IN AUGUST, 1944, the German armies facing the Allies in Normandy were smashed, their equipment destroyed or captured and the defeated remnants, exhausted and demoralized, made away from the field. Keeping well inland from the Channel coast, British armoured divisions set a furious pace in driving north-east to Antwerp and Brussels, while American tanks thrust eastward toward the Rhine. French troops were in Paris and another Allied army was advancing north from the Riviera. Everywhere ecstatic crowds cheered and feted the liberating armies. Victory was in the air. When rumours spread that senior commanders were saying ‘It is all over,’1 and when so many fervently wished that it was so, who could be blamed for believing that the war would end in 1944?
The bitter realization that more fighting remained to be done came when the airborne operations at Arnhem failed to breach the water barrier of the Rhine and the Allies were brought to a halt before the formidable defences of the Siegfried Line. As British and American armies faced eastward, unable to bring their full strength to bear for lack of fuel and ammunition, the attention of the public, and most soldiers, became fixed on crossing the Rhine and on the Russian armies grinding inexorably into Poland and the Balkans. In Britain and the United States, to a press now accustomed to equate ‘fighting’ with ‘lightning armoured thrusts,’ little seemed to be happening. Yet along the long left flank of the Allied Expeditionary Force, a battle was being fought on whose outcome hung not just victory, but the possibility of disaster.
Long before the Allies landed in Normandy, it was planned that First Canadian Army would advance northward from the beachhead to cross the Seine between Rouen and Le Havre. Now, having closed the Falaise Gap and having beaten off the desperate attempts of the enemy to break out of that trap, General Harry Crerar began what was to become one of the most arduous campaigns of the Second World War. Unsung because it seemed unspectacular, it was seen by many to be nothing more than ‘mopping-up.’ With their eyes looking for a breakout to the east, the world’s press saw little of what went on on the left and thereby missed some of the bloodiest infantry battles of the War. At the end of the day, Canadian battalions could claim the dubious honour of having the highest casualty rates in the Allied forces. Not even in those bloodbaths of the First World War, the Somme and Passchendaele, had the average number of casualties per day per battalion matched those suffered along the coast of north-west Europe. (See Appendix — A Note on Casualties)
First Canadian Army was the most international of the Allied formations. Apart from its Army troops, the major Canadian component was its 2nd Corps of one armoured and two infantry divisions. The place of its 1st Corps, which was fighting in Italy, had been taken by 1st British Corps and indeed, until the last two months of the War, it contained more British troops than had Montgomery’s Eighth Army at Alamein.2 The Polish Armoured Division had become almost a permanent fixture in the Army and they were later joined by Belgian, Dutch and Czechoslovakian formations. At various times American infantry and airborne divisions came under command as did commandos of the Royal Marines and the British Army. The Royal Navy participated in many of its operations and it was supported directly by No. 84 Group, RAF, with its British, Polish, Dutch, Belgian, French and New Zealand Squadrons. There were many Canadians in the Group but, curiously, by far the greatest number were in the Royal Canadian Air Force squadrons which made up over half the strength of No. 83 Group supporting Second British Army. The units which served in the Army are named in the Order of Battle page 304; their structure and armament are described in the note on military organization on page 302.
The two British and Canadian Armies were joined in the 21st Army Group commanded by General Sir Bernard Montgomery, one of the finest battlefield commanders of the Second World War. His record of success stemmed in part from a clear, analytical mind, broad experience, years of study of his profession, unwavering resolution and unshakeable self-confidence. Had the fortunes of war not led to his being given command of the Eighth Army before the battle of Alamein, he might have been chiefly remembered as a superb trainer of soldiers. He was prepared to take endless pains in developing the potential of promising officers but was ruthless in getting rid of those he judged to be less than competent. Having once made up his mind about a subject, or an officer, he rarely changed it. In short, he was intolerant, opinionated and often prejudiced. His relationship with Crerar and the Canadians had a long history and was not easy.
It began in 1917. In a letter to his mother, Montgomery told of lunching with his brother Donald, an officer of the 29th Canadian Infantry Battalion from Vancouver:
I saw Donald. I went over and lunched with his Brigade (sic). The Canadians are a queer crowd; they seem to think they are the best troops in France and that we have to get them to do our most difficult jobs. I reminded them that the Ypres Battle began on 31st July and the only part they have taken part in is the last 10 days. They forget that the whole art of war is to gain your objective with as little loss as possible.
