Flying for Freedom

Politics also stood in the way of another group of exiles to arrive that summer. For the French, however, the scenario was a complete contrast to that of the Czechs and the Poles, both of whom had witnessed the total occupation of their countries. In France, the situation was very much different. Northern France was under German authority, yet the southern regions were permitted to establish a government based at Vichy. No one disputed the fact that this government would at all times have to bow to the wishes of Berlin, but its very existence caused a schism in Anglo–French relations and was the source of much bitterness within the French air contingent itself. Whereas the Poles and the Czechs might argue over purely political issues, debate largely focusing on how their societies should be reconstructed after the war was over, the French had to decide whether or not France still existed as a free country or as a vassal state, and at the very core of this dispute was Gen Charles de Gaulle.

One historian has described the France that went to war in 1939 as ‘a deeply conservative, defensive society, split by social conflict, undermined by a failing and unmodernised economy and an empire in crisis’.¹ There is much in this view which historians of the Third Republic would recognise as accurate. Since the devastating defeat by Bismarck’s Prussia in 1870, France had fought against herself with every weapon at her disposal, even descending briefly into civil war during the battle for Paris. Not once did the country have anything more than temporal political stability. Before 1914, not once did the people unite against any external threat, except to pursue the bitter desire to exact revenge against the hated Germans and recover the lost provinces of Alsace and Lorraine. With that aim achieved in 1918 after the sacrifice of millions of casualties, France then pressed for a ‘peace’ plan which would have reduced Germany to little more than an agricultural backwater had the provisions of the Treaty of Versailles not been gradually whittled away by the other powers, foremost among which was Britain.

Anglo–French relations had been rocky at best for most of the interwar period, and there seems little doubt that the ‘alliance’ which existed between them on the eve of war in 1939 had more to do with strategical pragmatism rather than a genuine catalogue of shared interests and policies. If France fell, Britain would be in range of captured French airfields; if France resisted, Britain would throw a measure of her weight into the balance, as she had done in 1914. Either way, Britain could not afford to stand by and let France fight alone. But this did not necessarily mean that an Anglo-French coalition would be plain sailing. Staff talks began very late in the day, and at all times the shame of Munich and the haunting prospect of another calamity permeated every attempt to galvanise both governments into spirited preparation. In the spring of 1939, the British tentatively requested details of the French air preparations for defence of the home territory. These were supplied in overview format, and the strategic thinking revealed that France would deploy her air power to meet a simultaneous attack by both Italy and Germany. The system was designed to be wholly subordinate to the orders of the land force commanders, though all intelligence would be shared. France’s only standing air defences were the metropolitan forces in the north-east, held primarily in readiness to defend Paris, and the other three ‘air armies’ were to be mobilised only in the event of hostilities.²

A Supreme War Council had been swiftly established when war began in 1939, but the lack of activity in the west meant that the early adrenaline swiftly dissipated. When at last the Germans did attack in May 1940, all the problems of allied warfare soon emerged. As David Irving phrased it: ‘The British found the French undisciplined and temperamental; the French found the British pedantic and pigheaded.’³ By the time it was apparent that France could no longer resist, relations were at an all-time low. Mutual recriminations reached their zenith at Dunkirk. Only a small proportion of the quarter of a million men rescued were French. Adm Darlan complained that the British had scrambled for safety at the expense of his countrymen, claiming that the British had only one thought when faced with annihilation: ‘To the boats!’⁴ Whether or not this individual’s opinion represents the true state of affairs, we can be certain that in the wake of the Dunkirk disaster, little fabric of the ‘alliance’ remained, at least in spirit. In practical terms, however, both powers were now in the same position: one mistake would mean destruction, possibly for all time. In a poisonous atmosphere of defeat and distrust, and with accusations of incompetence flying back and forth, concerted, level-headed action was difficult indeed to realise.

As the French prepared to fight the rearguard action in early June, and Churchill shuttled to and fro in a vain attempt to inspire them to fight on, Dowding famously argued that no more British aircraft or pilots could be sacrificed for what was obviously a doomed campaign on the Continent. At first Churchill overruled him, promising the new French premier, Paul Reynaud, that a few more planes could be spared, but then the C-in-C of the French Air Force, Gen Vuillemin, all but brushed aside the contribution of the RAF as ‘tardy, inadequate, but nevertheless of value’. One can imagine the fury which this unleashed in British quarters. Gen Hastings Ismay called it ‘nothing short of outrageous’, adding:

We have thrown no bricks at them despite the fact that they let down our Expeditionary Force; and they, without one word of gratitude for the help we gave them in evacuation and in air fighting, do nothing but sling mud at us.⁵

It was against this grim and malevolent background that French troops and airmen began to arrive in Britain.

We have seen already how strained were the arrangements between the French and their Slav allies, and almost from the start the same rancour pervaded attempts to come to a working arrangement with their British hosts. One of the first problems to be encountered was the embarrassingly small number of French air personnel who had chosen to leave their home territory. The Chiefs of Staff report of 24 July estimated that only 2,000 Frenchmen had been counted off the boats, and of these only a very small number were airmen. In August, Medhurst recorded his thoughts on the French. After a mild lament that the RAF had been lumbered with the job in the first place, he somewhat loftily noted that Churchill had ‘given an undertaking to General de Gaulle that he shall have an air force, wholly French in character, and that we are to maintain it’.⁶

At the time, a small French unit comprising all the available trained pilots and mechanics had been hurriedly formed at RAF Odiham in Hampshire. Plans were being laid to equip them with British aircraft before they proceeded overseas, and the remainder of the 200 or so French airmen in Britain would then receive accelerated training before they too would be posted abroad to replace wastage. This scheme to post the trained men overseas indicates the essential difference between the French airmen in exile and the other European nationalities forced to regroup in Britain. As far as the Free French were concerned, they were still very much in the war despite partition of their country, but to understand the complexities of their situation, we must first review the political issues of the hour.

In a superior work which examines the entire wartime relationship between the Free French, the Americans and the British, C.E. Maguire makes the point that Charles de Gaulle was the only senior Frenchman left standing in June 1940 who was prepared to fight on.⁷ It was de Gaulle who, almost by act of will, brought the Free French movement into being, who defended the British action against the French fleet in Oran, who was bold enough to openly blame the French military leaders for their own defeat, and who was prepared to accept, albeit reluctantly, that he needed British assistance if France was ever to be restored. Churchill was aware of this, and he welcomed de Gaulle as the one positive dividend from the catastrophe of the summer. But this did not mean that he liked the man. Anecdotes abound which illustrate that the relationship between the two was difficult and frequently sour. Described by Churchill in 1940 as ‘a lanky, gloomy Brigadier’, de Gaulle apparently possessed a God-given ability to rankle Churchill with almost his every word and gesture. Richard Collier told the tale of an interrupted meal at Chequers when the Frenchman insisted on speaking to Churchill on the telephone as the latter sat down to dinner. ‘Cheeks crimson, napkin crumpled’, Churchill took the call and returned after ten minutes in a boiling rage. ‘Bloody de Gaulle!’ he cried. ‘He had the impertinence to tell me that the French regard him as the reincarnation of Joan of Arc. I found it very necessary to remind him that we had to burn the first!’⁸

Beyond the bluster lay the stark fact that each needed the other in the desperate hours of 1940, yet this co-operation came at a hefty political price. De Gaulle’s position was tenuous indeed. In order to prevail, he must first reduce the profile of the Pétain government and demonstrate that it had no popular support; but the Vichy administration, despite being openly aligned with Berlin, had still been democratically installed, making it a legitimate government irrespective of what anyone thought of it. Maguire draws our attention to the important fact that, had Britain and any future allies been victorious without the Free French maintaining at least the illusion of an alternative government, then France’s empire might have been part of the prize.

