110 years ago this week, on March 18th, 1915, my great-grandfather Charles Lind Lamont Young stood on the deck of the HMS Irresistible in the beautiful waters of the Dardanelles.
The Irresistible was part of an attack force there to smash their way through to the Turkish capital, Constantinople. But at 4:15pm a deafening blast ripped through the hull, throwing Charles and crew to the deck as smoke poured through the corridors. Was Charles going to survive?
To understand what brought him to this moment, we need to step back—back to his childhood in Mittagong, NSW.
I can relate to Charles because we were both born in the 70s – me in the 1970s, him in the 1870s. Like me, Charles lost his father tragically at an early age. And that grief followed him all his life. Unlike me, Charles joined the Royal navy at age 13, having moved back to the UK from Australia as a child.
He married his sweetheart Daisy at 24 years old, and they had four children, my grandfather Monty, a daughter Noni, James, and David. Charles’ whole career was on the water, first with the Royal Navy, then the Merchant Marine—sailing around the world, never truly leaving the sea behind.
In 1914 war broke out that was to affect the whole world. We now know it as World War One, but at the time it was simply known as “The Great War” – the war that was meant to end all wars. While most young men in Britain were ecstatic at the opportunity to get some real live war action under their belt, Charles was considerably less excited, but dutiful.
On August 2nd, 1914 as the rumours of war slowly became reality, he reported to the Admiralty for duty.
Charles was not only dutiful, he was humble. Upon being assigned to the HMS Irresistible, he discovers he has been appointed first lieutenant – the ship’s senior executive officer and third in command of the ship. He writes in his journal:
Joined “Irresistible” about 5:30PM – all good chaps again; the nicest lot I ever had for shipmates judging by first impressions. Learned to my great surprise that I was appointed 1st lieutenant. I feel very very fraud and only hope I shall be able to do the job credit. Went round the ship with commander. Feel rather dazed at the amount I shall have to pick up before I can do my work usefully.
One of Charles’ responsibilities was Battle Officer, a duty shared with the Captain and Commander. The Battle Officer was responsible for taking charge of the ship in a night action, ensuring searchlights and guns were all manned and working.
August 1914 was spent patrolling in and around the English Channel. Charles’ journal shows the joy he had when he had an opportunity to go ashore and see his wife.
A wire from sweetheart, arrive Portsmouth 2:30PM. Went ashore at 1:30 had a shave and haircut and so to the station: quivering with excitement as the train came in. … A day that will never fade from my memory. The day that I saw my wife though only for a few precious hours when I had made up my mind that we should probably never meet again. She came back to the dockyard with me in a Taxi. Sweet little woman. I can face anything now that I have seen her again.
In February 1915, Irresistible joined an attack force in the Mediterranean. A plan was forming for the British and French fleet to storm the Dardanelles – the narrowest point of water and the entrance to Turkey, home of the Ottoman Empire.
The plan was to use exclusively naval power. No need for troops to land.
Now in a few weeks, Australians and New Zealanders commemorate ANZAC day – the landing of troops from our countries in the Dardanelles. So – apologies for spoilers – but this plan was not going to go well.
Through February and March 1915, the British and French fleet discovered just how prepared the Turks were to defend their home. Heavy guns on shore and mines underwater proved a strong deterrent.
On March 17th, campaign commander Admiral John de Robeck had stated to his superiors that the way was now clear to storm the Dardanelles. What none of the allies knew was that, mere days before that meeting, the Ottoman forces had laid mines in a diagonal pattern, that would remain undetected until the fateful battle the next day.
The plan was for the first attack wave to silence the fortresses above and clear any mines. This would clear the way for a second wave – including the Irresistible – to demolish at close range the forts that were defending the Straits.
The first attack wave began at 10:30am, raining down fire and death on several Turkish fortresses and villages. At first, the allies didn’t strike much resistance. However, around midday, Turkish guns started firing back.
Around 2:39 in the afternoon, the French ship Bouvet, part of the first attack wave, was about to leave the straits when suddenly a cloud of yellow smoke rose from its starboard side. The smoke turned black. Bouvet had struck one of those undetected mines. In just 55 seconds, the ship had capsized.
“I had no idea a ship could disappear so fast”, wrote one onlooker.
Turkish guns began firing on the boats scrambling to evacuate the crew of the Bouvet. They were able to rescue 35 people, but 639 men went down with the ship to their doom. The Irresistible moved position to fire on the Namazieh battery, but then came under heavy fire from the Hamidieh I battery, firing four shells at a time with devastating force.
Suddenly, at 4:15, an explosion rocked the Irresistible, lifting the whole ship up. It wasn’t from the guns, it was from below. Irresistible had struck a mine. At once the ship lurched sideward, as its starboard engine room flooded, instantly drowning four men. Then the bulkhead between engine rooms burst, causing the ship to temporarily right itself. The ship was now a sitting duck, with no engine power to move.
Charles and his fellow officers ordered all hands on deck. While the shells from land slammed perilously close, the crew began throwing everything that would float overboard, so they could swim to safety.
A howitzer shell made a direct hit on the conning tower, the ship’s vital control centre, and then another mine blew up under the starboard engine room, close to the keel. Admiral de Robeck ordered the battleship Ocean to take Irresistible in tow, out of the range of the guns. Under heavy fire, the destroyer Wear came alongside and began rescuing the crew.
Charles was one of the 610 crew members rescued that day. But survival didn’t mean safety. The hours following the sinking of the Irresistible would have been chaotic—rescued sailors crowded onto the Wear, scanning the water for shipmates who never surfaced. The smoke and fire from the battle still lingered in the air, while the gunfire that had doomed their ship continued to roar across the strait.
Did Charles watch the Irresistible disappear beneath the waves? Did he know, even then, that this was the end of his naval career?
Back home, his family waited. Every knock at the door, every newspaper headline could bring either relief or heartbreak. His daughter, Noni, later wrote that the uncertainty was unbearable. For weeks, they didn’t know if he was dead or alive. When word finally reached them that Charles had survived, it came with another truth—he would never serve at sea in the same way again.
Somehow, in the midst of everything, Charles rescued this bookshelf—a piece of the ship, a piece of the day that changed his life forever. A silent witness to the worst day of his life.
Charles’ survival came at a cost—his health, his career, and the certainty of the life he had known. But that survival set the course for everything that followed. Without it, the Young family might never have made it to New Zealand. Without it, I wouldn’t be telling this story today.
Because half a world away in New Zealand, an MP and a group of sheep farmers decided to create a school, Flock House, for the sons (and later daughters) of British seamen who had died or been injured in the Great War. As I’ve told in the story of my grandfather Lamont Young, Flock House was the beginning of a new life in a new country for him, and for the Young family.
And so it is because of today, 110 years ago, that I’m a New Zealander. Because of the courage of one man – Charles – and the generosity of many more.
There are two memorials to Charles and his colleagues bravery, but they are not your typical statues or cenotaph.
The first memorial still lies at the bottom of the Dardanelles, the wrecks of the Irresistible, the Bouvet, the Ocean, and countless other allied and Turkish ships.
Ten years ago, explorer and documentary filmmaker Savas Karakas released a powerful documentary film and this book, Echoes of the Deep.
Savas 3D-scanned the wrecks of all the ships, and lovingly pieced together the stories of the role each ship played, 110 years ago today. Here’s what he said:
“Each sunken ship exhibits the most critical moment of what happened, how the winner and loser fought; their war strategies, balance of power and military genius. But perhaps the most important aspect is that shipwrecks also carry the human stories of that day. Like a time capsule sent from the wartime days to the present day, shipwrecks emphasise the importance of peace and like a silent scream, tell us the futility of war and the loss of lives.”
There’s one more memorial to Charles and his colleagues who gave their all in the “war to end all wars”, and that is Flock House. Not the building, which is now in private hands, but the families who came from that first generation of Flocktonians.
Last year Flock House commemorated it’s 100 year anniversary. I was privileged to serve on its committee, and meet the descendants of my grandfather’s shipmates, whose fathers had often made the ultimate sacrifice, whether in the Royal Navy or the merchant marine.
One of my favourite parts of the anniversary were these words shared by Professor of Architecture Andrew Leach, whose grandfather was a shipmate on the SS Remuera with my grandfather, 101 years ago.
As a living memorial, to quote the Viscount Jellicoe, Flock House was “conceived in gratitude; expressed in generosity; administered in wisdom”—it was established in honour of those casualties and wounded of the Royal Navy and the Mercantile Marine, not rendered in “mute stone,” as he put it, but in “the transformation of orphan seamen’s sons and daughters into practice, prosperous New Zealand farmers.” It served not just to mark their lives, but to turn the gratitude of New Zealand’s sheep-owners to those lost and wounded at sea into a future for their children in a new land.“
Charles and family all came to New Zealand, staying for about a decade, before they all returned, except my grandfather, who stayed and started a new tribe of Youngs.
Back in Portsmouth, Charles lived out his days with his beloved Daisy, passing away at the good old age of 80.
As we approach ANZAC day, commemorating the infamous ANZAC landing that became necessary after the failure of this naval battle … we often hear the words “lest we forget”.
110 years ago, Charles stood on the deck of the Irresistible, staring out at the beautiful waters of the Dardanelles. Today, those waters still hold the wrecks of that terrible day—silent witnesses to both courage and loss. Lest we forget the gallant souls who gave their lives, livelihoods and wellbeing to a cause they believed in. But also… lest we forget the senselessness of war, and the desperate urgency of finding other ways to resolve our differences as a species.
