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jBv It. Gen. Sir Brian Horrocks

FROM HIS DARING ESCAPE attempts during World

War I to his part in the final, crushing defeat of

Germany in World War II, Sir Brian Horrocks'

life has been a story of personal adventure. As an

eighteen-year old prisoner of war he infuriated

his German captors by his incessant breakouts

from detention camps in an effort to reach the

Dutch border. After the First War he took part

in the ill-fated British expedition to Siberia in

1919, and his account of chaotic skirmishes with

the Bolsheviks is fascinating-as is his description

of the great evacuation of Dunkirk, one of the

first actions in which he took part during World

War II. It was here that he met Alanbrooke and

Montgomery, under whom he later served with

distinction at El Alamein when the power of

Rommel's Africa Corps was broken. Wounded

and returned to action, General Horrocks took

part in the battle of Arnhem and the crossing of

(Continued on back flap)

ST MARTIN'S PRESS

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New York 10, N. Y.

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940.9302
Horrocks
Escape to action

68-12794

ESCAPE TO ACTION

f"X sfa T~" 1H** l"**"^ % fi *"""'

DATE DUE

-'r

ESCAPE TO
ACTION

LIEUT. -GENERAL

SIR BRIAN HORROCKS

K.C.B., K.B.E., D.S.O., M.C., LL.D. (HON.)

ST MARTIN'S PRESS - NEW YORK

Published in Great Britain as A Full Life

First published in United States of America, 1961

TO NANCY

CtTY CMOJ PUBLIC
)L G> ?

^l \ f ^^

ACKNOWLEDGMENT

I wisli to express my deepest thanks to C. D.
Hamilton, Editorial Director of Thomson
Newspapers, for his continuous encouragement
and help. I could never possibly have written
this book without his unfailing support I am
also most grateful to James McDowall of
Thomson Newspapers for the trouble he has
taken to check the original chapters. Finally
I am very indebted to my secretary Miss
Weyman for all her selfless work over many
many months ; and last but by no means least
to Messrs. Collins, who have proved them-
selves to be the most understanding and
considerate of Publishers.

CONTENTS
FOREWORD: EARLY DAYS page 13

I. ACTIVE SERVICE 1 914 15

H. PRISONER OF WAR 2$

HI. SIBERIA 40

IV. PRISONER OF THE BOLSHEVIKS 50

V. BETWEEN TWO WARS 64

VT. DUNKIRK 76

Vn. THE UNITED KINGDOM 194042 93

Vm. CORPS COMMANDER IN THE MIDDLE EAST TO6

IX. ALAM HALFA 115

X. ALAMJEIN AND AFTER I3O

XI. THE BATTLE OF MARETH 147

XH. END IN AFRICA 158

XIH. RETURN TO THE WAR l8o

XTV. ADVANCE TO BRUSSELS 194

XV. ARNHEM I 2OJ

XVI. ARNHEM 2 22$

XVH. BATTLE OF THE ARDENNES 233

XVin. REICHSWALD BATTLE 243

XIX. ACROSS THE RHINE 256

XX. POST WAR GERMANY 268

XXI. G.O.C. WESTERN COMMAND 278

XXH. GENTLEMAN USHER OF THE BLACK ROD 286

XXin. I STRAY FROM THE STRAIGHT AND NARROW PATH 296

ILLUSTRATIONS

The Author frontispiece

[Topical Press Agency, Ltd.]
With ray sister Jean at Gibraltar, 1904 facing page 72

Attending a levee at Buckingham Palace 72
[Dorothy Tickling]

The British Modern Pentathlon Championship, 1924 73
[Gale & Polden, Aldershot]

Camberley, 1938 73

The Corps Commanders before Alamein 144

Explaining the plan of Alam Haifa 144

Entering El Hamma 145

Wounded 145

The ruins of Caen 160

King George VI inspects 82 U.S. Airborne Div. 160

"With George Webb and Harold Young in Normandy 161

At the Rhine crossing 161

The capture of Bremen 224

Taking the German surrender 224

Garter Ceremony at Windsor, 1957 225
[Ketnsley Picture Service]

Television programmes 240
[J3.B.C. Television]

Black R.od at the opening of Parliament, 1958 241
[B.B.C. Television]

President Eisenhower's dinner-party at the

U.S. Embassy, 1959 f** n & ^ e 288

[Photographic News Agency]

At home in Emsworth 28 9

[Colin AT. Urry]

SaiHng 3 4

[Colin N. Urry]

Emsworth harbour at low tide 35

[Geoffrey Marsh]

MAPS

ALAM HALF A page 1 1?

BATTLE OF ALAMEIN 135

BATTLE OF MARETH 149

THE END IN AFRICA 165

ADVANCE FROM THE SEINE TO BRUSSELS 199

BATTLE OF ARNHEM I 2O8

BATTLE OF ARNHEM 2 227

BATTLE OF THE ARDENNES 239

BATTLE OF THE REICHSWALD 244

ADVANCE FROM THE RHINE TO THE ELBE 263

FOREWORD

EARLY DAYS

UNLIKE, AS it would seem, many children of to-day, I had an
extremely happy childhood. My father was Lancashire born and
after taking his B.Sc. at the age of nineteen he became a doctor,
joined the Royal Army Medical Corps, and was sent to India.
It was here that he met my mother who had all the gaiety and charm
of the Irish. Her ancestors, like a lot of those old Northern Ireland
families, had all been Presbyterian ministers and doctors. They were
married in 1894 and I was born a year later at Ranniket a hill
station in India. We now led the usual wandering service life, and I
have particularly happy memories of the four years spent at Gibraltar
when my father was working on the causes of Malta fever as time
went on he concentrated more and more on research.

I used to travel out by P. & O. every holidays from my
preparatory school in Durham and the Gibraltar of those days was
a small boy's paradise, much more so than to-day, as we had free
access to Spain. Life consisted of bathing, hunting with the Calpe
hounds, cricket matches, race meetings and children's parties all
great fun. In 1909 my father was posted home to the War Office
and subsequently I moved from my preparatory school to Upping-
ham where I gravitated automatically into the army class. There
was never any question of my entering a profession other than the
army. My school reports of those days referred to " impetuosity
too prone to answer without thinking inclined to rush things
without making sure of what he is doing." There was, I am afraid,
no mention anywhere of an aptitude for work which was hardly
surprising as my whole life was devoted to sport. In October, 1912,
I passed into the Royal Military College, Sandhurst, bottom but one.

It was a most undistinguished start to a military career. Apart
from the games side I achieved nothing at all and remained a
gentleman cadet (the equivalent of a private soldier) throughout my
time at the college. Let me be quite honest about it: I was idle,
careless about my turnout in army parlance, scruffy and, due to
the fact that I am inclined to roll when I walk, very unsmart on
parade. Throughout my military career I have always been allotted
a position on ceremonial parades where I was least likely to be seen.
To make matters worse I got into trouble with the railway officials
during a return journey from Gatwick races. We had gone there
with such an absolute certainty for the third race that I had refrained
from buying a return ticket in order to have more to invest on the
horse. I did not even buy a race card so certain was I of a lavish win.
As might be expected the certainty did not materialise and the
railway company took strong exception to my return journey
tickedess and penniless. The result was three months* restrictions
which meant that I was unable to leave the premises during my last
term at the Royal Military College and spent the time doing
additional fatigues and parades. I was lucky not to be rusticated.

Up to now my life had been typical of that led by many young
men with average or slightly below average intelligence who
entered the British Army in those days. I was a games addict, did
as little work as possible and seemed all set for a normal, somewhat
humdrum, military career, but the First World War altered all that.

When war was declared in August, 1914, I was waiting with
considerable anxiety to hear the result of the passing-out exam from
Sandhurst. My immediate reactions were, first of all, irritation that
it should have come in the middle of the tennis-tournament at
Littlehampton where we were spending our summer holiday, and
secondly, anxiety about my father's reception of the news that I had
pawned the revolver which he had lent me and, worse still, lost the
pawn ticket. He was certain to want it back because in August,
1914, revolvers were very scarce.

CHAPTER I

ACTIVE SERVICE 1914

THE MOBILISATION arrangements for the BJE.F. in 1914 must have
been very efficient, because only foyr days later I reported for duty
with a militia battalion of the Middlesex Regiment at Fort Darland,
Chatham. Within fourteen days and still only eighteen years of age
I was marching down to the railway station at the head of ninety-five
reservists who comprised the first reinforcement for the ist Battalion
the Middlesex Regiment -then in France with che British Expedi-
tionary Force. This was, I should think, the last time there was any
romance and glory attached to war. It is impossible now after the
bitter experience of two world wars to recapture the spirit of this
country in August, 1914. As I marched through those cheering
crowds I felt like a king among men. It was all going to be over by
Christmas and our one anxiety was whether we would get over
there in time. And all ranks felt the same. I arrived at Southampton
with ninety-eight men, as three more had hidden themselves on the
way down in order to get to the war.

I was the officer in charge of the draft, but as all of them were old
soldiers it was really they who conducted me to the front. Looting
was strictly forbidden and when our troop train through France
halted, as it frequently did, we officers leant from the window to
ensure that the wayside crops, carrots for instance, were left un-
touched. Not a soldier was ever to be seen yet the extraordinary
thing was that carrots would be certain to figure prominently in the
stew which the cooks provided for us that evening. My first lesson
on active service was the astonishing capacity of the old soldier to
look after himself and be as comfortable as possible under the most
adverse conditions. Those famous wagons bearing the words

" Hommes 32-40; Chevaux 8 " could not be described as comfort-
able.

We joined the battalion during the retreat from Mons and
everybody was much too busy and tired to bother about us. I was
left in charge of my ninety-eight reservists, my first independent
command in fact; and I was still in command during the battle of
the Aisne. We were not destined to play a particularly important
part in this battle, but it was a thrill to come under shell-fire for the
first time. We were lining a bank on the top of a hill and when I
heard the sound of horses' hoofs behind me I looked down into
the valley and saw the Horse Artillery galloping into action. It was
a magnificent sight and just what I had always imagined war would
be like. Shortly afterwards I was joined by an impressive-looking
gunner observation officer who, pointing to a mass of cavalry in the
distance asked me whether they were French or German. As a
knowledge of foreign uniforms had not been included in my
military education I said I had no idea. . " Anyhow," he replied, " it
is too good a target to miss/*

Very soon shells were bursting over the target area and the
cavalry scattered. Whether they were our allies or enemies I never
discovered. Shortly after the battle my ninety-eight men were
allocated to their companies and I found myself a platoon com-
mander. I was lucky, because my two chief mentors, Captain
Gibbons, the company commander, and Sergeant Whinney, my
platoon sergeant, were both first class at their jobs.

My chief memory of those days, and the memory retained by all
platoon commanders, was of marching endless and exhausting
marches. I had never realised before that it was possible to go to
sleep while the legs continued automatically to function. It was
during these hard, comfortless days that I first met that priceless
Cockney sense of humour. A small private soldier in the rank in
front of me looked up at his neighbour, who was blessed with a long
lugubrious face, and said, " Why don't you give your face a holiday,
chum? Try a smile."

Gibbons held me completely responsible for the welfare of the
men in my platoon. Woe betide me if I attempted to have my own

meal without first reporting to Mm, ** All ranks in number sixteen
platoon fed, sir." Once we arrived in pouring rain to find that a
muddy field which had previously been rather over-populated by
cows had been allocated as our bivouac area for the night. It was a
depressing thought, but my spirits rose when the adjutant appeared
and said that the officers could sleep in a house nearby where
battalion H.Q. was billeted.

Gibbons was furious. " If the men sleep out, we sleep out,"
My heart sank but I knew instinctively that he was right. But
Gibbons's influence did not last long, as on 2ist October, 1914, at
the beginning of the battle of Ypres, my platoon was surrounded by
the enemy and I was wounded and taken prisoner. The war for me
was over and my active military career had stopped for four
years.

Yet, odd though this may sound, I now realise that being a
prisoner-of-war was probably the best apprenticeship for the difficult
business of command in war. The lessons were there for the learning,
and unquestionably the most important was self-reliance. There was
no longer a C.O., adjutant, company commander or kindly platoon
sergeant to keep me straight. I was alone, and surrounded by a
hostile population.

I was taken to a German military hospital on the outskirts of
Lille, where I was placed in a bed beside a private soldier from a
Highland regiment who had lost a leg. As I had been shot through
the lower stomach, neither of us was very mobile. At that time the
Germans were accusing the Allies of using dum-dum bullets, i.e.,
twisting the sharp nose off the .303 bullet so that instead of a
comparatively small hole it caused a ghastly wound.

I had never even heard of dum-dum bullets, but periodically
Germans used to collect round my bed, give me a British rifle and
shout I have associated Germans with shouting ever since those
days " Now, you British swine, show us how you make dum-dum
bullets."

It was a nasty hospital. The whole time I was there, which was
nearly a month, neither our shirts nor our blankets were changed,
and we were still wearing the blood-soaked garments in which we

had been wounded. As our wounds were suppurating we soon
became unpleasant objects.

The most degrading thing of all, however, was the fact that, as a
refinement in beastliness, we were not allowed to use bed-pans or
bottles, but were forced to heave ourselves out of bed and crawl,
because neither of us could walk, along the floor to the lavatory
which lay at the end of a stone passage. The sight of our bare
anatomy as we crawled laboriously along always excited loud jeers
from the rest of the ward.

My Jock companion, a cooper by trade, had managed to save the
bowl of his cutty pipe and it was a big day if either of us could
retrieve from the floor the stub end of a cigar discarded by one of
the German doctors. There was just sufficient stem for him to smoke
if he drew his lips right back, but the look of ineffable bliss on his
old, weather-beaten face was worth all the indignity of searching for
the cast-off stubs.

It was a lonely life, and to add to my misery something seemed
to have gone wrong with one of my legs, which had become very
swollen. Nevertheless, although I could hardly walk, I was judged
fit to be sent back to a prisoner-of-war camp in Germany. My
escort turned out to be a Feldwebel of the Imperial Guard who had
been at the front since the beginning of the war, and was now on
his way back to Germany to do some course or other; he spoke
a little English, and had once been to London to take part in
a swimming race.

At the station I was leaning out of the carriage window when a
German Red Cross girl passed along the platform carrying a large
bowl of soup with an appetising smell. She stopped, and then,
seeing that I was an Englishman, spat into the soup and threw it on
the platform. There was a bellow of rage from my escort. He made
me sit well down in the carriage while he leant out and collected food
from all who passed, every bit of which was passed back to me.

On another occasion we went to the station-master's office to
find out about trains. As there was no one in the room, my Feldwebel
pushed forward a chair for me to sit on. Suddenly the door burst
open and in came a typical fat, German railway official

" Why is this English swine seated in my office ? " he shouted
"Get up!"

The Feldwebel walked slowly over to him, bent down towards
the little turkey-cock and said: " This is a British officer who was
wounded fighting, which you are never likely to be. He will remain
seated/ 5

And I did.

Afterwards he apologised for his fellow countryman, saying:
** All front-line troops have a respect for each other, but the farther
from the front you get, the more bellicose and beastly the people
become/'

How right he was. I have always regarded the forward area of
the battlefield as the most exclusive club in the world, inhabited by
the cream of the nation's manhood the men who actually do the
fighting. Comparatively few in number, they have little feeling of
hatred for the enemy rather the reverse.

Dating from this train journey I have had a great respect for the
German front-line soldier. In spite of many stories to the contrary
it has been my experience that he fights cleanly. He must not, of
course, be confused with the S.S. or Gestapo types of the last war,
who were capable of any beastliness.

The British soldier's astonishing sense of humour when in
adversity came to the surface again after only a few hours of this
journey. A German general, complete with attendant, glittering,
staff officers, came to our platform to say good-bye to a German
troop train -which was setting off for the front. There were all the
familiar signs of an official departure band, weeping women-
folk and so on when suddenly on the other side of the platform
there pulled in a long train packed with British prisoners-of-war.
Dirty, unkempt, many of them wounded, their morale should have
been at its lowest. But when the German general walked across to
have a look, there was a cry down the train of: " All tickets,
please ! "

The more I saw of British soldiers during those difficult days, the
more I came to like and respect them. Their morale and sense of
humour remained high throughout. The Germans held them in

considerable respect, and in one camp inhabited by warrant officers,
N.C.O.S and men from all the Allied nations, I saw a notice which
said: " German sentries will refrain from striking British prisoners-
of-war, because they are all mai" British, mind you. No mention
of the other nationalities. The reason was that their madness took
the simple form of always hitting back.

This was the second lesson I learned and my affection for the
British soldier has increased steadily throughout my thirty-five years'
service. I always tell young officers : " There will be moments
when your soldiers will drive you almost mad, but never forget
this that we are privileged to command the nicest men in the
world."

By the end of the journey the Feldwebel and I had become great
friends and I was sorry to get a letter from his father some years
later to say that he had been killed in the second year of the war.

After some months in the hospital of an officers' prisoner-of-war
camp, where I was cared for by a most able Canadian medical officer,
my leg was reduced to its normal size, and I emerged into the camp
itself, where I found myself living with several hundred British,
French, Russian and Belgian officers.

Life in a prison-camp was a severe test of character. The deadly
monotony of it all, the same routine day after day, nothing to look
forward to and always the sight of that eternal barbed-wire, with
the German sentries marching round outside to remind us of our
degradation. There was no getting away from it. At the back of
everyone's mind was a lurking sense of shame at being a prisoner-
of-war at all.

Life was hardest for the older officers, many of whom were
worrying about their families. Others realised that their military
careers were finished. The great opportunity of rising to the top of
their profession had slipped from their fingers and almost daily
younger officers were being promoted over their heads. Some
emerged triumphantly from the test, but all too many sank into
despondency, and deteriorated physically and mentally. Therein
lay the danger of prison-camp life. I am not certain which was the
greater test of character, the sheer endurance demanded by the harsh

treatment and the brain-washing handed out to unfortunate prisoners
in the last war, particularly in Japanese camps, or this softer treat-
ment.

Luckily I was young, and most of all this passed me by. As I
grew fitter, my whole life became devoted to one thing to outwit
the Germans and escape. In every camp there was a small minority
of escapers, mostly younger officers though a few senior officers,
to their great credit, also joined in. Three things were involved.
First to get out of the camp, usually the most difficult part of all;
then the long trek across country to the frontier, and finally to cross
the frontier into neutral territory, usually Holland or Switzerland,
from where one would be sent home to rejoin one's regiment.

Escaping, unfortunately, was unpopular, because the commandant
usually " strafed " the camp after some successful attempt, curtailing
for a period such small privileges as the right to go for walks, or use
a certain part of the camp for recreation.

I suffered from one rather bad example of this. After the war
had lasted for some time arrangements were made between the
British and German Governments for an equal number of their
prisoners-of-war, who had been in captivity longest, to be sent to
Holland, where they would live comparatively freely but on parole.
It was a tempting thought to get away once and for all from the
hated barbed-wire and live a normal life again.

But giving parole meant that we relinquished all chance of
getting back to our regiments and fighting again. This offer arrived
at a time when I was doing a period at the famous Fort Zorndorf,
Custrin, a sort of penal-camp to which habitual escapees were sent
to cure them of their evil ways. Apart from the fact that it was
cramped for space, and we lived in the dark galleries underground
with a moat all round, life there was not as bad as it sounded.
Nobody was ever sent to Fort Zorndorf unless they had actually
attempted to escape, so everyone was of the same kidney.

Many of the prisoners were very clever with their fingers and
every week a market was held at which escaping kit was auctioned;
boxes with double sides and bottoms, maps, compasses, odd pieces
of civilian clothing which had been acquired somehow and even

2.1

rubber dies cut to resemble the German official stamps. All could
be purchased.

The commandant at Custrin was an unusual type for a German
because he seemed to enter into the spirit of this escaping business.
On one occasion a German search party discovered that the bars in
a particular window had been sawn through and were only held in
place by putty. Instead of laying a trap outside so as to catch the
culprit emerging from the window the commandant merely hung
a large notice on the bars carrying in German the word " Useless."

What he did not realise was that we had duplicate keys to his
own office and next morning he found the same notice hanging
over his table. This, of course, was a stupid thing to do because all
the locks were immediately changed but we simply could not resist
the temptation to pull his leg. He was renowned for the detailed
searches of the camp which were carried out under his orders.
So, a specially-drawn map was hidden in a place where it was almost
certain to be found. Sure enough a few days later it was borne off
in triumph by the N.C.O. in charge of the search party. A little
later the British officers who inhabited that room were sent for by the
commandant, who complained that he could not understand this
map. He was invited to inspect it more closely, and then realised
that all the roads pointed to a central lunatic asylum in Berlin.

Having been captured in October, 1914, I was among those
designated for repatriation, but to the commandant's fury I refused
to go.

" You will be sent down under escort to a camp near Holland
and you will be put over the frontier whether you like it or not,"
he said. " What is more, we shall be very glad to see the last of
you."

I repeated that I had no intention of going to Holland and
giving my parole. " If I am sent I shall escape."

" We shall see," he replied.

It was soon obvious that no escape would be possible during the
road and rail journey to the final camp. I was paid the compliment
of being given an escort of a senior N.C.O. and two soldiers, who
sat all round me and never let me out of their sight for one moment,

even when I went to the lavatory. By the time I arrived at the camp
I was getting desperate, but once there my hopes rose rapidly.

Although it was surrounded by barbed-wire and guarded by
sentries, this protective screen had obviously not been laid out by an
expert, and by this time I was very experienced at getting out of
camps. There was one very weak spot which could not be observed
by the adjoining sentries. At dusk I climbed over the wire and,
hiding in a shed beyond, turned my British-warm inside out. It had
a neutral-coloured lining which, in the evening light, effectively
covered up my uniform. I had a small compass which, in spite of a
rigorous search, the Germans had failed to find, and I set off towards
the north.

The streets of Aachen (Aix la Chapelle} seemed endless, and every
moment I expected a hand to descend on my shoulder, but nobody
took any notice of me at all, and eventually I got out into the open
country beyond. I then turned west and headed for the Dutch
frontier, which was quite close, with the intention of crossing into
Holland that night. This was a mistake, because the frontier in the
neighbourhood of the big towns was always more strongly guarded
than elsewhere, not because of escaping prisoners-of-war but rather
to catch smugglers and, above all, German deserters.

After walking for a couple of hours I came to a railway embank-
ment lighted by arc lamps. I decided to take a small secondary road,
almost a lane, which passed under the railway through a tunnel.
As I emerged on the far side two figures jumped out of the shadows
and a bayonet pointed at my tummy. My bid for freedom was over.
Next day I was escorted back into the town and placed in solitary
confinement in Aachen civilian jail.

I found myself a popular figure with my fellow prisoners,
mostly German deserters, pick-pockets, and petty criminals. Small
files and pieces of map of the frontier were slipped surreptitiously
into my cell, and I acquired a lot of useful information about the
precautions the Germans took to guard the frontier, and the best
places at which to cross. When I eventually returned to Fort
Zorndorf I was able to pass this information to another habitual
escapee, who had also refused repatriation to Holland. I am glad to

say that when his turn came he also escaped, and was successful in
getting to England and back into the war again.

I hadn't been long in my civilian cell when I was visited by two
very angry officers, the German commandant of the camp from
which I had escaped, and the senior British officer, a lieutenant-
colonel whom I do not propose to name. He said that as a result of
my attempt at escape the repatriation scheme might be stopped.
He then had the effrontery to say that on reaching Holland he would
report me to the War Office for having broken my parole.

He went on insisting on this, in spite of the fact that the German
commandant, although equally angry, chipped in to say, " No, I do
not accuse this officer of breaking his parole, but of not behaving
like a gentleman." Luckily for me, Cartwright of my regiment,
who subsequently escaped to England, explained my side of the
question to the authorities and later I received a message to say that
I was exonerated from all blame.

After the departure of the two furious senior officers I was
consoled by the sympathy of my feUow-criminals, all Germans.
And I came to the conclusion that life was very odd.

CHAPTER II

PRISONER OF WAR

THIS BUSINESS of escaping was all-absorbing; it was a battle of wits
between the prisoners and the Germans. So at the age of eighteen
I was already learning another important lesson to put myself in
the mind of the enemy in order to be just one jump ahead. It also
demanded extreme physical fitness. Very often die camps were
situated many miles from the frontier, involving long journeys on
foot, subsisting almost entirely on the rations which could be
carried in a pack on one's back.

Escaping was a profession in itself and like all professions the
more one worked at it the more proficient one became. One of the
most ingenious escapes of the war centred round a distinguished
Russian general who died in captivity. The German commandant
agreed to his body being placed in a coffin and returned to Russia
via Sweden. This particular camp consisted of huts with a space
between the floor and the ground level. Some Russian officers cut
through the floor of their room and crawled along until they were
under the room where the coffin rested. They then cut another hole
in this floor and a live captain climbed into the room and took the
place of the dead general just before the coffin was due to start on its
journey. Two days later the German commandant received a
message from Sweden, ** In place of one dead general, one live
captain has arrived/* The poor old general was subsequently
retrieved from underneath the floor and buried locally by the angry
German authorities.

My first efforts at escaping were very clumsy, and I had the
indignity of being caught sometimes even before I got out of the
camp at all. But I built up experience, and was quite confident that

if the war went on long enough I would eventually succeed. That is
why I had refused to go to Holland.

The trouble was time. The usual punishment for each escape was
at least a month's solitary confinement followed by a period of some
months in a fortress, like Fort Zorndorf, Custrin, from which it was
practically impossible to escape. So after each failure there was a
longish period before the next escape could be planned. Escapees
naturally gravitated towards one another, and moved round
together. Unfortunately, as we were sent from fortress to camp,
our records, which from the German point of view were very black
indeed, preceded us and we were never regarded by the different
German commandants as a healthy addition to their flock.

Our reception at Hokminden, a comparatively new camp under
die command of that notorious German, Commandant Niemeyer,
usually known as " Milwaukee Bill," was far from friendly. He
spoke a curious sort of English slang with a strong .American accent,
and was a very irascible character. On our first arrival he paid us the
compliment of parading his whole command, British prisoners on
one side, German staff, composed mainly of the sentries who guarded
us, on the other. We, the new arrivals, were placed in between.
Niemeyer then addressed the assembled throng.

Turning to the Germans he said: " Look well at these criminals
and mark them down. If I see any German speaking to them he
will immediately be sent to the front.'* This was the worst punish-
ment with which any German could be threatened at the time.
Then turning to the British, he said: " These are not officers and
gentlemen, they are criminals, and I hope you will treat them
accordingly/'

But the dramatic scene was entirely spoilt by his final gesture.
Shaking his fist under our noses, he bawled, " You are very clever ?
Yes ? Well, I make a special study of this escaping. You will not
escape from here. You think, I, the commandant, know nothing.
You are wrong. I know damn all ! "

The subsequent roar of laughter from the officers sent the
unfortunate Niemeyer stumping off parade scarlet in the face.

The amusing thing was that within three weeks eighteen officers

had escaped from his camp and he had no idea at all how we were
getting out. He went nearly mad. The sentries were doubled, then
trebled. They were ordered to shoot at sight. But still every morn-
ing there were two or three officers missing at roll-call. Poor
Niemeyer must have had the most frightful visions of being sent to
the front himself; yet it was perfectly simple. We just walked out
of the main gate at dusk when the guard was being changed.

I was in the first party to go. Our living quarters adjoined the
barracks where the German sentries lived. We discovered an
uninhabited attic in the top and cut a small hole through the wooden
partition which enabled us to get from our part to theirs. We
managed to construct a " mock-up " of the German soldier's
fatigue dress a red stripe down grey flannel trousers, a pyjama
jacket dyed in coffee and so on. It was good enough to pass muster
in the dusk. Carrying our food in a sack slung over our shoulders,
which made us look like Germans who had been on some working
party, we walked down through the building, across the yard and
choosing the time when all eyes were on the guard-mounting
ceremony, we strolled through the gate out past the sentry. No one
paid any attention to us.

I can still remember the thrill of it; that wonderful moment
when, from outside the wire, we could look back at the camp with
its sentries, its arc lamps, its barbed-wire. We were free. We were
out, with several hours' start, because our absence was most unlikely
to be noticed until roll-call next morning. We had, of course, taken
the elementary precaution of placing most realistic dummies in our
beds.

Unfortunately on this occasion the weather was against us. It was
bitterly cold and never stopped raining. After eight days' hard
walking, when we were still some fifty kilometres from the Dutch
frontier, we were discovered lying under a heap of disused sacks at
the end of a barn. Owing to the bad weather the farm-workers,
instead of being out in the fields, were all sitting in the barn sorting
potatoes.

It was very disappointing, but as always, I consoled myself with
the thought that to-morrow is another day.

By the beginning of 1918, although I had not succeeded in
crossing the frontier into Holland, I was getting closer on each
occasion. But in German eyes I had been branded, quite correctly,
as an habitual escapee, with the result that I spent more and more
time at Fort Zorndorf, Custrin. And from here, as I have already
said, it was virtually impossible to escape.

Then in March, 1918, for some unaccountable reason, the
German authorities decided to remove all the British officers from
this fortress and send them to other camps. I was partnered with
three officers of the Royal Flying Corps, who were prepared to
adopt any plan to escape, however hazardous it might be. They were
Macintosh, now Sir Robert Macintosh who holds the chair of
anaesthetics at Oxford, Robinson, V.C., who had shot down the
first Zeppelin over this country, and Hervey, who afterwards
became the chief instructor in the London Gliding Club a most
intrepid trio.

We four were destined for a camp called Clausthal, situated in
the Harz Mountains, and, in spite of an extremely rigorous search
on leaving, we managed to take with us quite a number of useful
aids to escape. Small compasses were concealed in the handles of
shaving brushes, maps inside the covers of books, German money
in the double sides and double bottoms of boxes. British-warms
were fitted with civilian linings.

Our arrival was somewhat marred by the fact that Macintosh had
succeeded in jumping off the train and escaping en route. To
my disgust I discovered that the commandant was yet another
Niemeyer, brother of that unpleasant character whom I had
met at Holzminden. From the outset he realised that the arrival
of three little nigger boys instead of four did not augur well for
the future good behaviour of Clausthal Camp. We were not
welcome.

Clausthal, which before the war had been a hotel, had the
reputation of being one of the most comfortable prison-camps in
Germany. In contrast to the gloom and squalor of our late fortress,
here we found pleasant rooms, a large dining-room and quite
extensive grounds, which included two tennis-courts, a miniature

golf course and a couple of rough squash-courts built by the
prisoners.

But from our point of view there were drawbacks. The most
serious was that escaping was definitely unpopular with quite a
number of the other prisoners. A few days after our arrival we were
had up before the senior British officer and warned that if we tried
to escape we should be reported to the War Office after the war,
and he would recommend us for a court-martial. He added that
escaping was useless; it merely caused unpleasantness for the
remainder. Several people had broken out of the camp but no one
had yet succeeded in getting across the Dutch frontier, which was
over 200 miles away. But two almost equally senior officers told us
afterwards not to take any notice of the old fool, as it was plainly
our duty to escape if we could.

Clausthal proved a most difficult place from which to get away,
because, as with all camps which had been in existence for a long
time, every possible loophole had been sealed. Quite a number of
the officers were determined to get out if they could. Often,
however, some elementary plan organised by people with no escape
experience would interfere with a much more promising scheme
being prepared in the same area. Eventually, as we had had far more
experience than anyone else, we were elected by the hard core of
escapees to take charge of all escaping activities in the camp. It was
our task to vet the different plans, say if they were possible, provide
the necessary assistance in the form of civilian clothes, maps, money,
and advice about the best place to cross the frontier.

By this time we were very well equipped with escaping kit.
By arrangement with the authorities at home, in conjunction with
our families, certain food parcels, sent by some fictitious relative,
would contain wire-cutters, maps, compasses, in fact everything we
wanted, concealed inside tins, in the backs of brushes, in bits of soap,
even in innocent-looking hams.

The Germans were very suspicious of parcels, and no prisoner
was allowed to open them himself. In each camp there was a large
" tin room." Every parcel was opened by the Germans in front of
the officer concerned, who noted the contents, which were then

placed in his particular locker. When required, the tins were opened
by the German staff, and the contents cut into pieces before being
handed over to the officer. According to the rigid German mentality
this scheme made it impossible for any officer to receive escaping
gear. It never seemed to enter their heads that, in almost every
camp, we had made duplicate keys with which, after precautions
had been taken, it was possible to enter the tin room at night and
remove the contents of Aunt Maud's parceL

To prevent the Germans becoming suspicious at the disappear-
ance of tins we constantly registered bitter complaints that our tins
were being stolen by the Germans, and, in consequence, the
unfortunate tin room staff was always being changed. Much of the
escaping kit we thus acquired was concealed under the floors of our
room, which became a sort of central store. This caused us a good
deal of anxiety because of the constant surprise checks and searches
carried out under Niemeyer's orders. But little was found.

Though all this was satisfactory, it wasn't getting us very far,
for we were still inside the camp. As the months passed, Hervey and
I, who were now in close partnership, became more and more
desperate. Ill-luck seemed to dog our every attempt, though some-
how we managed to avoid actual detection. In one attempt, for days
on end we were placed in a large sack which, when the sentries
were in a certain position, could be shoved underneath the rubbish
in a cart driven by an old man to a dump outside the camp.

All to no avail. The sentries were too much on the alert. An
attempt to pull away some boarding, cut through the wire and make
a bolt for it failed for the same reason. A tunnel we were construct-
ing, with several others, was discovered by sheer chance.

The most hare-brained scheme of all was to run across the
intervening ground at night, place ladders against the wire fence,
climb up and jump over. Weeks were spent in constructing and
hiding the ladders. Then, night after night, we lay in a ground-floor
room waiting for the signal to go from watchers who could see the
movements of the sentries from the top stories. Unfortunately, the
weather was never quite bad enough to keep the sentries in their
boxes, and this plan, too, had to be abandoned.

After five months of fruitless attempts, Hervey had an idea,
brilliant in its simplicity. At one end of the camp, separated by a
barbed-wire fence, was an enclosure inhabited by the British
orderlies who worked in the camp. When orderlies wished to pass
from their part to ours, or vice versa, the sentry outside the gate of
the main perimeter wire came inside and opened another gate in
the fence which separated the two compounds. After the orderlies
had passed through, the sentry locked the gate between the two
compounds, went out and resumed his normal beat outside the main
perimeter wire, locking this gate also. But and this was the point
of the whole scheme while the orderlies were passing through and
he was standing beside the inside gate he usually left the outside
gate open.

All we had to do was to join the orderlies returning to their
camp at dusk, and as soon as we had passed through the gate into
their compound turn left and dash out of the open gate in the main
perimeter wire. Admittedly this meant crossing the area outside
the main fence, which was brightly lit with arc lamps, and we were
certain to be shot at. But the German sentries were such poor
marksmen that we hardly gave this a thought. We arranged, how-
ever, to separate after passing through the gate, and to meet at a
rendezvous some hundreds of yards away from the camp.

The night selected for the attempt could hardly have been better.
A concert organised by the officers was being held in the main
dining-hall. We slipped away during the last item, and changed
into clothes which looked approximately like those worn by the
orderlies, who were as usual attending the concert in force. The
expert in make-up set to work and gave us each a fine moustache;
this was necessary because we were fairly well known to the sentries.

After " God Save the King " we joined the crowd of orderlies
walking to their enclosure. Hervey had won the toss and was to go
first, so I walked a couple of paces behind him. It was an exciting
moment, and I kept on murmuring to the orderlies near me, " For
God's sake don't keep on looking at us."

We approached the inner gate with the sentry standing beside it.
The outer gate was open. Hervey passed through, but unfortunately

he turned just a fraction too soon and made for the outer gate.
The sentry leapt forward, caught him by the arm and they started to
struggle. Running up behind, I hit the sentry as hard as I could on
the back of his neck and he rolled over on to the ground. Hervey
dashed through the outer gate, with me after him. I went to the
right, as we had arranged, and heard a shot, followed by another.
Then I was through the lighted zone into the darkness beyond.

Very soon I came to the rendezvous, but no Hervey turned up.
I waited, still no Hervey. I began to fear the worst. Perhaps he'd
been shot.

I circled back towards the camp where the most infernal din was
going on sentries shouting, British cheering. Obviously everyone
was being rounded up for a roll-call.

But then I heard a more sinister sound, the baying of the police
dogs. As I was somewhat weighed down by a home-made body-
belt with huge pockets containing the food on which I was to
subsist during my 213-mile journey to the frontier I couldn't wait
any longer. I was terribly worried about Hervey, who had been my
constant companion for months now, and I didn't look forward to
the long trek through a hostile countryside by myself, because as I
knew well, search parties would be out.

Meanwhile the baying was getting closer. I had once seen one
of these Alsatian dogs attack an officer and I had no wish to
experience a similar fate. Luckily they were trained to run beside
their keepers, who were usually middle-aged German soldiers.
I had taken the precaution of rubbing solid alcohol from, a Tommy's
cooker on the soles of my boots, which helped to kill the scent.
I also walked rapidly down a small stream for a hundred yards
or so, and gradually the baying became more distant.

The normal procedure on these occasions was to walk all night
and sleep by day, lying up in the thickest cover that could be found.
It was advisable to go round, rather than through, villages, and this
I did for the first two nights. But going across country in the dark,
round village after village, proved a very slow business, and it was
soon obvious that unless I made better time my food would run
out long before I got to the frontier.

So, from the third night onwards, I decided to chance it and
walk straight through. It was an eerie experience, for though the
villagers might be sound asleep every single dog started barking.
Dogs became the bane of my life. One sniffed me out in my day-
light hideout and I was forced to slide straight down a steep
embankment, taking the seat completely out of my trousers, and
run for it. It never stopped raining, which made it difficult to sleep
by day as I was always soaking wet.

Still, I was making pretty good time, and, according to my map,
by the tenth night I was only five kilometres from the Dutch
frontier. This was just as well, because I had finished my food
twenty-four hours before, and had caught a bad cold. Very stupidly
I had also removed my boots, and my feet were so swollen owing to
the wet that I could not get one boot on again.

I realised that the last five kilometres would have to be treated
with great respect, because the Germans used patrols, hidden
sentries and police dogs to search this frontier belt.

But it was a perfect night to cross. The rain was teeming down
and it was blowing half a gale; no sentry was likely to be very
alert on a night like this. So, full of hope, I set off across country
on a compass bearing. Hour after hour I struggled forward, but
still I did not come to a small narrow-gauge railway line which,
according to my map, would have been a few hundred yards on
the German side of the frontier.

From this point extreme care would be required if I was to get
across into Holland unobserved. I might even have to cut through
a barbed-wire fence.

Then it began to get light. There was only one thing for it;
to hide for the day and make my crossing the next night. Very
cautiously I approached a barn on the outskirts of a farm. Stacked
high with hay, it was just the sort of hiding place I was looking for.
So having helped myself to some eggs, which I ate raw, I clambered
up to the top, burrowed deep into the hay and settled down for the
first dry day I had experienced since leaving camp.

Unfortunately I had developed a cough which the dry hay
seemed to aggravate. Try as I would I simply could not control it,

Then I heard footsteps in the barn below; they moved round for
some time, then went out. Some minutes later I heard a party of
men returning to the barn. Then, with much shouting, bayonets
were stuck into the hay and I was unearthed.

The barn was surrounded by German frontier guards, and when
I emerged, there was the Dutch frontier in front of my eyes barely
500 yards away. It was a bitter moment. To have come more than
200 miles by myself, through the most impossible weather, and then
to be caught on the frontier itself was infuriating.

For the heinous offence of having struck and knocked down a
German sentry I was sentenced to fourteen days solitary confinement
in a dark ceil. This is a rather worse punishment than it sounds,
because with only a wooden shelf for a bed, and bread and water
as fare, the time passes very slowly. In order to prevent one getting
used to the monotony, which is easily possible, the authorities
provided a bowl of hot soup and a hair mattress every third day.

In my case, however, this was all wasted because the cells adjoined
a prisoner-of-war camp occupied by British soldiers, and on the
very first day a note was pushed under my door telling me to go to
the latrines at a certain hour every day. There, in place of the usual
bucket, I would find a parcel containing chocolate, cigarettes and
biscuits which had been placed there with the amazing generosity
of the British soldier.

Eventually, escorted by four German soldiers in spite of the fact
that I could only hobble along, I arrived back at Clausthal camp,
To my joy I saw, gazing through the bars of the prison compound,
the beaming face of Hervey very much alive. He had been
extremely lucky. After running through the gate he tripped over a
bucket and fell heavily to the ground. While he was struggling to
get to his feet, much impeded by all the food he was carrying, the
sentry had jumped up, fired twice at my disappearing figure and
then run up to Hervey and pressed the trigger. But he had forgotten
to reload !

He then went on pulling the trigger and shouting for help.
Several of the sentries came running up, but by then, with many
eyes on them from inside the camp, it was impossible to murder

Hervey in cold blood. He was taken off for a period of solitary
confinement in the cell where I later found him.

This proved to be the last escape I was to make, for a few weeks
later, while we were still undergoing solitary confinement, the
Armistice was signed and the war was ov er.

In spite of all our efforts the final triumph of getting over the
frontier and back to England had been denied to us. Still I am
certain that these four years in captivity were not wasted. I am not
suggesting that life in a prison-camp is an essential prelude to high
command in battle far from it. All the same I had learned at an
early age and in a hard school to stand on my own feet and make
my own decisions, often in a split second. I had also acquired the
useful habit of thinking things out from the enemy point of view
so that I might always be one jump ahead. These were lessons which
served me well later on.

So at the age of twenty-two, although lacking in conventional
military experience, I was far more self-confident and sure of myself
than is normal in a young regular regimental officer of that age.

The less said about my period of leave after returning to England
the better. Though I did not realise it at the time, those four years
as a prisoner-of-war had taken their toll. The lonely treks right
across Germany with every man's hand against one, lying up by
day and moving by night, the weeks of solitary confinement and,
above all, the eternal barbed-wire they had all left their mark.

I was young and physically fit, but my nerves were in rags.
I was unable to lead a quiet life at home, and was far too restless even
to play games. So I spent every available moment beating it up in
London. I had four years of pay saved up, and I got through it all
in six weeks, coming home every morning by the milk train.

This was one of those critical moments when a very light hand
was required on the reins, and luckily for me it was there. The
world to-day is full of so-called " mixed-up kids," often the product
of uncaring families or of broken marriages. I was fortunate to have
a very happy home and two parents who were devoted to each
other, and to whom the mental and physical well-being of their

family came first How understanding they were in all the crises of
growing up. I must have been a great anxiety to them, but it was
their understanding and patience which saved me during this critical
period. Not one word of protest about my outrageous behaviour
was ever uttered by either parent.

I know now that my Irish uncle, an experienced neurologist,
kept on insisting, "For goodness's sake, keep him quiet." But my
wise old father merely said: " Leave the boy alone. Let him get
those four years out of his system in his own way; he'll be all right*"

Two doctors with diametrically opposite views, but one was my
father and he was right. At the end of that period I emerged a
reasonable human being, though the only concrete results visible at
the time were an overdraft at the bank and an intimate knowledge
of most of the night-clubs in London.

My mother told me afterwards that she got her reward in that
I did come home by the milk train ! I can see her now sitting on my
bed listening to her twenty-two-year-old son with a twinkle in her
eye while I told her just as much as was good for a mother to know.

In later years, dealing with the misdeeds of some young officer,
I often thought of those days and tried to temper justice to give the
young man another chance.

During my time in Germany I had lived for many months with
one other British officer in a room with fifty Russian officers. So I
had perforce to learn Russian. When, therefore, the War Office
called for volunteers who knew the language to go to Russia to help
the White armies in their struggle against the Bolsheviks, I immedi-
ately applied and was ordered to Siberia. Instead of returning to my
regiment for some elementary instruction in military matters and
for some much-needed discipline, I set off on what promised to be a
far more exciting venture.

In January, 1919, with a dozen other officers also on their way to
Siberia, I set sail from Liverpool in a Blue Funnel liner to travel
round the world to Vladivostok. It was a wonderful trip, particu-
larly for somebody who had been shut up behind barbed-wire for
four years. As we were travelling in a cargo boat, several days were
spent at every port of call, Suez, Colombo, Penang, Singapore, and

so on. In eacli place we were almost the first officers in British
uniform whom the local residents had met since the war, and their
hospitality was prodigious.

We had been told by the local inhabitants in Hong Kong that
it was fatal to drink the extremely potent local variation of a gin sling
after dark. Two of us decided to try this out, and after dinner we
drank several. I remembered nothing more until I woke up in a
strange bed in a comfortable room to find a Chinese servant offering
me a cup of tea and a plate of fruit. I had a terrible headache.

Suddenly the door opened and the tousled head of my comrade
in crime looked through.

" Where on earth are we ? " he asked. I replied that I had no
idea. It emerged that we had engaged rickshaws the night before,
but, as we could not explain where we wanted to go, the Chinamen
had taken us, as a matter of course, to the house of a famous lady of
easy virtue who, realising our condition, had us put to bed.

Hong Kong had a club famous throughout the Far East. On
entering one day I found at the immense expanse of bar a solitary
officer. He turned, and, with a distinct north of Ireland accent,
asked me my name.

When I told him, he suddenly beamed and said: " If that's so,
then I'm your Uncle Charles from Australia ! " At the beginning
of the 1914 war he had been out there growing vines very success-
fully, but at once threw it all up to enlist. As there was now nothing
left of his vineyard, he also had volunteered for service in Russia,
and our meeting like this was a remarkable coincidence.

On i6th April, 1919, we landed in Vladivostok and our picnic
was over. We passed at once from the richness and luxury of our
world cruise to the filth and degradation of this Siberian port.
The place came as a great shock because it was my first introduction
to the misery of the refugee problem. Vladivostok swarmed with
people who had fled eastward after the Bolshevik revolution. The
thing which impressed me most was the fortitude with which the
women, many of them reared in luxury, were facing their hopeless
future. The menfolk were much more given to self pity.

Most of these unfortunate people had been rich, with large

houses. They were now almost penniless living in old railway
trucks or in any hovel they could find. There were also Cossacks,
Khirghiz, Mongolians, Chinese, Japs, with a few Americans,
British and French thrown in, and the harbour was packed with
ships bringing war material most of it British for the White
armies.

It was now, for the first time, that I began to realise the size of
the task which confronted us. 1 knew, of course, that the Allied
Governments had decided to support the Whites in their struggle
against the Red Bolshevik forces, but that was the sum total of my
knowledge.

On arrival we were taken to the British headquarters where,
sitting in front of a large map, the situation was explained to us.

The Red armies after seizing power in Moscow and. Petrograd
had overrun most of Siberia. During the winter of 1918-19 the
Whites, under command of Admiral Koltchak, had driven them
back into Russia proper. Apparently this success had been achieved
mainly by the Czechs. After the revolution thousands of Czechs had
come to Siberia and, realising that their only chance of survival lay
in a cohesive effort, they had formed themselves into a corps under
command of a Czech general called Gaida. With the exception of a
few battalions formed from Russian officer cadet training units,
plus one division of Poles, these Czechs were the only reliable troops
at Koltchak's disposal. Now, very naturally, they wanted to go
home, and it was our task to train and equip White Russian forces
raised in Siberia to take their place on the front.

The British forces in the country in the spring of 1919 consisted
of one first-class territorial battalion of Hampshires, a garrison
battalion of my own regiment which was on its way home,
and two organisations called missions. The first was a military
mission with headquarters in Omsk whose task it was to hand
over British equipment to the Whites and then train them in
its use. The second was a railway mission sent to help the White
Russians sort out the chaos on their long lines of communication,
We were to join the first of these under command of General Knox.
There was also a small French military mission doing similar work,

though the bulk of the assistance and equipment was British.

This all sounded excellent. The missions were composed of
first-class officers and N.C.O.s, most of them with considerable
war experience and, at the end of the war, the Allies possessed
masses of surplus equipment. In theory, therefore, we should have
been able to remove the Bolshevik menace to world peace once and
for all, but like so many grandiose plans it was not working well in
practice because the Russians wasted the stores in the most shameless
manner and refused flatly to accept advice.

The lot of the would-be benefactor is a hard one, as the Americans
have found since the last war. We were warned that the White
Russian officers and intelligentsia resented both our help and our
presence in their country. One wise old British colonel said even in
those early days, " I believe we shall rue this business for many years.
It is always unwise to intervene in the domestic affairs of any
country. In my opinion the Reds are bound to win and our present
policy will cause bitterness between us for a long time to come."

How right he was: there are many people to-day who trace the
present international impasse back to that fatal year of 1919. This
was well above my head: the whole project sounded most exciting
and that was all I cared about.

The Vladivostok of those days was full of graft and vice. We
were advised never to go out alone after dark and always to carry
a loaded stick and a revolver. There was one particularly unsavoury
quarter in the brothel area known to the Allies as " The Bucket of
Blood/' because it averaged one murder a night. My stay was a
short one, and three days later I set off with a cheerful heart on my
long journey westwards along the trans-Siberian railway.

CHAPTER III

SIBERIA

WE WERE fourteen British officers and a platoon of British, soldiers
on a train with twenty-seven wagons full of shells. We officers
were due to report to the British military mission, but our first job
was to deliver these wagons intact to the town of Omsk, just over
3,000 miles away. This was not quite so easy as it sounded. One
British officer had recently arrived at his destination with only six
of his original quota of wagons left. At this time railway wagons
were worth a lot of money to the profiteers, and it was remarkable
what excuses were produced by the local station-masters at almost
every stop for detaching the odd wagon which had developed some
mysterious defect.

A hot axle-box was the usual trouble. This was my particular
headache, as I was acting as interpreter. The station-master was
always quite desolate. " But to-day is a holiday," he would say,
** No workman can possibly be induced to do any repairs." Every
day seemed to be a holiday. As for replacing it with another wagon,
that was out of the question. He hadn't seen an empty wagon for
months and months. No, the only thing to do was to detach the
wagon and go on our way one short. After all, what was one wagon
more or less ?

I was equally polite, but adamant. We would wait until repairs
could be done thus incidentally blocking one of his sidings.

" A delay of one, two or even three days makes little difference
to us when our journey is likely to last for anything up to five
weeks."

Invariably, within a matter of minutes, the station-master would
return, sorrowful but still polite, with an empty wagon which by a

most extraordinary chance he had overlooked in a far comer of Ms
yard.

The fourteen of us lived in one box-car, called a terplushka,
sleeping in double wooden bunks, and it was cold enough for us to
be glad of the stove which burned continuously in the centre of the
wagon. Captain Moore, my new-found Uncle Charlie, was in
charge of the train, and as he was pretty good on a banjo the evenings
passed cheerfully enough. The snow had almost gone but immedi-
ately after the winter this Siberian landscape is very bleak and
desolate; miles and miles of bare country, small stunted trees, and no
undergrowth at all.

As we rumbled steadily westwards at eight to ten miles an hour,
the monotony of the journey was broken by our arrival at stations
and small wayside halts. For in Siberia the station is the centre of
the social life of the district. People come from miles around and
there were always dozens of small, shaggy and incredibly tough
Siberian ponies tethered at the back of the building, while their
owners, male and female, paraded up and down the platform.
The arrival of a train was the great moment in the day, and the
platform very quickly developed into a small market.

Sometimes, owing to engine trouble, we were forced to stop for
longer periods at the bigger stations, and I still remember the night
spent at the small town of Manchuli on the frontier between
Manchuria and Russia. Bored with being shut up in the train for
so long, three of us who were off duty that night we took it in
turns to provide orderly officers, and guards who had always to be
posted immediately we stopped anywhere set off to explore the
town.

We were directed to the local night-club though Manchuli did
not seem to be the sort of place where one would expect to find a
glittering night-life. But the Siberia of those days was a place of
many surprises, and, sure enough, we found ourselves peering into
a large, smoke-filled room, filled with Russian officers and their
lady friends, listening and dancing to a first-class tzigane, or gypsy,
orchestra.

As we entered, a fine-looking cavaky colonel jumped to his feet

and said: " English., I do believe. Please join me at my table," which
we did. It was a cheerful party. The Russians, anyhow in the old
days, really knew how to enjoy themselves. Vodka flowed and the
small dance floor resounded to the stamp of feet and the jingle of
spurs as the dancing became more and more uproarious. The only
drawback was that I happened to be the only one of our party who
could speak the language, and as the Russians could speak no
English I was kept busy interpreting.

Then suddenly, after several loud chords, the band broke into
some special tune and everybody jumped to his feet. We of course
followed suit, but our host begged us to be seated as we were his
guests. So down we sat; the only people in the whole place sitting
down, two gypsy girls, and three British officers. We all felt rather
embarrassed, but what could we do ?

Our embarrassment increased when a swarthy Cossack colonel
approached our table. He was a magnificent figure in a wonderful
furry cap, long coat with flared skirt girdled with a belt complete
with revolver and small knives, while on his legs were the most
beautiful long, black riding boots I have ever seen with enormous
spurs which jingled at each step.

" Get up," he shouted. But as his manner was extremely
insolent we had no intention of doing so. Our host, the cavalry
colonel, leant forward and slapped him smartly across the face
saying, " These are my guests and will remain seated, you Cossack
dog."

Then the fun really started and the whole place collected round
our table. Our host turned to me, bowed, and said, " Will you
honour me by acting as my second in a duel which I now propose
to fight with this Cossack? "

" Delighted," I replied, though I had not the faintest idea what I
was supposed to do. However, at this critical moment a posse of
Russian military police, who must have been sent for by the
manager, dashed in and we were all arrested and conducted into a
private room where a court of inquiry was to be held two Russian
colonels, two girls and three British officers.

Feeling that the moment had come when 1 had better step in and

try to retrieve the situation, I advanced to the centre of the room
and delivered an impassioned speech in broken Russian to the effect
that we had come all the way from England to help the Russians,
and now, right at the start, thanks to our ignorance of their customs,
we had caused this terrible quarrel to break out between two
distinguished officers from the Russian cavalry and the Cossacks,
both of whom were renowned throughout the world for their
bravery and skill at war.

The effect was magical ! I was immediately embraced by both
colonels who, I strongly suspect, were by this time deEghted to
accept a painless solution to the quarrel. It turned out that the
particular tune which had caused all the trouble was the national
anthem of the local Cossack chieftain, a certain colourful Ottaman
Semenov, who was all-powerful in this part of the world. He lived
in a magnificent railway train with an attractive blonde whom we all
called Marusia.

Anyhow, the Cossack now insisted on joining our party and, as
the troops would say, " A good time was had by all " until the
early hours of the morning. Then three slightly bemused young
officers returned to their train in Manchuli station, to find that there
also the night had not been without incident.

Although large notices in Russian and Chinese warned the
general public to keep away from our ammunition train on pain of
being shot, these were not always effective. At dusk that evening
the duty officer heard a shot outside. He rushed out to find a dead
Chinaman lying on the ground, with a bullet hole between his eyes.
He had been shot by a British sentry in bad light, at a distance of
200 yards, as he had tried to enter one of the wagons in search of loot.
No one was more surprised than the sentry who, it turned out, had
always been a third-class shot.

We expected trouble with the Manchurian station-master when
we explained, but we had not then realised the cheapness of human
life in this part of the world. ** A dead Chinaman/' said the station-
master, shrugging his shoulders, " a pity ! But there are plenty more.
I will send a couple of coolies to move the body." In one way and
another our short stay in Manchuli was filled with incident.

Up to now we tad been passing through a comparatively
peaceful region but west of Lake Baikal the country had already
gone very Red and Bolshevik bands were constantly raiding the
railway. So each night we spent in the sidings of some station,
protected by soldiers of the White Russian Army.

We were soon involved in one of these raids. In the middle of
the night we were awakened by rifle and machine-gun fire coming
from all round the perimeter of our small station. I climbed pessimis-
tically to the flat roof of our sleeping wagon which was my alarm
post in an attack.

There was a great deal of noise and bullets were flying overhead,
but most of the shooting seemed to be wild. Suddenly I spotted
the dark shape of a figure in the branches of a tree a couple of
hundred yards away, outlined by the arc lights which surrounded
the station. I fired fifteen carefully-aimed shots, but, to my disgust,
without any apparent result.

Then all at once the firing died down as suddenly as it had
started, and we returned to bed. Next morning I discovered that
my fifteen rounds had been fired at a large disused lamp, but even
this, I must admit, showed no ill effects from my marksmanship.

In spite of these incidents, on the 2Oth May we pulled proudly
into Omsk station, and handed over our twenty-seven ammunition
trucks intact to the British authorities. It had taken us just over a
month to complete the three thousand miles journey. Not bad going
in the circumstances !