Thus it was vital for de Gaulle to form an acceptable alternative government and to maintain its sovereignty, but this in itself brought with it a host of thorny complications. De Gaulle had to simultaneously ridicule the Vichy regime as a puppet of the Nazis while avoiding being accused by it of being a tool of the allies. This was no easy balancing act. De Gaulle had to be on his guard at all times not to give the appearance of merely doing Churchill’s bidding, unless there was some vital French interest at stake. Furthermore, it often suited his purposes to give the impression of being deliberately obstructive and difficult if it would add to the aura, real or imagined, of a tough, single-minded man who was fighting for France with a little help from an ally in need of friends.

We must therefore not be too harsh on de Gaulle, at least in regard to his actions during the first two years of the Free French movement. He had virtually no money, little support, and almost no men with which to rebuild his national forces. Throughout the summer of 1940, a steady trickle of Frenchmen found their way to Britain, but more than a few of these opted to serve with the British Army rather than sign up with de Gaulle. Others sought repatriation to France, for they saw in de Gaulle a destructive rather than creative force, which would be used to impose a rightist government on France once the war was won – if it was won. As with the Czechoslovaks, however, many of whom disliked and distrusted their self-appointed leader, Edvard Beneš, a good number of Frenchmen who threw in their lot with de Gaulle were fighting for France, not for him. As far as they were concerned, any political issues would be resolved after the defeat of Germany. De Gaulle was astute enough to realise this, promising that all of France would be given the opportunity to decide her future when the moment arrived.

The British also stood to gain by having de Gaulle on board as a more or less willing accomplice in the prosecution of the war. Although the prospect of real military assistance was unlikely in the short or even medium term, the presence of de Gaulle offered hope that resistance in France would be stiffened. This was also a factor in Britain’s recognition of the Provisional Czechoslovak Government. In both cases, the political leaders – despite what the Foreign Office might think of them – would act as rallying points for Resistance groups in the occupied territories. Also, and again as with the Czechs, the British needed someone to administer the exiled forces for them, and it was infinitely easier to ‘appoint’ a nominal superior to do the job rather than assume full responsibility themselves. This was certainly the case with Beneš, and to a considerable extent with de Gaulle, too.

But to return to the moment of formation: the Free French suffered from an inferiority complex. They were embarrassed by their country’s defeat, by Britain’s continued resistance, and by the pitifully small numbers who had volunteered to serve with them. In Maguire’s words, they ‘over-reacted when questions of sovereignty or culture were involved’.⁹ As a result of de Gaulle’s determination to show that France still lived as a sovereign power, he insisted at all times that he should have total control over the troops and airmen who escaped to Britain. If a French serviceman presented himself to a British recruiting office, he should at once be referred to the Free French authorities, who would decide whether they would take him or not. There was nothing unusual in this – it was standard British policy with all of the exiled groups to refer them to their national representatives if they applied to serve with British forces – but de Gaulle could cut up rougher than most when his own men were involved.

De Gaulle was therefore not interested in forming Free French squadrons in Britain, at least to begin with. Every available man would have to be under his command and where he wanted him. He had a war to fight, he needed money and he needed men, so the easiest way to acquire them was to ‘liberate’ French colonies hitherto untouched by German forces. Some declared for him at once, others – such as Gabon – after a fight. But in the summer of 1940, the target was Dakar in French West Africa. That is why the trained men Medhurst referred to were being swiftly transferred out of the country, to join the forces being assembled for OPERATION MENACE. We know that this turned out disastrously for the allies, and according to Maguire, ‘this undermined any confidence that the British military had in the Free French’.¹⁰

Medhurst was concerned about de Gaulle’s absolute insistence that all French personnel should be sent to him. On 20 July he wrote to Sinclair and Newall wishing to set down ‘the facts of the situation’ as he perceived them. He had been informed that de Gaulle had commanded the formation of one fighter and one bomber squadron in the Middle East, though he pointed out that de Gaulle did not have the men to form full squadrons at all, only flights. The real problem was not overseas, however, but at home. Medhurst reminded his superiors that when the situation in France was deteriorating, the RAF had solemnly promised that all French personnel who wished to fight on could do so with the British forces, if they could manage to escape. As a result, many of the early exiles had signed up with the RAFVR. But Medhurst then drew attention to a recent pronouncement by de Gaulle:

He has been insistent that any Frenchman who has left French territory for the purpose of continuing the struggle against Germany [is] to be regarded as his servant and should first receive his permission to enter British service. Without this permission [he] might be regarded as guilty of disobedience to his leader.¹¹

Medhurst was right to flag this as a major policy problem for the British, for in every other case the allied governments were told firmly that if a man chose not to serve with them, they had no right compel him by any means. Now de Gaulle was essentially threatening every Frenchman with desertion or even mutiny if he did not rally to the Free French, and Medhurst was concerned that the General might insist that all French personnel be released from the RAFVR, possibly against their will.

The answer to his query was despatched swiftly. On 24 July, all air attachés and overseas commanders were informed that if any Frenchmen applied for service with de Gaulle’s Free French Air Force, British officers should ‘encourage only those whom you consider trustworthy, physically fit and qualified to take their place immediately’.¹² Everybody should be encouraged to serve with de Gaulle rather than the RAF, but they would temporarily enrol in the RAFVR until further notice. This in effect let the Air Ministry off the hook, for it knew perfectly well that very few of the men volunteering for service with the Free French were capable of taking up arms at once, and those who were only partly trained would be of little use in Africa, so they would automatically be sent to England as RAFVR personnel for further training. Those who were directly appointed to serving units would still be enrolled in the RAFVR – and thereby Britain would uphold her promise – but de Gaulle would nevertheless have his men under his command with minimum interference from the British.

A hidden dividend for the British in this arrangement was that they could be satisfied that all French personnel were going to be employed in some way or another, either directly with the British forces – despite de Gaulle’s dissatisfaction – or with the Free French. For again, as with the Czechs, the Home Office had sounded the alarm that some French personnel lately arrived in Britain were attempting to evade military service and settle down as civilians or political refugees.¹³ British policy on this issue was strictly enforced: no aliens, friendly or otherwise, would be permitted to take up residence in Britain unless they had been resident in the country before the outbreak of war. Anyone who was demobilised from his national contingent for reasons of age or incapacity would be granted temporary residence until the war was over, at which point he would be handed back to the relevant government. The only exceptions to this rule were those persons whose nationality would have made life difficult for them if they had been compelled or strongly persuaded to serve in their national forces. A perfect example of this lay in the case of the Sudeten Germans, who technically came under the control of the Czechoslovak authorities, but with a few limited exceptions they did not want them anyway. Austrians and ‘anti-Nazi’ Germans were also two groups for which special arrangements were made, and in many cases these people were enlisted into the Auxiliary Military Pioneer Corps (AMPC), always the British Army’s last resort for its miscreants, misfits and ne’er-do-wells.

To be fair to the French, not many of their number tried to side-step the restraints. Besides, there were at least a few from all the exiled groups who tried to disappear into civilian life soon after arrival. But the French issue was complicated still further by the intense political feelings among the men themselves. An interesting though largely disregarded report was enthusiastically sent to William Strang early in August 1940 by Medhurst and Porri at the DAAC. Compiled by an unnamed officer from the intelligence section at Coastal Command, it purported to show the true picture within the Czechoslovak, Belgian and French contingents.

