Orders, Decorations, Medals and Militaria

The exceptional Falklands War D.S.M. pair awarded to Petty Officer (Sonar) (Submarine) Graham J. R. ‘Horse’ Libby, Royal Navy, the senior qualified diver in H.M. Submarine Conqueror, who volunteered to carry out a night dive in ‘dark, freezing, and terrifying conditions’ to free a floating wire aerial which had become trapped round Conqueror’s propeller, causing cavitation and noise which put the submarine at great risk of detection by the enemy; the only NATO nuclear-powered submarine to engage an enemy ship with torpedoes, it was Conqueror that torpedoed and sank the Argentinean cruiser General Belgrano on 2 May 1982; having returned to U.K. waters in July 1982, Conqueror shortly afterwards took part in Operation ‘Barmaid’, an audacious, highly secret and ultimately successful mission to capture a complete ‘towed-array sonar system’ from a Soviet spy-ship - Graham Libby led the team of four divers who brought the prize aboard

Distinguished Service Medal, E.II.R., 2nd issue (A PO (S) (SM) G J R Libby D152458V); South Atlantic 1982, with rosette (APO (SSM) G J R Libby D152458V HMS Conqueror) with related miniature medals and submariner’s badge, nearly extremely fine (2) £40,000-£50,000

Provenance: Formerly in the Collection of the late Len Matthews who purchased these medals from the recipient in December 1988.

D.S.M. London Gazette 8 October 1982: ‘In recognition of gallantry during the operations in the South Atlantic.’ The published citation states:

‘Acting Petty Officer (Sonar) (SM) Graham John Robert Libby, D152458V.

While on patrol north of the Falklands Islands on 25th May 1982 a floating wire aerial trapped round HMS CONQUEROR’s propeller causing cavitation and noise to the detriment of her operational effectiveness.
Acting Petty Officer (Sonar) (SM) Libby volunteered to carry out a dive to free the obstruction. With the submarine surfaced he knew full well that if she were detected by Argentine aircraft she would possibly have to dive without recovering him. He was also battered by heavy waves, threatening to part his lifeline and sweeping him away. Nonetheless he succeeded in clearing most of the obstruction, after twenty minutes in dark, freezing, and terrifying conditions, enabling HMS CONQUEROR to continue on her patrol unhindered.
Acting Petty Officer (Sonar) (SM) Libby demonstrated a degree of cold, calculated courage and willingness to risk his life for the benefit of the ship far beyond any call of duty.’

A total of only 11 D.S.Ms. awarded for the Falklands War, including 6 to the Royal Navy, 2 to the Royal Marines, and 3 to the Fleet Air Arm. Libby’s D.S.M. and the D.S.O. to Commander Christopher Wreford-Brown are the only two gallantry awards to submariners for this campaign.

The story of the sinking of the Belgrano has been well-told in many books but it was not until the publication in 2012 of Stuart Prebble’s book ‘Secrets of the Conqueror’ that another story emerged; one of clandestine, highly secret and sensitive cold war operations, in which Conqueror was involved both before and after the Falklands conflict. His story is based on, amongst other things, personal conversations he had in later years with many of the crew of the Conqueror, clearly including Graham ‘Horse’ Libby.

The South Atlantic

Of the sinking of the Belgrano, Prebble writes: ‘Lunch on that day consisted of roast pork with all the trimmings, followed by apple crumble and custard. Grant Louch [weapons engineering rating] had just come off his morning duty and tried to grab two hours’ sleep before he would be called to action stations. Needless to say, he did not sleep. “I remember it being very calm,” he recalls. “Everyone was doing everything exactly by the book, just as we had been trained to do.”

Petty Officer Graham Libby said later, “You think ‘That’s never going to happen - we’ll never fire.’ Even up to the point of firing, we never thought we would do it.”’