But my final destination was Ekaterinburg, now called Sverd-
lovsk, some 800 miles farther west, a charming place complete with
gardens and a lake very different from the normal, dusty unattrac-
tive Siberian town. It was here that the Tsar and his family were
murdered and I used to pass the house every day on my way to work.

In Ekaterinburg I got to know the Russian soldier, for I was
second in command of an N.C.O.s training school attached to the
Anglo-Russian brigade. It was planned to form a brigade of four
battalions, each of which had about seven British officers and twenty
senior British N.C.O.s while all the rest were Russian. When this
scheme had originally been put forward it had received the entliu-

siastic approval of the Russian authorities from Admiral Koltchak
do wn wards, but, as we soon came to realise, there is all the difference
in the world between approval in theory and practical help. In fact,
every conceivable difficulty was put in our way.

When the first batch of recruits, some 2,500 strong, shambled
into the barracks we could hardly believe our eyes. In front came
the extremely-smart band and drums of the Hampshire regiment
followed by the filthiest and most unkempt mass of humanity I
have ever seen in my life. Many of them were without boots or
hats and nearly all were carrying the most dreadful-looking bundles
which contained their worldly possessions. It was soon obvious that
we had been allocated the dregs from all the call-up depots in
Siberia; thirty per cent were subsequently discarded on medical
grounds alone.

The main trouble was lack of interpreters, as only fourteen were
available in the whole brigade. General Gaida had promised a large
contingent of Czechs who spoke the language perfectly but they
did not appear. As very few of the British officers or N.C.O.S spoke
any Russian at all there was great difficult in sorting out and training
this mass of ignorant Siberian peasants.

Nor was this all we had to contend with. At first we thought
that the unhelpful attitude of the civilian authorities in Ekaterinburg
was due to the normal Russian inefficiency but we then began to
realise that it was deliberate. We had to fight for everything we
wanted; water, food, transport. They even declined to remove the
refuse from the barracks until they were made to do so by force
of arms.

In spite of all these difficulties somehow or other, due almost
entirely to the very hard work of the British officers and N.C.CXs,
the four battalions began to take shape.

My task in the school was, of course, much easier because our
students were all picked men. Moreover Captain Ulhman, my boss,
spoke excellent Russian and I could make myself understood fluently
but ungrammatically.

It was an interesting experiment which, surprisingly, worked
reasonably well. I became quite attached to the Russian N.C.O.S in

our school. They were practically all illiterate; just simple, decent
chaps, who combined a great sense of humour with considerable
peasant cunning. As soon as they realised that we were doing our
best to look after them, to see that their food was properly cooked,
that they really got their tobacco ration, and that they were paid
regularly, they became very devoted.

I know this was so because on two separate occasions later on,
after we had been captured, a soldier pushed his way through the
Red guards and wrung me by the hand saying: " Oh, Gospodin
Kapitan, do .you not remember me, Nicolai Vacilevitch? What
times we had together in that brigade in Ekaterinburg/'

And, looking back, I think they were good times. Those Russian
soldiers were tough; they could march for miles and miles, singing
the whole time most beautifully. They formed their own choir
which was always in the middle of the column. In our innocence,
we started off by holding foot inspection on return to barracks,
which caused great amusement. They had never heard of such
a thing before. But we soon realised that we were wasting our
time, because whether or not their boots fitted properly made
not the slightest difference to the lumps of hide which they called
feet.

A large collection of women and children seemed to belong to
our N.C.O.s. Whether they were married or not I had no idea.
To our British eyes it seemed very wrong that the barrack room
should swarm with women every night, but this was apparently a
Russian custom. When we shut the gates they merely climbed in
through the windows, so after a couple of days we decided to
acknowledge defeat. We insisted, however, that all the women
should be out of the place in the morning by the time we arrived
for our day's work.

The sad thing was that the better our brigade became the more
the Russian officers came to hate us. To start with they used to halt
our men in the streets, find fault with them for saluting in the
British fashion and then upbraid them for serving under British
officers. They then descended to acts of personal violence and
hardly a day passed without some member of the Anglo-Russian

brigade being beaten up by these Russian officers. The officer
standard in Koltchak's armies was, of course, abysmally low. Very
few of the old regular Tsarist officers still remained. They, with all
their faults, had at least shown courage and knew how to behave
but these interlopers who now strutted about in officers* uniform
had no intention of fighting at all if they could help it. In fact the
rear areas were full of them.

Because of the deterioration in the situation General Knox
thought that it would be madness to send the Anglo-Russian brigade
into the fighting line where it would be dependent on Russian co-
operation which would almost certainly not have been given.

So we never went into battle with our brigade. Orders were
received from the United Kingdom that the experiment was to
cease and the British officers were to return home*

Many of us were so upset at having to desert the men whom we
had been training that we went to the senior British officer and
offered to resign our commissions if we could stay on. Luckily for
us he was a sensible man and pointed out that, had we gone to the
front, we should have been sacrificed needlessly. He was quite right
but the departure of the British officers from Ekaterinburg provided
a wonderful opportunity for the White officers to twist the lion's
tail.

The full brunt of this was felt by George Hayes who sub-
sequently commanded the 3rd division and myself, as we had been
left behind to act as liaison officers with the ist Siberian Army.
We were constantly accosted by people in the street who said with
charming smiles: " What, two British officers still left? Surely the
Reds are getting rather close ? Hasn't the time come for you to dear
out like the rest of the British ? " It was most unpleasant.

In our new job Hayes and I owned a small railway train of our
own, consisting of three wagons. We lived in one, our Chinese
servants and Russian groom in the other, and in the third we kept
our horses. If we wanted to go anywhere, all we had to do was to
ring up for an engine.

Our main task was to keep in touch with the situation on the
front which was worsening rapidly, ,and report back daily to the

chief of the British military mission, General Knox, at his head-
quarters in Omsk, 700 miles farther east.

As the only way to visit units was on horseback, I used to ride
off with my Russian groom, and was often away for up to a week
at a time, spending each night in some small Russian village many
miles north of the railway line.

In some of these I must have been the first foreigner the villagers
had ever seen. When I asked one old peasant if he knew where I
came from, he shook his head: " You are not a Russian, that I
know from your accent, but where you come from I could not
know." ** Ya ne mogy znat" This is the stock answer of the
Russian peasant to almost all questions.

" Could I be a Japanese? " I asked him. " Of course, Barin,
how stupid of me! Japanese, of course/ 5 Now, I don't look in the
least like a Japanese, but the Japs were apparently the only foreigners
whom these peasants had ever heard of.

As soon as we rode into a village, the headman always advanced
bowing and offered us the hospitality of his home. Every hut I
stayed in was built on exactly the same pattern: two large rooms,
in one of which lived the animals, and in the other the people.
In this living-room the two grandparents and the babies slept on top
of the immense stove, which always occupied at least one-third of
the available space, while the remainder, the man, his wife, usually
many children, my groom and myself shared the floor.

At meal times a huge wooden bowl of thick soup was placed on
the table. We were each given a wooden spoon, and then it was a
question of the survival of the fittest. I never took very kindly to
this communal feeding, for as a result of long practice they were so
much better at it than I could ever hope to be that I usually fared
rather badly. Nevertheless, they were kindly, hospitable folk,
passionately attached to their small piece of land. How they must
have hated the collective farms !

During this time I made friends with the chieftain of a Khirghiz
tribe. The Khirghiz are a nomadic people who breed horses, move
where the grazing is best, and live in small felt tents called yurta.
Whenever I could manage it I used to ride down before breakfast

to see my friend, the chief, and having inspected the horses we
repaired to his tent where, sitting cross-legged on the ground, we
drank that Khirghiz speciality called koumiss which is mare's milk
fermented in casks lined with dung* Although this sounds dreadful
it is a most appetising drink. It is, however, extremely intoxicating
and I had to be careful on an empty stomach. It would have been
most unfortunate if the only visible representative of the British had
fallen off his horse on the return journey.

CHAPTER IV

PRISONER OF THE BOLSHEVIKS

THINGS WERE getting steadily worse and the Reds were advancing
against very little opposition. The trouble was that as soon as a
White Russian battalion arrived at the front having been trained
and equipped by us it almost invariably deserted en bloc to the
Red workers* paradise on the other side of the lines.

One day even the army headquarters to which I was attached
was attacked by a Red battalion. I sat on the roof of my wagon
watching the Reds advance, and trying to decide when was the last
possible moment for me to destroy my precious cipher book all
my messages to HLQ. were sent in code which must at all costs be
prevented from falling into enemy hands. It was a difficult decision,
because if I destroyed it unnecessarily, it meant going back 700 miles
to get another one.

I never had a better view of any battle in my life. In front of
me were lines of Red infantry advancing steadily towards us, while
the White officers and cadets were hurriedly dashing into defensive
positions. Luckily for me and my cipher book, the attack was beaten
off within 400-500 yards of our train.

But the writing was on the wall, and we were soon heading
eastwards to Omsk. I did not like the look of the situation at all.
Hayes and I were a lone English rearguard some 3,000 miles from
Vladivostok, our base. Most of the people inhabiting the country
in between sympathised with the Reds, and were hostile to us; in
fact the only troops who could really be relied upon were the
Czechs and some Polish units. Both loathed the Reds and were
busy withdrawing to Vladivostok themselves.

To make matters worse, it was now October, with the winter
closing in, and the cold of a Siberian winter is almost unbelievable,

with temperatures down to forty degress below zero. It was not a
bright prospect,

We got back the 700 miles to Omsk without much difficulty, but
then our troubles really started. The front disintegrated, and we
were told to make our way back to Vladivostok as best as we could,
Omsk itself was a seething mass of terrified people, all mad to get
away from the Red terror spreading eastwards.

Civil wars are always cruel. Neither side was particularly kind
to prisoners, who were often bayoneted out of hand. We were
always being shown photographs of atrocities committed by the
Reds. But it was six of one and half a dozen of the other, because
after being captured we were shown identical photographs as
examples of atrocities committed by the Whites. Certainly it was
not a gentle affair, and there were sinister stories of Red soldiers
hammering nails into their officers' shoulders, one for each star on
their epaulettes. It was not surprising that the people were terrified.

A mass retreat is one of the saddest and most despairing sights in
die world. Most of these people were quite destitute. Families
became split up, and the walls of the stations were covered with
pathetic little messages such as : "If Maria Ivanovna should see this,
her parents passed here on loth October, making for Irkutsk."
There were only two ways of escaping from the Red tide which
rolled inexorably eastward; by train, or by sleigh along the tracks
which ran parallel to the two railway lines.

On arrival in Omsk, we were lucky enough to join up with Major
Vining and a dozen other British officers and other ranks, who
belonged to the British railway mission which had been helping the
Russians to run their railways. We were fifteen all told. They were
now frantically trying to deal with the chaos in the station-yard,
and to get trains moving east.

Vining had secured a couple of wagons on which he had painted
the Union Jack. These immediately became the rallying points for
all sorts of people who claimed British nationality Persians,
Russians with English names who could not speak a word of English,
Indians, and goodness knows who else. We came to realise how very
wide-flung was the British Empire. Unfortunately there were a

number of women among them. This was the sort of situation where
we would have gladly done without the female sex because the
journey in front of us was likely to be tough and not the sort of
thing for women at all. But we had no alternative and they were all
packed in somehow.

On I3th November we pulled out of Omsk in one of the last
trains to leave. The Red Army was approaching rapidly. We were
attached to a train full of Polish soldiers, and we travelled on the
right-hand track which was usually reserved for up-trains. To start
with we made good progress, passing a ribbon of stationary trains
on the left, or down-track. In fact, we arrived in Novosibirsk,
550 miles away, only one week later.

But from now on things became very difficult. Both lines were
blocked with trains standing nose to tail, moving on perhaps a few
miles at a time, then remaining stationary for hours. There was no
water for the engines, so at frequent intervals we turned out and
formed a human chain passing baskets of snow up to the engine.
Not much fun this in the bitter cold of a Siberian night, but unless
we kept up steam our chances of escape were nil.

The people were now getting desperate. At Tiaga, 150 miles
farther east, Czechs, Poles and Russians were fighting for engines
and the station echoed to the continuous rattle of machine-gun fire.
I managed to wriggle my way into the station-master's office where
I was handed a message from Vladivostok. It read: " If the situation
seems to warrant it, do not hesitate to take complete control."

Could anything have been better ? At this particular moment,
it would have taken at least a division of well-trained British troops
to have sorted out the situation. But the message did serve a useful
purpose: it caused great amusement.

We managed to keep fairly cheerful in spite of the endless
tragedies which were going on. Always that steady stream of
sleighs pulled by Siberian ponies, with their pathetic burdens, old
and young, women and children, some starving, many of them ill,
but somehow clinging on desperately to the top of the few posses-
sions which they had managed to save. The sick just fell down and
died in the snow there was nothing anybody could do about it.

Things were going from bad to worse. The Reds were now only
thirty miles away and our engine was finished. We managed to
get the women and children into one wagon on another train
manned by the Russian railway battalion, which we knew had a
better chance of getting through than any other. Having seen them
depart, the men of the party decided to take to the sleighs.

It was the night of ifth December. We had been retreating
for nearly a month, and we had had practically no sleep for seventy-
two hours. It was almost dark when I heaved myself wearily on to
the top of the loaded sleigh which had been allocated to me. The
cold was frightful and the going terrible. Every now and then I
was flung off into the snow and had to run to catch up again.
But we were forced to walk and run pretty often, because of the
intense cold. I was lucky enough to own a pair of Russian felt boots
called pymwy. They are the only possible footwear in Siberia in
winter.

And so the journey went on, riding, walking, falling of running,
hour after hour and day after day. The only time we were really
warm was at night which we usually spent all packed together into
one room in some village. Eighteen of us in a room which measured
twelve feet by ten feet you could have cut the air into slabs and
thrown them outside.

After five days on the sleighs we crossed the railway line again
at a small station. The Polish commandant here told us that the line
to the east was much clearer now, and then we suddenly saw,
standing in the yard, the wagon containing our women and children
a most remarkable coincidence. They felt rather lonely and begged
us to rejoin them. So we all crowded in, some forty-two people in
a wagon meant for sixteen. However, it was warmer than on the
sleighs.

Finally, we came to a longer stop than usual, some eight miles
west of the Siberian town of Krasnoyarsk. Then, all around us,
we saw officers and men throwing away their arms. It appeared that
the Red Army had done a wide encircling movement and had
captured Krasnoyarsk four days before. The date was 7th January.
We had now been retreating for six weeks and had covered nearly

I, coo miles, but this was the end. It was infuriating to think that all
our efforts had been in vain. Here we were, cluttered up with women
and children, almost exactly in the middle of Siberia in the depth
of winter. We saw no Reds, there was no shooting nothing.
So, working on the principle " When in doubt, feed," we decided
to have supper.

Then into our carriage came a soldier with a huge red cockade
in his fur cap. He was followed shortly afterwards by a couple of
officers, one of whom said he was the Red battalion commander.
We were now their prisoners but, having discovered that we were
British, they beamed with delight and asked us whether they might
join us for supper a truly Gilbertian situation.

It was difficult to see what the future held in store for us. Hayes
and I made an elaborate plan to buy a sleigh and a couple of ponies
with a view to escaping over the Mongolian frontier 500 miles to
the south-east. Major Vining, who, as the senior officer, was in
charge of the party, was perfectly prepared to let us go. In fact he
was very understanding about it, but he pointed out that I was the
only officer who could talk Russian. So we concluded that it would
not be right to desert the rest of the party. I am very glad now that
we never attempted this extremely hazardous journey, which would
have been difficult enough in summer, let alone in mid-winter.

As a first step we managed to get our mixed party of some
forty-two people out of the railway train into a couple of rooms in
the town of Krasnoyarsk; this was no mean achievement, because
this small Siberian town was bursting its seams with people Red
Army soldiers, refugees, Poles, Czechs, and thousands of White
Russian prisoners-of-war.

I spent my day going round trying to get some food or money
with which to buy food, because the Omsk roubles we possessed
had been declared illegal by the Reds. We were, therefore, penni-
less. It was not pleasant standing for hours in queues in the bitter
cold waiting to see these commissars. Eventually we were issued
with bread-tickets, which was something, but even then, like every-
body else, we were always hungry. We tried every possible way of
getting money and food. I got a job teaching English in a girls'

school, for which I received the princely salary of 250 roubles the
equivalent of ten shillings a week but, what was far more impor-
tant, I was given some thick soup for lunch. Another man played
a piano in a cafe; in fact everyone did his best to contribute
in some way.

One young Canadian officer had the important task of taking
our clothes to the market and swopping them for food with the
peasants who came in daily from the surrounding country. He was
not always very successful, and I can remember how angry I was
when in exchange for my last shirt all he obtained was a pair of
skates and a bag of nuts.

Obviously this sort of existence could not continue for long,
so Vining, Hayes and I decided to pay a visit to the head commissar
of all. Our first attempt failed as we found a long queue, which
hardly moved at all, stretching right down the street outside the
house where he worked. The only thing to do was to bluff our
way in.

So, next day, having polished up the remnants of our uniform
in order to look as smart as possible, we walked straight to the head
of the queue, brushed the sentry on one side and said haughtily:
" An English delegation to see the commandant." Everyone was
suitably impressed and very soon we found ourselves in the holy of
holies the commandant's office.

On entering we saluted: he jumped up from the table and
returned our salute. First blood to us, we felt, because in the early
days of the Red revolution saluting was strictly forbidden as it
smacked too much of the old regime, " We hold you personally
responsible to the British Government for our safety," I said.
" Of course," he replied most politely, " but I did not know that
there were any British in the town. What do you want? " " First
of all, food," I replied, " and secondly to go back to the U.K."

The whole interview was conducted most courteously and he
gave us food cards which enabled us to feed not only ourselves but
quite a number of starving White Russians as well, but there seemed
little prospect of getting home in the immediate future, for, as he
pointed out, between Krasnoyarsk and Vladivostok there was a war

going on between the Red Army and the Japanese. The railways
had broken down, the horses were all being eaten by the starving
people and It was mid-winter. " I will try and send you to
Vladivostok as soon as possible," he said, ** but in the meantime you
must remain here." And remain we did.

After a month of this sort of existence, the headquarters of the
5th Red Army moved into the town and as a soldier I was interested
to see how the Bolshevik or Communist Army really worked.
I was sorry for the officers, most of whom had served in the Imperial
Russian Army. The only reason they were now fighting for the
Reds was because their families were held as hostages. One mistake
and their wives and children would be thrown into prison and they
themselves would be executed.

The real power in the army headquarters lay in the hands of the
three political commissars who sat in a room together and vetted
every order before it was sent out. The army itself was a very
happy-go4ucky affair, with little discipline, run entirely on the
friend or tovarish principle. No officer was allowed to wear the
hated epaulettes which belonged to the bad old days of the Tsar's
army.

The whole thing was, of course, extremely inefficient from the
point of view of actual war, and the only reason the Reds were
victorious was because they did have the backing of the people,
and the Whites were even more inefficient. What a contrast to the
Russian army of to-day, with its rigid discipline in which privates
have to salute even corporals. The Russian officer caste has now
become far more exclusive than it was even in the Tsar's army.
Epaulettes are worn proudly again and a Russian major-general
receives more pay than his counterpart in the American army.

The head political commissar of the 5th Army was a fanatical
Bolshevik and a difficult customer to tackle. From the outset his
attitude was quite clear, for he said: " If you will now carry out the
same work for the Red army that you have been doing with the
White armies you will be given plenty of food, money, and good
quarters. If not there is always the prisoner-of-war camp on the
outskirts of the town."

This was no idle threat. Our present existence, packed Hke
sardines into two rooms and short of food, might not be ideal,
but it was heaven compared with life in the ghastly P.O.W. camp
where 40,000 White Russians were dying at the rate of 200 a day.
Nevertheless, we were British officers and N.C.O.s and there could
be no question of our working for the Reds. Vining made this quite
clear to the commissar, and he never -wavered in this attitude during
the whole time we were in Russia, in spite of repeated threats from
the Bolshevik authorities.

Suddenly, orders were received that we were to go home;
though whether via Vladivostok or back through Moscow was not
clear. Little did we care, as with light hearts we moved down to a
fourth-class railway carriage in the station and made the acquaint-
ance of the Red soldiers who were to be our guards.

But of course nothing happened. It never did in Russia. We
merely sat in the wagon for days on end in a siding at Krasnoyarsk
station.

Then the worst happened. I began to feel very ill, a high
temperature, constant sickness, and a burning thirst. This was the
blackest moment of my life, for in the anxious eyes of the others I
could read one word typhus, that dread disease which was sweep-
ing through Russia, carried from person to person by lice. It was
almost impossible to free ourselves from these filthy vermin. There
were reputed to be 30,000 cases of typhus in Krasnoyarsk alone.
Luckily by this time we were inured to death because we had been
living for so long literally surrounded by dead. Naked corpses
were stacked on the pktforms, and sleighs packed with frozen
bodies were such a common sight in the streets that no one even
glanced at them. It was not the thought of death which worried me,
but the fear of a Russian hospital. All the so-called hospitals were
crammed, and I knew only too well what they were like. In one
which I had visited, the patients were lying unwashed in their
clothes in serried ranks on the floor. The corridors had been used as
lavatories. The stench was so overpowering that I had been sick
before I could get outside. It seemed a cruel fate that this should
have happened to me just when we were about to go home, because

if I had typhus there could be no question of my remaining in the
crowded railway wagon.

Next day a doctor arrived to examine me. One look at his
face was enough; I had got it all right.

By this time I was delirious, I have only vague memories of a
sleigh journey, and then being laid on a bed not on the floor as I
had expected. Among the features of this disease are the extremely
high temperature, deKriousness and appalling nightmares. To this
day I can remember these dreams in which I went through all the
tortures that the most diseased imagination could produce. I was a
traitor to my country. I had sold my dearest relations to the Reds,
and so on.

When I regained consciousness some six days later I was tied
down to my bed with ropes, my arms were bandaged and my lips
so swollen I could only swallow water a drop at a time. I could not
make out where I was but I was too weak to care. Then beside my
bed I saw the friendly figure of George Hayes. We had been
together the whole time in Russia, and when I was taken to hospital
he had moved out of the train into a room so as to be near me, and
every day he paid a visit to the hospital. He was a brave man
because even though he wore a raincoat buttoned up to the neck and
had covered himself with anti-louse powder he ran a very big risk
of being infected.

Gradually the picture became clearer to my mind. Thanks to the
efforts of Vining and Hayes I had been moved into the best hospital
in the town, which actually possessed beds. It had originally been a
school. There was one heroine of a Russian nurse, and half a dozen
orderlies to look after 125 patients. Most of the doctors had become
casualties themselves and one exhausted young man used to visit
our hospital for one hour a day, if we were lucky.

But the chief problem was food. A typhus patient after he has
passed the crisis needs building up with good food, but all that was
available here was black bread and thin soup. Somehow or other
Hayes managed to get me some milk and white bread, and this
undoubtedly saved my life. According to the nurse I had been a
most obstreperous patient, had broken the ropes which tied me to

the bed, and had smashed the window with my fists trying to get
out. Hence the wounds on my arms.

One of the most interesting things about that hospital was the
bed psychology. There were not enough beds to go round, so with
the exception of one single bed in a comer we were three people
on two beds. Not a very happy position if the next-door patient
happens to be a hairy great Cossack in the delirious stage of this
beastly disease. The burning ambition of everyone in the room
was to get moved to that single bed. I had occupied it until my
crisis had passed, when I was moved away and my place was taken
by another bad case. We became dreadfully callous and discussed
endlessly whether the occupant of the bed was likely to die in the
near future and which of us might be lucky enough to take his place.

In spite of everything I now made rapid progress, and was
delighted to hear that the remainder of our party, instead of having
departed as they had hoped, were still sitting in the same old siding.

On 1 8th March, after nine adventurous weeks in Krasnoyarsk,
we finally left for Irkutsk 600 miles to the east, the first stage, we
hoped, in our journey home via Vladivostok. But we remained
there for the next two months. It was in Irkutsk that I met my first
woman commissar. She was an awesome sight, tougher than any
man I have ever seen. Her hair cut short, a cigarette in the corner
of her mouth, a skirt which hung round her like a sack and a large
revolver fastened to her belt. I would rather have tackled six men
commissars any day.

It was interesting to see the effect we seemed to produce on the
Red soldiers who were sent to us as guards. To start with they were
very strict and regimental, but after a few days we always became
great friends and they invariably wept when they were relieved.

We were destined not to return home by Vladivostok at all.
On I2th June we set off to the west and for the next six weeks,
with many stops and starts, we trundled steadily along the railway
line until we arrived in Moscow, 3,500 miles away. At last we felt
that we were really going home, but by now we should have known
better.

Instead of home we found ourselves for the first time in a proper

prison-camp, inside the walls of what had previously been the
Ivanofisky Monastery. Here were 457 prisoners of whom forty-five
were women; generals, admirals, politicians, common or garden
thieves, counter revolutionaries, speculators, ex-ladies-in-waiting
from the Tsar's court, and prostitutes, all mixed up together. It was
the most pathetic place I have ever seen, because all these people were
without hope of any sort. Some indeed had gone mad.

One distinguished elderly Russian general was in charge of the
lavatories where he worked without ceasing all day. The trouble
was that he strongly resented anyone entering his domain. The only
method of doing so was to click your heels, salute and shout out in
a loud voice, " Your most Highest. May I have the privilege of
using your lavatories to-day? "

He would then return the salute most punctiliously and shout
permission in an equally stentorian voice. Honour was thus satisfied
and all was now plain sailing.

The prison fare was slow starvation. Three-quarters of a pound
of black bread in the morning, some boiled grain at midday and in
the evening some watery soup made from highly-flavoured fish, or
meat which was often horse flesh. The only thing that kept the
prisoners alive was the food their friends and relations brought
them in. Fortunately for us there was a French organisation in
Moscow run by a Madame Charpentier and her two daughters
which was helping to feed destitute foreigners. If it had not been
for these very gallant women we should unquestionably have
starved. Twice a week, at great personal risk, they brought us in
extra bread, potatoes and sometimes even a small quantity of eggs
and sugar. Even so I always used to eat my bread over a piece of
paper so that not a single crumb would be wasted.

A constant battle was waged between ourselves and the Bolshevik
authorities over the question of work but in spite of repeated
threats we continued to refuse to do anything which would in any
way benefit the Reds. How we got away with this I do not know
but we did.

From time to time someone would depart from the camp
" without baggage*" Those were sinister words we all knew what

that meant. None of them was ever seen again. After a month we
were moved to another prison in the former Andronojjsky
Monastery where life was much the same.

Then one day the unbelievable happened; we were visited by
an official from the Red Foreign Office, a fat little man in riding
breeches who brought us some of the best news I have ever heard in
my life. In accordance with an exchange scheme arranged between
our two governments we were to return to the U.K. at once.
Our departure next day to Petrograd was entirely spoilt, for me at
any rate, by the sad, white faces of our fellow prisoners looking out
from the monastery windows. They, poor devils, had no kindly
government to look after their interests and their fate was all too
certain.

During this last period in Russia we all received offers of marriage
from Russian women. " If only you will marry us so that we can
get over the frontier out of Russia,*' they would say, " we will
promise never to worry you again." It was a difficult situation for
we felt very sorry for these unfortunate women and would gladly
have helped them to escape from the country. But we all realised
that we could not possible just abandon them on the other side of
the frontier. So after much discussion and soul searching we had to

<( TVT *>

say No.

On 29th October eighteen months after I had entered the
country on the other side Vladivostok we crossed the frontier
into Finland and freedom. I turned and shook Vining by the hand.
Thanks to him our morale bad always been high and discipline in
our strangely assorted party had withstood the strain of all these
months of captivity. On his shoulders had rested the ultimate
responsibility and now he had brought the whole party safely out
of the darkness of Bolshevik Russia into the light of the free world
again. It was a great moment.

We came home via Finland and Denmark, and the first part of
the journey from Helsinki to Copenhagen was made in almost
regal state or so it seemed to us on board the British cruiser
H.M.S. Delhi. What the Royal Navy must have thought about us
I cannot imagine for it was a most peculiar-looking military party,

dressed in all sorts of odd garments, which climbed up the gangway
into their beautiful ship. But the hospitality of the senior service did
not fail. We couldn't have been more kindly treated. The captain
even went so far as to move into his sea-cabin by the bridge in order
to put ids quarters in the stern at my disposal.

In Copenhagen we were met by EngHsh-speaking Danes who
looked after us during our stay in their capital. After the squalor of
Russia it was wonderful to experience die comfort of the Hotel
Angleterre and to dine in Wievells Restaurant I shall never forget
the kindness of those hospitable Danes.

It wasn't until I met my parents on our arrival in London that I
realised what they must have suffered on my account, for I had
disappeared into Russia and literally passed out of their lives for
over a year.

So ended my extremely unorthodox preparation for higher
command. I cannot pretend that my military education had
benefited to the slightest degree from my sojourn in Russia. My only
claim to distinction at this period of my career, and I was now
twenty-six years old, was an intimate knowledge of prison life both
in Germany and Russia. These seemed not the slightest chance of a
successful career for me in the army.

Yet I wonder whether the varied experiences of those years were
not an excellent preparation for the stresses and strains of command
in war. I had learned to live rough and depend on nobody but
myself and, having experienced the seamy side of life to the full,
I was unlikely to be taken by surprise, however unexpected the crisis
might be. Orthodox military life in those days was not calculated
to develop the qualities of robust initiative so necessary in a
commander on the battlefield. The inevitable economies which
afflict all military forces between wars made regimental soldiering
in the United Kingdom a frustrating business. The British Army at
home had been reduced largely to a flag basis. On exercises lance-
corporals carried boards round their necks bearing the words
" This represents a section." When they wanted to carry out a
reconnaissance they hung the board on a tree and went forward as
a scout themselves.

We have all been amused by the story of the young officer who,
at the start of the last war, on receiving his first orders to move out
into the desert to fight the Italian Army, had asked his commander
whether the Italians understood that a green flag represented an
anti-tank gun. That was the depth to which we sank between the
wars.

CHAPTER V

BETWEEN TWO WARS

WHEN I returned to my regiment as a captain I was lucky, for tlie
ist Battalion The Middlesex Regiment then formed part of the
British Army of the Rhine. For us in the occupation forces life in
Cologne was very pleasant, because, owing to the chronic inflation
of the German mark, we always had plenty of money, a most
unusual experience for me.

It was all too easy. I opened an account for ^10 sterling in a
German bank and as each day the pound become worth more in
German currency all I had to do was to call and draw out the extra
marks. Towards the end of this period we used to get the weekly
pay for our companies in sacks. But the Germans suffered terribly.
Here were all the horrors of galloping inflation. The more expensive
bars were filled with fat profiteers and their hard-faced, brassy
mistresses who drove round in huge cars and seemed to batten on
the wretched, starving, professional classes.

I was horrified to meet a distinguished German professor and his
family who never saw meat at all and could only afford potatoes
for their one main meal of the day. Prices in the shop windows
were altered four or five times a day, but owing to protests from the
British garrison, the N.A.A.F.I. canteen promised to keep their
prices stable for a week. By the end of the second day some wonder-
ful bargains were available because the mark had continued to fall.

The result was fantastic. The whole garrison descended on the
N.A.A.F.I. like a crowd of vultures. There were lorries and cars
blocking all the streets round their premises, and women were
diving for the counters and seizing anything they could lay their
hands on, golf balls, bottles of whisky, fruit, it didn't matter, it was
a bargain. I don't think anybody who has not witnessed at first hand

the real horrors of inflation can understand what it means. I came
away convinced that any sacrifice was worth while in order to avoid
this economic cancer.

The next few years were occupied by many and varied activities.
In April, 1921, the battalion returned to the United Kingdom for
duty in connection with the coal strike. Then came Ireland during
"the troubles" where our life consisted of searches for hidden arms,
patrols, keeping a lookout for road-blocks and dealing with ambushes
organised by the Sinn Feiners a most unpleasant sort of warfare
and not unlike what has been going on in Cyprus recently.

This was followed by a trip to Silesia in order to maintain law
and order during a plebiscite w T hich was being held there to decide
on the frontiers between Poland and Germany. Tempers among the
local inhabitants ran high and it required considerable tact to prevent
an ugly situation developing among the thousands of Polish miners
who came out on strike as a protest against our presence in their
district. These cold war activities, as they would be called to-day,
ended in October, 1923, when we returned to orthodox peace-time
soldiering as part of the ist Guards Brigade in Aldershot. Owing to
the shortage of men, which made training very difficult, life centred
more and more round games and in 1924 as an added sporting
interest I became involved in the modern pentathlon.

There is something romantic about this event which has its
origin in the ancient Greek Olympic games. In those days the
pentathlon, a contest of five events in all of which each competitor
had to take part was considered to be of such importance that the
winner was acclaimed " Victor of the games," The modern
pentathlon, as reconstituted in 1912, is based on the conception of a
courier carrying dispatches through a hostile country. He starts by
riding a horse across country, but if he becomes dismounted he must
then be able to continue his journey on foot by running. As the
bridges may be guarded he should be prepared to swim across any
river encountered during his journey and he must be capable of
defending his dispatches both with sword and pistol. So there arc
the five events in which we had to compete, riding, swimming,
running, fencing and revolver shooting.

I was fortunate enough to win the championships in this country
and so was selected with three others to represent Great Britain in
the Olympic games which were held in Paris that year. For four
months we were struck off all duties in order to train and at the end
of this period I was superbly fit but the standard of performance in
Paris was so high that I finished well down in the order of merit.

Unlike certain other international contests this particular event
seems to spread a spirit of friendship and co-operation among the
competitors a very important factor in this shrinking world of
to-day.

At the conclusion of these 1924 Olympic games an international
party was taken round Paris by one of the young French competitors
in the modem pentathlon. He kept on looking at us anxiously and
saying: " Tell me what really interests you, gentlemen? " As we
had been in strict training for six months it was difficult to decide
what forbidden fruit to sample first. Anyhow, it was a truly
memorable night which resulted, I am afraid, in my running dead
last in the final of the army mile a week later much to the disgust
of my regiment.

At this stage of my life a disproportionate part of my time was
devoted to games, particularly during the early days at Aldershot.
I was now unquestionably in danger of ruining any chances of
success which I might have' had by allowing sport to fill my life to
the exclusion of everything else. But fortunately for me Aldershot
was quite close to my parents' house at Hersham in Surrey, and I
went home frequently. This gave my father a chance to bring his
influence to bear on his work-shy, sport-loving son. Nothing would
satisfy him but that I must work hard in order to get into the
Staff College, Camberley, where regimental officers did a two-year
course to study the wider aspects of their profession. There was,
however, fierce competition to get there because, unless an officer
bore the magic letters P.S.C. (Passed Staff College) after his name,
he was unlikely to reach the higher ranks of the army. So, driven on
by his constant urging, I at last started to work hard at my profession
and at languages.

In January, 1927, when I was preparing to take the entrance

examination to Camberley, my battalion was ordered to form part
of a division earmarked for China, where trouble was expected as a
result of the Chinese civil war. The instructions, however, said that
any officers working for the Staff College were to stay behind in
this country. This venture in China sounded most exciting, just
the sort of thing to appeal to young men like us, and it was automati-
cally assumed by all my brother officers that I would chuck
up the Staff College and not leave the battalion at that particular
moment.

When I told my father that I proposed to go to China he
listened quietly as always. Then he said just as quietly but with
great firmness, " China will be a picnic, that's all. There is only one
thing that matters to you now to get into the Staff College."
As might be imagined I was not very popular with the regiment
when they heard that I was staying in England. But as usual, my
father was right. China was, in fact, a picnic and I eventually got
into the Staff College. That was the turning point in my life as a
soldier.

The departure of the 1st Bn. the Middlesex Regiment, my
military home, for China left me a sad and lonely man, but I was
soon up to my eyes in a new job with the Territorial Army which
appealed to me immensely. In January, 1927, I became adjutant
of the pth Battalion the Middlesex Regiment with headquarters
at Pound Lane, Willesden, and outlying companies in the Hendon
and Wealdstone districts. And so I made my first contact with
those 'truly remarkable people, the British territorials.

It has always seemed to me a curious phenomenon that in this,
the most non-military of countries, where, ever since the days of
Oliver Cromwell the army has been regarded with extreme
suspicion, there should exist in their thousands these enthusiastic
people who after a hard day's work are prepared to desert their
families in the evening to travel, in many cases, long distances to
some bleak, dreary drill-hall (now called T.A. centres) for military
training.

Yet this happens almost every night in the week all over the
country, and the curious thing is that the more difficult the author-

ities make it for these dedicated people, the more the T. A. seems to
flourish. There was before the war, and to some extent, still is
to-day a chronic shortage of cash, accommodation and men, but if
the Territorial Army was called upon to-morrow it would render
the same first-class service to this country that it did in the last two
world wars. I was particularly glad when I was commanding an
infantry division during the last war to be able to recommend a
T.A* officer aged thirty-two to command one of the only two
regular battalions in the division.

Up to now I had never met any territorials and indeed knew
practically nothing whatever about the civilian world which existed
outside the narrow confines of life in the Regular Army. I found it
a most invigorating experience and a vital step in my military
education because, after all, these are the people who in the final
analysis win or lose our major wars. Moreover as a Territorial
adjutant I had to be a jack-of-ali-trades, organise training, set week-
end tactical exercises, run boxing shows, dances, tattoos, have an
intimate knowledge of the many regulations which governed the
Territorial Army, and act as a sort of father confessor to the officers
and men about their civilian occupations.

The time I spent with the pth Middlesex was not only valuable
from the point of view of my military education, it was also a very
happy and momentous three years.

I became engaged to be married at an odd place, outside Worm-
wood Scrubs Prison, on my way to a dance at Pound Lane drill-hall,
and was married a few months later, at the Savoy Chapel, to Nancy
Kitchin. This story is mainly concerned with my military life and I
have the strongest objection to baring my family life in public so I
will only say that up till then my eyes had been completely closed
to beauty of any sort. It never even struck me that the army
barracks in which I lived were supremely ugly buildings. Old furni-
ture, old houses, meant nothing to me at all and I don't remember
ever entering a picture gallery of any sort. My wife is an artist or,
as she would prefer to call it, " puts paint on canvas," and thanks
entirely to her, my life is now much fuller and my appreciation of
beauty is increasing steadily.

My daughter was bom in the following year and like so many
other military families we started the merry-go-round of military
stations and lived in some twenty-six different houses in our first
twenty years of married life.

Being married was an added incentive to work for the Staff
College. Moreover my father kept on insisting that I should
take special courses and study even harder with this one end in
view.

At the time my prospects of a successful career in the army were
far from bright. In addition to my inauspicious start as a prisoner-of-
war in Germany and Russia I had now spent fifteen years as a captain,
and owing to the block in promotion I was most unlikely even to
get command of my own regiment. Nevertheless he persisted, and
finally at the fifth and last attempt I secured a nomination to that
seat of all military knowledge, the Staff College, Camberley, where I
joined for the two-year course in 1931.

In the entrance hall to the Staff College there are racks where
letters and papers for the students are placed, and it is here that the
senior and junior divisions congregate before going to their lecture
halls. When I gazed round on that first morning I looked upon
some 120 officers, almost all of whom in due course were to play a
prominent part in the 1939-45 war. In the senior division were two
captains; Captain M. C. Dempsey, M.C., of the Berkshire regiment
who subsequently commanded the 2nd British Army throughout
the fighting in north-west Europe, and Captain "W. H. E. Gott,
M.C., of the K.R.R.C., one of the best-known corps commanders
in the desert. Both were very keen horsemen and Dempsey was a
first-class cricketer. Those were their chief claims to fame at
this time.

We think that our course which joined in 1931 contained more
students who later rose to command divisions and corps than any
other. Moreover Nicholson (Adjutant-General), Brownjohn
(Quartermaster-General) and Kirkman (Quartermaster-General), all
eventually became members of the Army Council, while Simpson
(Lieut-General Sir Frank E. W. Simpson) proved a most successful
Vice-Chief of the General Staff during the war. It was the practice

for a naval officer to join the course for the final year, and our sailor
turned out to be that remarkable all-rounder Warburton-Lee who
won the V.C. at Narvik.

In those years before the war Camberley provided probably the
best military education in the world and I have no doubt at all that
the high standard of staff work in the army during the last war was
due to this instruction.

I say this deliberately after studying the systems in the staff
colleges of other countries.

We were also fortunate in our commandant, General Sir John
Dill, a brilliant soldier, who, after commanding the i Corps in the
British Expeditionary Force in 1939, became C.LG.S. He was a man
of the highest integrity, great charm and with a first-class brain.
It is only recently that he has received credit for the magnificent
work which he did as the senior British representative in the U.S.A.
during the last war.

General Marshall liked, and trusted him completely, which made
all the difference to Anglo-U.S. co-operation at the highest military
level. He died on 4th November, 1944, and was buried in Arlington
Cemetery in the U.S.A., the highest honour the Americans can
bestow on a foreigner.

He was also a man with a sense of humour. One of my brother
officers on the course had won several decorations for gallantry
during the 1914-18 war but did not show much promise as a staff
officer. At his final interview with the commandant, Dill is reported
to have said: " You would be a wonderful man to have by my side
in a tight corner on the battlefield. But, if you were on my
staff and I found myself in such a predicament, I should have
no doubt at all about who had been responsible for getting me into
it."

The system of instruction by which officers studied and worked
out military problems in syndicates could not have been better.
In fact in this direction the army was in advance of the civilian world.
It is an interesting fact that most of the staff colleges now run by
civilian firms are based mainly on the Camberley pattern.

When at the end of our two-yqar course I heard that my first

staff appointment was to be a staff captain in the Military Secretary's
branch of the War Office I was bitterly disappointed because I
loathed the idea of serving in Whitehall. I was quite wrong.

As soon as I arrived it became apparent that the work carried
out by this particular department was extremely interesting. Under
the guidance of the Military Secretary and Deputy Military
Secretary, my sub-branch, called M.S.2, was responsible for the
promotion of all regimental officers from 2nd lieutenant to lieuten-
ant-colonel, and we had access to the confidential reports which
were rendered annually on each officer in the army. I took over from
Dempsey who in his turn had succeeded MacMillan, later on a
distinguished corps commander who ended his service as General
Sir Gordon MacMillan of MacMillan, Governor-General of
Gibraltar so M.S.2 must have been a breeding ground for generals.

The work was completely strange to me and to start with I made
many mistakes. It was with considerable trepidation that on one
occasion I reported to my chief that I had inadvertently written to
offer accelerated promotion to an officer who was dead. The annual
reports on officers are made probably by as many as three senior
officers who are serving over him. All these reports are kept in a
book and everything good is underlined in blue, bad in red. This
book very soon provides a most comprehensive commentary on
an officer's character and it is extraordinarily interesting to see how,
over the years, the same characteristics tend to appear, although the
reports are rendered by different people.

I soon found that few secrets were hidden from M.S.2. The
shortest and most damning report I have ever read was compiled by
a distinguished cavalry commander who merely wrote, " I would
hesitate to breed from this officer/*

After two years as a staff captain I was delighted to learn that I
had been appointed brigade major of the 5th Infantry Brigade in the
2nd Infantry Division at Aldershot. Once again I was to take over
from Dempsey. It is the ambition of every young staff officer to
become a brigade major and as this particular brigade formed part
of the embryo expeditionary force I couldn't have been more
fortunate. As chief staff officer responsible to my brigadier for three

regular infantry battalions, I was now able to put into practice the
results of my two years' training at Carnberley.

During the next two years the 2nd Division was commanded by
two fine soldiers, Wavell and Wilson, " Jumbo " Wilson was a
shrewd tactician who invariably put his finger on the weak spot in
any exercise, and from him I learned a lot, but the man who had a
profound influence on my whole military career was Wavell, who,
in my opinion, had probably the most brilliant brain of any general
I have ever met. From him I learned the value of really imaginative
training.

Exercises organised by Wavell were always a challenge and a
joy, never a bore. There was one, for instance, in which our 5th
Brigade was sent to protect the Golden Fleece of all things ! As a
matter of fact we lost it but not for want of trying by everyone from
the brigadier down to the newest-joined recruit. What an astonish-
ing contrast he was. This brilliant, imaginative brain lay behind the
most expressionless, poker face I have ever come across. Wavell
wrote brilliantly, but never spoke at all if he could help it. On arrival
young officers were warned that if they met a man who looked like
a gamekeeper and said nothing, he was certain to be the divisional
commander.

One night when dining in the Wavell house at Aldershot, I found
myself with the wife of an up-and-coming young staff officer sitting
between the divisional commander and myself. With a gleam in
her eye and considerable skill she subjected her host to a sparkling
account of her husband's prowess as a soldier. I listened with some
amusement, because all Wavell said was ** I see," repeated at
intervals. Unfortunately for her he did see, only too well. Eventu-
ally in desperation she turned to me and said, " For goodness' sake,
tell me something he is interested in! " I very nearly replied, " It's
no good, better women than you have tried and failed," but having,
I hope, a kindly nature, I refrained.

We who knew Wavell admired him immensely, but owing to
his almost pathological taciturnity he was completely unknown to
the bulk of the officers and men under his command. He was quite
incapable of going round inspiring the troops as was . done so

With my sister Jean
at Gibraltar, 1904

Attending a levee at
Buckingham Palace after
promotion to major

At the British Modem Pentathlon Championship of 1924 which was won by
the author (second from left in the front row)

With my wife, daughter and batman-groom Hodder at the Staff College,
Camberley in I93 8

successfully by Lord Mountbatten and Slim in Burma, and by
Montgomery in the Middle East and before D-Day. Yet later on
during the war as C.-in-C. Middle East he had the strength of
character to stand up to some severe buffeting from the United
Kingdom. This is what the Middle East official history has to say
on the subject:

The main operations in East Africa had, therefore, succeeded
beyond all expectations, and had ended just in time. This was
largely due to the steadiness of purpose of General Wavell and
Air Chief Marshal Longmore, who had to achieve a workable
and appropriate balance of forces while doing their best to
comply with a rapid succession of instructions and suggestions,
such as to part with forces from Kenya, to capture Kismayu
quickly, to capture Eritrea quickly, to deter the Japanese by
" liquidating Italian East Africa," to treat as a " first duty " the
air defence of Malta, to be prepared to send ten squadrons to
Turkey, to regard the capture of Rhodes as " of first impor-
tance," and to " let their first thoughts be for Greece."

Yet through it all Wavell, outwardly at any rate, remained
steadfast and unmoved. In 1941 he was conducting simultaneously
five different campaigns at a time when supplies of all sorts were
very short indeed. By the time kter commanders arrived on the
scene, the material of war was beginning to roll off the assembly
lines, but it required genius to run all those operations on a shoe-
string.

By the end of my two years at Aldershot I could claim to be an
efficient craftsman in the art of war but nothing more. So what was
my surprise when I was selected to become an instructor at the Staff
College, Camberley; this was an appointment usually reserved for
brilliant young officers who were destined to rise to the highest
ranks in the service and I did not think that I fitted into this category
at all. I therefore entered into my new and rather frightening life
with considerable apprehension. I thought I had worked hard when
a student at the Staff College but I soon found that this was child's
play compared with what was expected from me as an instructor.

I made matters still worse by setting and correcting military exams
in order to make a little extra money.

By the middle of 1938 it became clear to most of us that war
against Hitler was almost inevitable and this added an edge to our
labours. Nearly all my fellow instructors subsequently rose to
command divisions and corps and in 1939 our commandant was
General Sir Bernard Paget, subsequently Commander-in-Chief
Home Forces in the U.K. He had a very strong character, and was
one of the most honourable men I have ever met. His attention to
detail was fantastic and he could read through a massive military
paper without missing the smallest mistake. Towards the end of my
period there I acted as his chief staff officer, so I came to know him
well and the better I knew him the more I admired his sterling
qualities.

No account of life at the Staff College would be complete,
however, without my mentioning someone who is known affec-
tionately to British officers all over the world, Miss McGlinchy,
who ran a typing agency just outside the gates of the Staff College.
She knew the official abbreviations better than did most of the officers
themselves, and many a rime she was routed out of bed in the early
hours of the morning by some desperate young officer clutching an
ill-written sheaf of papers which had to be handed in to the directing
staff by 9 a.m. next morning.

Sure enough it would be ready, so beautifully typed and legible
that the officer himself would hardly recognise his own work.
On one occasion a student who had handed her an essay on Napoleon
found next morning a somewhat bulky package in his rack. Inside
was a covering letter from Miss McGlinchy which said, " I enclose
your essay on Napoleon but as all the other gentlemen have written
essays about Wellington I enclose one on him too." She had the
reputation of never letting anyone down.

With the outbreak of war all our regular officers departed to
take up staff appointments in the rapidly expanding army and we
were ordered to organise short war courses for regular and T.A.
officers. By this time we were used to dealing with the mind of the
regular soldier; now we were faced with an entirely different

problem. Most of the officers selected to attend No. I war staff
course were successful young barristers, businessmen, school-
masters, dons, and there were five M.P.S including Captain J. S. B.
Lloyd (better known as the Rt. Hon. Selwyn Lloyd, our Foreign
Secretary) and a Second Lieutenant D. C. Walker-Smith, afterwards
Minister of Health. They were a brilliant collection of young men
and instead of the usual shop to which we had become hardened
the ante-room now resounded to fierce arguments ranging over
every possible topic in the world. We thoroughly enjoyed trying
to teach them the art of war, and it was encouraging to learn that
they in their turn were quite impressed with our standard and
method of instruction.

CHAPTER VI

DUNKIRK

MAY 10, 1940, was the turning point in my life; the day my lucky
break came. At 7 a.m. the telephone rang in my room at Camberley,
where I was acting as chief instructor at the Staff College, and the
operator said: " I thought you might like to know, sir, that Hitler
has invaded Holland." I sat up with a jerk. So the phony war was
over at last.

At this time I was a major (brevet It.-colonel), but I had been
told verbally that I was to go to France in a fortnight's time to take
command of the 2nd Battalion the Middlesex Regiment as the
present C.O., Lt.-Colonel Haydon, had been promoted to com-
mand a brigade. My successor at the Staff College had arrived a
couple of days previously and I was in the process of handing over
to him. But this news altered everything. I must get out there as
quickly as I possibly could. I rang up the commandant, who was
most understanding, and offered me the loan of his car.

Within two hours, complete with valise, I was on the road to
Southampton. In the hurry of departure I had forgotten to bring
any money, but I managed to borrow two pounds from the A.T.S.
driver which was repaid faithfully by my wife the next day. The
trouble was that I had no written orders of any sort. I was working
entirely on a telephone message received a few days earlier from the
War Office. Luckily I ran into Brigadier " Bubbles " Barker, who
was returning to his brigade after a short leave, and he took me
under his wing.

Barker was, as usual, very cheerful, and brimming over with
energy. He didn't look a day older when, in the autumn of 1944,
we went round my front together just after he had been promoted
lieutenant-general to command 8 Corps. It was the same Barker.

full of drive and enthusiasm, who led the final advance of 2ist
Army Group from the Rhine to the Baltic.

I spent my first night in France at his headquarters. Though I
didn't realise it at the time, we were the last boatload to get up to
the front; all those who came across subsequently were kept in the
base area and not allowed forward into Belgium. So my luck was
in by a matter of hours.

We at the Staff College had of course been studying the plan for
the B.E.F. and I knew not only that our army was now streaming
up to Belgium to take up positions on the River Dyle, but also by
which routes they were moving. So all I had to do was to sit on
my valise beside the road while the lorries streamed past in an
endless procession, and wait for a halt. As luck would have it the
vehicle which pulled up nearest to me was a dental truck, and I
slipped into a vacant seat in the back. I thought as we drove along
that commanders: had entered battle in many different ways on
horseback clad in armour, on foot, later on in cars, tanks or aircraft
but I was almost certainly the first commander to enter battle in a
dental truck.

We drove through the waving, welcoming crowds in Brussels
and on 1 3th May I took over command of my battalion at Louvain,
an attractive Belgian university town, where the 3rd Division,
commanded by General Montgomery, alongside other divisions of
the B.E.F., was taking up a position to halt the German thrust into
Belgium.

I don't think I made a very good first impression on the men of
the battalion because I roundly abused them for being unshaven.
I could almost see them saying to themselves " Another of these
awful spit-and-polish blimps." Nevertheless, I insisted and this is
not quite so stupid as it sounds. The one thing which is always in
short supply in battle is sleep, and the refreshing effect of a shave is
worth at least two hours' sleep. Moreover, if a man keeps himself
clean he will almost certainly keep his weapons clean, and this is
vital. In my experience of two wars I have always found that the
clean soldier fights better than the dirty one, however tough the
latter may look with his unshaven chin*

The 2nd Middlesex was a machine-gun battalion and as such
came directly tinder divisional H.Q. I hadn't been there two hours
when I was told that the divisional commander, General Mont-
gomery, was in his car on the road and wanted to see me. Monty
had obviously come up at once to cast an eye over his new divisional
machine-gun commander. This was my first meeting with him,
apart from once in Egypt. I saw a small, alert figure with piercing
eyes sitting in the back of his car the man under whom I was to
fight all my battles during the war, and who was to have more
influence on my life than anyone before or since.

I knew him well by reputation. He was probably the most
discussed general in the British Army before the war, and except
with those who had served under him not a popular figure.
Regular armies in all countries tend to produce a standard type of
officer, but Monty, somehow or other, didn't fit into the British
pattern* His methods of training and command were unorthodox,
always a deadly crime in military circles. He was known to be
ruthlessly efficient, but somewhat of a showman. I had been told
sympathetically that I wouldn't last long under his command, and,
to be honest, I would rather have served under any other divisional
commander.

Anyhow, if my battalion was any example, there could be no
question about the efficiency of his division the period of the
phony war had obviously been used for some hard, intensive
training. I doubt whether this country has ever been represented at
the outset of a war by a more efficient army than this B.E.F. of 1940.

It is always an exciting moment when one first meets the enemy.
This came the next day, on I4th May, when the Germans launched
an attack which made a slight penetration into our position, but they
were at once driven out again by a counter-attack. Here I learned
my first lesson in practical command from Lieutenant-Colonel
Knox of the Ulster Rifles. Some three or four of his men came
running back through the town of Louvain towards the rear.
He stopped them.

Their position had been heavily shelled and the Germans had
got round behind them, they said. After a few words from their

C.O. they turned and started to trot back to the front, looking rather
ashamed of themselves. " Wait a minute," he said, " let's have a
cigarette." In spite of some fairly heavy shelling he made them
finish their smoke. He then said: "Now walk back to your
positions " and they went.

The 1 5th saw more German attacks, and another penetration
but again they were thrown back by counter-attacks, and there
was no doubt we were solid, on our front. As the divisional machine-
gun officer I had ready access to divisional headquarters and was
able to study the operational and intelligence maps. From these I
used to construct a rough situation map, and as I went round my
platoons I collected the men together and explained what was
happening on the whole front.

This was a practice I tried to keep up through the war. The
modern soldier is more highly educated, more imaginative and more
intelligent than his father who fought in 1914-18. He is capable of
rising to greater heights, but he can also sink to greater depths.
He will give of his best only if he understands the reason for what
he is doing. As a rule the front-line soldier has no idea at all about
what is going on elsewhere, even on the front of another company
in his own battalion. His view of the war is restricted to the field
and hedgerow in his immediate foreground. To pierce this fog of
ignorance requires forethought and much hard work, but it is well
worth the effort, as I have proved over and over again.

But the situation on the 3rd Division maps began to look dis-
quieting. The German panzer divisions had driven a sharp wedge
through the French forces on our flank in the Ardennes, and every
time I visited the map the panzer thrust seemed to have pierced
deeper into the French positions. But I wasn't unduly worried.
I had been brought up to believe that the French generals were the
best strategists in Europe, and here was a wonderful opportunity for
a strong counter-attack by their armoured divisions. There were,
however, persistent rumours of confusion and indecision in the
ranks of our allies, and there was no sign of mobile reserves moving
to the danger spot.

Then on i6th May, to our disgust, orders were received to with-

draw fiom our strong position back to the line of the River Seine.
Though we didn't realise it then, this was the beginning of the
retreat to Dunkirk, and a withdrawal in face of the enemy is about
the most difficult military operation. A sycophantic friend once said
to the famous Von Moltke " You are one of the greatest captains
of war." He replied " No, because I have never commanded a with-
drawal, and that is the most difficult military manoeuvre."