It was said that 70 per cent of the French evacuees understood the British action against the French fleet at Oran, thus on balance it seemed that the majority at least could be persuaded to fight on the allied side. Even so, this still left nearly a third with a deep resentment that could be manipulated by propaganda or agents working against the common cause, therefore careful screening would be necessary before French personnel could be trusted in service. Furthermore, it was revealed that the French were also politically divided between royalists and republicans. The former group were well represented among the sailors – a point of interest to remember when we consider the formation of 340 Free French squadron – while the fewer republicans were split between loyalty to de Gaulle and resignation to accepting the realities of defeat exemplified by the Vichy government. The report argued that propaganda must be intensified in Vichy France to force it to become anti-German, and the rather gloomy conclusion drawn by the investigator pointed to a general distrust of politicians and parliament generally. ‘Nothing could have been more rotten than the Third Republic,’ were the alleged words of one sailor. ‘A king could hardly do worse; he might even do better.’¹⁴ Lastly, the report noted that anti-Semitism was at a very high level – again, nothing unusual in the wider context of the exiled groups as a whole, but a further disturbing indication that the racial policies of the Third Reich were not as reviled as some would like to believe.

Frank Roberts and Jack Ward at the Foreign Office chose to ignore most of the recommendations and observations contained in the August report, not through reasons of disbelief – though Ward commented that the writer displayed ‘a violent prejudice’ – but because there was very little in practice which could be done to make the situation any different.¹⁵ Thus, by the end of the summer of 1940, as the Battle of Britain was being fought in the skies over south-east England, both the Air Ministry and the Foreign Office had concluded that the French, Czechoslovak and Polish contingents would all need careful attention as the process of ‘shaking down’ began in earnest. The political volatility and prejudicial assessments of each group’s fighting capabilities had left their mark, and it mattered not that Polish and Czechoslovak squadrons were already in action against the Luftwaffe, and that they had scored numerous victories and suffered casualties in the fight for the common cause. For, as we have seen, the attitudes formed in the early part of the war, often without any hard evidence to sustain them, had a habit of lingering on into the middle years when – as one would reasonably suppose – all doubts might have been cast aside.

By August 1940, about a hundred French airmen were enrolled in the RAFVR awaiting training, and some twenty or so were in action with RAF squadrons. By the autumn, that number had increased to 350 as stragglers made their way from the liberated territories and from Vichy France. The November report produced by the Chiefs of Staff on the allied contingents contained the estimated numbers of foreign service personnel then in Britain, and the figures put the whole issue into perspective.¹⁶

Force	Navy	Army	Air	Total
Free French	2,750	1,080	350	4,180
Polish	1,750	17,450	8,500	27,700
Dutch	2,400	1,570	270	4,240
Czechoslovak	0	3,470	1,250	4,720
Norwegian	1,000	1,410	3 *	2,413
Belgian	0	780	165	945

*(see note 16)

This is a good indicator of why de Gaulle was so sensitive about the utilisation of his air personnel. His total forces ranked third on the list of displaced allies, narrowly behind the despised Czechoslovaks and a long way short of the Poles his superiors had treated so shabbily. In all, the allied forces numbered 44,198 men of all ranks, but the supposedly senior ally, the French, could only contribute less than 10 per cent to this tally.

The French forces in Britain therefore had much greater political significance than merely being a military presence, at least until the allied victory in North Africa. An agreement was reached with de Gaulle in early August which covered all the major points listed above in regard to training and recruitment, and it was swiftly decided that RAF Odiham, near Basingstoke in Hampshire, would be the central depot for the French air personnel. The French had a few aircraft of their own for training and navigation purposes, but both the equipment and the men were technically on loan to the RAF until de Gaulle had need of them. Morale was described as ‘good’, but in the language of the Chiefs of Staff, this was the equivalent to ‘average’ in layman’s terms. Their abilities, however, were described as ‘very satisfactory’, and the intensive training delivered to them at Odiham led to about fifteen pilots and fifty other ranks being declared fit to join the crews selected for OPERATION MENACE in September 1940.¹⁷

The fact that morale was not especially high is no surprise, given the context into which the French volunteers had been propelled by the sorry events of that summer. Worse still, Britain was unsure whether or not she was at war with unoccupied France in the south. In early July 1940, the new French government issued a warning that any British aircraft within a 20-mile limit of French territory would be shot down as hostile, a threat to which the British immediately responded in kind. Boyle justified the action to the Foreign Office by arguing that the Germans might try to use French aircraft to steal a slight advantage, but everyone knew that Vichy was going to comply fully with the terms of the armistice. The Pétain government issued orders for all French Air Force planes and pilots to concentrate in North Africa for demobilisation; many obeyed these orders, though some broke ranks and flew to Gibraltar. These were the men who came to Britain in the early autumn.

What matters, however, was the rancorous atmosphere which all this distrust and confusion created. Medhurst noted in September that there were ‘very strong political reasons why we should make every effort to stimulate the morale of these young men’. Attempts by the French to form their own air training school had foundered due to the lack of instructors, but Medhurst suggested a scheme whereby the French and Belgian contingents could pool their expertise and train pilots for their own national forces. The RAF was willing to supply the equipment, and Adm Muselier for the French and Col Wouters for the Belgians both signified their approval. All three parties moved quickly, despite arguments from some quarters that the proposed use of resources would slow up the training of British pilots. It was vital, retorted the Chiefs of Staff, that a spirit of alliance be engendered between the allied forces if the process of integration were ever to succeed. Permission for the scheme was therefore granted within days of Medhurst’s suggestion.¹⁸

The Franco-Belgian Training School at RAF Odiham had a short but successful life. It was in full operation by December 1940, and had rapidly produced fifteen French and six Belgian fighter pilots, all of whom had joined RAF squadrons and together destroyed four enemy aircraft in combat. But it had become apparent that many of the French volunteers had less experience than had been expected, and though an average of 165 flying hours was being chalked up at Odiham, some courses were delayed because basic training was deemed necessary in some cases. Even so, Dowding expressed his satisfaction with the quality of the pilots produced, and the COS report for February 1941 recorded the improvement in morale as ‘considerable’. By May, however, the experiment was at an end. The Chiefs of Staff informed the Cabinet that the facilities at Odiham were urgently required for other purposes, but in truth the object of the exercise had been to get as many French and Belgian pilots in the air as quickly as possible to improve morale, and that had been achieved beyond doubt. Further training could be handled by the RAF alone, or by the allied contingents themselves, but the Franco-Belgian collaboration demonstrated to everyone concerned that the desire to continue the struggle was very strong indeed, and in itself this was a worthwhile dividend.

The French also had other things in mind by the winter of 1940/41. Adm Muselier wrote to the Air Ministry in November exploring the possibilities of forming a Free French fighter squadron in Britain, and Collier at the DAAC wrote to Sholto Douglas to explain the position: ‘The Free French authorities have noted the frequent references to Poles and Czechs in the British press and feel that their own personnel in England is rather left out of the limelight.’ A cynic might have made much of this rather pouting grievance, but Collier stuck to the practicalities. It seemed that the French felt they could supply the pilots but not the ground crew, therefore any squadron would have to be dependent on British technicians to keep it in the air. More to the point, they also requested that the squadron should never fly over French territory, ‘because of the risk to their lives if they land’. This obviously irritated Collier, for he bluntly recommended that the scheme be scrapped unless higher powers overruled him in view of the proposal’s political implications. Within days, that was exactly what happened. Both Sholto Douglas and the Vice-Chief of the Air Staff, Sir Wilfred Freeman, comprehensively rejected the plan after Medhurst threw his weight into the balance. The former head of the DAAC (he was by this date Director of Plans) sympathised with the French request, but argued that such a squadron could not be considered unless they were willing to supply their own ground personnel. He suggested forming French flights within British squadrons, but if de Gaulle would not accept that, then any future Free French pilots should be sent to the Middle East. In short, no one was prepared to countenance the establishment of a Free French fighter squadron in Britain to satisfy what appeared to be nothing more than de Gaulle’s hunger for prestige.¹⁹

