From the cold, unforgiving waters of the North Atlantic and Arctic to the sunlit Mediterranean and the winding, treacherous channels of the Han River, Captain Richard E. Roe charted a career that spanned the latter half of the 20th century, continuing a family legacy of service to the Crown. His father, Commander Duncan West Roe, was an outspoken Naval officer and First World War veteran and before him, Richard's grandfather, Colonel Robert Edward Roe, had served with the 12th Royal Lancers through the mid-1800s at Sebastopol and later campaigned through Central India during the Mutiny.
Before facing the biting northern seas, Richard was first commissioned as a midshipman in 1936 into the ceremonial grandeur of the Royal Navy. He spent his first months aboard H.M.S. Nelson, the fleet’s flagship, where polished brass and crisp uniforms of fleet reviews and naval exercises reflected a service still steeped in its imperial tradition. From there, he was posted to H.M.S. Dorsetshire whose home at the time was the China Station. He spent the next year and a half in colonial policing and showing the British flag as part of Imperial power projection on the edges of the Empire. In May 1939, Roe returned to Britain for an intensive gunnery course at Portsmouth. Four months later, war erupted and he left his betrothed Zima Esmé Kiddle under more ominous circumstances than before.
NORTH ATLANTIC & ARCTIC
His first wartime assignment came aboard H.M.S. Veteran in October 1939, a V-class destroyer tasked with convoy protection, submarine hunts, and fleet escort duty. The North Atlantic was vast, empty, and merciless. Veteran’s crew braved towering seas and ice-cold winds while scouring the waters for U-boats. German wolf packs lurked beyond the horizon, waiting for the moment a merchant convoy might stray, its defense weakened by storm or misfortune.
In early April 1940, Veteran joined Operation Rupert, escorting troopships for landings in Norway as part of Britain’s broader effort to prevent Germany from seizing control of vital iron ore supply routes through Scandinavia. The dark North Sea churned beneath them as the Royal Navy scrambled to reinforce the beleaguered defenders of Narvik. The Germans reacted swiftly to the British landings, launching coordinated counterattacks with superior air and ground forces. The Luftwaffe dominated the skies, striking at Royal Navy vessels with bombers while German troops advanced rapidly, forcing British units into a defensive retreat. Poor weather conditions further complicated the operation, limiting visibility and making resupply efforts difficult. Intelligence failures also played a role, as the British underestimated the speed and effectiveness of the German response, leading to heavy casualties and the eventual need for a full evacuation. The ship ferried troops and supplies from Harstad, but by late May, following mounting German pressure and deteriorating conditions, the order came to evacuate British and Allied forces from Norway in a bitter retreat.
During a brief respite from sea duty, Roe took the opportunity to marry Zima in early July. The daughter of the late Admiral Sir E. B. Kiddle, she had been raised in the traditions of naval life. Though young when her father passed, she understood the long, uncertain waits that came with a seafaring husband's duty, having seen her mother endure them throughout her childhood.
By September, Roe had transferred to H.M.S. Seaborn, a shore establishment in Halifax, Nova Scotia. The naval headquarters coordinated escort groups and logistical support for transatlantic convoys, vital for maintaining the flow of men and matériel to Britain. The work was administrative, and Roe was soon back at sea on the destroyer escort H.M.S. Burwell, sailing escort operations through the mid-Atlantic gap where U-boats prowled unchallenged beyond the range of land-based air support. Between November 1940 and August 1942, Burwell defended twenty-four Atlantic convoys and three Gibraltar convoys, seven of which came under attack. The Battle of the Atlantic was fought through inky nights, under grey stormy skies, and where the first sign of an attack was often the flash of torpedoes striking home. In November 1941, Burwell participated in the battle for Convoy SC 52, a harrowing engagement in which wolf packs slipped through gaps in the escort screen to target slow-moving merchantmen.
Survivors plucked from the freezing Atlantic told stories of ships breaking apart in seconds and oil-slicked waves burning bright from ignited fuel. There was no glamour in convoy duty—only the ceaseless vigilance of sonar operators, the tension of blackout conditions, and the ever-present dread of the klaxon sounding an alarm. For Roe and his crewmates, nights were spent watching the horizon for periscopes, launching depth charges at submerged shadows, and listening to the telltale break of a ship splitting in two.