I realise now that we got out just in time. There were several
occasions during the next fourteen days when most people would
have laid very long odds against the B.E.F. ever escaping at all.
The man for whom I felt most sorry was our conmiander-in-chief,
Lord Gort. The French seemed to have gone to pieces on his right,
yet he was under their command, and the orders he received didn't
make sense. At the same time he was responsible to the British
Government for the safety of the British troops. And then, as a
final blow, the Belgian Army on his left was forced to capitulate.

Gort was neither a great strategist nor a deep military thinker.
He couldn't stand up at a conference and deliver a brilliant military
appreciation. Even when C.-in-C. he remained essentially a front-
line regimental officer who was always more interested in the
details of battle than in the strategical picture. Yet, where a more
brilliant soldier might have lost his nerve, Gort remained staunch to
the end, and thus showed the one essential quality required in times
of adversity by all commanders mental toughness. I have always
felt that lie never received the credit which was his due.

But the more I have studied this campaign the clearer it becomes
that the man who really saved the B.E.F. was our own corps
commander, Lt.-General A. F. Brooke (now Viscount Alanbrooke).
I felt vaguely at the time that this alert, seemingly iron, man without
a nerve in his body, whom I met from time to time at 3rd Division
headquarters and who gave out his orders in short, clipped sentences,
was a great soldier, but it is anly now that I realise fully just how
great he was. We regarded him as a highly efficient military
machine. It is only since I have read his diaries that I appreciate
what a consummate actor he must have been. Behind the confident
mask was the sensitive nature of a man who hated war, the family

man-cum-bird-watcher, in fact. Yet he never gave us the slightest
indication of those moments of utter despair when it seemed to him
almost impossible that any of us would ever escape.

If you ask anybody what they remember most clearly about the
retreat to Dunkirk they will all mention two things shame and
exhaustion. Shame as we went back through those white-faced,
silent crowds of Belgians, the people who had cheered us and waved
to us as we came through their country only four days before,
people who had vivid memories of a previous German occupation
and whom we were now handing over to yet another. I felt very
ashamed. We had driven up so jauntily and now, liked whipped
dogs, we were scurrying back with our tails between our legs.
But the infuriating part was that we hadn't been whipped. It was
no fault of ours. All I could do as I passed these groups of miserable
people was to mutter " Don't worry we will come back." Over
and over again I said it. And I was one of the last British most of
them were to see for four long years.

I have always claimed that I was the last man out of Belgium.
I had been given command of a small composite force consisting of
two machine-gun battalions, an anti-tank battery and a carrier
platoon which acted as a flank guard-cum-rearguard. We arrived
in the dark on the Escaut Canal to find most of the bridges blown.
Eventually, however, we discovered one intact.

On the far side was a British general in a greatcoat. I still don't
know who he was. As I crossed he called out, " Any more of our
troops on the far side? " I said " No, I can guarantee there are
none." " Right ! " he said, and the next thing I knew was an ear-
splitting roar as the last bridge over the Escaut went up.

There is no point in describing the retreat in detail. We usually
moved by night and held positions on canals or rivers by day, where
we might or might not be attacked by the German advance guards.
But a high standard of training stood us in very good stead; units
were so quick into and out of action.

Though generals like Brooke and Montgomery were no doubt
achieving miracles at their level, in the long run it was the discipline
and toughness of the regimental officers and men which pulled us

through. Retreats are always nightmares of confusion, and this was
no exception. The roads were packed with refugees, many of them
old people and children trudging hopelessly along with all their
pathetic bits and pieces piled high on hand-carts or even prams,
their eyes constantly scanning the skies for the German bombers
which seemed to be perpetually overhead. Mixed up with them
were despondent-looking columns of French and Belgian troops
with their inevitable horse transport, all moving in one direction
to the rear.

And always the rumours which eat into all armies in retreat like
some deadly virus; the panzers were here, there and everywhere;
such-and-such a formation had been wiped out, and so on. It would
hardly have been surprising if, under these depressing circumstances,
the morale of our troops had sunk to zero, and indiscipline had
crept in. Not a bit of it.

Through it all our men marched seemingly indifferent to the
chaos around them. I know this will sound most insular, but time
after time I thanked my stars that they were British troops, in whom
disaster brings out all that is best in our national character. In spite
of the desperate situation there was no chaos. It was a well-ordered
retreat, and, as always when things are really unpleasant, the British
sense of humour was much to the fore. When I asked one of my
company commanders who had just had a sharp brush with the
enemy how he was getting on he replied: " Don't look round, sir,
I think we're being followed,"

It is this unquenchable sense of humour which makes the
Britisher such a good soldier. Other nations produce men who are
as brave, or who are better disciplined, but none with a keener
sense of humour, which is of inestimable value when things are
going wrong.

The chief menace was not the Germans but sheer exhaustion.
After two days and two nights without sleep I find it very difficult
to think straight, and I develop a burning feeling behind my eyes.
The way I solved the problem was by making my intelligence
officer, Gordon, into a sort of A.D.C. who slept whenever possible
by day, and did all the map-reading when we moved by night.

I got into the car and went straight to sleep, and he woke me when
we arrived at our destination. This lack of sleep affected everybody,
high and low, with one exception General Montgomery. During
the whole of the withdrawal he insisted on having meals at regular
hours and never missed his normal night's sleep. Consequently when
we arrived at Dunkirk he was as fresh as when he started.

And he was about the only one who was.

There were many crises during the retreat, but the most critical
came on the night of 27th-28th May. I happened to be at jrd
Division headquarters when the corps commander, General Brooke,
called to see Montgomery. The situation he disclosed could hardly
have been worse. The 5th Division, commanded by General
Franklyn, was being heavily attacked and had not yet established
contact with the soth Division on its left. If the 5th Division gave
way then the whole front would crumble, and General Brooke
proposed to reinforce it with everything he could lay his hands
on.

But there was worse to come. On the extreme left, beyond
5Oth division, was a wide gap into which the Germans were likely
to pour at any moment. The Belgians who should have been there
had ceased to exist as a fighting force. The whole Belgian Army
surrendered at midnight. Beyond the gap was the French 2nd Light
Mechanised Division which had been placed under General Brooke's
command.

To fill this gap, and to join up with the French, Monty's 3rd
Division was ordered that night to carry out one of the most difficult
manoeuvres in war withdraw from the line, embus and move to the
north along small roads only a few thousand yards in the rear of the
5th Division front which might break at any moment under German
pressure. We machine-gunners were luckier than the rest because
we moved off just before dark in order to hold the gap until the
remainder of the division arrived. Luckily we were not attacked,
for machine-guns are not much good on their own at night. I have
never felt more naked in my life.

This would have been a difficult move at any time, but owing
to the congestion on the roads it looked well-nigh impossible. Yet

Monty took it all in Ms stride. His orders were clear and concise
and lie seemed completely confident.

" Of course the 3rd Division will get there."

And they did. General Brooke must have sighed with relief
next morning, for the gap was closed.

Early next morning I was with a party of sappers who were
preparing a bridge for demolition, and with them was a Belgian
soldier working with a will. Suddenly we heard the news. The
whole Belgian Army had surrendered. The Belgian soldier might
have been pole-axed. With a stricken look on his face he put on his
equipment, saluted, and walked away towards the German front,
saying, " Je ne suispas lache, moi comme les autres." It was a dramatic
Etde scene which has remained in my memory ever since. The
solitary figure of the Belgian soldier disappearing towards the
enemy seemed to accentuate the shame of his country in defeat.

The trouble was that Belgium tried to mobilise too many
soldiers too quickly with inadequate mobilisation arrangements.
Given rime this might have worked, but the Germans moved so fast
that the whole country became flooded with bewildered conscripts
who were an embarrassment rather than an asset. But some of the
Belgians fought well. On one occasion I was alongside a Belgian
division composed mainly of tough little chasseurs from the
Ardennes, who seemed to be giving a good account of themselves.

On 2pth May, after a fortnight's ceaseless activity, we got back
behind the Furnes-Nieuport Canal which was the last-ditch position
to protect the evacuation from Dunkirk. This, of course, had been
going on for several days and a number of administrative units had
already gone. Many people have assumed that it was largely due to
luck and improvisation that the B.E.F. escaped from Dunkirk.
Quite the contrary it was due to foresight and planning on the
part of two men, Vice-Admiral Sir Bertram Ramsay, Flag Officer
Dover, who planned the naval side (called Operation Dynamo) and
General Sir Ronald Adam, who organised the Dunkirk beach-head.

It was impossible to evacuate our heavy weapons and transport,
so as soon as we got inside the bridgehead we were ordered to
immobilise our vehicles and move in on foot. The drivers hated

doing this because in war each driver develops a feeling of affection
for his own lorry or truck. It was a horrible sight thousands of
abandoned vehicles, carriers, guns and pieces of military equipment
of all sorts. It was a graveyard of gear.

We took up our position near Fumes, This was the last time
that I was to command a battalion; for next day I was summoned
to 3rd Div. H.Q. As I approached I saw two figures standing on the
sand-dunes. I recognised our corps commander, General Brooke,
and my divisional commander, General Montgomery. The former
was under a considerable emotional strain. His shoulders were
bowed and it looked as though he were weeping. Monty was
patting him on the back. They thai shook hands and General
Brooke walked slowly to his car and drove away.

I remained a silent and interested spectator of this astonishing
scene. Monty beckoned me over and said, " General Brooke has
just received orders to hand over the 2nd corps to me and go back
to England." It was part of a plan to get back into the country a
nucleus of experienced officers and warrant officers who would be
available to command and train new armies if the main fighting
part of the B.E.F. failed to escape, as seemed very likely at that time.
Even at battalion level this had happened. I had already dispatched
two officers and N.C.O.s to the United Kingdom.

General Brooke hated to go. No one likes leaving his command
under these circumstances; that is why he looked so depressed and
miserable. But the orders were very strongly worded for this very
reason, and there was no alternative.

I was sent off at once to find the nth brigade of the 4th Division,
which was somewhere on the left flank. My instructions were to
tell the brigade commander, Anderson (afterwards commander of
the ist Army in North Africa) that he had been selected to command
the 3rd Division and I was to take over his brigade.

My period as battalion commander had lasted precisely seventeen
days, and for almost the entire time we had been in action against
the enemy; never once had I seen the whole battalion concentrated.
I must pay a sincere tribute to the C.O. who had preceded me,
Bill Hay don, who was subsequently killed when in command of a

brigade of the 50th Division in the desert. He had trained the
battalion so well that my task was comparatively easy. Even at the
end there was no dent visible in either the morale or the sense of
humour of our Cockneys.

A divisional machine-gun officer is a general dogVbody who
gets all sorts of jobs thrust on his shoulders* I was detailed to carry-
out reconnaissances, act as commander of flank guards, rearguards,
and often had to slip off with my battalion to build up the defensive
framework of the next position before the arrival of the division.

Orders for all these tasks were given me by Monty himself so I
was in a unique position to watch him at work during this testing
period. It was a remarkable performance. I remember once sitting
packed into a room lit by only a few candles, and with a most
inadequate map at my disposal during the final stages of the
withdrawal the supply of maps, down to battalion level, at any rate,
completely failed, and at one stage I had to rely on a fly-blown
railway map which I had removed from the wall of a small wayside
station.

Monty was about to issue orders, and I wondered desperately
how on earth I could possibly grasp the complicated role which had
been allotted to my battalion. I needn't have worried* With the
minimum of words he made the whole plan clear to us all. And
this, of course, is one of his greatest attributes his capacity to
reduce the most complicated situation to its simple, basic essentials.
I saw him every day, sometimes several times a day, and he was
always the same; confident, almost cocky you might say, cheerful
and apparently quite fresh. He was convinced that he was the best
divisional commander in the British Army and that we were the
best division. By the time we had reached Dunkirk I had come to
the same conclusion !

I eventually discovered Brigadier Anderson eating bully-beef
in a small room in La Panne. He indicated the positions of his three
battalions, the 5th Northamptons, ist East Surreys and 2nd Lanca-
shire Fusiliers, all in action on the left flank, and then departed.
I doubt whether any brigade cbmmander has ever made less impact
on his brigade than I did on the nth. I managed to find their

battalion H.Q.s and to visit one or two of their companies that was
all. For next day we were ordered to withdraw to the beach at
La Panne from which the whole 4th Division was to embark and
sail for the United Kingdom.

I established a control point at Coxyde, and to start with it all
seemed to be going according to plan. The different units passed
through steadily on their way down to the beach. Unfortunately
we had to thin out gradually; platoons and companies at a time.
So no battalion came through my control point complete.

This could not be helped, but it caused confusion later on. Once
the troops got on to the beach they came under the orders of an
embarkation staff, whose job it was to get them on to the ships and
away. By ten o'clock my last unit had passed through, so I decided
to follow them down to La Panne, where the 4th Division H.Q. was
established. The town itself was being steadily shelled and occasion-
ally bombed, and some houses were on fire.

I expected that most of the troops would by now be on their
way to England. I was horrified when I found the beach covered
with men. As far as I could see no one had been evacuated at all.
Ramps had been constructed out to sea from the shore, but the tide
was right out and no boats, not even rowing boats, could get any-
where near the ramps. I could see in the distance some ships, but
they were a long way out.

At a rough guess I would say that there were some 6,000 troops
spread along that beach. Luckily the sand seemed to absorb the
splinters of the enemy shells, and the casualties were not as high as
might have been expected. But it was a pretty desperate situation.

General Johnson, V.C., the commander of the 4th Division,
seemed to think so too, for when I entered the room in which he
had his temporary H.Q. he was standing with a telephone in his
hand, and to my amazement he was speaking to someone at the
War Office in London. I heard him explain that none of his division
had been able to get away. He then said: " And this is not a very-
healthy place." He held up the receiver, and as luck would have it
just at that moment a shell burst on the roof of the house with a
resounding crash.

" I am now moving my division to Dunkirk," he said, " and you
will arrange for their evacuation from there to-morrow morning."
I felt very sorry for the staff officer in the War Office who had been
at the receiving end of this conversation. It must have been frightful
to sit there and not be able to do anything to help. What could he do,
poor devil?

Anyhow, Johnson dispatched us to get the troops moving on the
ten-mile march along the beach to Dunkirk. My job was to rout
soldiers out of the cellars. By the time I had done this the beach
was comparatively clear, so I set off at the tail of the column along
the coast towards Dunkirk, As we came round the headland I had
my first view of the little ships small rowing-boats and motor-
boats suddenly appeared out of the dark in- the shallow water some
fifty yards out. The trouble was that crowds of troops were wading
out towards these, and in their eagerness to get 011 board many of
the boats were overturned. This was the only sign of indiscipline I
saw during the evacuation, and it was due to the fact that units were
mixed up and men were separated from their officers and N.C.O.s.

The troops were, however, as always, perfectly amenable to
reason. I arranged with one of my officers to stand on the beach
while I waded in. When I flashed my torch shorewards he sent out
twenty men to me at a time. Meanwhile I kept my torch flashing
out to sea as well, and arranged for the boats to come to me. I could
then ensure that the men got into the boats carefully, so that none
was upset; and in this manner we got rid of quite a lot of troops.

Unfortunately, although the sea was warm, after standing for
some time with the water up to my chest I suddenly got cramp and
was forced to retire to dry land, which by then was once more
packed with troops. That was the trouble. However many troops
were got away it seemed to make no difference to the numbers
packed on the beach.

So I walked back towards La Panne calling out rather forlornly
"Anyone belong to the nth Brigade?" But no one replied.
It seemed that the whole of the 4th Division had passed on its way to
Dunkirk. So I set off to follow them, a very wet, very tired, and
very temporary brigadier with no staff and no troops.

As dawn broke the beaches presented a fearsome sight; thousands
and thousands of troops, like an immense, khaki-clad, football
crowd, straggling along towards Dunkirk. German aircraft soon
arrived overhead, greeted by a fosilade of rifle shots which couldn't
do them any harm, but no doubt helped morale. Then we saw our
own R.A.F. streaking in from the sea. What a cheering sight.
If it hadn't been for them I doubt very much whether many of us
would have got away. The Army was in a real mess, and our sister
services, the Royal Navy and R.A.F., were doing their utmost to
get us out of it.

As I gazed at these masses of British troops armed only with
rifles I was consumed with one great fear those German panzer
divisions. There was nothing to stop them. If the ugly snouts of
the German tanks had appeared on the dunes overlooking the beach
the slaughter would have been frightful, but luckily for us they
never came. It was a miraculous escape, which has often been
attributed to a stupid intervention by Hitler, who halted his tanks
and thus enabled the B.E.F. to escape. This was a vital turning point
in the war, and it is of such historical importance that I have taken
considerable trouble to find out what happened.

The original order to halt the tanks had nothing to do with
Hitler at all. This is one mistake for which the German generals
cannot blame the Fuehrer. The German armoured divisions were,
in fact, halted on_^A_M^ by Y^i_Run^edt, the German
armoured commander, and he did this for three reasons.

First, the German tanks had been streaming through France for
over a fortnight and were scattered all over the place. He wanted to

9 as they would shortly be needed

the Germans were about to launch
against the many French divisions in the south.

Secondly, he considered that the armoured divisions had done
thek job. They had cut through to the coast and isolated the
British Expeditionary Force from the ist French Army. The
country which lav in front was enclosed and intersected with water-

/ J w.s^^,,^,,*- fc.^ .^aJ-a

ways,^ unsuitable for armoured action. It was now the turn
of the German infantry to clean up the remainder of the British

Expeditionary Force which couldn't possibly, he thought, get
away.

Thirdly, he received information that the British were sending
troops from England to Calais and Boulogne, and that divisions
belonging to the B.E.F. were moving down towards the south.
There were also indications that the French were moving up fresh
divisions from the south. He therefore expected to be counter-
attacked very soon and wanted to have his tanks intact as a mobile
reserve. All these were sound military reasons.

Hitler, who arrived at his headquarters eighteen hours afterwards,
agreed with the action taken by Von Rundstedt and added an
additional reason of his own, that if the armour closed in on the
British too much it would handicap the Luftwaffe. So Hitler
authorised the issue of a new order confirming Rundstedt's original
halt, and he added that no further armoured advance was to be
made without Rundstedt's decision.

Dunkirk has been described as a miracle, and so it was. Through-
out the evacuation the sea remained as calm as a mill pond. This was
clearly Divine Providence. But the evacuation was also a miracle of
foresight, planning and discipline by all three services, and our
French allies, who held part of the perimeter to the end. By 4th
June, 338,226 men had been evacuated, in as fine a piece of combined
planning and initiative as this country has ever produced. There
was no panic and surprisingly little chaos.

But let me return to the lonely, wet brigadier trudging along the
beach; because my final experiences were typical of what happened
to thousands of others. I arrived in Dunkirk to the most appalling
din from naval and army anti-aircraft guns which I have ever heard.
I was too tired even to bother to look up, and I noticed that no one
else did either. We were marshalled along a jetty by a lieutenant-
commander who obviously hadn't slept for about three nights
either. Then came the unbelievable comfort of the ward-room of a
destroyer, with some hot rum and milk.

But fate hadn't finished with us yet. There was a sickening
crash. We had been bombed. The ship stopped and began to heel
over on one side. We scrambled out on to the sloping deck to see

two other craft manoeuvring into position on either side of us.
I climbed on board one of these, a small Dutch cargo boat which
appeared to be under the command of a cheerful young naval
lieutenant. It was already bulging with troops, but they made room
for a few more.

" Can anyone fire an anti-aircraft Lewis gun? " came a bellow
from the bridge. So I manned the forward gun. I can say quite
honestly that this was the only part of the withdrawal which I
enjoyed. We were being continuously attacked by German
bombers, and I fired many, many magazines without any visible
effect on the enemy aircraft. But the great thing was I had no
responsibility; this had passed to the naval lieutenant on the bridge,
and all I had to do was to keep the gun firing. It was a wonderful
relief.

All the same I wasn't looking forward to our arrival in England.
We couldn't be said to have covered ourselves with glory in our
first encounter with the Germans. So, I was astonished to see the
waving, cheering crowds welcoming us home at Ramsgate. We
might have been the heroes of some great victory instead of a beaten
army returning home, having lost most of its equipment.

I could see the troops perking up all round me. In some
mysterious way the letters B.E.F. began to appear in chalk on the
front of the steel helmets. I couldn't help smiling. Even in moments
of disaster the British soldier always has an eye to the main chance!
Tired and still wet, I was shown to a train which I was told was going
to Reading. This would 'suit me well, as my wife and daughter were
still at Camberley. So with a comfortable feeling that my brigade
was also in trains somewhere in the United Kingdom I dropped off
to sleep.

The next thing I knew was a figure in khaki shaking me
vigorously. " Sorry, sir," he said, " but you've all got to get out
here."

" Are we in Reading? " I asked.

" Reading? " he repeated in astonishment, " No, Darlington/'
I was whisked off to a nearby camp, and while the adjutant rang up
the War Office to find out where I was to report, I enjoyed my first

hot bath since leaving England. He arrived very shortly with the
news that I was to go at once to Lyme Regis. So I set off again.
At this time the whole of England was covered with troops making
similar journeys, and the War Office must have had a difficult time
sorting us all out.

When I arrived there next day I found Lyme Regis looking its
very best It was a beautiful summer evening and happy family
groups were wending their way up the hill from the beach. There
wasn't a soldier in sight and there could have been no greater
contrast to the Dunkirk beaches. As I was still very tired and
extremely hungry I decided to spend the night peacefully, and start
trying to sort things out next morning. So having booked a room
in the Victoria Hotel I went straight into the dining-room. When I
started ordering a gargantuan meal the manager suggested that I
should leave the choice of menu to him. He produced a wonderful
dinner complete with a bottle of champagne but as dish followed
dish my uneasiness increased as it was obviously going to be
extremely expensive.

But when I asked for my bill, the manager said: " We should
like you to have your first proper meal back in England as our
guest." I was very touched, and as I found out afterwards it was
typical of what was going on all over the country.

The following morning I was told that all the promotions made
during these kst days at Dunkirk were cancelled. Monty was back
with the 3rd Division, Anderson was returning to the nth Brigade
and I was to go back to my battalion once more.

CHAPTER VII

THE UNITED KINGDOM 1940-42

ON THE I7th June, 1940, I was ordered to take command of the
9th Brigade in the 3rd Division. This was wonderful news. I was
back in the fold with Monty again, and the 3rd Division was being
re-equipped before any other formation in the U.K. in order to
return to France at once. I couldn't have wished for a better brigade.
The 9th was called " The International Brigade ** because it con-
sisted of the Lincolns, K.O.S.B. and the Royal Ulster Rifles;
English, Scots and Irish. Luckily for us we did not return to
France.

My first task was to defend the south coast of England from
Rottingdean to Shoreham one brigade of some 3,000 men was
stretched in a thin line along ten miles of densely-populated coast-
line. We wouldn't have stood much chance against a well-organised
invasion, but even so this was probably one of the most strongly
defended parts of Britain, because we were a well-trained and
experienced regular division, complete with war equipment.
Fortunately, few people in this country realised quite how thin was
the shield protecting them from Hitler's victorious armies which
were now just across the Channel.

There was a curious atmosphere along the south coast. Everyone
seemed to expect an invasion at any moment, but nobody was doing
very much about it, and there was still an atmosphere of the peace-
time hoHday resort about Brighton. We took over our responsibili-
ties from a nondescript force which had been collected from the
highways and byways, with very little equipment. I was never
quite so worried about the prospects of an invasion as were some
people, because having studied combined operations at the Staff
College I knew that, owing to the immense amount of detailed

organisation required for an operation of this sort it could not
possibly be laid on in a hurry, particularly by the Germans, who were
not really a sea-faring nation.

We, as a maritime power with territories all over the world,
have had considerable experience in landing troops from the sea;
the Germans have not. Nevertheless, given time there was little
doubt that they could eventually stage a large-scale invasion of
Britain, so our defence had to be organised with the utmost care to
make up for our lack of numbers.

It proved a very difficult problem because an enormous town like
Brighton is laid out primarily to provide holidays by the sea, not as
a fortress from which to repel an invasion.

Monty used to pay constant visits. " Who lives in that house ? "
he would say pointing to some building which partly masked the
fire from one of our machine-gun positions. " Have them out,
Horrocks. Blow up the house. Defence must come first."

He was, of course, absolutely correct, but it was not always so
simple as it sounded. My predecessor had, somewhat unwisely,
positioned troops on the two piers without first of all allowing the
civilian firms responsible for the entertainment booths to remove
their possessions. I have never seen anything like the chaos which
confronted me on my first visit; dolls and mementos were strewn
all over the place, the slot machines of the " What the butler saw "
type had all been broken open and the contents removed. We were
in for trouble and we got it. Some months afterwards I received a
bill for many thousands of pounds, which I hastily passed on to
divisional headquarters.

One day Lieut.-Colonel Selby Lowndes, my local gunner
commander, said to me in disgust, " I never thought I should live to
see the day when I occupied a battery position outside the Metropole
on the front at Brighton."

It was here that I first met the Prime Minister, Mr. Winston
Churchill. He came down to have a look at our defences and watch
the Royal Ulster Rifles carry out a small exercise. Though no one
knew of his visit, he was quickly spotted and a large and enthusiastic
crowd soon gathered. The complete confidence shown in him was

most touching, and rather frightening to us who knew that, to all
intents and purposes, the military cupboard was bare. During one
of these spontaneous demonstrations of affection I found myself
standing at the back beside Mrs. Churchill. There were tears in her
eyes, and I heard her murmur, ec Pray God we don't let them
down."

It was important that the troops, who spent long hours putting
up barbed-wire entanglements, constructing defensive positions and
preparing demolitions, should not become static minded, so I
insisted on as much mobile training being carried out as possible.
Our defensive positions, however, had to be manned every
night.

The most vital observation posts were at the end of the two piers
from where the first warning of a sea-borne invasion would almost
certainly come. They were occupied each night by some signallers
under command of one experienced, reliable officer, whose orders
were to communicate direct to his battalion and to my brigade
headquarters both by wireless and line, as soon as he saw the invading
craft, but only when he actually saw them with his own eyes. He was
also to fire a white signal rocket.

As more and more information came in about the German
preparations on the other side of the Channel, which included the
collection of barges suitable for invasion, I decided that no chances
could be taken. My small brigade operations room was manned
throughout the twenty-four hours and I slept in the room next door.
One night just as I was going to bed my brigade-major, Charles,
dashed in to say that a white rocket had gone up from the end of the
pier. " Shall I send the code word, sir ? " This would alert the
brigade group and start a chain of operations. It was a bad moment
because I had never really thought that the invasion would come.
Yet here it was. But was it? I wondered. Surely there must be
some mistake.

" Hold hard," I told Charles, " check up with the other observa-
tion posts ! And why have we had no message ? " It was lucky that
these second thoughts prevailed because there was no invasion at all.
We discovered afterwards that a ship exactly in line with the end o

the pier had fired a white rocket which to our observers on shore
had looked as though it was coming from one of the vital observa-
tion posts.

It was now decided that as the 3rd Infantry division was the most
powerful formation in the country it should be pulled back into
reserve with a counter-attack role. This involved several moves for
the 9th brigade to Gloucester, Dorset and Somerset.

Our first night in Gloucestershire produced a battle of a very
different sort. The brigade was billeted round Cirencester which up
to now had been an R.A.F. leave centre as there were many air-
fields in the vicinity. Unfortunately our troops were convinced that
the R.A.F. had let them down during the retreat to Dunkirk and
subsequent evacuation. At this stage of the war unless the soldier
actually saw our planes over his head he would not believe that they
were operating at all. Do what we could it seemed impossible to
explain to him that the R.A.E was fighting most gallantly against
heavy odds many miles away, and well out of sight. It was particu-
larly irritating because without the R.A.F. we should never have
got back from France at all.

Anyhow that was the feeling, and on that first night a battle
royal between khaki and air force blue took place in Cirencester.
It was entirely our fault and I spent much of the next day apologising
to high level R.A.F. commanders who were justly indignant at the
rough manhandling their men had suffered.

Much of our training took place with the Home Guard, particu-
larly while we were in the Beaminster area of Dorset. The more I
saw of - ...ie Home Guard the more I came to respect their keenness.
Their greatest asset was local knowledge and operating against them
on exercises was like hitting a cushion; we could make a dent but
they always bobbed up somewhere else. It was embarrassing at the
conferences which were held after each scheme to find myself
addressing rows of be-medalled figures who had held high rank in
the last war and were now N.C.O.s or privates in the Home Guard.
Quite apart from the military value there is no doubt that service in
the Home Guard was good for the morale of the country. Men,
and women too, who could not be spared from their civilian occupa-

tions felt that they were playing a part in the defence of their
country.

I enjoyed my time with the 9th Brigade but all things come to an
oid and in January, 1941, I was sent to be brigadier-general staff,
Eastern Command, where I remained for the next five months,
engaged mainly in organising large-scale training exercises. It was
interesting work but I was delighted when on the 25th of June I was
made an acting major-general and ordered to take over command
of the 44th (Home Counties) Division, because I much prefer being
a commander to a staff officer.

The 44th was an old-established Territorial division whose three
brigades came from Surrey (The Queens isist Bde.), Kent (The
Buffs, and West Kents I32nd Bde.) and Sussex (issrd Bde.) and
it occupied the south-eastern corner of England. I found myself,
therefore, responsible for what was then regarded as the No, I
German invasion area, stretching from the Isle of Thanet to Dover
and on to Folkestone.

Invasion or not, it was certainly the most exciting part of England
at that time. We had a grandstand view not only of the Battle of
Britain, with its dog-fights over our heads, but also of the nightly
naval war that went on in the Channel. This was directed by
Admiral Ramsay from his operational H.Q. at Dover and whenever
possible I used to slip down in the evening and listen in to these
exciting high-speed operations fought out by the small ships of both
sides* My pleasant host was to play a momentous part in subsequent
combined operations, notably during the Sicily and Normandy
landings. Bertie Ramsay was a true friend to the army and when
he died on 2nd January, 1945, we all felt his loss deeply. It was a
tragedy that he did not live to see the successful conclusion of the
war to which he had contributed so much.

A division is probably the best command in the British Army
because it is a tactical unit complete with its own gunners, sappers,
supply and medical services, and as I was once more back in the
Monty sphere of influence, the next few months were hectic and
intensely interesting.

I had previously experienced Montgomery's training methods

when I had been a brigadier in his 3rd Division just after our return
from Dunkirk, but even so I was unprepared for his astonishing
activity as the G.O.C.-in~C, South Eastern Command. It was as
though atomic bombs were exploding all over this rural corner of
Britain. Before his arrival a distinctly peace-time atmosphere had
prevailed; officers and warrant-officers were in many cases living
with their families and, according to Monty, commanders and staff
were spending too much time in their offices to the detriment of
active training.

All this changed almost overnight, and the first bomb exploded
among the wives and families, who were summarily packed off,
out of the command. Monty argued that in war a soldier could not
concentrate on his military training if half his mind was concerned
with domestic problems, and if an invasion materialised he would be
worrying about the safety of his family instead of getting on with
his job as a soldier. Every conceivable effort was made to circumvent
this order and the wives clung on like limpets. Monty, however,
was quite ruthless, and I have even seen him send an officer on a
motor-bicycle to intercept and interrogate some female who looked
as though she might have a military connection.

Out they went, one and all, and this gave rise to many amusing
incidents. There was one young officer in Monty's own H.Q. who
explained to the landlady where he was billeted that his wife was
coming to visit him for the week-end, but in view of Monty's orders
she must be called Miss Smith. The landlady was all sympathy and
agreed at once. The week-end proved an unqualified success.
And the visitor really was Miss Smith after all.

The second explosion might be called the cross-country bomb.

" Too many officers spend too much time in their offices and are
becoming fat and almost permanently chair-borne. No good for
war," Monty said. " Every officer in the command must carry out
two cross-country runs weekly, irrespective of age or rank." His
senior medical officer protested against this no-exception rule and
mentioned a senior administrative staff officer. "Colonel X must not
run, sir. If he runs he will probably die/'

Monty replied, " Let him die. Much better to die now rather

than in the midst of battle when it might be awkward to find a
replacement. 5 * Colonel X did run and Colonel X didn't die.

There were constant training exercises of every sort and by now
Monty had perfected his famous conference technique, when the
lessons learned during the exercise were rammed home to all
concerned. It was a superbly staged performance. All the officers,
and, if there was room, warrant-officers as weE, were concentrated
in some immense cinema. On the stage were large maps and
diagrams, while the walls were covered with " No smoking "
notices. Suddenly the audience would be called to attention, as
the well-known figure of the army commander wearing batde-
dress advanced to the centre of the stage.

** Sit down, gentlemen," he would say in a sharp, nasal voice.
" Thirty seconds for coughing then no more coughing at all/*
And the curious thing was that we didn't cough.

Then, perhaps for as long as two hours, he would keep us spell-
bound as he described all the salient points of the exercise. I have
held many similar conferences myself and have always tried to follow
the Monty technique, though I have never had the face to insist on
that no coughing rule, as I could never hope to acquire Monty's
power of mass hypnosis.

Army commanders with many thousands of troops under their
command tend to become remote God-like characters whom few
know even by sight, yet in some extraordinary way Monty's
influence permeated all strata of S.-E. Command, and his knowledge
of the personalities under his command was uncanny. Often he
would ring me up in the evening and make the most searching
inquiries about some young second-lieutenant whom he had noticed
on training. He would certainly have made a first-class talent spotter
for any football club. The only way I could deal with these inquiries
was to have a book containing details of every officer in the division
handy beside the telephone. I showed it to Monty during one of his
inspections and he was much amused.

I always reckon that I learned most of my practical soldiering
first of all as a brigade-major at Aldershot under Wavell and
secondly during the nine months which I spent in south-east England

under Monty, I had toped to go overseas with the 44th (Home
Counties) Division but it was decided otherwise, and on the 2oth
March, 1942, 1 was ordered to take command of the 9th Armoured
Division then in the Northampton area with H.Q. at Guilsborough.
I hated having to leave this division, which I had been training
for nine months, though it was some consolation to know that I was
to be succeeded by Ivor Hughes, a ** Queensman " himself, who had
been commanding the isist Queen's Brigade. He was the perfect
choice, and he would, I knew, be very popular.

Hughes had been an outstanding staff officer, acting as brigade-
major of the Dover Brigade, but in 1935 he decided to retire from
the army and accompany his brigadier, Sir Charles Howard, to the
House of Commons, where they became Serjeant and deputy
Serjeant-at-Anns respectively. As he ended the war a Major-General,
C.B., C.B.E., D.S.O., M.C., and is now a most successful Serjeant-
at-Arms himself, he has had a remarkable career in two widely
different spheres of activity.

It didn't take me long to realise how fortunate I was to have
been given command of this particular division. It was composed
of first-class cavalry regiments such as the 1 5th/ 1 9th Hussars, 5th
Dragoon Guards (Skins), 4th/yth Dragoon Guards, the I3th/i8th
Hussars blended with the East Riding and Fife and Forfar Yeomanry.

For the rest of the war I always had yeomanry regiments under
my command. In spite of mechanisation they have retained that
independent, self-reliant outlook which was the hall-mark of their
ancestors, the yeoman farmers of this country. They were largely
composed of young men with a gleam in their eyes, who took
to mobile armoured warfare as ducks take to water. I liked and
admired them very much. I am indebted to a yeomanry regiment
for my most precious souvenir of the last war. One day long after
it was over I received by post a beautifully-bound book from the
Sherwood Rangers Yeomanry claiming that they had fought more
battles under my command than any other armoured regiment, and
inside on vellum were inscribed the signatures not only of the officers
but of some 500 warrant-officers, N.C.O.S and men as well. An
immense amount of trouble must have been taken to produce this

100

book, which now occupies a special position of honour in my study.

A couple of years back I was lunching in a famous Oxford
restaurant, and as we were being shown to our table by the dapper,
suave head-waiter I noticed that he was wearing some miniature
medals, including the D.C.M. He seemed such a smooth young
man that I could hardly believe my eyes, so in a somewhat doubting
voice I asked him where he had won it.

With a broad smile he replied: " You ought to know, sir, be-
cause I got it while fighting in your corps." It turned out that he had
served in the Sherwood Rangers Yeomanry, as a tank commander,
the whole way from Alamein to Luneburg Heath. Moreover ten
tanks had been " brewed up " burned out under him. Under-
neath that smart tail-coat he must have been a man of iron to have
survived with his nerve unimpaired* ** It only goes to show " as
the troops say, that neither a man's appearance nor his civilian
occupation are any indication how he will react to moments of great
danger on the battlefield.

My predecessor in command of the 9th Armoured Division,
General (Brocas) Burrows had insisted on the most meticulous basic
training for all ranks. The gunners, signallers, drivers and technical
experts, who comprise such a large part of an armoured formation,
were all highly trained. The framework had been well constructed,
and all I had to do now was to weld the different component parts
into a fighting formation,

I came to the conclusion that they had been too long in
Northamptonshire. The wives and families had of course arrived
and they were all living too soft. So I moved the division to the
Newmarket area where many of the units lived under canvas in
winter and, most important of all, good training areas for tracked
vehicles were available. I worked them very hard indeed; exercise
after exercise, and the harder they worked the more they seemed to
enjoy it. I think by now they had come to accept me as a necessary
evil, even though I originated in a lower stratum of life the
infantry.

During this period I also learned a great deal myself about the
control of armour in mobile warfare where all orders are given by

101

wireless from a command tank, and this was to stand me in good
stead later on.

When in the field all messing was done on a tank basis. Officers*
and sergeants' messes and O.R.s' cook-houses disappeared. My own
particular mess in the field consisted of the driver, operator-gunner,
tank commander and myself. There was nothing unusual about
this; it was the normal practice during operations in the Middle
East, but it surprised the Press who, during one exercise, descended
on my tank complete with camera men. I was highly embarrassed
the following day to find large photographs in the daily papers
bearing the caption " A new type of general has appeared." This
took a lot of living down during the next few weeks.

I have always been a great believer in working hard, and then
playing hard, so when the time came for the war-time Derby to
be run at Newmarket, I gave the whole division four days' leave,
and added that I hoped they would all go to the Derby as I would be
there myself. I was careful to add no government petrol must be
used to get there. Almost the whole division turned up, and the
most assiduous questioning by a young reporter who was out for a
lovely story failed to elicit one single scandal. They woiild probably
have got there in any case. How much better, therefore, that they
should do so with a clear conscience.

Suddenly orders were received that we were to move to the
Northumberknd/Durham area. The long drive up went very
smoothly, and it seemed that the division was rapidly becoming fit
for active operations.

If you were to ask any W.O., N.C.CX or man in the pth
Armoured Division to name the pleasantest billets which he occupied
during the war he would unquestionably mention some small
northern mining village. The Geordies and their wives invited the
soldiers into their homes, threw open their clubs, and allowed them
free access to the pit-head baths. They were magnificent hosts.
By now I was firmly wedded to this division with its famous
Panda sign and hoped that I might be privileged to command it in
battle. But once more authority stepped in and it was not to be.

At 7 p.m. on I5th August, 1942, the telephone rang in my billet

102

near Newcastle and the voice of a senior staff officer from the
War Office said, " You are to travel down to London to-night, and
you will be going on a journey almost immediately."

" Cold or warm ? " I asked in those days, remember, walls
had ears, or so we were constantly reminded.

" Warm,** he replied, " and you will be moving t one up.* **

This seemed to indicate that I was to be sent to the Middle East
to command a corps; and so it turned out. Within thirty-six hours
I took off from Lyneham in Wiltshire as the sole passenger in a
Liberator on my way to Cairo, with one intermediate stop at
Gibraltar.

I suppose I ought to have been jubilant. After a year's training
in England I had been selected to command one of the only two
corps which were actually fighting. In point of fact I was miserable.
And the lonely figure sitting in that bomber was about as far
removed from the popular idea of an up-and-coming young general
as it was possible to be. I hated leaving the pth Armoured, which
was developing into a first-class division, for the entirely strange
atmosphere of the desert about which I knew very little. I had
once, years before, done a company training round the Pyramids at
Mena, and that was all. It seemed a rather inadequate preparation
for the impending battles with the redoubtable Rommel.

How would I shape as a corps commander, I wondered ? It was a
big step up fromcommand of the 2nd Battalion, The Middlesex Reg-
iment during the withdrawal to Dunkirk, which was the last time I
had been on active service. My subsequent promotions to brigadier
and divisional commander had been made during training in the
United Kingdom. I thought of all these things and I wondered
whether I really had the qualities necessary for high command in
battle. I was not unduly concerned about the technical military side.
Even though warfare in the desert had certain peculiarities of its own,
it was still warfare, in which the normal rules held good, and as an
ex-instructor at the Staff College, Camberley, I ought to be able to
cope with this side. No, it was the personal aspect of command I
was worried about. I strongly suspected that neither Monty nor I

103

would receive a very warm welcome from the desert veterans,
How right I was !

Suddenly Gibraltar lay below us, with its rather precarious-
looking runway jutting out Into the sea. It is always a heart-warming
sight to arrive at Gibraltar by air and see the famous Rock looming
like an old lion guarding the western entrance to the Mediterranean.
All the same, on this occasion I couldn't help feeling that if Spain
were to enter the war, or if German forces were allowed to operate
from there, this British fortress would receive short shrift. I
had seen just how useless those elaborate fortresses in the Maginot
Line had proved in the test of battle. I suppose I was very anti-
fortress-minded, but It didn't seem to me that Gibraltar, with
Its teeming civilian population packed like sardines on the side
of the rock, could hold out for long in face of a modern air
attack.

When the aircraft came to rest, I found awaiting me a dis-
tinguished reception party, headed by Major-General Sir Colin
Jardine, the military commander. They had no idea who was
coming, merely that the aircraft contained a solitary V.I.P. Goodness
knows whom they expected, but their hastily concealed disappoint-
ment as I emerged was very obvious. " I am very sorry," I said,
" but I'm afraid it's only me/'

Luckily I knew Colin Jardine, who had been senior to me at the
Staff College, and there was no one whom I would rather have met
at that moment. If I say that he was the best example of a genuine
Christian who really led a Christian life I shall certainly be mis-
understood. But that is exactly what I mean. When he heard that
I was on my way to command a corps in the Middle East, he
assumed the kindly, sympathetic manner adopted by a Harley Street
specialist towards a patient who is seriously ill. At that time generals
in the Middle East didn't as a rule last very long. Command in the
desert was regarded as an almost certain prelude to a bowler hat.
As Rommel is reported to have said once: " If only the British
would leave their generals for a little longer they might learn more
about desert warfare."

In the dusk I took off again for an all-night flight over North

104

Africa to Cairo. As we had to cross territory occupied by the
Germans and Italians it was necessary to fly very high, which meant
wearing an oxygen mask most of the time. It "was a most uncomfort-
able and almost sleepless night, so when we landed near Mena 1 had
a splitting headache and was hardly in the best of shape to take over
the most exacting job of my life,

105

CHAPTER VIII

CORPS COMMANDER IN
THE MIDDLE EAST

A STAFF officer was waiting for me on tlie airfield, and after breakfast
we drove to General Alexander's H.Q. In the major reshuffle which
had just occurred he had taken over the supreme command in the
Middle EasL

I had never had the privilege of serving under General Alexander,
but I knew him well by reputation. Who didn't ? By repute he was
Winston Churchill's fire brigade chief par excellence, the man who
was always being dispatched to retrieve the most desperate situations.
He had commanded the final evacuation from Dunkirk and the
withdrawal from Burma. I expected, therefore, to be confronted
by some terrific fire-eater, but instead I was greeted by a quiet man
with a very pleasant personality. He gave me the impression of
being remote from the battle, and on the few occasions I met him
subsequently I always felt the same, that he lived in a world of his
own which few others were encouraged to enter. I never got to
know him any better than I did at this first meeting in Cairo.

It was immediately obvious that, quite rightly, he had left the
conduct of the campaign in the Western Desert very much to
Montgomery. He told me that Monty was busy organising a
strong mobile reserve with which to drive Rommel out of Egypt;
that he had sent for me specially at Monty's request with the object
of ultimately commanding this reserve. As I left to drive up to
8th Army H.Q. in the desert I thought that I had seldom met a more
calm, unruffled and confident general, which was all the more
remarkable because, according to the reports I had seen m the
War Office, Rommel's victorious army was almost at the gates of
Alexandria.

106

As I drove along the famous desert road, which I came to know
so well, I kept passing vehicles bearing the red egg divisional sign of
the 44th Home Counties Division, I had commanded this division
at home and it was a cheering thought that here at least would be
friendly faces; they had just arrived, and were in the process of
moving up to the desert battle.

Monty was, as I expected, cheerful, alert and with that gleam of
battle in his eye which always indicated that he was up against some
tough military problem. From a professional point of view he was
unquestionably enjoying himself. No time was wasted. I was taken
straight to the map caravan which served as his mobile office and
he outlined the situation. This was one of the most remarkable
military appreciations I ever heard. Remember, he had arrived in
Egypt only five days before; yet in this short space of time he had
acquired a complete grip of the situation. Even to-day I can
remember almost every word of it, and this is what he said:

" After several advances and withdrawals by both sides, the two
armies, that is the German-Italian Army commanded by Reid-
Marshal Rommel and the 8th Army commanded by me, are now
facing each other on a thkty-five-mile front about sixty miles west
of Alexandria. Our defensive positions are on what is known as
the El Alamein Line (this, incidentally, was the first time I had heard
this historic name). The chief merit of our position is that both
flanks are secure; on the right we have the sea, and on the left the
Qattara Depression, where the going is so soft that it is impassable
for a large number of vehicles. So no outflanking movements are
possible and the enemy will have to break through our positions
before advancing on Alexandria and the Delta.

" This position had been occupied by the 8th Army before I
arrived, but I found the existing plan envisaged a further withdrawal
of our left flank if necessary. I have stopped this, and ordered the
8th Army to fight and, if necessary, die, where it now stands.
There will be no further withdrawal at all, and I have ordered dumps
of supplies and ammunition to be built up in the forward areas.
I believe that this has had a good effect on morale. The troops were
getting bewildered; now they know where they are and what they

107

have got to do. Rommel, my opponent, is undoubtedly suffering
from a number of administrative headaches and is very short of
petrol. I am certain, however, that he will launch one last all-out
attack to smash the 8th Army and get through to the Delta. This
may come any day.

** We have two corps in the line; 30 Corps on the right and
13 Corps on the left. The position of the former is strongly
held in depth and protected by mine-fields. I do not anticipate any
penetration in this part of the front. I haven't sufficient troops to
hold the whole thirty-five miles in depth, so 13 Corps on the left
is rather thin on the ground. This has been done purposely in order
to tempt Rommel wide out into the desert where he will use more
petrol. And it is against 13 Corps that he will undoubtedly launch
his main attack.

" You, Jorrocks, are to take over command of this corps 13
and you will defeat Rommel and repel his attack without getting
unduly mauled in the process. This is vital, because as soon as possible
I want to build up a strong mobile reserve consisting largely of
armoured divisions, on the lines of the German Afrika Korps.
When this is equipped and trained I shall attack and hit Rommel
for six right out of Africa. If you suffer heavy losses in this forth-
coming battle it will delay the formation of this mobile striking
force. I don't much like the existing plan on 13 Corps front. Go up
and alter it as you think fit, but keep me informed of what you
propose to do and I will come and see you at any time. In my
opinion the key to the battle on your front is the Alam Haifa ridge
which is now occupied by the 44th Division/'

He then went on to describe to me his outline plan for " kicking
Rommel right out of Africa,'* in order words, for the offensive
which subsequently became known to the world as the battle of
Alamein. Although this battle did not start until 23rd October,
two months later, the plan he outlined to me that day, with one
exception, was never altered to any major extent.

I thought I knew Monty pretty well by now, but this apprecia-
tion was an astonishing tour deforce even for him. Well might the
German general who was captured at Tunis say, " With the arrival

108

of Montgomery war in the desert ceased to be a sport." What made
him such a dangerous opponent was the way he planned bis battles
with an Ice-cold brain. He was always working at least one jump
ahead, not concerned so much with the current battle as with the
next or the next but one. I can see him now, as I left the caravan,
shaking his finger at me and saying: " Remember, Jorrocks, you
are not to get mauled/*

I left the caravan with the definite impression that prior to
Monty's arrival the plan had been for the 8th Army if heavily
attacked to withdraw still farther to the east. Monty has confirmed
this in his book w r hen he described his interview with the Com-
mander-in-Chief, Middle East, General Auchinleck on the I2th
August, 1942, after his arrival in Egypt. He states how he listened in
amazement when Auchinleck put forward his plan that at all costs
the 8th Army must not be destroyed in battle. If Rommel attacked
in strength, as was expected soon, the 8th Array would fall back on
the Delta ; if Cairo and the Delta could not be held, the Army would
retreat southwards up the Nile, etc., etc.

There is no doubt that Monty really believed this to be so, yet
Field-Marshal Auchinleck has flatly denied that he ever said anything
of the sort.

It is obviously highly impertinent, and even dangerous for a
mere corps commander to intervene when two Field-Marshals fall
out over a matter of feet, but, as I was involved in this controversy
in that I took over command of the corps on the left flank which was
presumably supposed to initiate this withdrawal, I have been at
considerable pains to ferret out the truth. As I wish to remain
unbiased, I have not approached personally either of the main
contestants. Moreover even at the ripe old age of sixty-three I
have no desire to have my head bitten off.

To understand the situation it is necessary to go back to 25th
June, the day when Auchinleck decided to take over command of
the 8th Army from General Ritchie. His personal intervention on
the battlefield in this hour of need was the act of a great fighting
commander, but while he was engaged in the day to day tactical
battle, trying to halt Rommel's rapid advance eastward he was also

109

responsible for the whole Middle East Command which involved
not only the defence of the Delta, but also Persia/Iraq with its vital
supplies of oil, the Basra base, Syria and Malta. All the time there
was the distinct possibility of a German advance through the
Caucasus into this area.

Few generals have ever had such a load to bear. At this time the
situation in the Western Desert looked disastrous. Our troops and
the German Afrika Korps were both moving eastward at full speed,
sometimes in parallel columns. A defensive position had been
prepared at Alamein but as only the 2nd South Africa Division and
an Indian brigade group were available to man it, this was by no
means impregnable. It wasn't even certain that we should get there
first with the remainder of the 8th Army, let alone be able to
retrieve from the existing chaos sufficient batdeworthy formations
to hold this position. I have always felt that the decision to stand and
fight on the Alamein position was a bold one, as it involved bringing
the only available reserve, the pth Australian Division, forward from
Alexandria with the risk that it also might become involved in
the rout.

The decisive nature of the initial struggle which now took place
at Alamein has never been appreciated by the general public,
though General Alexander made the situation plain in his dispatch
of 5th February, 1948 in which he wrote, " By this stand the
survivors of the old Desert Army gained the vital time necessary
for the arrival of the fresh divisions and improved tanks which
were to turn the scale of battle." Had the battle-worn, exhausted
and bewildered 8th Army not succeeded in halting Rommel's drive,
we should most certainly have lost the Delta and Egypt, and the
Mediterranean would then have become an Axis lake.

It can be argued with justification that this heroic stand was the
turning point in the war. Complete disaster in the Mediterranean
Middle East might well have resulted from any failure. Could we
have retained our hold on the Persian Gulf? Because this tempting
prize might have induced the Germans to switch their drive south
of the Caucasus. India, cut off from Persian oil, would have been
in the gravest danger. Axis pressure could have forced Turkey into

the war against us. Faced with such a situation would Franco's
Spain still have remained neutral ? If not, Gibraltar must have fallen.
Italy would then have been preserved for Fascism and the landings
in North Africa would never have taken place.

It was the desperate fighting in the first fortnight of July, when
the 8th Army rescued Egypt, which paved the way for our sub-
sequent victories.

It was decided to stand at Alamein but obviously it was prudent
to organise another position farther back on the outskirts of
Alexandria and the Delta in case we were defeated at Alamein.
This was developed into the G.H.Q. Line, as it was sometimes called.
Even so, the rest of General Auchinleck's vast Middle East Command
was now almost denuded of troops and the most vital area of all,
far more vital than Cairo, Alexandria and the Delta, was that con-
taining the Persian oil. In the words of Viscount Alanbrooke, who
was C.LG.S. at the time, " If we lost the Persian oil, we inevitably
lost Egypt, command of the Indian Ocean and endangered the whole
Indian-Burma situation/' So surely it was only right for the C.-in-C.
Middle East to prepare plans to keep the 8th Army in being at all
costs, and if the worst came to the worst, to withdraw it southwards
up the Nile.

I maintain that at this very difficult time General Auchinleck
showed all the attributes of a very great commander. He stepped in
personally to repair the breach in the Western Desert but at the same
time ordered his staff, which was back in Cairo, to prepare plans in
case his personal intervention in the battlefield failed. His opponent
Rommel paid him an exceptional tribute when he wrote, " General
Auchinleck had taken personal command of the operation in the
Alamein position, conducting the battle with remarkable skill and
tactically much better than Ritchie. His appreciation of the situation
seemed admirably cool: he did not allow himself to be impressed
by any of our measures and he did not have recourse to a * second-
class solution/ remaining unmoved by the demand of the fleeting
moment. This became very clear in the time to come."

It is comparatively easy for a general to emerge^ as a great
commander during a successful campaign when everything is going

his way but nobody can don the mantle of a famous captain of war
until he has survived a military disaster. Auchinleck had done just
this. He stopped the rot by his personal intervention and by the
middle of July the serious threat to Cairo and Alexandria had
disappeared. In fact, from now on Auchinleck' s mind was set on
hitting back at Rommel and no further retreat was thought of.

At this time Major-General Dorman Smith was with him at
Headquarters 8th Axmy as Chief of Staff while Lieut-General
Corbett in Cairo acted as Deputy Commander-in-Chief. On the
2yth July Dorman Smith prepared an appreciation for his
commander in which " the intention " was that the 8th Army
would defeat any attempt of the enemy to pass through or round it.
There was no mention in this document of any further withdrawal,
but even so Auchinleck at first refused his agreement because it did
not contain a sufficiently offensive spirit. There was nothing defensive
about Auchinleck at this period. He wanted to return to the offensive
as soon as possible. But after further discussion Dorman Smith
convinced him that reorganisation and training were required before
the 8th Army could launch an offensive with any reasonable prospect
of success. So the provisions of this appreciation, which envisaged
an offensive defensive by the 8th Army, were followed.

As we now know the Prime Minister was moving heaven and
earth to get the commander of the 8th Army to launch an immediate
offensive. It says much for Auchinleck's moral courage that, at this
time, when he was convinced that such an offensive would have
little chance of success, and he was under a cloud, he refused to attack
until he was satisfied that his troops were trained and reorganised,
The 44th (H.C.) Division straight from the United Kingdom with-
out any desert experience would inevitably have been in this attack.
They might well erect a monument to Auchinleck who unquestion-
ably saved them very heavy casualties.

It seems clear, therefore, that from the middle of July onwards
Auchinleck never thought of any further withdrawal. Indeed on the
25th July he had issued a stirring order of the day in which he
congratulated the 8th Army on having wrenched the initiative from
Rommel, but in some curious way this does not seem to have

112

penetrated down to the company commander/squadron leader level.
Meanwhile his headquarters in Cairo was still laboriously churning
out orders and instructions which were being worked upon by
subordinate staff in case a further withdrawal should become neces-
sary. In other words they were several weeks behindhand. There is
no doubt that at this period defeatism was prevalent in the rear and
particularly in Cairo.

But this does not explain how Montgomery came to believe that
Auchinleck, even as late as I2th August, still envisaged the possibility
of a further withdrawal. The answer lies, I believe, in a clash of
personalities. The very qualities of self^onfidence and cocksureness
which made Montgomery the ideal man to inspire the 8th Army
at this difficult period must have proved very irritating to Auchinleck
who had been subjected to a terrific strain during the preceding
months. I am not suggesting that he was exhausted. Far from it.
It is to his eternal credit that his physique and morale remained
unimpaired in spite of considerable buffeting, largely because he was
always able to sleep peacefully, however difficult the situation
might be.

Auchinleck, who a few days earlier had heard that he was to
relinquish his present command he had refused to accept the
Iraq/Persia command carrying equivalent rank which the Prime
Minister offered him probably regarded his interview with
Montgomery as an extremely painful experience to be got through
as quickly as possible. Moreover, as Montgomery was under his
orders until the I5th, when he handed over his command to Alex-
ander, there was no need for him to go into the situation in the
same detail as would have been the case if he had been handing over
to his successor. This of course is pure supposition on my part as
no one else was present at the interview, but I imagine that quite
briefly he showed Montgomery on the map first of all the Alamein
position and then the alternative lines behind, which were all part of
the defence of Egypt defence in depth in fact. But when
Montgomery arrived at 8th Army headquarters he found a gloomy
atmosphere, which is not surprising. The chief of staff, Freddie
de Guingand, was having a difficult and confusing time with

113

Auchinleck back in Cairo and the 8th Army temporarily commanded
by Ramsden, one of the corps commanders. Moreover, Montgomery
found Graham, one of his chief administrative staff officers, working
out flagged routes back to the G.H.Q. Hue. It is understandable that
under these circumstances Montgomery should have come to the
conclusion that a further withdrawal by the 8th Army was con-
templated.