On 2 May 1982, Conqueror moved into position and sank the Belgrano with three Mark 8 torpedoes, fired at three-second intervals. Having ensured that he had hit his target, Commander Wreford-Brown took Conqueror deep and fast for a sprint away from the immediate area, and spent the next two days patrolling the area around the site of the attack. In the week prior to the attack, Libby had had a very lucky escape which no doubt helped to prepare him for the ordeal that he was soon to undertake. Prebble takes up the story:

‘On board the Conqueror, the fourteen SBS men were anxious to join in the operation to re-occupy South Georgia but, to their evident dismay, the assault plan had no role for them. Later when Conqueror surfaced to off-load them into a helicopter for transfer to the destroyer Antrim, a huge wave suddenly swept over the deck and carried one of them into the icy waters, along with Conqueror’s own Petty Officer Graham Libby. The ship’s helicopter quickly moved into place and lowered its single rescue hoist above their heads. Libby was wearing only his waterproofs and immediately felt the warmth from his body draining away into the frozen sea. The SBS man had on his dry suit, but neither was keen to remain in the water too long. There was a brief exchange of glances between the two men: who would avail themselves of the rescue hoist and who would remain in the ice-cold mountainous waves? The question answered itself; both men managed to secure themselves into the harness and were brought back on board at the same time. Libby was put into a bath to try to get his circulation going again, and spent six hours recovering on board HMS Antrim. When rescuers removed the trousers of the SBS man they were amazed to see that his legs were pink and the blood was circulating normally. These men had been trained in the Arctic, and a dip in the South Atlantic seemed to be a matter of little concern. Eventually the men from the SBS were air-lifted successfully by helicopter to the destroyer.’

On 7 May Conqueror came under attack from an airborne Mark 46 torpedo which used sonar to home in on its target, and the sudden realisation that the torpedo might have locked on to the nuclear submarine caused Wreford-Brown to undertake a series of dangerous high speed manoeuvres, calling for ‘full ahead’ which necessitated operating the ‘Battle Short Switch’ which over-rides all nuclear reactor safety measures designed to regulate pressure and temperature within the reactor. Turning them off could lead to a reactor melt-down.

‘On this occasion, however, the manoeuvre appeared to be entirely justified, because the instruments soon showed that the torpedo was no longer in pursuit. Now, though, it seemed that Conqueror was being hunted in deadly earnest. The order was given to go to silent routine, which meant that those not on operational duty were encouraged to lie in their bunks rather than walk around, and all non-essential machinery was switched off... Wreford-Brown now threw the boat around from deep to shallow, to very deep, to shallow, at every angle imaginable. Sethia [Lieutenant] had a vivid mental image of the submarine zig-zagging through the water, with some lethal weapon ziz-zagging behind in tireless pursuit. Every passing second could bring with it instant annihilation for the submarine and every man on board... After what seemed like hours but was probably only minutes, the submarine appeared to be in the clear; it felt like a very narrow escape.’

The submarine remained on high alert against attacks from the air, even though the Argentines had withdrawn what remained of their surface fleet, including the aircraft carrier, back to home waters. On 22 May Conqueror went to Action Stations and undertook an emergency dive in response to what was probably a false alarm but nerves were still jittery and it was no time to take chances.

Under these fraught circumstances it was apparent that, Prebble relates, ‘Conqueror was continuing to have a range of problems with its communications and as part of one effort to make repairs, an aerial wire had been jettisoned and, it was suspected, become entangled around the submarine propeller. This in turn was causing problems, including loss of speed and, worse still, a good deal of noise as the propeller rotated. The only way to address the situation was to put a diver into the water to investigate and to attempt to dislodge the wire. But this was the South Atlantic; the sea was icy cold and there was a considerable swell. Everyone also knew that if an aircraft appeared while the diver was in the water, there would be no chance but to submerge instantly - thereby abandoning and possibly condemning the diver to death. If he was not killed in the process, he would be left in the water while the boat took evasive measures for however long was necessary - certainly hours and maybe longer. His chance of survival would be remote.’

‘The task fell to Petty Officer Graham ‘Horse’ Libby who, amazingly, was perfectly prepared to go:

“I was a single man. I was quite happy to go out there because I was all pumped up. We had just sunk a blooming great warship - this could be the icing on the cake, you know? It’s just something exciting that I might never ever get a chance to do.”

‘Libby and Tim McClement [First Lieutenant] climbed out onto the submarine casing, with five other divers for support and back-up. All of the men were attached to the boat by life-lines, but straight away a wave swept Libby and John Coulthard [Lieutenant] into the water. Libby immediately disappeared from sight and, to his horror, McClement caught a glimpse of Coulthard lying apparently face-down in the ocean. For a moment it seemed that his life-line was not attached.

“How are things going up there?” From down in the control room, Wreford-Brown chose that precise moment to ask his first lieutenant for a progress report. For what he says was the only time, McClement chose to mislead his captain.

“According to plan sir,” he replied.