Burwell was reassigned to the Newfoundland Escort Group by mid-1942, where Roe continued in the grueling cycle of convoy protection. She was detached from Convoy HX 145 to assist in the capture of U-570, a German submarine forced to surrender after being depth-charged by an RAF Hudson aircraft. The submarine’s crew abandoned their vessel, and Burwell was one of the ships sent to secure the wreck. The operation underscored the importance of relentless anti-submarine warfare; any U-boat removed from the Atlantic battle could save untold merchant lives.
Following repairs in Boston, Burwell returned to service in early 1942. Roe remained with her through several major convoy battles, including Convoy KMS 10 in March, before finally transferring to H.M.S. Intrepid as Commander C. A. de W. Kitcat’s first lieutenant. From the North Atlantic’s rolling swells, he steamed into Arctic waters that August, where the danger was just as severe, but the cold more punishing than anything he had yet endured. Unlike the mid-Atlantic, where the primary threat came from submerged U-boats, Arctic convoys faced a combined onslaught from both the Luftwaffe and the Kriegsmarine’s surface fleet. The shifting ice and brutal storms made navigation treacherous, and convoy routes had to be carefully plotted to avoid both ice flows and enemy patrols. With fewer daylight hours, the threat of air attack was compressed into brief but intense bombardments, requiring constant vigilance and immediate defensive action. Days after Lieutenant Roe joined the crew of H.M.S. Intrepid, she was nominated for escort duty in the final homebound convoy of the first Arctic convoy series. QP-15, the fifteenth in its series, set out from Kola Inlet to Loch Ewe, and Intrepid joined the convoy’s defense on November 20, 1942.
The bitter cold seeped through the bulkheads, ice forming thick on deck rails, making even the most routine tasks arduous. The temperature dropped so low that gun barrels had to be heated before firing to prevent them from cracking. The sea covered frozen decks in sheets of ice so thick that men had to break it away with axes lest the ship become top-heavy and capsize. U-boats trailed convoys like wolves, picking off stragglers when the escorts were stretched thin. The Luftwaffe’s Focke-Wulf bombers came at dawn, launching glide-bomb attacks that sent men scrambling for cover as anti-aircraft gunners lit up the sky. If an attack came at night, there was no warning, only the violent shudder of a torpedo impact and the cries of men thrown into subzero waters.
Six days of treacherous sailing through the frigid Arctic ensued, with merchant vessels huddled together under the constant specter of U-boat attacks and Luftwaffe strikes. Intrepid held formation with QP-15, fending off enemy harassment while forty merchant ships made the dangerous return journey from Murmansk. Success was measured in survival. By the time the convoy reached Loch Ewe on November 30, it had lost six ships to the deadliest convoy route in the world.
LEROS
The viridian expanse of the Mediterranean was warm and welcoming, a severe contrast to the bleak and foreboding glacial waters that Roe had just come from. The conditions would have been pleasant had it not been for the threat of attack from above or below. Richard quickly bronzed beneath the summer sun as the months passed with continued escort and support operations. On June 17, 1943, the Intrepid departed with the 8th Destroyer Flotilla, preparing for the Allied invasion of Sicily. In Operation Husky, launched in early July, she screened the Western Mediterranean fleet, ensuring the safety of capital ships H.M.S. Nelson, Rodney, Warspite, and Valiant, along with aircraft carriers tasked with neutralizing Italian defenses. The operation required extensive mine-sweeping ahead of the fleet’s movement, with Intrepid among the destroyers tasked with ensuring safe passage for the invasion force.
Following the fall of Sicily, Intrepid joined Operation Baytown, providing shore bombardment against the Calabrian coast on September 2nd to soften Axis defenses for British landings. The crew worked ceaselessly under thick smoke and the ear-splitting roar of naval gunfire, the air choked with the acrid scent of burning cordite. The invasion progressed swiftly, but exhaustion set in—gun crews, having fired round after round, were near collapse from the physical strain of continuous bombardment. By September 10th, the Italian surrender was announced. As a result, Intrepid was assigned to escort H.M.S. Warspite and Valiant as they sailed to Malta, where the once-hostile Italian fleet surrendered to the Allies.