De Guingand afterwards assured me that there certainly had been
a plan for a further withdrawal, but, when Montgomery took over,
the 8th Army staff were in fact mainly concerned with plans for an
offensive at Alamein. He felt that possibly quite unwittingly, he
himself might have overstressed these withdrawal plans when mak-
ing his report to his new commander. There can be no doubt,
however, that almost at once Monty issued orders that any plans
for a further retreat were to be destroyed and the 8th Army was to
stand, fight, and if necessary die where it was. The effect of this
order was magical.

114

CHAPTER IX

ALAM HALFA

THIS, HOWEVER, is all hind-sight. Let me now return to the lonely
general leaving Monty's caravan for the greatest test of Ms life
with a sinking feeling in his stomach, for it was painfully obvious
that the fate of the Middle East rested firmly in his hands.

On the way up to 13 Corps H.Q., which was right out in the
desert, I had an opportunity of discussing the peculiarities of desert
warfare with the young staff officer who had been sent to act as a
guide. Pat Hobart belonged to the Royal Tank Corps and was a
nephew of Major-General Hobart, the original commander of
nth Armoured Division, who achieved fame as the brain behind
" the funnies," all those curious tanks, such as the flails, flame-
throwers, bridge-layers, swimming tanks, and so on, which played
such a notable part in the D-Day landing in Normandy.

Pat Hobart, though young in years, was a desert warrior of vast
experience, so I couldn't have had a better mentor. Briefly, what he
said was that the desert was a desperate place for infantry because
there was practically no cover from view, and the tops of the small
bills the commanding features in the barren countryside were so
rocky that digging was difficult. The only way to construct a
defensive position was in the first place to use explosives to blast the
necessary excavations. Infantry could attack only under cover of
thick smoke-screens fired by the artillery, or at night during the
period of the full moon. (To this day veterans of the 8th Army talk
about a " Montgomery moon " when it is full).

So the tank was the queen of the battlefield. The armoured
formations operated against each other by day and then withdrew
into laagers for the night to rest and carry out maintenance protected
by the infantry who occupied all-round defensive positions known

as M boxes " at least, that Is what they were called until the arrival
of Montgomery, who disliked fancy expressions of this sort.

If either side suffered heavy casualties in its armoured formations,
then it had lost the battle. It was as simple as that. Unfortunately at
this period the Germans had more of the better tanks than the 8th
Army, so we had to be very careful. And it was precisely in this
direction that the existing 13 Corps plan required amendment.

Both my chief of staff, Bobby Erskine, subsequently G.O.C.
Southern Command, a tower of strength, and Major Freddy de
Butts, in charge of intelligence, had no doubt at all about what
Rommel would do.

They said: " Rommel will attack your position with the whole
of the Afrika Korps somewhere between the left of the New
Zealand Division and the Quaret el Himeimat, a sharp, outstanding
hill which marked the left flank of the yth Armoured Division
position. Having penetrated your front and the yth Armoured are
much too thin on the ground to prevent him penetrating he will
do one of two things; either carry out a wide, encircling movement
right round the Alam Haifa ridge to cut the desert road beyond it,
or make a minor wheel and attack north, crossing over the Alam
Haifa ridge about point 102 which is at present unoccupied, and
thus cut your corps in two. In our opinion he will adopt the second
course, because he is too short of petrol to carry out the wide
encircling movement; moreover, he would hardly dare risk leaving
the strongly-held Alam Haifa ridge on his flank."

The existing plan was for the 22nd Armoured Brigade to counter-
attack as soon as the Germans penetrated the position held by the
yth Armoured Division. In this brigade were concentrated all our
Grants, numbering sixty. These were the only tanks which could
compete with the German Mk. Ills and Mk. IVs; they were known,
in fact, as the E.L.H., Egypt's Last Hope, and I hated the idea of
committing them head-on against a superior number of German
tanks estimated at about 234. If we lost the E.L.H. then we had lost
the day.

So I decided to fight a purely defensive battle, and ordered
Brigadier " Pip " Roberts, their commander, to dig his tanks into a

116

defensive position round point 102. Later on, when loth Armoured
Division, possessing sixty-six Grants, became available, 1 arranged
for them to occupy a defensive position which would block the wide
encircling movement, the other alternative Rommel might adopt.
All my Grants were thus concentrated in one powerful, heavy,
armoured division under the command of Major-General Alec
Gatehouse, one of the most experienced tank commanders in the
Middle East. He established his headquarters beside mine and we
fought the battle from now on together. We felt, I think quite
rightly, that we were well placed, for whichever way the enemy
came he would run head-on into an armoured brigade, protected by
anti-tank guns dug into a defensive position, while the other brigade
would be available to operate against his flank and shoot up his soft-
skinned vehicles. That was the plan.

Now began the most difficult period of my life. Very naturally
the desert veterans, who had been fighting continuously in the
Middle East, resented the arrival of Montgomery and myself.
Since Dunkirk we had been sitting in England. What did we know
about desert warfare ? Anyway we looked all wrong. Our knees
were white and, worst of all, we were wearing uniform, an almost
unforgivable offence in the 8th Army, where the standard dress of
the real desert type with sand between his toes was corduroy
trousers, a khaki pullover and coloured scarf round his neck, the
whole topped by the oldest and most battered cap he could find.

The situation was particularly difficult for me because the
previous commander of 13 Corps, who had been shot down in an
aircraft on his way back to Cairo to assume command of the 8th
Army, had been " Straffer " Gott, a very popular man and a famous
general. I was all too obviously a very inadequate substitute.
Wherever I went I noted a speculative look in people's eyes, and
there was a good deal of belly-aching at orders which I issued.
In fact there were one or two distressing scenes before I could get
things done.

To make matters worse, after I had been there about a week we
had a visit from the Prime Minister, Mr. Winston Churchill. It was
obvious from the start that the old warrior statesman did not think

118

much of the new commander of 13 Corps. His unfavourable
opinion was further enhanced when I explained my plan to fight a
defensive battle which I tried to make clear by saying that it was
really a case of" dog eat rabbit." While the Germans blunted their
noses against our positions we would strike at their " rabbits," in the
shape of their lorries, on which they depended for their supplies.

6 " That's no good," he said, " Trouble with you generals is that
you are defensive minded. Why don't you attack ? That's the way
to win battles, not by sitting down in defence."

I couldn't help admiring the old man's pugnacity. It was
precisely this spirit which had kept the country going during those
dark days after Dunkirk. But his obvious disapproval of me and my
plan did not improve my morale, which had already been subjected
to some severe battering.

" Dog eat rabbit ! " he muttered at intervals during the day.
And before departing he turned to me and said: " You've got a very
big responsibility on your shoulders, young man." I felt there was
no need to teE me this.

I heard afterwards that on the way back to Cairo he turned to
Monty and said: " He's no good, get rid of him." Monty replied,
" Look here, sir, you stick to your sphere and 1*11 stick to mine."

This visit did an enormous amount of good to everyone except
me. The troops loved the old man. I can see him now standing,
with a sort of umbrella or sunshade over his head, saying to the only
squadron of his old regiment, the 4th Hussars, which had survived
the fighting: "Forty years ago I joined B squadron of the 4th

Hussars " Unquestionably, with the exception of my own,

everyone's morale was much higher after his visit. Monty must
have realised that I had been through a gruelling experience, because
he rang up that evening and was most encouraging.

Everyone was full of stories about the famous Afrika Korps
composed of the I5th and 2ist Panzer Divisions, who usually oper-
ated in conjunction with the almost equally well-known poth Light
Division, which, equipped with a high proportion of anti-tank guns,
acted as handmaiden to the two armoured divisions. These three
were Rommel's special pride, he had trained them himself and

119

often led them into battle. There was a feeling of complete mutual
trust throughout this hard-hitting group, and I would say that they
were the best German formations I encountered in the war. What is
more, they always fought cleanly.

There was an odd atmosphere about this desert war; never has
there been less hate between the opposing sides: that is between the
Germans and ourselves. Owing to the constant " to-ing and fro-
ing " both armies lived alternately on each other's rations and used
quite a quantity of each other's captured equipment.

Unfortunately, however, there had grown up a Rommel myth.
He was regarded by our troops as a sort of ubiquitous and invincible
figure. Nobody realised better than Monty that almost the first and
most important thing which he had to do was to replace this feeling
with a Montgomery fable. And this he set about doing in a charac-
teristic fashion. Very soon the soldiers were discussing their strange,
new commander, who wore curious hats and, while buzzing about
all over the place, constantly stopped and spoke to them. What was
even more surprising, he seemed to know what he was talking about.
Apart from his immediate staff, the Monty impact started from the
bottom upwards; the troops accepted him long before he became,
as he ultimately did, popular with their officers, who naturally didn't
immediately take to the hats.

Every night we expected Rommel to launch his attack, but
nothing happened. The longer he delayed, the stronger we got,
as more and more tanks which had been damaged were repaired and
came from the base workshops. The 22nd Armoured Brigade now
had ninety-two Grants, an increase of fifty per cent. I also had time
to hold two exercises, so that everyone would be quite clear about
their role in this new plan for a defensive battle. They were of great
value and one of the brigadiers told me afterwards that when he
wanted to know during the battle what was going to happen next
he looked up the exercise.

Freddy de Guingand, Monty's chief of staff, arranged a small
deception which had a major influence on the batde. In some parts
of the desert the going was hard and firm, in others it was so soft
that vehicles were often stuck, or at least had to churn along in

120

bottom gear. So we all worked with " going maps " on which the
hard and soft places were shown in different colours. The Germans
had captured many of these maps in tie course of their advance and
they made great use of them. So de Guingand arranged for a fake
to be printed for the area which we now occupied in which a
particularly soft area just in rear of the yth Armoured Division
positions known as the Ragil depression was shown as good, firm
going. This fake map, all dirty and covered in tea stains, was stuffed
in an old haversack, then placed with soldiers' kits and the usual
junk in a scout car which we arranged to have blown up in a mine-
field in the front line. Next morning the car had been ransacked and
the map had disappeared. During die battle die main German line
of communication ran through the Ragil depression, where die
vehicles must have used up a lot of extra petrol. Later a captured
German general Von Thoma said that before the batde of Alam
Haifa they had captured a going map which proved most useful to
them the italics are mine.

During this preparatory period I got into hot water with Monty
for describing to the assembled British war correspondents who were
paying me a visit how we proposed to fight this batde on 13 Corps
front. I did this deliberately, because if correspondents are briefed
beforehand their dispatches are much more likely to be accurate,
and this has an appreciable effect on morale. Nothing more infuriates
soldiers belonging to some regiment which has taken a notable part
in the batde than to read glowing accounts of the activities of some
other unit which took practically no part at all, but, because it was
in reserve, was more readily accessible to the Press. Good, accurate
reporting is a great morale raiser, and never once during the whole
war was my confidence abused.

Monty visited me several times and as always I was perfecdy
clear how he wanted the batde fought. On one occasion we were
sitting in my map caravan when the AJD.C. popped his head inside

and said, " Quick, sir, Stuka attack " So we both nipped

outside and lay side by side in the sand. In these Stuka attacks, which
came quite frequendy, each aircraft, as it came screaming out of the
sky, seemed to be directed at one personally. I couldn't help feeling

121

tliis time that an unlucky strike which, knocked out the commander
of the 8th Army before he had really got into his stride might alter
the whole war in the Middle East.

As usual the bombs fell at least half a mile away from where we
were lying. Monty obviously irritated by our ostrich-like per-
formance, said, " They won't be able to do this sort of thing much
longer/* He went on to give me a glowing account of the Desert
Air Force commanded by Coningham. " We are just beginning to
get command in the air/' he said. " And as you know the Army
and the R.A.F. must fight hand in hand. It is one batde, not
two. Up to now the two headquarters have been separated, now
they are side by side." Monty was the most air-minded general I
ever met.

As the end of the month approached we entered the fell-moon
period the attack must surely come now. On the evening of
3Oth August I visited the New Zealand Division and after eating
tinned oysters with their famous commander, General Sir Bernard
Freyberg, V.C., we went to visit the Maoris who were carrying out
a large-scale raid on the Italians that night.

About ii p.m. I set off in my jeep to return to 13 Corps H.Q.
when suddenly the whole of the southern flank seemed to go up in
flames; everything opened up. This was obviously it.

Sure enough, I returned to find the operations branch of my
staff in full activity. Reports were pouring in that Rommel had
attacked the yth Armoured Division in force just where we had
expected him to come. For me this was a most exciting and
dramatic moment, my first corps batde, and I would have given
anything to have stayed there watching the battle develop on the
operations map. But I had already learned one lesson, the value of
sleep. The plans were all made. There was nothing I could possibly
do that night, and it wouldn't be a very good example to my staff
if the corps commander kept fussing round all night. It was far
more important that my brain should be clear next day when
important decisions would almost inevitably have to be made.
So assuming a nonchalant air which I certainly didn't feel I said
good night and walked over to the small hole in the sand where my

122

valise awaited me. I didn't expect to sleep very much, but I had
quite a good night's rest.

It was difficult, however, next morning to shave, dress calmly,
and then walk over to the operations room. I would have Hked to
have leapt out of my valise and run over, but the appearance of an
unshaven, out-of-breath corps commander would not have created
a favourable impression.

Unfortunately that morning there was a haze overhead which
prevented our air force from being used to full effect, but at ground
level viability was excellent. From my headquarters on the top of
the Alam Haifa ridge it was possible through powerful glasses to
study the enemy's movements and the mass of enemy tanks and
vehicles moving slowly in an easterly direction was an impressive
sight.

By approximately n a.m. we had definitely identified the whole
of the Afnka Korps and the poth Light Division in the south, so the
other attacks which had been made, notably against 30 Corps front,
were only diversionary. I rang up Monty and asked for die 23rd
Armoured Brigade, with its 149 Valentine tanks, to come under my
orders as promised. He agreed, so Brigadier Richards started mov-
ing his brigade to the positions which he had reconnoitred during the
exercises. By 1400 hours he was there, all along the north side of
die hill running between Alam Haifa and the position occupied by
the New Zealand Division.

At 1300 hours the German columns halted, obviously to refill
with petrol. Would they continue in an easterly direction, we
wondered, in which case they would be embarked on the wide out-
flanking movement which Freddy de Butts had mentioned as the
first possibility? But no, they turned north towards the Alam
Haifa ridge. So Freddy had been right, and Rommel was doing
exacdy as predicted. We almost cheered as we watched, because if
he carried on with this course his tanks would even pass through the
aiming posts which we had put out in the desert to mark the
different ranges for our tanks and anti-tank guns. We felt that from
our point of view Rommel was behaving very decendy.

At 1730 hours 1 5th and 2ist Panzer Divisions launched an all-out

123

attack on the 22nd Armoured Brigade whose tanks were well dug-in
round the famous point 102. This was the key to the whole battle*
Could the Germans with their superior numbers break through?
Pip Roberts husbanded his resources and handled the battle with his
usual skiH. When the Germans made a slight penetration into his
position he brought up his reserve armoured regiment, the Greys,
which counter-attacked and drove them out again. As the light
began to fail the German panzer divisions withdrew for the night
into the Ragil depression. This fateful day, 3ist August, had gone
well for us and the crisis was over.

The remainder of the battle can be described in a few words.
Next day a much weaker attack, which seemed to consist of only
one armoured division, was launched against Pip Roberta's position;
then, veering round to the west, it ran into the 23 rd Armoured
Brigade just over the crest and was driven back.

Visibility was now good, and a ceaseless stream of our aircraft
pounded the Germans in the Ragil depression. Artillery fire was
also concentrated against any German tanks and vehicles which were
within range. The initiative had definitely passed to us, but I
refused to allow any Grants to attack the German positions. Remem-
ber, I had been told at all costs not to get mauled. Time after time
in the desert warfare the whole balance of the battle had been sud-
denly altered because of the severe losses caused when our tanks
had run on to a German anti-tank screen. During the next two days
the Germans tried over and over again to lure us out of our defensive
positions, but to no avail. Why should we risk casualties, when the
enemy was suffering severely as a result of our shelling and attacks
from the air? An intercepted wireless message indicated that they
had already lost over 100 tanks.

Monty came up to see me and decided that the New Zealand
Division should attack due south on the night of 3rd September in
order to start closing the door behind Rommel's forces. This was
only partially successful for although the Maoris on the left got
through to their objectives, many things went wrong with the attack
of the right brigade, the I32nd Brigade, whose first desert battle
this was. Nevertheless Rommel had seen the red light, and on the

124

4th the Germans started to withdraw, each vehicle pulling at least
two others behind it. We harried them from the air and also with
all the light tanks that could be mustered, but I still refused to allow
one of my precious Grant tanks to take the offensive.

On yth September, my birthday, the battle was called offleaving
the Germans in possession of our forward mine-field and also of the
Hnneimat hill. Naturally both Monty and I have been criticised for
not at once launching an armoured counter-attack. " Rommel's
forces were streaming back in disorder. Now was the moment to
destroy him" that was the general feeling among many sub-
ordinate commanders. To some extent I shared their feelings,
because from die corps point of view it was an infernal nuisance to
have the enemy sitting on this hill from which he could observe
everything that went on in the southern part of my sector. I should
like to have driven him off Himeimat, which we could have done
quite easily.

But Monty said no, and taking the larger picture he was, as
usual, quite right. First of all, he was taking no chances. Several
times before Rommel had snatched a last-minute victory when our
tanks had run headlong into one of those famous anti-tank gun
screens which the German 9Oth Light Division organised so quickly
and skilfully to cover any withdrawal of the Afrika Korps. But more
important still Monty's plan was to destroy the Axis forces. He
realised that the 8th Army required a period for reorganisation and
training before it could be launched in a major offensive, and this
was the offensive which he was already planning. Part of the
deception plan for this next battle, the battle of Alamein, consisted
of constructing dummy pipe lines, dumps and so on, down in the
south to make the Germans believe that the main thrust was coming
in this sector when actually it was being launched from the north,
" What is the good of constructing all these dummies if the Germans
cannot see them ? " he said. " Leave them in possesdon of Himeimat
That is where I want them to be."

We derived considerable satisfaction from the thought of all the
Italian women in Alexandria who had been having their hair
specially done to greet the victorious Italian armies on their entry.

125

We also knew that Mussolini had arranged for a special white
charger to be sent from Italy so that, mounted in suitable fashion, he
could head the victory parade.

This was one of the few battles in which I fought that went
exactly according to plan. When it was over I rang up Monty and
asked him whether I could send a wire to the Prime Minister.
** What do you want to say? " he asked. " Only four words/ 5 I
replied. ** DOG ATE RABBIT. HOSROCKS." " Certainly not,* 5 he said.
But I still believe that Winston Churchill would have been delighted
to receive it !

On the day after the batde finished I was sitting in my head-
quarters purring with satisfaction. The batde had been won and I
had not been mauled in the process. What could be better? Then
in came a liaison officer from 8th Army headquarters bringing me a
letter in Monty's own hand. This is what he said:

"Dearjorrocks,

Well done but you must remember that you are now a
corps commander and not a divisional commander. . . ."

He went on to Hst four or five things which I had done wrong,
mainly because I had interfered too much with the tasks of my
subordinate commanders. The purring stopped abruptly. Perhaps
I wasn't quite such a heaven-sent general after all. But the more I .
thought over the batde the more I realised that Monty was right.
So I rang him up and said, " Thank you very much."

I mention this because Montgomery was one of the few com-
manders who tried to train the people who worked under him.
Who else, on the day after his first major victory, which had altered
the whole complexion of the war in the Middle East, would have
taken the trouble to write a letter like this in his own hand to one of
his subordinate commanders ?

The psychological effect of this victory was terrific, for nothing
succeeds like success, particularly in war. Troops will always follow
a successful general. Monty had unquestionably won the first round
in his contest with the Desert Fox; what is more, he had won it in
exacdy the manner in which he had said beforehand he would win

126

It. Everyone felt that a new dynamic force had entered into the
tired, rather stale, old body of the 8th Army. I, of course, also bene-
fited from the change of heart, and from now on things became
much easier.

One of the most fascinating studies of the last war was the
contrast between these two great commanders, Montgomery and
Rommel, each IB his own way an outstanding general, yet utterly
and absolutely different in almost every respect.

Rommel was probably the best armoured corps commander
produced by either side. Utterly fearless, fuE of drive and initiative,
he was always up in front where the battle was fiercest. If his
opponent made a mistake, Rommel was on to it like a flash, and he
never hesitated to take personal command of a regiment or battalion
if he thought fit. On one occasion he was found lifting mines with
his own hands. His popularity with the soldiers was immense, but
a great many officers resented tis interference with their commands.
All this reads like the copy-book general but, in point of fact, this is
not the best way to control a swift-moving, modern battle. Very
often at a critical moment no one could find Rommel, because he
was conducting personally some battalion attack. He tended to
become so involved in some minor action that he failed to appreciate
the general picture of the battlefield.

I would say, also, after reading a good deal about him, that
Rommel worried too much. It is a curious fact that his health,
which seemed to be all right in victory, began to deteriorate when
the tide turned against him. This is borne out by a letter written to
his wife on 29th October, 1942, during the battle of Alainein, in
which he wrote: " At night I lie with my eyes open wide, unable
to sleep for the load that is on my shoulders. In the day I am dead
tired."

Generals who fail to sleep seldom last long. Auchinleck had
proved of sterner stuff during his period of trial.

Monty was not such a dashing, romantic figure as his opponent;
nor would you find him leading a forlorn hope in person, for the
simple reason that if he was in command forlorn hopes did not occur.
He had an extraordinary capacity for putting his finger straight on

127

the essentials of any problem, and of being able to explain them
simply and clearly. He planned all his battles most carefully and
then put them out of his mind every night. I believe he was
awakened in the night only half a dozen rimes during the whole
war.

Their handling of the battle of Alam Haifa makes the contrast
clear. Having made the best possible plan to win the battle, yet at
the same time to husband his resources, Monty dismissed Alam
Haifa entirely from his mind and concentrated on the next one.
His insistence on the fact that I was not to be mauled was typical of
his forward thinking.

Rommel was suffering considerable administrative difficulties,
particularly lack of petrol, and this was exploited by Montgomery
to the fullest extent Monty disposed his forces so as to force
Rommel wide out into the desert, where he would use more petrol:
the going map was planted for the same purpose. Furthermore, I
am not convinced that the shortage of petrol was quite so acute as
Rommel claimed in his book. My information, from the most
reliable sources, is that two, or possibly three, petrol ships arrived
in Tripoli on 28th August, giving him 400 k.m.s. worth of petrol
per vehicle.

Rommel attributes his defeat to three main causes :

(1) Lack of petrol, which I have already discussed.

(2) Our superiority in the air. Yet on the first day, the 3 1st, when
the battle was virtually decided, our air forces could not operate with
maximum efficiency owing to bad visibility.

(3) He claims that surprise was essential, but owing to the
unexpected strength of the defences which held up his initial attack,
he was delayed, and the British, who usually reacted slowly, were
given time to regroup.

There was never the slightest possibility of achieving surprise,
Rommel did precisely what we expected and hoped he would do.
No regrouping was necessary at all; in fact, he conformed exactly
to the dispositions which we had practised in our exercises.

Finally, he says that Montgomery never really launched an
attack against him during the whole battle and left him in possession

128

of oor original front line* which included Himeimat. ! have already
explained that he was left here because Monty wanted him to be
able to see the dummy preparations for Alamein. While Rommel
was leading his troops in person against our strongly-held defensive
positions on the Alam Haifa ridge, Montgomery was planning the
battle of Aianiein. That was the difference between the two.

129

CHAPTER X

ALAMEIN AND AFTER

EVEN BEFORE the battle of Alam Haifa was over Montgomery began
withdrawing troops from the Hue in order to build up 10 Corps,
which was to form his mobile striking force. General Alexander
had told me originally that I was to command this corps d*elite 9 but
the more I thought about it the more I realised that I was not the
best man for the job. 10 Corps was to consist of two armoured
divisions and the completely motorised 2nd New Zealand Division,
It would, therefore, be composed largely of the real old " desert
sweats," and although I had, to a limited extent, won my spurs at
Alam Haifa, I was still very much a " foreigner from the U.K."

It was most unlikely that an infantryman straight from home
would be welcomed by the cavalry and tank corps formations which
formed the hard core of this mobile force. It would take time to
break down their prejudices, and time was all too short. So I went
to see Monty before any final decisions were taken; I knew only too
well that once he had made up his mind nothing on earth would
alter it. I suggested somewhat tentatively that the obvious man for
the command was Herbert Lumsden, who would be readily'
acceptable to everyone. A cavalry officer and a well-known
amateur rider before the war, he had all the qualities required in a
first-class steeplechase jockey, physical fitness, nerve, and the
capacity to make up his mind in a split second. He had commanded
the 1 2th Lancers brilliantly during the withdrawal to Dunkirk.
Since then he had proved himself over and over again on the
battlefields of the Western Desert.

But it was his long desert experience which was to prove the
stumbling block. He could never bring himself to accept us new
arrivals from England, and was in consequence inclined to play a

130

lone hand. Anyhow, lie was the obvious man and Monty at once
agreed though probably it had all been decided before 1 nude my
suggestion.

This meant that I should have only a subsidiary role in the large-
scale attack now preparing. The front was still held by 30 Corps
on the right and my corps, 13, on the left in the south. The main
attack was to be made on the right, and after 30 Corps had punched
two broad corridors through the heavily-defended mine-fields,
10 Corps was to follow up and pass through. My corps was to
attack also, and if we could break through, so much the better,
but our main role was to mislead the enemy into believing that ours
was the main effort and thus contain, in the south, as many enemy
troops as possible; in particular 2ist Panzer Division, which was in
reserve opposite my sector of the front, It was impossible to prevent
the enemy knowing that the attack was imminent. The best we
could hope for was to deceive him about the time and place of the
main effort.

Monty's very able staff, under the direction of Freddy de
Guingand, worked out in detail the number and position of all
vehicles and guns which would be required for the assault. These
were concentrated in their proper pkces behind 30 Corps front very
early on ; but they were not the real operational vehicles. They were
spares and, above all, dummies. Though the German aircraft
photographed these concentrations constantly, they always remained
the same, and there was no sudden increase just before the battle.
As the assaulting divisions moved into position, their operational
vehicles merely replaced the dummies, the change-over taking place,
of course, at night.

In my sector dummy dumps and workshops began to spring up
like mushrooms, all supplied by dummy pipelines and water installa-
tions. On the night of the attack it was arranged for the wireless
sets of a complete armoured division to operate so as to suggest that
large armoured forces were moving forward in this sector. In fact,
I had the somewhat invidious task of trying to attract the enemy's
attention to the place where I was due to attack.

During this preparatory period Monty was building up his

army on three basic principles which were drummed into all his
subordinate commanders: leadership, equipment and training. The
character and capability of all commanders were examined under
the microscope, and a number of changes were made. Monty has
often been accused of ruthlessness of sacking people right and left.
He certainly didn't suffer fools gladly, and he demanded from his
subordinates the same high standard of military integrity which he
set for himself, but I have never known him to be unreasonable.
If an officer failed for some good reason, such as staleness or illness,
he was always given a second chance. His detailed knowledge of
quite junior officers was astonishing, even alarming on occasions.

The main change which occurred at the top was the arrival of
Oliver Leese to command 30 Corps in place of Ramsden. I had
hardly ever met Leese btfore but knew him to be a great character
reputed to have a wonderful flow of language on occasions who
had firmly impressed his personality on the Guards Armoured
Division. He turned out to be a fine commander and an easy man to
work with. He had the dubious reputation of being the only man
who drove a motor car faster and more dangerously than I did.
It was with great amusement, therefore, that a few months after he
had retired I saw his name in the paper as opening the " road safety
week of Wolverhampton."

The equipment situation improved rapidly and this is where
General Alexander was such a help. I have seen him sitting in
Monty's caravan making notes himself of all the many requirements
of the 8th Army. Then, somehow or other and within an incredibly
short space of time, they would start arriving. If one item more than
any other helped to win the battle of Alamein it was the Sherman
tank.

I feel that the time has come for the history of the Sherman tank
to be made public, if only in tardy acknowledgment of the work of
our tank designers, for whom nobody in the desert ever had a good
word to say. "Why are our tanks always inferior to the Americans ?"
was the cry heard on every side. Yet the fighting part of the
Sherman was built to British design. Although the American Grant
was mechanically a great improvement on anything which had so

132

far been produced, it had many drawbacks from a fighting point of
view chiefly the position of the gun which was housed in a sponson
beside the driver and had only a limited arc of fire forward. If the
gun had to fire to a flank, the whole tank had to turn. This meant
that while the Grant was a useful tank in defence it was not really
suitable for offensive operations. Moreover it had too high a
silhouette and the wireless layout was inconvenient for the tank
commander. At first the Americans would not accept our criticisms
of their tank and make the necessary alterations. So 300 were
constructed for us, and to our design, in the extension to the Lima
Locomotive Works for which we paid in hard dollars both for the
works and for the tanks. This was, of course, in the days of cash and
carry. Then came Pearl Harbour followed by lease lend and the
Munitions Allocation Board in Washington allotted these 300 tanks
to the U.S. ground forces.

At that time it was not considered diplomatic for us to claim
that the improved fighting qualities of the Sherman were due to
British brains, so our backroom boys not for the first time just
had to grin and bear it. We did, however, claim credit for installing
the ly-pounder gun in the tank during 1944. The Sherman was
really a first-class example of Anglo-U.S. co-operation, the fighting
part British and the mechanical side American.

This does not in any way detract from Roosevelt's generous
action in handing them over to us after the fall of Tobruk, which no
doubt had Marshall's backing as he was always a great friend of the
British. By this time they had already been issued to the First U.S.
Armoured Division in America. To remove these tanks from their
own troops and hand them over to us was a fine gesture and their
timely arrival in the Middle East tipped the scales at Alamein-
At last we had a match for the German tanks.

Almost every day our artillery resources increased and there was
plenty of ammunition, so there were no worries about inadequate
equipment. Such riches had never before been accumulated in the
Middle East.

Training, however, was not quite so good. Although the troops
looked brown and fit, many of them were not really hard and

133

tough.. Moving always in lorries and long periods in defensive
positions, were not conducive to extreme physical fitness. Nor was
the standard of military training as high as it should have been.
It was because of this that Monty was forced to modify his original
plan for the forthcoming battle, to ensure that more was not
demanded of the formations than they could do. Instead of first
attempting to destroy the enemy's armoured formation, the original
plan, he decided to make his initial attacks against the enemy's
holding troops, the infantry divisions, and to use_ our tanks to hold
off the enemy armour which was certain to counter-attack.

One evening as I emerged from the caravan lean-to which served
as my mess I saw a cloud of dust in the distance which heralded the
arrival of the 5ist Highland Division. And next morning at reveille
I awoke to the sound of the pipes. So started an association which
was to last throughout the war; in fact, on almost my last night in
Germany as a corps commander, several months after the war was
over I dined in their mess and they drank my health with Highland
honours. I have always liked working with Scottish troops. To
start with they are very suspicious and inclined to be obstinate, but
once they make up their minds that, for a foreigner, you are a
reasonable human being, then nobody in the world can be more
helpful.

Major-General Douglas Wimberley soon became a familiar
figure in the corps area. Sitting crouched in a jeep with his bony
knees almost touching his chin, he was here, there and everywhere,
watching over the interests of his beloved Jocks. He had two main
objects. First, to repay with interest the debt incurred when most
of the original 5ist Division was captured at St. Valery, and secondly
to keep the 5ist a Scottish division in every way. If an appointment
became vacant it was always filled by a Scotsman in preference to an
Englishman, even though the latter might have the better creden-
tials.

On ipth and 20th October Monty explained the plan to all
officers down to lieutenant-colonel. I knew what to expect, because
I had heard him speak on many occasions before, but the effect on
this occasion was electrifying. Clear, and full of confidence, he

134

Scale of Miles

012345

Enemy zone
including minefields fy

NORTHERN CORRIDOR

KIDHEYR1D&Z ~,s

CORPS

(I ARM?
I D1V
(lOARMH
V IMV

THE BATTLE OF ALAMEIN

explained tltat the initial attack would be made by the pth Australian,
5ist Highland, 2nd New Zealand and ist South African Divisions
from right to left. He then described the enemy situation, the deep
mine-fields, anti-tank guns and so on. He stressed that there would
be some very hard fighting, a dog-fight, in fact, which might last
for up to ten days. After giving details about our great strength he
drammed in the fact that everyone must kill Germans.

During the next few days all this was explained to every soldier
taking part in the battle, and there is no doubt that die 8th Army
entered the battle of Alamein in a state of great enthusiasm, almost
exaltation. They had been told by their commander that this was
the turning-point of the war, and they believed him.

October 23rd was D-Day. There was a lovely full moon, and
the desert on a moonlight night was very beautiful. But our minds
were on other things. We were waiting. And at 2140 hours
exactly a thousand guns opened up in thunder and gun flashes
flickered across the desert. There was practically no answering fire
from the enemy, a clear indication that the deception plan had been
successful. The Germans and Italians must have wondered what had
hit them.

We launched our subsidiary attacks as ordered, but unfortunately
the 44th Division and yth Armoured ran on to some loose mines
some distance on our side of the mine-field proper, and we did not
obtain our bridgehead beyond the second mine-field until the second
night. It has been suggested in some quarters, usually by people who
themselves had no personal experience of desert fighting, that I was
inclined to over-estimate the depth of the mine-field in the Alamein
position. This may well be true, though the mine-fields on our
operational map were plotted from our intelligence reports which
were as a rule astonishingly accurate. Anyhow, as my role was
strictly subsidiary to the main attack, I was not justified in taking
risks.

My chief memory of the battle is an early morning visit to our
bridgehead when the tanks of the 22nd Armoured Brigade were
sitting in open formation being steadily shelled by the enemy.
A small figure climbed out of the turret of a tank and walked over to

136

my car. It was their commander, General John Harding. I hardly
knew him at all, but I was immediately impressed with his calm
competence. For thirty-six hours he had had practically no sleep
but he seemed as fresh as when he had started. Here was a man, I
felt, who would certainly go far; and he did.

Although the main thrust was being made by 30 Corps I had
secretly hoped to break through in the south as well, but my hopes
were dashed when Monty rang me up and said that under no
circumstances was I to incur tank casualties. I was to make faces at
the enemy, but offensive operations on my front were to be
restricted to small-scale raids.

At intervals throughout the next few days he would ring me up
an inquire how I was getting on. He always ended by asking
whether there had been any tank casualties. While it is possible to
fight a defensive battle without incurring casualties this cannot be
done in an attack. So for the rest of the battle I confined myself to
what in theatre parlance is called noises off. But from the wings I
was a most interested spectator of the main performance being carried
out by 30 and 10 Corps in the north. We had nevertheless played
our part, because it was not until the night of the 26th/2yth that the
21 Panzer Division was moved up to the north.

The battle lasted for eleven hard-fought days and it was Alamein
that established Monty's reputation as a master of the set-piece
battle. He kept himself balanced, i.e., always with sufficient troops
in reserve, either by drawing formations from my front or by
pulling divisions out of the line to regroup and rest. All the time
he was changing the axis of his attacks. As soon as the Germans
moved their reserves to blunt his thrust, he would halt it and
initiate another elsewhere. This meant that the German reserves
were forced into what he always called wet hen. tactics rushing
hither and thither.

All battles have their crisis and this one came at 3.30 a.m. on
25th October. After three days' hard fighting we still hadn't
completely cleared the two lanes forward and the situation had
deteriorated badly, particularly in the south where a deep, hitherto
unlocated, mine-field was discovered on the reverse slope of the

137

Miteiriya ridge. This lane through the mine-fields was congested
and being heavily shelled by the enemy. A feeling was beginning
to spread that we should never get through, and under the strain of
forty-eight hours bitter fighting everyone was tired and on edge.
The infantry complained bitterly that they had cleared the gaps in
the mine-fields and suffered heavy casualties in the process, but now
the tanks wouldn't go through.

" The only way to get them on is to put anti-tank guns behind
them," was the sort of bitter remark that was heard. The armoured
formations accused the infantry of never knowing where they were;
in fact, of claiming to have reached certain objectives when they
were still several thousand yards short. They felt very strongly that
their precious tanks were being wasted.

" How can we debouch from bottlenecks formed by the lanes
through the mine-fields when these are ringed round with enemy
anti-tank guns ? It is the job of the infantry to knock out these
anti-tank guns and let us out." As an infantryman who had also
commanded an armoured division, I could sympathise with both
points of view.

During previous desert battles our tank commanders had been
accused over and over again of charging recklessly on to the enemy
anti-tank guns, and thus incurring heavy tank casualties. But, as long
as the guns in the enemy tanks out-ranged ours, the German
armoured divisions could sit back out of range of our guns and
destroy our tanks one by one. Our tanks had to get in close before
they could hope to do them any damage. With the arrival of the
Shermans, however, the position had been levelled up as we now
possessed a tank to equal the German models. Lumsden, the
armoured corps commander, had therefore issued orders that there
were to be no more Balaclava charges. A brewed-up tank is not a
pleasant sight. Walking over the battlefield afterwards I counted in
one stretch of a few hundred yards eighty-five tanks belonging to the
pth Armoured Brigade, all burned out.

I will not go into the details of this battle, which has already been
described many times by those who played the leading roles, but it
has always seemed to me that the moment when Montgomery

138

emerged, as a great battle commander came in the early hours of
25th October. It almost seemed as though an anxious hush had
fallen over the battlefield the first enthusiasm had waned. People
were beginning to ask whether we should ever break through the
deep crust of mine-fields which protected the German positions.
They were beginning to look over their shoulders, a little anxiously,
towards their commander. Any hesitation at this period would have
been fatal, and Alamein might well have ended in a stalemate with
our forces bogged down in a sea of mine-fields. But there was no
hesitation. Montgomery faced the first real crisis of his career as a
high-level commander with unflinching courage. This was the first
concrete example of Monty's steely determination when things go
badly, which is the hall-mark of a great commander. After a week's
dour fighting the turning-point of the struggle came at oioo hours on
2nd November, when the I5ist and I52nd Brigades, under command
of the 2nd New Zealand Division, attacked to punch the final hole
in the enemy defences. The pth Armoured Brigade was then to pass
through, followed by the ist and yth Armoured Divisions. The
operation was called Supercharge. This was a very critical moment,
for these two brigades were almost the last infantry reserves avail-
able. Yet the enemy still showed no signs of cracking. That after-
noon I visited 8th Army H.Q. and found Freddy de Guingand
somewhat tense.

Sitting in a deck-chair with his cap over his eyes was Monty.
A squadron of our medium bombers flew overhead, and Monty
pointed to them and said: " They are winning this battle for me;
the R.A.F. are doing a wonderful job." By this time " Mary "
Coningham, that tough New Zealander who commanded the
Desert Air Force, had achieved virtual air supremacy with his
squadrons. All the German and Italian prisoners-of-war complained
bitterly of the devastating effect of our continuous air attacks.

We waited anxiously for news of Supercharge. Just after dawn
next day Freddie de Butts, my intelligence officer, came running to
my caravan "We're through!" he said. "Our armoured cars
have broken out into the open country beyond. The Royals and
the 4th South African Armoured Car Regiment have both reported

139

by wireless that they are having a wonderful time shooting up
streams of Axis transport heading for the west."

The battle was over, and Alamein had been won, but in eleven
days, not ten, as Monty had prophesied. The success of Supercharge
was largely due to the pth Australian Division, who had carried out
continuous attacks night after night in a northerly direction. In spite
of heavy casualties they had almost destroyed the i64th German
Infantry Division and had tied down in the northern area both
1 5th Panzer and poth Light Divisions.

After the battle I went to see General Morshead, the Australian
commander, to congratulate him on the magnificent fighting carried
out by his division. His reply was the classic understatement of all
time. He said: " Thank you, General. The boys were interested."

Rommel had not sufficient transport to evacuate the whole of
his army, so many Italians were left behind to march into our
prisoner-of-war camps. Badly equipped and extremely badly led,
they had never had much heart in the war and were glad it was
all over.

But we had more important things to worry about than rounding
up Italians. The vital question was whether or not it would be
possible to cut off the remnants of the German Army, which was
certain to fight a series of stubborn rearguard actions to cover the
withdrawal of their administrative units.

Monty has been criticised for allowing the Germans to escape
and it is true that the pursuit started rather slowly. This, however,
is a familiar phenomenon in war. Over and over again throughout
history the full fruits of victory have been lost because of a failure to
pursue the defeated opponent energetically after a hard-fought
battle. The classic example was Napoleon's failure to follow up
Bliicher after the battle of Ligny, as a result of which he lost
touch with the Prussians and did not realise that, instead of going
off at a tangent towards their own country as he had expected,
they had withdrawn parallel to Wellington's army. This caused
his defeat at Waterloo.

After a long drawn out, hard-fought battle there is always a
natural tendency for the victors to relax the pressure: the battle has

140

been won, so, " What the hell? " This is the time more than any
other when commanders must go round " driving " and " driving "
in order to get the pursuit into top gear. But in this particular case
there were two additional factors which caused a slow start. It was a
very dark night, making cross-country movement in the desert a
slow and painful business, particularly for tired troops. Moreover,
these highly-mechanised divisions were very dependent on supplies
petrol was their life-blood and it was a tremendous task for the
administrative echelons to get forward and join them through the
maze of mine-fields and all the junk of the battlefield. I wonder
how they ever joined up at all.

Eventually the pursuit got under way and then no time was lost.
Two outflanking movements had been ordered, a short hook by the
ist and 8th Armoured Divisions directed on Galal with the object
of cutting the desert road some fifteen miles west of Daba and a
wider encircling movement by the 2nd New Zealand Division
towards Sidi Hanesh. There were moments when it looked as
though a big proportion of Rommel's Afrika Korps might be cut
off, but the German rearguards were skilfully handled and our three
divisions were constantly plagued by shortage of petrol. Meanwhile
the loth Armoured Division by-passed the trouble and moved
straight up the desert road, occupying Mersa Matruh which had
been vacated by the Germans.

Then, when things seemed to be going very well, the weather
broke and violent rainstorms flooded the desert, which at once
became quite impassable for wheeled and tracked vehicles. It was
most unfortunate, for the ist Armoured Division was practically
within sight of the vital desert road. Not one of these three divisions
could move a single yard; they might have been stuck in glue, and
what is more, none of their supply lorries bringing up petrol,
ammunition and food could get anywhere near them.

By the 9th, when movement again became possible, the enemy
had slipped away. The same thing happened a few days later when
the yth Armoured Division was almost in a position to block the
escape route on the escarpment at Sollum. Again rain intervened
and Rommel's rearguards moving along the road got clear.

141

The pattern for the pursuit was now clear. Lumsden's 10 Corps
and Lease's 30 Corps were in the van, while poor old 13 Corps
became the 8th Army's Mrs. Mopp, left behind with the unpleasant
task of clearing up the battlefield of Alamein.
* The number of formations in a corps is always fluctuating, unlike
the units in a division, wliich remain fairly constant. This was the
period when I sank to my lowest ebb as a corps commander, for at
one time the only formation in 13 Corps was one salvage unit.
We got to know each other very well, for I visited them almost
every day. It is a lonely feeling to be left behind. All we could do
was to study on the map how the 8th Army was speeding along the
coast road. Capuzzo, Sollum and Bardia, and by nth November
the Axis forces were out of Egypt. Tobruk was entered on 13th
November. There was no delay once the pursuit really got going.

The main problem at this period was whether the 8th Army
could overrun the important airfields in the Derna area in time for
them to be used by our air forces and thus give air cover to a vital
convoy which was sailing to Malta. It was a close-run thing.
Malta was almost at its last gasp, but we won the race and the island
was saved by about twenty-four hours. Benghazi was reached on
the 20th, so the 8th Army had advanced 700 miles in fifteen days.
But here there was obviously going to be a battle because the Axis
forces were preparing to fight on the Agheila position. The desert
veterans reminded us gloomily that twice before we had reached
this position, but never got any farther.

Would we be more successful at the third attempt? We were.
The attack started with active patrolling on the nth December and
by the ipth the German rearguards were streaming back.

By now Harold Young of the I2th Lancers had become my
A.D.C. and we remained together, except for the period when I
was in hospital, up to the end of the war. Few people realise what
an important part an A.D.C. plays in the military hierarchy. He can
be of the greatest assistance to his commander or he may be a
complete menace. A general in battle leads a lonely life with
immense responsibility resting on his shoulders. For much of the
time he is putting on an act, disguising his innermost feelings.

142

He alone must make the decisions which affect the lives of thousands
of his men, for battles cannot be run like board meetings.

A commander will spend a large part of every day driving round
units accompanied by his A.D.C. and it makes all the difference if
they get on well together so that the mask can be dropped when they
are alone. An A.D.C. can act as a buffer between a commander and
an all-too-importunate staff, but this has to be done with consider-
able tact or the A.D.C. will be accused of becoming swollen-
headed. The sensible, sympathetic A.D.C. who is trusted and liked
by both the commander and staff is worth his weight in gold, and
he can do a great deal to make the wheels go round smoothly.
I was very lucky with mine.

Later on in Europe Young was joined by Lord Rupert Nevill
who in spite of a very youthful appearance turned out to be extremely
shrewd. Both of them really became personal staff officers and I
would say quite seriously that their contribution to the successful
battles fought by my corps was out of all proportion to their
rank and age.

I was now told that Herbert Lumsden was going back to the
United Kingdom and I was to take over command of 10 Corps,
then in reserve at Termimi some fifty miles west of Tobruk.
Though my new command was admittedly in reserve it was at
least several hundred miles closer to the battle and I was getting
very bored with being out of it all.

My headquarters was eventually established outside the town of
Benghazi on the embankment looking down on the airfield which
had been so successfully raided by Major Stirling and two N.C.O.s
of the S.A.S. I could also see the famous Benghazi-Barce narrow-
gauge railway. This short strip of the line was most useful for
moving stores, and was therefore highly prized by the administrative
staff. So, when we had been forced to withdraw from Benghazi in
face of Rommel's initial offensive, the officer in charge of the
railway had removed a vital part of the one available diesel engine
and thrown it into the sea. But the plan miscarried. As soon as the
British had departed a wily Arab who had watched the whole
proceedings dived into the water and retrieved the vital part, which

143

he then sold to the Germans. The story, however, does not end here.
When the time came for the Germans in their turn to beat a hasty
retreat from Benghazi the same Arab was watching again. Sure
enough a German officer this time threw the same vital part into
the sea. It was once more retrieved and proudly sold to us at an
increased price when we reoccupied the town later on. Had
Benghazi continued to change hands in this mobile war a most
deserving Arab would unquestionably have died a rich man.

We heard of great goings on in Tripoli. The arrival of the
Prime Minister and the CLG.S. (General Sir Alan Brooke now
Viscount Alanbrooke), victory parades and a magnificent address
which Mr. Churchill gave to 30 Corps in which he said:

'* In days to come, when asked by those at home what part
you played in the war, it will be with pride in your hearts that
you can reply * I marched with the 8th Army

My first visit to Tripoli came on isth February when Monty
laid on a series of lectures, demonstrations and discussions so that
the successful battle technique developed by the 8th Army, and
particularly our system for joint Army/R.A.F. control, could be
passed on to everyone. This was a great get-together for all of us,
but my chief memory is of meeting for the first time that remarkable
character, General George Patton of the U.S. Army. I found
myself walking back to our hotel with Patton after Monty's initial
address on " How to make war," so I asked him that he thought of
it. He replied in a southern drawl, with a twinkle in his eye: " I
may be old, I may be slow, I may be stoopid, but it just doan mean a
thing to me ! "

It was soon quite obvious that he was neither slow nor stupid.
One of the remarkable things about him was the way in which,
seemingly at will, he could put on two entirely different acts.
Ether the fine old southern gentleman and cavalry officer with his
polo ponies, or the real tough guy with a steel helmet and two
revolvers stuck in his belt. He was unquestionably a very strong
personality and had terrific drive. His pet phrase, however sticky
the battle might be, was " Keep 'em rollin' forward."

144

Montgomery and his three Corps Commanders before the battle of Alamein,
October 1942. Left to right: Leese (30 Corps], Lumsden (10 Corps], Montgomery,
Horrocks(i$ Corps)

Explaining the plan for the battle ofAlam Haifa to officers and men at 13 Corps
H.Q., August 1942

The end of the left hook during the battle of Mare th;
my. command tank entering El Hamma, March 1943

After being wounded at Bizerta, North Africa

It was during this conference that we heard the news of the
American reverse in the Kasserine Pass battle in North Africa.
This we knew could have a big effect on us, because the closer we
came together the more the operations of the ist Army west of
Tunis and the 8th Army west of Tripoli must merge into one
campaign.

It was in Tripoli that I witnessed an example of the affection in
which the 8th Army now held their commander. We were all
seated in the Opera House for an entertainment given by a very
high-level concert party headed, I believe, by Leslie Henson.
Everyone had been looking forward to this immensely because
visits from concert parties, let alone one of this calibre, had been
rare events up to now. When Monty entered his box in the dress
circle the audience of all ranks turned their backs on the stage and
cheered for several minutes. When the performance was over the
same thing happened again, only this time they chanted " We want
Monty." The British soldier is not as a rule very demonstrative and
his attitude to brass, unless it happens to be his own particular bit of
brass whom he knows well, is normally far from complimentary.
So this spontaneous outburst from a British audience was all the
more remarkable.

The basis of all good generalship is the relationship built up
between a commander and his troops. Napoleon's greatest and, as it
turned out, almost his only asset on his return from Elba was the
devotion of his army. His physical condition might have deterior-
ated, his military genius might have waned, but so long as his
soldiers were prepared to die for him the French Army was still a
formidable fighting machine.

And here in the 8th Army was the same outward and visible
sign of the greatest batde-winning factor of all a spirit of complete
trust, confidence and affection within a formation. This sort of happy
family atmosphere is common enough in divisions which have lived,
trained and grown up together, but it is comparatively rare in higher
formations. I know of only two in our army where it existed
strongly during the last war Montgomery's 8th Army and Slim's
I4th Army. And it is significant that both men took over their

145

commands at a time when things were going badly and morale
was low.

Monty had the harder passage of the two to start with. As we
know, the old desert sweats did not welcome him with open arms
far from it. Yet only a few months later, here in Tripoli was this
remarkable demonstration of personal affection.

How had it been done ? Cynics will say that Montgomery was
successful, and that soldiers will always follow a general who wins
battles. Wellington's troops never loved him, yet they would have
followed him anywhere. I would say that there were four main
qualities of leadership which bound the 8th Army to Monty.

Pirsl^When all was confusion he had the supreme gift of reduc-
ing the most complex situation to simplicity. More than any other
man I have ever met he was able to sit back and think with the result
that he was never deluded by " the trees."

Second He took infinite pains to explain to every man in the
Army exactly what was required of him.

Third He was very tough mentally, both towards the enemy
and, perhaps more important still, towards the political direction
from the United Kingdom. No amount of urging would ever
induce him to launch his army into battle before it was ready.

Finally He was obviously a complete master of his craft, the
craft of war.

14.6

CHAPTER XI

THE BATTLE OF MARETH

ROMMEL, WORKING on interior lines, was now like a boxer fighting
desperately to prevent the inevitable knock-out. Having landed a
hefty punch with his right on the American jaw at Kasserine, he
turned to deliver a sharp left hook against the 8th Army at Medenine
but he was too late. Monty was balanced and waiting for him.
After ineffectual efforts to pierce our positions the Germans with-
drew with the loss of fifty-one tanks which they could ill afford.
This was a model defensive battle second only to Alam Haifa.
The defensive position had been so well chosen that the Germans
defeated themselves. I took very little part in the battle as 10 Corps
was still behind, but I came forward with a small headquarters to
organise the defence of the main administrative area at Ben Gardane,
just in case the Germans tried a wide encircling movement against
our rear. Nothing of the sort developed and we had to be content
with listening to the battle on the wireless and hearing the rumble
of guns in the distance.

On reading through what I have written since Alamein it sounds
as though I was a very bellicose person, but this is not so. Nobody,
if he is honest, likes fighting, and the closer to the front you are, the
less you like it. All the same, if there is fighting to be done it is
unpleasant to be left out. This doesn't apply just to generals, who
are comparatively safe compared with the front-line troops, but to
all ranks as well. On many occasions N.C.O.s and men who had
recovered from their wounds and had been sent to some reinforce-
ment unit in the Delta escaped and thumbed lifts for over a thousand
miles in order to rejoin their units at the front.

Medenine was Rommel's last battle against the 8th Army a few
days later he flew back to Germany.

147

In spite of the failure to disrupt our forward movement the
Axis Powers decided to make a determined stand on the Mareth
line, which had originally been constructed by the French to protect
Tunisia against attack by the Italians from Libya. The main defences
stretched for twenty-two miles from the sea to the Matmata Hills.
At the eastern end by the sea, the Wadi Zigzaou had been widened
and deepened to form a tank obstacle, and was covered along its
whole length by a complicated system of concrete and steel pill-
boxes protected by wire obstacles and deep mine-fields.

The soft sand and the broken ground of the Matmata Hills made
it impossible to get round the flank of this formidable position,
except by a very wide detour of some 150 miles round the left flank
towards the Wadi Merteba, a valley with steep hills on either side
leading towards El Hamma. The designers of the position decided
that such an outflanking movement was virtually impossible because
the going was so bad, but all the same they had constructed a switch-
line defensive position to block the valley leading to El Hamma.
The coastal strip was held mainly by the Italians with poth Light
Division and i64th in the vicinity and I5th Panzer Division in
reserve.

Monty's plan was for 30 Corps to attack the Wadi Zigzaou with
50th Division and 23rd Armoured Brigade, while the New Zealand
Division plus the 8th Armoured Brigade, General Leclerc's Free
French and several additional gunner regiments, which made it
virtually a corps, was dispatched round the left flank to burst through
the switch line, called " Plum," and outflank the Mareth position via
El Hamma. 10 Corps, with 1st and yth Armoured Division under
command, was in reserve ready to exploit success towards Gabes.

On the evening of 2Oth March Monty invited us to dinner at his
tactical H.Q. to show us the film Desert Victory which he had just
received. As we sat in a wadi watching the performance, all around
us were the guns firing the opening salvoes for the battle of Mareth.
It was an odd sensation watching two battles at the same time.

At 2230 hours, supported by a terrific artillery bombardment,
the attack went in, and after some hard fighting the 50th Division

148

secured all Its objectives. But during the next two days little
progress was made. The main source of trouble was the infernal
wadi, which made it very difficult to get tanks or anti-tank guns
forward to the infantry bridgehead on the far side. It became a
death-trap, still remembered with horror in many households in
the north of England, whence the bulk of 50th Division came.

On 22nd March heavy rain added to their difficulties, and when
1 5th Panzer Division counter-attacked, the Geordies and Yorkshire-
men were forced to withdraw by sheer weight of tanks. In spite of
the utmost bravery, the main thrust in the coastal plain had failed
and die crisis in the battle had now arrived.

At 0800 hours next morning I was summoned to a conference
at 8th Army H.Q. where Monty explained a complete change of
plan. The isth Panzer Division and poth Light Division were now
firmly committed to the coastal plain. 30 Corps was to break off its
attack, but do its best to keep these two German divisions tied down
on their front.

The main effort was now to be made round the left flank. I was
to go round with my corps H.Q. and the ist Armoured Division
and take command of the New Zealand Division which was then
preparing to carry out a final assault on the " Plum " position.
We were then to smash through to El Hamma. It looked as though
the Italians who were holding this switch-line had been reinforced
by the i64th German Division plus 2ist Panzer Division, but we
were promised the full weight of the Desert Air Force behind us in
our assault.

Monty made it quite clear that this was the turning-point in the
North African campaign and whatever happened we simply had to
break through to El Hamma.

I was delighted. This was an operation after my own heart.
As we left the conference Oliver Leese turned to me with a smile
and said, " Off you go, Jorrocks, and win the battle " a very
generous gesture from a commander whose attack had failed.
Freddy de Guingand took me on one side and said, " It's all right
you going off like a dog with six tails, but I am a little worried
about your reception. The New Zealand corps has done all the

150

hard fighting, now you are going to arrive at the last moment,
take over the whole show and carry out a spectacular victory.
I cannot see you receiving a very warm welcome, and we don't
want the attack messed up by friction."