The life-line to Coulthard had not broken after all and he was pulled back on board, and Libby also now reappeared at the stern of the boat. Clanking around his body as he was buffeted by the waves was a range of tools and hacksaws which he thought he might need for the task. He edged his way around the submarine to the stern and found that the aerial wire was indeed wrapped tightly around the shaft and blades. Worse still, even though the engines were of course stopped, the propellers were still turning gently, and in danger of severing the diver’s life-line back into the boat. Libby worked away with hacksaws, as speedily as he could, cutting off the wire in sections. The need for dexterity meant that he could not wear gloves, and gradually he felt his hands seize up and his entire body being penetrated by cold. In his position back on the submarine, Tim McClement was constantly scanning the horizon for any sign of an enemy aircraft, knowing that there would be no way of getting Libby back in the boat if he had to give the order to dive. After twenty minutes, and just when his stamina was on the point of giving out, Libby declared the propeller clear and was hauled back inside the submarine. Wreford-Brown noted in his log that Libby’s efforts went ‘far beyond the call of normal duty’ and he was later awarded the Distinguished Service Medal.’

Operation ‘Barmaid’

The infantry battle for the Falklands capital, Port Stanley, had begun on 11 June, and four days later news reached Conqueror that the fighting was over and she was ordered to head for home. Conqueror arrived at Faslane to a triumphant reception on 13 July, proudly flying the Jolly Roger embellished with her achievements. After their return, the crew were sent home to recuperate after being at sea for more than fifteen weeks, and were told that it would be at least two months before they would be called upon again. But it was not to be. Later that same month intelligence reports were received that two Polish AGIs [Auxiliary General Intelligence vessels] were using towed-array sonars in the North Atlantic.

‘Conqueror was still one of the designated submarines for carrying out ‘sneakies’, and anyway had been fitted with the Barmaid equipment designed for severing the towing-cables and retrieving the array. All thoughts about the recent operations in the Falklands were put to one side, and a request went from the head of Naval Intelligence to DS5 for political clearance to carry out an operation to try to capture the longed-for apparatus.’

‘The usual complement of a hundred or so officers and crew included four skilled and specially-trained divers, one of whom was Graham Libby, who had distinguished himself so remarkably in the South Atlantic. Once the AGI had been located and the cable had been cut, it would be their job to ensure that it was secured to the exterior of the submarine so that it could be carried back to friendly waters. The task they faced was a challenging one. As they knew, the towed-array would be attached by a steel cable three inches thick, and might be as much as 3,000 yards long. Towed-arrays used by the US and UK were designed to have neutral buoyancy - they would neither sink to the depths nor float to the surface if left unsupported. However, it was not known whether those used by the Soviets were designed in the same way. If the captured array was heavier than water, once detached from the towing vessel it would immediately begin to sink to the bottom of the ocean.’

And so, in October 1982, Conqueror found herself in the Barents Sea, somewhere close to the border between Norway and the USSR, stalking the two Polish AGIs that had been reported operating towed-arrays.

‘The target AGI was close to, or inside, the territorial waters of the USSR. Even today, some thirty years after the event took place’, writes Prebble, ‘the precise location of the action is felt by all those who know it to be too sensitive to talk about. Even those who take great pride in the operation go silent when the subject is raised. However, when the opportunity to deny that the encounter took place inside USSR territorial waters near the strategic base of Murmansk, none of those involved has taken the opportunity to do so.’

‘After many minutes of stealthily closing the gap, Wreford-Brown believed that Conqueror was coming up to a position directly beneath and behind the trawler. Now the task was to reduce speed and to rise as slowly and gently as possible, in order to come literally within reach of the hull of the target boat, but without actually touching her. It would be the most delicate submarine manoeuvre that it was possible to imagine.’

‘Now just feet below the AGI, Conqueror edged into its final position... There she was, the nuclear submarine Conqueror, 4,900 tons of machinery, almost literally holding her breath like a giant whale, all but motionless in the water, inching forward in the gloom. A nudge forward. A nudge forward. Through the periscope, Wreford-Brown could now see the hull of the trawler, just yards above his submarine. The ship’s propellers were a few feet or so from the periscope mast. And then there it was, visible on the monitors displaying the output of the forward cameras, a three-inch thick wound-steel cable, within feet of the jaws of the giant pincers which were ready to gnaw their way through it. Through the gloom it was possible to see the powerful cutting edges close around the cable; the order was sent from control room to sonar compartment, and the blades began carefully to cut the cable.’