I was disappointed in them. At plain straightforward fighting they are magnificent, but they are narrow-minded and lack soldierly instincts.
To this his biographer added:
A judgement which in annotations to his letters, Bernard later rescinded, agreeing with Alan Brooke that the Canadian troops were magnificent soldiers, but their leadership poor.3
Poor Monty! The officers of the 29th Battalion probably did tease him about their being brought in to finish the Ypres battle and may not have discussed tactics seriously. What they saw was not a future field-marshal but a rather small ferret-faced junior staff officer, not blessed with a particularly engaging personality, who had a comfortable job back at a British corps headquarters. What the Canadians had seen of the battlefield did not enhance their opinion of the staffs who had had anything to do with it. If it were not for the inaccurate impression which Montgomery retained, there would be little point in saying more about it.
The letter was written on 8 November, 1917. Two days earlier the 6th Brigade, of which the 29th was a part, took Passchendaele itself, the ultimate objective of a three-month series of battles which cost the British armies 244,897 casualties. The Canadian success in its final days was a feat of arms whose brilliance has long been concealed in the miasma of gloom which surrounds the wider British experience. The credit for it lay not simply in the fighting qualities of the well-disciplined and highly trained Canadian soldiers but in the imaginative and painstaking efforts of Sir Arthur Currie, their commander, who is acknowledged to have been one of the two best generals in the BEF.
So strong were Montgomery’s views about the alleged inadequacies of Canadian leadership that his biographer turned history on its head and referred more than once to the Canadians’ ‘futile gallantry’ at Passchendaele. A more likely basis for Montgomery’s prejudice lay in Haig’s comment about their behaving more like Allies than fellow citizens of the Empire.
Montgomery’s annotation to his letter to his mother was made much later, probably after 1945. While Sir Alan Brooke was dismissive of the abilities of the Canadian Corps artillery commander on whose staff he served in 1917, the remarks on poor leadership attributed to him refer to a much later period.
In the early stages of the Second World War, Brooke, now Chief of the Imperial General Staff became doubtful of the suitability for field commands of some of the senior officers of the 1st Canadian Corps in England. Later he passed on these reservations to Montgomery who had become Commander-in-Chief of the Command in which the Canadians were located.
Lt-General A.G.L. McNaughton, the Canadian commander, soon clashed with Montgomery. He summed up their relationship in simple terms, ‘We did not like each other.’4
Late in 1941 McNaughton returned to Canada on sick leave and was replaced temporarily as Corps Commander by Lt-General H.D.G. Crerar, who later wrote of his difficulties:
… whatever conclusion I might personally reach as to changes in policy, organization and command in 1 Cdn Corps, it was necessary for me to delay action whenever possible until Lt-Gen McNaughton returned and I obtained his approval or otherwise. I was much in the position of a ‘locum tenens.’5
A few weeks in command was enough to convince Crerar that a good many brigade and unit commanders needed to be replaced. He discussed the problem with Montgomery, explaining that until McNaughton returned, his hands were tied. The C-in-C said that he would be glad to visit each of the Canadian units in turn and give Crerar his personal views on their efficiency and that of their commanders as this might help Crerar with his own conclusions. Crerar accepted the offer. In the course of the next several months, Montgomery submitted his views to Crerar in the form of assessments. He pulled no punches. Of one commanding officer, he wrote: ‘It is a great pity he was given command of this fine battalion. He is quite unfit for it.’ Of a brigade commander, ‘A good brigadier. No great training ability; but has a good brain and knows what he wants and is firm and decisive. He inspires confidence.’6
In most cases Montgomery’s opinions confirmed those which Crerar had already reached, but about which he could do nothing until McNaughton returned. But their patronizing tone was another matter. Crerar tolerated it, but he did not like it.