He was right; General Freyberg, the New Zealand commander,
would have every right to feel aggrieved. After all, he was a world-
famous figure and a most courageous general who had forgotten
more about soldiering than I was ever likely to know. So I suggested
to Freddy, that contrary to the principles of war, it might be better
to address all messages and orders to us both, and I felt certain we
could work out the battle together on those lines. From then on
Freddy, with his usual tact, called us Hindenburg and Ludendorf.

I set off with my small tactical headquarters on the long 150-miles
drive past Foum Tatahouine a desolate spot reputed to be the
worst French peace-time garrison, where troops were only sent as a
punishment then through the mountains via Wilder's Gap. My
desert-worthy car got through all right, but it was obvious that
some of the vehicles belonging to the ist Armoured Division were
going to have a difficult journey, and time was all-important.
As a matter of fact, their last vehicles arrived only thirty minutes
before the attack was launched. Speed was so essential that we
arranged for the ammunition lorries in many cases to drive right up
to the gun positions instead of dumping their shells at the wagon
lines which were farther back. It was a risky proceeding because the
gun positions were overlooked by the enemy in the hills on both
sides of the valley and the lorries were liable to be shelled in the
forward areas. I was much amused at the R.A.S.C. drivers who,
quite undeterred at finding themselves in this exposed position,
leant out of their lorries as they drove past the wagon lines and called
out to the gunners, " Come on, you base wallahs." These R.A.S.C.
drivers were a remarkable body of men and their contribution to
the final victory was considerable. Many of them had been long-
distance lorry drivers before the war and seemingly they could go
on for ever without sleep. As one of them said to me, " As long as
I have a wheel in my hand I am all right."

On arrival I met the frigid atmosphere which Freddy had

anticipated, but I explained that there was no question of my being
sent round to run the New Zealand attack; the main reason was
that the number of troops now involved in this left hook was more
than one divisional headquarters could handle. It was my corps
H.Q. rather than me that was required there.

Freyberg was much too good a soldier to allow personal feelings
to interfere with his handling of the battle, and whatever he may
have felt inwardly at the arrival of a comparatively unknown,
skinny corps commander, he co-operated most nobly. After con-
sulting Monty, we decided on a blitz attack straight up the valley.
The New Zealand division and 8th Armoured Brigade supported
by every gun we had were to attack at 1600 hours with the sun
behind them, a most important factor in desert fighting : up to the
present the Germans had always had this advantage, but now it was
our turn. The air support was on a scale never attempted before by
either side during the war. The continuous low-flying attacks
organised by Harry Broadhurst, the new commander of the Desert
Air Force, were to form the pattern of army/air co-operation for
future battles in Europe.

The ist Armoured Division was to follow behind and pass
through the New Zealanders when the crust had been broken. It
would continue to advance until dusk, then halt and wait for the
moon to rise before continuing the advance right through the night.
The whole point of this night advance was that the valley was
ambushed by the hills on either side which would prove a death-trap
in daylight. I remember Freyberg turning to me and saying, " If we
punch the hole will the tanks really go through ? " (shades of
Alamein!) I said: "Yes, they will, and I am going with them
myself."

The battle went like clockwork. My chief memories are of our
fighters and bombers screaming in at zero feet, the first time that
this had been attempted in the desert.

Then the tanks of the 8th Armoured Brigade, Staffordshire and
Sherwood Rangers Yeomanry, commanded by Roscoe Harvey,
advanced up the valley in open order. They thought they were
being launched on a second Balaclava, but there was no hesitation.

152

The New Zealanders emerged from their trenches where they
had been lying up all day and swarmed forward. What magnificent
troops they were.

Finally the really awesome sight of a whole armoured division
moving steadily forward. It impressed me, so what must it have
looked like to the German defenders? Tanks and still more tanks
moving continuously towards them. This was the sort of attack
which the Germans themselves always tried to carry out, the real
" schwer-punkt" everything concentrated in great depth on a com-
paratively narrow front. There was some very hard fighting, partic-
ularly by the Maoris on Hill 209, which was too steep for the tanks,
but nothing could withstand this punch air, artillery, tanks, infantry
in fact everything we had got.

It was the most exciting and worrying night of my life. As my
small tactical H.Q., consisting of three tanks, took up its position in
the armoured mass, I realised very well that if this attack went wrong,
there was no doubt as to whose head would be on the block. I could
hear the arm-chair strategists in their clubs in London saying
" Heavens ! The man must be mad. Fancy trying to pass one
armoured division through an enemy armoured division. And in
the dark too." Because that was what we were trying to do.

And, of course, in the cold light of day, viewed from England,
they would be quite right; but in reality it wasn't quite so mad as it
seemed. The Germans as a rule do not react very quickly to some-*
thing new, and in this attack two new techniques were being tried
out. Never before had they been subjected to such devastating low-
level air attacks and they were shaken, or so it seemed. Because the
8th Armoured Brigade, leading the New Zealand assault with their
Balaclava charge, had not suffered such heavy casualties as might
have been expected. Then on top of this was the unusual employ-
ment of armour by night.

All round was the rumbling of tanks, vague shapes looming out
of the dusk. I started very bravely with the upper part of my body
sticking out of the turret of my tank, but as the advance went on I
got lower and lower until only the top of my head was visible.
There was too much stuff flying about for comfort, though most of

153

the enemy fire was going over our heads into the area which we had
just vacated.

Then suddenly it was dark, and we halted. This was the most
trying time of all: we couldn't even risk that 8th Army panacea for
all ills, a brew up. We just had to sit, deep in the enemy positions,
and wait. I got down into the tank to see how my crew, the
gunner-operator and driver were feeling. They were cheerful and
completely unimpressed by the fact that they were taking part in a
unique military operation: they might in fact have been driving up
the long valley at Aldershot. In moments of crisis the phlegm of the
British soldier is very reassuring.

This long halt seemed to go on for ever: then a pale dusty moon
began to make its appearance. And at last, thank goodness, we were
off again. It was just possible to make out the dim shape of the tanks
in front and on either side and there was a great deal of ill-aimed
firing all round. At times the tanks were crunching over occupied
enemy trenches, and we could see terrified parties of Germans and
Italians running about with their hands up. But we hadn't time to
bother about prisoners.

Our progress was desperately slow. That was my chief worry.
If we didn't succeed in getting through in the dark, the situation in
the morning didn't bear thinking about. We should be surrounded
by the enemy and dominated by the hills on either side of the valley.

The reason for the continuous halts soon became clear: the
valley was intersected by wadis, many of which were tank obstacles
and it was not easy for the leading regiment to find crossing places.
Sometimes this necessitated getting on to a one-tank front. But we
steadily rumbled on and this difficult night advance was brilliantly
carried out by the ist Armoured Division. As the night wore on
the noise of the firing came more and more from the rear, and
suddenly I realised that we were through the impossible manoeuvre
had come off. It was an unforgettable moment.

The Germans, consisting of the remnants of the 2ist Panzer and
i64th Division, were now in our rear, sandwiched between us and
the New Zealand division, and we were faced with a hastily-manned,
last-ditch position round El Hamma itself.

154

It was an incredible situation. The New Zealanders were still
fighting hard clearing up pockets of resistance; while the 2ist
Panzer Division was attacking our tail. This had been foreseen and
the rear of the ist Armoured Division was protected by a strong
anti-tank screen, including some of our new ly-pounder anti-
tank guns. I went back to watch them come into action for
the first time, and very effective they were the answer to the
German 88.

The Germans opposite the Wadi Zigzaou, the sector occupied
by 30 Corps were now in danger of being cut off, but once more
the weather intervened to save them. Our attacks on El Hamma
were delayed by dust storms and the enemy managed to escape up
the coastal road.

Monty said afterwards that this was the toughest fight since
Alamein. i5th and 2ist Panzer Divisions suffered a tremendous
hammering from which" they never really recovered. i64th Division
lost most of its heavy weapons and vehicles. At least three Italian
divisions lost so heavily that they ceased to be of any fighting value.
The total bag of prisoners amounted to 7,000, of whom 2,500 were
Germans, almost all captured at El Hamma.

On 29th March, 1943, when the battle was practically over, a car
drove up to my headquarters in the desert near El Hamma and out
stepped a square, squat figure in unfamiliar uniform. There was,
however, a sort of familiar Slav look about him which took me
back over twenty years to niy days in Siberia and Russia after the
First World War. Russians are as a rule unmistakable, for they all
seem to have come off the same assembly line with their low
chassis, tough, square bodies, short legs and expressionless faces.

He was, as I expected, a Russian general who was paying a
courtesy visit to our 8th Army. Even so there was something
curiously menacing about him with his stubby revolver strapped to
his belt. But I was glad to see him as I wanted to get a first-hand
account of their colossal victory at Stalingrad where the 6th German
Army, some 300,000 strong, had been written off. I was also feeling
very pleased with myself, and eager to describe my recent victory
to this visitor from another theatre of war. I thought even a Russian

155

would have teen Impressed by the remarkable feat carried out by
our tanks in passing right through a German armoured division
at right.

Not a bit of it. He showed not the slightest interest and in fact
gave me the impression that, as far as he was concerned, our opera-
tions were chicken feed* He seemed far more impressed by the fact
that I spoke Russian for he immediately broke into a long, detailed
account of warfare on the eastern front. Unfortunately my know-
ledge of the language was so rusty that I was able to take in only the
gist of what he was saying, but he nevertheless whetted my interest
to such an extent that since then I have taken every opportunity of
studying that fearsome Russo-German theatre of war.

The main thing which has always struck me is that there were in
fact two wars, ours and the Russians, which might have been taking
place on different planets for all the resemblance there was between
them.

We reckoned in the 8th Army that for quite long periods in the
desert we led a fairly spartan existence, particularly during the
blistering heat of midsummer. We were operating at the end of
long lines of communication, and battle requirements such as
ammunition, petrol, medical and R.E. stores had to be given first
priority, so luxuries were, quite rightly, restricted to the minimum.
One pint of water for all purposes was far from lavish. As a result
I did not have a bath for three months, and one of my staff officers
had not had one for six a fact which became painfully obvious
towards the end of that period.

As something had gone wrong with the refrigerating plant at
the base there was no fresh meat and I have depressing memories of
continuous, hot, bully-beef, which is never at its best when melted;
biscuits, stews, and those horrible " V " cigarettes of dreadful
memory. Lucidly for us the desert was a clean place in which to
fight, so these privations had no effect at all on our health, which
with the exception of periodical epidemics of jaundice was excellent.
They were, in fact, minor irritations, that was all, and, compared
with the conditions which prevailed in the east, particularly during
the German withdrawal from Moscow in December and January,

156

1 * an d above all in Stalingrad, we were living in the lap of
luxury.

Nowhere in the west, not even when the ist British Airborne
Division was almost surrounded at Arnhem, was there such appalling
suffering as during those ten weeks of bitter, winter weather between
2Oth November, 1942, and 2nd February, 1943, when the 6th
German Army was cut off by the Russians at Stalingrad. Rations
were reduced to one slice of black bread per day and one tin of
vegetables between sixteen men. The only meat that was available
came from the dead horses which lay frozen stiff in the snow.
Soon even these were so scarce that starving German soldiers were
blown up in mine-fields trying to crawl through and get to one of
the remaining carcases. Medical supplies ran out and, as everyone
was lousy, typhus spread rapidly.

CHAPTER XII

END IN AFRICA

THE NEXT obvious place where the enemy might try to hold us up
in the advance from El Alamein was in the twelve-miles wide
Gabes Gap, a natural defensive position consisting of the Wadi
Akarit dominated by some steep-sided hills. If this was held in
strength we would be faced with another full-scale battle.

On 30th March I was driving round the front in my armoured
car, while 10 Corps probed the enemy position, when a wireless
message came through instructing me to report immediately to
8th Army headquarters. On arrival I was shown into the map lorry
where were seated Montgomery and Eisenhower. As this was the
first time I had seen our new C.-in-C. I was very interested.

Monty introduced me, then said: "Jorrocks, I want you to
explain the situation on your corps front to General Eisenhower/'
Monty knew the situation as well as if not better than I did, so I
presumed that this was part of an act designed to show the new,
inexperienced commander from the U.S.A. how the veteran 8th
Army worked " Corps commander reports latest situation," etc.,
etc. So, harking back to the old days, I delivered what I hoped was a
short, snappy, military appreciation in the approved Staff College
manner, ending with the conclusion: " The Wadi Akarit position
is too strongly held to be bounced and we shall have to stage a proper
set-piece attack before we can break through."

"While delivering this military peroration I was surreptitiously
studying General Eisenhower, the completely unknown American
general who had recently been appointed to command us all.
Why had he been selected, I wondered ? Was he a military genius ?
Obviously not but he certainly had something.

The contrast between these two men could hardly have been

158

greater. Monty, the commander, the complete master of the art
of war: the man who made it his business to win battles; small,
alert, tense, rather like an intelligent terrier who might bite at any
moment. Eisenhower, a large, friendly, shrewd person with a
broad grin, who was a co-ordinator rather than commander.

By the time I left the lorry I had already partially succumbed to
the Eisenhower charm. His most endearing quality was his complete
selflessness. It was obvious even then that he was concerned with
only one thing to win the war and that the last person to count
with him was General Eisenhower.

He was not a military genius he never pretended to be. Nor
had he, at that time, had any practical experience in command, but
he was prepared to let the experts like Monty get on with the battle
while he welded the different nationalities into a workable team.

To my mind they were perfectly placed. At the top the co-
ordinator; in the field the commander. Neither would have been a
complete success in the other's job. In fact I doubt whether anyone
but Ike could have succeeded in driving his difficult team of Monty,
Patton and Bradley to final victory. Men don't rise to command
great armies in war unless they are strong men who do not lightly
brook interference with their plans, and these three were no
exception.

There was a delightful story going round the 8th Army. Monty,
having changed the original plan for the invasion of Sicily, was
summoned to Algiers for a conference. On arrival at the airfield he
said to Bedell Smith, Eisenhower's chief of staff, who had come to
meet him, " I expect I am a bit unpopular up here ! " Bedell Smith
replied: " General, to serve under you would be a great privilege
for anyone: to serve alongside you wouldn't be too bad. But say,
General, to serve over you is hell ! "

Whether there was any truth in this I cannot say. But I have
yet to meet the really successful commander who wasn't hell to
serve over.

On 6th and yth April, 30 Corps launched a full-scale attack on
the Wadi Akarit position, and after some hard fighting, particularly
by the 5ist Highland and 4th Indian Divisions, they smashed their

159

way through. It was now the turn of my mobile 10 Corps to burst
out of the bottleneck and sweep forward over the fertile coastal
plain of Tunisia towards Tunis.

The hills across the Gabes Gap were like a gateway opening on
to an enchanted garden. In front of us was an open plain with small,
white villages, olive groves and cultivation. It seemed all wrong
that war should descend on this pleasant land. Up to now, with the
exception of Tripoli, most of the fighting had taken place in the
arid desert, populated by a few scraggy Bedouin, who appeared
from nowhere to stand beside some desert track offering for barter
the smallest hen's eggs I have ever seen in my life. Otherwise there
was no one, and we soldiers could wage our beastly war without
interfering with anyone.

From now on it would be different; we were entering a country
inhabited by French colonists. Sfax and Sousse were pleasant little
seaside towns, and as each was liberated the authorities staged a
suitable and very French welcome. At Sousse I found myself stand-
ing immediately behind Monty while the French mayor read a long
speech of welcome. Around us were crowds of inhabitants, flags,
guards of honour, in fact, all the trappings of a liberation ceremony.

After the speeches, as was usual on these occasions, a very
charming young French girl moved on to the stage and presented
Monty with a beribboned bouquet. So far all had gone according
to plan. But suddenly, as Monty shook her by the hand and said,
" Thank you, mademoiselle," we all heard a shrill girlish voice
saying, " Plees kees me."

This certainly was far from normal procedure. I glanced out of
the corner of my eye at my commander, wondering how he would
react. I need not have worried. After a brief pause Monty bent
down most gallantly and kissed her on the cheek. "We heard after-
wards that the young lady refused to allow her fiance to kiss her for
twenty-four hours, and wouldn't even wash her face as she did not
wish to remove the touch of ** Le Liberateur"

I had my suspicions that this charming ceremony was not
entirely unpremeditated, and, sure enough, we discovered that
Monty's A.D.C., John Poston, who was killed almost at the end of

1 60

The futility of war: Caen in August 1944

The King meeting regimental commanders of the $2nd U.S. Airborne Div. at
30 Corps H.Q., September 1944. Left to right: the author, H.M. the King,
the divisional commander General Jim Gavin, the regimental commanders

Normandy 1944. With Brigadier George Webb and Harold Young, my A.D.C.
Commanding 30 Corps during the Rhine crossing, March 1945

the war, had organised thewhole incident, and had spent the previous
afternoon happily rehearsing the young lady.

It was during our advance towards Sousse that we made our
first physical contact with the U.S. forces, who were operating
alongside ist British Army in North Africa. An excited British
voice came up on the air from one of the I2th Lancers armoured
car patrols :

" We have made contact with friends on our left! "

The voice of a suspicious senior officer was then heard to say:
" What do you mean, friends. What friends? "

" Friends to whom Smokey went," came the answer.

Smokey referred to a I2th Lancer officer called Smokey Douglas
who had been flown over to act as liaison officer with American
forces under General Patton with whom we were likely to make
first contact, as the two armies were converging rapidly. Then
came a fresh voice, and there was no doubt to what nationality it
belonged:

" Sure, we're Smokey's friends."

So the big link-up had taken place, and the remainder of the
Axis forces were now encircled in the north-west corner of Africa.
A few days later I drove over in my armoured car keeping my
fingers crossed in case we should hit a mine, as this particular road
had not been cleared to contact our ist Army, which had occupied
the old, historic town of Kairouan, and here I met Charles Keightley,
the commander of the 6th British Armoured Division (afterwards
General Sir Charles Keightley who commanded the forces at Suez).

Here was the perfect example of the value of British Staff College
training. Charles Keightley and I had been instructors there together;
we were great friends and understood exactly how each other's
mind worked. There was no likelihood, therefore, of any mis-
understanding between our two formations, and from then on I
had no anxiety about my flank.

It must have looked to the world outside that all we had to do
now was to move in for the kill. But it wasn't as simple as that.

The German and Italian forces were holding very strong defen-
sive positions and if they intended to stay put and fight it out, then

161

this, the last hurdle, might prove the most difficult of the whole
African campaign certainly as far as 8th Army was concerned.

On i6th April orders were issued by i8th Army Group for the
final offensive to take place. All the Allied forces in turn, British,
French, and Americans in the ist Army and our own 8th Army
were to attack in a wide arc all round the imprisoned Axis troops.
Practically every available formation was to be committed. It was
rather like the closing stages of the battle of Waterloo, when
Wellington gave the order " The whole line will advance."

The 8th Army was to go in first, so on the night of the i9/20th
10 Corps launched a full-scale attack on the Enfidaville-Takrouna
position. After some hard fighting we captured both these places
and made a little progress beyond, but were then held up by one
of the strongest defensive positions I have ever seen. The coastal
plain narrowed into a funnel, overlooked by a series of almost
vertical hills: these were wired, mined and held by the enemy.
It was a horrible place to attack.

It was the New Zealanders who captured Takrouna. This 2nd
New Zealand Division commanded by General Freyberg was
unquestionably the most experienced and formidable fighting
machine in the 8th Army. No man was even considered for a
commission unless he had been in at least six actions, and a high
proportion of the men had been wounded two or three times.
They were equally at home in left hooks, day or night attacks: in
fact in every type of battle which a division might be called upon to
undertake. Yet even for them Takrouna was a truly formidable
objective.

It consisted of steep slopes, half-covered by boulders surmounted
by a high rock pinnacle with a flat top on which were stone buildings
and an Arab tomb, occupied in strength by the enemy. The sides of
the pinnacle were almost sheer.

A platoon of Maoris was given the final task of capturing
Takrouna, but by the time it reached die foot of the pinnacle only
two sergeants and seven other ranks were left. Somehow or other
these few men scrambled up one at a time led by a most gallant
sergeant called Manahi, and captured the whole feature. The enemy

162

casualties were 150 prisoners and forty to fifty killed, all by this
handful of men.

A few days later I visited Takrouna myself and it was all I could
do physically to get to the top. How the Maoris did it wearing full
equipment and in face of tough enemy opposition, I simply do not
know. Incidentally, while I was on the top there was a sudden roar
over my head and the New Zealand divisional artillery brought
down a beautifully tight concentration within 200 yards of where
we were sitting. Their head gunner, Steve Weir, told me afterwards
with a grin that there certainly had been a call for defensive fire, but
he had turned the whole lot on just to show the corps commander
what the N.Z. gunners could do.

I have mentioned this fight in some detail because in my opinion
it was the most gallant feat of arms I witnessed in the course of the
war, and I was bitterly disappointed when Sergeant Manahi, whom
we had recommended for a V.C., only received a D.C.M.

We were now ordered to sit tight while the main effort was
made on the ist Army front. Monty showed me the plan for these
operations and asked me what I thought. I was not very hopeful.
Too many units were attacking on too wide a front and there didn't
seem to be sufficient strength to break through anywhere.

" I quite agree," said Monty. " I want you now to work out a
plan to break through to Tunis by a strong attack up the coastal
plain/' Next day he flew back to Cairo to discuss plans for the
invasion of Sicily.

The next few days were among the most unpleasant of my life.
Under me were two very able and experienced divisional com-
manders, Freyberg and Tuker, who commanded the New Zealand
and 4th, Indian Divisions respectively, and they both hated the idea
of the forthcoming attack up the coastal funnel. A division in war
soon becomes very much like a family, and this was particularly so
with the New Zealanders and the Indians. The father of the family
is the divisional commander. He is, of course, devoted to his men,
and they develop confidence in his judgment. They trust him and
if he orders a particular operation, come what may they will try to
carry it out*

163

Both Freyberg and Tuker knew that this attack would result in
very high casualties. I was, therefore, a far from popular figure
when I arrived to discuss the plan and give orders. Unfortunately
for me, in my heart of hearts I sympathised with them. That has
always been one of my great weaknesses as a commander. I have
too much imagination and can see too much of the other man's
point of view.

There was no doubt that we could break through, if we had to,
but at a heavy cost. I also hated the idea of blunting the cutting
edge of what we honestly believed to be Britain's best army.
We had come 1,800 miles and fought many hard battles, and by
now the whole show worked like a piece of well-oiled machinery.
As I went round in my armoured car studying the country in front
of me I could see no other way out than a direct attack, and our
losses were bound to be heavy. But on no account must I show
anyone what I felt, and this proved a tremendous strain.

I think by now everyone was feeling edgy. Divisional com-
manders were irritable, rows would break out between staff officers
who normally worked together in the greatest harmony. There was
an end-of-battle feeling so near and yet so far. It was simply
maddening.

Monty returned from Cairo on the evening of the 26th in a
very irritable frame of mind. He didn't like the existing plan for
the invasion of Sicily and here was 10 Corps apparently stuck at the
last ditch. As a matter of fact he was far from weU and retired to
bed next day with a high temperature. I was accused of belly-
aching, a favourite Monty expression when a subordinate disagreed
with him, and was told to get on with the battle as ordered. As a
parting shot, before leaving his caravan, I said, " Of course we can
break through, but there won't be much left of your fine 8th Army
when we have done it. Why can't we make an attack on 1st Army
front where the country is more suitable for a break through than
it is here ? " Monty merely grunted and but I went.

So for the next three days I continued to drive, encourage and
cajole my most unwilling team into this thoroughly unpleasant
operation. Then miraculously everything changed,

164

On 30th April I was once again ordered by wireless to report
forthwith to 8th Army headquarters. Sitting on the grass outside
Monty's caravan was Admiral Ramsay, an old friend from the days
when he had been flag officer Dover. He winked at me and said,
" You are in for a bit of fun, my boy ! " Inside the caravan were
Generals Alexander and Montgomery standing in front of a map.
Monty turned to me and said: " The whole weight of the final
attack is being shifted from here round to the ist Army front,
from where the final coup de grace will be administered. You will
go off to-day, taking with you the 4th Indian Division, yth
Armoured Division, and 2oist Guards Brigade, and you will assume
command of the 9 Corps in General Anderson's army. You will
then smash through to Tunis and finish the war in North Africa."

When I inquired what had happened to Crocker, the commander
of 9 Corps, I was told that he had been wounded during a demonstra-
tion and would be out of action for a few weeks.

My heart leapt. This was the real art of generalship a quick
switch, then a knock-out blow. How much better than battering
our heads against the strong Enfidaville position. And what luck
for me that I should be selected for the job. Then my better nature
asserted itself and I began to feel very sorry for poor John Crocker
who, after bearing the brunt of all the fighting in North Africa,
was to be deprived of the final fruits of victory.

At 3.15 I was off, taking with me a small staff, and by that
evening I had entered a new world, because the 1st and 8th Armies
were as different as chalk from cheese. It is astonishing how each
army in battle develops its own personality. These two most
certainly had. They looked different and felt different.

There was no doubt that the 8th Army was by this time a very
efficient force, but it was the scruffiest-looking army you could
imagine. The vehicles were battered and old, and round them hung
a collection of old tin cans each of which had an important role to
play in the by now famous desert brew*

Few people, certainly among the officers, wore uniform, and
when they did it was patched and holed. The Americans when, we
first joined up, poured over, complete in full uniform and equip-

166

ment and wearing their steel helmets, to have a look at the famous,
victorious 8th Army. And what did they find? A curious sort of
gypsy encampment ! Montgomery Hke his distinguished predecessor
Wellington paid little attention to dress. As Gratton who served
in the 88th during the Peninsular War wrote:

" Provided we brought our men into the field well appointed
with their sixty rounds of ammunition each he (Wellington)
never looked to sec whether trousers were black, blue or grey;
and as to ourselves we might be rigged out in any colour of
the rainbow if we fancied it."

These words might well have been written about the 8th Army
in the desert. It is a curious fact that two of Britain's most
successful armies, Wellington's and Montgomery's were also two
of the scruffiest which ever went to war.

The ist Army looked much more like an army. Their vehicles
were fairly new and painted green, not yellow like ours. Head-
quarters were camouflaged, everyone wore uniform. In fact this
was the army with which I had trained in the U.K. up to nine
months before.

Coming from the 8th Army I didn't expect to be exactly
welcomed with open arms because, as I knew only too well, there
was no love lost between the two. But I was getting used to this
sort of situation by now.

I have no doubt that many people will be surprised to read so
often of dislikes, jealousies and personal animosities, but just because
people go to war they don't change their natures. In fact the
unpleasant traits in people's characters tend to be emphasised.
Everyone is living under considerable strain for most of the time.
On the battlefield the niceties of peace-time civilised behaviour
disappear, and the naked emotions, fear, hatred and jealousy are apt
to emerge. Bitter animosities flare up suddenly; in the 1914 war
the gunners and infantry were constantly at loggerheads, in the
desert it was the infantry and tanks who did not get on.

A regiment may imagine that the one next to it, by failing to
capture some objective, has uncovered a flank, and as a result a

167

bitter hostility grows up between them which may last for years.
These are the sort of things which happen in war and it is no good
pretending they don't.

In this case I could quite understand why the ist Army so
disliked us. They had experienced some hard fighting in that
difficult North African mountainous country and had come through
a gruelling test with great credit. If you have any doubt about that,
read the account of the battle of Tebourba, when the 2nd Battalion
the Hampshire Regiment held out for four days though attacked by
German forces which outnumbered them by four to one, supported
by modern tanks and with complete air superiority.

Yet the ist Army had no spectacular gains to show for all their
hard fighting, and the papers were full of the victorious drive of the
8th. We had captured the headlines, and by this time were in-
sufferably conceited. When I met a senior ist Army general a few
weeks before, he greeted me by saying sarcastically, " You must be
having a wonderful time rounding up the Italians in the desert."

So bitter was this feeling that later on, when y8th Division, the
famous ist Army " Battle Axe " division, came under Montgomery's
orders during the invasion of Sicily, they bore proudly on their
vehicles the words, " We have no connection with the 8th Array."

These things have to be faced, and on arrival at 9 Corps head-
quarters I assembled as many people as I could and explained that I
had not come there as a superior being from a superior army to
teach them anything at all. I knew very well the difficulties they
had been through. I couldn't help the fact that I came from the
8th Army, and I probably wasn't as bad as they thought. Anyhow,
here I was and they had better make the best of me. This cleared
the atmosphere considerably, because everyone laughed.

I had been warned that General Anderson, the ist Army
commander, was a dour Scot and a difficult man to serve, but as far
as I was concerned no one could have been nicer. He was quite
clear about what I was to do: " Capture Tunis " it was as simple
as that. Then he went on to enumerate the forces he proposed to
place under my command, namely: two infantry divisions, the
4th British and 4th Indian with 160 Churchill tanks and two

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armoured divisions, the 6th and yth, supported by the whole
tactical air force commanded by " Mary " Coningham, and an im-
mense weight of artillery. My spirits soared. If I failed to break
through with this immensely powerful force under command, then I
deserved to be shot.

From the map it seemed that the obvious place to launch the
assault was from Medjez el Bab, up the valley via Massicault, and
St. Cyprian, straight through to Tunis twenty-five miles away.
As this was the sector of the front occupied by 5 British Corps I
made their headquarters my first call. Fortunately for me their
commander was Charles Allfrey, another ex-instructor from the
Staff College, whom I knew well. He was one of the most popular
officers in the British Army and nobody could have been more
helpful. The capture of Tunis was the result of the closest co-
operation between our two corps, 5 and 9.

Allfrey at once took me on a personal reconnaissance of the whole
front. Everywhere we went I could see curious glances at my
desert-camouflaged car, which somehow looked rakish and indecent
surrounded by the dark-green ist Army vehicles.

This country was entirely different from the desert where I had
spent the last nine months. It looked far more like England, with
its growing crops and small hills broken by the mountains on either
side. But to see the country meant visiting the forward units who
held positions overlooking the Medjerda valley. This is not as a
rule a popular procedure with the forward troops, to whom there
is nothing more irritating than too brave generals who refuse to take
the normal precautions and stand upright, wearing a red cap, in the
front line, thus inevitably inviting retaliation from the enemy
artillery the shells descending on the heads of the unfortunate
troops usually after the general has gone. During the First World
War we used to have a notice-board in our trenches bearing the
words, " Please remember we live here."

On this occasion I removed my red cap and explained to the
troops that I would take every precaution, but that I simply must
see the country. If after my departure they were shelled well, I
was sorry, but it was the fortune of war.

169

The more I saw of this country the more convinced I was that
here was a wonderful opportunity to employ the type of attack
which, given the right sort of terrain, can be irresistible. This was
to advance on a narrow front in great depth, so that there are always
more men and more tanks to maintain the momentum. This endless
procession, when seen from some enemy trench which is being
steadily shelled (we had one gun to every seven yards of front) and
attacked from the air, must surely strike despair into the hearts of
even the stoutest of defenders. So I decided to attack on a 3,000-
yard front with the two infantry divisions followed by the two
armoured.

Zero hour was 3 a.m. on 6th May. On the previous afternoon I
moved into a small command post which had been dug into a hill
reasonably close to the start line. Some hours later I was sitting
with my feet on the table, sipping a short drink and reading a novel,
when the canvas screen which served as a door was pushed aside and
in came General Alexander, who must have had a long, exhausting
drive to get up to me.

Obviously dusty and tired, he said rather testily, " You don't
seem to have much to do/' I looked at him in surprise and replied:
" If I had anything to do now, sir, we should have lost to-morrow's
battle before it ever started/'

Nevertheless I much appreciated his visit and he impressed on
me the importance of speed and of not allowing the enemy to draw
us off from the direct route to Tunis.

I never felt so confident about any battle before or after. Every-
thing went like clockwork. The two infantry divisions punched the
initial breach, and at 7.30 a.m. I was able to order the two armoured
divisions forward. By midday we were through the crust and the
tanks were grinding their way forward down the valley towards
Tunis. It was a most inspiring sight to see these two weU-trained and
experienced armoured divisions being used in, a role for which
armoured divisions were specifically designed to exploit a break-
through deep into the enemy's heart. They worked like efficient
machines, aircraft, guns, tanks, infantry and vehicles each fitting
into the jig-saw of battle in its proper place.

170

I do not claim this as a great feat of generalship; it was nothing
of the sort. I was merely fortunate to be in command of a battle
in which victory was a foregone conclusion. On yth May the
advance continued, and as I was standing beside the road a soldier
wearing the famous brown beret of the nth Hussars leant out of his
vehicle and shouted, " First in again, sir! " The nth made a habit
of being first into captured towns.

But whether or not they succeeded on this occasion is open to
doubt. Their claim is hotly disputed by the Derbyshire Yeomanry,
another armoured car regiment. It is almost certain that the leading
troops of these two regiments entered Tunis by different routes at
exactly the same moment. Later we became quite blase about
liberating cities.

The confusion in Tunis must have been unique. The town was
full of German soldiers, who were completely surprised by the
speed of our advance : some were even walking the streets arm-in-
arm with their girls. A few of the most stout-hearted opened up
with tommy-guns, or tried to organise the defence of some house;
others just surrendered. Irretrievably mixed up with these local
battles were thousands of inhabitants who gave full vent to their
joy at being liberated.

I heard all this at second-hand because I never entered Tunis
myself. When at 4 p.m. a report came through that the town had
fallen, I went oft' to Charles Keightley's headquarters to turn his
6th Armoured Division away south-east through Hammam Lif to
Hammamet, in order to cut off the Germans who had escaped into
the tip of the Cap Bon Peninsula and separate them from those who
were facing die 8th Army. I arrived at Harnmam Lif just in time to
watch the Welsh Guards clearing the top of the hill which dominated
the one road through to the south-east.

In my eagerness to get on I didn't pay sufficient attention to where
our front Mne was, but went off with my A.D.C. on a personal
reconnaissance. Suddenly eight figures with hands above their heads
jumped up almost at our feet. To my disgust I realised that they were
very frightened Italians. Had they been stalwart members of the
Afrika Corps it would have been different; we could have escorted

171

them back proudly into our new lines. But for the corps commander
to return with eight weedy, miserable Italian prisoners in tow
would have made me the laughing stock of the entire corps. So,
feeling rather ashamed of myself, I handed them, over to my A.D.C.
and went back alone by another route.

Tills was almost our last battle. Driving throughout the night
the 6th Armoured got through to the coast at Hammamet next
morning. As we had complete air superiority I ordered Charles
Keightley to forget all about open spacing and to drive along this
one road nose to tail, two abreast if necessary as long as he got there
quickly. That was all that mattered.

General Anderson arrived next morning, and as we sat together
on a hill watching the armoured division pouring along the road
below us, he turned to me and said: " I have waited a long, long
time for this."

Next day the surrender started. First of all a trickle, then a flood
of Germans and Italians poured into our lines. Many of them were
driving their own vehicles ; they were well fed, quite well clothed
and perfectly cheerful. This is a side of the German character which
I find it difficult to understand. The previous day they had been
fighting well, there was no shortage of food, ammunition or equip-
ment. So why should an entire army, apparently without any
orders, just lay down its arms and surrender ?

By I3th May some 217,600 Germans and Italians had done so.
Under similar circumstances I feel certain that quite a number of our
formations would have gone on fighting in the mountains for ages.
And if the Germans had elected to do so it would have taken us a
long time to winkle them out, and they might well have interfered
with the time-table for the landings in Sicily. The same sort of thing
occurred when we entered Germany in 1944; white sheets were
hanging out of every house. Yet no one would deny that the
Germans are first-class troops wlio fight with great courage. I caa
only imagine that they are too well disciplined; as long as every-
thing is proceeding in the orderly manner to which the German
mentality is accustomed they will go on for ever. But once the
command structure breaks down and orders do not come through,

172

then they are not prepared to think for themselves in the same way
as the more independent-minded British.

The final curtain in North Africa came down on two particularly
fitting scenes. First, the original Desert Rats, the yth Armoured
Division, were in at the final kill; and secondly, those stalwart
opponents the German poth Light Division, insisted on surrendering
to the New Zealanders.

A few days later I returned to the 8th Army and moved back
with my corps to Tripoli. The next month was a pleasant interlude
in the turmoil of war, rather like a period of convalescence after a
serious operation. The whole corps relaxed, refitted, reorganised,
and bathed, while the remainder of the 8th Army was busily
preparing for the invasion of Sicily. My caravan was on the coast
and twice a day I used to drive out into the Mediterranean in my
amphibious jeep and swim.

By now Tripoli had become a main medical area and some
twelve base hospitals had been erected in the vicinity. Hospitals
meant nurses, British girls whom many of the corps had not seen
for a very long period. Every evening, outside their camps, were
parked rows and rows of jeeps waiting to drive the sisters to parties
in the different officers* messes. This was all very well but it didn't
seem to me that the troops were getting their fair share, so I invited
all the matrons to lunch. This I regard as my bravest act of the
whole war. I have always found one matron frightening, but here
I was alone with twelve !

However, as a result of that lunch party they all responded
nobly, and we were able to organise a twice-weekly dance for other
ranks only. These proved an enormous success, because it meant a
great deal to men who had not spoken to a British woman in some
cases for years to be able to dance with one again.

This was too good to last and sure enough I was ordered to
establish a planning headquarters in the Ecolc Normale just outside
Algiers in order to prepare for a landing in Italy.

But the trouble was to find out where. Every evening we
attended a conference which was known as " the children's hour,"
when a representative from General Eisenhower's Supreme Head-

173

quarters arrived to tell us what new plot had been hatched for our
benefit during the day. There seemed to be a certain number of
suitors for the hand of 10 Corps. At one moment I was placed
under command of General Mark Clark's 5th U.S. Army: then
next day a wire would arrive from Monty's headquarters in Sicily
informing me that I was still under 8th Army and was to report at
once for orders. Eventually General Eisenhower stepped in and we
were firmly wedded to General Mark Clark for the landing at
Salerno.

To celebrate the occasion I flew down to 5th Army's headquarters
where I received an almost royal reception. My first experience of
serving in an American formation was a particularly happy one,
because Mark Clark's chief of staff was the famous Al Gruenther
(afterwards Supreme Commander at S.H.A.P.E.), reputed to be
one of the best bridge players in the U.S.A. Whether or not he was
a maestro at bridge, he certainly had all the qualities that go to make
a superb staff officer a first-class brain, great charm and a phenom-
enal memory. His only weakness was that he tended to do every-
thing himself and not to decentralise sufficiently. The amount of
work he got through in twenty-four hours would have killed most
people, but he seemed to thrive on it.

Although we were very sorry to leave the 8th Army I was glad
that at last someone had decided under whose orders we were to
come and where our next operation was to take place, because time
was running out. Any form of combined operation involving an
opposed landing needs the most meticulous planning beforehand.
Ships have to be loaded well in advance and what goes into the hold
first, comes out last. So careful loading tables are required to ensure
that the right sort of ammunition, stores, and, shall we say, bridging
equipment, are available when required. An operation of this sort
is really the military equivalent of taking up a small-sized town,
putting all the people with their different requirements into ships
and then landing them on an open beach complete with all the
necessary services, food, water and so on. And then in addition
providing them with the means to make war.

It was these loading tables which proved my undoing. As the

174

beaches at Salerno were certain to be heavily attacked by the
German Air Force we were trying to decide whether or not to include
as part of the air defence plan a new form of smoke-screen which
was claimed by the Americans to be extremely effective. If we took
it, we should have to leave something else behind, because, as usual,
shipping space was strictly limited. At the beginning of June I went
to Bizerta to watch the 46th Infantry Division carry out a full-scale
rehearsal of its assault on the Salerno beaches. While talking to the
divisional commander in his headquarters I heard the air-raid warn-
ing sound. Here was obviously a golden opportunity to see whether
this U.S. smoke-screen was really effective or not, so we all went
out into the street and watched it rolling steadily over the town.
Suddenly out of the smoke emerged a low-flying German fighter
with all guns blazing away into the blue with no particular target
at all. A sledgehammer hit me in the stomach. I lost control of
my legs and collapsed on to the ground, but even thei% I don't think
I realised that I had been hit. I discovered afterwards that the bullet
entered the top of my chest I must have been leaning forward at
the time and then, starting with my lungs it pierced almost every
organ in my stomach and intestines, emerging at the bottom of my
spine. It was pure bad luck; no one else in the party was even
scratched. Here was further proof of that old military adage " If
your name is on a shell or bullet, there's nothing in the world that
you can do about it it will get you in the end."

I retain only two memories of the next twenty-four hours.
The first was when I was lying on the floor of divisional headquarters
with a group of people standing round. Recognising the face of the
divisional A.D.M.S. the chief doctor I asked him if I would be
well enough to take the corps to Salerno. He shook his head.
Luckily for my peace of mind it never entered my head that at this
time he thought I was going to die.

Some hours later I became aware of a strange face bending over
me and an American voice saying delightedly: " General, you are
not going to die. I didn't think it was possible until I operated but
you are not " and he kept on repeating " not " " going to die."
This turned out to be Colonel Carter, the head surgeon of an

175

American field hospital on the outskirts of Bizerta to which I had
been taken. I came to know Carter very well during the ensuing
weeks and no man could have done more to save my life. He was
one of the leading surgeons in Dallas, Texas, from where the whole
hospital came. I developed a great affection for these cheerful
Texans who were so friendly to the " Limey " general who had
suddenly appeared in their midst. There was no doubt in their
minds, nor in mine after a few weeks of their company, about which
was the best State in the U.S.A. and who was really fighting this
war Texas and the Texans.

Apparently the outside world also believed that my number
was up, as the troops say, but luckily this never entered the heads
of the two people most concerned, Colonel Carter and myself.

Dick McCreery arrived one day to say that he had been
appointed to command my corps during the Salerno fighting, but
the only other visitor whom I remember distinctly was my A.D.C.,
Harold Young, who had established himself somewhere in the
vicinity of the hospital and came in to sec me regularly. If only I
hadn't been feeling so ill, the next few weeks should have been
amongst the most interesting of my life. I occupied the corner of a
general ward with a constantly changing population of troops from
every country taking part in the war, friend and foe. The toughest
of all, unquestionably, were the French gournier from the North
African mountains, on whom pain and discomfort seemed to have
no effect whatever. One day, unknown to me, Colonel Carter got
hold of Harold Young and said that my wound was not healing
satisfactorily. He could do no more for me in the field and reckoned
I should be got back into a base hospital in the U.K. as soon as
possible. This must have presented quite a problem for Harold
because we were both by now very much out on a limb: everyone
is so busy in war that anyone who disappears from the military
scene is soon completely forgotten. He realised that the only
chance was to see someone at the top so, undaunted, he set off on
his own for Supreme Headquarters in Algiers. It says a great deal
for his initiative or cheek if you like that this young British
captain succeeded somehow in bluffing his way into the office of

176

Eisenhower's famous chief of staff, General Bedell Smith. Although
I didn't know Bedell Smith very well at the time, this made no
difference to him at all. He responded at once and in a few days I
was flying home to England in the forward half of a U.S. aircraft
accompanied by Harold, Colonel Carter and a U.S. nurse. The rear
was occupied by General Bradley going back to U.K. to start work
on the invasion of Normandy in which he commanded the U.S.
assault forces.

We stopped for one night at Marrakesh close to the Atlas
Mountains, where I was privileged to occupy Churchill's room in
Mrs. Taylor's villa. When we resumed the flight the weather deter-
iorated rapidly and although I was well doped with morphia
Harold and the nurse had to take it in turns to hold me down so
as to keep me in my bunk. However we survived, and after chang-
ing planes at Prestwick we ultimately made a perfect landing on the
airfield at Farnborough near Aldershot. I was then whisked away
in an ambulance to the Royal Cambridge Hospital, Aldershot.

I have always been a fatalist and feel convinced that some good
fairy must have taken a hand in directing me to this particular
hospital where I came under the care of that magnificent surgeon,
Edward Muir, of King's College Hospital, now surgeon to the
Royal Household. I owe my life to his skill and devotion. He
carried out five major operations on my midriff and as a rule
visited me at least five or six times each day. The relationship
between a patient and his surgeon is of vital importance. I relied on
Muir to such an extent that I became miserable if he even went
outside the hospital precincts. He was backed up by some splendid
nursing, notably by Miss Wilkinson and Miss Piercey amongst
others.

The real crisis of my life came when I was recovering from my
third operation in a convalescent home at Somerley, near Ringwood
in Hampshire. After subjecting me to a lengthy examination the
Southern Command surgical specialist announced that at least one
more operation would be necessary, but I should have to wait a
minimum of six months before this could be done.

" It would be bad surgery," he said, " to do it in your present

177

condition." I was appalled. This meant that my days of active
command in the field were over. I had no intention, however, of
giving up without a struggle, so 1 returned smartly to the attack.
" Bad surgery," I said, " only applies to peace-time. Surely your
job is to get me fit enough to return to the battle." The argument
went on and on endlessly. Eventually driven almost mad by this
intractable general bouncing about in his bed the specialist went
to the window and stood with his back to me saying nothing at all.
I realised only too well that this was the turning-point in my whole
military life. I simply couldn't bear the thought of lying about
doing nothing month after month while the war was reaching its
climax. Suddenly he spun round on his heels and said: " All right,
have it your own way. You know the risks, m ask Muir to
operate but if he does not want to do so you will have to abide by
his decision/*

I sighed with relief. Muir agreed to carry out this difficult
operation, contrary, I suspect, to his own wishes.

For fourteen months I alternated between the Cambridge
hospital and Somerley. Towards the end of this long period I
became a sort of tame parrot in the hospital. Everyone knew me and
all sorts of people used to drop in for a chat. This had its amusing
side. All the nurses had been invited to a New Year's Eve dance in
a nearby officers' mess, but had run into difficulties because matron
had decreed that everyone must be back in their quarters by II p.m.

Eventually a deputation of nurses canie to see me. Their plan
was simplicity itself. As all the doors would be closed to them after
ir p.m. those wishing to return to the hospital in the early hours of
the morning would get in through my window which was con-
veniently placed on the ground-floor. No one in authority, they
thought, would have any suspicion that a general's room was being
used for this illicit purpose. I, of course, agreed, and all weat well.
Nurse after nurse returned successfully.

Then came disaster. The head night-sister spotted one of them
emerging from the door of my room and immediately gave chase.
The nurse being younger gained a short lead, slipped into her room
and junjped into bed. Sure enough the door opened and in came

178

sister. The nurse apparently put up a magnificent performance of
a girl awakening from deep sleep. But to no avail. The sister merely
said tartly, " Do you usually go to bed with your hat on ? " The
poor nurse was on the mat next morning.

During all this time I had heard nothing from my late com-
mander, who must have been desperately busy preparing the
Normandy landings, but when I was allowed to leave hospital and
become an out-patient I was at once invited to -spend a night at
Monty's billet near St. Paul's School. I did my best to impress him
with my complete recovery but without much success. " You
haven't recovered yet," he said. " Go away and get fit. Then we
shall see."

179

CHAPTER XIII

RETURN TO THE WAR

BY THE end of July, 1944, I was almost well again. In fact on
3 ist July, I attended the Cambridge hospital for my final injection,
and though the medical board had refused to classify me Ai, I was
to all intents and purposes fit for active service.

Ever since D-Day, 6th June, I had watched the battle of
Normandy unfold very much on the lines which Bedell Smith,
Eisenhower's chief of staff", had predicted when I had visited his
headquarters at Bushey two days after the landings had taken place.
I knew enough about war to realise that some very bitter fighting
must be taking place as the Normandy beach-head was surely but
very slowly expanded. The battle of the build up in fact.

Could the Germans concentrate troops in Normandy more
rapidly than we could land them on the beaches? The whole
operation might almost be reduced to this simple fact. The success
of this, the largest combined operation in history, depended more
on the R.A.F. and the Royal Navy than it did on the Army.
The initial landings on D-Day had been a triumph of naval planning
and seamanship, while the air effort provided by the British and
U.S Air Forces was on an unprecedented scale.

All this I had watched with growing impatience. Then, on
ist August, I received a telephone call from the War Office to say
that Monty was sending his aircraft back for me the next day and I
was to fly out to France to take over 30 Corps in the British Libera-
tion Army,

This was splendid news, particularly as it meant I was to get
command of 30 Corps, that veteran formation of the desert.

Monty hadn't wasted any time. Before the arrival of this
message we had arranged to leave the Farnborough Park Hotel,

180

where we had been staying so that I could be near the Cambridge
hospital, and move to a small, very attractive cottage which
belonged to my wife at Compton in the southern outskirts of
Winchester. Now, instead of all three going together, I saw my
wife and daughter drive off before going up to Northolt to await
the arrival of Monty's aircraft. When the pilot showed me the
course he proposed to take to Normandy I realised that we passed
over Winchester, and he agreed to circle over our cottage at tree-
top height so that I could wave good-bye. Almost my last sight of
England was my wife and daughter in the garden of Yew Tree
Cottage. My daughter was jumping up and down beside a white
table-cloth which they had stretched out on the lawn. We then
straightened out and were soon over the Channel on our way to the
Normandy beach-head.

I don't know what I had expected to find across the Channel,
but my first sight of the Normandy beaches was very stirring.
Offshore there was intense maritime activity, ships at anchor, ships
unloading at the monstrous Mulberry harbour monstrous that
man should have had the impertinence to throw down such a
challenge to the sea and construct, in a few days,' his own artificial
harbour where none had existed before. It had been a truly
Churchillian conception and here it was working away below me,
playing a vital role in the battle of the build up.

Small boats were darting about and hundreds of D.U.K.W.s
were driving backwards and forwards between the sea and the
beach-head. The area inland from the beaches looked just like a
dusty ant-heap with stores, troops and vehicles moving about in
every direction. And all the time aircraft were taking off and
landing on strips which had been hewn out of the Normandy
countryside. If it hadn't been for them none of this could have
existed at all. Without almost complete air superiority we could
never have dared to risk the concentrations of men and material
which I saw below me.

I was looking down on the last major combined operation of
this sort that can ever take place. In my lifetime there had been
many, starting at Gallipoli, and here was the end of the chapter in

181

Normandy. For in these days of thermo-nuclear warfare, no
commander will ever dare to present his opponent with such a
tempting target for an atomic missile.

By the time we landed on one of the dusty airstrips my first
mood of exhilaration had passed and doubts had begun to assail me.
This always happened when I was on my way to take over a new
command. I felt lonely. The intense military activity all round me
was in such striking contrast to the peaceful hospital existence of the
past year that I had entered a strange world. Fourteen months was
a long time to be out of it all. "Would I find myself completely out
of date? The thick hedgerows of the Normandy bocage were very
different from the desert, even from the Medjez-El-Bab valley and
Cap Bon.

Would I know anyone, I wondered? The B.L.A. was composed
mainly of formations which had trained in England, with only a
very small proportion of my old friends from the Middle East.
All the people whom I had come to know so well were in the
8th Army, and must be somewhere in Italy. A great nostalgia for
the old sweats with sand between their toes, and their coloured
scarves, swept over me. Then, as we drove along in a jeep with
ceaseless rows of traffic on all sides we were halted by a passing
column of tanks. A dusty, grinning face looked down at me from
a turret and I heard a voice saying, " Glad to see you back, sir ! "

I suddenly felt much better. That young officer could not know
how much his friendly greeting did to improve the morale of his
corps commander.

As I continued on my way to 2ist Army Group Tactical Head-
quarters I saw more and more familiar faces. The people I had last
seen in Africa were now seemingly in Normandy. Later, when I
remarked on this phenomenon to Graham that old war-horse who
had fought through the desert campaign as a battalion commander
and brigadier in the 5 ist Highland Division, and was now command-
ing the 50th Division he said in his dry Scots voice, " General, you
ought to know by now that you always meet the same people
battle-fighting."

Of course he was right. Nobody enjoys fighting. Yet the for-

182

ward area in any theatre of war, the sharp end of the battle, as we
used to call it, is inhabited entirely by young men with a gleam in
their eye who actually do the fighting. They are comparatively
few in number, and they are nearly always the same people. They
had been in the desert, they had been in North Africa and Sicily.
Now they were in Normandy, and they wouldn't have had it other-
wise.

At last we arrived at Monty's tactical headquarters. It was in a
small orchard, a place of complete peace and calm, in marked
contrast to the turmoil outside. Some green humps under the trees
indicated the presence of a few lorries and caravans covered by
camouflage nets, but that was all. There was no scurrying: in fact,
there were no signs of military activity at all. It was incredible that
this little orchard was the hub from which the hundred miles'
battle-front peopled by 1,580,000 troops was controlled.

Then the door of a caravan opened and out came two figures,
Eisenhower, the Supreme Commander, and Montgomery, com-
mander of all the ground forces. They were talking earnestly as
they walked slowly towards me. I wondered whether General
Eisenhower would remember me after all these months, as I had
met him only half a dozen times previously. But when he saw me
the familiar Ike grin spread across his face and, shaking me by both
hands, he said: " Jorrocks, there's nobody I am more glad to see out
here than you."

This was a gross exaggeration: I could think of many people
who would have been of much greater value to him at that particular
moment but it was a typical Eisenhower gesture, warm and friendly,
and it gave me the feeling that I was back in the team at last.

After he had gone Monty took me into his map lorry, where I
underwent a minute scrutiny, which, I felt, concerned my physical
fitness. Had I really recovered sufficiently to be entrusted with the
command of a corps in battle ? This was what he was considering.
And knowing how shrewd he was I felt uneasy because every now
and then I had bouts of high temperature combined with sickness.
I was afraid that if Monty discovered this I should be on the next
plane back to England.

183

I must have passed the test, for lie turned to the map to give one
of those military appreciations which I had come to know so well.

I had also been studying him, and wondering how he was
standing up to the strain of this difficult time. From what I had
heard in England criticisms ahout his handling of the battle were
growing, people were getting impatient and the Press were turning
hostile. Monty had many enemies, and it looked as though the pack
was moving in for a kill. This was all very different from the
adulation of the 8th Army days.

Yet it seemed to leave him completely unmoved. He explained
to me that the battle was developing almost exactly in accordance
with the plan which he had given out at his final conference in
St. Paul's School, London, a couple of weeks before D-Day.
This plan was basically simple for the British and Canadians to go
on attacking in the eastern sector so as to draw to their front the
bulk of the German reserves, particularly their panzer divisions, and
thus enable the Americans in the western sector to capture the
Cherbourg peninsula and break out in a southerly and south-
easterly direction.

At that time, on the British sector, fourteen British and Canadian
divisions were opposed by fourteen German divisions and 600 tanks,
while nineteen U.S. divisions were faced by only nine German
divisions and no tanks. So the constant attacks on the eastern sector
had fulfilled their purpose, and the U.S. forces were at that time
breaking out of the beach-head. The whole front would then
swing round, hingeing on the eastern flank, and advance to the
River Seine. The days of the bitter, close-quarter fighting were
nearly over.

Of the Germans Monty said that, as usual, they had fought very
well, but thanks to the continuous operations of the British and U.S.
air forces it was almost impossible for them to move up reserve
divisions by day or to stage a large-scale counter-offensive. Most of
their reinforcements were forced to move by night and were then
thrown into the battle piecemeal.

I asked him about the German commanders and he said there
were rumours that Rommel had been wouadcd and Von Rundstedt

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sacked. He added that Von Rimdstedt was a very experienced and
able commander, but that he was probably now getting too old and
set in his ways for a life-and-death struggle like this.

I got to know Von Rundstedt quite well after the war, when he
was in the German generals' prisoner-of-war camp in Western
Command. I was G.O.C. at the time and I went down on several
occasions to fight some of the battles over again with him. To start
with, he was suspicious, as he had never heard my name at all,
which was hardly surprising because as one of the supreme enemy
commanders he dealt in rather higher coinage than British corps
commanders. He was particularly bitter about Hitler, and com-
plained that when we landed in Normandy the Fuehrer had refused
him permission to use his reserve panzer divisions to counter-attack
the beach-head.

" I was not allowed to use them without getting permission
from the Fuehrer in his headquarters on the eastern front. What did
he know of the battle in Normandy ? We rang up every few hours,
but he refused until it was too late, until, in fact, you had your anti-
tank guns and many tanks ashore. I practically had to ask him
whether I was to put a sentry at the front or back of my head-
quarters," he added bitterly.

