The arrival of the Polish, Czechoslovak and French air crews received plenty of public attention. The Times and the Daily Mirror, for example, both ran a series of short articles highlighting the splendid nature of many individual escapes, and spoke in glowing terms of the immediate and effective contribution each contingent would make to the war effort. This was propaganda, designed to impress the political leaderships as much as the average Briton. These three countries all had special places in the hierarchy of allied forces: the Poles because they were the people in whose defence Britain had supposedly gone to war in the first place; the Czechoslovaks because people of all political persuasions recognised that something distasteful and decidedly un-British had been done to them in 1938; and the French because they were our stout and faithful allies. The press and the BBC, by emphasising the unshakeable esprits de corps and the relentless courage of each group, helped to reassure and inspire the British people, who were still wrestling with the twin horrors of the awesome prospect of imminent invasion and mass infiltration by enemy agents.
Less fanfare greeted the military evacuees from Norway, Belgium and Holland. This was not because they were in any way inferior, but simply because they came in smaller groups and did not command as much political attention as the other three. Even so, this did not mean that serious questions were not asked about their morale and commitment. In each case, pre-war political relations played a major part in the British assessment of the new allies, and the behaviour of their countrymen and national leaders during the short but devastating western war also deeply conditioned the attitudes with which they were initially received.
The first to arrive were the Norwegians. The fate of their nation, which had contributed so much to the eventual downfall of Neville Chamberlain, meant that they were in need of refuge much earlier than any of the other national groups. The battle for Norway had begun in April 1940, though the Norwegians themselves had not thought it likely that they would have been dragged into the war at all. In effect, the Germans and the allies conducted part of their war on Norwegian territory, and eventually the country had been overrun while bringing this sideshow to a conclusion. The Norwegian forces fought hard and valiantly, scoring some notable victories over the German invaders, but neither they nor the allies could prevail. Vidkun Quisling, with Hitler’s tacit support, assumed control of Norway on 8 April while the official Norwegian government was still technically in existence, but by 9 June all effective resistance was at an end. Two days earlier, King Haakon VII had set sail for England on HMS Devonshire with most of his ministers and the remnants of the Norwegian armed forces, which had, with great credit, fought to the last moment.1
Churchill had already nailed his colours to the Norwegian mast. After all, he had taken the premiership in the midst of the crisis, and on 23 May had promised the War Cabinet that the King and his entourage would be given refuge in Britain if the campaign ended in defeat.2 What had begun as an attempt by Chamberlain to stamp his name on the war had finished with Churchill accepting some of the responsibility for its failure, therefore the Norwegians expected, with good reason, every political and military consideration by the British government. This they were not given, at least not entirely, but still the Anglo– Norwegian liaison during the latter’s time in exile remains probably the smoothest of all such relationships during the war.
From the outset, the major problem facing the Norwegian government was similar to that of the Free French: how to establish and retain credibility as a sovereign administration in the face of hostile propaganda issued from the home territory. Indeed, the Norwegian Foreign Minister, Halvdan Koht, warned his countrymen against getting too close to a formal alliance with Britain, for any binding commitments made by his government could possibly have rebounded disastrously had Britain lost the war and a negotiated settlement with the Germans been forced upon them. This was practical politics, for the outlook in the late spring of 1940 was truly ghastly as far as the allies were concerned. One factor was in the Norwegians’ favour, however. King Haakon had demonstrated that he had acted at all times in the best interests of his country, and Norway being a placid, democratic monarchy, he became a natural rallying point for the resistance. By contrast, de Gaulle had to overcome the tendency of many of his countrymen to reject him as an alternative leader, hence he was fighting two political battles at once, whereas the Norwegians were fighting only one. Yet this caution was not one-sided traffic, for in early April a meeting of the Allied Military Committee decided that Norway had ‘retreated into a form of jealous neutrality’, and though it is not clear exactly of whom the Norwegians were supposed to be jealous, the report concluded that they were more likely to be hostile to the allies if forced to make a choice. Thus, on both sides of this new alliance, there was room for reflection and perhaps even distrust.3
Norway also had another useful asset in her merchant fleet. Despite substantial losses in the battle of April–June, no less than 1,876 merchant vessels of all sizes reached allied ports. Apart from rendering a significant contribution to the Atlantic supply chain, the income generated by this fleet also enabled the Norwegian government to finance its allied war effort without assistance from Britain, and this had a small but direct impact on the air policies which emerged. Nevertheless, the Norwegians still felt excluded from the high table during their time in Britain. As Olav Riste has shown, the Norwegians were presented with a novel experience when it came to negotiating allied agreements, for their long-standing principles of neutrality were inevitably compromised by the new situation. Even though the British kept effective control of the merchant fleet, and persistently refused to grant access to matters of strategic policy, the Norwegians stoically accepted their position and pledged full co-operation for the duration of the war.4
The composition of the Norwegian air forces at the outbreak of war was reflected in their eventual deployment during their time in Britain. Both their Army and Navy had their own air forces, but modernisation had been put on hold for some time before the outbreak of war. François Kersaudy noted that the military had ordered a batch of Caproni aircraft from Italy, ‘not because they were the best, but simply because they could be paid for in dried cod’.5 The British were also aware of the limitations, and the abilities, of the Norwegian air services. In a report supplied to the Chief of the Air Staff in February 1940, Norwegian pilots and ground crew were described as disciplined and well-trained, but the equipment was ‘largely obsolescent and in some cases unsafe.’ In fact, the reserve officers’ association had petitioned the parliamentary military committee in the spring of 1939 and bluntly informed it that the aircraft of the Naval Air Arm were ‘wholly unserviceable’.6
