Sea-faring recipients of the Victoria Cross are not too thick on the ground. Less than 10pc of those thus honoured served in the Royal Navy. But one who did was a man born in Swaffham who returned to spend his later life in the town, eschewing the high seas for the delights of rural peace. Arthur Knyvet Wilson (1842-1921) occupied himself by designing the town’s golf course, exchanging the breaker for the bunker.
Ironically, the act of outstanding courage which earned him a Victoria Cross took place not on the high seas but in the Sudanese desert at the second battle of el Teb, in 1884. The first battle had been a disaster when the Mahdist rebels of Sudan (waging a religious revolt against Egyptian rule) annihilated a force of predominantly Egyptian troops and British officers which was nearly three times as large.
The response was the commitment of British troops, including members of the Naval Brigade equipped with Gatling guns.
Wilson, at the time a captain, was observing the proceedings and saw the lieutenant in charge of one battery killed when a group of Mahdists broke out of hiding and attacked a group as they manoeuvred guns. Wilson leapt in front of them and drawing his sword engaged in face-to-face combat with the leading Mahdists, mainly armed with spears. When his sword broke, he used his fists and held off the attackers until relieved by other troops. It was an act of instinctive courage and saved the men and the guns.
The use of telegraph meant that news of the battle reached home quickly. My great grandfather, whose younger son fought in the same battle, recorded in his diary that news had reached Dereham before lunchtime on the same day, which may explain why Arthur Wilson made a point of writing to his mother that night – the original letter can be seen in the splendid volunteer run museum at Swaffham. In it, Wilson, who had a narrow escape when a sword sliced through his pith helmet, grazing his head, displayed an extraordinary sangfroid. He told his mother that it had been a ‘most enjoyable day’ and that ‘my head has been done up with sticking plaster and is all right’. Whether she read it with the same sangfroid is not known. His subsequent return to Swaffham was greeted with jubilation in the town and all the shops closed so that the whole population could celebrate. Apparently, his sisters went to some length to ensure that he was not warned in advance of the reception he would get lest modesty or embarrassment led him to change his plans.
He was clearly a man of action, courageous instinctively, and calm when the action was over. His career falls into two parts, the first at sea, where his ability and professionalism were pretty well universally acknowledged, and the second in Whitehall, about which the evidence is much more ambivalent.
As a sea officer he was recognised as a highly professional and organised commander. He ran, literally, a very tight ship. His command was always on a ‘war footing’, required to manoeuvre at night without lights to simulate war conditions, and undertaking multiple exercises to ensure efficiency. The other side of the coin was that he was seen as unfeeling, unsympathetic and unnecessarily harsh in his approach to his crew, who gave him the nickname – well known in senior circles too – of ’old ‘ard ‘art. Supposedly, when in home waters, he kept the fleet at sea over Christmas unnecessarily. Being single himself he had little time for domestic demands. Nonetheless he was appointed Admiral Commanding, Channel Fleet.
Perhaps more importantly in the context of this later appointment was that his leadership style was that of an absolute ‘loner’. He consulted no one, discussed nothing with his officers and demanded instant and unquestioning obedience. With these qualities he was more likely to command respect than affection, and that respect was earned by the total competence with which he carried out his duties. But his personal insularity was a serious hazard in a fleet commander. No less an authority than Prince Louis of Battenberg, soon to lose his role in a welter of anti-German sentiment, expressed concern at the risks implicit in having a fleet commander who shared nothing with, and delegated nothing to, his subordinates. He wrote that ‘If anything was to suddenly remove the C-in-C there would be chaos.’ Reflecting on Wilson’s character Prince Louis described him as a man for whom ‘a pipe and a biscuit’ was meal enough at any time, and who was ‘probably able to work 20 hours a day and sleep in his clothes’. Wilson was certainly a different animal from Nelson whose consultative style with his senior officers meant that that the respect in which he was held by them was matched by their affection for him.
There were other positive aspects of Wilson’s career. He had an inventive mind, and very little other than his career to which to turn it. He was responsible for an improved semaphore signalling system and a gunnery sight. He worked on the early net defence systems against torpedo attack, and developed better ways of firing torpedoes. This last suggests that the remark reportedly made by him that ‘submarines were underhand and damned un-English’ was probably a fiction!
He was also regarded as a master tactician by some, including Churchill whose disastrous Dardanelles project he later supported. Others were sceptical. Major General Callwell, with whom he was to serve in Whitehall on the War Council described him as ‘a man of quite inferior calibre’ and said: 'The idea that he is a strategist of the first water has no foundation in fact.’
Perhaps there was a whiff of jealousy in the remark. After all, Wilson had been awarded his VC in a land battle which was more naturally Callwell’s metier than his.
Promoted to Admiral of the Fleet in 1907, Wilson left his Channel post and took a brief retirement back in Norfolk. It was perhaps typical of his nature that he insisted that his departure was not to be marked by the traditional display of cheering sailors.
The following year he was recalled to review the results of that year’s manoeuvres, and in 1909 Prime Minister Asquith, without consultation with the Admiralty, appointed him to the Committee of Imperial Defence. Two years later he became First Sea Lord. Perhaps even he realised that he was not ideal for the role. Certainly, others doubted the wisdom of the appointment, the Commander-in-Chief, Home Fleet among them who referred to Wilson as ‘deadly dull, uncompromising, and impatient in argument’. Wilson accepted the post with some reservations, and probably more out of a sense of duty than ambition.
His limitations were soon exposed, and Churchill, who had previously been a supporter, contrived to have him offered a peerage as part of an early retirement package. With great dignity, Wilson declined the honour but showed an unusual degree of emotion, apparently complaining to a friend that he ‘had been sacked like a butler’. Again, he left without ceremony, making his farewells privately and walking alone out of the Admiralty into the street.
A little more than two years later he was back, with the start of the First World War. Recalled by Churchill, who admired his tactical ability, he agreed to return but insisted on having no official employment or payment. He continued as an advisor until 1918 when he finally retired to Swaffham.
There can be no argument but that he was a first-class seagoing officer, though his failure to inform and delegate was a weakness. There can be no argument that he was imbued with a very real sense of duty. There can be no argument that he was a man of great courage. However, his appointment as First Sea Lord was a stretch too far. He did not have the flexibility of mind, the ability to compromise to find solutions, or even to work collaboratively with others that the role called for. His performance as First Sea Lord was most pithily summed up by eminent historian Sir Hew Strachan as ‘abrasive, inarticulate and autocratic’.
While researching his life I was reminded of the Peter principle, viz that people are promoted because they have excelled in more junior roles, until they reach the point at which they are no longer competent. That’s one sad aspect of his career. I was also very aware of how alone he seems to have been. Entirely absorbed in his work, living an austere life without many close friends, and unmarried, he cuts a rather pathetic figure. Yet ‘pathetic’ is not a word easily applied to such a courageous, driven and loyal servant of the Royal Navy and of his country.
He inherited his baronetcy on the death of his brother in 1919 and I feel glad that this least ‘clubbable’ of men should have ended his days in the Swaffham he loved, involved in local good works and able to spend his leisure on the golf course he had helped plan.
I believe we should remember him not for his failings but for his courage and his service at sea.
Swaffham Museum has artefacts relating to Wilson including his telescope and correspondence, and is well worth a visit, both to see them and to trace the remarkable story of another of Swaffham's famous sons, Howard Carter, who discovered Tutankhamun’s tomb.