‘Once it had been cut through, there would still be the danger that the weight of the cable might sink it to the sea-bed. Therefore Barmaid equipment also included a clamp, which was operated separately by controls within the sonar compartment. The clamp was secured to the cable alongside the pincers, holding it in place once the line had been cut.’

‘Now that the trawler and submarine were physically attached to each other, maintaining a steady course and speed between them was even more critical. Even the smallest tug or tightening of the cable might be felt on the surface ship, and all hell could be let loose. Wreford-Brown and his men knew very well that if the spy-ship were to detect the Conqueror and call for assistance from Murmansk or Severomorsk, the ‘hell’ unleashed might easily take the form of a rocket-propelled depth-charge which could pursue them down to 3,000 feet.’

In the sonar department from where the cutting equipment was also being operated, there was a constant stream of reports back and forth to the control room. Seconds ticked by, and the officers and crew aboard the submarine expected at any moment that their presence would be detected... AGIs were not heavily armed, but they did carry depth-charges, and a depth-charge dropped from the trawler above them could destroy the submarine and kill everyone inside it.’

‘At last the pincers had completed their work, and suddenly the weight of the towed-array was transferred to the submarine. In the event, the captured towed-array had fewer flotation measures than its British and American equivalents to counter its weight in the water, and so was far heavier than anticipated. The sudden additional weight caused Conqueror to sink quickly, and there was immediate concern that the turbulence beneath the AGI would alert her. The normal response would be to blow out water from the submarine to regain buoyancy, but that carried too great a danger of detection. Only very slowly and gradually did the submarine regain control, and very gently she withdrew to deeper waters, all the while listening carefully for any signs from the AGI that the operation had been detected. It seemed that it had not.’

‘When it was felt safe to do so, and at first light, Conqueror returned to the surface so that the divers could secure the stolen apparatus to the submarine for the journey home. This was to be another very tricky part of the operation... Conqueror was carefully manoeuvred so that the surface of the water was level with the torpedo-loading hatch, and Graham Libby, Laurie Dymock, Steve ‘Archie’ Archibald and one other unidentified diver went into the water. With the help of a capstan which is mounted just in front of the torpedo hatch, the divers slowly and carefully fed the captured array into the trench, winding it round and round in a large loop inside as they did so. It was difficult and dangerous work. Once the apparatus was safely stowed, the hatch sealed, and the divers back on board, Conqueror turned and headed for home, not stopping or surfacing before she reached the west coast of Scotland.’

‘The Barmaid mission was complete, the triumph was absolute. On board the submarine, the sense of pride and achievement far outweighed anything that had been experienced during the Falklands War. Commander Wreford-Brown was said to have considered it to be his greatest and toughest operation of his career. Mrs Thatcher was jubilant, and was heard to say “thank goodness it was one of our submarines which had done it”. Years afterwards, whenever the name of Conqueror was mentioned in the Pentagon, senior officials marvelled at the expertise and courage of the men who had achieved success in so delicate an undertaking.’

Sold with a good amount of documentation and research including: two photographs of Petty Officer Libby, with shipmates on H.M. S/M Conqueror, one with the submarine’s “Jolly Roger” the skull and crossed torpedoes “pirate” battle flag, showing the ship emblem with “C4” for the sinking of the cruiser “Belgrano” as well as a dagger symbol for conducting a clandestine special operation; photographs of Libby after his investiture with his daughter holding her father’s D.S.M.; two photographs of Libby with his medal pair taken by the late naval collector and researcher Len Matthews when Libby sold his medals to Mr. Matthews, who was himself a three-time decorated veteran of the Battle of the Atlantic; Invitation to the Investiture held on Tuesday the 8th of February 1983; a copy of the announcement of his gallantry award and the original unedited citation as communicated by signal from CINC Fleet to HMS Conqueror and Flag Officer Submarines; official photographs of Conqueror returning to her Base at Faslane on the Clyde Estuary, West Coast of Scotland; an archive of circa 40 pages of hitherto ‘Secret’ ship’s reports, since declassified, including the ship’s Timelog, CO Daily Summary and CO Comments, including details of the diving operation to clear the aerial from the propeller and on Libby’s commendable professionalism “well beyond the call of normal duty”; and numerous copies of photographs and articles on Conqueror and the sinking of the General Belgrano, together with copied extracts from Stuart Prebble’s excellent book, Secrets of the Conqueror, much of which is quoted above, and Royal Mint case of issue for D.S.M.