone else.
World War II, 1942, Admiral Sir Max Horton looking at a picture showing the submarine that he commanded in World War One. (Photo by Popperfoto/Getty Images)
If you commanded an escort ship, don’t tell Sir Max that a U-Boat got away from you because of some surprise maneuver. Sir Max knew everything about submarines — more than anyone in the Royal Navy and more than most in the German Navy. Max had begun his career in the Royal Navy in submarines, at a time when they were just curiosities. In 1914, the beginning of World War One, a young Max Horton had sunk the first warship ever sent to the bottom by a submarine. In 1940 and 1941, Max Horton served as C-in-C Submarines for the Royal Navy, revitalizing this previously neglected arm of the service.
Max Horton, (left) as commander of submarine HMS E-9 with Noel Laurence (right), commander of HMS E1 during service with British Submarine Flotilla in the Baltic during World War One.
Don’t tell Sir Max that when your engine broke down in the North Atlantic it took eight hours to fix. Max knew how long it took to repair a ship’s engine. Unlike any other deck officer in the Royal Navy, Max knew all about engines. Mechanical things fascinated him. He could take an engine apart himself. He inspected engine rooms on ships and gave lessons to Royal Navy engineers.
Four Royal Navy battleships in line ahead circa 1930s
Seamanship? Don’t tell Sir Max anything about that. He had been at sea since he was thirteen, served on vessels of every sort, and commanded vessels of every size in numbers ranging from one ship to a squadron. Max was one of the few men in the Royal Navy to command the battleship squadron of the British Home Fleet — ships he routinely trained to perform the most complex maneuvers — at full speed. At night. Radar had not then been invented.
Sir Max on the cover of a wartime edition of Life Magazine. He became famous in the US because of the photo spread of him in this issue which includes photographs of Sir Max playing golf which he did everyday war or no war.
Torpedoes? When commanding the British submarine fleet before his tenure at Western Approaches, one of his submarine captains described a torpedo attack on a German ship. The attack had failed, the man said because the torpedo had a faulty detonator and did not explode. Wrong. Max knew everything about torpedoes. Admit that what you said was rubbish he told the captain who brought him this story and the captain admitted it was rubbish. Sir Max had the torpedo blueprints brought to him. With the young captain, he worked through them to establish why the torpedo had failed to explode. And there was a fault, but not in the detonator. Orders went to the submarine fleet the next morning instructing them on what changes to make. Radar? Gunnery? Aircraft? Unlike most officers of his generation, Max had realized their importance long before the war. He invited 15 Group of RAF Coastal Command — responsible for patrolling Western Approaches — to share his headquarters — and they did. 15 Group RAF Coastal Command in co-located headquarters with Western Approaches. Attention like this from a senior officer was unusual. Coastal Command was the red-headed step-child of the RAF — the ‘Cinderella Service’ those within called it. While a part of the Royal Air Force, they were under the tactical command of the Royal Navy. It could have been a bureaucratic nightmare. It wasn’t because men like Max Horton made it work.
Sir Max could look directly into the plotting room from his desk.
(photo courtesy of www.bbc.co.uk/liverpool/localhistory)
For many hours of the day and night, Sir Max stared at a plotting map which took up an entire wall of the very large operations room in his bunker and the map told him with up to the minute accuracy the location of every ship, every plane, and every convoy in his vast part of the ocean. All of this was kept up to date by several dozen Wrens (women in the Royal Navy) who climbed long ladders and moved the magnetic markers to their new positions. The ladders were so tall that one Wren slipped and fell to her death. It is said that her ghost still haunts the bunker.
Operations Room at Derby House
Alongside those markers was placed the presumed location of every U-Boat, this last information clattering in unceasingly from the U-Boat tracking room in London. This unit kept a detailed plot which showed their estimate of the location of every German U-boat based on information from dozens of sources including Enigma (although they did not know that). Additionally, the estimated position of every merchant ship in the world came in constantly from the “Trade Plot” in London. There, in a room located next to the U-Boat tracking room, a handful of retired Merchant Navy captains kept the “Trade Plot” up to date using index cards! Dönitz hadn’t anything remotely close to this type of organization. Could never even have dreamed the British and later the Americans would have this. But we did. It required immense effort, money, and a huge number of people. But it was done. Convoy battles usually took place at night. After dinner, Sir Max would come into the plotting room and watch the action develop. Wrote one of his officers:
“His words were always direct. ‘Where is…?’ ‘What is…?’ ‘Why is…?’ ‘Why the hell not?’ Then having grasped the situation, his decision would come in a flash…He seemed to have an uncanny prevision of what the enemy would do next, which came of course from his long experience in submarines.”
If you were competent, if you knew your business, if you did it to your utmost, and if you would admit your mistakes and learn from them, then you could do no wrong with Sir Max. He would back you to the hilt. He brought men to the fore who had an instinctive feel for how to kill a U-Boat and they became famous for their exploits. Peter Gretton, pictured here at as a Lt. Commander in the Royal Navy in World War Two. He eventually became Vice-Admiral Sir Peter William Gretton, KCB, OBE, DSO, (with two bars–meaning he won it three times) DSC. Born 27 August 1912 died 11 November 1992. There was Sir Peter Gretton, one of the best escort commanders of the war, likewise ruthless, intolerant of the smallest error, and dismissive of most officers in the Royal Navy. But Sir Max knew his man. Gretton won the Battle of Convoy ONS 5 in May 1943, inflicting such damage on the U-Bootwaffe that Dönitz was forced to recall all U-Boats from the North Atlantic. True, Gretton lost ten merchant ships out of Convoy ONS 5, but his escorts sank five U-Boats, an unacceptable loss ratio for the Germans. (ONS 5: Outward Bound North Slow. The 5th convoy using this routing.) Commander Donald MacIntyre DSO DSC RN who was responsible for sinking two of Germany’s foremost U-boat aces, Otto Kretschmer and Joachim Schepkle on 16 March 1941. Photograph taken on the bridge of HMS HESPERUS at Liverpool. His memoirs, U-Boat Killer, are very much worth your time reading. There was Donald MacIntyre, who sank U99 and captured Otto Kretschmer, the top ace in the German U-Bootwaffe who later commanded all NATO naval forces in the Batlic. The greatest of all — Captain Frederick John “Johnnie” Walker — who had been passed over for promotion to captain in 1938, effectively ending his career. He was thought to be a little too keen, Walker was. Talked shop a bit much. And specialized of all things in anti-submarine tactics, hardly something which would be needed when war came — until war did come and it was desperately needed. “Johnnie” Walker sank more U-Boats, 14, than anyone and developed many of the successful anti-U-Boat tactics used by the Royal Navy. He died of a stroke on 9 July 1944 brought on by the intense stress of combat. Captain Frederic John Walker, RN. (1896–1944), CB, Distinguished Service Order with three bars. The two miniatures painted in the lower left corner are the crests of the two ships Walker commanded during which time he sank 14 U-Boats. The first ship was HMS Starling and the second was HMS Stork.
Statue of Frederic John Walker.
A commemorative statue at the Pier Head in Liverpool. Date 4 February 2006. (Photo taken on 4 February by Robert Brown and courtesy of geograph.org.uk) It says something of Admiral Horton that for his greatest captain, he arranged a funeral equivalent to the man’s deeds. Sailors drew the coffin, affixed to a gun carriage, through the crowded streets of Liverpool to the Cathedral. The coffin was escorted on foot by six Royal Navy captains, an unprecedented tribute and in another astonishing tribute, Sir Max himself delivered the eulogy.
The funeral of Captain Frederic John Walker. His coffin was escorted by six Royal Navy captains. (photo courtesy of www.mikekemble.com)
When the war ended, Sir Max, who already had a long list of decorations, received even more. The one he valued the most? “Chief Commander of the Legion of Merit of the United States of America.” This was the highest decoration the United States could give to non-Americans and few received it. Yet with all of his honors and awards and victories, dispatches and orders, even a cover story in Life Magazine, Admiral Sir Max Horton remain a mystery. This is a great frustration to those of us who study World War Two, particularly the Battle of the Atlantic. Sir Max never wrote his memoirs or, to my knowledge, wrote anything about himself.
Admiral Sir Max Horton was one of the small group of extraordinary men who led the Allies to victory.
The strain of his immense responsibilities robbed Sir Max of his health and in 1951, just six years after the end of the war, he died. He was sixty-seven. His ill-health precluded his life-long dream of living in the warm climate of Southern France. The only biography of him, from which many of the above quotes are drawn, is Max Horton and the Western Approaches: A Biography of Admiral Sir Max Kennedy Horton by Rear Admiral W.S. Chalmers, RN, a family friend and well-known author of British naval biographies. This is very much an “authorized biography.” Max Horton did have a brother who was married and that family inherited all of his personal papers which, to my knowledge, they have never released. Chalmers only saw what he was shown and was under some very strict ground rules about attribution. While Sir Max was reputed to not have a friend in the world, he did have friends. We just don’t know who they were. Chalmers quotes from numerous letters Horton wrote to friends but never tells us who the letters were written to. Presumably, he was not allowed to disclose that information. I can say this is the only biography I have ever read which never discloses who any of the subject’s personal correspondence was addressed to. Admiral Horton had an extensive acquaintanceship throughout the British Empire. A man in his position would certainly have known a great many people. He entertained to the degree his rank and social position required it. On several occasions, during the war, the King and Queen came to luncheon at his formal living quarters in Derby House. A letter he wrote afterward to a friend clearly indicates he knew them already. But his background? Parents? His childhood? The source of his inner strength? His heroes? His inner life? Of Sir Max as a man? We have no idea. We do know this: the men and women under his command in Western Approaches never came to love him. They never came to like him. But they came quickly to respect him and even more, have the greatest confidence in him — for Sir Max radiated confidence. The war ended at last. Slowly people went back to their civilian lives. The hundreds of RN ships that had defeated the U-Boats were broken up and sold for scrap. The HQ bunker in Liverpool sealed up and practically forgotten. Sir Max passed on. And the veterans of Western Approaches Command? To the end of their lives, they were proud to have served under Sir Max. Why? They knew something which has only become clear in the last years: in the moment of supreme peril against a deadly and determined foe who was serving a régime of unimaginable depravity, Admiral Sir Max Horton was one of the small group of extraordinary men who led the Allies to victory.
Lest We Forget
Vice Admiral Sir Max Kennedy Horton, RN.
(29 November 1883 – 30 July 1951)
Western Approaches Command
19 November 1942 to 15 August 1945
Barnett, Correli. Engage The Enemy More Closely: The Royal Navy in the Second World War. USA: W. W. Norton & Company, 1991.
Beesly, Patrick. Very Special Intelligence: The Story of the Admiralty’s Operational Intelligence Centre 1939-1945. Wales: Greenhill Books, 2000.
Chalmers, William Scott. Max Horton and the Western Approaches: A Biography of Admiral Sir Max Kennedy Horton. London, UK: Hodder & Stoughton, 1954.
Gannon, Michael. Black May. USA: Harper Collins Publishers Inc., 1998.
Gretton, Peter. Convoy Escort Commander. Bungay, Suffolk, UK: Corgi Books, 1971.
Hague, Arnold. The Allied Convoy System 1939-1945: Its Organization, Defence, and Operation. Canada: Vanwell Publishing Limited, 2000.
Hendrie, Andrew. The Cinderella Service: RAF Coastal Command 1939-1945. England: Pen & Sword Aviation, 2006.
Kaplan, Philip and Jack Currie. Convoy: Merchant Sailors at War 1939-1945. Singapore: Naval Institute Press, 2000.
Rayner, Douglas A. Escort: The Battle of the Atlantic. London, UK: William Kimber & Co Ltd., 1955.
Wilcox, Richard. “Admiral Sir Max Horton.” Life. 2 August 1943
The painting of Sir Max is oil on canvass by Arthur Douglas Wales-Smith. Courtesy of the National Maritime Museum.
All photographs courtesy of the Imperial War Museum unless otherwise noted.
Portrait of Captain Frederick John Walked painted by Leslie J. Humphreys. Oil on canvas, 121.7 x 151.2 cm. Courtesy of the collection of the Atkinson Art Gallery.
This article is copyrighted (c) by Charles McCain and may not be used without the author’s permission.
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