Von Rundstedt was chronically short of cigarettes but was much
too proud to mention the fact. So we used to leave packets on the
table by the door when we went out. I felt no particular hatred for
the old field-marshal. We were both professional soldiers, and as
far as I knew he had always fought cleanly. He was, however, a
typical Prussian general of the old school. I once said to him:
" Have you any complaints ? Is there anything I can do to improve
the living conditions in your camp ?" He replied: "Yes. Some of
the German generals in this camp are not the sort of people with
whom we are used to mixing. I would be grateful if you could
have them removed to another camp."

" Who are these undesirable generals ? " I asked.

" General doctors and general engineers," he said. " It is most
unpleasant for us real generals to be forced to live with people like
that." Needless to say, no steps were taken to effect this particular

185

improvement, and I left them all to get on together as best they
could.

After taking my leave of Monty I reported to my army com-
mander, General Dempsey, at 2nd Army headquarters. Our two
careers had been closely linked. I had twice taken over from him
in staff appointments before the war, and he had taken over 13
Corps from me in the Middle East. From now on, with the excep-
tion of one short period during the battle of the Reichswald, I was
to serve under his command up to the end of the war.

Dempsey hated publicity of any sort, and had such a quiet, self-
retiring personality that at first it was difficult to get to know him,
but the longer I served under his command the more I liked him
and admired his quick brain and complete grasp of the current
military situation.

He was also much tougher than he looked. I remember his
arriving at my headquarters during a hectic battle. He gave me my
orders with his normal lucidity, and then, as usual, confirmed the
main points in writing (he wrote left-handed). In fact, he seemed
his usual self. It wasn't until some hours after his departure that I
heard that the small Auster aircraft in which he travelled round the
front had turned over on landing and had been written off. Though
he must have been badly shaken, he never even mentioned this
mishap during his visit.

At this time 8 and 30 Corps were attacking alongside the
Americans, and opposite my corps loomed the famous, or in-
famous, Mont Pinion. This hill feature, 1,200 feet high, dominated
all the surrounding country. It was, in fact, the hinge of the whole
battle on our sector of the front. From its top the Germans had the
most wonderful observation of everything we did, but, once it was
in our hands the tables would be turned. We were still some
distance away, but it was obvious that sooner or later 30 Corps
would have to assault this formidable bastion.

My first task was to get the feel of the corps. After visiting a
number of units it soon became clear that the gloss had been taken
off that magnificently-trained army which had sailed across the
channel in June. Seven weeks hard fighting in the difficult bocage

186

country with its small fields and thick hedges, so much better suited
to defence than to offence, had taken their toll. This was particularly
so in the infantry, which seemed to have lost the sharp edge of its
offensive spirit. This is bound to happen after a long period of close-
quarter fighting, because the offensive power of any infantry unit
depends entirely on the leaders.

It would be safe to say that out of a section of, say, ten men,
two lead, seven are perfectly prepared to follow where they are led,
and one would much prefer not to be there at all. This, of course,
is only a rough average and varies in different units. One of the
reasons why so many generals objected to men being asked to
volunteer for special cloak-and-dagger private armies was that it was
always the leaders who volunteered. In these special formations,
composed of the picked men of the whole army, each leader
represented only himself, because they were all of the same type;
but in his regiment he was worth almost a whole section, for he was
the man the others would follow.

As the leaders take the most risks they tend, unfortunately, to
become the first casualties, and as more and more of them are
killed or disappear into hospital so the offensive power of their unit
wanes. This was the position in Normandy at the beginning of
August. Another disturbing feature was the comparative lack of
success of the veteran yth Armoured and 5ist Highland Divisions.
Both of them came again later on and finished the war in magnificent
shape, but during the Normany fighting they were not at their best

The problem of what might be called divisional psychology
requires constant attention in war. A division may go into its first
battle well trained and full of enthusiasm, but lacking in front-line
experience. If it can have a quick success when it is still at the peak
it will probably develop into a magnificent fighting formation.
But some divisions never recover from a first unfortunate battle,
or from being left in the line too long. To decide on the right
moment at which a division should be pulled out of the line for a
rest requires nice judgment on the part of the superior commander.
The danger signal comes when the troops begin to say: " Is nobody
else fighting this war ? "

187

The yth Armoured and 5ist Highland Divisions, after being
lionised in the U.K., came out to Normandy and found themselves
faced with an entirely different type of battle, fought under different
conditions of terrain. And they began to see the difficulties all too
clearly. A racing enthusiast once described this condition to me as
" like an old plater who won't go in mud/' All the more credit to
them that they eventually staged a come-back and regained their
Middle East form.

There seemed to me to be two ways of helping to put the punch
back into the corps. First, to use to the fullest possible extent the
magnificent artillery support which was now available, and secondly
to explain to as many troops as possible how well the battle was
really going. I therefore spent my first few days with 30 Corps
rather like a U.S. politician on a whistle-stop tour, going round and
talking to the officers and N.C.O.s of all formations, and showing
them the latest situation on a large map which was usually hung on
the back of a lorry. It was hard work, but I am certain that it paid a
good dividend.

30 Corps had unquestionably the most experienced and battle-
worthy corps headquarters in the British Army. My B.G.S. (Chief
of Staff) Pete Pyman (now Lt.-Gcneral Pyman, subsequently
Deputy Chief of the General Staff at the War Office), was that rare
bird, a first-class staff officer and also a commander. These two
qualities are not often combined in one person. Like my Brigadier
Q (Chief Administrative Staff Officer) George Webb, he came
from the Royal Tank Corps. George Webb, who was killed later
in the campaign, had a genius for administration. The popular
conception of an administrative staff officer is of someone built
more for comfort than for speed, but George Webb, who before the
war had represented England at athletics, was one of the most
energetic men I have ever met. Hardly a day passed that he did not
visit some unit in the front line " Just to keep in the picture/' as he
used to say.

He could always be calculated to do the unexpected. I discovered
one day, to my surprise, that 1 was the owner of a 30 Corps farm,
run by Webb to supply our medical establishments with fresh milk

188

and eggs. After each battle all the stray cattle were rounded up into
this farm and looked after by men with farming experience until
their rightful owners could be found.

One day a senior officer standing by the roadside was astonished
to see lorry after lorry passing by, each full of cattle. " What on
earth is this ? " he asked an officer by his side. " 30 Corps farm, sir,
moving up," was the reply. It was probably the only completely
mobile farm which has ever existed.

Every day we were closing up on Mont Pinion. On 4th, 5th and
6th August the 43rd (Wcssex) Division slowly fought its way
forward in very hot, sultry weather against the most stubborn
German resistance. Unfortunately their casualties, particularly in
officers, were distressingly high. The 5th Wilts., for instance, was
reduced to 500 men commanded by a comparatively junior officer.
By the evening of the 6th, the 43rd had reached the foot of Mont
Pinion and it looked as though we were in for a tough fight before
we got to the top, as the whole feature was strongly held. But as I
returned to my headquarters that evening Pyman came running
towards me. Now senior staffofficers are not in the habit of running
round their headquarters, so I wondered what had happened.

" WeVe got it, sir! " he called out while still some distance
away. "Got what?" I said. "Mont Pinion," he replied. I
couldn't believe it. He told me a message had come through
that two troops of tanks belonging to the I3th/i8th Hussars were
now on the top of the hill. They reported, however, that they were
feeling very lonely as there was a thick mist all round them and
they could hear the Germans moving about everywhere. Pyman
also added that he had been in touch with the 43rd Division, and the
4th Battalion of the Wiltshire Regiment were now on their way up
to join the tanks on the top.

This was wonderful news. It seemed almost impossible that this
key position should have fallen into our hands like a ripe plum,
Here is how it happened.

Captain Denny, who commanded the leading troops of tanks
working with the 43rd Division, discovered a narrow track winding
up the hiU, and reported by wireless to his C.O., Lieut-Colonel

189

Dunkerley, that this was apparently undefended. He was immedi-
ately ordered to have a go. The track was so narrow that one tank
toppled over into a disused gravel pit, but the others ground their
way steadily upwards, until they broke out on to the top. So,
thanks to the initiative of one young officer, the most important
tactical feature in Normandy had been captured by six or seven
tanks. Meanwhile the 4th Wilts., who were almost at the end of
their tether after some forty-eight hours' continuous fighting, were
being galvanised into activity by their C.O., Lieut.-Colonel Luce,
who led the transport column himself. In single file in the dark this
battalion somehow struggled to the top of the hill.

It was a great achievement which had a profound effect on
morale. Even from the early days in the U.K. this feature had stood
out as the main bogey in the Normandy campaign. On all, the
models of the countryside which had been used for training purposes
in England Mont Piiifon had always loomed large. During battles
men's minds tend to become fixed on some particular feature in
front of them which gradually assumes an almost impregnable and
sinister character. Mont Pinion had looked like this. Its capture
made all the difference to me. From now on we were able to over-
look the Germans. I used to sit on the top with my chief gunner,
Stewart Rawlins, beside me, with 300 guns at the end of our wireless
mast. If any units were held up, we were able to concentrate in a
few minutes the fire of these guns on the enemy. And we blasted
the tanks and infantry forward with artillery fire,, It was a very
hard time for the gunners, who were never out of action day or
night. The only way they could carry on was to form two teams
for each gun by rounding up every available man; cooks, drivers,
orderlies were all roped in to serve the guns.

I have often said in lectures since the war that, although I am an
infantryman, I would say that the Royal Regiment of Artillery did
more to win the last war than any other arm. Time after time their
young forward observation officers would step into the breach and
take command of some forward infantry unit whose commanders
had all become casualties, while the technical skill with which huge
concentrations of fire were switched rapidly from one part of the

190

front to another was never equalled in any other army. The Germans
never succeeded in acliieving anything like it.

We started with limited objectives, but gradually the fighting
loosened and soon daily objectives were several miles ahead instead
of just a few hundred yards. During the next fortnight the Germans
suffered one of their greatest defeats of the whole war, second only
to Stalingrad (where General Paulus's 6th German Army was totally
destroyed). In the Falaise pocket of approximately ten by twenty
miles were concentrated the best part of 100,000 German troops,
and all around them the Allied forces were pressing in, Canadian,
Polish, British and U.S. from the south. Although the eastern neck
was never quite closed the destruction of enemy equipment was
prodigious. During the ten weeks' fighting in Normandy the
Germans suffered half a million casualties of whom 211,000 were
taken prisoner. Forty-three divisions were destroyed and their
losses in equipment amounted to over 2,000 tanks and assault guns.
Meanwhile the outer prong of the American encircling movement
had reached the Seine: their 20 Corps crossed the river near
Fontainebleau and 15 Corps turned north-west along the river bank.

As we also approached the river from the west, it became a
tricky problem to disentangle the British and U.S. lines of com-
munication which crossed each other. I had decided to breach the
River Seine on my front with the 43rd Division at Vernon, and
was in the process of issuing the necessary orders to General Thomas,
the divisional commander, when I began to feel very unwell.
The skeleton was emerging from my cupboard. I was in for one of
my bouts of pain accompanied by sickness and a high temperature
which usually lasted for anything up to a week. I managed to
complete the orders without Thomas suspecting anything, and then
retired to my caravan, where I was soon bouncing about with a
rigor.

A few minutes later the door opened and in came my A.D.C.
to say that Field-Marshal Montgomery was coming up to my
headquarters first thing next morning. This was the worst possible
news. If Monty saw me in my present state I was almost certain to
be sent home, unfit for active service. So I told him to send a

message to ask the Field-Marshal to postpone his visit as I would
be very busy away from my headquarters during the next few days,

A couple of hours later the caravan door opened again and to
my horror in came Monty. " Ah, Jorrocks," he said, " I thought
that something odd was happening so I came up to see for myself/*
He then went on, " I know why you sent that message. But you
needn't worry. If we can get you fit out here there is no question
of you being invalided back to the U.K. But I am not taking any
chances. Your caravan will now be moved to my tactical head-
quarters and you are not to move from it back to your corps until
1 give you permission. There is nothing you can possibly do for the
next few days anyhow. Thomas has got his orders and will get on
with the battle much better without the corps commander fussing
round Mm."

So my caravan was established next to Monty's, and during the
next few days every medical specialist in the army came to see me.
Each day Monty paid me a visit, and these talks proved more than
usually interesting because this was the time when the big argument
about the future conduct of the war was going on between Monty
and Eisenhower.

Monty argued like this: "The Germans arc now completely
disorganised as a result of their defeat in Normandy. If we can
prevent their recovering, there is a good chance of the war being
won in the autumn of 1944. We should, therefore, stage a powerful
thrust, preferably up the coastal plain, which must keep on and on
without a pause, so that the Germans never get time to draw breath.
We shall then be able to bounce a crossing of the Rhine before they
can get their defences organised. We can encircle the Ruhr from
the north, cut it off from Germany, and the war will then be over/ 1

Eisenhower considered this narrow thrust to be too risky, and
eventually decided to advance on a broad front up to the Rhine.
This was a safer course, but it had two main drawbacks. First, the
war could not possibly be won before 1945, which meant prolonging
it by at least six months. Secondly, as a result of this broad front
policy, almost all the available formations would be in the line all
the time, and there would be very few reserves available to meet

192

any unforeseen eventuality, such as the Germans' counter-offensive
in the Ardennes, for instance.

Which plan was right ?

I have thought about this a great deal and in my opinion each
commander was right in his own sphere. Monty, as the ground
forces commander, was right from the point of view of the actual
fighting. His plan might well have succeeded. But it could have
done so only if unceasing pressure was brought to bear on the
Germans the whole time. This meant that every lorry and supply
aircraft in the theatre would have to be made available to bring up
petrol, food, ammunition and all the many requirements of modern
war, so that the mobile thrust would never have to halt for lack of
supplies.

The only way to get all this transport would be to halt a large
proportion of tlie U.S. divisions in France, and remove their
vehicles in order to maintain this thrust, which would be, after all,
a predominantly British affair. Had anything gone wrong with
Monty's plan and there was, of course, a distinct element of risk
the political repercussions would have been great. So Eisenhower,
as the Supreme Commander, was correct to turn it down at his level.

Many people may disagree with me, but that is my opinion.

Anyhow, Monty was ordered to stage as powerful a thrust as
possible up the coastal plain using his own resources, and the spear-
head of this was to be 30 Corps. I was released from rny pleasant
bondage at Monty's tactical headquarters on 26th August, and
returned to prepare for as exciting a role as any commander could
wish.

193

CHAPTER XIV

ADVANCE TO BRUSSELS

WHEN I arrived back at 30 Corps headquarters on 26th August, 1944,
the 43rd Division had crossed the Seine at Vernon. My orders were
to break out and seize the crossings over the River Somme, some
seventy miles distant, before the Germans had time to organise the
defence of the river.

The Germans had never quite given up the idea that our main
cross-channel assault would come in the Pas de Calais area, so the
coastal belt was still thick with their troops, perhaps 150,000 of them.
30 Corps was to drive north across their lines of communication
by-passing any serious opposition which might be encountered.
All that mattered was speed.

But on my left the nearer you came to the coast the thicker the
German troops would be. So whereas the 19 U.S. Corps and
30 Corps were likely to have a fairly easy passage, 12 Corps would
find the going much tougher, while the Canadians who were
advancing up the actual coastal belt itself were bound to have hard
fighting before they could clear the Channel ports which was their
primary task.

As I had never fought alongside an American formation, before,
I visited the 19 Corps commander to discuss our mutual boundary.
He was most co-operative, over coffee. I once asked an American
commander how it was that the U.S. troops had so much better
coffee than we could produce. He looked at me with a twinkle in
his eye and replied: " Well, General, ours has the advantage of
starting by being coffee." He was quite right.

I told the U.S. corps commander that if, in order to get on
quickly, his troops had to come into my sector there would be no
hard feelings, and he reciprocated. This friendly arrangement,

194

however, nearly led to difficulties, because a few days later he had
crossed the boundary to such an extent that if his troops had come
any farther my right formation would have been unable to move
at all. I was wondering what to do, because after all I had given him
an open invitation, when fortunately I remembered that 1944 was
the U.S. presidential election year.

So I sent him a wire, " Delighted to have you in my sector,
but if you come any farther I will vote for Dewey." He never
moved another yard.

On 29th August we burst out of the bridgehead on the Seine and
set off on our chase northwards. This was the type of warfare 1
thoroughly enjoyed. Who wouldn't? I had upwards of 600 tanks
under my command, and we were advancing on a frontage of
fifty miles: Guards Armoured, nth Armoured Divisions and 8th
Armoured Brigade were scything passages through the enemy rear
areas, like a combine-harvester going through a field of corn, with
my old friends 50th Division clearing up the mess behind them.
Small battles to overcome hastily-organised enemy defences at
villages and cross-roads were going on right across this wide front.
But there was no main enemy defensive position.

Our artillery would drop into action while the tanks carried out
an encircling movement across country. If this was not sufficient,
which it usually was, then the lorried infantry might have to debus
and attack. In all the villages and towns we were given the most
rapturous welcome " Les anglais, les liberateurs " had arrived, and
nothing was too good for them. It proved a wonderful tonic for
the troops after the bitter fighting in the Normandy bocage.

Everywhere the Resistance movement leapt into action and they
proved of the greatest assistance, taking over care of German
prisoners, providing guides, guarding bridges and vulnerable points.
Had the Germans tried to carry out a similar advance through the
British Isles, what a frightful thorn in their flesh our Home Guard
would have been. We were lucky enough to have the French and
Belgian equivalent working on our side, but progress would have
been much slower if they had been against us. The only trouble was
that their estimates of the number of German troops in the vicinity

195

were so exaggerated that eventually we came to divide tKe total
by five.

There were many bizarre incidents. One of our self-propelled
guns (a gun on a tank chassis) broke down and had to be left behind
in a small French village. By the time it had been repaired some
forty-eight hours later the whole corps had gone on its way, and the
gun-crew were the only British troops in the neighbourhood.
But before setting off to join up with his regiment again the sergeant
succumbed to an urgent appeal from the local Maquis to assist them
in rounding up several hundred Germans who were reported to be
still holding out in a large wood nearby. After a combined
reconnaissance it was agreed that the gun should fire a concentration
at one corner of the wood while the Maquis attacked from
another.

But when the plan was put into operation the Maquis under-
standably came to the conclusion that the artillery support was
inadequate. The British sergeant then decided to do the whole
operation with his own crew. So having fired for four minutes at
the corner of the wood, the gun-crew, less the driver, jumped out
and, running as fast as they could to get close to their own con-
centration, disappeared into the wood. Half an hour later they
emerged with seventy German prisoners. On hearing this story the
infantry said cynically that it was the only time in history that die
gunners had ever followed up one of their own barrages.

It was impossible to command a mobile operation of this sort
from my headquarters, so, during the advance, my command post
was a tank. The gun was taken out and replaced by a small table
where we could sit and study the maps. My staff consisted of one
young staff officer (G.S.O. 2), a signals officer and my AJD.C., and I
never saw the rest of the corps headquarters for over a week. This
sort of command structure has only been made possible by the
improvement in wireless communication.

It was the task of the staff officer with me to keep my cHef of
staff, who was back at the main headquarters, informed by means of
coded messages how the battle was going, and pass on the gist of
any orders I had given verbally to the divisions. In addition I had

106

an escort of three tanks. This may sound unduly cautious, but each
of our armoured columns was advancing up one road and disregard-
ing entirely what lay on the flanks.

There is a popular conception, encouraged, I suspect, by certain
war historians who have never had experience of armoured warfare
in the field, that an armoured division moves across country rather
like a fleet at sea. This is a completely false picture. Whenever
possible armoured divisions move along roads because progress is
much faster, and they deploy across country only when opposition
is encountered. In order to visit the different divisions and brigades
I had to move from one road to another, and as none of the Germans
had been cleared from the intervening country, I could not have
done so without an escort of some sort.

We advanced only about twenty-one miles on the 29th, which
wasn't good enough if we were going to bounce the crossings over
the Somme. So at 4.15 p.m. the next day I arrived at the head-
quarters of the nth Armoured Division and ordered " Pip "
Roberts, the divisional commander, to continue the advance
throughout the night in order to capture the bridge at Amiens,
some thirty miles away, by first light next day. This may seem a
curious way to employ an armoured division, but I was a great
believer in using tanks at night. I tried it on three occasions and was
successful each time. It has a shattering effect on the morale of the
enemy for them to wake up in the morning and find that some
hundreds of tanks have penetrated deep into their positions under
cover of darkness.

Roberts had been in command of the armoured brigade in
North Africa when I had ordered Charles Keightley's 6th Armoured
Division to carry out a similar night march in order to cut off the
Germans in the Cap Bon peninsula, an operation which had been
completely successful. But there was one big difference. Then the
drive had been carried out in bright moonlight, now it was pouring
with rain, which meant practically no night visibility at all.

This was asking a lot of the nth Armoured Division. Driving a
tank is a very tiring business, and the drivers had already been on the
go for some thirty-six hours. But Roberts never hesitated. The

197

division halted so that all tanks and vehicles could refill with petrol,
and then started off on what proved to be one of the most fantastic
night drives of the war. Drivers could barely see the vehicle in front
of them. Utterly exhausted they fell asleep at each halt and very
often, during this night of confusion, German vehicles and Germans
were intermingled in our columns. But somehow or other the
division went steadily on. Nothing mattered except that our tanks
were penetrating ever deeper into the German positions.

Early next morning I arrived at divisional headquarters expecting
to find chaos. Not a bit of it. The leading elements of the division,
with the help of the local Maquis, had captured the bridges over the
Somme intact, the tanks had crossed and were in the centre of
Amiens, while the lorried infantry brigade was at that moment
moving into the town to take over from them. This was a remark-
able performance which could have been achieved only by a very
highly-trained division but Pip Roberts was probably the most
experienced British armoured commander and certainly one of the
best.

Having given me his report he said, " I have a surprise for you,
General." And from behind one of the lorries was led a scowling,
unshaven and very ugly German officer dressed in black uniform.
I would have disliked him at sight, even if he had not looked like a
senior S.S. commander (which he wasn't). Roberts was exactly
like a proud farmer leading forward his champion bull. He told me
with great pride that his prize exhibit was General Eberbach,
commander of the yth German Army, whom the nth Armoured
had captured in his pyjamas during the night advance.

With the Somme behind us we were now approaching the
Belgian frontier. My big moment came on 2nd September, when I
arrived at the headquarters of the Guards Armoured Division at
Douai. The Guards make a fetish of understatement, and with long
practice have developed a remarkable capacity for never showing
any emotion under any circumstances. But on this occasion even
they were slightly shaken when I gave their next day's objective as
Brussels, for Brussels was seventy miles away. We had certainly
come the full cycle from the hcdge-to-hcdgc fighting in Normandy.

198

F ol 50 / * /

Forges / DIV / f //r
>^/ . / / /V

THE ADVANCE tfROM THE SEINE TO BRUSSELS

There was a feeling of excitement, for it is not every day that a
commander or a division is given the opportunity of liberating one
of the great capitals of Europe. Brussels what a prize ! Next day
the race was on, a pursely domestic affair between the Welsh
Guards group (infantry and tanks) advancing on the right and the
Grenadier group on the left.

This the return to Belgium after our ignominious departure in
I <P40 was a moment to which I had been eagerly looking forward.
I was not disappointed. As I crossed the frontier just behind the
advance guard I saw a young Belgian standing by the road with
tears streaming down his cheeks. Seeing the red band round my
cap he ran towards me, seized me by both hands and said, " I knew
you would come back ! I knew the British would return ! "

I was particularly touched by this, because almost the last words
I had said to the sad-looking groups of Belgians whom we had
left behind on our way back to Dunkirk were, " We will come
back."

We had kept our promise.

As the day wore on it became obvious that it was to be a ncck-
and-neck race between the two groups. Then, just before dusk, the
Welsh Guards and some armoured cars of the Household Cavalry
entered Brussels. On the left road the Grenadiers had run into a lot
of trouble at the small town of Pont & Marcq, which was defended
by a hard core of Germans who had no intention of surrendering
without a hard fight. In the ensuing battle the King's Company and
No. 2 Squadron of tanks lost twenty-two killed and thirty-one
wounded (including four officers) which, marred for them the glory
of the entry into Brussels.

The Belgians, after four years of German occupation, had become
used to the movements of troops through their capital, so when on
the evening of 3rd September, they heard the rumbling of tanks in
the streets they hardly bothered to look out. As far as they knew the
Allies had not even entered Belgium yet, and the war was still many
miles away. As one Belgian described it to me, " 1 glanced out of
the window quite incuriously, and then my attention became
riveted. These tanks looked different. It couldn't possibly be die

200

Americans or the British ? Yet could it ? Suddenly I realised that
we had been liberated, and like everyone else in Brussels that night
I went mad."

From every house people poured into the empty streets, until it
was almost impossible for the tanks to get through. There were
flowers, fruit, champagne, girls on the vehicles and such kissing as
has probably never been seen before or since ! By now we had all
become connoisseurs of liberation ceremonies, which had been
going on in every town and village since we had crossed the Seine;
but everyone agreed that the welcome by the citizens of Brussels
had never been equalled.

What is more, it was no flash in the pan. Those kindly Belgian
people took our troops to their hearts and into their homes. They
were short of food and coal, yet before long nearly every officer and
man had a Belgian home where he could go for nieals, for the night
or, indeed, to spend his leave. Months after we had left Belgium
applications continued to come in from all ranks to spend leave not
just in Brussels, the leave centre, but often in some small village on
the outskirts. What the British soldier really likes is to " get his feet
under the table," and there were many tables available in Belgium

in 1944-45-

In 30 Corps at that time was a brigade composed of Belgians who
had escaped to Britain, where they had been equipped and trained
by us. Their commander was the famous Brigadier Piron, who was
mainly responsible for the renaissance of the Belgian Army after the
war. I was very anxious that they should share in this liberation
ceremony, so when I entered the city early next morning I was
escorted by some armoured cars from Piron's brigade. It must have
been a wonderful moment for those men as they returned to their
capital in triumph. When the crowds cheered and waved, I kept
pointing to them and calling out " Beige, Beige, 9 " and the citizens of
Brussels were delighted to see their own countrymen among their
liberators.

My first problem was to find somewhere to establish my head-
quarters in comparative peace, so that we could get on with the war.
The Guards had achieved their objective and captured Brussels, but

201

I had still to co-ordinate the activities of the nth Armoured and
50th Divisions and 8th Armoured Brigade.

This became increasingly difficult as we penetrated into Brussels
itself. Girls and still more girls seemed to be perched on the top of
our wireless vehicles. Then I ran into Brigadier Gwatkin, who told
me that his 5th Guards Brigade was all round the Palace of Laeken,
which was still inhabited by the Queen Mother. He suggested that
the park round the palace would be a most suitable place for our
headquarters vehicles, as it was surrounded by railings which would
offer some protection from the madding crowds.

The Queen Mother could not have been more helpful, and very
soon 30 Corps headquarters was once more operational in the
grounds of the palace. That night we invited her and her lady-in-
waiting, la Baronne Carton de Wiart, a relation of our famous
General de Wiart, V.C., to dinner. It was a rough-and-ready meal
eaten off the usual six-feet tables in our small mess tent, but Queen
Elizabeth told me afterwards that she never enjoyed any dinner as
much.

During the next few days she wandered round talking to all and
sundry, and became almost our fairy godmother. As our corps sign
was a wild boar, she presented us with a baby boar from the
Ardennes, whose name was Chewing Gum. His nose, when pressed
against one's hand, felt just like this essential ingredient to the
American way of life.

On the next day, 4th September, I was ordered to fly back to a
conference at 2nd Army headquarters. The small two-seater Austcr
aircraft which I used on these occasions was parked at the extreme
end of a large airfield near Brussels. I was told, however, that the
Germans were still in occupation at the far end, from which a rather
unpleasant 88 mm. A. A. gun fired at uncertain intervals. My pilot,
a gunner major, was anxious about my safety, so, as soon as we
were in the air, he took violent avoiding action, much to my
discomfort.

I then settled down to study my notes for the conference* After
about half an hour I happened to glance up and saw that my pilot
was looking a very worried man. I asked him what was wrong and

202

he replied that his compass was not working and he had no idea
where we were. This was a shock, because at that time there was
only a comparatively narrow corridor occupied by the Allies
stretching back to the rear. After flying round for a few minutes
trying without any success to spot a familiar landmark, I suggested
that the only thing to do was to come down and ask. So choosing
the largest available field we made a very bumpy but safe landing.
Within a minute or two we were surrounded by civilians, who to
my horror showed me on the map that we were fifty kilometres
behind the enemy Hues.

I asked them whether there were any Germans in the vicinity
and they said, " No the nearest are a couple of kilometres away."
Even that was a bit too close for my liking, so we hurriedly took off,
bumping across the field and just missing the trees on the far side.
Our troubles weren't over.- A little later the pilot explained apolo-
getically that he was getting short of petrol, so we had to make
another emergency landing this time, I am glad to say, behind our
own lines. I arrived at the conference three hours late, having been
last seen heading straight for the German lines.

By this time I had rather lost confidence in my pilot, and
debated whether to risk the return journey with him or not. He
obviously was wondering the same, and he looked very relieved
when I climbed into his plane. Afterwards I was glad that I had
done so, because he was killed a few weeks later.

By 30th September, 30 Corps had covered 250 miles in six days.
The Guards Armoured Division was in Brussels, the nth Armoured
Division was in Alost, directed on Antwerp, and the 50th Division
was strung out to the rear, protecting our left flank and collecting
thousands of German prisoners who were now trying to break out
from the coastal area in order to get back to Germany.

Pip Roberts asked me to define his objective in Antwerp, and
pointed out that an armoured division is not the best formation with
which to occupy a large port. He was correct, but I had no other
troops available. So, with vivid memories of the important part
ports had played in the desert campaign, I said: " The docks.
Go straight through to the Antwerp docks and try and capture them

203

before the Germans can carry out any large-scale demolitions,"
which is exactly what he succeeded in doing.

At the time this seemed the obvious objective, but I realise now
that it was a serious mistake. My excuse is that my eyes were
fixed entirely on the Rhine, and everything else seemed of subsidiary
importance. It never entered my head that the Scheldt would be
mined, and that we should not be able to use Antwerp port until the
channel had been swept and the Germans cleared from the coast-
line on either side. Nor did I realise that the Germans would be
able to evacuate a large number of the troops trapped in the coastal
areas across the mouth of the Scheldt estuary from Breskeris to
Flushing.

Napoleon would no doubt have realised these things, but
Horrocks didn't. His mind was fixed on the Rhine. I am not
suggesting that with one armoured division I could have cleared
both banks of the Scheldt estuary, but I believe that I could have
seriously impeded, if not stopped altogether, the evacuation of the
German 5th Army. As it was, the German General Schwabe
succeeded in evacuating some 65,000 men belonging to eight
shattered German divisions, using this route.

If I had ordered Roberts, not to liberate Antwerp, but to by-pass
the town on the east, cross the Albert Canal and advance only fifteen
miles north-west towards Woensdrecht, we should have blocked
the Beveland isthmus and cut the main German escape route.
Roberts was ordered to, and did in fact, secure a bridgehead over the
Albert Canal, but was subsequently forced to withdraw in face of
increasing German resistance. He had not sufficient troops to seize
the docks, clear the town and occupy the bridgehead.

With the capture of Brussels and Antwerp 30 Corps was ordered
to halt. The reason given was that we had out-rim our administrative
resources. No port had yet been opened anywhere. The first,
Dieppe, did not come into operation until 7th September, and then
only for a trickle of supplies. It did not build up to the figure of
6,000 tons a day until the end of September, We were still receiving
all our supplies from the beach-head some 300 miles away, and we
were told that supplies, particularly of petrol, were running short.

204

Tliis was a tragedy because, as we now know, on the next day,
4th September, the only troops available to bar our passage north-
wards consisted of one German division, the yipth, composed
mainly of elderly gentlemen who hitherto had been guarding the
north coast of Holland and had never heard a shot fired in anger,
plus one battalion of Dutch S.S. and a few Luftwaffe detachments.
This meagre force was strung out on a fifty-mile front along the
canal.

To my mind 4th September was the key date in the battle for the
Rhine. Had we been able to advance that day we could have
smashed through this screen and advanced northwards with little or
nothing to stop us. We might even have succeeded in bouncing a
crossing over the Rhine. But we halted, and even by that same
evening the situation was worsening. A General Chill, with his
85th German Division, had reached Turnhout in Holland on his
way back to Germany to refit. On hearing that Brussels had fallen,
and without any orders, he turned round and moved his division
down to the line of the Albert Canal. He also placed teams of
officers and N.C.O.s on all the roads to round up the German
stragglers and reorganise them into efficient fighting units.

By yth September he had succeeded in collecting quite a
formidable force. He must have been a man of great initiative.
But worse still, General Student's Parachute Army, headed by the
6th Parachute Regiment, commanded by the redoubtable Van der
Heydte, was being rushed down from Germany to bar our progress.
So from 5th September onwards the German forces on the Albert
Canal increased rapidly.

It is easy to be wise after the event, and I was only a corps
commander with no overall responsibility;; but I believe that if we
had taken the chance and carried straight on with our advance instead
of halting in Brussels the whole course of die war in Europe might
have been changed. On 3rd September we still had 100 miles of
petrol per vehicle, and one further day's supply within reach, so we
were not destitute. But there would have been a considerable risk
in advancing farther north with only these supplies and a lengthening
line of comniiuiicatioii behind us.

205

When we were allowed to advance on yth September, the situa-
tion had worsened drastically. We were no longer sweeping up
through the coastal plain; we were fighting hard again. Every day
fresh German formations appeared against us, and within three days,
instead of being on a fifty-mile front, which is excellent when in
pursuit, the Corps was concentrated on a five-mile front engaged in
a tough battle.

The Guards Armoured Division took four days to advance over
the next ten miles up to the Meuse-Escaut Canal where the Irish
Guards by a most successful coup de main captured a small bridgehead,
which was at once named " Joe's Bridge " after Lieut.-Colonel Joe
Vandcleur, O.C. their 3rd Battalion. This was very different from
their previous record of 250 miles in six days. The Germans had
been given time to recover and we had missed our chance.

20<5

CHAPTER XV

ARNHEM I

ON nth September I received orders for the advance to Arnhem
and realised that once again 30 Corps was to play a leading role.
The outline plan was for the 2nd British Army to advance approx-
imately seventy miles to seize the Grave-Nijmegen- Arnhem area
and then penetrate still farther northwards to the Zuider Zee in order
to cut off all the enemy forces in the Low Countries from those in
Germany. It was an exciting prospect because, if successful, it would
go far to end the war as we should then be in an excellent position
from which to outflank the Ruhr. The whole operation was given
the code name of Market Garden " Market " was to be carried
out by the 1st Airborne Corps commanded by " Boy " Browning
Lt.~Gen.eral Sir Frederick Browning operating as part of the 2nd
Army, and " Garden " by the ground forces, consisting of 30, 8, and
12 Corps.

The three Airborne Divisions were allotted the following
tasks:

1st British Airborne Division (which included the Polish Para-
chute Brigade) to seize Arnhem Bridge and establish a bridgehead
to the north of the river,

82nd U.S. Airborne Division to capture Grave bridge, the rail-
way and road bridges at Nijmegen and to hold the high ground
south-east of the town,.

lOist U.S. Airborne Division to capture and dominate the road
leading up to the Grave from Eindhoven to the north.

30 Corps consisting of the Guards Armoured Division, soth
and 43rd Infantry Divisions, 8th Armoured Brigade and a
Dutch brigade, was ordered to break out of the existing bridge-

207

US x
// AIR/DIV vGroesbeek

5 10

The Advance 17^ SepP

9 18 n mm

fia to

THE BATTLE OF ARNHEM I

head, pass through, this airborne carpet which had been laid down
in front of us and seize the area Nunspeet-Arnhem.

8 and 12 Corps would be on our right and left flanks respec-
tively, but as most of the available resources had been allotted to us it
was realised that they would not be able to advance so quickly, and
we should be operating on our own for a considerable period.

During the next few days my staff were working almost round
the clock as there was very little time available in which to tie up a
complicated operation of this sort. But, as usual, somehow or other
they accomplished this seemingly impossible task and all was ready
by D-Day.

At ii a.m. on Sunday morning, iyth September, 1944, 1 climbed
up an iron ladder leading to the flat roof of a large factory on the
south bank of the Meuse-Escaut Canal which was to be my com-
mand post for the opening stages of the battle. It was a peaceful,
sunny, Sunday morning and apart from the occasional swish of an
88-shell passing over our heads, or the chatter of a distant machine-
gun, there was no indication that any enemy was in front of us at all.
Looking back I could see, carefully camouflaged and hidden in the
woods and farms, some of the 350 guns which were waiting for my
word to open fire. It had not been possible in this case to give a
definite zero hour beforehand because airborne operations are
dependent on the weather and may have to be postponed at the last
minute.

So, sitting on the roof and waiting, I had plenty of time to think.
I knew that we were opposed by some tough German paratroops
under the command of the redoubtable General Student, and 1
remembered that the essence of Montgomery's plan had been to
keep up a continuous pressure and never give the Germans time to
recover from their defeat in Normandy. Yet we had been forced to
halt in Brussels for three days, and now another week had been
taken up with preparations for this battle. Market Garden could not
possibly have been laid on any sooner, but these halts had given the
Germans time in which to recover, and their resistance had been
stiffening ever since we had advanced from Brussels. I felt quite

209

confident, but I was under no illusion that this was going to be an
easy battle. I disliked having to launch this attack on a Sunday, not,
I am afraid, because of any religious scruples but because no assault
or attack in which I had taken part during the war which started on a
Sunday had ever been completely successful.

I had three main worries.

First To break through the German defences in front of me.
This was not so simple as it looked. Reinforcements, mainly of
paratroops, were arriving from Germany daily. The country was
wooded and rather marshy which made any outflanking operation
impossible. The only thing I could do was to blast my way down
the main road on a comparatively narrow front with as much air
and artillery support as I could get.

Secondly Even when we had broken through, the country did
not favour a rapid advance because it was intersected with water-
ways. Between us and Arnhem there were three canals all capable
of taking the largest barges, and in addition three immense rivers,
the Maas (or Meuse), the Waal and the Lower Rliine. All the
bridges were, we knew, prepared for demolition. Could we get
there before the enemy blew them up ? If not we should have to
bridge them ourselves, and this would mean a large number of
sappers involved in immense engineering projects, all of which would
take time and might seriously delay our advance ; yet the essence of
the plan was speed to get to the airborne troops as soon as possible.

We had done our best to provide for every eventuality by
concentrating a vast amount of bridging material in the Bourg
Leopold area no fewer than 9,000 sappers and 2,300 vehicles.
Air photographs of each bridge had been carefully studied and
preparations made to rush forward both men and materials as
required.

Thirdly It looked as though we should have to advance on one
road only, and in the corps were 20,000 vehicles. This meant the
most careful traffic control. Elaborate arrangements had been made
to treat this one road almost as a railway. Traffic control posts with
breakdown gangs and first-aid detachments, complete with wireless
and line communications, were to be established behind the leading

210

troops. No unit was permitted to put a column of more than
vehicles on this vital road without getting a timing from a movement
office in my headquarters. As we were likely to be out in the blue
on our own, I decided to take with us as much food, petrol and
ammunition as we could carry. It turned out that this was a wise
precaution.

In spite of these difficulties, however, I was confident that we
should win through. The troops were in great heart. I had an
experienced and very able staff, and the end of the war seemed to be
approaching rapidly.

Then I heard on the wireless that the airborne divisions were on
their way. Suddenly the armada appeared overhead. Hundreds of
transport planes in perfect formation, many towing gliders, droned
steadily northwards, protected on all sides by fighters, like little,
angry gnats which filled the sky. It was a comforting thought that
some 30,000 airborne troops were being dropped or landed from
gliders in front of us.

As soon as the air armada came into view I ordered " Zero hour
1435 hours." At 2 p.m. precisely there was a sudden, deafening roar
and a noise as though an express train were passing overhead. Our
guns had opened their counter-artillery programme, and the battle
of Arnliem was on. Under cover of the preliminary artillery
bombardment the Irish Guards started moving into position just
short of the start line,

I could imagine the drawn look on the men's faces, a look which
is only seen before an attack. Being British they were of course
making jokes. I once saw four men in an armoured carrier cross the
start line for an attack wearing those black top-hats which Germans
keep for funerals. This showed a macabre sense of humour, but it
was typical* However much the troops may joke, they are under
uo illusion about what lies in, front of diem.

I always hated the last few minutes before zero hour and kept on
going over in my mind again all the detailed plans, wondering
whether everything possible had been done to give the leading
troops a fair fighting chance.

At 2.35 p.m. exactly Lieutenant Keith Heathcote of No. 3

211

Squadron 2nd Battalion Irish Guards a tank regiment ordered
" Driver advance " and one of the greatest break-outs in history had
started. A hundred yards in front of Heathcote's tank rolled a
curtain of fire from some 350 guns. In front of this again was an
endless stream of R.A.F. Typhoon fighters pouring their rockets
into the German defences. From my command post the whole
battlefield was visible and for the first ten minutes all seemed to be
going weU. But just when we were congratulating ourselves that
our blasting tactics had proved successful, the whole situation
changed.

Within two minutes the Irish Guards had lost nine tanks, and the
whole advance was held up by accurate fire from enemy anti-tank
guns. I could not help a fleeting feeling of admiration for the
fighting qualities of the Germans, for in spite of a terrific battering
both from the ground and the air, they were still fighting stubbornly.
Such feelings however, had no place in battle, and in the meantime a
Homeric struggle was developing in the woods to my front.

The Typhoons came roaring in from all angles at zero feet, the
barrage whistled overhead. In fact the din was appalling, tanks,
trucks, planes, shells, rockets, machine-guns all raging and blazing.
In the middle of it all, apparently enjoying themselves, were the
famous Vandeleur cousins, Colonels Joe and Giles, who commanded
the 3rd and 2nd Battalions of the Irish Guards respectively. Though
continually shot at, they stood by their scout cars and issued their
orders with far less tension than they might have displayed during a
Trooping the Colour parade on the Horse Guards back in London.

The tanks were held up, but the Irish Guards (3rd Battalion
Infantry) who had been riding on the outside of the tanks driven by
their fellow " Micks " of the 2nd Battalion, were getting tired of
being shot at, and as so often happens with these great fighters, they
suddenly lost their tempers. An eyewitness reported afterwards
that he ". . , had never seen Guardsmen or officers so angry. The
Krauts got rough treatment that day,"

The young R.A.R pilots were superb and the Typhoons literally
shot the infantry on to their objectives, the rockets landing within
200 yards of our leading: troops. Nothing could stand up to this

212

and after some bitter infantry fighting the enemy crust was pierced.
By that evening the head of the Guards' Armoured Division had
entered the first Dutch town, Valkenswaard.

I regard this battle as a classic example of perfect co-operation
between the R.A.F. and the Army. No corps has ever had better
air support than was provided for me that day by No. 83 Group of
the Tactical Air Force, commanded by Harry Broadhurst, who
though young in years was a veteran in army/ air co-operation; he
had taken an active part in the long advance from Alamein to Tunis,
and understood the ways of the army better than most.

That evening the Germans started counter-attacking the hinges
of our break-through, but this had been foreseen and the 50th
Division could be relied upon to deal effectively with these attacks.
So the I yth ended happily. Our casualties had been fewer than might
have been expected and we had punched a hole in the German
defences.

But to get a proper understanding of this battle we should now
take a look over the hill and see what was happening behind the
German lines; though I had no idea of this at the time.

First of all, let me kill the myth which was so prevalent after the
war that the Arnhern operation was given away to the Germans
beforehand by a Dutch traitor. This is nonsense; it came as a
complete surprise to them. Here is the story as I have been able to
piece it together from several different sources which I have every
reason to believe are accurate.

About this time, some seventy miles to the north, General Model,
the German C.4n-C., and his senior staff, were sitting down to
lunch in the Hotel Tafclbcrg in the small Dutch town of Oosterbeek,
six miles west of Arnhcm. Suddenly an officer jumped to his feet
crying: " Look out! Bombers! " They ran to the window and
saw, not bombers as they had expected, but a sky full of coloured
parachutes^ for the dropping zone of the ist British Airborne
Division was only a couple of miles away. It was an awkward
moment, and if the commander and his headquarters were not to be
overrun by British paratroopers, there was no time to lose.

Model's car was sent for. As he ran out of the door his bag,

213

which had been hurriedly packed, burst open, and all his belongings
were strewn over the ground. Staff officers rushed to their com-
mander's assistance, and within a matter of minutes he was driving
away at a furious speed to the headquarters of the 2nd S.S. Panzer
Corps, commanded by General Willi Bittrich which, unfortunately
for us, was quite close at Zutphen only twenty-eight miles north-east
of Arnhem. I say unfortunately because it was this corps which
turned the scales against us in the subsequent fighting. Quite un-
known to me, and, as far as I can make out, also to our Intelligence
service, a few days before, the 9th and loth S.S. Panzer Divisions
had arrived in the Zutphen area to refit, after suffering heavy losses
during the fighting in Normandy. They might have been sent
almost anywhere else, but no! Fate or whatever you like to
call it decreed that they should arrive just at this moment in
an area from which they could intervene rapidly in the Arnhem
battle.

Though both these divisions had suffered heavy losses in France,
they still retained sufficient tanks and self-propelled guns to be more
than a match for our extremely gallant but lightly-equipped airborne
troops. Moreover, when in Normandy they had been specially
trained in an anti-parachute role; so the dice were loaded against us
from the start. It was also particularly unfortunate that Model should
have had a grandstand view of the ist Airborne drop, because he was
thus able to take immediate steps to deal with this unexpected
situation. He was used to plugging gaps as he had come from the
eastern front, so, where a less experienced commander might have
panicked, Model did nothing of the sort. He made a first-class
appreciation of the situation and started active counter-measures at
once. He realised from the outset that the real threat lay in the rapid
advance of 2nd British Army headed by 30 Corps, If this could be
held off, he then had sufficient troops to deal with the lightly-
equipped ist British Airborne Division.

Our main weakness lay in the long, slender and very exposed
lines of communication which ran south from Nijmegen, so he
concentrated his main strength against these. The 59th German
Division was ordered to attack them from the west, while the ijth

214

and 4 ist Panzer Divisions were to move in from the east. He also
dispatched the loth S.S. Division due south to stiffen up the defences
in die low-lying piece of country between Nijmegen and Arnhem,
which, because it was almost entirely encircled by the rivers, Lower
Rhine and Waal, came to be known in the British Army as " The
Island." This division was to operate against our head while the
others moved in from both sides against our tail.

One further piece of good luck came the German way. General
Student, who was commanding the parachute army against which
we were fighting, wrote in his book as follows:

" Two hours after the air armada first appeared in the skies
over Holland, the Allied operation order for Market Garden
(the code name for the battle of Arnhem) was on my desk.
It had been captured from a glider forced down near Vught
which was my command post. It was the same as in 1940 during
the ist German Airborne operation in Holland, when a German
officer, despite the strictest injunctions, carried the operational
order on his person. It fell into Allied hands, and enabled, the
Allies to conduct a thorough study of German parachute tactics,
which was the main reason for the heavy German parachute
troop losses in Crete."

The capture of this vital document was a great boon to the
Germans, who knew exactly what we intended to do. Before leaving
the German side of the battle, one last picture Hitler's head-
quarters. How had the Fuehrer taken the news of this thrust into
the under-beDy of his Reich? This is how an eyewitness described
the scene.

<4 On the previous day, i6th September, a very important
conference had taken place at Wolfschanze, Hitler's head-
quarters in East Prussia, when the Fuehrer had outlined his plan
for the Ardennes offensive. All was calm. But the next day
things were very different. As reports of the airborne landings
came in, excitement mounted. The major part of the daily
situation conference was taken up with discussions of the air

215

landing, constantly interrupted by telephone calls as fresli reports
came in. Hitler himself was chiefly impressed with Model's
narrow escape, and he became increasingly worried about the
safety of his own headquarters. In his own words ' At any rate
this business is so dangerous that you must understand clearly:
if such a mess happened here here I sit with my whole Supreme
Command: here sit the Reichsmarshal (Goering), the O.K.H.,
the Reichsfuehrer S.S. (Himmler); the Reich Foreign Minister
(von Ribbentrop) ; well then, this is the most worth-while catch,
that's obvious. I would not hesitate to risk two parachute
divisions here if with one blow I could get my hands on the
whole German Command.' He then screamed ' Holland over-
shadows everything else.'

" As reports of more air landings arrived the Fuehrer became
violent and raged about the failure of the Luftwaffe. As a result
of all the excitement Holland was given top priority and every
available reserve formation in Germany, and even as far afield as
Denmark, was alerted and ordered to move down to defeat the
British/U.S. penetration/*

It was the arrival of these formations which finally turned the
tide against us as more and more pressure was exerted along 30
Corps' line of communication which subsequently stretched from
Nijmegen some sixty miles back to Belgium.

The story of the magnificent fight of the ist Airborne Division
against overwhelming odds is now well known, so I do not propose
to go into any details here. The armoured reconnaissance regiment
of the 9th S.S. Panzer Division seized Arnhcm Bridge just thirty
minutes before the arrival of Colonel Frost's 2nd British Paratroop
Battalion. Frost could not force bis way over the river, but by
holding die houses north of the bridge for three precious days he
prevented the Germans using the bridge themselves. Their loth S.S.
Panzer Division was thus forced to cross the river by the ferry
farther to the east, and this delayed their arrival at Nijmegen until
after we had captured die town. The remainder of the ist Airborne
Division was gradually driven back by sheer weight of numbers

216

until it was sealed off into a tight perimeter on the north bank of the
lower Rhine in the neighbourhood of Oosterbeek.

To return to my immediate battle. After some hard fighting on
the 1 7th, the Guards broke through and reached Valkenswaard just
inside Holland. On the next day, i8th September, after another
sharp battle they made contact with the southern end of the aerial
carpet in the shape of the loist U.S. Airborne Division, which had
been given the task of seizing and keeping open our main road
northwards between Eindhoven and Veghel, a distance of some
twenty-five kilometres. Their landings behind the enemy lines on
the i yth had been extremely successful.

In the words of the divisional historian :

" The entire regiment came down in full view of one com-
mander. Men landed close to their friends and close to their
equipment. Battalions were assembled and operating in less than
an hour. Considered from any standpoint it was the most
successful landing that the division had ever made in either
training or combat. An entire parachute regiment, in bright sun-
light, landing on a single field is a pretty sight and if the field
happens to be behind enemy lines it is also a reassuring sight.
Between 1300 and 1330 hours 6,769 men were jumped with
casualties of less than two per cent for personnel and five per cent
for equipment.

" The glider landings an hour afterwards were not so for-
tunate. Of the seventy gliders that were towed off from
England, only fifty-three came in without accident."

As the guardsmen rolled rapidly northwar.ds towards Nijmegen
they were greeted at the canal bridges and cross-roads by cheerful
groups of tough-looking paratroopers from the xoist U.S. Division,
the men whose job it now was to protect our life-line to the rear.

By 10 a.m. on iptli September the Grenadier Guards Group (ist
Motor Battalion and 2nd Tank Battalion), now in the lead, made
contact with the second strip of our aerial carpet the 82nd U.S.
Airborne Division, who, to our great joy, had captured intact the
road bridge over the Mcuse at Grave. Had the Germans succeeded

217

in destroying this bridge our advance might easily have been
delayed for several days, for the broad river would have proved a
formidable obstacle.

In addition to this success the 82nd, having captured another
important bridge over the Maas-Waal Canal at Heuman, were
holding the high ground about Berg en Dal to the east of the main
road, and had penetrated to within 400 yards of the road bridge over
the Waal in Nijmegen itself. At this point they had encountered
stubborn resistance from the loth S.S. German Division.

The town of Nijmegen is completely dominated by these two
immense bridges over the river Waal, by the road bridge on the east
and by the railway bridge on the west. To capture one of these,
or if possible, both, was vital to our plan, and the fighting which now
developed in Nijmegen was bitter in the extreme. Indeed there was
a desperate urgency about this battle which I rarely experienced
before or after.

To the north of us, on the far side of yet another water obstacle,
the lower Rhine, were 10,000 British airborne troops. From them
we had had no word, and airborne troops are lightly equipped.
So, unless we could relieve them quickly, they must surely perish.
This feeling was communicated to everyone from general right
down to private soldier, to guardsman or U.S. paratrooper, and
most gallantly they responded to the urgent need.

The Grenadier Guards Group and a battalion of the 505th U.S.
Parachute Regiment combined in an immediate attack on the road
bridge, which to our astonishment, was still intact; but in spite of
the utmost bravery little progress was made. The Germans had
fortified the open squares and had constructed a tight perimeter of
defences around the southern end of both the vital bridges. Huner
Park, which dominated the southern edge of the road bridge was
particularly strongly held.

They also set fire to every fifth building until some 500 houses
were blazing fiercely. Into this hell plunged tanks, Guards and U.S.
paratroopers, but all to no avail. By midnight it was obvious that
the bridges could not be captured by direct assault.

During the afternoon I met General Browning, who had landed

218

with the airborne corps which he was commanding. From then on
we co-operated closely and took all the major decisions together.
We now decided to outflank the bridges from the west by carrying
out an assault crossing over the broad River Waal near the power
station, some 800 yards down-stream from the railway bridge.
This was a most hazardous operation but here lay the only chance
of capturing the bridges intact. It is to the credit of General Jim
Gavin, the commander of the 82nd U.S. Airborne Division, that
this appallingly difficult task was accepted without the slightest
hesitation.

At first light on 20th September, the 504th U.S. Parachute
Regiment and the 2nd Battalion Irish Guards (Tanks) started clearing
the western suburbs of the town and by midday they arrived on
the river bank. Now took place what many of us consider to have
been one of the finest attacks ever carried out during the last war.

It was a sunny afternoon with clear visibility, and the Germans
were holding the far bank of the swiftly-rumiiiig river which at this
point was quite 400 yards wide. Yet at 3 p.m. the leading U.S.
paratroopers entered the river in British assault boats which they
had never seen till that moment. Supported though they were by
fire from the tanks of the Irish Guards, and approximately TOO guns,
they nevertheless suffered heavily and only half the leading wave,
some in, boats, some swimming, succeeded in reaching the far bank.
Yet this mere handful of men charged up the steep embankment and
secured a small bridgehead a couple of hundred yards deep.
GraduaDy more and more troops were ferried across until by evening
they had penetrated a mile inland to the village of Lent, where the
railway crosses die main road. They had thus cut off both bridges
from the rear, a truly amazing achievement.

Meanwhile the Grenadier Guards and the 505th U.S. Parachute
Regiment had been busy. In accordance with fresh orders issued
the night before by Brigadier Gwatkin, commander of the 5th
Guards Brigade, the Grenadiers had developed another attack on the
southern end of the road bridge, this time approaching from the
west. All day they fought their way forward literally yard by
yard and house by house, until in the late afternoon they captured

219

Huner Park and die Valkhof, a large, wooded mound which domi-
nates the southern end of the bridge. In the words of the Grenadier
Guards regimental history:

"Capturing a well-fortified mound like the Valkhof would be
an operation fraught with incalculable dangers in any circum-
stances. It was exceptionally difficult in this case because the
Germans had had time to surround it with a network of barbed-
wire entanglements, slit trenches and dug-outs, all of which
were fully manned, but as one company commander later wrote
* From the first few moments the fighting did not conform in
any way to my original plan. But once we got our teeth into
the enemy the men's spirit was so terrific even laughing and
joking that nothing could have stopped us.' "

Of the many battle honours which the Grenadier Guards can
claim, none can have been more richly deserved than Nijmegen.

At 7 p.m. it was decided to try and rush the bridgehead, and a
troop of tanks commanded by Sergeant Robinson advanced rapidly
with guns blazing to the bridge which is approximately 400 yards
in width with an embankment of equal length on both sides. While
travelling these 1200 yards the tanks were easy targets, not only to
the enemy anti-tank guns, but also to those Germans who were
firing bazookas from positions in the girders above the bridge.
Two tanks were hit, but somehow the troop got over, skidded
broadside through a road-block at the far end and knocked out two
anti-tank guns on the road. The attack finally came to a halt a mile
farther on where the guardsmen met the remnants of their gallant
American allies who had crossed the river lower down. Perhaps the
bravest of all these brave men was the young sapper officer, Lieu-
tenant Jones, who ran on foot behind the tanks, cutting the wires
and removing the demolition charges though we now know that
in spite of Bittrich's protest General Model had refused to allow this
bridge to be blown as he wanted to use it for subsequent counter-
attacks by the Germans.

Thus, by the evening of the 2ist, almost a miracle had been
achieved. Thanks to some very hard fighting by British and

220

American troops, whose co-operation on this occasion should be an
object lesson to all allies in the future, these two important bridges
had fallen into our hands intact. Another hurdle had been overcome
and I went to bed a happy man almost the last time, incidentally,
that I was to do so in this battle.

So far fortune had favoured us, but the sky was darkening.
The Germans had been completely surprised by the initial airborne
landings, but they had recovered quickly, and their counter-
measures were now starting to take effect.

My chief worry lay in the quality of the opposition which we
were encountering. Admittedly some of the elderly gentlemen
from the " stomach battalions " which had been positioned on the
lines of communication were only too glad to surrender, but the
bulk of the German troops against us were hard-bitten Nazis from
the S.S. and parachute divisions. Young fanatics had even advanced
into battle sitting on the outside of their tanks shouting, " I want to
die for Hitler/*

The loist U.S. Division guarding our life-line was being sub-
jected daily to increasing pressure from both sides. Hardly a day
passed without some fresh German formation making its appearance
against us. No wonder, therefore, that on the next day, 2ist
September, the Guards Armoured Division failed to advance more
than two miles to the north. For once, air co-operation was working
badly, and though the Typhoons were overhead, the contact-car
could not get into touch with diem. This was particularly unfor-
tunate because very little artillery support was available.

I had realised, of course, that " The Island " with its dykes, high
embankments carrying the roads, and deep ditches on either side
was most unsuitable for armoured warfare. It was perfect defensive
country in which the anti-tank gun hidden in the orchards was
always master of the tank silhouetted against the sky-line. I pinned
my hopes, however, on the 43 rd Infantry Division, which had been
ordered up from the rear. Their move had been much delayed by
congestion along our one and only road caused to a large extent by
the increasing enemy pressure which was coming in from the flanks.

A heavy enemy attack on the bridge at Son had been beaten

221

back by the loist, but on 20th September another German formation
had penetrated into the village of St. Oedenrode and halted all
traffic on the lines of communication for some hours.

Still, there was no need to despair. Two-thirds of the Polish
Parachute Brigade (for this operation under command of the 1st
British Airborne Division), had at last been able to take off from
England and had dropped that morning (the 2ist) just south of the
lower Rhine, near the village of DrieL

The 43rd Division were due to arrive that evening and to pass
through the Guards the next morning. I hoped that this fresh
infantry division would succeed in joining up with the Poles, and
that together they would then be able to bring succour to the hard-
pressed ist Airborne.

Up to this time we had received no definite information about
the situation north of the lower Rhine, but suddenly the voice of
their head gunner was heard on the wireless frequency used by our
64th Medium Regiment. This was our first direct contact with them,
and thenceforward we were able to provide considerable artillery
support for the airborne bridgehead on the north bank of the
lower Rhine.

222

CHAPTER XVI

ARNHEM 2

NEXT DAY on the 22nd the Household Cavalry, taking advantage
of the early morning fog, managed to slip some armoured cars right
through the German lines. In fact they succeeded in joining up with
the Poles, whom they found in position on the south bank of the
river near the village of Driel. So from now on we were provided
with a reliable source of information about what was happening in
this vital area.

Up to this point in the battle no troops could have done more or
advanced more rapidly than had 30 Corps, but from now on our
rate of progress slowed down and this has been the subject of
criticism from several sources, notably by Chester Wilmot in his
Struggle for Europe. He has suggested that 43rd Division was both
slow and sticky. If the leading troops of the Guards Armoured
Division were now only six to seven miles short of Arnhem Bridge,
why then did a first-class infantry division take so long to get up to
the lower Rliine? particularly as their casualties were compara-
tively small. That is the general tone of the adverse comments.

I have always strongly deprecated this criticism because I spent
the morning of the 22nd with Brigadier Essame, the commander of
the 2i4th Infantry Brigade, wliich was in the lead, and nobody could
have done more. Fie had tried to launch an attack with his leading
battalion on the previous afternoon, but the whole brigade had been
delayed by the confusion in Nijmegen and some of his troops were
misdirected towards the road bridge, while the remainder crossed
to the north bank by the railway bridge. The Welsh Guards were
attacking on the sector immediately north of the river, the bridges
were being shelled, and movement was difficult along the narrow,
twisty roads which ran on the banks with deep dykes on either side.

223

In my opinion only an experienced brigadier like Essame could have
succeeded under these circumstances in concentrating his brigade at
all on the night of the 2ist, and launching an attack with the leading
battalion, the yth Somerset Light Infantry, early next day.

His orders had been to advance with all speed but, and this is
most important, he was told that artillery ammunition must be
used with the utmost economy. Owing to enemy pressure on our
lines of communication we were forced to economise as much as
possible.

The Germans had been thoroughly aroused by the passage of
two troops of the Household Cavalry through their lines; in fact
the fog lifted just too soon, and the last three armoured cars were
knocked out by an enemy tank hidden in an orchard.

The 7th. Somerset Light Infantry at once ran into a strong,
natural defensive position round the village of Oosterhoot held by
approximately a battalion of Germans supported by tanks, some
self-propelled guns and mortars.

As the guards had already found to their cost, it was quite
impossible for the 43rd Division to deploy armoured vehicles in an
attack across this difficult country intersected with high banks and
dykes, in which the enemy enjoyed all the advantages of cover and
the attacker none. So the Somersets advanced with practically no
support at all either from tanks or guns. The first attack failed and
the leading company commander, Major Sidney Young, was killed.
The C.O., Lieut-Colonel Borradaile, one of die best C.O.s in
the division, now launched another attack round the right flank
which seemed to offer the best opportunity of success but this also
was held up. The brigadier then decided on a third attack which,
in spite of the embargo, he determined to launch with the whole of
the divisional artillery in support.

This third effort, which started at 3.20 p.m., was completely
successful and by 5 p.m. a gap had been opened in the German
position through which Essame slipped a mobile column which he
had been holding in readiness. This consisted of one squadron of die
4th/ yth Dragoon Guards (Tanks), 5th Duke of Cornwall's Light
Infantry, one platoon of machine-guns of the 8th Middlesex and

224

Talking to a group of soldiers just after the capture of Bremen, April 1945

A wonderful moment The author receives the surrender of the enemy forces in
Northern Germany

The red-letter day of Black Rod's existence, the Garter ceremony at Windsor
[1957)- The author walks behind the Queen Mother's train-bearer

some D.U.K.W.s. (amphibious lorries) filled with ammunition and
much-needed stores for the beleaguered British paratroopers.

George Taylor, the C.O. of the 5th D.C.L.L, divided his force
into two; in front, an armoured column with two companies of
infantry riding on the outside of the tanks, and behind, the remaining
two companies of his battalion in charge of the soft-skinned transport
vehicles. They set off from Oosterhoot just before last light and the
head of the armoured column covered the ten miles to Driel in
thirty minutes, where it joined up with the Poles, but the Germans
managed to infiltrate five Tiger tanks and some infantry into a gap
which had opened up between the two columns.

Company Sergeant-Major Philp, travelling in a carrier at the
tail of the armoured column, rammed the leading enemy tank and
killed the German commander as he peered out of his turret before
he himself and his driver baled out into the ditch beside the road.
Learning that his force had been split into two, Taylor sent back two
platoons under Major Parker with extra P.I. A.T.s (infantry anti-tank
weapon) and some " 75 " anti-tank mines to clear up the mess.
In a remarkably successful little operation this small force operating
in the dark succeeded in stalking and destroying all the Tigers.
Private Brown, a young soldier, spotted an enemy tank with its
track damaged by some " 75 " mines, so he left the cover of the
ditch where he was lying and, knowing full weU the risk he ran,
walked to within a few yards before firing his P.I.A.T. The tank
was completely destroyed but he himself was blinded by the blast.
As he was carried away he was heard to say: " I don't care, I

knocked the out." After an eventful night drive along narrow

by-roads the whole force joined up with the Poles.

I have described this operation in considerable detail in order to
remove the slur on the reputation of this first-class west country
division. I would suggest that anyone who considers the actions of
Brigadier Essamc, Lieut-Colonels Borradaile and Taylor, C.S.M.
Philp or Ptc. Brown to have been sticky cannot have had much
experience of front-line fighting. No one who has not visited this
island can, have any idea of just how difficult it was to attack over.
It is also most unfair to say that because the casualties were low the

225

43rd Division was not fighting well. If the skill and determination
with which an action is fought are to be judged on this basis, then
the battle of the Somme during the 1914-18 war must be regarded
as one of the greatest of all British victories.

September 22nd was a worrying day for me. When I left the
2i4th Brigade their second attack had just been halted and during the
morning no advance had taken place anywhere on 30 Corps front.
As I returned to my corps headquarters, I was met by my chief of
staff who told me that reliable information was at last available from
north of the lower Rhine. The ist Airborne had withdrawn west
from Arnhem and were now occupying a small perimeter around
Oosterbeek which was being attacked furiously from all sides.
They were short of ammunition, and unless we could get to them
within twenty-four hours they would probably be overrun.

While I was pondering over this unhappy situation, the same
staff officer arrived thirty minutes later with the news that a German
armoured formation had succeeded in cutting our road to the rear.
So in addition to making no progress in front, we were now cut off
as well. This was no fault of the loist U.S. Airborne Division, who
had been fighting a series of difficult battles to keep our lines of
communication open. But it was no easy matter to defend some
twenty-five miles of road with a resolute enemy pressing in on both
sides. In fact, many stretches of the road were constantly uudcr shell
fire, and at times the banks on either side became the actual front
lines facing outwards. As might be expected, this slowed up the
traffic moving along the road considerably.

It had been hoped that the 8 and 12 Corps, who were advancing
on our right and left respectively, would by now be sufficiently far
north to have broadened these lines of communication, but they also
were meeting stiff resistance and their progress had been slow. As it
was vital to open communications with the rear, I was forced to
turn the 3 2nd Guards Brigade back to start clearing the road from
the north, while the joist U.S. and 50th British Divisions advanced
from the south. Though this operation eventually succeeded, for
twenty-five fateful hours the road was closed to all traffic.

However, as I have already indicated, the " black 22nd " ended

226

German Attacks

THE BAXT1E OF ARNHEM 2

better than might have been expected. Now that the Duke of
Cornwall's Light Infantry column had joined up with the Poles
there was every chance that the airborne division, replenished with
stores and reinforced by Poles and British infantry, might well be
able to hold out until we could establish a firm link with them, by
driving the Germans off that part of the island.

Our hopes were to be dashed again. Some of the D.U.K.W.s
became bogged, while others were destroyed by enemy fire, and in
the end only a few Poles succeeded in getting across. The trouble
was that the Germans dominated the river by fire from high ground
to the west of the airborne bridgehead, and their machine-guns,
firing on fixed lines, were taking a heavy toll of our precious assault
boats. Elsewhere on the front little progress had been made, and
fresh German reinforcements, particularly of tanks, seemed to be
arriving on the island almost daily. Well might the communiqu6
that night report, " The situation is grave."

Looking back I am certain that this was about the blackest
moment of my life. I began to find it difficult to sleep. In fact I had
to be very firm with myself in order to banish from my mind,
during those midnight hours when everything seems at its worst,
the picture of the airborne troops fighting their desperate battle on
the other side of the river in front. I had had sufficient experience
of war to know that any commander who finds it difficult to sleep
will soon be unfit to be responsible for other men's lives. And here
I was going that way myself an unpleasant thought.

As this difficult battle progressed I became more and more
impressed with the fighting qualities of the 82nd and loist U.S.
Airborne Divisions. I learned afterwards that they were the pick of
the whole American Army. What impressed me so much about
them was their quickness into action; they were great individualists.
They were also commanded by two outstanding men, the loist by
General Maxwell Taylor, subsequently head of the U.S. Army, and
the 82nd by General Jim Gavin, until recently in charge of military
research and development in America. Both were as unlike the
popular cartoon conception of the loud-voiced, boastful, cigar-
chewing American as it would be possible to imagine. They were

228

quiet, sensitive-looking men of great charm, with an almost British
passion for understatement.

It was a quite normal occurrence for all hell to break out suddenly
on the 82nd U.S. Airborne front shelling, mortaring, machine-gun
fire, the lot. Whenever I rang up Jim Gavin to find out what was
going on he gave me the same answer: " "We're just having a bit
of a patrol." I usually discovered that his " bit of a patrol " had
consisted of at least a hundred U.S. paratroopers carrying out a
large-scale raid on the German positions. Like all first-class troops
these two divisions were never content to sit quiet; they were
always hitting back at the Germans. And under their deceptively
gentle exterior both Maxwell Taylor and Gavin were very tough
characters indeed. They had to be, because the men they com-
manded were some of the toughest troops I have ever come across
in my life.

On 24th September I went forward to carry out a personal
reconnaissance and met Major-General Sosabosky, the commander
of the Polish Parachute Brigade and George Taylor of the 5th Duke
of Cornwall's Light Infantry, both of whom luckily were ex-
perienced, front-line soldiers, just the men for a difficult operation
like this.

I then climbed to the top of Driel church tower from where I
was able to study the southern end of the airborne bridgehead on
the far side of the river. As there seemed a danger that the airborne
troops might be cut off from the river altogether, I told General
Thomas, commanding 43 rd Division, that in order to relieve
pressure on the bridgehead he was to carry out an assault crossing
that night with a minimum of one battalion. He was then to pass
over stores and finally Polish paratroopers if time permitted.
I promised him the support of the complete corps artillery for the
operation. I also asked him to carry out a reconnaissance farther to
the west, because if tilings went well that night I hoped to side-slip
the 43rd Division, cross the lower Rhine farther to the west and
carry out a left hook against the German forces attacking the
airborne perimeter. Having given these orders, I then drove back
to meet the 2nd Army commander at St. Oedenrode, where we

229

discussed the whole situation thoroughly. This was very necessary
because we were approaching a crisis, and 1 had not seen either
Montgomery or Dempsey since the battle started.

When I turned round to return to my headquarters, the Germans
had cut the road again just to the north. This was a nasty blow,
because not only was it vital that I should get back to my head-
quarters as soon as possible in view of the critical stage of the battle,
but more important still, much needed supplies of ammunition and
above all, assault boats, were south of the cut. On this occasion the
road was not open again for four days. I was lucky, however.
With an escort of armoured carriers from the Durham Light
Infantry I was able to get across country and rejoin the road north
of the cut.

On arrival at my headquarters at 10 a.m. next morning, the
25th, I found a gloomy gathering awaiting me. The 4th Dorsets
had crossed the night before, but all communication with them had
now ceased; few assault boats were left, and ammunition was
running short. In fact one artillery regiment was down to five
rounds per gun.

General Browning and I came to the conclusion that there was
nothing for it but to withdraw the ist British Airborne Division
over the river. That night, under a cover of a corps artillery
programme, 2323 gallant airborne troops reached our Hues. It was
a tragic scene. As the exhausted paratroopers swam or were ferried
across the river in torrential rain, it seemed that even the gods were
weeping at this grievous end to a gallant enterprise.

And so ended the battle of Arnhem. Now for the post-mortem.
General Urquhart, the commander of the ist Airborne Division,
has complained that we were very slow in advancing to the relief
of his division, and I can well understand his feelings. In fact his
criticisms are perfectly reasonable when viewed from the airborne
point of view. If I had been in his position, surrounded by the
Germans, fighting desperately for eight days and always waiting
for the 2nd Army which never arrived, I doubt whether I would
have been half so reasonable. But if we were slow then the fault
was mine because I was the commander.

230

I have thought over this batde many times since and wondered
whether there was anything more that I could have done. The sense
of desperate urgency was there all right. There could be no doubt
about that, and it was not for want of trying that we failed to arrive
in time. I don't believe that any other troops in the world could
possibly have fought better than the Guards and the 82nd U.S.
Airborne Division when they captured the bridges at Nijmegen.
But, after all we were cut off three times, and it is difficult to fight
with one hand tied behind you.

It is always easy to be wise after the event but, knowing what I
do now, I think it would have been better to have committed the
43rd Division on a different axis. Instead of passing them through
the Guards on the 22nd, I should have ordered General Thomas to
carry out a left hook across the lower Rhine much farther to the
west and so attack the Germans, who were engaged with the ist
Airborne Division, from behind. This might well have been
successful but even then I must emphasise that we should only have
been able to establish a bridgehead position on the north bank of the
lower Rhine. We could not have advanced any farther as envisaged
in our original orders. The failure at Arnhem was primarily due to
the astonishing recovery made by the German armed forces after
their crippling defeat in Normandy.

Even if the 2nd German S.S. Panzer Corps had not been in a
position to intervene so rapidly, and if we had succeeded in getting
right through to the Zuider Zee, could we have kept our long lines
of communication open ? I very much doubt it. In which case
instead of 30 Corps fighting to relieve the 1st British Airborne
Division, it would then have been a case of the remainder of the
2nd Army struggling desperately to relieve 30 Corps cut off by the
Germans north of Arnhem. Maybe in the long run we were lucky.

Now let me turn to die 64,000 dollar question about which
military historians will no doubt argue for many years. Was Monty
correct in, carrying out the Arnhem operation, which meant
advancing sixty to seventy miles into Holland ? Would it not have
been better if, after Brussels, 2ist Army Group had turned north-
west and cleared both sides of the Scheldt estuary to open the port

231

of Antwerp which could then have been developed into a main base
area, thus curing many administrative headaches.

I can only give you the opinion of a corps commander who was
on the spot and has since made a study of the problem. Had he
adopted this course, as many critics think he should have done, the
port of Antwerp would certainly have been open to Allied shipping
earlier than it was. But how much earlier it is not easy to say,
because the campaign to clear the Scheldt estuary would certainly
have been difficult.

The ground could be flooded at will by the Germans, while
Walcheren could not be captured until it was flooded. Large
German forces would have been cornered south of Breskens and
could have put up a stubborn resistance in this difficult country where
it was almost impossible to deploy large numbers of our troops.
If we had devoted all our resources to clearing Antwerp in Septem-
ber it would have been impossible later on to carry out the swift
advance up to the lower Rhine at Arnhem, because by then the
German defences would have been given time to solidify. We were
able to make this deep penetration only because General Student's
Parachute Army was still moving down from Germany.

In my opinion Monty was right. We had advanced rapidly up
the coastal plain while the Germans were still disorganised. His eyes
were focused on the big prize to bounce a crossing over the Rhine
and cut off the industrial heart of Germany, thus finishing the war
in 1944. While there was still any chance of this succeeding he would
have been wrong to deflect his resources to a subsidiary task.

The clearance of the Scheldt estuary would certainly have eased
the administrative situation, but would it have shortened the war by
even one day? On the information available, Amheni was a
justifiable gamble. Had the Germans not made one of the most
remarkable military recoveries in history, it might well have
succeeded. How could we know then that 4th September was the
fateful day when victory in 1944 slipped through our fingers ?

232

CHAPTER XV 11

BATTLE OF THE ARDENNES

WHEN ON the night of 25th September, the remnants of the ist
British Airborne Division were withdrawn south of the lower
Rhine into our lines, all chance of finishing the war in 1944 was over
and we were faced with the unpleasant prospect of fighting on
throughout the winter. I seem to remember that Hannibal invariably
adopted the admirable practice of going into winter quarters, but
Eisenhower obviously had no intention of doing so. Quite rightly
orders were issued that the Germans were to be given no respite.
The first task was to close up to the Rhine, preparatory to forcing a
crossing and penetrating deep into the heart of the Reich.

30 Corps became involved in the battle of the Rhineland, as
it was called, almost by chance. At the beginning of November
we handed over the Nijmegen sector to the Canadians and moved
down to the extreme right of the British front near Maastricht.
Here we found ourselves next door to the 9th U.S. Army, which
was preparing, in conjunction with the ist U.S. Army, to launch a
large-scale offensive towards Cologne. The 9th had had little or no
battle experience and felt very much a poor relation alongside the
experienced ist U.S. Army. This made them all the more friendly
towards their neighbours on the other flank, 30 Corps.

I grew to like General Simpson, their army commander, very
much indeed. He was a paternal figure of rather unusual appearance
because he always kept a completely bald, shaven head. One day he
asked me whether I could help in the forthcoming offensive by cap-
turing the German town of Geilenkirchen. He pointed out that the
inclusion of this town as one of his objectives would stretch his front
too much. My orders were merely to hold the front and not attack,
but I wanted to help if possible, and his request seemed very reason-

233

able. This, however, was an operation for which two divisions were
required, and I had only the 43rd (Wessex) Division available.
Neither 2ist Army Group nor 2nd Army were prepared to give me
any additional troops. I was told that the barrel was bare and I was
to stay quiet for a change.

A couple of days later I was invited to dinner by Simpson to meet
General Eisenhower, who was spending the night at his headquarters.
I was delighted to meet Ike again. There was something about his
warm, friendly personality which always did me good.

" Well, Jorrocks," he said, " are you going to take on Geilen-
kirchen for us ? ** I replied that the spirit was willing, but the flesh,
in the shape of one extra division, was weak. Eisenhower then
turned to Simpson and said, " Give him one of ours/*

It was agreed that the new 84th Division, which had just arrived
from the U.S.A., should be placed under my command. This was a
great mark of confidence but I didn't altogether like it. I pointed
out that the battle in front of us was not going to be an easy opera-
tion, because it involved breaching the Siegfried Line, which con-
sisted of concrete emplacements, barbed-wire obstacles and mines.
Was it fair, I asked, to launch a U.S. division against all this in their
first battle, under command of a Limey general ? I felt their morale
might have been higher if they had gone in under an American.

No one took the slightest notice of my protest, and by the time
we started our meal I was committed to play a subsidiary role in the
forthcoming U.S. offensive.

Eisenhower was, I remember, very angry just then with the
82nd and loist U.S. Airborne Divisions which had been under my
command during the Amhem battle. After being pulled back into
reserve they had apparently behaved badly and caused quite a lot of
trouble in the rear areas.

" They are a disgrace to the American Army/' he said.

This was more than I could stand, because they were both
magnificent divisions in battle. I leapt to their defence and suggested
that it was a pity the whole American Army did not consist of
similar " disgraces." Suddenly I heard a roar of laughter from
Bedell Smith, Ike's chief of staff.

234

" Well, well," he said, " I never thought to hear a Britisher
standing up for U.S. troops against an American general ! "

The more I saw of the 84th the more impressed I became with
the system of training which had been evolved during the war in the
U.S.A. It worked on the sausage-machine principle. The different
ingredients in the form of men, officers, and material were poured
in at one end, and a complete division trained for war came out at the
other. Their staff work was naturally rather cumbersome, and they
lacked the know how which only battle experience can bring.
But they were a good division nevertheless.

I was determined that they should have every possible assistance,
so for tank support I gave them my most experienced armoured
regiment, the Sherwood Rangers Yeomanry, commanded by
Stanley Christopherson, some flails and flame tanks from the ypth
Division, and above all die support of my superb corps artillery.
The result, in the initial stages, was a complete success. On the first
day, i8th November, both the 43rd Wessex and the 84th U.S.
captured all their objectives, and by the evening of the ipth
Geilenkirchen was in our hands.

Now we began to encounter winter public enemy No. I rain.
After continuous rain the ground became so sodden that even the
tanks were bogged, and the Germans as usual began launching some
vicious counter-attacks with their isth Panzer and loth S.S. Divi-
sions. "We succeeded in holding on to most of our objectives, but all
efforts to exploit our initial gains were unsuccessful.

This was warfare at its most beastly, continuous cold driving rain
turning the ground into a sea of mud, and constant counter-attacks
from experienced German troops. The thing that worried me most
was the initial failure of the Americans to get a hot meal through to
their forward troops. This is where battle experience counts. It may
be necessary to make the most elaborate plans many hours before-
hand; but if troops are to go on fighting in winter, somehow or
other they must get hot food. Every day my first question to the
84th was, " How many units have had a hot meal during the
night ? "

The first day the answer was none. The second day fifty per

235

cent, and the third day 100 per cent. The great thing about the
Americans was that they were very quick to learn.

Now was the moment, after three days' hard and more-or-less
victorious action, for this raw division to have been pulled out of
the line. But in war this is not always possible. They just had
to stay there, grin and bear it. On 23rd November the 84th
reverted to U.S. control as the front had become static. I have
deliberately mentioned this small battle in some detail because it
was typical of what was going on throughout the winter all along
the front.

Early in December I was visited by Field-Marshal Montgomery
who explained the next role my corps was to play in this battle of
the Rhineland. A large-scale attack was to be launched in a
southerly direction from the Nijmegen area, with our right on the
Maas and our left on the Rhine, to be followed a few days later by
an attack by General Simpson's pth Army across the Roer in a
northerly direction. The German forces west of the Rhine would
thus be caught between two prongs.

This was subsequently called the battle of the Reichswald, and
on 1 3th December, 30 Corps was pulled out of the line in great
secrecy to prepare for this operation. While the different formations
were moving back, I decided to avail myself of the standing invita-
tion from Queen Elizabeth of the Belgians and snatch a brief leave
at the Palace of Laeken.

Then the incredible happened. I hadn't been there twenty-four
hours when the telephone rang and the voice of a senior staff officer
at General Dempsey's 2nd Army headquarters said: '* The Germans
have smashed through the American front in the Ardennes and the
situation is extremely confused. Field-Marshal Montgomery wants
your corps, which is our only reserve readily available, to move
down and occupy a lay-back position to protect Brussels. Can, you
return immediately? "

As luck would have it there was a thick pea-souper fog that
night, and I couldn't have found my way even through Brussels,
let alone get back to my headquarters some seventy-five miles away,
So I replied that I would return first thing next morning, and I was

236

quite happy to leave the move of the corps in the hands of my very
able chief of staff.

I don't think I have ever been so surprised in my life. Here were
the Germans, whom we imagined almost at the end of their tether,
and whose air force had been practically shot out of the skies,
pulling off the biggest surprise of the war and launching a large-
scale counter-attack. It was so uncanny that, sitting there with the
fog all round me, I felt very, very uneasy. But then I pulled myself
together and began to study the map.

I knew that the Ardennes sector of the American front was very
lightly held, with something like four divisions on a frontage of
ninety miles. Although it was reputed to be difficult country,
wooded and hilly, with narrow roads twisting up the valleys, the
Germans knew it well. It was through the Ardennes that they had
launched their famour panzer thrust in 1940 which had cut the
French armies in two.

Neither the French in 1940 nor the Americans in 1944 had
expected an attack in this particular sector, and they were both
proved wrong. The Germans had chosen well on both occasions.
A further anxiety was that because of Eisenhower's broad front
policy almost every formation was in the line all the time, and there
were very few reserves available.

Then I began to realise what a fantastic gamble this was. The
Germans could not possibly have amassed the resources in men,
material and above all in the air to do us any serious damage.
In fact they were playing into our hands. Instead of the Allies
having to launch their attacks across flooded rivers like the Roer and
then stand up to sharp enemy counter-attacks from armoured divi-
sions, the Germans had come to us and stuck their armoured heads
into our noose. With any luck we might destroy a large part of
their last available armoured divisions.

I heard afterwards that the reactions of that most colourful U.S.
General George Patton, had been very similar. When told about
the German attack he said: " Fine. We should open up and let
them get all the way to Paris. Then we will saw 'em off at the base."

I was feeling quite cheerful by the time I went into dinner,

237

which was just as well, because I found two very anxious women,
Queen Elizabeth and la Baronne Carton de Wiart, awaiting me.
Brussels had already been occupied twice in their lifetime. Was it to
happen again ? I did my best to reassure them, and pointed out that
as a result of this attack the war might be shortened by several
months. Poor Brussels that cheerful leave centre where the Allied
troops enjoyed a short spell out of the line was like a morgue during
the next few days.

I have no intention of going into details of this battle, which was
largely an American affair. From the moment 30 Corps was in the
long-stop position quite close to the battlefield of Waterloo there
was no further danger of a German break-through. With three
infantry divisions available and some 300 tanks ready to drive in
from the flank, I hoped sincerely that the Germans would poke
their noses over the Meuse. I had a momentary hope that it might
fall to the lot of Horrocks to fight the second battle of Waterloo.
In fact I went forward to see General Joe Collins, commanding the
U.S. 7 Corps on the other side of the river in front of me and said:
"Let them come, we will be delighted to deal with them/* He
grinned and said, " I can't do that, General, but it is mighty comfort-
ing to know you are there ! "

The main British interest in the battle centred round the part
played by Montgomery. When news of the German offensive was
first received, some of the U.S. generals thought that it was only a
spoiling attack. But not Monty. Like an old war horse he immedi-
ately scented danger. And although to start with the enemy
attack was not on his front at all, he immediately moved my corps
into position to block any German attempt to break through to
Brussels and Antwerp. This was a wise precaution.

Then came General Eisenhower's much-discussed and criticised
decision to split the command and place all the troops north of the
bulge, including the ist U.S. Army, under Montgomery, leaving
Bradley to command all those in the south. From every military
point of view this was a correct decision, but it hurt the Americans
badly. They felt that it was a slur on their efficiency. It was a
situation which required immense tact but this is a quality for

238

which high-ranking soldiers are not noted, and Monty was no
exception.

One of the main difficulties in this battle was to find out what
was happening. Rumours multiplied, particularly as regards the
activities of the German commandos under Major Otto Skorzeny.
These consisted of American-speaking Germans wearing U.S. uni-
form and riding in captured jeeps. Not more than fifty jeep loads
all told were actually employed but their numbers were multiplied
at least twenty times. It was almost impossible to move about freely
behind the American lines unless one had an intimate knowledge of
America, because the U.S. sentries were not satisfied with passes and
passwords. Everyone was grilled about America. " What is the
second largest town in Texas? " I was once asked. I had no idea.

This was a very confused battle and it was under these cir-
cumstances that Monty's liaison officers, or gallopers, really came
into their own. They consisted of hand-picked, intelligent, tough
young staff officers who lived at his tactical headquarters. Every day
they were dispatched to the different formations fighting the battle.
In the evening after dinner each in turn would report to Monty on
what he had seen and heard. As a result of their reports Monty was
probably the only man who had a completely up-to-date picture of
the whole battle front.

The only way I could keep in touch with what was going on was
to send my intelligence officer daily to study Monty's own opera-
tional map. Many people, particularly some of the U.S. com-
manders, resented the arrival of these liaison officers, whom they
called Monty's spies. This was understandable, but at the same time
rather silly. I found them very useful indeed. By taking them into
my confidence I could be certain that Monty not only knew what
was happening but also where the shoe pinched.

I took very little part in this battle. On, the evening of the 2sth,
when I got back to my headquarters after spending the day with the
6th Airborne Division in the Dinant and Givet sector, I was told that
the Field-Marshal wanted to speak to me. His first words were,
'* Jorrocks, I want you to fly home to-morrow." I was somewhat
shaken, but when I said: " May I ask why I am being sacked? "

240

In the J3J3.C. Television studios. Above: Showing how Otto Skorzeny rescued
Mussolini from a mountain hotel in Italy. Below : Describing the battle of
Normandy

Historic pictures showing Black Rod's role at the Opening of Parliament, never photographed
before and here reproduced, by permission of the B.B.C.jfrom the telerecording (1958). Above:
Black Rod finds himself in a familiar position, advancing before Field-Marshal Montgomery,
carrying the Sword of State. Below : At the bar of the House of Lords after summoning the Commons.
Behind Black Rod can be seen the Prime Minister, Mr. Harold Macmillan, the Chaplain and the
Leader of the Opposition, Mr. Hugh Gaitskell

there was an explosion at the other end of the telephone. " Don't
be stupid," he said. " You're not being sacked. I want you to go
home and have a rest before a big battle I've got in store for you as
soon as we've cleared up this mess here."

I pointed out that the German spearhead was far from blunted
and this was hardly the time for a commander to leave his corps
when we were engaged in a battle which was unquestionably one
of the turning points in the war. " This battle is finished," he said.
" The Germans have shot their bolt. You fly home to-morrow."
And that was that.

I shall never forget the look of horrified astonishment on the
face of the Vice-Chief of the General Staff, Archie Nye, when I
popped my head round his door in the War Office next day. For a
second he obviously thought some frightful disaster had occurred,
and that I was the last survivor. His relief when I explained was
almost funny. But he kept on muttering doubtfully, " Fancy Monty
sending you on leave at a time like this." I could see that he also
thought my time had come, and was probably pondering on a
suitable decoration with which to grace my military demise.

I mention this personal episode merely to emphasise once more
that Monty was always fighting the next battle or the next but one,
rather than the current one.

He was quite right. Already on 29th December, Manteuffel, the
German commander, was almost beseeching his Higher Command
to call the battle off and let him get his troops back behind the Roer
before the massive reserves being concentrated north and south of
the bulge could strike his flanks. But as usual Hitler refused to give
up an inch of ground, and it was not until 3rd January that he
reluctantly gave permission for the withdrawal.

By this time it was almost too late. Snow and biting winds
added to the misery of the beaten German Armies as powerful thrusts
by the ist and 3rd U.S. Armies struck into their flanks, while the
air forces pounded them ceaselessly from above. On nth January
the two armies joined hands at Houffalize, and by the end of the
month the Germans were back once more behind their Siegfried
Line.

241

They had failed primarily because they had under-estimated the
fighting qualities of the American front-line troops. The American
divisions had weathered this unexpected storm most creditably, but
their losses had not been light. In five weeks there were 59,000
casualties in the twenty-seven U.S. divisions which were engaged in
the battle. The German losses in men and material were, however,
much more serious because, unlike the American, they could not be
replaced. In the words of Manteuffel himself: " The cost was so
great that the offensive failed to show a profit. The last German
reserves had suffered such losses that they were no longer capable of
affecting the situation either on the western or eastern fronts."

The effect on the morale of the German troops was disastrous.
After the Ardennes all hope of winning the war had gone. Dis-
illusionment and bitterness now began to creep in.

242

CHAPTER XVIII

REICHSWALD BATTLE

ON MY return from leave we resumed our interrupted preparations
for the Reichswald battle. 30 Corps was lent to the 1st Canadian
Army for this operation, designed to destroy all German forces
between the Rhine and the Meuse. It was to be a two-pronged
affair. We, the northern prong, were to attack in great strength on
8th February. Then, when all the German reserves were on the
move north to meet this' threat, the southern prong, General
Simpson's pth U.S. Army, would cross the River Roer and advance
towards us.

The German forces would thus be caught in a vice. If they
elected to fight west of the Rhine they would be destroyed and
fewer German troops would be available to counter our thrust into
the Reich itself. If they decided to withdraw back over the Rhine,
2ist Arrny Group would be right down on the bank poised to make
a crossing anywhere along its length, the primary object of the
Rhineland battle.

In theory a perfectly straightforward plan, but not quite so easy
as it looked. All operations fought by armies are largely influenced
by the shape of the ground and also by weather conditions. None
more so than this one.

The front line was held by two Canadian divisions and as I
studied the country from one of their observation posts I saw in front
a gentle valley with small farms rising up on the other side and
merging into the sinister blackness of the Reichswald (German
forest), intersected by rides but with only one metalled road running
through it. North of the forest ran the main road from Nijmegen
to Cleve that is from Holland into Germany. North of this again
was the low-lying polder land which had been flooded by the

243

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THE BATTLE OF THE REICHSWAID

Germans and looked like a large lake with the villages built on
slightly higher ground standing out above the water. To the north
flowed the broad expanse of the Rhine. The Germans were holding
the far bank. South of the Reichswald was more low-lying ground
which ran down to the River Meuse. This was completely dom-
inated by the southern edge of the forest. The British 2nd Army
held the other side of this river. We were therefore faced with a
bottle-neck between the forest and the polder land and this had
been heavily fortified in depth by the Germans. Moreover the
whole area was lousy with mines.

This was really the outpost position of the Siegfried Line which
lay 3,500 yards to the east and consisted of an anti-tank ditch, some
concrete emplacements, barbed-wire, mines and so on. Furthermore
the small Rhineland towns such as Cleve and Goch had been made
into hedgehogs, fortresses prepared for all-round defence. The
cellars in the houses of all these German frontier towns had been
specially constructed for battle concrete basements with loop-
holes and so on, a further example of the careful German prepara-
tions for war. Farther east still was one more lay-back position called
the Hochwald. So the German defences were in considerable
depth.

We had to get through this bottle-neck before we could break
out into the German plain beyond and the key to the bottle-neck
was the high ground at Nutterden. This was the hinge of the door
which led to the open country. The front was held by one German
division, the 84th, supported by about 100 guns, but we estimated
that there were approximately three infantry and two panzer
divisions in reserve which could be brought into the battle pretty
quickly.

The first essential was to smash through the 84th as quickly as
possible and get the high ground, the hinge, before the Germans
could bring up their reserves. It was a race for Nutterden, but at
the same time I had to clear the Reichswald itself, otherwise the
Germans could have concentrated troops there and struck at my
communications. Moreover, I wanted the road running through it
because I knew how difficult it would be to supply a large modern

245

army with all its complicated needs along one road. To smash
through quickly I determined to use the maximum force possible
from the outset and support it with a large amount of artillery.
So I decided to attack with five divisions in line, from right to left,
5ist Highland, 53rd Welsh, isth Scottish, 2nd and 3rd Canadian.
Behind were the 43 rd Wessex and Guards Armoured Divisions
ready to pass through and sweep down the Rhineland*

The success of this plan depended on two things. First, obtaining
complete surprise, and secondly on the weather. If the Germans got
wind of our attack they would move up their reserves before the
battle started. But the weather exerted the biggest influence of all,
because the ground was frozen hard, and if only the frost would
hold until 9th February, our tanks and motor transport would be
able to go everywhere across country without any difficulty. I had
no doubt at all that under these conditions we should break out very
quickly into the plain beyond and I hoped secretly to bounce one
of the bridges over the Rhine.

Surprise would not be easy. An enormous concourse of men,
tanks, vehicles and guns had to be moved into the outskirts of
Nijmegen and the woods nearby unknown to the Germans. This
involved the most intricate staff work. By day the roads must
remain empty, showing just an occasional vehicle the normal
traffic, in fact. But as soon as it got dark, feverish activity began.
Vehicles, almost nose to tail, came out of their hide-outs and started
moving up. Thirty-five thousand vehicles were used to bring up the
men and their supplies. One million, three hundred thousand gallons
of petrol were required. Five special bridges had to be constructed
over the Maas. One hundred miles of road must be made or
improved. An intricate traffic control system had to be set up
involving 1600 military police, and each unit was given the most
exact timing.

General Crerar, the Canadian army commander, under whom I
was tiow serving, wisely decided that my assaulting troops should
concentrate behind the existing Canadian screen so as not to arouse
German suspicions by the sudden arrival of many fresh formations.
A great many people had to reconnoitre this forward area, and I was

246

terrified that the presence of hundreds of officers and N.C.O.s
walking about with field-glasses and maps might give the show
away. So an office was established in the Dutch infantry barracks
at Grave from where we controlled the movement of all recon- .
naissance parties north of the River Meuse. We even made them
wear Canadian battle-dress which was slightly different in colour
and pattern from ours.

This was the first time I had come into close contact with the
Canadians during the war, and as I went round getting to know the
2nd and 3rd Divisions which were to form part of my corps I was
more and more impressed. Their long period of training in the U.K.
had not been wasted. Moreover, while my corps had been romping
gaily up to Brussels, the Canadians had been engaged in some very
hard fighting in the coastal areas, so by now they were not only
well trained but also seasoned troops. On the whole they seemed
larger than our men, but occasionally I arrived suddenly in a unit
composed of small alert French-speaking soldiers.

To begin with all the plans went very smoothly. Then we got
our first body blow. A sudden thaw set in and the bottom dropped
out of some of our vital roads. By now, however, I had a superb
staff, all young but very experienced, and somehow the vast con-
centrations were completed without the Germans suspecting
anything.

One thing, during this preparatory stage, caused me almost more
worry than any tiling else; the handling of the immense air resources
which were to support us. General Crerar told me that in addition
to the whole of the 2nd Tactical Air Force the heavies from Bomber
Command were also available. And he put this question to me:
" Do you want the town of Cleve taken out ? " By " taking out 3>
he meant, of course, totally destroyed.

This is the sort of problem with which a general in war is
constantly faced, and from which there is no escape. Cleve was a
lovely, historical, RJbdneland town. Anne of Cleves, Henry VIII's
fourth wife came from there. No doubtalot of civilians, particularly
women and children, were still living there. I hated the thought of
its being " taken out." All the same, if we were to break out of this

247

bottle-neck and sweep down into the German plain beyond it was
going to be a race between the I5th Scottish Division and the
German reserves for the hinge, and all the German reserves would
have to pass through Cleve. If I could delay them by bombing, it
might make all the difference to the battle. And after all the lives of
my own troops must come first. So I said " Yes/'

But I can assure you that I did not enjoy the sight of those
bombers flying over my head on the night before we attacked.
Generals, of course, should not have imagination. I reckon I had a
bit too much.

By the evening of yth February our concentration was complete,
and the woods and outskirts of Nijmegen were thick with troops,
guns, vehicles, workshops, tanks all the paraphernalia of modern
war. It would have been almost impossible to drop a pea into the
area without hitting something. This was probably the last of the
old-type set piece attacks because, in face of the threat of tactical
atomic missiles, no concentration like this can ever take place again.

Though the difficult and complicated concentration had been
achieved secretly, our prospects of a swift success had dwindled
since the original plan had been made. The thaw had been a great
blow, because in front of us in that low-lying valley the going was
certain to be bad. Luckily for my peace of mind I did not realise
then just how bad. The second handicap concerned the attack of the
American 9th Army. The Germans had wisely blown the dams,
and the Roer river had become so flooded that no passage over it
would be possible until the flood waters had subsided. How long
this would take was anybody's guess. The flood would enable the
Germans to concentrate every available reserve against us. We were
faced with a battle of extermination, slogging our way forward
through the mud. Not a pleasing prospect at all.

With these thoughts in mind I climbed into my command post
for the battle in the early hours of 8th February, It was a cold, grey,
miserable dawn with low clouds and rain, heralding several days of
stormy weather. My command post was a small platform half-way
up a tree, and from here I had a wonderful view over most of the
battlefield. The noise was appalling, and the sight awe-inspiring,

248

All across tlie front shells were exploding. We had arranged for a
barrage, a curtain of fire, to move forward at a rate of 300 yards
every twelve minutes, or 100 yards every four minutes, in front of
the troops. To mark the end of the four-minute period when the
guns would increase their range by 300 yards they all fired a round
of yellow smoke.

So it was possible to follow roughly the progress of the attack,
and down in the valley, behind this wall of shells, I could see small
scattered groups of men and tanks all moving slowly forward.
I was also able by wireless to keep in accurate touch with what was
happening.

This was the biggest operation I had ever handled in war.
Thirty Corps was 200,000 strong that day, and we were attacking
with five divisions in line supported by 1400 guns. It soon became
clear that the enemy was completely bemused as a result of our
colossal bombardment; their resistance was slight. The main
trouble was mines and mud, particularly mud. I am certain that
this must be the chief memory of everyone who fought in the
Reichswald battle. Mud and still more mud. It was so bad that
after the first hour every tank going across country was bogged
down, and the infantry had to struggle forward on their own.
The chief enemy resistance came from the cellars in the villages.

It has been said that no two attacks are ever alike, and that was
exemplified in this battle. Every night as soon as it was dusk, the
3rd Canadian Division set out on what were almost maritime
operations, each one designed to capture one or more of the villages
which, owing to the flooding, looked like small islands jutting out
of the sea. Artillery would fire on the village while the Canadians
in their buffaloes (amphibious vehicles) sailed off across the interven-
ing lake and carried out their assault.

On their right was an entirely different type of operation carried
out by the 44th Brigade of the 15th Scottish. Their task was to
breach the northern extension of the Siegfried Line, consisting of
anti-tank ditches, mine-fields, concrete emplacements and barbed-
wire entanglements. Not one single man was on his feet. The
officers controlling the artillery fire were in tanks. The leading wave

249

of the assault consisted of tanks with flails in front beating and
exploding the mines to clear passages through the mine-fields.
Then came tanks carrying bridges and fascines on their backs to
form bridges over the anti-tank ditch. The next echelon was flame-
throwing tanks to deal with the concrete pill-boxes, and finally
infantry in cut-down tanks, ie., with the top taken, off, called
kangaroos.

These proved a great boon in the closing stages of the war.
They were, I believe, a Canadian invention emanating from the
brain of one of their most famous corps commanders, General
Simonds. I once saw a whole brigade of the sist Highland
Division in these vehicles being heavily shelled by the Germans.
I thought their casualties were bound to be high, but they had only
two men wounded.

That night the Germans breached the banks of the Rhine up-
stream, and the floods started to rise, spreading over our one road.
Nevertheless the advance was going well, and I was delighted to
hear that the I5th Scottish were moving into the outskirts of Clcve.
Here was the news for which I had been waiting eagerly and I
unleashed my first reserve, the 43rd Wessex Division, which was to
pass through the ijth Scottish and burst out into the plain.

This was one of the worst mistakes I made in the war. The isth
Scottish had not got nearly so far as had been reported, and one of
their brigades had not yet been employed at all. There was already
too much traffic on this one road, and it was impossible to deploy
across country owing to the boggy ground. The arrival of this extra
division caused one of the worst traffic jams of the whole war, only
equalled, I believe, by the scenes in the Liri valley in Italy after the
battle of Cassino. The language heard that night has seldom if ever
been equalled.

In spite of me, shall we say, the isth Scottish and then the 43rd
Wessex forced their way into the shattered ruins that had once been
Cleve and some very hard fighting took place. Meanwhile the
53rd Welsh had disappeared into the Reichswald itself, where they
spent one of the most unpleasant weeks of the war, fighting their
way steadily forward against increasing German opposition. The

250

5 ist Highland were also going well on the right flank, where
opposition had been heavier than anywhere else. It was a satisfactory
thought that this division which had started at Alamein was now at
long last, and after much hard fighting all along North Africa,
Sicily, Normandy, Belgium, Holland, in Germany itself.

From now on the battle developed into a slogging match as we
inched our way forward through the mud and rain. It became a
soldier's battle fought most gallantly by the regimental officers and
men under the most ghastly conditions imaginable. It was a slog in
which only two things mattered, training and guts, with the key men
as always the battalion commanders. The Germans rushed up more
guns and more divisions. Eventually we were opposed by more
than 1000 guns, 700 mortars and some ten divisions; they were
certainly fighting desperately to prevent our getting to their famous
Rhine. Slowly and bitterly we advanced through the mud
supported by our superb artillery.

Historians may well in the future pass over this battle as dull
but it was far from dull for the front-line soldiers. As I went round
day after day I marvelled at the stoicism of these youngsters. They
were quite unmoved by the fact that they were the cutting edge of a
vast military machine stretching right back through bulging lines of
communication to war factories in the United Kingdom.

The strain to which the soldier of to-day is subjected is far, far
greater than anything experienced by his grandfather or his great-
grandfather. This battle was a particularly good example. The
53rd Welsh Division and, farther south, the 5ist Highland Division
were fighting their way through that sinister black Reichswald
Forest. Their forward troops would very often consist of two young
men, crouching together in a fox-hole, both of whom had long
since come to the conclusion that the glories of war had been much
over-written. They were quite alone for they might not be able to
see even the other members of their own section and all around
them was the menace of hidden mines.

It is this sinister emptiness that depresses them most no living
thing in sight. During training, officers and N.C.O.s had been
running round die whole time, but they cannot do it now to any-

251

thing like the same extent, or they won't live long. Our two young
men are almost certainly cold, miserable and hungry, but they are
at least reasonably safe as long as they remain in their fox-hole.
But they know that soon they will have to emerge into the open to
attack. Then the seemingly empty battlefield will erupt into sudden
and violent life. When that moment arrives they must force them-
selves forward with a sickening feeling in the pit of their stomachs,
fighting an almost uncontrollable urge to fling themselves down as
close to the earth as they can get. Even then they are still alone
amidst all the fury; carrying their loneliness with them.

Towards the end of the war I began to feel that in face of modern
fire power it is not possible for the human body, unprotected by
armour, to move across country at all. That is why we British
generals, who had nearly all been through the First World War with
its terrible casualties, were always seeking for more ways of helping
the infantry forward, more tanks to go with them, clear the way
through mine-fields, and give them close fire support in their
attacks. More and still more artillery with which to blast the enemy
and keep him down at the bottom of his trench, unable to retaliate.

But now let me return to the young soldiers in their empty
battlefield, and compare them with their great-great-grandfathers
on the battlefield of Waterloo, where the British troops formed up
shoulder-to-shoulder, with their officers and N.C.O.s all round
them. Every now and then along the ridge in front of them rode
their famous commander, Wellington, on his equally famous horse,
Copenhagen. Three-quarters of a mile away on the hill of La Belle
Alliance they could see their French opponents under Napoleon
also forming up. There was shouting, clamour and excitement in
the air. It took a brave men to be a coward under those cir-
cumstances.

How much worse for our youngsters in their loneliness.

In those days, too, little happened at night. As soon as it got
dark the armies of both sides slept round camp-fires, probably
warmed with swigs of looted brandy. In the morning when they
were all formed up, the generals said, " Let battle commence " and
off they went again*

252

Now, owing to the power of modern fire, more and more
happens at night. In Korea practically all the fighting took place
under cover of darkness. And I reckon about the hardest thing you
can ask of any man is to form part of a standing patrol in no-man's-
land on a winter's night.

Yet nothing in their previous life has prepared our young men
for the supreme ordeal of this modern battlefield. The greater
proportion of soldiers to-day live in the outskirts of some big town,
where they are always surrounded by crowds. At the cinema, the
football match, at work in the factory, or in a holiday camp, there
are always plenty of people. Quite naturally they don't hke being
alone. Nor do they like darkness because they are used to the
lighted streets. They are also brought up, quite rightly, in an
atmosphere of safety first. Going to school there is a man or woman
in a white coat to see them safely across the road. I am not suggesting
that this is not a good tiling. Of course it is, with the state of our
modem roads. But what I do say is that it is hardly a suitable back-
ground for the ordeal of modern war. All the more credit 10 them
then that when properly led they do so well.

The floods rose continuously, and at one stage our one road was
covered to a depth of several feet. We attacked every day and every
night for five long weeks, and our casualties began to mount. I kept
on hearing the sad news that Major, Captain or Sergeant So-and-so
who had been with his unit ever since Normandy had been killed.

This was a Canadian battle, and every day I was visited by
General Crcrar, the army commander. He was always very well-
informed because, In spite of the bad weather, he made constant
flights over die battlefield in a small observation aircraft. I am afraid
he must have found me a rather tiresome subordinate, because this
continuous battle in the mud began to take its toll, and I found
myself getting very tired and irritable. But Crcrar bore with me
patiently.

The turning-point came on i6th February, when, the 43rd
Wessex Division carried out a brilliant 8000 yards advance which
brought them to the escarpment overlooking the fortified town of
Goch, which was subsequently captured by die Jocks of the 5ist

Highland and isth Scottish Divisions. At this time my right flank
was very much a Scottish army. The 52nd (Lowland Division) were
on the extreme right and one of the regiments supporting the
attack on Goch was that magnificent medium artillery regiment
The Scottish Horse.

After the first week the front widened sufficiently for the 2nd
Canadian Corps, commanded by General Simonds, to come in
on my left, or northern flank. Simonds was a first-class com-
mander with a most original brain and full of initiative. It was his
corps which now bore the brunt of the assault on the strongly-held
Hochwald position.

They were faced by determined resistance from German para-
troopers and it developed into a dour struggle. The Royal Winnipeg
Rifles said it was " the heaviest shelling the battalion had ever
experienced." The Regina Rifles reported "Just as bad as anything
encountered in Normandy." It was during this fighting that two
Canadians won the Victoria Cross. Sergeant Aubrey Cosens of the
Queen's Own Rifles of Canada almost single-handed beat off
numerous German counter-attacks, and then led his platoon,
reduced to four men, in an attack against three strongly-defended
enemy positions. In the moment of victory he himself was killed
by a bullet from a German sniper. The second was won by an
officer, Major F. A. Tilston of the Essex Scottish. Though wounded
time after time he went on leading his company and eventually,
though so seriously wounded that he was barely conscious, he
refused to give up until he was satisfied that the position was secure.
Only then would he permit himself to be taken back to the aid post.

On the 23 rd came the welcome news that the 9th U.S. Army
had been able to cross the swollen River Rocr. This meant that the
southern prong would now start moving northwards, and the
German fate was sealed. By loth March the battle was over and all
organised German resistance west of the Rhine had ceased.

During the course of this horrible battle nine British and
Canadian divisions supported by a vast array of artillery had been
under command of 30 Corps. We had smashed our way through
carefully prepared enemy defensive positions under the most

254

unpleasant conditions imaginable. No one in his senses would wish
to fight a winter campaign in the flood plains of north-western
Europe, but there was no alternative. During the fighting, which had
lasted for a month, we had encountered and defeated three panzer,
four parachute and four German infantry divisions. We took 16,800
German prisoners and it was estimated that the total enemy casualties
was about 75,000 as against 15,634 suffered by us. Our losses seemed
very high to me at the time, but this was unquestionably the
grimmest battle in which I took part during the last war and I kept
on reminding myself that during the battle of the Somme in the
1914-1918 war there were 50,000 casualties during the first morning.

General Eisenhower summed it up in a letter to Crerar in which
he wrote, " Probably no assault in this war has been conducted
in more appalling conditions of terrain than was that one."

I was very glad to have it behind me. The battle of the Rhine-
land was over; the western bank was securely in our hands, and the
heart of Germany was almost uncovered.

CHAPTER XIX

ACROSS THE RHINE

WHEN THE battle of the Rhineland was over I received a message to
say that 30 Corps was to revert to the command of the 2nd British
Army. Next day General Dempsey arrived to give me his plan for
the crossing of the Rhine and the final advance into Germany.
We were to attack on a two-corps front between the small towns of
Wesel and Emmerich with 12 Corps on the right and my corps, 30,
on the left. As the main effort what the Germans called the
Schwerpunkt was to be on the right, the two airborne divisions,
6th British and iyth U.S. were to be employed on 12 Corps front.
It was an exciting proposition. The idea of breaching the Rhine of
all rivers appealed to me enormously. It wasn't, however, going to
be so simple as some people seemed to think, because, whatever
might be happening elsewhere on the front, the troops opposed to
us were still fighting toughly. According to my intelligence staff,
whose information was always astonishingly accurate, we were
opposed by the 8th Parachute Division round the small town of
Rees with part of the 6th and yth Parachute Divisions on its flanks.
Behind in immediate reserve were our old friends, or enemies,
I5th Panzer Grenadier Division and n6th Panzer Division.

A vast concentration of troops, assault boats, buffaloes, bridging
material, guns, etc., had to be got into position, and unfortunately
the far bank of the broad, swift-running Rhine was slightly higher
than ours so that German observers could sec all that was going on
in the flat ground on our side. To deceive the enemy about our
crossing place was* a difficult problem involving some intricate staff
work under the direction of my B.G.S., Brigadier Jones (subse-
quently Major-General C. B. Jones, Vice-Adjutant General at the
War Office). Once again I had been extremely lucky in my chief

256

staff officer. No one could have wished for a better right-hand man
than " Splosh " Jones, and- he took the whole thing in his stride.
One of lois first problems was to control reconnaissance. Before an
attack of this sort a large number of people must go forward and
reconnoitre the positions they are to occupy. This applies particu-
larly to the gunners who have many mysterious rites of their own to
perform before they can bring down accurate concentrations of fire.

We hit on what I thought was rather a bright idea. Nobody was
allowed forward on to the flat polder land stretching back from the
banks of the Rhine without reporting to a special branch of 30 Corps
headquarters where a very large-scale map of the forward area was
maintained. This was known as " The Pig Hotel " 30 Corps sign
was a wild boar and we were known throughout the army as the
old pig. After examining the accommodation which they had been
allotted in " the hotel," reconnaissance parties were allowed to go
forward a few at a time to see their " rooms." I was particularly
angry one day to hear that a certain Major-General who was much
too brave to take the normal precautions had walked along the near
bank of the Rhine wearing his red hat.

The final move forward on to the flat ground was made under
cover of darkness, and from the first night I arranged for a con-
tinuous smoke-screen to be put down right along the river bank.
This proved most effective, though when the wind blew towards us
the smoke was inclined to make everyone feel sick. A river crossing
of this nature is a most intricate operation but thanks to " Splosh "
and his excellent team of staff officers, by the 23rd March all was
ready and at 5 p.m. our artillery opened fire.