The matter fell into abeyance until the summer of 1941. Muselier contacted the Air Ministry again and assured it that sufficient ground crew had been found to form a fully operational Free French fighter squadron at the earliest opportunity. He had manipulated his available manpower by drawing technicians from the Free French Navy who had once served with the French Naval Air Arm, and hence had some experience of working with aircraft. Muselier also baited his hook with an implied threat that it would also be possible to use these men to establish the core of a Fleet Air Arm, something the British would not accept at any price because overall control by the RAF would be seriously weakened, if not negated altogether, so it was reluctantly decided to agree to the proposal, but with conditions attached. In the first place, the French had to undertake to operate the squadron as an integral unit and submit to the overall policy of allied command. Secondly, they were not to use the squadron merely as a pool of trained reserves for topping up their forces in North Africa. If they concurred with these wishes, formation could proceed.²⁰

Boyle, Muselier and a number of other French officers met at the end of June to discuss officially the creation of 340 (Free French) Fighter Squadron. The meeting heard that the French could eventually supply enough pilots to make the plan viable. Already they had 10 men serving with RAF squadrons, a further 93 in various stages of basic flying training, 41 in fighter OTUs, and another 35 about to begin initial training at stations across the country. Muselier promised to maintain the squadron in Britain, and he calculated that after a year the men seconded from the Navy would be replaced by fully trained operatives, thus making the squadron a wholly integral unit entirely compatible with RAF standards. It would still technically be a naval squadron, but one ‘placed at the disposal of the RAF’. This was typical French wordplay, creating the impression that their independent status was sacrosanct, and that they were somehow doing the RAF a favour. The Air Ministry representatives probably rankled to hear it – especially after the Admiralty voiced concerns about the naval connections – but it was the best they were going to get. One problem was removed, however. Muselier withdrew his objection to his aircraft flying over French territory, but it is unlikely that this concession signalled a real change of heart. Other allied squadrons – notably the Czechs and the Poles – had brushed aside concerns for their safety over enemy territory by retorting that it was an acceptable risk of war, so it is hardly likely that the French would have stood alone in their refusal, driven as they were by the desire to increase their column inches in the British press.²¹

Much still remained to be done before 340 Squadron could take its place in the line. Sholto Douglas formally agreed to its formation in August 1941, but he insisted that a British commander should take charge while the squadron was shaking down and dependent on British ground staff acting as instructors and technicians. De Gaulle also stirred the pot by nominating Adm Muselier as the French commander, and not Gen Valin, the C-in-C of the Free French Air Force. This was to emphasise the major contribution being made by the Navy to the project, but this jangled nerves in the Air Ministry, provoking it to ask for assurances that the squadron would be subject to RAF law, and not that of the French Navy. Then, in October, the whole plan was thrown into jeopardy because of supply problems, British commitments to Soviet Russia being cited as the reason. The RAF had undertaken to send 170 Hurricanes to Russia in October, and a further 200 in November, all drawn from existing RAF squadrons as Spitfire replacements became available. The French were not pleased, but Sholto Douglas stood his ground. The Belgians had also recently proposed their own fighter squadron, but both would have to wait until Stalin had been sated with Hurricanes.

By early October 1941, the mists were clearing. Sufficient aircraft would become available within four weeks, and 340 Squadron would form at Turnhouse on 7 November. Yet the party was spoilt almost as soon as the invitations were sent, for in a brief minute to the Air Ministry, Muselier confessed that he had been unable to find the ground crew after all. If 340 was to function as an operational unit, the British must supply the maintenance echelon for at least the first six months. Now this was guaranteed to irritate the British; the agreement had been that the French would have their national squadron and all the glory which came with it, but now it seemed that the RAF must supply the essential staff while the pilots wallowed in the attention and de Gaulle gained another feather in his cap. We have seen how sensitive the British could be in regard to allied squadrons that were incapable of operating as fully national units, the particularly bitter row which erupted over just such an issue with the Czechoslovaks standing as the worst example. And yet even before the essential preparations for 340 had been completed, another storm had begun to brew, this time between the French themselves.

It began in mid-October with a summary to the Air Ministry dealing with ‘trouble and discontent’ at the School of Technical Training, St Athan. The naval ground crew which Muselier had promised were cited as the cause of a host of minor personal grievances which had totally disrupted the already fragile unity of the various French service arms. ‘There is a good deal of rivalry between the Air Force and Naval personnel,’ ran the report. ‘They are obviously not mixing at all, and do not even appear to be on speaking terms with each other. The whole spirit of the Free French unit at St Athan is therefore very bad . . . and unless a solution is found it will have a very bad effect on the spirit of the fighter squadron.’ It was apparent that numerous differences in pay and rank between the Free French Navy and Air Force were to blame – the Air Force crews receiving less money for what they perceived to be equivalent status – and although the worst of the squabbling was skilfully smoothed over by a French officer, Commandant Jubelin, the roots of the dispute were actually political, and it was to get a lot worse before it got better.

Jubelin had impressed some of the British so much that he was nominated as the French commander of 340 Squadron when it formed; indeed, this was seconded by Valin, but ultimately rejected by the Air Ministry due to his age (thirty-four) and lack of operational experience. Valin himself also came in for criticism for allowing such a disparity of pay and conditions to develop in the first place. He was immediately requested to personally guarantee that all rates of pay would be equalised for equivalent ranks where French personnel were stationed on an RAF base, and for good measure he was reminded that men from all three services came under RAF law. He agreed to the conditions on 23 October, and the British reasonably assumed that formation could proceed.

On 31 October, Sholto Douglas, then AOC Fighter Command, approved the selection of Sqn Ldr Keith Lofts as the first CO of 340, with two flight commanders from the Free French Air Force, Flt Lt Duperier and Flg Off Mouchotte. This sparked the next furore. De Gaulle and Muselier both recorded their anger at the choice, claiming that they had not been consulted on the appointments and that there were no navy pilots in the original establishment of flying personnel. De Gaulle had been persuaded by two navy pilots named Scitivaux and Laurent that the Air Ministry had deliberately sought to keep the Free French Navy at bay in the composition of the squadron, but Fighter Command fiercely replied that the Free French had overestimated their own influence in the construction of 340 and as far as the RAF was concerned, pilot selection was a question of suitability, not political preference.²²

It was in the midst of this unsettled atmosphere that 340 (Free French) fighter squadron was formed at Turnhouse on 7 November and mounted on Spitfire IIa aircraft. Its ground crew was composed of sixty men from the Free French Navy and a further twenty-five from the air force, but the inter-service tensions had not gone away despite the good reasons for unity which 340’s existence should have engendered. In less than a week, Valin was writing to Archibald Sinclair and warning him that the problems in the ranks might lead to a complete seizure of communication between the two services, leading either to the collapse of the squadron as a viable unit, or to the complete replacement of all personnel by naval technicians. Valin asked Sinclair that if things got any worse, would the British step in with an emergency cohort of ground crew. The reply he received from Sinclair was an emphatic ‘no’.²³

Things bumped along for a while, and though 340 was declared operational on 29 November, little flying took place during the early winter months. The time was spent on defensive patrols along the northern coasts, but the continuing hostility among the ground crew echelons meant that servicing times were extended. The morale of the pilots was described in the 19th COS report as ‘very good’, but that of the ground crews as ‘mixed’. Then, in mid-January 1942, Valin lobbed another grenade into the pot. He informed the Air Ministry that he did not have sufficient ground crew to form the Free French flight ‘Alsace’ in the Middle East, and he requested that the entire ground crew then presently with 340 Squadron be transferred to the Western Desert at once. Muselier was also lobbying him for the return of his sixty-five men at the earliest opportunity. Valin asked if the RAF would be prepared to rapidly install a replacement ground crew in 340 Squadron, ‘as it was important from the political aspect to keep the squadron in existence in the United Kingdom’.

When this news reached Sholto Douglas, he made his views crystal clear in a letter to H.G. Crowe at the DAFL: ‘I am not at all anxious to fall in with General Valin’s wishes. In the first place, I feel that I have been “led up the garden path”.’ He went on to reiterate that the original agreement with the French rested upon their promise that they would supply the ground crew, ‘but now that they have got their squadron, they wish to go back on their undertaking. I feel that I have been “bounced”. I don’t like this sort of dishonest dealing.’ He accepted that Anglo-French collaboration on the squadron might work in practice, and he used his own experience of this with 313 (Czechoslovak) Fighter Squadron which relied entirely on British ground crew. But in the French case he was not prepared to back down: ‘I find the Czechs much easier to deal with than the Free French who, as you will I think agree, are very difficult and touchy people.’ He instructed the DAFL to tell Valin that no one was going back to the navy, or being transferred to the Middle East, and if the French objected he would ask the Air Ministry to disband the squadron at once and disperse the pilots:

In actual fact – though you need not say this – this is the course that I would prefer, as I only agreed to the formation of the squadron to please and encourage the Free French movement. I should not be sorry to convert it to a British squadron and spread the pilots around other British squadrons – where in fact many of them have done very well in the past.

On 22 January, the DAFL relayed a sanitised version of this to the Spears Mission, the channel of communication between the British and the Free French. Crowe suggested that Valin recalled the French pilots from the Middle East and allowed them to fly with British squadrons, for it seemed unlikely that the necessary maintenance staff would be found. After a few days, the Spears Mission returned with Valin’s opinion. As far as he was concerned, the North African theatre of operations was more important, therefore the best option was to disband 340. This would (a) let the navy have its men back; (b) solve the problem of the friction between the two services in 340; (c) ensure that the pilots would remain operational with the RAF, and (d) release the 25 French Air Force mechanics, who could then make up the shortfall in the Middle East.²⁴

The fate of 340 Squadron was thus hanging by a slender thread before it was even three months old. Conscious of the awesome political fall-out if the squadron were to fold, irrespective of who ordered it, the DAFL sent its own representative to 340 Squadron with a brief to determine the facts. J.A. de Laszlo travelled through the winter weather from London to Ayr and spoke with Lofts, who was still commanding the troubled unit. Together they compiled reports which threw into high relief not only the immediate problems with 340 Fighter Squadron, but also the deeper issues which plagued the Free French movement as a whole. For Lofts, the main problem was the high number of NCOs. The better rates of pay available for the extra stripes meant that both the air force and navy wings continually promoted their men ‘regardless of their efficiency’, leaving the squadron with enough NCOs to administer 3,000 men. The navy men constantly demanded a return posting, and air force NCOs refused to take orders from navy NCOs, and vice versa. The few men who belonged to the Fleet Air Arm tended to ignore both. Some tactless desk-hand had also posted a number of Tahitians to 340, and they complained bitterly about the Scottish weather and refused to work outside in the cold. One by one, men were finding their way out of 340 and were being replaced by British maintenance men, and according to Lofts, this British presence was ‘the backbone of the squadron’.

De Laszlo took a slightly different view. He named and shamed two individuals whom he considered guilty of fomenting discontent across the station, mainly because they were ‘both angling for a cushy job in French HQ in London’. He explained that the high number of NCOs was causing innumerable disciplinary problems because of their refusal to take orders from each other. This was wrecking the confidence and morale of the lower ranks to the point where men simply refused to do any work, safe in the knowledge that they were unlikely to be punished. The earlier promise by the French to equalise pay had indeed been honoured, but instead of raising it to meet the standards of the navy, they lowered it to the levels of the air force. Even so, de Laszlo described the morale among the pilots as ‘extremely good’, but the ensuing difficulties on the ground meant that ‘the most serious trouble’ was likely to break out soon unless something was done.

Lofts had clearly had enough, and by early February 1942 he was on his way to a new posting abroad. The moment seemed right for the man of the hour himself to pay a visit to 340, and de Gaulle’s appearance in the biting cold of mid-February produced a brief moment of comic irony. Writing his own report for the Spears Mission, Sqn Ldr Skepper told how, after the officers had consumed warming drinks ‘in lavish quantities’, de Gaulle stood on a podium near him and lectured the men on the importance of maintaining good communications. ‘Unfortunately there was a heavy wind blowing,’ noted Skepper, ‘[and] I was unable to hear what he said.’

Some time later, de Gaulle granted Skepper the pleasure of one of his long monologues, in which he criticised British and American tactics. Wrote Skepper: ‘I suggested to the General that it was a great pity that he did not know English better so as to be able to explain his theories to important government officials, to which he replied that as he had been unable to make the French nation realise the value of his opinions, it was hardly likely that he would have any influence on the English.’ If ever there was a stray note which completely captured the essence of a flawed alliance, Skepper’s memories have served history well.

In early April 1942, 340 Squadron moved south to Tangmere and began fighter sweeps over northern France. It was a cherished hope of some at the Air Ministry that the promise of serious action would dispel the gloom. The new station commander, Grp Capt Appleton, constantly reinforced the point that life as a front-line squadron was much rougher than Scottish patrols, but he urged the pilots to remember that the evidence showed that allied pilots shot down over enemy territory were unlikely to be treated differently to any other RAF man. But it still seemed impossible to improve morale and discipline on the ground, and the differences went much deeper than petty squabbles over pay and ranks. The divisions which had plagued the Third Republic since its forced inception at the hands of the Prussians way back in 1871 still had resonance in 1942. Republicans and royalists taunted each other, and those who still nursed anti-British grudges after Oran quarrelled with Gaullists and spread defeatism. Soon after the move to Tangmere, Valin made an appearance and bluntly told the men that they ‘were not giving complete satisfaction’. He threatened them with courts of enquiry, demotion, and even expulsion from the squadron if they did not pull their weight and give maximum effort to the cause of France. He laid the blame squarely on the NCOs of the Free French Navy. Skepper, who accompanied Valin, saw men lounging about and reluctant to attend to their duties unless forced by officers. In his report, he noted that ‘it would seem improbable that any reasonable form of discipline can ever be established in this squadron’ unless the RAF dictated practice and the French applied a heavy hand.²⁵

Appleton was either insensitive to these problems or simply unaware of them. By his own admission, it seems to have been the latter, for in a report made to the DAFL he declared himself satisfied with the work of the squadron and had observed no significant difficulties. Quite possibly, however, he was not permitted to see the worst of the internecine battle simmering beneath the surface. The testimony of the British Engineer Officer indicates that the French kept their problems to themselves, leaving the British out of any discussions concerning the ground crew or their grievances. The French themselves admitted that they tended to attach too much importance to the matter of rank. A central problem was that many NCOs had failed their trade tests, but were nevertheless good NCOs for their leadership qualities. On the other hand, many airmen had qualified with high scores in the RAF examinations, leading to the absurd position that the lower ranks were telling their seniors what needed to be done and how to do it. Supervision of routine maintenance work and engineering activities was therefore impossible, so the DAFL ordered the squadron (a) to select the best NCOs and push them through further trade testing; (b) to remove three senior NCOs described as ‘not a good influence on the squadron’, and (c) to post nine others to distant duties when suitable replacements had been found.

Earlier in the month of April 1942, political discussions had been advancing towards a new treaty of alliance with the French. The rushed document of August 1940 had substantially outlived its use and relevance, but the British were still determined not to give their reluctant ally too much room for manoeuvre. The problems in 340 Squadron resulted from the control de Gaulle expected to wield over all of his forces, the Air Ministry noting that he and his acolytes promoted and demoted individuals without any reference to the appropriate RAF authorities, something upon which the British insisted with all the other allied forces. More often than not, men were rewarded with an enhanced rank according to their political views and acceptability within the Gaullist clique, and it was felt that this practice had contributed to the difficulties which plagued 340 Squadron from the day of its formation. In the new Anglo-French agreement signed on 1 May, this loophole was neatly filled by inserting a clause committing the French to nominate airmen for promotion and then place their recommendations before the RAF, the decision of the latter body being final. It was a hard-won point. De Gaulle resisted this apparent loss of sovereignty for some time, but the British stood firm, the net result being a slow but consistent improvement in the morale and discipline of 340 Squadron.²⁶

In the air, however, 340 was making a name for itself. The move south had raised the pilots’ spirits, and the operations summaries for the period show how the workload of the squadron had increased enormously. Between November 1941 and March 1942, the squadron had flown a total of twenty-six sorties while in Scotland, whereas within a month of moving to Tangmere, that number had increased to 189, most of them over the French coastline. The success rate had also boosted morale. In six weeks, 340 had accounted for 9 enemy aircraft destroyed, 2 probables and 2 damaged. In return, the French suffered five men missing and one serious injury. By midsummer 1942, a total of 1,611 operational hours had been flown, though by then the scores for and against were more or less even. Twelve pilots were decorated by de Gaulle for outstanding service; but perhaps more importantly, most of the problems within 340 Squadron had either been resolved or were in the process of resolution.

One niggling issue would not go away, however. Still the tension between the Free French Navy and Air Force continued, though not so much on the ground by October 1942, but at the higher levels. At the time, 340 Squadron contained fifty-three naval personnel, three of them pilots, and the French authorities wanted these men back in the navy for further training. This would place a further strain on the maintenance resources of 340, for although the squadron had been in existence for some time, the initial ratio of air force to navy personnel had been 30:69. That dependency on the naval arm had scarcely decreased by the autumn of 1942, standing at 37:55, with a further 28 air force men due to arrive in four months after training. The DAFL reacted assertively, pointing out to the French that the shortfall would have to be made up by posting RAF mechanics to the squadron, which in itself broke the agreement to keep the unit as a national entity. Word came through that Muselier’s successor, Adm Auboyneau, would argue that because 340 had been consistently described as an RAF squadron, he was no longer bound by the agreement to keep it flying with his men. In desperation, the DAFL requested the French to withdraw the mechanics over a phased period, replacing each one man-for-man with trained air force personnel. The reply from the French was non-committal.

A dark situation had become a crisis by November 1942. Frank Beaumont, then in charge of the DAFL, wrote to Sholto Douglas at Fighter Command and warned him that if the Free Free French Navy went ahead with its proposals without replacing the men, 340 Squadron would almost certainly fold. The best-case scenario would be to concentrate all the Free French Air Force mechanics into one group and post surplus pilots to British squadrons, in effect reducing the unit to one viable flight. Sholto Douglas disagreed with this calculation, and he could see no satisfactory alternative to sending in RAFVR mechanics if the French Navy persisted. As far as he was concerned, the political damage would be very serious, but it had to be the French and not the British who would shoulder the blame in that eventuality.

On 18 November, the formal request from the French for the transfer of all the naval men landed on Beaumont’s desk He wrote immediately to Sholto Douglas, noting that the French Navy had also demanded the return of the one naval pilot still flying with the RAF, a Lt Claude, then with 118 Squadron. Quite obviously, the Free French Navy was determined to sever all its connections with the RAF, and Sholto Douglas authorised the emergency transfer of RAF mechanics to make up the deficiency, even if that weakened existing RAF units. Angrily, he minuted that the postings out of the squadron could take place as soon as possible, and under no circumstances would naval personnel be permitted to rejoin the unit, ‘in order to avoid further trouble’. The change in personnel happened on one day, 1 December. Out went the navy men, and in came fifty-three RAF mechanics hastily removed from reserve squadrons across the length and breadth of Britain. Within days, a DAFL report on 340 Squadron noted that ‘discipline among the ground personnel has improved’.²⁷

It had taken over a year of intense argument between the administrative divisions of two air forces and one navy to bring peace to 340 Squadron, and although in that time the unit had acquitted itself with honour, doing what it was formed to do, the real battles had taken place across desks and conference rooms. The story of 340 serves to illustrate the extremely irritable alliance between the British and the French. Sholto Douglas in particular was deeply incensed by the latter’s refusal to uphold previous agreements and its inclination to play political games both with the RAF and, ultimately, the lives of men under his command. The RAF did not give up in its struggle to have its own men in 340 replaced by French mechanics, but it was victory in North Africa and the subsequent release of personnel for other duties which finally enabled the squadron to approach full national integrity, not a change of heart by the French authorities.

In March 1943, the squadron was withdrawn from the southern sectors and returned to Scotland. Officially, this was described as a routine rotation, 340 being long overdue for a rest. However, DAFL documents show that there were other motives involved. By this time, 340 had a pilot surplus amounting to eighteen men fully trained on Spitfires, but instead of posting these men for service in British squadrons, it had been decided to keep them in a quiet sector to maintain the reserve pool. Two new French squadrons had also been formed in 1943. In January, 341 Squadron had been created out of personnel who had served in the Western Desert; and in April, 342 Bomber Squadron formed at West Raynham, again with men made available from the Middle East campaign. In both cases, it was felt that the new units would need time to adjust to the war conditions in Europe, therefore losses might be higher than normal. By keeping 340 on convoy patrols in Scotland, any unexpected pilot wastage could be made up relatively quickly.

For the rest of the war, 340 Squadron continued to play its part on a variety of fronts. The unit moved south again in 1944 and provided fighter cover to the Normandy landings, ending its days as an RAF allied squadron on 25 November 1945, when it was formally transferred to the French Air Force. Throughout 1944, further French squadrons were created, the last being 347 Heavy Bomber Squadron, which formed at Elvington on 20 June. None of the new units, however, suffered anything like the trauma experienced by 340, for by April 1943 the Free French movement was being guided towards extinction as de Gaulle made a reluctant peace with Gen Giraud and the unified French Committee of National Liberation replaced the old authority.

There had been a long-running political conflict between de Gaulle and Henri Giraud. The latter owed his position to the assassination by a French student of Adm Jean Darlan in December 1942. Darlan had been Vichy’s representative and commander of its forces in North Africa, but he had thrown his lot in with the allies after the landings in November. His reward for ordering the cessation of resistance to the allied thrust was to be appointed High Commissioner for French North Africa, much to de Gaulle’s disgust. A few weeks later, Darlan was dead, and Giraud was named as his successor. Giraud had become a rallying point for the anti-Vichy, anti-de Gaulle faction in French politics. He enjoyed extensive American support, and was described by one historian as ‘the perfect superior – indulgent, affectionate, adored by his men because he listened to their complaints and laughed at their jokes’.²⁸ He was a complete contrast to de Gaulle, and therefore he represented a serious threat to the latter’s bid to speak for the whole of France. But de Gaulle was confident that he could dispose of Giraud and absorb his forces, hence he moved his headquarters to Algiers in May 1943. Not long after this, the two groups merged into the French Committee of National Liberation – a marriage of convenience rather than shared objectives. This ‘dual command’ was announced on 21 June, but yet again another period of bitter in-fighting commenced as de Gaulle openly tried to attract Giraud’s men into his own camp. Giraud did not last long, however. Faced with an opponent who used every tactic in the usurper’s handbook, he was virtually forced to resign as C-in-C in April 1944. Thus, like it or not, from the middle of 1943 all French forces were, if in name only, fighting under a unified command. The conflict of loyalties which had afflicted 340 Squadron so profoundly did not attach itself to the new squadrons which followed. Also, from the point of view of the RAF, the new influx of trained personnel greatly relieved the manning problems with which the old Free French Air Force had been plagued.

Reviewing the situation in April 1943, a DAFL report noted that many of the North African contingent would rather fight with the British than the Americans. Looking far ahead to the day of victory, it was thought that the utilisation of French crews in offensive operations against the occupied territories would leave a beneficial impact on morale, a major side effect being the sound impression service with the RAF would have on the men once the war was won. This is not to suppose, however, that the British had read the new fusion of French forces correctly. A memorandum from the Minister Resident in Algiers – the future Prime Minister, Harold Macmillan – described the forthcoming merger as being ‘good for all concerned’. He argued that ‘the more de Gaulle is forced out of his personal mystique and Fuehrer principles, the more he is likely to switch over on to another popular line’. According to Macmillan, de Gaulle’s brand of ‘concealed fascism’ would be mollified by the association with Giraud, leading to an altogether more fruitful alliance. ‘De Gaulle has continually bitten the hand that has fed him,’ he concluded, and warned that any renewed attempt by the French to sit on the Combined Chiefs of Staff committees should be resisted at all costs.²⁹

We know now, of course, how wrong Macmillan had been in his assessment of the coming new order in Algiers. De Gaulle was far too shrewd a manipulator to allow his quest to be thwarted by Giraud, but at the time the union was greeted with something approaching jubilation in Britain. Medhurst, by now the Assistant Chief of the Air Staff (Policy), proposed ‘the complete Frenchification’ of all existing squadrons, thereby releasing those RAF men still engaged in making up the numbers. Even so, he was not in favour of building up a large French air force in Britain, preferring instead to concentrate all their available forces in North Africa. Consequently, the training of crews on British air stations for service in the Middle East and the Mediterranean proceeded at an urgent rate through the early summer of 1943. Still looking ahead, DAFL reports note that at some stage the entire French contingent in Africa would eventually arrive in Britain as plans for OVERLORD advanced. The Air Ministry went so far as to produce a propaganda leaflet, dropped by the thousand over the occupied territories, extolling the virtues of the new united air arm and its future role in the liberation of France.³⁰

From the administrative point of view, the potential to construct a truly united and rejuvenated Free French Air Force posed certain problems not encountered before. The Air Ministry called for a single Free French Air Force headquarters, and to keep the training regime fully compatible with RAF standards. Moreover, Free French Air Force law would only apply in cases where the relevant squadrons were uniquely French. One of the first moves was to appoint a liaison officer with direct access to both authorities. The man chosen was Wg Cdr Rock de Besombes. Here was an officer most trusted by the DAFL, and one can imagine the relief in British hearts when he reported that his superiors had no objections to the entire Free French Air Force being regarded as part of the inter-allied air pool being assembled for OVERLORD. Indeed, the prospect of taking part in the liberation was wholly welcomed, and for the British this enthusiasm paid a useful dividend as it kept the French away from the tentacles of America. For by 1943, British policy was slowly shifting into a postwar mode, and the need to maintain satisfactory relations with the French after victory in Europe was bubbling to the top of the agenda.

Preparations for OVERLORD continued apace during the autumn of 1943. The expected influx of French air personnel from North Africa was provided for in the establishment of an Aircrew Reception Centre at Filey, Yorkshire. The DAFL report which detailed the training and redeployment plans noted that the Free French Air Force headquarters had been ‘most co-operative’ with the RAF concerning procedures for selection, medical inspection and trade-testing in advance of the posting to Britain. In fact, the French had requested extra representation in the target force. The new chief of the French air staff, Gen Bouscat, let it be known that the morale of his men was excellent, and on the last day of 1943 the Foreign Office received what it described as ‘excellent news’. President Roosevelt had met briefly with de Gaulle to discuss the forthcoming operations and present political dimensions. During the conversation, Roosevelt ‘told de Gaulle straight that he had formed at first a bad impression of him, but he now thought that he had been mistaken, and the allies would certainly play the game with him if [he] would act fairly and frankly in return’. The euphoria was short-lived, however, because the French immediately tabled a new request for a seat on the Combined Chiefs of Staff Committee. Brushing this aside, Churchill remarked that if the request were granted, ‘the Brazilians, Mexicans and the Chinese would immediately demand equal representation’. More than a touch of hyperbole, for sure, but this gives us a sense of how Churchill regarded the alliance with the French. As we shall see, his mood did not change.³¹

Churchill’s refusal again increased the tension between the FCNL and the British, but the conflict was now entirely political, and had no visible effect on the military alliance. When OVERLORD was launched in June, there were a total of twelve French squadrons in the RAF target force, and four of them – 329, 340, 341 and 345 – provided fighter support over the French coasts. So great had the action been, several French pilots were listed as ‘tour-expired’, and before replacements could be found, several RAF pilots were rapidly drafted in to make up the shortfall. By the time of the liberation of Paris, a grand total of thirty-five French squadrons were in existence under British, American or Soviet control, and almost immediately the question of the hour turned towards the postwar scenario. As with all the allied forces except the Poles, the British endeavoured to secure peacetime rearmament contracts, but in order to win these they had to find some means of removing the vast differences of opinion which still lay between themselves and the French.

Early in February 1945, Churchill was informed of the proposal to push ahead with French rearmament under the COS 120 scheme, the initial plan being to equip and train ten Free French Air Force squadrons as soon as possible. He replied: ‘I cannot believe that there is any hurry in this matter. We have a lot of things to settle with the French before we devote ourselves to helping them become a great air power after the war is over.’ Uppermost in Churchill’s mind was the question of French political stability as the Vichy regime was mopped up and the new order, symbolised by de Gaulle, struggled to take its place. De Gaulle had entered Paris on a tidal wave of popular sentiment, but he by no means commanded the support of everyone; and besides, the Resistance felt equally entitled to a share of power, and it had a strong communist element at its core. The Air Ministry’s view was much more pragmatic: ‘If we do not get in now, the United States will,’ ran a comment sent to Eden. He in turn wrote to Churchill and implored him to think again, pointing out that French squadrons trained and equipped by the Americans already outnumbered their British counterparts by a ratio of 18:12. If the British dallied in pursuing rearmament, vital contracts could be lost. Furthermore, the Americans were shaping up to give the French a large number of operational aircraft once Japan had been defeated. Within a week, Churchill had reconsidered, and a note from Eden to all departments simply read: ‘You can now go ahead.’³²

The French had also indicated a desire to build Mosquitoes under licence from the British. Apart from the material benefits, the RAF supported the plan because it would help reflate the French air industry – ‘useful in the interests of stability’ – and it would deflect them from the temptation to build German aircraft and components, both of which were lying around in some abundance. The French were keen to despatch a negotiating mission to Britain in the spring of 1945, mainly to discuss rearmament plans, but also to examine new technology then at the development stage. Despite persistent requests on their behalf to get things moving, they were told that the mission should be delayed pending an Anglo-American decision on how much knowledge should be disclosed to them.

If this sounds like an odd way to treat an ally, we must consider a comment made in a Chiefs of Staff report to the War Cabinet in the middle of February 1945: ‘French security is doubtful, and there is a decided risk that any information which we give to the French might find its way to the enemy.’ The report therefore recommended withholding any disclosures of a sensitive nature, but it equally counselled against showing them only currently operational equipment which might well become obsolete in a couple of years. To do so, decided the chiefs, would be to create an opportunity for ‘lasting grievance’. A final element in the calculation involved the Soviets, for it was felt that whatever was shown to the French would, reasonably, be demanded by Moscow too, and that would never do. They were aware, however, that Russian engineers had been very active in Germany, collecting Messerschmitt jet engines like postage stamps, so in the final analysis the Soviet question was of little importance.³³

In any case, nothing could be done without the concurrence of the Americans. The problem was relayed to Washington for the attention of the State Department, but for some weeks the wires were quiet. In the mean time, the French grew impatient. A telegram from the SHAEF mission in France to the Foreign Office warned that they were preparing to scrap the deal completely unless progress was made soon, provoking a mournful comment from Jack Ward that the Americans had ‘a theoretical stranglehold’ on the entire plan, adding that they also possessed the industrial muscle to supply the French with Packard-built engines at a loss if they so desired. Although similar to the Rolls-Royce variants in power and performance, the Packard engines would be a much cheaper alternative – a mighty incentive to an industry rebuilding itself after five years of war.

The British then found themselves in a position to which they were to grow accustomed as 1945 wore on. As with the question of Polish resettlement and the return of the Czechoslovak squadrons to Prague, what the Soviets might or might not do proved to be a cause of frustration and indecision. Uppermost on the agenda in March 1945 was the issue of whether or not the Russians should be told of the French licence scheme. If they asked the French whether they (the British) should tell the Russians, the French might say yes or no. If they said yes, they might tell the Russians before the British did, thereby making the British look furtive and shifty. If they said no, the British might find themselves in the awkward position of having to refuse their advice, having asked for it, or run the risk of being seen to make a secret agreement with one ally while excluding another. The final decision was almost the stuff of legend in regard to British foreign policy making – a ‘wait and see’ policy would be adopted, with neither party being told about anything. Perhaps in the end it was the right approach, for two days later the US State Department delivered its verdict regarding the Mosquito plan. The answer was ‘No’.³⁴

The full details of the refusal reached the Foreign Office later on the same day. The Americans argued that they as well as the British had the right to benefit from the postwar rearmament programmes, and the scheme to build Mosquitoes under licence in France would not further the interests of Washington. With a rather limp excuse tacked on for good measure, they declared that they had undertaken ‘a considerably extended programme’ of arming the French, and while they had no objection to the British securing contracts with Belgium, the Netherlands, Norway and Denmark, any extension of productive capacities to meet the needs of the French would weaken the combined efforts to continue the war against Japan. Regarding the redevelopment of the French aero-industry, they curtly replied that the personnel might be better used to ensure the final defeat of Germany. The British were not amused by this. In a swift reply, Eden noted that he had been under the impression that Washington had had no objections in principle to Britain’s rearming of the European allies; indeed, his ministers had told the relevant parties that no obstacles were foreseen in securing American concurrence. In other words, the British now looked very foolish, and a parting shot from the Foreign Office rather petulantly pointed out that the Russians had not breathed a single word about their own plans for Eastern Europe.

As always in cases like this, the truth was not very far from the myth. A rumour which first circulated in Whitehall before the American verdict, and which was confirmed a few days later, concerned the Americans’ offer to the French of a substantial number of A20 Boston aircraft, with other types to follow. William Pearson Rogers, writing to Jack Ward, noted: ‘This rather confirms, as we have always anticipated, that the Americans will not hesitate to unload on to the French their surplus material and obsolete aircraft with little regard to the real needs of the French rearmament plan.’ Ward agreed, and in his marginal notes he wrote: ‘The Americans are becoming market conscious [though] they would doubtless contend that these aircraft were allotted for purposes essential to the war, whereas we British serpents were only thinking of the post-war period.’³⁵

In fact, Ward knew this assessment to be true, yet this did not soothe the uncomfortable knowledge of what postwar realities would be like with the Americans calling the plays. While the French squadrons were still in action over Germany, all three of the Anglo-French postwar plans had been stalled or rejected by Washington. The plan to immediately reinforce French air strength by ten squadrons under COS 120 had been put on hold pending the final defeat of Germany; the plan to send an air mission to Britain to study technological developments had been rejected by the Americans (and, as we have seen, questioned by the British themselves), and the plan to allow the French to build Mosquitoes under licence had been swept aside because it interfered with Washington’s own scheme of showering the French with redundant aircraft. This was not a healthy beginning for the ‘special relationship’.

Roughly a month later, four days before Hitler ended his own life and that of his Third Reich, the Foreign Office learned that the Americans had been deadly serious in their plan to thrust their surplus stock upon the French. Ward received notice that a total of 128 Boston aircraft would soon be in French hands, and that they would also be used in areas of British responsibility, hence the need to warn the French that no help in maintenance or spares could be expected from London. This was not pique, but practicality. It was clearly apparent that America was going to allocate aircraft to the allies, ‘more or less as they see fit’, while at the same time dictating rearmament terms to Britain. Jack Ward minuted: ‘The Americans are having it both ways, strangling our attempts to help the allies while doing what they please themselves. But then Lend-Lease was an American scheme, and we must pay for indirectly, if not directly.’ A comment to these thoughts reads: ‘All the more reason for going ahead with our Mosquito project regardless of American objections.’ Apparently, Sir Stafford Cripps had urged upon Churchill the need for just this assertion of British independence, but the Prime Minister demurred.

Worse still, the French themselves refused to believe that the licence scheme had been spiked by Washington, and chose instead to lay the blame at Whitehall’s door. The French Air Minister had ‘flown into a passion’ upon hearing the news, and loudly declared that it was quite obvious that the British did not trust his nation or his people, and that it was an insult that they should be denied access to new types and developments. Ward described the whole fiasco as ‘lamentable’, and the final, ludicrous exchange took place when, upon hearing the news that the proposed mission had now been cancelled, someone at the Air Ministry told the French attaché that if only his superiors would come to this country, ‘we have a good deal of interest to show them among the items not actually on the secret list’. The attaché’s reply was not noted, which perhaps is just as well.³⁶

In the event, many of the squabbles were resolved when the French took up their role as part-occupiers of German territory. The dissipation of forces plus the need to restore their own national defences led them to a compromise whereby American aircraft were accepted in the short term and a limited rearmament contract was signed with the British as well. Several hundred Vampire FB.5s were built under licence from 1950 for two years, and a few more were assembled from imported parts until indigenous designs became available in sufficient numbers to form the core of the new French Air Force. But it is difficult to escape the lingering thought that the difficulties in the Anglo-French alliance during the Second World War had almost nothing to do with military prowess or the right to adopt a superior position, even though Churchill was resolute in his determination to restrict the influence they had on the conduct of the war. Rather, it was all a question of prestige, honour, and not a little of the mutual contempt and distrust which has thousand-year-old roots. On the other hand, Central European leaders have long tried to split the Anglo–French entente when it has existed, and whether it was Bismarck, the Kaiser or the Bavarian corporal, somehow the irritable neighbours have always managed to pull through. A strange relationship indeed.

NOTES

2. A useful survey of the French air defences in the summer of 1939 may be examined in AIR 2/2916 (War Organisation of the French Air Force). Aircraft types and likely deployment in the event of active service are also featured.

6. AIR 2/5212: Minute to file, 24.8.40. Medhurst also mentioned that Churchill had promised to train the Polish and Czechoslovak semi-trained pilots, ‘a promise which we shall, sooner or later, have to implement’.

7. Maguire, C.E., Anglo-American Policy Towards the Free French (Macmillan 1995), pp. 1–17.

8. Collier, R., The Years of Attrition, 1940–1941 (Allison & Busby 1995), pp. 106–8.

14. FO 371/24366: Report from Intelligence Section, Coastal Command to DAAC, 7.8.40. The covering letter to the report suggests that it may have originated with a Mary Trevelyan of the Student Movement House following research conducted in mid-July.

15. C8512/1419/62: Minute to file by Ward. Ward’s remarks concerned the ‘violent prejudice’ shown by the writer to the Czechoslovak contingent, but the report was treated as a whole by the various departments of the Foreign Office, therefore most of the observations would have been regarded thus. Roberts also noted that many such reports had filtered through from various sources.

CHAPTER FOUR

The Free French

NOTES