With Italy effectively out of the war, Intrepid’s next mission was to reinforce British positions in the Aegean, where German forces were rapidly reoccupying former Italian-held territories. On September 17th, she intercepted a German convoy off Stampalia, sinking the submarine chaser UJ-2104 before proceeding to Haifa to embark British troops. Within days, she arrived at Leros, a key island in the Dodecanese, transporting 1st Durham Light Infantry troops in preparation for the expected German counteroffensive.
The morning of September 26, 1943 was calm and warm as Intrepid moored in Port Laki, Leros beside the Greek ship Queen Olga. A week had passed since their last tour of the harbor, and the crew felt welcomed back. The crew relaxed, feeling secure from the dangers of the open sea, protected by the natural cover of the surrounding hills and the shore batteries of anti-aircraft guns. With the radar switched off—rendered ineffective by the surrounding hills which obstructed signals and limited detection range—the crew had no warning of the incoming Luftwaffe air raid. The ship captain, Commander Kitcat and Roe, his first lieutenant, departed just after breakfast to the shrill whistle of the bosuns pipe. Their motor cutter skipped away toward the jetty for their meeting ashore with the Commodore.
When they were just fifty yards from shore, Junkers Ju 88 bombers appeared at 2000 feet directly overhead. In a glide dive-bomb run, their first wave of bombs tore into the midsection, crippling the boiler rooms and leaving Intrepid dead in the water. Several other bombs splashed into the waters around her and the Queen Olga, sending plumes of spray skyward. The port forward Oerlikon gunner managed to shoot one plane and the Intrepid limped to a new anchorage. The Commander admitted there was nothing they could do by returning and continued underway to shore with Roe.
The next two waves were even more devastating. Queen Olga was struck aft, and moments later, depth charges—or perhaps a magazine—detonated. The explosion ripped the stern away from the searchlight platform. Oil on the water ignited in a blanket of sooty flames, fortunately drifting away from the Intrepid and burning out before reaching the shore. Within three minutes, the Olga’s fore end suddenly capsized.
Roe scrambled back aboard with Kitcat as Intrepid’s gunners continued firing, even as the ship listed sharply to port. It became clear that the shore batteries were ineffective and the crew replied on their own defenses to fend off the Luftwaffe. The crew removed primers from depth charges and ran down torpedoes. By early afternoon, the engineer officer reported to the Commander that the main engines had steam in only two boilers, which Kitcat relayed to the Commodore, taking with him the medical officer and injured rates.
A period of calm followed until the Commander returned and the air raid rang ashore moments after. Lieutenant Roe sprinted toward the bridge as Kitcat remained aft, bracing for the next wave of attacks. As Roe reached the break in the forecastle, the Intrepid’s guns were blasting skyward. He dove for the mess deck with other ratings for protection before moving through toward the bridge when the ship took a hit aft.
He immediately turned back and ran aft to find the stern blown away up to the X Gun and Commander Kitcat pinned between the superstructure and the starboard winch. He ordered nearby hands to help the immobilized ship captain while he searched for other wounded before returning to the bridge once more, now in command of the ship.
He reported by visual signalling to the Senior British Naval Officer the extent of the latest damage and Kitcat would be inbound just as another attack struck. The threat of capsizing was imminent as damage control teams fought to keep the ship afloat, but as the Intrepid listed 10 degrees port, Roe ordered the crew to muster on the starboard side of the upper deck and prepare to abandon ship. The A and B guns had only six rounds each and it was not possible to resupply and keep the ship watertight. The two after Oerlikons were jammed and the 3-inch gun out of action completely. Lieutenant Roe ordered to continue firing until ammunition expended. They were able to shoot down two aircraft during a level bomb run at 5000 feet, but after the attack and considering the Intrepid seemed to be the main target in the harbor, Roe determined the risk of defending the ship was too costly and gave the final order to abandon.