This preliminary bombardment was designed to destroy the
150 enemy guns which had been located on our front, or at least to
cut their communications and so prevent them firing on our troops
forming up for the assault, The sist Highland Division had been
earmarked to carry out the first crossings and just before 9 p.m. I
climbed into an observation post on some high ground overlooking
die Rhine. All around me were the usual noises of battle, and
though I could see very little except the flicker of the guns I had a
mental picture of what was going on in front of me in the hazy

257

darkness of tliat warm spring evening. I could imagine the leading
buffaloes carrying infantry of I53rd and I54th Infantry Brigades
lumbering along their routes, which had been taped out and lit
beforehand, and then lurching down into the dark waters of the
Rhine.

Upstream at Wesel I could hear the aircraft of Bomber Command
preparing the way for 12 Corps which was to assault later that night.
Then at four minutes past nine precisely I received the message for
which I had been waiting in its way a historical message because
it was from the first British troops to cross the Rhine " The Black
Watch has landed safely on the far bank." The initial crossings went
very smoothly, opposition was not as heavy as might have been
expected and our casualties were comparatively light.

But the enemy was quick to recover and very soon reports came
in that Rees was proving troublesome. As the night wore on enemy
resistance stiffened and some very bitter fighting took place. Within
twenty-four hours of the assault the isth Panzer Grenadier Division
hit back at us with a vicious counter-attack. I will give just one
example of what was going on. Soon after the village of Speldrop
had been captured by " C " Company of the 1st Black Watch it was
violently counter-attacked by German infantry supported by self-
propelled guns. The situation became very confused and, as one
platoon could not be located, nincteen-years-old Lieutenant J. R.
Henderson volunteered to take out a patrol to try and find how far
the Germans had penetrated.

After going a few hundred yards he came under intense fire,
so ordering the rest of the men to take cover he went forward
accompanied by only one man carrying a brcn gun. Almost
immediately an enemy machine-gun opened fire at very close
range. The bren gunner was killed and Henderson's revolver was
knocked out of his hand. Undaunted he charged the machine-gun
position alone and killed the gunner with his shovel.

He then went back to the patrol, and although the only building
at hand was in flames he decided to occupy it. By this time he and
his patrol were cut off from the rest of the battalion. Realising that
it would be difficult to hold out without a machine-gun, Henderson

258

crawled back several hundred yards under very heavy fire to the
place where the bren gunner had been killed, collected the gun and
with great difficulty made his way back to his men.

By now the house was blazing so he led his men across the open
into another one where they established themselves in a defensive
position. During the next twelve hours enemy attacks against the
house never relaxed and it was not until the following evening that
the Highland Light Infantry of Canada, attacking with considerable
artillery support, cleared the village after stiff fighting and so
relieved Henderson and his men who were still holding out most
gallantly.

Reports were coming in of Germans surrendering in large
numbers to the British and American forces on our flanks but there
was no sign of any collapse on our front. In fact the 5ist Highland
Division reported that the enemy was fighting harder than at any
time since Normandy. It says a lot for the morale of those German
parachute and panzer troops that with chaos, disorganisation and
disillusionment all round them they should still be resisting so
stubbornly. Their casualties during the last nine months had been
very heavy, and the reinforcements arriving from Germany had not
been of the old calibre at all, yet somehow the tough, experienced
officers and N.C.CXs who were such a feature of these parachute and
panzer formations managed to turn the callow youths into good
soldiers.

It was a slow business widening the bridgehead and Rees proved
a particularly hard nut to crack. It took the ist Battalion The
Gordons forty-eight hours, dour fighting before the whole place was
in their hands. During the morning of the 24th as I was driving
round in my jeep 1 received a wireless message which caused me
great grief, to the effect that Thomas Rennie, the commander of the
5 ist Highland Division, had been killed by a mortar bomb when
visiting one of his brigades on the far side of the river.

I have always felt that Rennie had some foreboding about this
battle. He and I had fought many times together but I had never
seen him so worried as he was over this Rhine project. He hated
every tiling about it and I couldn't understand why, because the

actual crossing was fairly plain sailing compared with other opera-
tions which he had undertaken quite cheerfully. Like so many
Highlanders I beHeve he was " fey."

Something had to be done quickly as all the three brigades of
this division were involved in heavy fighting, so I crossed the
Rhine in a buffalo and summoned the three brigadiers to a con-
ference. They were very upset by the death of their popular
commander, and no wonder, because Remiie was a great leader and
it was thanks largely to him that the division had recovered after a
somewhat inauspicious start in Normandy. After discussing the
situation and co-ordinating their future movements I appointed
James Oliver, commander of the I54th Brigade, to take over the
division temporarily until a new commander arrived. Rennie's
successor was Macmillan of the Argylls, a most able and popular
officer, known throughout the army as " Babe/' It was a fortunate
choice because as commander of I52nd Brigade in Sicily he was
a familiar figure to all the Jocks.

With the Rhine behind us the drive into the heart of Germany
began pth U.S. Army, 8, 12 and 30 British, and 2 Canadian Corps
from right to left. Due to the stubborn resistance of the German
parachute troops we found ourselves echeloned back behind 8 and
12 Corps, a somewhat unusual experience for the old pig because
up to now we had usually led the hunt through north-west Europe.
Not only were these German rearguards well handled but their
demolitions delayed us a lot. All bridges were blown and many
cross-roads cratered, usually by large aerial bombs. A considerable
delay on the River Ems was avoided thanks to a particularly gallant
action carried out by the Guards. This was such a brilliant little
operation that I propose to describe it in some detail.

On 3rd April the armoured cars of the Household Cavalry
reported that one bridge over the River Ems was still intact; but it
was prepared for demolition and strongly defended. The Cold-
stream Guards infantry and tanks (ist and 5th Battalions) working
together were ordered to capture this bridge intact. From a wooded
hill some 400 yards from the river Lieutenant-Colonel Gooch was
able to study the German defences. The road leading up to the

260

bridge was OB an embankment and the actual approach was barred
by a solid timber road-block. Six 50o4b. aerial bombs were wired
together on the bridge ready to blow it up; on the far side were
numerous trenches and at least three 88 mm. guns could be seen.

If the bridge was to be captured before it was destroyed split-
second timing was required. The attack opened with a sudden,
intense, artillery concentration on the German positions while the
tanks moved up into firing positions on the wooded frill- When the
artillery fire lifted the tanks opened up on the German positions with
every weapon they possessed. Under cover of this No. 3 (Infantry)
Company led by the company commander, Captain Liddell, moved
forward on either side of the embankment. As Liddell didn't want
to risk his company being blown up on the bridge, he halted them
just short of it and going forward by himself climbed over the
road-block. He then ran on to the bridge in full view of the enemy,
all of whom were firing at him, and cut the wires leading to the
bombs. He climbed back on to the top of the road-block, waved his
company on and charged over the bridge at their head followed by a
troop of tanks which smashed the road-block.

The German positions were overrun, forty were killed, ten
wounded and forty-two taken prisoner, and the bridge was captured
intact. Thanks to the speed and courage displayed, only one
guardsman was killed and four wounded* The slightest hesitation
or mistiming and the bridge would unquestionably have been
destroyed, A captured German sapper said afterwards that he was
the man responsible for blowing the bridge but when he pressed
the plunger nothing happened.

I was delighted at this success and next day visited the site where
Liddell took me round and explained how the battle developed.
He was killed eighteen days later by a stray bullet before he knew
that he had won the Victoria Cross for his very gallant action on the
River Ems. It was a great tragedy but it is always the best who die
in war* How much we have missed the Liddclls of this world in the
post-war years,

Slowly too slowly for my liking we penetrated deeper into
Germany. The Guards Armoured, 3rd Division, 43rd (Wessex) and

261

5 ist (Highland) Divisions all took a hand. We heard rumours of
underground resistance movements being organised behind our
lines but this was never taken very seriously because even though the
German Army might be still fighting the civilian population had
had more than enough of the war. As soon as our advanced guards
entered a village, white sheets fluttered from all the windows.

Not for the first time I marvelled at the curious mentality of the
German people who one moment are fighting hard and the next
are surrendering by the thousand. Somehow or other I couldn't see
the British housewives in Kent, Sussex and Surrey welcoming
German invaders with white sheets more likely with coal hammers
and picks.

Towards the middle of April it became clear that I should be
forced to capture Bremen. I had been doing my best to sell this task
to Neil Ritchie, commanding 12 Corps. No commander likes
having to take on a large city which eats up troops in the most
exasperating way. But by now his corps was on the Elbe so there
was nothing for it. The more I studied the problem the less I liked
it. We were not properly balanced for the task. While I was trying
to find the best way out the telephone rang and a staff officer
informed me that Field-Marshal Montgomery was on his way down
to see me.

A few minutes later he arrived and entering the map lorry which
served as my mobile office he said, " Jorrocks, I am not happy about
Bremen." " Nor am I, sir," I replied. " Tell me about it," he said,
sitting down in front of a large-scale map. He listened carefully
without saying a word while I explained my difficulties. There was
a short pause while he pondered on what he had heard. Then,
stabbing the map with his finger he said, " We will do A, B, C and
D." The four decisions which he then took cleared up the situation
completely, and as far as I was concerned Bremen was finished.

To my mind this was a very good example of higher command
in war. At his headquarters many miles away Monty was in
sufficient touch with the feel of the battle to appreciate beforehand
where difficulties were likely to occur. He then went forward to see
the man on the spot, in this case me, and having listened to my tale

262

he made up his mind instantly about what should be done. From his
point of view, also, Bremen was finished and, as I knew very well,
he would now relegate it to the back of his mind, while he went on
to consider the next problem.

The main assault started on the 24th April with 52nd (Lowland)
Division north of the Weser and the 3rd Division converging from
the south. At this stage of the war the 52nd was one of the best
divisions in the 2nd British Army because it still retained a number
of the original personnel. It had been specially trained for a long
period as a mountain division but its first important battle had taken
place below sea4evel at Walcheren such is fate.

While roaming round the Bremen battlefield, I. stopped my jeep
and went up into an attic where I had a wonderful view of the
first objective which the 3rd Division was then attacking across a
flooded airfield. The attic was already occupied by two young
gunner-observation officers who were busily engaged in bringing the
fire of their regiment on to some German anti-tank guns which were
holding up our tanks. They had no idea I was the corps commander;
in fact they hardly glanced at irfe at all, so for a few minutes I was
able to forget the problems of a corps battle and lose myself in this
front-line duel which was unfolding before my eyes. Our artillery
concentrations got nearer and nearer to the German position.
Suddenly it was all over. The guns were pointing drunkenly in the
air, and the young gunners were dancing round the loft crying out,
" Got them, direct hit," and sure enough our tanks could now be
seen advancing once again. It was in Bremen that I realised for the
first time just what the Germans must have suffered as the result of
our bombing. It was a shambles; there didn't seem to be a single
house intact in this huge seaport.

Up to now I had been fighting this war without any particular
hatred for the enemy but just short of Bremen we uncovered one of
those horror camps which are now common knowledge, but which
at that time came as a great shock. I saw a ghastly picture when I
entered with General Allan Adair, the commander of the Guards
Armoured Division. The floor of the first large hut was strewn with
emaciated figures clad in most horrible striped pyjamas. Many of

264

them were too weak to walk but they managed to heave themselves
up and gave us a pathetic cheer. Most of them had some form of
chronic dysentery and the stench was so frightful that I disgraced
myself by being sick in a corner. It was difficult to believe that most
of these hardly human creatures had once been educated, civilised
people.

I was so angry that I ordered the burgomasters of all the surround-
ing towns and villages each to supply a quota of German women to
clean up the camp and look after these unfortunate prisoners, who
were dying daily at an alarming rate. When the women arrived we
expected some indication of horror or remorse when they saw what
their fellow-countrymen had been doing. Not a bit of it. I never
saw a tear or heard one expression of pity from any of them.
I also brought one of our own hospitals into the camp and when I
found some of our sisters looking very distressed I apologised for
having given them such an unpleasant task. " Goodness me/' they
said, "it's not that. We are only worried because we can do so
little for the poor things many of them have gone too far."
A somewhat different approach to the problem by the women of
two countries.

But to turn to a more pleasant subject. We discovered a collec-
tion of sailing yachts of all sizes tucked away in odd creeks and on.
hards along the River Weser near Bremen. As the war was nearly
over I thought these would come in handy for our troops in the
army of occupation so I ordered a couple of soldiers to be placed on
each, just to make certain they didn't disappear* A few weeks later
1 received a signal from the senior British Admiral in the area asking
for these boats to be handed over forthwith to the Royal Navy.
I flatly refused, and added in my message, ** Who captured Bremen,
the army or the navy? " Back came a terse message, " Every tiling
that floats belongs to the navy,'* to which I replied " Rather than
hand them over I'll sink the lot." The quarrel ended peacefully
when we shared the spoils between us. And when the war was over
many soldiers spent profitable hours learning to sail. Bremen.
produced 6000 prisoners including two generals and one admiral.

Our final task now was to clear the Cuxhaven peninsula which

265

lies between the estuaries of the Rivers Elbe and Weser. On 3rd May
I was told confidentially the Germans were negotiating for surrender,
but that this was not to be communicated to anyone else. I was
particularly anxious to avoid even a single casualty with die war
practically over, so instead of urging on the divisional commanders
I went round inventing excuses to slow them down. I could see
them looking at me with astonishment and they were no doubt
saying to themselves, " The old man has lost his nerve at last."

I had often wondered how the war would end. When it came
it could hardly have been more of an anti-climax. I happened to be
sitting in the military equivalent of the smallest room when I heard
a voice on the wireless saying " All hostilities will cease at 0800 hours
tomorrow morning 5th May."

It was a wonderful moment the sense of relief was extra-
ordinary; for the first time for five years I would no longer be
responsible for other men's lives. The surrender on our front took
place at 1430 hours on 5th May when the German general command-
ing the Corps Ems and his chief of staff arrived at our headquarters.
Elaborate arrangements had been made for their reception. Our
military police, looking very smart escorted them to a table in the
centre of the room; all round the outside was a rmg of interested
staff officers and other ranks of 30 Corps.

When all was ready I came in and seated myself all alone
opposite the two Germans. After issuing my orders for the surrender
I finished with these words, " These orders must be obeyed scru-
pulously. I warn you we shall have no mercy if they are not.
Having seen one of your horror camps my whole attitude towards
Germany has changed. "

The chief of staff jumped up and said, " The army had nothing
to do with those camps." u Sit down," I replied, ** there were
German soldiers on sentry duty outside and you cannot escape
responsibility. The world will never forgive Germany for those
camps,"

The German forces who were concentrated iu the north-west
corner of the Cuxhavcn peninsula were ordered to stack all their
weapons at certain points. A couple of days later I drove round the

266

area to see how the disarmament was proceeding and found the
remnants of the parachute army concentrated on an aerodrome.
When I saw the miserable equipment just a few, old, patched up
self-propelled guns and tanks with which they had managed to
delay our advance for so long I turned to their divisional com-
mander and said, " I must congratulate you on the fighting qualities
of your division," but then I added, " Your officers and N.C.O.s
will be placed in a concentration camp for the time being under our
guards. This is really a compliment. They look much too tough
and dangerous to have them knocking about just at the present
moment."

We celebrated the final victory by holding a parade in Bremen
where I took the salute and all the formations in 30 Corps marched
past. As I saw these smart men, well-polished tanks, guns and
vehicles passing by, it was incredible to think that only a week
before they had been covered with the grime of battle. So ended the
active war of 30 Corps. It had been a long journey through many
lands; starting in the Western Desert some three years before, it had
now ended deep in the heart of Germany.

I was very anxious to visit Heligoland but as our navy had not
yet taken over Cuxhavcn it was arranged that I should go with a
British naval sub-licutcnant in a German E-boat, and as no one could
raise even one White Ensign we flew the German flag. So, escorted
by four other E-boats we set off. Half-way across I told the British
sub-lieutenant to complain to the German captain that the escorts
were keeping very bad station. I thought the latter would die of
apoplexy; that a general, and a British general at that, should
complain about the seamanship of the German Navy was almost
more than he could bear.

Heligoland was well worth a visit. Although everything above
ground had been destroyed by our fearsome bombing, the under-
ground galleries were more or less intact. On die return journey
the E-boats kept station meticulously.

267

CHAPTER XX

POST WAR GERMANY

DURING THOSE first few days after the German capitulation we all
felt as though an immense weight had been lifted from our shoulders ;
but this wonderful, carefree atmosphere did not last for long.
We were faced by the many intricate problems involved in the
resuscitation of a stricken Germany. Having spent the last six years
doing our best to destroy the German Reich, almost overnight, we
had to go into reverse gear and start building her up again. This
required a considerable mental switch.

The British zone of occupation, containing some twenty
million Germans, was divided up among the corps for administra-
tive purposes, and I found myself responsible for the Hanover Corps
District. There is something terribly depressing about a country
defeated in war, even though that country has been your enemy,
and the utter destruction of Germany was almost awesome. It didn't
seem possible that towns like Hanover and Bremen could ever rise
again from the shambles in which the bulk of the hollow-eyed and
shabby population eked out a troglodyte existence underneath the
ruins of their houses.

Things were better in the country districts, but what struck me
most was the complete absence of able-bodied men or even of
youths there were just a few old men, some cripples, and that was
all. The farms were almost entirely run by women. How appalling
were die casualties suffered by the Germans was brought home to me
forcibly when I first attended morning service in the small village
church of Eystrop where I lived. The Germans commemorate
their war dead by means of evergreen wreaths; and the whole wall
was covered with wreaths dozens and dozens of them. In a
similar church in the United Kingdom I would not expect to see

268

more than eight to ten names on the local war memorial. The
Germans certainly started the last war, but only those who saw the
conditions during the first few months immediately after the war
ended can know how much they suffered.

Monty laid down the priorities as (i) food and (2) housing; he
then, as always, gave us a free hand to look after our own districts
until such time as proper military government could take over
from us. It was a fascinating task. I found myself to all intents and
purposes the benevolent (I hope) dictator of an area about the size
of Wales. At niy morning conference, instead of considering fire
plans and laying down military objectives, we discussed such
problems as food, coal, communications, press and so on. I soon
discovered the merits of a dictatorship. I could really get tilings
done quickly. One day in the late autumn a staff officer reported
that the output of coal was dropping every week in our corps
district. This was very serious with winter approaching. The
reason, I was informed, was that the miners lacked clothes. I immed-
iately ordered a levy to be carried out in certain nearby towns to
provide adequate clothing for the miners, axid sure enough a few
weeks later the graph showing coal production began to rise. I
smiled when I thought of what would happen in dear old demo-
cratic Britain if the Cabinet ordered clothes to be removed compul-
sorily from Cardiff, shall we say, to clothe the miners in the
Welsh valleys.

Luckily I had some extremely able young men on my staff.
30 Corps had been one of the original corps to be formed and
had therefore many years of operational experience behind it.
In time of war it is a case of the survival of the fittest; officers don't
last for long on a corps staff unless they are highly efficient. I doubt
if ever there has been collected together in one place a more able
group of young men than those serving in 30 Corps headquarters
at the cud of the war. The resuscitation of Germany was just up
their street. The vital thing was to open up communications, so that
food and goods could be moved freely from one area to another.
The bridges and railways had been widely destroyed and even cross-
roads had been cratcred by the retreating Germany Army.

269

To start with a great deal of this work had to be carried out by
British troops and quite naturally this caused resentment. I remem-
ber being asked by an intelligent sapper corporal, " Why should I
now have to work hard and repair bridges for the so-and-so
Germans who have caused so much misery to the world? " As he
was obviously voicing the doubts of many others, I collected the
company together and explained to the best of my ability that the
war was now over, so Germany must take her place again as a
European state. Many of the people were on the verge of starvation
and if food couldn't be moved freely into the towns they would die
that winter. And this would cause great bitterness. Furthermore,
it was essential for our own British economy to start trading again
with Germany and we would never be able to do this until com-
munications had been repaired. Whether I convinced them or not
I have no idea, but they went back to work at once without any
further questions. I mention this small incident because it is typical
of the modern soldier. He always wants to know why. And he will
only give of his best if he understands the reason for what he is
doing.

The British soldier has often been described as our best ambass-
ador and this is particularly so if he forms part of an army of
occupation because one of the most difficult things in the world is
to occupy a foreign country and yet remain friendly with its
people. If left to himself the British soldier will soon be on the best
of terms with the local population. Unfortunately this time he was
not left to himself and all sorts of regulations about non-fraternisa-
tion with the German population were issued. No doubt there were
good reasons for this policy but it caused endless trouble at our level.
What happened was that our troops were prevented from getting
to know the ordinary, decent families in an open and normal way,
and were driven to consorting on the sly with the lowest types of
German women.

In spite of the non-fraternisation rule 1 was determined somehow
or other to make our occupation as palatable as possible for the local
inhabitants. This may sound sloppy, but I had experienced the
difficulties of occupying Germany after the First World War. I

270

knew very well that nobody will ever keep the Germans down for
long because they belong to a very rare species which actually likes
work. I also understood the menace of Communism better than
most thanks to my time in Russia. So, without claiming any
particularly brilliant foresight, it seemed to me that the Germans
were the sort of people whom it would be better to have on our side
than against us. I therefore ordered all units in my corps to do
everything they could to help the German children. Nobody could
blame them for the last war, and they had obviously had a bad time.
Soxne of the children had never even seen chocolates in their lives.
Units were told to open special youth clubs, and camps in the
summer, and organise sports, etc.

The British soldier loves children and he entered into all this
with great zest. It became common in the villages to see a khaki-
clad figure hand in hand with a small flaxen-haired child on either
side. Parents began to come up to the men and thank them for
being so kind to their children. Then I gave a tea-party at my
tactical headquarters which was attended by some 150 German
children. The cooks had done marvels with the ordinary rations,
and we were all looking forward to a pleasant afternoon, but
unfortunately the party was also attended by some reporters from
the British Press. Not the famous war correspondents whom we
knew so well and who would unquestionably have understood the
wider implications of what we were trying to do. The war was now
over in Europe, and Germany had ceased to be front-line news, so
the first eleven had left, and their places had been taken by in-
experienced, callow, young men who were concerned mainly with
getting an angle to their stories.

It soon became obvious that they were hostile. They went round
saying to the soldiers who were helping as waiters, " What about
the British children? Arc they having a party like this?" Their
attitude from the short-term point of view was perfectly under-
standable and next day headlines appeared in the British Press,
" British General Gives Tea Party for German Children." The fat
was now in the fire. I received an enormous number of letters in
which the kindest comment was 4I that I had obviously gone niad."

271

These were of little consequence, but unfortunately owing to all the
adverse criticism I was ordered to cease my activities with the
German children at once. Orders had to be obeyed but I still feel
that this was a serious mistake. Instead of mixing with the civilian
population on a friendly basis we were driven back into ourselves
and when I returned to Germany some three years later to take over
the appointment of commander-in-chief, I found that the B.A.O.R..
was an army of occupation in the true sense of the word, living
quite apart from the German people.

Although the resuscitation of Germany loomed large on our
horizon I still felt that my first responsibility lay towards the
British troops in 30 Corps district, consisting of three divisions and
one armoured brigade. It was difficult to know how to keep them
occupied, and idle hands could get into a lot of trouble in the
Germany of those days. With the exception of certain guard duties
on stores, vulnerable points, and internment camps, there were no
military duties with which to occupy the men. It is astonishing,
however, how even when engaged on that most dreary of past-
times, sentry duty, the British* soldier is sustained by his greatest
asset, his sense of humour.

One of our sentries was posted on a bridge spanning a river
which, for security reasons, was closed to all civilians from 9 p.m.
to dawn. One evening at 9.30 p.m. the sentry was faced by a party
of German girls who wished to cross. After some discussion he
allowed them to do so, " But only on this occasion," he emphasised.
" If you are kte to-morrow night you will have to stay where you
are." Next night the girls appeared again at exactly the same time.
This time, however, the sentry remained unmoved by their story
that they had been kept late at work, they lived on the other side of
the river, and so on. Eventually they were reduced to tears but the
sentry remained adamant. Then one of them said, " If we undress
and swim across, will you bring our clothes over to the other side
for us?" This was a brilliant solution. The girls would not be
crossing the forbidden bridge, honour was satisfied, atid the sentry
agreed at once. When telling me this story, the sentry's command-

272

ing officer remarked, " Private obviously has an eye to the

main chance."

Demobilisation had started promptly and was working smoothly,
but even so, some time must elapse before the bulk of the men could
get home. It was ridiculous to carry out military training with men
who had fought through the war and would shortly be returning to
civilian life. So it seemed to me there were only two ways in which
to keep them occupied. First, to prepare them for their return to
civilian life and, secondly to provide first-class recreational facilities.
Both these measures were completely successful. We formed
training centres, using captured German machinery, where men
could undergo courses to regain their old skill, and be brought up-
to-date or their civilian trades, before returning home. There was
no difficulty about finding instructors. It was most inspiring to visit
these centres and see the enthusiasm shown by the trainees. The men
were so happy to handle the tools of their particular trade again that
in many cases they would not even stop for meals, let alone for the,
by now, almost sacrosanct tea intervals. Such enthusiasm, it seemed
to me, augured well for British industry in the post-war years.

The scope of the welfare arrangements organised by my staff
became almost frightening. Bad Harzburg, a holiday resort in the
Harz mountains was taken over completely as a leave centre, and
this proved very popular with all ranks. We were told by the local
authorities that this lovely part of Germany had been earmarked by
the Nazis as an S.S. stud form, where physically perfect S.S. types
were to be mated with specially selected German women of pure
descent. How much truth there was in this, I have no idea, but it
was widely believed throughout the Harz mountains.

In addition clubs, canteens and special gift shops stocked with
toys which came from all over Europe, specially for 30 Corps, sprang
up everywhere. I realised that I was the head of a vast chain of
holiday and recreational centres, all of which, in spite of mininium
charges, were coining money. I therefore set up a board of five
chartered accountants to examine the whole concern. After some
five weeks of hard work they reported that everything was in order:
in fact that it was brilliantly organised, but they added a rider to the

effect that when the existing welfare staff was demobilised it might
be difficult to find replacements sufficiently capable to handle what
amounted to a huge business concern.

There was a third problem which took up much of our time
the Russians. Immediately after the war we occupied an area which
stretched as far east as Magdeburg on the Elbe, but in accordance
with Allied agreements about the partitioning of Germany we were
due to withdraw back to the Harz mountains and hand over the
territory in the east to the Russians. This involved countless
conferences, which were less wearisome for me than for the others
because I had once been a Russian interpreter, and although my
knowledge of the language was rusty I could still understand enough
to follow what was going on. This gave me a big advantage
because I was able to think out my answer while the interpreter
was translating what the Russian general had said. The main
difficulty was that while I, in accordance with normal British
practice, was allowed to decide all minor details myself, the Russians
could give no decision on anything at all without reference to
Zhukov in Berlin.

This was understandable because the majority of their corps and
divisional commanders were uneducated by western standards.
They were very brave men who led their formations personally into
battle and most of them had been wounded two or three times.
I had always liked the Russians whom I had met in their country in
1919-20. These men were quite different. They were so suspicious
that they hardly dared open their mouths. They were particularly
suspicious of me when they found that I spoke Russian. The young
men were the most frightening, because as a result of the intensive
indoctrination to which they had been subjected almost from birth
their brains worked quite differently from any with which I had
previously come in contact. They talked in cliches, and it was
impossible to discuss anything with them at all.

When I inquired whether my old friends the Tzigane (gipsies)
were still flourishing in Russia I was told, ** No, they do not exist
any more; they were bad for the morale of the Russian people."
Poor Tzigane, they were so gay with their camp-fires and haunting

274

gipsy music. The most I ever got out of the Russians was at a
luncheon party when one general actually dared to discuss the
Russian High Command. " Zhukov was the Iron Man," he said,
" but Rokossovsky ! ah he was the clever one." The only time I
ever saw the former was during the victory parade in Berlin. I was
standing on the platform beside that famous character, the United
States General George Patton, waiting for the great man to arrive.
Suddenly Patton started growling like an angry bear, " Look at the
bastard," he said, and out of an immense car there emerged a small,
squat figure whose chest and stomach were almost entirely covered
with decorations. He looked like a well-fed, mobile advertisement
for an ironmonger's shop.

At our meetings the generals did not count at all. There were
usually one or two sinister-looking individuals at whom the others
kept glancing surreptitiously. These conferences were most exas-
perating. We made such very, very slow progress, and here, if I
had only realised it, was the pattern of all the conferences that have
taken place between east and west ever since. The only pleasant
Russian I met was the young general who was attached to my
headquarters as liaison officer. I can see him now, dining in my mess
and, together with the Bishop of Dover, who was paying us a visit,
singing " Lilli Marlene " lustily to the accompaniment of a small
German orchestra. He was too friendly. One day he disappeared
behind the Iron Curtain and we never saw him again.

The discipline of these Russian troops was very strict indeed and
they always saluted their officers. They had conic a long way from
the Red Army 1 first saw at Krasnoyarsk, in Siberia, in 1919 when
every thing was run on the ** friend tovarish " principle and no
order could be issued unless it was passed by the political commissar.

The Russian Army of May, 1945, may have been young, may
have been uneducated, may have been uncouth, but it was a truly
formidable fighting machine.

Somehow or other we reached agreement about the method of
handing over die eastern strip of Germany to the Russians and the
day came for our withdrawal back to the Harz mountains* As I had
never seen their army in bulk I positioned myself on a small hill to

275

watch them enter the zone which we had evacuated. It was an
astonishing sight rivers and rivers of men, most of them very
young, for even Prussia with her almost inexhaustible supply of man-
power had had to scrape the barrel in order to replace her enormous
casualties. They looked very menacing, those hordes of dirty,
tough Slavs, each with an automatic weapon and a sack over his
shoulder. But the thing that interested me most of all was the almost
complete absence of motor transport, just an occasional car, that was
all. I felt how simple war must have been for my Russian opposite
number, relieved of that perennial problem transport, and still
more transport.

One of my staff who happened to be standing beside a wounded
German officer pointed to the Russians and said, " How was the
great German Army beaten by those half-savage peasants ? "

" I can tell you/' the German replied, " because I was on the
eastern front most of the war. They are the toughest soldiers I have
ever met; they have an almost Asiatic disregard of death. In those
sacks are a few raw vegetables, perhaps crusts of bread, and they can
live on those for weeks; very often each infantryman carries as well
a couple of shells to help out the gunners. In. mid-winter, with
temperatures many degrees below zero, I have seen them lying
motionless in the snow all day when their attack has been halted,
and then in the evening suddenly leaping to their feet and charging
with great spirit. We shot and we shot; we killed and we killed;
but still they came on until we ran out of ammunition and were
overrun. We were beaten by solid masses of tough, extremely
brave troops."

I doubt if there is a word in the Russian language for welfare.
1 reflected on the contrast with the armies of the western world with
their mobile laundries, mobile dental centres, bakeries, N.A.A.llLs,
gift shops, and so on. It is not surprising that in the United States
Army out of every 100,000 men only 23,000 went into battle while
in the Soviet Army 80,000 out of every 100,000 were front-line
troops. An army is, in many ways, a mirror of die standard of
civilisation which exists in its country, and in the west the bulk of
the population leads soft lives compared with the spartan existence

276

of the Russian peasants who form a high proportion of the armies
behind the Iron Curtain. They live in small villages of wooden huts
surrounded by miles and miles of bleak steppes, forests and swamps.
Many of them are hunters who can melt into the ground, and
move across country silently by day or by night, and their climate
is so hard that only the fittest survive. To these men army life is
almost a luxury.

Our problem is much more difficult. During the last war, in
order to maintain morale, the western Allies did their utmost to bring
as many of the amenities of civil life as possible right up to the soldier
on the battlefield. Hence the masses of transport. I do not believe,
however, that this is the correct approach to the problem. From the
moment a man is enlisted he must be taught toughness how to
look after himself under all sorts of conditions of cHmate and terrain
without endless comforts. It is a fact that troops prefer this sort of
training to constant square bashing.

In the late autumn my time in Germany came to an end and I
returned home to take over the Western Command with head-
quarters at Chester. A few days before my departure I went to dine
with my old friend the 5ist Highland Division. We had come a
long way together since our first meeting on the ridge at Alam
Haifa in the Western Desert, and I was very moved when they
drank my health with Highland honours. My final departure was
not without incident. On the last night I was sitting down to a
farewell dinner with my staff when an orderly rushed in to say that
the house was on fire. Fire engines arrived from all over the place
but owing to lack of water they fought a losing battle with the
flames, and we had to evacuate the house. My last night with 30
Corps was therefore spent in my caravan and when I flew off next
day the house was still burning merrily. The fire was started in my
study by a smouldering beam under the floor, but no one has ever
believed this. I shall go down to history as the commander who
burned down his house during some fantastic orgy on the night
before he left

277

CHAPTER XXI

G.O.C. WESTERN COMMAND

AT THE beginning of 1946 I found myself responsible for one of the
four commands into which the British Isles, exclusive of Northern
Ireland, was divided.

My home was just outside that attractive old town of Chester
with its cathedral, city walls and, above all the famous rows, but my
headquarters bore little resemblance to those which I had just left in
Germany. Here I found the real peace-time set-up, when every
decision was hedged round by regulations and finance. It soon
became obvious that the real commander was not me at all but the
command secretary, the direct representative of the civilian and
therefore financial branch of the War Office. Luckily, he was a very
understanding man because I must have proved a great trial to him.
I have always been bad at regulations and am too impetuous to be a
success in peace-time soldiering where every decision has to be
approached by a circuitous route. The successful peace-time com-
mander can only achieve his objective by the principle of" Softly,
softly, catchee monkey." I am afraid that during my two years in
J|^estern Command I caught very few monkeys.

Before the war Western Command had always been regarded as
a backwater: very much a poor relation of Aldershot, which
contained the spearhead of the British Expeditionary Force, and of
Southern with its better training facilities including Salisbury Plain;
in fact the sort of place where an ancient general browsed sleepily
before being finally put out to grass. But that had been in the pre-
war days ; now national service had altered everything. We were
responsible for a vast area stretching from the Scottish border in the
north to the south coast of Wales, and including Warwick, Birming-
ham and Manchester in the east, with the Isle of Man thrown in for

278

good measure in the west. It was a fascinating command because it
contained a little bit of everything the beautiful Lake District
industrial Lancashire the vast port of Liverpool north and south
Wales as different from each other as chalk from cheese Worcester
with its orchards Birmingham where they claim to have constructed
some part of every single item of equipment which was used in the
last war and finally Manchester where the lord mayor holds a
position second only to his elder brother in the mansion house.

From the military point of view the primary importance of this
command lay in the fact that it contained many centres to which the
young national serviceman reported on first call-up. In France
conscription is part of the ** tradition militaire" and every regulai
officer has grown up surrounded by conscripts. But for us the
problem of training national servicemen in peace-time was some-
thing quite fresh. An added complication was the fact that I was
far from clear about what we should train them for. My mind was
still full of the last war and I had not had time to shake myself clear
of it, as I obviously must. It is all too easy to fall a victim to the
virus of complacency which always attacks victorious nations in the
immediate post-war period. From the military point of view nothing
is more dangerous than winning a great war. But even in 1946 it
was obvious that we had reached a cross-roads in military develop-
ment, for the atomic bomb on Hiroshima had blown most of the
accepted military doctrines sky-high. The difficulty was to know
down which road we should now go. One tiling was quite clear.
The battlefield of the future was bound to be a very empty place. In ,
face of the atomic threat, concentration of troops would be too
dangerous; dispersion and still more dispersion would certainly be
called for. This meant small bodies of men prepared to live hard
on their own for long periods at a time; the days of mass transport
bringing up amenities and working from bulging lines of communi-
cation had gone for ever.

So there was the problem. How to turn these young national
servicemen, most of whom had been thoroughly spoilt by Mum,
into tough, self-reliant soldiers with a gleam of battle in their eye
and plenty of initiative. 1 couldn't help thinking of that old Arabic

279

proverb which should be carved in large letters over the entrance to
every school in the country, " In the eyes of its mother every black
beetle is a gazelle."

The first thing to do was to go down and have a look at the
gazelles arriving straight from the arms of their mothers to undergo
their period of national service.

It was a sobering sight, for in army parlance most of them were
thoroughly " browned off." They looked sulky, disgruntled and
fed-up with having their civilian lives interrupted by military
service. The war was over, so why should they be messed about by
the army ? No doubt their elder brothers had also painted a gloomy
picture of sergeant-majors spitting fire and brimstone, of red-faced
Colonel Blimps but, above all, of the deadly monotony of the
barrack square. Whenever I asked a young soldier what he hated
most of all in the army I always got the same answer, " Square
bashing." It seemed to me that shock tactics were required right
from the start. So I insisted that on the first day after their arrival
all these boys should be taken out into the mountains for a twenty-
four-hour exercise where they could fire all their different weapons.
They had no idea, of course, how the weapons worked, but there is
something exciting about the feel of an automatic. In training I am
a great believer in running before you can walk, because by finding
out how difficult it is to run, men take greater interest in the problem
of learning to walk. All training must be done through the brain;
the bored man absorbs nothing.

When it got dark the recruits were assembled and told that some
prisoners had escaped into the mountains and it was their job to
round them up during the night. They were also told to choose
their own leaders it was interesting to see whom they selected in
those early days. All night they would be on the go. Next morning
they were issued with food which they had to cook for themselves
or go hungry. At the end of this gruelling twenty-four hours in the
mountains they were then marched eight to ten miles back to
barracks, tired, wet, footsore but- and this is the point- with their
heads up. The army was tough, not just messing about on the
barrack square. From that moment there was a different look in their

280

eyes and the whole atmosphere changed. What the planners will
not realise is that there is nothing wrong with the young people o
to-day, they take to toughness as a duck takes to water; what they
cannot abide is boredom and all too much army training is dull
beyond measure.

I soon found myself with another battle on my hands the battle
of accommodation. I was horrified at the conditions under which
the troops and, above all, the married families were required to live.
I got into trouble for supporting Monty to the hilt (he was C.LG.S.
at the time) in his plan for more comfortable barrack-rooms,
including bedside lamps " What did we think we were doing;
mollycoddling the soldier like this ? " and so on and so on. Our
critics did not seem to appreciate the effect of bright, comfortable
living quarters on the mentality of the modern soldier; there is
nothing more deadening and stultifying than the normal, grim,
barrack block. The toughest possible training allied to comfortable
living conditions has always been my object. The married quarters
made me shudder every time I even passed them. So I decided on a
somewhat grandiose programme of modernisation, new construc-
tion and the conversion of existing huts into comfortable bungalow
accommodation.

Not unnaturally I at once ran into trouble. Everything was
scarce, including labour, and the War Office forbade me to do any-
thing until their experts had produced plans for the future quarters.
But as month after month went by without any plans, I decided to
launch my own offensive. My right-hand man in all this was my
major-gcticral in charge of adniinistration, Joe Holland, a man with
a brilliant and unorthodox brain. Somehow or other, out of nothing
at all, lie conjured up baths, bricks, in fact everything. Like so many
people with original minds he paid no attention at all to dress.
It always amused me to see the horror on the face of some dis-
tinguished army councillor when Joe appeared with all the buttons
of liis tunic undone, liis tic flowing, glasses on the point of Ms nose
and his uniform cap well on one side. He was a perfect joy to work
with and I have never known him to be defeated, even on the
question of labour.

281

As no British labour was available, I suggested employing
German prisoners among whom were men skilled in every trade.
This was greeted with a howl of anguish from the War Office.
" The British trade unions would never allow it under any cir-
cumstances/' I didn't believe this for a moment as I have always
found the trade unions to be very reasonable people, so I invited
our local representatives to lunch, and then took them round some
of our existing quarters. Their reaction was what I expected.
" Go ahead," they said, " but for goodness* sake don't let our
bosses in London know what you are doing." So we went ahead
and achieved quite a lot but protests got stronger and stronger from
the quartermaster-general's branch of the War Office until eventually
the great man himself, Monty, was brought into the struggle and I
received a letter in his own hand, " You must remember, Jorrocks,
that this is peace-time and you cannot go on as though we were
still at war. The quartermaster-general never stops complaining
about your nefarious activities." I replied that it was quite like old
times to get a letter in this strain written by the field-marshal him-
self. Anyhow, rightly or wrongly, quite a number of married
families obtained better accommodation and that was what really
mattered.

Almost my first official engagement after taking over Western
Command was to attend a parade of the British Legion in Black-
pool, so I set off with my wife in our large, black, official saloon car
with an army commander's pennant flying on the front of the
bonnet. As we entered the town the car stopped at a traffic crossing
and a face peered in. I then heard a voice saying, in an unmistakable
Lancashire accent, " We don't want no bloody generals up J ere."
This was positively my first introduction to the realities of the
civilian world, and my wife sat up looking rather startled. As usual
it was raining steadily and as we stopped once more at a crossing I
heard another disgusted onlooker say, " Frightened to get his bloody
feet wet, he is/* I explained hurriedly to my wife that the Lancashire
people really had hearts of gold. She replied that they certainly had
an odd way of showing it. As I am half-Lancashire myself 1 wasn't
unduly disturbed.

282

The warmth of our welcome when we arrived on the parade
more than made up for our somewhat rough passage in transit.
Blackpool is one of the most remarkable towns I have ever seen in
my life; it fascinated me wet or fine there is always somewhere to
go and some form of entertainment awaiting the visitors. And the
local authorities could give all of us a lesson in the astonishing way
they handle their vast, week-end traffic problem.

As petrol rationing was still in force I felt it behoved me to set a
good example by not applying for extra vouchers so I decided to
ride a bicycle instead. I borrowed one from my batman a good
old army model built more for strength than for speed. When the
moment came for our first outing my wife was coming too the
bicycle, looking very spick-and-span, was positioned at the mount-
ing block in the drive. Our official residence, which was in
Eccleston Park, had in the years gone by been inhabited by one of
the Duke of Westminster's agents. How he would have shuddered
if he could have seen the lowly use to which his mounting block
was now being put. We set off in fine style and all went well for
the first few miles, then there was an ominous noise in the rear
wheel which indicated that the worst had happened, I had a
puncture. To repair the damage was quite beyond my capabilities,
so I pushed the bike into the nearest farm and telephoned to my
A.D.C. Within a few minutes he arrived in my large, official,
Humber car followed by a truck for the bike. And I returned home
igiiominiously, feeling that my first effort at saving petrol could
hardly be called a complete success. My wife returned on her
bicycle alone.

We naturally had a stream of visitors, mainly from the War
Office, The first was Emanucl Shinwcll, who had become the
Secretary of State for War a few days before. I had not previously
met many ministers, and as he had only just taken office I was
somewhat apprehensive about what would happen. I needn't have
worried. We took to him at once, and I soon realised that here was
a man who, once lie was convinced of the justice of a cause, was
prepared to stand up for the army through thick and thin. He was
a shrewd politician and a great fighter.

283

The highlight was a visit from Monty. I had not realised until
then how popular he was with all and sundry. It was almost like a
Royal tour, with people lining the route and he loved every
minute of it. Just before his departure for Liverpool, where he was
to catch his train back to London, the mayor of Birkenhead rang
me up to say that over 1000 people were waiting for him on the
near side of the Mersey tunnel. A small platform had been erected
and he hoped that the field-marshal would be prepared to say a
few words to the crowd. This was quite unexpected so, as we
drove along, I did my best to brief him on the role which Birken-
head had played during the war. I spoke most of the time to his
back as he was continuously leaning out of the window and waving
to the crowds while he murmured " Yes, yes, Jorrocks three
battleships constructed I have got that. Yes, go on." We arrived,
and he then made a sparkling speech which delighted everybody
without mentioning one single word of what I had told him during
the journey.

At the time of this visit we were about to go away for a short
period of leave and the house was in the usual state of hectic packing
which is always an inevitable prelude to any move of the Horrocks
family. Monty was most scornful. " I always do my own," he said.
He then gave us a short lecture on packing, in which he described
how he took everything out of the drawers and laid it on the bed
so that nothing was ever overlooked. An hour after his departure
an A.D.C. arrived to say that the field-marshal had unfortunately
left all his shirts behind.

It was during this visit that Monty told me I was to become
Commander-in-chief of the British Army of the Rhine. I was
delighted because this was almost the only active command, with
troops available, in the post-war army.

Unfortunately my time at Chester, which should have been the
pleasantcst period of my whole career, was marred by illness, 1 kept
on getting attacks of fever accompanied by paid and. sickness.
Eventually my senior medical officer insisted on my going into
Manchester Infirmary where 1 was operated on by that fine surgeon
and very charming man, Professor Morley. When I came round

284

from the anaesthetic he was standing by my bedside holding up a
curious looking object which he assured me was a piece of my shirt
which had been lurking in my bile duct ever since I was wounded
at Bizerta. As this was my seventh operation, my stomach was
beginning to resemble an abstract picture, with scars running in
every direction.

Very unwisely I went out to Germany before I had completely
recovered and then followed the most unhappy period of my life.
I arrived to command B.A.O.R. just when things were getting
more and more difficult with the Russians. It was a time when
vigorous action was required to prepare our extremely modest
resources in men and material in case trouble should break out.
It would have been a worrying period even if I had been fit, but in
my state of health it soon became impossible. Somehow or other
my brain would not work, and I found that when my able chief of
staff, Bill Stratton, tried to brief me about the current situation I
couldn't take it in. The final straw came when I addressed all the
senior officers who had been collected from all over Germany for
the purpose. I managed to get through my speech just in time before
being violently sick, and I then retired to bed with yet another
temperature.

It was a difficult decision to take, because, after a long career in
the army, I hated having to give up at this final hurdle. But I knew
instinctively that I was not fit enough to give die troops the leader-
ship which the precarious situation demanded. I was beginning to
worry unnecessarily, and I knew only too well that a commander
who worries is no good in moments of crisis. So I sent for my head
doctor and asked him for his opinion. He shook his head sadly and
said, ** I have been expecting this ever since you arrived. I didn't
think you could possibly make it" Fortunately for me he was an
old friend with whom, I had served before. It is nicer to be given
your military death sentence by someone whom you like. Within
two days I was flown back to Millbank Hospital, and my active
career in the army was over. *

285

CHAPTER XXII

GENTLEMAN USHER OF
THE BLACK ROD

THE AUTHORITIES treated me with great consideration but, even
after a year of sick leave, a medical board would not pass me fit for
service, so I was invalided out. This produced a remarkable contrast
in my way of life. In Germany we had been forced to live in
considerable state. Government House was large and ugly but filled
with a number of servants mostly Germans. We had horses,
several cars, an aeroplane, a large motor launch and the use of a
private train. From this we went straight to our lovely, little, old
thatched cottage at Compton, near Winchester, staffed by a daily
who came in at odd intervals during the week, and our only means
of transport were a small, rather old, Hillman Minx and two
bicycles. Yet we were much happier. I was very sorry, of course,
to leave the army in which I had spent thirty-five eventful, happy
years, but my main reaction was one of intense relief. I was now
out of it all and there was no longer any need to put on an act.
If I felt ill, I could be ill, and no harm would be done to anyone.
I would not be letting anybody down and no elaborate programme
would have to be altered. Furthermore, I knew instinctively that I
was far too impatient to be a success in the higher ranks of the army
during peace-time. In the war we had lived a simple life at a small
headquarters and had been able to get on with the job. In peace it
all became rather pompous and complicated visitors, entertaining,
large staff and so on* It would be a relief, I felt, to settle down and
pass the rest of my days in this pleasant backwater.

My quiet life in an English village lasted for exactly fourteen days.

One morning the postman delivered a large, imposing-looking
envelope. As we were just setting off in our car I put it in the small

286

locker under the dashboard and forgot all about it. Later that clay
my wife suddenly said, " By the way, what was in that official-
looking letter which came for you this morning ? " I ferreted it out
and saw it was from the Lord Chamberlain at St. James's Palace.
Still quite unsuspecting, 1 opened it, and then, to my amazement,
read: " You are offered the appointment of Gentleman Usher of
the Black Rod in the House of Lords/' 1 had no idea what this
meant because I had never been in either of the Houses of Parliament
and had not even heard of Black Rod. But it sounded rather excit-
ing. In my heart of hearts I was delighted, because, to be honest,
the rustic retreat idea was already, after only a fortnight, beginning
to pall. Fortunately, my predecessor, Admiral Sir Geoffrey Blake,
who was giving up owing to deafnesss, had done a considerable
amount of research into the history of this ancient and honourable
office, and the more I read the more it appealed to me.

The appointment goes back to 1348 when Edward III founded
the Order of the Garter. The first holder of this office was a certain
William Whitchorsc who received the not inconsiderable salary of
twelve pence per day for life. He walked in front of the Sovereign
carrying on his shoulder the Black Rod. It is made of ebony,
three-and-a-half feet long with a golden sovereign fixed in the
bottom. If anyone offended against the Order of the Garter it was
the duty of the Gentleman Usher to tap him on the shoulder with
the Black Rod, whereupon the offender was expelled and William
White horse received ^5. Unfortunately there is no such monetary
reward to-day.

The original charter laid it down that the holder of this office had
to be " a gentleman of Blood and Amis born within the Sovereign's
Dominions " and that is why nowadays it is held in turn by a
sailor, a soldier and an airman. I took over from an admiral and
will presumably hand over to an air-marshal The final selection
is made by the reigning Sovereign from a list of names submitted
by the service ministry concerned. I have never ceased to thank
my lucky stars that King George "VTs choice fell on me.

Such is the continuity of things in this country that the Gentleman
Usher of the Black Rod still walks in front of the Sovereign during

287

the Garter ceremonies which are held annually at Windsor. This is
unquestionably the red-letter day for Black Rod. In the morning
the Sovereign invests any new knights who may have been appointed
during the year with the insignia of the Order. Then follows lunch
and in the afternoon we move in procession down to St. George's
Chapel where the new knights are led to their stalls by Garter King
of Arms, the Hon. Sir George BeUew, the senior officer of the
Order and myself.

This procession is one of the most colourful pieces of pageantry
in the country as it winds its way slowly down the hill from the
castle along the route lined by the Household Cavalry and the
Brigade of Guards, against the background of the old castle walls.
It is led by the Knights of Windsor, then come the heralds in their
gold tabards followed by the knights in their Garter blue robes,
walking two by two, all of them men who have distinguished them-
selves iii the service of this country; we officers of the Order in our
scarlet cloaks come next, then the Sovereign followed by pages,
and finally the Gentlemen at Arms.

After the service we all return to the castle by car. I usually go
with Field-Marshal Montgomery in his Rolls-Royce driven, by the
famous Sergeant Parker. One year we suddenly came face to face
with the Guards marching back, and Parker was forced to reverse
rapidly down the hill, much to the delight of the crowd, one of
whom called out " Look, there's Monty retreating at last/'

The Gentleman Usher of the Black Rod ceased to be an active
member of the Court when Henry VIII moved from Westminster
to the Palace of Whitehall. The peers of the clay declared that they
didn't require anyone to be in charge of their debates; they were
perfectly capable of running them themselves. They were prepared,
however, as far as discipline in the House was concerned to submit
to the King's representative. Henry VIII nominated the Gentleman
Usher of the Black Rod for this task and he was then excused from
all his other duties at Court (except attendance at the Garter
ceremonies) in order to undertake these additional Parliamentary
responsibilities.

In those early days Black Rod had wide responsibilities in the

288

With my wife and Maxie outside our cottage atEmsmrth

Palace of Westminster, where he lived in considerable state and
received a large salary. He travelled to and fro mainly by barge and
Black Rod's steps leading down to the Thames still exist, but their
only link with their past glories is when Black Rod and his staff
embark in a river-steamer for their annual outing. The office was,
however, held by one man for many, many years and towards the
end of his long reign certain malpractices crept in. It was therefore
decided to hand over the responsibilities for the whole Palace of
"Westminster, except when the House was actually sitting, to the
Lord Great Chamberlain. And that is the position to-day.

Therefore, during the time that their Lordships are in session I
am responsible to Her Majesty for everything, except the actual
business of the House, which takes place on the floor of the House
of Lords.

I, and my nineteen doorkeepers, all of whom are retired petty
officers or warrant officers from the services, admit all visitors,
control the heating, lighting, etc., and handle the actual mechanics
of a division the ringing of the division bell, the locking of the
doors and so on, though the responsibility for checking the peers
through the division lobbies rests with the Clerks of Parliament.
Our main duty, however, is to maintain order both in the strangers'
galleries and on the floor of the House itself. So far in the course of
nine years the only serious interruption has come from Miss Vivien
Leigh, who suddenly jumped up from her seat beside me and
protested against the destruction of St. James's Theatre. She is
reputed to have said afterwards that it was the worst audience to
which she had ever played, as no one took the slightest notice.

Somewhat surprised, and to be honest a little hurt, as I had taken
considerable trouble to find a good seat for this most distinguished
lady, I took her by the arm and led her out of the chamber saying,
" Now you will have to go.*' A few days afterwards I received a
cutting from an American paper. Under the headline 4t Chief
Usher throws out Famous Actress " I read, " When the last Lord sat
down Sir Brian turned to Miss Leigh and said, * Now you have a
go/ " Surprising what a difference die omission of two words can
make.

289

In the unlikely event of a peer causing a disturbance, it would be
my duty to escort him from the chamber. But before this could
happen the Leader of the House would move " That the Noble Lord
be no longer heard," on which the House would be required to
express an opinion. If the answer was " Content " and the peer still
persisted, only then would I be called upon to enter the House with
a couple of doorkeepers and remove the offender.

On every Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday when Parliament
is in session I am to be found clad in court dress, which means
knee-breeches and silk stockings, seated in Black Rod's box, on the
west side of the House, just below the bar therefore, outside the
actual House itself. Although I naturally regard myself as a servant
of the House and always comply with the requirements of the
House of Lords offices* committee, strictly speaking, as the
Sovereign's representative, I come directly under the Lord
Chamberlain at St. James's Palace.

From the number of peers, M.P.s, and doorkeepers who approach
my box during the course of the afternoon, visitors might well
think that I wield some sort of hidden influence on the affairs of
their Lordships' House. But things are not always what they seem.
Most of them merely require scats for their guests, and there arc
other reasons quite unconnected with the business of the House.
When " Plum " Warner was sitting beside me the latest Test match
scores were brought to us every fifteen minutes. The principal door-
keeper during my first few years as Black Rod was a keen student
of horse racing and as many of their lordships are owners he used to
approach me with that particularly knowing look which only the
racing fraternity adopt and say, ** His lordship thinks, sir, that so-
and-so is a certainty in the 3 p.mu race." Not realising, as 1 do now,
that the worst possible tips always come from owners 1 used to risk
a modest sum each way. At 3.10 p.m. precisely a stately figure in
tail-coat and white tie would approach my box, bow, and murmur
mournfully " Not in the first tbu^e, sir." He never, as far as 1 can
remember, said anything else.

What bring me most into prominence, however, are certain
quaint, ceremonial duties which have their roots deep in British

290

history, and the most famous of these, I suppose, is in connection
with the Royal Commission which is summoned by the Sovereign
to signify her Royal Assent in Acts passed by Parliament. Before
an Act can become law three things must happen; it must be passed
by the House of Commons; passed by the House of Lords
though in case of disagreement the Upper Chamber can only delay
a bill for one year; and thirdly it must receive the Royal Assent.
Obviously the reigning Sovereigns would not have time to attend
in person to give their Assent, so this power is delegated to a
commission which usually consists of the Lord Chancellor and two
peers who must be privy councillors. The three, clad in their
robes, enter the chamber and scat themselves on a bench just behind
the woolsack. Meanwhile I am standing below bar, wearing my
chain of office and holding the Black Rod on my shoulder. 1 use
black gloves. As soon as the commission is ready I advance into the
chamber until I am a few feet from the woolsack. The Lord
Chancellor then tells me to summon the Commons to hear the
Royal Commission read. After bowing I withdraw and make my
way down to the House of Commons. In front of me walks the
inspector of police and the principal doorkeeper in the House of
Lords, who call out at intervals as they have done no doubt for
many years, " Hats off, strangers/' In the members' lobby I pass
through the House of Commons doorkeepers lined up on either
side.

The door to the actual chamber is ajar and peering through a
small grill I can sec the face of the Scrjeant~at-Arms. As I approach,
he slams the door in my face. This dates back to 1642 when Charles 1
tried to arrest five members of Parliament Hampden, Pym,
1 lollcs, Hasilrig and Strode. Since then no reigning Sovereign has
ever been permitted to enter the House of Commons. On this
occasion I am the Sovereign's representative. I therefore knock
three times with the end of the Black Rod and the door is flung
open. The senior doorkeeper of tj|c House of Commons announces,
** