1946
On 24 February 1946, Douglas Evill, Vice-Chief of the Air Staff, asked Park to spend some time during his official visit to New Zealand in informal talks with the Royal New Zealand Air Force about its postwar plans. What were New Zealand’s views, for example, on taking part in air garrisoning in the Far East? Would training be standardized with that of the RAF and other Dominions? What was planned in the way of air defence organization?
In March Park wrote to Sir Leonard Isitt, Chief of the Air Staff, RNZAF, to name the places that he wished to visit and the subjects he could talk about, ending on a characteristic note:
. . . having had many Dominion and American squadrons serving with me, I am accustomed to informal meetings and gatherings of flying personnel so please don’t turn on any ceremonial for normal visits to any of your units unless you particularly want to have a parade to tee up the boys’ turnout.
He and Dol landed at Ohakea, near Palmerston North, at 5.20 p.m. on 29 May 1946. Dol had never been to New Zealand and it was more than thirty-one years since Park had left.
The next day, at a luncheon in Wellington, he made the first of numerous speeches. He spoke about a subject always close to his heart: the need to maintain the ‘Empire Spirit’ in the RAF. British navigation, armament and other training schools would continue, he hoped, to attract men from the Dominions and this would help to ensure a vital standardization in equipment. One of an air force’s greatest assets was flexibility, but this would be lost without standardization. His ideal, he said, would be to transfer a New Zealand squadron to Canada at a moment’s notice and to operate it there as efficiently as at home. He looked back with great pleasure on his days in Malta, Egypt and the Far East when men from Canada, South Africa and Australia as well as New Zealand had served under him in British uniforms. They had worked together like a good Rugby XV, regardless of shoulder flashes, and this was the spirit which Park hoped to see live on and strengthen.
It was during this first weekend in Wellington that nurse Betty Neill met her famous uncle and his English wife. Betty was instructed by her mother (Park’s sister Lily) to be on her best behaviour because Aunt Dol, being English, would certainly be prim and proper. Betty was overwhelmed by Dol: her blue-tinted hair, elegance and boundless sense of fun. Dol asked them what they would like to drink and Lily, very properly, asked for lemonade, but Betty – who had had a long day – asked for whisky. In later years, when Park, Dol and Betty had become firm friends, he would often refer in mock despair to the problems he was having with his hard-drinking niece.
The Parks left Wellington on 1 June and flew to Oamaru, in the South Island, to see James Park. Now eighty-nine and very frail (he had only a few more weeks to live), James was in a nearby hospital. It was there that he saw his youngest son for the first time since he had achieved an international reputation. The Park family enjoyed a long overdue reunion and then, on the 7th, Keith and Dol drove down to Dunedin. He had always taken an interest in his old school – Otago Boys’ High – and spoke to the boys during the afternoon. He received a vociferous welcome, partly because of the glamour then surrounding one of the leaders of the Few, partly because it was known that his school record was, in his own assessment, ‘undistinguished’, and partly because the headmaster gave him a detention card for an offence then thirty-five years old – carving his name on a desk.
That evening, the Parks were accorded a rousing welcome at a civic reception in the Dunedin Town Hall. The notes for Sir Keith’s speech on that occasion survive: sixteen main headings and many sub-headings, all typed on a single sheet of paper. He praised Dunedin and spoke of his father, who had taught in the university there for many years; he recalled his own early years and later triumphs, spiced with anecdotes about the great, and ended with a tribute to New Zealand’s war effort – providing food and safe bases as well as brave soldiers and airmen. Only his opening words were not rehearsed. For thirty years, he said, when the cheering died down, ‘I have been looking forward to coming back to my native land, but never in my wildest dreams did I expect such a regal reception.’