On reaching shore with the survivors, Roe reported directly to the Commodore and Senior British Naval Officer, Aegean to detail his decision. Though willing to reboard and defend the ship, the Commodore agreed that the risk was too great. He decided that Roe would only return with a few volunteers to collect bedding, clothing, food, and stores. Private property was sadly left aboard for later, though that mission was abandoned after the engineering officer deemed it too dangerous to board at risk of capsizing. The last survivors leapt overboard as the ship capsized. By 0200, H.M.S. Intrepid was gone, taking seven hands killed and eight missing, presumed dead. The crew remained on Leros for two days before being evacuated aboard S.S. Taganrog to Turkish waters. The battle for Leros would continue for weeks, but by November 1943, the island had fallen to relentless German assaults, marking the end of British resistance in the Dodecanese.
NORTH SEA
By late 1943, after the harrowing loss of H.M.S. Intrepid in the Mediterranean, Lieutenant Roe found himself reassigned to H.M.S. Dauntless. Unlike the destroyers and convoy escorts of his earlier service, Dauntless was a veteran cruiser repurposed for training and support duties at Rosyth. The ship’s warfighting days were largely behind her, but she served to prepare new naval personnel for radar operations, gunnery drills, and tactical maneuvering.
For Roe, this assignment was a departure from the years of combat he had endured in the Atlantic and Mediterranean. New crews rotated through Dauntless, learning the skills necessary for combat operations before deploying to frontline ships. With the tide of war shifting in the Allies’ favor, ensuring that these sailors were battle-ready was a priority. The long hours of classroom instruction and practical drills on radar targeting, fire control, and damage control created a well-prepared generation of naval officers and ratings. Roe’s experience at sea made him an invaluable instructor, and though he may have longed for more direct action, his role was essential in sustaining the Royal Navy’s effectiveness.
On August 2, 1944, Roe returned to active fleet operations aboard H.M.S. Carron, a newly commissioned destroyer assigned to the 6th Destroyer Flotilla of the Home Fleet. Unlike the aging Dauntless, Carron was modern and fast, built for screening and escort duties in the ever-present and familiar shadow of U-boat and Luftwaffe threats. By November, she completed trials and took passage to Scapa Flow, where she joined Home Fleet units for operational training.
In early January 1945, Carron was deployed to Operation Spellbinder, a minelaying operation off Utsira Island, Norway. Escorting HM Cruiser Apollo and H.M.S. Zealous, she laid smoke screens to conceal the fleet’s activities from enemy observation, ensuring the safe placement of mines meant to disrupt German naval movements. These operations were critical in restricting German U-boat and surface fleet movement in the North Sea, making it more treacherous for enemy ships to operate in Norwegian waters.
Following Spellbinder, Carron continued screening duties throughout the Northwest Approaches, supporting the fleet and escorting supply convoys. With Germany’s defeat looming, she took part in final fleet operations off Norway, striking at enemy-controlled supply routes and ensuring that no last-minute resistance could be mounted from occupied territory. As Victory in Europe approached, Carron was prepared for foreign service, but Roe departed the vessel in mid-1945, marking the end of his six years of war service.
YELLOW SEA
Though the war had settled into entrenched lines by June 1951, the sea remained a battleground where naval patrols, shore bombardments, and blockade operations were crucial in preventing enemy reinforcements and supply movements. Lieutenant Commander Richard E. Roe found himself at war again assigned to H.M.S. Cardigan Bay, a Bay-class frigate deployed to the conflict in Korea. With her shallow draft and long-range firepower, Cardigan Bay was particularly suited to the type of warfare unfolding along Korea’s west coast and river systems. For the latter half of June and into July, she was devoted to routine patrols and bombardments to preserve the West Coast blockade, which was short on ships by mid-July.
At that time, during the end of July, the Cardigan Bay was tasked with the recovery of a crashed MiG-15 from shallow waters southwest of Hanchon, approximately 100 miles behind enemy lines. The wreckage was first located by Sea Furies from No. 804 Squadron aboard H.M.S. Glory on July 11 and 13, though its retrieval presented formidable challenges. The site lay within range of enemy air bases, and the treacherous tides and shifting shoals made navigation through the 40-mile channel lined with sandbanks extremely hazardous.
