MANY serious reasons required my presence in London at this moment when so much was molten. I never had any doubt that a complete understanding between Britain and the United States outweighed all else, and that I must go to Washington at once with the strongest team of expert advisers who could be spared. It was thought too risky for us to go by air at this season in an unfavourable direction. Accordingly we travelled on the 12th to the Clyde. The Prince of Wales was no more. The King George V was watching the Tirpitz. The newborn Duke of York could carry us, and work herself up to full efficiency at the same time. The principals of our party were Lord Beaverbrook, a member of the War Cabinet; Admiral Pound, First Sea Lord; Air-Marshal Portal, Chief of the Air Staff; and Field-Marshal Dill, who had now been succeeded by General Brooke as Chief of the Imperial General Staff. I was anxious that Brooke should remain in London in order to grip the tremendous problems that awaited him. In his place I invited Dill, who was still in the centre of our affairs, trusted and respected by all, to come with me to Washington. Here a new sphere was to open to him.
With me also came Lord Moran, who had during 1941 become my constant medical adviser. This was his first voyage with me, but afterwards he came on all the journeys. To his unfailing care I probably owe my life. Although I could not persuade him to take my advice when he was ill, nor could he always count on my implicit obedience to all his instructions, we became devoted friends. Moreover, we both survived.
It was hoped to make the passage at an average of 20 knots in seven days, having regard to zigzags and détours to avoid the plotted U-boats. The Admiralty turned us down the Irish Channel into the Bay of Biscay. The weather was disagreeable. There was a heavy gale and a rough sea. The sky was covered with patchy clouds. We had to cross the out-and-home U-boat stream from the Western French ports to their Atlantic hunting grounds. There were so many of them about that our captain was ordered by the Admiralty not to leave our flotilla behind us; but the flotilla could not make more than six knots in the heavy seas, and we paddled along at this pace round the South of Ireland for forty-eight hours. We passed within four hundred miles of Brest, and I could not help remembering how the Prince of Wales and the Repulse had been destroyed by shore-based torpedo aircraft attack the week before. The clouds had prevented all but an occasional plane of our air escort from joining us, but when I went on the bridge I saw a lot of unwelcome blue sky appearing. However, nothing happened, so all was well. The great ship with her attendant destroyers plodded on. But we became impatient with her slow speed. On the second night we approached the U-boat stream. Admiral Pound, who took the decision, said that we were more likely to ram a U-boat than to be torpedoed by one ourselves. The night was pitch-black. So we cast off our destroyers and ran through alone at the best speed possible in the continuing rough weather. We were battened down and great seas beat upon the decks. Lord Beaverbrook complained that he might as well have travelled in a submarine.
Our very large deciphering staff could of course receive by wireless a great deal of business. To a limited extent we could reply. When fresh escorts joined us from the Azores they could take in by daylight Morse signals from us in code, and then, dropping off a hundred miles or so, could transmit them without revealing our position. Still, there was a sense of radio claustrophobia—and we were in the midst of world war.
The fighting proceeded in all the theatres. Hong Kong had been attacked by Japan at nearly the same moment of time as Pearl Harbour. I had no illusions about its fate under the overwhelming impact of Japanese power. Twelve months earlier I had deprecated strengthening our garrison. Their loss was certain and they should have been reduced to a symbolical scale, but I had allowed myself to be drawn from this position and reinforcements had been sent. From the outset they were faced with a task beyond their powers. For a week they held out. Every man who could bear arms took part in a desperate resistance. Their tenacity was matched by the fortitude of the British civilian population. On Christmas Day the limit of endurance was reached and capitulation became inevitable. Another set of disasters loomed upon us in Malaya. The Japanese landings on the peninsula were accompanied by damaging raids on our airfields which badly crippled our already weak air forces and soon made the northerly aerodromes unusable. By the end of the month our troops, several times heavily engaged, were in action a full hundred and fifty miles from the position they had first held, and the Japanese had landed at least three full divisions, including their Imperial Guard. The quality of the enemy planes, speedily deployed on captured airfields, exceeded all expectations. We had been thrown on to the defensive and our losses were severe.
Everyone in our party worked incessantly while the Duke of York plodded westwards, and all our thoughts were focused on the new and vast problems we had to solve. We looked forward with eagerness, but also with some anxiety, to our first direct contact as allies with the President and his political and military advisers. We knew before we left that the outrage of Pearl Harbour had stirred the people of the United States to their depths. The official reports and the Press summaries we had received gave the impression that the whole fury of the nation would be turned upon Japan. We feared lest the true proportion of the war as a whole might not be understood. We were conscious of a serious danger that the United States might pursue the war against Japan in the Pacific and leave us to fight Germany and Italy in Europe, Africa, and in the Middle East.
The first Battle of the Atlantic against the U-boats had turned markedly in our favour. We did not doubt our power to keep open our ocean paths. We felt sure we could defeat Hitler if he tried to invade the Island. We were encouraged by the strength of the Russian resistance. We were unduly hopeful about our Libyan campaign. But all our future plans depended upon a vast flow of American supplies of all kinds, such as were now streaming across the Atlantic. Especially we counted on planes and tanks, as well as on the stupendous American merchant-ship construction. Hitherto, as a non-belligerent, the President had been able and willing to divert large supplies of equipment from the American armed forces, since these were not engaged. This process was bound to be restricted now that the United States was at war with Germany, Italy, and above all Japan. Home needs would surely come first? Already, after Russia had been attacked, we had rightly sacrificed to aid the Soviet armies a large portion of the equipment and supplies now at last arriving from our factories. The United States had diverted to Russia even larger quantities of supplies than we otherwise would have received ourselves. We had fully approved of all this on account of the splendid resistance which Russia was offering to the Nazi invader.
It had been none the less hard to delay the equipment of our own forces, and especially to withhold vitally needed weapons from our army fiercely engaged in Libya. We must presume that “America first” would become the dominant principle with our Ally. We feared that there would be a long interval before American forces came into action on a great scale, and that during this period of preparation we should necessarily be greatly straitened. This would happen at a time when we ourselves had to face a new and terrible antagonist in Malaya, the Indian Ocean, Burma, and India. Evidently the partition of supplies would require profound attention and would be fraught with many difficulties and delicate aspects. Already we had been notified that all the schedules of deliveries under Lend-Lease had been stopped pending readjustment. Happily the output of the British munitions and aircraft factories was now acquiring scope and momentum, and would soon be very large indeed. But a long array of “bottlenecks” and possible denials of key items, which would affect the whole range of our production, loomed before our eyes as our battleship drove on through the incessant gales. Beaverbrook was, as usual in times of trouble, optimistic. He declared that the resources of the United States had so far not even been scratched; that they were immeasurable, and that once the whole force of the American people was diverted to the struggle results would be achieved far beyond anything that had been projected or imagined. Moreover, he thought the Americans did not yet realise their strength in the production field. All the present statistics would be surpassed and swept away by the American effort. There would be enough for all. In this his judgment was right.
All these considerations paled before the main strategic issue. Should we be able to persuade the President and the American Service chiefs that the defeat of Japan would not spell the defeat of Hitler, but that the defeat of Hitler made the finishing off of Japan merely a matter of time and trouble? Many long hours did we spend revolving this grave issue. The two Chiefs of Staff and General Dill with Hollis and his officers prepared several papers dealing with the whole subject and emphasising the view that the war was all one. As will be seen, these labours and fears both proved needless.
The eight days’ voyage, with its enforced reduction of current business, with no Cabinet meetings to attend or people to receive, enabled me to pass in review the whole war as I saw and felt it in the light of its sudden vast expansion. I recalled Napoleon’s remark about the value of being able to focus objects in the mind for a long time without being tired—“fixer les objets longtemps sans être fatigué”. As usual I tried to do this by setting forth my thought in typescript by dictation. In order to prepare myself for meeting the President and for the American discussions and to make sure that I carried with me the two Chiefs of Staff, Pound and Portal, and General Dill, and that the facts could be checked in good time by General Hollis and the Secretariat, I produced three papers on the future course of the war, as I conceived it should be steered. Each paper took four or five hours, spread over two or three days. As I had the whole picture in my mind it all came forth easily, but very slowly. In fact, it could have been written out two or three times in longhand in the same period. As each document was completed after being checked I sent it to my professional colleagues as an expression of my personal convictions. They were at the same time preparing papers of their own for the combined Staff conferences. I was glad to find that although my theme was more general and theirs more technical there was our usual harmony on principles and values. No differences were expressed which led to argument, and very few of the facts required correction. Thus, though nobody was committed in a precise or rigid fashion, we all arrived with a body of doctrine of a constructive character on which we were broadly united.
The first paper assembled the reasons why our main objective for the campaign of 1942 in the European theatre should be the occupation of the whole coastline of Africa and of the Levant from Dakar to the Turkish frontier by British and American forces. The second dealt with the measures which should be taken to regain the command of the Pacific, and specified May 1942 as the month when this could be achieved. It dwelt particularly upon the need to multiply aircraft-carriers by improvising them in large numbers. The third declared as the ultimate objective the liberation of Europe by the landing of large Anglo-American armies wherever was thought best in the German-conquered territory, and fixed the year 1943 as the date for this supreme stroke.
So many tales have been published of my rooted aversion from large-scale operations on the Continent that it is important that the truth should be emphasised. I always considered that a decisive assault upon the German-occupied countries on the largest possible scale was the only way in which the war could be won, and that the summer of 1943 should be chosen as the target date. The scale of the operation contemplated by me was already before the end of 1941 set at forty armoured divisions and a million other troops as essential for the opening phase. When I notice the number of books which have been written on a false assumption of my attitude on this issue, I feel bound to direct the attention of the reader to the authentic and responsible documents written at the time, of which other instances will be given as the account proceeds.*
I gave these three papers to the President before Christmas. I explained that while they were my own personal views, they did not supersede any formal communications between the Staffs. I couched them in the form of memoranda for the British Chiefs of Staff Committee. Moreover, I told him they were not written expressly for his eye, but that I thought it important that he should know what was in my mind and what I wanted to have done and, so far as Great Britain was concerned, would try to bring to action. He read them immediately after receiving them, and the next day asked whether he might keep copies of them. To this I gladly assented.
I felt indeed that the President was thinking very much along the same lines as I was about action in French North Africa. We were now Allies, and must act in common and on a greater scale. I was confident that he and I would find a large measure of agreement and that the ground had been well prepared. I was therefore in a hopeful mood, and, as will be seen, I eventually obtained the President’s agreement to an expedition to North Africa (Operation “Torch”), which constituted our first great joint amphibious offensive.
While however it is vital to plan the future, and sometimes possible to forecast it in certain respects, no one can help the time-table of such mighty events being deranged by the actions and counter-strokes of the enemy. All the objectives in these memoranda were achieved by the British and United States forces in the order there set forth. My hopes that General Auchinleck would clear Libya in February 1942 were disappointed. He underwent a series of grievous reverses which will presently be described. Hitler, perhaps encouraged by this success, determined upon a large-scale effort to fight for Tunis, and presently moved about a hundred thousand fresh troops thither through Italy and across the Mediterranean. The British and American Armies therefore became involved in a larger and longer campaign in North Africa than I had contemplated. A delay of four months was for this reason enforced upon the time-table. The Anglo-American Allies did not obtain control of the whole North African shore from Tunis to Egypt until May 1943. The supreme plan of crossing the Channel to liberate France, for which I had earnestly hoped and worked, could not therefore be undertaken that summer, and was perforce postponed for one whole year, till the summer of 1944.
Subsequent reflection and the full knowledge we now possess have convinced me that we were fortunate in our disappointment. The year’s delay in the expedition saved us from what would at that date have been at the best an enterprise of extreme hazard, with the probability of a world-shaking disaster. If Hitler had been wise he would have cut his losses in North Africa and would have met us in France with double the strength he had in 1944, before the newly raised American armies and staffs had reached their full professional maturity and excellence, and long before the enormous armadas of landing-craft and the floating harbours (Mulberries) had been specially constructed. I am sure now that even if Operation “Torch” had ended as I hoped in 1942, or even if it had never been tried, the attempt to cross the Channel in 1943 would have led to a bloody defeat of the first magnitude, with measureless reactions upon the result of the war. I became increasingly conscious of this during the whole of 1943, and therefore accepted as inevitable the postponement of “Overlord”, while fully understanding the vexation and anger of our Soviet Ally.
It had been intended that we should steam up the Potomac and motor to the White House, but we were all impatient after nearly ten days at sea to end our journey. We therefore arranged to fly from Hampton Roads, and landed after dark on December 22 at the Washington airport. There was the President waiting in his car. I clasped his strong hand with comfort and pleasure. We soon reached the White House, which was to be in every sense our home for the next three weeks. Here we were welcomed by Mrs. Roosevelt, who thought of everything that could make our stay agreeable.
I must confess that my mind was so occupied with the whirl of events and the personal tasks I had to perform that my memory till refreshed had preserved but a vague impression of these days. The outstanding feature was of course my contacts with the President. We saw each other for several hours every day, and lunched always together, with Harry Hopkins as a third. We talked of nothing but business, and reached a great measure of agreement on many points, both large and small. Dinner was a more social occasion, but equally intimate and friendly. The President punctiliously made the prehminary cocktails himself, and I wheeled him in his chair from the drawing-room to the lift as a mark of respect, and thinking also of Sir Walter Raleigh spreading his cloak before Queen Elizabeth. I formed a very strong affection, which grew with our years of comradeship, for this formidable politician who had imposed his will for nearly ten years upon the American scene, and whose heart seemed to respond to many of the impulses that stirred my own. As we both, by need or habit, were forced to do much of our work in bed, he visited me in my room whenever he felt inclined, and encouraged me to do the same to him. Hopkins was just across the passage from my bedroom, and next door to him my travelling map room was soon installed. The President was much interested in this institution, which Captain Pim had perfected. He liked to come and study attentively the large maps of all the theatres of war which soon covered the walls, and on which the movement of fleets and armies was so accurately and swiftly recorded. It was not long before he established a map room of his own of the highest efficiency.
The days passed, counted in hours. Quite soon I realised that immediately after Christmas I must address the Congress of the United States, and a few days later the Canadian Parliament in Ottawa. These great occasions imposed heavy demands on my life and strength, and were additional to all the daily consultations and mass of current business. In fact, I do not know how I got through it all.
Simple festivities marked our Christmas. The traditional Christmas tree was set up in the White House garden, and the President and I made brief speeches from the balcony to enormous crowds gathered in the gloom. He and I went to church together on Christmas Day, and I found peace in the simple service and enjoyed singing the well-known hymns, and one, “O little town of Bethlehem”, I had never heard before. Certainly there was much to fortify the faith of all who believe in the moral governance of the universe.
17*
It was with heart-stirrings that I fulfilled the invitation to address the Congress of the United States. The occasion was important for what I was sure was the all-conquering alliance of the English-speaking peoples. I had never addressed a foreign Parliament before. Yet to me, who could trace unbroken male descent on my mother’s side through five generations from a lieutenant who served in George Washington’s army, it was possible to feel a blood-right to speak to the representatives of the great Republic in our common cause. It certainly was odd that it should all work out this way; and once again I had the feeling, for mentioning which I may be pardoned, of being used, however unworthy, in some appointed plan.
I spent a good part of Christmas Day preparing my speech. The President wished me good luck when on December 26 I set out in the charge of the leaders of the Senate and House of Representatives from the White House to the Capitol. There seemed to be great crowds along the broad approaches, but the security precautions, which in the United States go far beyond British custom, kept them a long way off, and two or three motor-cars filled with armed plain-clothes policemen clustered around as escort. On getting out I wished to walk up to the cheering masses in a strong mood of brotherhood, but this was not allowed. Inside the scene was impressive and formidable, and the great semicircular hall, visible to me through a grille of microphones, was thronged.
I must confess that I felt quite at home, and more sure of myself than I had sometimes been in the House of Commons. What I said was received with the utmost kindness and attention. I got my laughter and applause just where I expected them. The loudest response was when, speaking of the Japanese outrage, I asked, “What sort of people do they think we are?” The sense of the might and will-power of the American nation streamed up to me from the august assembly. Who could doubt that all would be well? Afterwards the leaders came along with me close up to the crowds which surrounded the building, so that I could give them an intimate greeting; and then the Secret Service men and their cars closed round and took me back to the White House, where the President, who had listened in, told me I had done quite well.
I travelled by the night train of December 28-29 to Ottawa, to stay with Lord Athlone, the Governor-General. On the 29th I attended a meeting of the Canadian War Cabinet. Thereafter Mr. Mackenzie King, the Prime Minister, introduced me to the leaders of the Conservative Opposition, and left me with them. These gentlemen were unsurpassed in loyalty and resolution, but at the same time they were rueful not to have the honour of waging the war themselves, and at having to listen to so many of the sentiments which they had championed all their lives expressed by their Liberal opponents.
On the 30th I spoke to the Canadian Parliament. The preparation of my two transatlantic speeches, transmitted all over the world, amid all the flow of executive work, which never stopped, was an extremely hard exertion. Delivery is no serious burden to a hard-bitten politician, but choosing what to say and what not to say in such an electric atmosphere is anxious and harassing. I did my best. The most successful point in the Canadian speech was about the Vichy Government, with whom Canada was still in relations.
It was their duty [in 1940] and it was also their interest to go to North Africa, where they would have been at the head of the French Empire. In Africa, with our aid, they would have had overwhelming sea-power. They would have had the recognition of the United States, and the use of all the gold they had lodged beyond the seas. If they had done this Italy might have been driven out of the war before the end of 1940, and France would have held her place as a nation in the councils of the Allies and at the conference table of the victors. But their generals misled them. When I warned them that Britain would fight on alone whatever they did, their generals told their Prime Minister and his divided Cabinet, “In three weeks England will have her neck wrung like a chicken.” Some chicken! Some neck!
This went very well. I quoted, to introduce a retrospect, Sir Harry Lauder’s song of the last war which began:
If we all look back on the history of the past
We can just tell where we are.
The words “that grand old comedian” were on my notes. On the way down I thought of the word “minstrel”. What an improvement! I rejoice to know that he was listening and was delighted at the reference. I am so glad I found the right word for one who, by his inspiring songs and valiant life, rendered measureless service to the Scottish race and to the British Empire.
I was lucky in the timing of these speeches in Washington and Ottawa. They came at the moment when we could all rejoice at the creation of the Grand Alliance, with its overwhelming potential force, and before the cataract of ruin fell upon us from the long, marvellously prepared assault of Japan. Even while I spoke in confident tones I could feel in anticipation the lashes which were soon to score our naked flesh. Fearful forfeits had to be paid not only by Britain and Holland but by the United States, in the Pacific and Indian Oceans, and in all the Asiatic lands and islands they lap with their waves. An indefinite period of military disaster lay certainly before us. Many dark and weary months of defeat and loss must be endured before the light would come again. When I returned in the train to Washington on New Year’s Eve I was asked to go into the carriage filled with many leading Pressmen of the United States. It was with no illusions that I wished them all a glorious New Year. “Here’s to 1942. Here’s to a year of toil—a year of struggle and peril, and a long step forward towards victory. May we all come through safe and with honour!”