After an exhilarating weekend in Dunedin, reviving memories of people and places often talked about, the Parks returned to Christchurch and then flew to Auckland. In both cities there were civic receptions, guided tours and interviews with the press. On 14 June they visited Thames, Sir Keith’s birthplace. He confessed that he was overwhelmed by his welcome; everywhere he went, he said, he felt like a travelling circus. The Parks were certainly travelling. From Thames they returned to Auckland, a five-hour drive, and the next day (15 June) celebrated Sir Keith’s first birthday in New Zealand for thirty-two years by driving to Tangiteroria, near Dargaville, to meet a boyhood friend and talk about ancient fishing trips until it was time to press on to Whangarei and another reception.
On the 19th, almost at the end of his tour, he made his most revealing speech. Appropriately, it was delivered at a meeting of the Royal Empire Society.
War [he said] is a dirty, rough game, but people will fight if there is within their hearts revenge, fear or jealousy. I am not a particularly religious person, but I have seen so many thousands of fine young men wiped out that I believe we must have a great religious revival to prevent another war. It is no use banishing war from our thoughts. War will not be prevented if we do. It is more likely to be stopped by open discussion. When economic, political and ideological theories and ways of living clash and diplomats get into a mess, they throw the burden to the sailors, soldiers and airmen, who settle the dispute in the cruellest and crudest way.
Park may not have considered himself ‘a particularly religious person’, but no one who knew him well would have agreed. He made no display of his beliefs and only rarely mentioned them in private, let alone in public, but he remained throughout his life a convinced and practising member of the Church of England.
Park’s official report on his tour revealed that political and service leaders in New Zealand were ready to fall in with the Air Ministry’s wishes in regard to standardization of methods and equipment. The morale and discipline of the RNZAF appeared good: it ‘is not politically conscious and is quite popular with the people and the press’, but it suffered from a shortage of skilled, experienced ground staff as a result of rapid demobilization. Ex-servicemen were highly organized and therefore the government appeared to be doing more for them than was the case in Britain or Australia. Although several secondary industries had developed during the war, New Zealand remained primarily agricultural and unless the government imported more labour, these industries would expand at the expense of agriculture, ‘which may not accord with Empire Economic Planning’. There was abundant food, but many people would reduce their consumption: one, if only they were asked by the Government and, two, if they were assured that food so saved would go to the population of Great Britain and not to ex-enemy countries in Europe’.1
On 21 June Park left for Sydney and spent ten days in Australia before returning to Singapore. As in New Zealand, he had discussions with political and service leaders about air force plans. Morale and discipline in the RAAF were poor, he thought. Although there were many fine junior officers, lack of confidence in the service’s future was widespread and there was little of the camaraderie seen and felt in the RAF and the RNZAF. The press was unfriendly to the fighting services and not interested in his comments on the vital part played by air power during the war; it was not even interested in Australia’s contribution to victory.
He wrote to Dan Sullivan, Minister of Supply in New Zealand, from the Cameron Highlands in northern Malaya on 8 July. The folks in Australia,’ he said, ‘were most hospitable but not in the same charming way as in my own native land. . . . Perhaps a bit ostentatious after the nice informality of many of our engagements in dear old NZ.’ He had worked his way so high, Park continued, that there were no jobs for him in the RAF. Out of sight had meant out of mind, and the air chiefs in Europe had soon picked up any jobs that were going while he was busy ‘mucking about’ with Java, Sumatra and Japan. He planned to remain in England for a few months to write his memoirs and then sell up and return to ‘dear old NZ’. His wife had loved ‘our country’, he ended, and Park wanted to invest his energies, time and small capital there rather than in some strange land.2
From Singapore the Parks embarked for England on 16 July and during the voyage Sir Keith wrote to Mountbatten. He felt confident that Tedder would have agreed to his substantive promotion, but the recommendation must have been blocked by Slessor: ‘He caused so much anger to be vented against me, you will recollect, over your rejecting his nominee, Master THORNTON.’ (Nothing is now known about this incident.) Park still felt unfairly treated over his rank, in comparison with other officers whose records were inferior. ‘If the Air Ministry persist in not acting upon your recommendation, would you advise me to mention the matter to His Majesty when I report on return to England from foreign service?’ The Parks landed in England on 3 August and Sir Keith wrote again to Mountbatten on the 9th to say that he had taken his advice and spoken to Tedder, who was prepared to tackle the Treasury. It would help, Tedder had said, if Mountbatten confirmed his earlier recommendation. He did so at once: ‘I must say once again that I feel that as Richard Peirse was retired with the rank and pension of an Air Chief Marshal, it would surely be an injustice to give Keith Park less favourable treatment, especially in the light of their respective service.’