A more serious cause of irritation was the relationship of the Corps to the Command in which it was located. The Canadians in Britain were an independent national force whose presence was governed by the Visiting Forces Acts of the two countries. The British War Office provided it with accommodation and other services for which Canada paid. In short, the Canadian Corps was a tenant of the British Army. It was not Montgomery’s to command nor his responsibility to train. Those prerogatives were retained by the Canadian Government until the Corps embarked on operations, at which point it would be placed under British command. Until Montgomery arrived on the scene, the arrangements were understood by both sides and worked well.7
To Montgomery, the idea of a static area ‘Command’ was anathema. He preferred to see himself rather as the commander of a field army, so, without seeking anyone’s permission, he changed the name of his organization to ‘South-eastern Army.’ He drew up plans to defeat invasion, committing the Canadian Corps which, operationally, was not under his control. When Crerar pointed out that this was not possible without obtaining the approval of the Canadian Government, he accused Crerar of ‘bellyaching’ and pedantry and, in the words of his biographer, ‘his relations with Crerar suffered for the rest of the War.’8
Swept along by his egocentricity, Montgomery rode roughshod over Canadian sensibilities, aroused unnecessary resentment by criticizing commanders in front of their subordinates, and treated Crerar like a schoolboy. Crerar looked back on that period January–June, 1941, as ‘one of the most difficult and trying periods of my professional life. In the circumstances in which I was placed, this should not be hard to appreciate.’9
As was his right, Crerar appealed to his old friend, Alan Brooke, to point out to Montgomery from his own experience, the facts of life when it came to dealing with Canadians. He did so but that only worsened Montgomery’s opinion of Crerar. Unfortunately for their future relationship, Montgomery later had Australians, New Zealanders and South Africans under his operational command in Africa and experienced few, if any, of the problems he had with Crerar in England. He chose to forget the difference in circumstances, that as they were about to go into battle, their governments had, in accordance with their equivalent to the Visiting Forces Act, placed them under British control, as Canada did before the invasion of Normandy. Only once when the Canadians were under his command in Europe was there an incident when their national status became an issue.
Crerar’s first operational experience in the Second World War was as a corps commander in Italy. Montgomery considered that this did not give him the intimate knowledge of battle that a senior commander should have. Unquestionably experience, say as a divisional commander, would have been valuable to Crerar but to regard it as an essential qualification is to disregard the record of the many successful American and British senior commanders who were denied it.
In July, 1944, in Normandy, on the day First Canadian Army became operational, Montgomery had to intervene in a dispute between Crerar and Lt-General Crocker, of 1st British Corps, who was under his command. In a letter to Brooke later, he conceded that there were faults on both sides but laid the blame on the Canadian. Some two weeks later when Crerar at Falaise was fighting his first major battle, Montgomery reported disparagingly on his understandable anxiety that it should succeed. He told Brooke that with experience and some help from himself Crerar would rid himself of such worries and be much better.10
At the end of the war, Montgomery wrote Crerar a fulsome letter of thanks:
… for all that you have done for me since we first served together in this war. No commander can ever have had a more loyal subordinate than I have had in you. And under your command the Canadian Army has covered itself in glory …11
Commodore William Hayes, the Commandant of the Royal Military College of Canada, had seen the letter at Kingston and, when he met Lord Montgomery at Sandhurst in 1970, he assumed that he and Crerar were friends.
I met the Field-Marshal with half-a-dozen other people in the Commandant’s study. He looked at my new green uniform which gave no hint as to whether I was a soldier or a sailor and said nothing. To break the silence, I said that, though a sailor, I had been a cadet at Kingston when General Harry Crerar was the Commandant. I expected Montgomery to take the conversational ball by saying something about as controversial as ‘How interesting,’ but instead he fixed me with a look in which there was no trace of a smile, poked me in the chest and to my astonishment said, ‘He was quite unfit to command troops.’
He gave me another prod in the chest and added ‘And you know it!’ I was too indignant to reply at once. Before I could say anything, he poked me again and said, ‘You know the best general you Canadians ever had — Guy Simonds, Guy Simonds.’
It was hardly the place for me to enter an argument with a British field-marshal, but I came away with the feeling that I didn’t much like the little man.12
It was after the war, too, that General Crerar told Colonel Charles Stacey, the distinguished historian, about his relationship with the Field-Marshal. Before he arrived at 1st Canadian Corps Headquarters in 1941, he had never met Montgomery and he asked a British general of his acquaintance what sort of a man he was. ‘After a moment’s reflection, the general replied, “Well, Harry, all I can tell you about Monty is that he’s an efficient little shit.”’ Stacey commented that General Crerar, ‘all those years later, clearly felt indisposed to disagree with this assessment.’13
Another interesting set of relationships were those of Crerar with his corps commanders. After a flaming row in Normandy, Lt-General John Crocker of 1st (British) Corps and Crerar got along well and parted as friends after working together for more than eight months. 30th British Corps was under First Canadian Army during the Rhineland battles and Sir Brian Horrocks, its commander, later spoke of his admiration for Crerar as a commander and of his liking for him.
These two battle-experienced generals were connoisseurs of army commanders, each having commanded corps under at least two, apart from Harry Crerar. This is worth remembering when looking at the relationship between the First Canadian Army commander and the gifted Lt-General Guy Granville Simonds of 2nd Corps.
A major-general at the age of 39, Simonds commanded the 1st Canadian Division in Sicily and Italy where he soon gained a reputation for tactical skill and resolution. But in addition to the hour-to-hour demands of commanding a division in battle, he was also the senior Canadian officer in the theatre with the attendant problems of personnel and supply.
Toward the end of 1943 the Headquarters of 1st Canadian Corps and the 5th Armoured Division began to arrive in Italy under Crerar. In order to widen his experience, Simonds was transferred to the command of the newly arriving division.
At that point Simonds began to show signs of the strain under which he had been working for the past nine months. He chose to misinterpret the reasoning behind shifting him from his successful 1st Infantry Division to the untried 5th Armoured. One or two other relatively minor incidents roused him to write two long letters, each of six pages or more of closely written foolscap, to his new corps commander claiming in effect that Crerar had no confidence in him and was looking for an opportunity to ‘take a crack at me.’14 So far from the truth was this that Crerar had already recommended Simonds for promotion to the command of 2nd Corps.
Alarmed at Simonds’ state of mind, Crerar showed the correspondence to two senior medical officers and asked for their professional views on his continuing fitness to command. Both felt that Simonds could probably be relied upon to function as a senior commander though preferably not of an independent Canadian force.
Crerar confirmed his recommendation for Simonds’ promotion and locked the file away with the note:
It is, to me, really a tragic situation because while I continue to believe Simonds to be quite the outstanding Divisional Commander, who will prove to be equally brilliant as a corps commander in the field, I cannot see him going on and up the way and distance I had anticipated.15
Simonds was the nearest Canada produced to a military genius in the Second World War. That the obverse of the coin should be a trace of instability, a touch of the prima donna, is not surprising. Finally it focused for the rest of the war in an intense dislike of the man to whom he owed so much. So unreasoning was it that when Crerar used the word ‘brilliant’ in discussing his future with Simonds, he accused Crerar of sarcasm. There is no doubt that at the end of the war the reservations formed by Crerar about his subordinate’s future potential resulted in Simonds’ failure to become the professional head of the Canadian Army in 1946.16 ‘Subsequently Guy Simonds hated Crerar to the extent that he was almost irrational about it. I was saddened by the way he never lost an opportunity to run Crerar down.’17
In any army it would be difficult to choose a team of generals who were both highly competent and liked each other. The very qualities which make a good general — loyalty to the men he commands, the ability to make up his mind, to choose a course of action and follow it through despite any opposition — applied to such an imprecise endeavour as waging war, makes for disagreement and personality clash. The tensions of battle draw out passions and frailties. Men who are pleasant and friendly at home become withdrawn and aloof — often to shield their emotions from involvement with those they may have to send to their deaths. Add to this the spice of competition for advancement in a small army and the stew becomes rich indeed.
Like the British and Americans, the Canadians had their full share of generals who disliked each other. Crerar, cold and rather withdrawn in manner, was hated by the aloof and introspective Simonds, respected rather than liked by others. Simonds and Major-General Chris Vokes were cadets at the Royal Military College together, got along well subsequently and shared an intense personal dislike for Charles Foulkes who was promoted to command the 1st Corps in Italy, a post which Vokes claimed should have been his. Apparently Vokes never knew that it was Simonds who recommended Foulkes for the job as a result of his performance in the Scheldt battles.18
In doing so, Simonds passed one of the more difficult tests of generalship — not to allow personal feelings to stand in the way of doing what he believed to be right.19
In their attitudes to each other generals are no different from privates but their relationships can have repercussions which affect every soldier in the Army. The Canadians were fortunate that personal likes or antipathies among generals, their own and their Allies, probably had no effect on military operations. Unhappily that did not necessarily apply to the subject of mutual professional trust.