At the time of the German assault on Norway, a long overdue order for new aircraft from America was still in crates awaiting delivery. On 11 May Porri (then still with the Directorate of Intelligence) wrote to various administrators noting that nine officers and five other ranks of the Royal Norwegian Naval Air Service (RNNAS) had arrived in the country and were seeking immediate training. He had been informed by the Norwegian Legation in London that there were plans to evacuate a further twenty to thirty pilots from Norway to form a unit in Britain supplied with British aircraft and maintained by British mechanics, which could then be posted back to Norway for active operations. In his view, however, this was an unlikely event; therefore he suggested that the detachment should be split between the Royal Navy base at Calshot and the Army depot at Aston Down. This would allow the men ‘to absorb a certain amount of atmosphere, technique and language which would facilitate any further arrangements made’.7 He received a reply two days later which amended the proposal in favour of sending the men to Coastal Command for initial assessment.
The Chief of the Air Staff in Norway was Col Thomas Gulliksen. He informed Porri that the men had engineered their escape from Fornebo aerodrome on 9 April, proceeded to Lillehammer, where they destroyed some other aircraft to prevent their capture, and then boarded SS Sjogutten to arrive at Lerwick in Scotland. In Gulliksen’s opinion, the men were all fully trained and capable of flying Gladiators, but the Air Ministry replied that insufficient aircraft of this type existed to form a separate flight, though it was content to begin training on British planes. It was also noted by Porri that Gulliksen was already manoeuvring himself to be the senior officer in a reconstituted Norwegian air force in Britain.8
Things then moved quickly for the Norwegians. On 17 May, the Air Ministry hosted an inter-departmental conference to discuss the position of the air force personnel then in England. The C-in-C of the Royal Norwegian Army Air Service (RNAAS), Capt Bjarne Øen, informed the delegates that 10 Army and 6 Navy pilots, plus 4 or 5 skilled mechanics, were then in England awaiting orders. He added that the maximum number likely to arrive from Norway would be 100, though a possibility existed that more might arrive from America. As for aircraft, 5 Curtiss Hawk P36s were in crates at Kirkwall, but another 36 were due from America plus a further 36 Northrop float-planes. All in all, suggested Øen, this was more than enough to form a solid core of a Norwegian air force in Britain.9
But this proved to be only the first hurdle, not the end of the race. Porri and Wg Cdr Garraway (attached to the Directorate of Plans) rejected the idea on the premise that maintaining Curtiss aircraft in Britain would be impossible due to lack of spares and the unpredictability of the supply routes from America. Porri suggested sending the men for training in Canada, thereby solving the spares problem and making use of the incoming aircraft from America. Garraway added that it would be of little use to create a new squadron in Britain which used different planes from the RAF, and since they had no aircraft to spare at that moment, he suggested drafting the men into the RAFVR for training in RAF squadrons; once competent, they would then be posted back to Norway for service. This would go some way towards solving the language problem, and it might therefore be possible to consider the formation of a Norwegian squadron once the situation in Norway had been resolved. Øen accepted this proposal, with the added caveat that RAFVR enlistment should not prejudice the formation of a truly independent unit composed entirely of Norwegian personnel, should the opportunity arise. The meeting then heard that the Norwegian government was prepared to pay all expenses connected with the training scheme, and in a later minute of 18 May, all relevant departments were brought up to date. Most of the personnel spoke English ‘reasonably well’, and it was accepted in principle that a full Norwegian squadron would be formed as and when the men became available, but in the mean time every effort would be made to get their aircraft out of America and into service. The scheme was commended to the Foreign Office, which swiftly replied on 27 May, raising no points of objection.10
The minutes of the May meeting give rise to a small controversy. According to Gen Wilhelm Mohr, the proposal to send the men to Canada for training was a suggestion made by the Norwegians themselves, but the documents clearly indicate that it was Porri and not Øen who tabled the scheme. Indeed, Mohr goes as far as to state that the British were ‘reluctant’ to go along with the idea, citing the urgency of using trained pilots in the Battle of Britain as his evidence, but we can see here that the RAF was making its decisions on a realistic basis, and despite the enthusiasm of the allied pilots to go into action in their own national squadron, insurmountable problems of supply and maintenance meant that their ambition would have to be postponed. Mohr’s error was to rely on documents dated June and July 1940 – a different case altogether so far as the air war was concerned – but these papers merely confirmed the arrangements made at the earlier time. Sholto Douglas stated in a short note to the DAAC in July 1940 that he had not been a supporter of the training scheme when it had first been suggested, ‘but I did not pursue the matter [because] on security and political grounds it was highly desirable to let the Norwegians go’. Unfortunately, his reasons are not recorded, but it is likely that his views were those which gave rise to Mohr’s interpretation of reluctant acquiescence.11
By early July, the Norwegian ministry of defence had reorganised itself in London. The army wing contained thirty-five fully trained pilots, and the Air Force had thirteen pilots in various stages of training, and a handful of other ranks. The land forces and the navy were much better off. As well as a submarine, a couple of MTBs and various patrol vessels, the destroyer Sleipner lay alongside at Portsmouth, while at Rosyth the destroyer Draug was waiting for orders. Also in Scotland, at Dumfries, about forty officers and a thousand other ranks had regrouped at a camp vacated by the British Army. Compared to some other allied exiles, therefore, the Norwegians had arrived with the nucleus of a credible force.
The proposal to train Norwegian crews in Canada was swiftly executed. By mid-August 1940, Medhurst was informing the Air Council that all the selected personnel had left British territory. Uppermost in the minds of his superiors, however, was the importance of maintaining healthy relations with the Canadian government, and Medhurst was told that the situation would require ‘careful handling’, and that the Canadians ‘should not be requested to take on any additional commitments’. This was a euphemistic way of saying that they should not be expected to foot the bill, but there would never be any worries for the British on that score. The income generated by their extensive merchant fleet promised a steady flow of resources for the Norwegian war effort, and besides paying for their training in Canada, they bought their own planes as well.
Training continued at a furious pace in ‘Little Norway’ near Toronto. Recruits continued to stream in from the Continent, and by September 1940 the Norwegian Legation informed the Air Ministry that it could list 70 trained pilots, 100 partly trained, and 100 more awaiting basic instruction. To this it could add radio operators, navigators and about eighty mechanics, but even all of this expertise could not fulfil the basic establishments of the three independent squadrons it had asked the RAF to form when the time was right. Yet again, the aspirations of an allied force broke down because of the shortage of ground crew, but unlike some other exiled groups the Norwegians were pragmatic enough to accept this, and scaled down their proposals accordingly.
In fact, by the summer of 1941, all the indications were that the Anglo–Norwegian relationship promised to be a stable, mutually beneficial alliance considerably lacking in the tensions which had marred air arrangements with other exiled groups. This might have been because of the blunt yet important fact that they could pay their own way; or because of clear political objectives of either side which had no strings attached fore or aft, or because of the Norwegians’ attitude to the alliance itself, whereby they recognised the seniority of the British but felt in no way inferior themselves. These were all powerful factors, and though it is scarcely possible to pinpoint one as being definitive, it remains true that the files contain very little which is critical of the Norwegian air forces during their time in Britain. Even the Canadians informed the Air Ministry in January 1941 that their Scandinavian guests had acquitted themselves with honour and impeccable behaviour. In short, this was an alliance which needed the barest minimum of political or military maintenance – a gift for the British, and a relief for the Norwegians.
The full agreement with the Norwegians was not signed until 28 May 1941. The delay was caused partly by the Canadian training scheme, but mainly by some skilful Norwegian manipulation of the jurisdiction clauses which signposted the route to independent status. Øen had made his case plain from the very start – ‘identifiable’ units would be created from the available personnel at the earliest opportunity, and this as far as the RAF interpreted the term, meant independence. Yet whereas much spleen had been vented in other cases where independence had been demanded, this was not the case with Norway. The preamble to the agreement promised the ‘re-establishment of the freedom and independence of Norway through its complete liberation from German domination’, and the implications deep within this statement meant that Norway’s pre-war territorial integrity would be preserved and restored, something wholeheartedly avoided with the Polish and Czechoslovak contingents. The key to the whole relationship lies in the fact that Norway brought no complicated political agenda to Britain – at least in so far as postwar British interests were concerned – therefore independence, and all that the status implied, was not something to be feared. The RAF went so far as to permit the application of Norwegian air force law to the point where a man could choose the military code under which he wish to be tried – an unheard of option in the other exiled groups.12
One of the other clauses in the agreement amalgamated the two air arms into one Royal Norwegian Air Force (RNAF), placed under the command of Capt Hjalmar Riiser-Larsen, with Øen as his chief of staff. In Canada, overall responsibility was held by Capt Ole Reistad, and it was he who filtered the steady number of volunteers from Canada and America. In contrast to the Poles and the Czechoslovaks, Norway enjoyed a better recruiting campaign in North America, and though the numbers were never high for any of the allied forces, the numbers of expatriate Norwegians coming forward were at least consistent and enabled training at ‘Little Norway’ to function smoothly without interruptions for want of new fliers. Almost certainly the reason for this was political. The Poles and the Czechs met with stubborn resistance from former nationals who had gladly left their homelands to seek a better life in America, therefore it was all the more difficult to persuade them to fight and perhaps die for a country which they had freely chosen to leave, often with bitter memories. By contrast, the Norwegians in North America rallied to the flag because they held no lasting grudges against the home country, Norway having been spared the seismic shifts in the political and economic terrain which had afflicted so much of Eastern and Central Europe in the twentieth century. So successful was the campaign to attract North American volunteers – and to this must be added the constant stream of escapees from occupied Norway itself and through neutral Sweden – that the Norwegians announced in January 1942 that they would be able to form fully national squadrons when the RAF was ready to do so. This was music to the ears of the DAFL, a pleasant change from the running battles fought with the French and the Czechoslovaks.
In all, the Norwegians had four main squadrons during the war, with a fifth (334) coming into service after VE Day. The first to be created was 330 on 25 April 1941, under the control of Coastal Command, for at long last the freighter Fjordheim had made the journey across the Atlantic with eighteen Northrop N-3PB float-planes, which were then assembled in Reykjavik. Designed and operated primarily as an anti-submarine squadron, 330 was manned by naval personnel throughout its period of service, first off Iceland and then over the North Atlantic. The Northrops were jettisoned in June 1942 in favour of the Catalina III, then these were also replaced in February 1943 by Sunderlands. Thus, 330’s range was pushed further as the war progressed, and although it could be argued that the squadron had a successful if largely tedious war, the long Atlantic patrols took their toll. By 1945, the squadron had lost sixteen aircraft and sixty-three men, most of them in flying accidents caused by adverse weather conditions. But a loss is a loss, and when the squadron passed back into Norwegian hands in November 1945, it did so with full honours gratefully bestowed by the RAF.
Another maritime unit was formed in May 1943 at Leuchars. Divided into two flights – one equipped with Mk II Mosquitoes, the other with Catalinas – 333 Squadron joined 330 in shipping reconnaissance duties along the Norwegian coast, and convoy protection in the Atlantic. In contrast to 330, however, 333 enjoyed slightly more excitement in its coastal operations, often being used for close engagements with shipping, and transporting agents and saboteurs to and from occupied Norway. Early losses were high, mainly due to a lack of training on the Mosquito, and for a short while the Air Ministry suspended the operational status of 333 until the problem had been rectified. Wilhelm Mohr attributes this to ‘Norwegian impatience and over-confidence, and British trust’, but this still serves to demonstrate how easy the relationship was between the two allies.13
Inevitably, though, most of the public’s attention fell upon the two Norwegian fighter squadrons, 331 and 332. The first was formed on 21 July 1941 at Catterick, when the personnel had finished training in Canada. Mounted on Mk I Hurricanes, 331 became operational on 21 September and then moved north for a long sojourn in Scotland, returning to the south seven months later where it remained until the Normandy invasion. The second squadron was formed on 16 January 1942, also at Catterick, on Spitfires. There was to be no Scottish expedition for 332, however, and together with 331, it saw most of its action in the south. The COS reports speak highly of both units, never describing the morale as anything less than ‘excellent’ or ‘exceedingly high’, though as time went by the morale in 330 began to fall as the long winter weather and seemingly perpetual darkness depressed them all, especially the ground crew. Numerous sorties were cancelled due to engine failure, and requests for transfer to the fighter squadrons were frequent yet seldom upheld. Furthermore, the Germans had managed to block most of the escape routes from Norway by mid-1943, so much of the hitherto constant flow of recruits had begun to dwindle, and most of those who got through went to the fighter squadrons, which suffered greater losses.14
The two fighter squadrons came of age in OPERATION JUBILEE, the flawed raid on the French coastal town of Dieppe in August 1942. The surviving operations records books (ORBs) clearly reveal the extent to which the allied squadrons committed themselves to the raid, and the entries for the two Norwegian units in particular give us a fascinating and sometimes moving glimpse into the day’s events. What follows is an edited extract from the ORB of 331 for 19 August 1942:
It was fine and clear at sunrise. Everyone was up at 0400 hours for the second day in succession. Today will be hard work for us all, and its importance was stressed yesterday at the briefing. We know that 332 Squadron has felt the lack of sleep too. We had an early breakfast and arrived at dispersal excited and in good spirits, but soon most were sleeping in all sorts of queer positions all over the place.
We took off at 0610 with 242 and 332 Squadrons and arrived over Dieppe at 0650. Almost at once we were attached by enemy aircraft from above and the squadron became split in the general melee. Second Lieutenant Greiner was attacked by two Fw190s and was hit in the starboard wing root which flung his plane into a spin and showered splinters all over the cockpit, some into his right leg. He managed to recover from the spin and climbed to 4,000 feet where he baled out.15
The second sortie was at 11.15 hours, and produced two ‘kills’ and four ‘probables’. The squadron returned for refuelling and then took off again at 14.25, nearly diving in to attack half-a-dozen Typhoons which the Norwegians mistook for Fw190s. After more successes, the tired pilots returned to refuel and take off yet again on the fourth sortie of the day, this time covering the retreating forces. The records show that the total score for the day was 7 enemy aircraft destroyed, 2 probably destroyed and a further 8 damaged. In return, 331 had lost 2 aircraft, but both pilots had been rescued by the Royal Navy. The ORB perfectly captures the mood at the end of the operation:
It has been a hell of a day with everyone working at top pressure – no time for meals, but there were masses of sandwiches and soft drinks and coffee – in fact, one seemed to be eating most of the day. The ground crew have had a hard day too, but they have done very well. Everyone enjoyed the day and got a great kick out of the fact that they were taking part in something vital. ‘Yes, let’s have some more like this tomorrow’, is the general opinion. After dinner, we heard that Berg and Greiner were both safe and unhurt. Everyone weeping and jumping for joy at the news.
The men of 332 squadron also had a busy day over Dieppe, scoring 3 destroyed, 1 probable and 4 damaged. Unlike their brother squadron, however, they lost two of their comrades on the first sortie, Sgt Plts Staubo and Bergsland. Staubo was left behind as they turned to leave Dieppe. Someone spotted him way below and behind the main formation, and although a warning was called to him on the radio, he took evasive action too late to avoid being jumped by three or four Fw190s. Sgt Plt Eriksen turned and dived to assist his countryman, but before he was in position the Germans had opened fire and Staubo’s Spitfire burst into flames. Eriksen accounted for one of the enemy planes, but by then Staubo’s machine had been lost from view. Bergsland was also caught alone after losing his place in the formation. He was warned on the radio, but was immediately attacked by four Fw190s. The records note that he did not change course even under fire, and very soon his Spitfire was seen to fall blazing into the sea.
Such tales do not convey even the tiniest fraction of the reality which these men experienced in action. They were brave men, perhaps reckless at times, but then they were also young. They were fighting for their homeland, not Britain, and that holds true for every other allied squadron which flew with the RAF during the Second World War. This may be contrasted with the views of one British officer who completed the day’s ORB for 310 (Czechoslovak) Fighter Squadron on 31 August 1940. Plt Off J. Sterba
ek was seen going down in the Thames having been surprised by German fighter in support of a bomber squadron. He was presumed dead. ‘Thus,’ said the report, ‘he has the proud distinction of being the first Czech fighter pilot to give his life for England.’16 Nothing could have been further from the truth. He gave his life for Czechoslovakia, that is all.
OPERATION JUBILEE was counted as a success by the RAF, for although the raid itself was generally considered to be a disaster on the day, the air support provided was universally acknowledged by land and sea commanders to have been of the highest quality. The average loss rate per squadron was calculated at 7 per cent, or two losses per unit, and this from a total of 2,403 sorties flown by sixty-one squadrons in all.17 The European allied air crews had a strong presence in the raid, and stories similar to those related above may be found in the ORBs of the Free French, Dutch, Belgian, Czechoslovak and Polish squadrons that were involved. After Dieppe, the files contain hardly any criticisms at all except for those provoked by political considerations, and even these originated with the various governments, and not the military men under their command. It might therefore be advanced that the performance of the European exiles in the Dieppe raid, leaving aside all other interpretations of the event in the context of the wider war, finally confirmed in the minds of many senior British commanders the importance of the contribution made by them to the prosecution of the combined effort, and utterly dispelled once and for all any vestiges of the old notions of distrust or lack of belief in their will to fight.
Wilhelm Mohr records in his personal assessment of the Norwegian air forces that the RAF rated the fighter squadrons among the highest of those available in terms of efficiency, servicing, motivation and safety. They also featured regularly in the upper divisions of the monthly and quarterly calculations compiled by the Air Ministry which reflected operational successes against enemy aircraft and losses to the squadrons. These achievements, however, threatened to disturb the otherwise sound equilibrium of the Anglo–Norwegian alliance in the air. For so effective were the fighter squadrons, the RAF fought hard to keep them within the Tactical Air Force being assembled in preparation for OPERATION OVERLORD in 1944, and this conflicted with the Norwegian government’s desires to use its forces as part of a separate battle group designed to assist in the liberation of the home territory. With strong protests, the terms of the 1941 agreement were waved under the collective nose of the Air Ministry. The text clearly stated that Norway’s forces in exile would be used ‘either for the defence of the United Kingdom or for the purposes of regaining Norway’, and it was obvious to both parties that the intended attack on occupied Europe met neither criterion. As Mohr notes in his 1995 essay, no record of the discussions resolving the situation has yet come to light, but it is apparent that the RAF won the argument, because the squadrons stayed with the Tactical Air Force right throughout the campaign. Even so, the fact that the Norwegians did agree to the use of their squadrons in Normandy merely underlines the strength of the alliance at its core.18
When victory was in sight in early 1945, the Norwegian government – like all the other exiles – began to liaise with the appropriate British departments regarding reconstruction and rearmament. One of the earliest Norwegian requirements was a training school located in Britain for immediate postwar needs. The RAF acted swiftly, establishing such a unit at RAF Winkleigh, and all training provided would be under the terms of Mutual Aid. Then, in a return to the dispute over the separate utilisation of its forces, the Norwegian Military Mission formally requested the withdrawal of its squadrons from the Tactical Air Force and their transfer to Norway re-equipped with Mustangs. Its argument was sound enough. It pointed out that its units had been on firstline duty since 1942 and had fulfilled the Air Ministry’s desires by contributing to the liberation of Europe; now the time had come for them to assist in the final liberation of Norway. The request also had a political edge to it, in that it hinted that the people of Norway would not understand why their own air force was not participating in the final defeat of the Germans who were operating a bitter scorched-earth policy in retreat. For these reasons, the Norwegians insisted that the squadrons should be transferred at once.
But as with the Czechoslovaks, who argued for the return of their units to help with the Slovak uprising in 1944, the Air Ministry remained entirely unmoved. In fact, in rejecting the proposal, it also used similar tactics to those employed against the Czechs. In both instances it focused on technical matters rather than the military or political dimensions, and in the Norwegian case the DCAS (AM Sir James Robb) considered the aerodromes in Norway to be unsuitable for Mustangs, and more importantly that supply and maintenance would be difficult, if not impossible, over such a distance. In a letter full of platitudes, he hoped that the Norwegian Military Mission would understand his position, and he closed by hoping that they would continue to assist with the final liberation of Europe.19
When Robb rejected the transfer request, Hitler had nine days to live. Eight days after that, the war in Europe was over. On 22 May, the Norwegians units left the Continent for home – and in that they were lucky. Churchill had ordered a ‘stand firm’ attitude in Europe because he feared a sudden push by Soviet forces further west, and though the poor Czechs had to wait until August before they could return, again because of complications with the Russians, the Prime Minister gave his personal permission for the Norwegians to take their leave and fly home in triumph. Four days before they left, Maj-Gen Riiser-Larsen wrote to the Air Council expressing his thanks for a ‘memorable five years’ and the great friendship which now existed between the two kingdoms. In closing, he promised the British government and people that ‘whenever called upon,be certain that the Royal Norwegian Air Force will be at your side’. It was a fitting and sincere tribute from an officer knighted by the British King, and it brought to an end to an alliance in which the admiration and respect for each other was truly mutual. It now seems clear that in the context of the whole exile experience, here was the exception to the rule.20
The attack on Denmark by German forces was timed to coincide with the strike against Norway. On 9 April 1940, the Danes were taken so totally by surprise as German tanks and marines overwhelmed their country that only one fighter of the Danish Air Force managed to get off the ground – and that was promptly shot down. There was a short, hopelessly one-sided battle in and around Copenhagen, and by mid-morning King Christian X had ordered a full ceasefire and immediate capitulation. In what must count as one of the fastest wars in history, a constitutional monarchy of over four million people had been conquered at a cost of thirteen war dead and twenty-three other injuries – and all before lunch. Hitler called Denmark his first ‘model protectorate’, whereas Churchill preferred ‘the sadistic murderer’s canary’.21
To the British Foreign Office, Denmark had given in far too easily. All the wrong signals had been sent when, in May 1939, she had signed a non-aggression pact with the Nazis, and this eagerness to co-operate with her hostile neighbour seemed to be more than just pragmatism when it quickly became apparent that the German occupation was benign in the extreme. More than 25,000 Danes volunteered for lucrative jobs in Germany, and another couple of hundred swiftly signed up with the Waffen SS. The Danish government was permitted considerable freedom in its administration of home affairs, and by the end of 1940 serious speculation in London was drifting towards the conclusion that Denmark would be formally and willingly incorporated into the Third Reich – a fate which befell Luxemburg in August 1942. Any notion of an alliance in exile was therefore entirely out of the question as far as the British were concerned.
But the ease with which Denmark gave in to Nazi pressure was deceptive. It was first and foremost the only logical option, because any spirited resistance would have been utterly crushed with a massive loss of life. Furthermore, it is hardly surprising that so many Danes chose to throw in their lot with what seemed to be an invincible force in 1940, and a great many saw themselves as being as Aryan or as Germanic as the most fanatical Nazi. Indeed, in June 1941, when Hitler launched the attack on the Soviet Union, Denmark responded by organising a national unit – the Frikorps – to fight alongside the German Army in the east, and by 1942 the SS had enough Danes in its ranks to form a regiment with three battalions. Eventually, these land forces were strong enough to be merged with the 11th SS Division, a sizeable portion of which, it should be noted, was composed of Norwegian volunteers.
However, this is not to argue or even imply that German occupation was uniformly welcomed by all of the Danes. True, many resigned themselves to the situation with heavy hearts, but more than a few made good their escape into neutral Sweden, and from there to Britain. The reception they received was cool but not hostile; in fact, as far as the British government was concerned, the less official contact between the two parties, the better. By August 1940, a number of exiles had gathered in and around London and had formed a National Committee of Free Danes, each one of them prepared to serve with any allied force in any capacity. This was no clandestine organisation, but the British drew back from giving it any formal recognition, and the policy line issued from Whitehall was that in the mean time it was ‘highly undesirable that the committee’s activities should receive any publicity’. A parliamentary question directed at ‘Rab’ Butler in the Commons received a similar brush off. When asked if His Majesty’s Government intended to mobilise Danes in exile, Butler replied: ‘The Government welcomes assistance from all quarters in the prosecution of the war.’ When pressed about the National Committee, Butler merely said that he knew of its existence and the work it was doing.22
Later in August, the British Council wrote to Anthony Haigh at the Foreign Office and suggested the formation of a ‘Danish House’ similar to the establishments created or considered for the other exiled nationalities. The precedent was the existence of a long-standing ‘Danish Club’ in Britain, plus a branch of the Danish Church and the Anglo-Danish Society, all of which were organisations with impeccable reputations. Even so, the Council recognised that the essential problem lay in the fact that there was no Danish government in exile, therefore any official sanction would remain a thorny issue. In replying to the Council, Lawrence Collier directed it towards certain trusted Danes known to the Foreign Office, and invited it to proceed with extreme caution and absolutely no publicity.
The question of putting a few Danes into uniform then arose. An inter-departmental meeting at the Foreign Office on 19 August reviewed the situation and immediately strangled the idea of a Danish Legion. The War Office argued that since there was no official Danish authority in Britain, any Danes who wished to fight should be enrolled in the British Army as private individuals. The Air Ministry was also lukewarm, agreeing to accept only those Danes ‘with special qualifications’ into the RAF. The Foreign Office saw things differently. At Collier’s prompting, Cdr Frank Stagg of the Ministry of Shipping suggested taking some of the younger Danes and thrusting them forward as propaganda icons, enlisting maybe one man to each service and maximising the publicity potential. ‘This,’ he said, ‘would act as a great fillip to morale and would serve generally to ginger up the Danish Committee who are in the main a supine lot.’23
His ideas were taken seriously, and within a couple of months a Danish Bureau had been created, composed of the interested service departments and empowered to act on behalf of Danish volunteers. Some senior Danes had been awarded honorary seats, but at the earlier meetings not a single one was present. The token Dane chosen for the RAF was one Olaf Poulsen, who apparently had over 200 hours’ flying experience and had owned a private aircraft before the war. Of greater interest, however, were the activities of the Danish Minister in London, Count Eduard Reventlow, who had been waging a counter-propaganda campaign. He had been most energetic in his mission to encourage Danes in exile to reject the lure of a service career with the allies and to opt for repatriation instead. By all accounts, many had already done so. Lawrence Collier, in a textbook example of diplomatic verbiage, wrote to the Count and informed him that ‘it might not be possible to extend the present courtesy and privileges to him’ if he were to persist in maintaining an attitude unhelpful to His Majesty’s Government. In point of fact, Reventlow was within an ace of being shown the door, but the plan was shelved because it was felt that such a move would have a negative effect on Danish morale.
It was the issue of morale and the stimulation of resistance in the occupied territory which finally brought all minds into focus. The Foreign Office heard that the Danes had shown perhaps more disillusionment with German rule than they had previously been given credit for, therefore by the autumn of 1940 it was felt that Denmark should feature more prominently in official speeches, especially in the type which promised a better world after the war. MI6 reports from agents within Denmark gave the impression that a visible sign of exile activity would pay dividends, so the Foreign Office approached the service departments to sound out their views on taking suitable Danes into the services. Each one concurred, and the Air Ministry let it be known that a small number of Danes had tagged along with the Norwegians heading for Canada.
A year later, in the summer of 1941, the first batch of trained men returned to England and began to form the Norwegian squadrons; with them were the few Danes who had been cleared by MI5. At the eleventh meeting of the Danish Bureau, the Air Ministry expressed the hope that enough Danes might be found to form a national squadron of their own. This idea was soon dashed through lack of numbers, but good news came in the form of a Danish Spitfire Fund which had been established by the Danish Council, then on a fundraising tour in America. Considerable sums had been pledged and much publicity generated as a result. On 10 April 1942, three Spitfires were proudly handed over to the RAF, but unfortunately all were lost in combat. The Danes also contributed to the ‘Little Norway’ training camp in Canada, providing two of the Fairchild PT-26 aircraft. In the end, the RAF negotiated with the Royal Norwegian Air Force, and an unwritten agreement was reached whereby Danish pilots would be filtered into those squadrons where vacancies existed. The numbers were never high, perhaps twenty or so by 1941, but where successes were scored through the efforts of Danes in the cockpit, maximum publicity would be drawn from the event.24 In such a manner would the Danish cause be kept alight, and the British could relax in the knowledge that another ‘ally’ had been gained with no commitments from London whatsoever.25
In the end, it proved to be a shrewd investment. Although no new Danish air crew were trained after 1940, their presence in the RAF was sufficient to maintain tentative links with Denmark which bore fruit in 1945. In March of that year, the Danish military mission confirmed its interest in securing RAF assistance with rebuilding its national air force once the liberation was complete. The plans were lavish indeed, with up to 500 fighters, light bombers and torpedo bombers being brought into service over a seven-year period. The Air Ministry rubbed its hands with delight and instantly promised extensive training facilities in Britain along with the first batch of equipment to be delivered as soon as it became available.
The war experience also shaped the future Danish Air Force from the moment reconstruction began in 1945. Whereas before the war the air power had been divided into navy and army wings, a new unified command under Lt Col Kaj Birksted resolved to rebuild the force on the RAF model. Birksted had won the DSO and DFC, later commanding a Spitfire wing in his own right. He kept open his channels of communication with the Air Ministry, and before the end of 1945 many of the men who had seen action with the RAF were on their way back to England for retraining or to serve as instructors to a new generation of Danish pilots. But Britain’s hopes of funnelling in aircraft by the ship-load were disappointed. The Air Ministry supplied several trainers from surplus stock, and a number of Supermarine Sea Otters to the Danish Navy, but the promised expansion on a massive scale never happened, mainly due to Denmark’s postwar economic priorities. Even so, a valuable and friendly ally had been gained by the RAF for scarcely any effort; and although the Danes had a relatively small presence in Britain during the Second World War, they won many admirers for their attitude and commitment to the common cause.
1. See Kersaudy, François, Norway 1940 (Collins 1990) for an excellent and thorough study of the Norwegian campaign as seen from all sides of the conflict.
2. CAB 65/13: War Cabinet minutes, 23.5.40.
3. CAB 85/16: ‘The Major Strategy of the War’, 11.4.40. This is an invaluable document for students of early allied strategy and the British assessments of the neutral countries.
4. Salmon, P. (ed.), Britain and Norway in the Second World War (HMSO 1995), Olav Riste: ‘Relations between the Norwegian government in exile and the British government’, pp. 41–9.
5. Kersaudy, p. 11.
6. AIR 10/3938: Efficiency Report A, February 1940. Most of the observations in the report were themselves obsolescent by the time they were compiled, the details having originated with the intelligence officers aboard HMS Courageous which visited Norway during the summer of 1938.
7. AIR 2/5122: Porri to all relevant departments, 11.5.40.
8. AIR 2/5122: Porri, minute to file 10.5.40.
9. AIR 2/5122: Air Ministry conference, 17.5.40.
10. AIR 2/4213: DCAS Meeting on utilisation of allied air force personnel, 27.5.40.
11. Salmon, P. (ed.), ‘Mohr: Wilhelm’ The contribution of the Norwegian air forces’, p. 85. See also AIR 2/5152; Sholto Douglas to DAAC, 7.7.40.
12. AIR 2/4806: Documents on Norwegian Air Force Personnel (Jurisdiction). Also FO 371/24368, minute to file by J.G. Ward, 12.10.40.
13. Mohr, p. 93.
14. AIR 2/8238: DAFL quarterly reports, October 1942–October 1943.
15. AIR 27/1724: Combat Reports, 331 Squadron; 19.8.42. See also AIR 50/129 and AIR 50/130 for the combat reports of individual pilots.
16. AIR/27/1680 (ORB) 31.8.40.
17. AIR 8/883: COS Report on OPERATION JUBILEE; see also AIR 37/199.
18. Mohr, pp. 90–2.
19. WO 202/876: Correspondence, 27.3.45 to 21.4.45.
20. Dr Christopher Mann of King’s College London has written extensively on the subject of the Norwegian forces in the Second World War, and his work is an invaluable resource for all students of Norwegian history and foreign relations.
21. Reilly, R. The Sixth Floor (Leslie Frewin 1969), p. 16.
22. FO 371/24790: Minute to file and PQ, 9.8.40.
23. FO 371/24790: Minutes, inter-departmental meeting, 19.8.40. Frank Stagg had travelled extensively in Norway and Denmark before the war, and he produced several works on Scandinavian issues in the 1950s.
24. Some authorities place the total number of Danish pilots in allied service at sixty-six, though if these had all flown with the RAF, then pressure to form a Danish squadron would have been intense. Much more likely is that this number includes Danish-born pilots who flew with the Americans.
25. FO 371/29302: Danish affairs, correspondence, August 1941.