Given the complexity of the task, the recovery effort was assigned to H.M.S. Cardigan Bay, with H.M.S. Kenya and aircraft from H.M.S. Glory providing cover from seaward. A shallow-draft landing craft (LSU) was supplied by the United States Navy to facilitate the operation. At first light on July 20, Cardigan Bay led a South Korean motorboat and the LSU up the channel, assisted by Sea Fury aircraft flying overhead to mark the deepest water routes. Upon reaching the site, Cardigan Bay launched her motorboat, which guided the recovery team to the wreckage.
Working under intense time constraints, a combined team of British naval personnel, U.S. Navy crew, and Army and Air Force technicians painstakingly salvaged key components of the aircraft before nightfall. With the morning tide lower on July 21, additional parts were uncovered and retrieved. Throughout the mission, U.S. aircraft from USS Sicily drew anti-aircraft fire while striking enemy gun emplacements just a mile from the wreckage site. Upon completion, Cardigan Bay and USS Sicily coordinated a naval and aerial bombardment, scoring direct hits on an enemy artillery position, ensuring a successful withdrawal without casualties.
This operation demonstrated Cardigan Bay’s versatility beyond blockade and bombardment, highlighting her ability to execute precision missions deep in contested waters under extreme conditions. The recovered MiG components provided valuable intelligence, marking this as one of the most audacious and strategically significant naval operations of the war.
HAN RIVER
From the outset, the Han River campaign of July 1951 defined Cardigan Bay’s role in the war. In one of the most unique naval operations of the conflict, Roe and his crew participated in a daring 100-day bombardment campaign deep within the winding, shoal-laden river. Unlike the open-sea patrols conducted by much of theUnited Nationsnaval force, the Han River demanded precise navigation under constant threat. There were no current navigational charts—only the trial and error of previous voyages, and the ever-present danger of grounding on unseen sandbanks. Up to that time, only a few South Korean patrol craft had navigated the strong tides, muddy waters, and enemy occupied northern shores.
Alongside H.M.A.S. Murchison and R.O.K.N. PF-82, Roe’s Cardigan Bay spearheaded the operations into the Estuary. These ships entered via the western channel on the evening of July 26th, advancing cautiously through the treacherous, uncharted waters. By nightfall, they anchored and began bombardments on enemy positions along the northern banks. The next morning, they had to extricate themselves from the thick mudbanks, requiring navigation support from aircraft overhead from U.S.S. Sicily. Repositioning through the eastern channel, they were soon joined by H.M.S. Morecambe Bay, and together, the small river fleet pushed deeper into the estuary, coming within gun range of enemy positions.
Initially, enemy retaliation was minimal, and while targets were scarce, the operation yielded valuable hydrographic data. These early forays established a blueprint for continued naval action in the Han, enabling subsequent relief rotations. H.M.S. Mount’s Bay replaced Cardigan Bay, while HMNZS Rotoiti relieved Morecambe Bay. This cyclical rotation of ships allowed continuous bombardments, probing missions, and surveying efforts until Typhoon Marge forced a temporary withdrawal on August 25. Operations resumed on August 29, with H.M.S. St. Bride’s Bay joining the force.
Throughout September, the ships engaged in frequent bombardments and hydrographic surveys under increasingly hazardous conditions. On September 21st, enemy resistance escalated. A South Korean motor launch conducting a survey mission was struck by enemy fire, signaling that Chinese forces had begun targeting the estuary patrols. H.M.S. Amethyst also reported near misses in the area, prompting greater caution. By September 28th, H.M.A.S. Murchison, carrying Rear-Admiral Dyer, U.S.N., and Surface Blockade Commander Captain G.A.F. Norfolk, R.N., came under intense fire from well-concealed Chinese gun emplacements. The enemy opened fire from a range of 2,000 yards, with multiple field guns and mortars hammering the ship. Murchison returned fire aggressively, knocking out at least one enemy position. However, as she reached the end of her patrol beat, she had to turn on her anchor, exposing herself to another heavy barrage. Again, the ship engaged the hidden gun batteries, sustaining four direct hits, though the damage remained superficial with only one crew member wounded.
As the campaign progressed, H.M.S. Cardigan Bay remained one of the longest-serving Commonwealth ships in the estuary, spending a total of 29 days in the Han River. By November 1951, a total of 14 Royal Navy and Commonwealth vessels had participated, logging over 2,100 miles and 74 estuary transits, often under fire. The fleet had grounded 14 times due to the unstable riverbed, but these operations resulted in 85,000 hydrographic soundings, significantly improving navigational accuracy for future missions. In total, the naval forces expended over 15,000 rounds of ammunition, delivering relentless bombardments on enemy forces attempting to control the estuary.
By February 1952, Cardigan Bay resumed operations with renewed intensity, participating in bombardment missions near Chodo and Sokto, supportingUnited Nationsforces against entrenched enemy positions. British operations differed significantly from U.S. Navy methods, particularly in targeting and fire control procedures. The Royal Navy emphasized conserving ammunition, focusing on precision bombardment, while U.S. forces relied on high-volume suppressive fire. Additionally, British naval units operated with faster response times in relaying fire orders, reducing the time between spotting and engaging targets compared to their American counterparts.
Throughout March and April, Cardigan Bay engaged in star shell firings, counter-battery operations, and bombardments of enemy positions. Communication challenges with United Nations air support occasionally delayed coordination, but Cardigan Bay’s gunners adapted by working closely with spotter aircraft and land-based forward observers to improve accuracy. On April 15th, 1952, she was officially released from the Han River force and redeployed to broader blockade and support operations. The frigate took part in a major bombardment of Chinese positions along the North Korean coastline, supporting allied advances before returning to Hong Kong for maintenance and crew rest in May 1952 where Roe’s tour in Korea concluded. His service in Korea, commended by a Mention in Despatches, would not be his last, but it remained a defining period in a career that had already spanned two wars and three oceans.
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By August 1966, Captain Richard E. Roe assumed command of H.M.S. Glamorgan, a County-class guided missile destroyer and his final seagoing assignment. The ship, heavily armed and equipped with the latest radar systems, was at the forefront of Royal Navy fleet operations. Though decades newer, she was still a stark contrast to the vessels of Roe’s early career when he served aboard refurbished World War I-era destroyers as a midshipman in the North Atlantic, where manual plotting and visual range-finding dictated combat. Captain Roe now commanded a ship where computerized systems and real-time data analysis revolutionized warfare.
Glamorgan operated extensively with the Western Fleet, conducting patrols, naval exercises, and Cold War deterrence operations. Equipped with the Mark II guided weapons system, Glamorgan’s Sea Slug Mark II surface-to-air missiles provided a cutting-edge defense against aerial threats, while her 4.5-inch guns retained traditional firepower for surface engagements, and the Action Data Automation System processed air, surface, and sub-surface threats in real-time, delivering an up-to-date tactical picture to Roe and his officers, who commanded the ship entirely from a centralized operations room. The postwar Royal Navy was evolving, transitioning from global empire policing to a fleet structured around NATO commitments, and Roe played a role in shaping the new doctrine.
Beyond regular fleet exercises, Glamorgan’s deployments took her across the familiar North Atlantic and the Mediterranean, where she engaged in joint operations with allied navies. The ship also carried a dedicated helicopter detachment, fitted with homing torpedoes, dramatically enhancing its ability to detect and neutralize enemy submarines—a capability Roe had lacked during his years in anti-submarine convoy duty against German U-boats. The specter of the Soviet Navy’s growing presence loomed over every maneuver, with Soviet reconnaissance aircraft frequently shadowing NATO warships. Monitoring Soviet activity and ensuring naval supremacy in European waters became the destroyer’s primary peacetime mission.
After two years in command, Roe relinquished his final seagoing post on August 16, 1968. He had gone from commanding vessels where orders were shouted across decks and plotted by hand to directing a warship that fought through data automation and advanced tracking systems. His three decades of Naval evolution covered hard service in some of the most dangerous Naval engagements the Royal Navy saw during World War II and Korea. Though he had stepped ashore for command and staff assignments by the end of his career, he was forever the sailor saturated with sea spray, getting rocked about on destroyers and frigates to the roar of naval gunfire.