Early in September, Park received formal notification of his retirement. He would get fifty-six days’ terminal leave plus fifty-four days in recognition of his overseas service since the outbreak of war. In effect, his retirement began on 20 December 1946. The Air Council granted him permission to retain the rank of Air Chief Marshal and expressed ‘warm appreciation of the distinguished services which you have rendered throughout your career in the RAF and more particularly during the recent war.’ A kindly note from Trenchard helped soften the blow: T am more than sorry to hear that you are finished,’ he wrote, ‘but the young must have their turn, though it is hard for men of your age to start afresh. Come to lunch with me when you are next in London.’
He was medically examined in London on 16 September. The doctors noted that he had undertaken a strenuous tour of New Zealand and Australia before he had fully recovered from amoebic dysentery and although he had put on a little weight during that tour and returned to Singapore feeling rather better, he still lacked energy. The voyage home had not helped him and since his arrival in England he had been working at the Air Ministry and was exhausted by 6 p.m. He was sleeping poorly and losing weight: 136 pounds, in trousers and shoes, was much too light for a man of six foot three inches. His loss of flesh was so severe that he found sitting or lying on any unpadded surface very uncomfortable. In his right lung the doctors observed (without further comment) that there was a metallic object. They concluded that he was suffering from general debility as a result of arduous duty overseas and should be granted sick leave as from 1 September and re-examined on 9 October.
Here the doctors erred. An officer whose retirement had been decided was only entitled to sick leave if there was a reasonable chance of his return to duty. Park thought that because his illness had been contracted months before he was officially informed that he was to retire, his retirement leave should not begin until he was passed fit for duty, presumably on 9 October. The Air Ministry found, however, that the decision to retire him had been made before he fell ill and thereby saved itself at least five weeks’ sick pay.
Praise, unlike money, was never in short supply. Viscount Stansgate, who had succeeded Sinclair as Secretary of State for Air in August, wrote to Park on 30 September to convey to him the thanks of His Majesty on his long and distinguished service. During the grim days of the Battle of Britain, Stansgate added, ‘and later in command of Malta, you played a great and active part in the organization of victory against odds which were at times overwhelming. No one did more to deserve to be raised to the position of C-in-C, as you eventually were, and in the final stages of the war to be the only airman to hold a major command against an active enemy.’
Unfortunately, he had not done enough to earn the full pension of an Air Chief Marshal. He retained the rank, but received only the pension of an Air Marshal plus one-third of the increment for an Air Chief Marshal. Not all the efforts of Tedder, Mountbatten and even Slessor were sufficient to extract from the Treasury the other two-thirds. The part he played in helping to rescue the world from German, Italian and Japanese tyrannies may be debated endlessly, but there can be no doubt that he was entitled (by qualifying service) to the full pension of an Air Chief Marshal and he never got it.3
Some shocking news about Park’s son Colin became public property on 8 October 1946. The Times reported that at a Court Martial in Iserlohn in Germany on the 7th two British army officers had pleaded guilty to charges of gross negligence leading to manslaughter in fatally wounding a ten-year-old German boy by using the guns of an armoured car. Captain Colin Park, aged twenty-one, of the Black Watch, and Lieutenant John Armstrong (twenty-two) of the 11th Hussars, had offered no defence except that on the night in question, 3 August, they had been drinking and were unaware that anyone had been hit when they fired the guns during a drive from Mohne See club towards Neheim. Mr Basil Nield, King’s Counsel, pleaded in mitigation the men’s excellent war and character records up until that night. Captain Park, he said had been a member of the War Crimes Investigation Branch of the Rhine Army and had suffered a head wound in Burma. Nield raised the question of why he had been on duty and not undergoing treatment. In Berlin, on 11 November, the findings were confirmed and both men were dismissed the service.
On the day following the report of Colin’s Court Martial, Sir Keith underwent his last service medical examination. The doctor reported that he had definitely improved and put on five pounds. He was working and sleeping better and considered fit for ground duty in the United Kingdom. Next day, 10 October, he took his place at a press conference with Mountbatten, Slim and Power to discuss the Burma campaign and a forthcoming account of it by Frank Owen of the Daily Mail. Park began his speech lightly with a tribute to Fleet Street and a small joke. He then emphasized the value of a free press. It has played a far bigger part in the Second World War than in the First and if commanders had had to face press conferences and explain their aims in the first war, some muddles might have been avoided. He thought the correspondents in SEAC had done well, except the one who had written ‘as I flew over Burma’ while downing a burra peg in Calcutta. He congratulated Owen, thanked the Press Club for a good lunch and sat down. Owen told him two days later that his speech ‘exactly hit the nail on the head. It was what this band of cynical ruffians needed to hear. I am assured that with this team of speakers we could win any by-election, even as Liberals. In fact, the current summing-up is ‘What a hell of a Front Bench!’
Churchill wrote to Park on the 16th, enclosing an account he had written of his visit to Uxbridge on 15 September 1940. He would be obliged, he wrote, if Park would look through it and ‘correct me on the technical detail, because of course I paid only three or four visits and I may not have depicted the organization of the Control Centre in proper terms. This was a heart-shaking moment in our struggle for life.’ So it was that on the 18th, with memories of his – and Churchill’s – finest hour freshly revived, Park was received by the King at Buckingham Palace to mark his relinquishing of his last command and to be invested with the insignia of a Knight Grand Cross of the Most Honourable Order of the Bath (GCB).
He wrote to Tedder on 7 November to thank him for giving his name to Shenton Thomas for the post of Director-General of the Royal Overseas League (founded to promote, maintain and expand friendship and cooperation among Commonwealth countries) but he had just heard that the council had decided not to give the appointment to an officer of such high rank. Life was full of surprises, said Park. This was not the first time recently that the high rank given him during the war had been more of a hindrance than a help in landing a good job outside the service. Though disappointed, he was not downhearted or idle for an hour, despite living ‘in the wilds of Sussex’; his mail was heavy and there was always his book.
‘Even my agent said my chapter on the Sicily Campaign is good,’ Park told Group Captain L.V. Dodds (formerly his public relations officer in ACSEA) the same day, ‘and I know the one on Malta is better. The chapters on Dunkirk and the Battle of Britain will be better still as I wrote good despatches on both and have lots of good material.’ Would Dodds go ahead and tell the world that Park was leaving the RAF and intending to go into business? For the next couple of months, however, he was going to stick to his writing, ‘as I feel sure that I must write the book now, this winter, or I shall get absorbed in some new activity. Then the desire, the urge and the opportunity may pass never to return. That would be a pity as I now find I have a good story to tell.’
Within ten days, ‘the desire, the urge and the opportunity’ had passed – to his immense relief – because he was asked to represent the Hawker Siddeley Group ‘in connection with commercial negotiations in the Argentine’. It was a wonderful opportunity not only to start a new career in aviation, but also to revive his hard-earned linguistic skills and his military, diplomatic and social contacts in South America. It was then just ten years since he had left Argentina. Not too long to pick up old threads, given his rise to eminence during the earth-shaking events of that decade.4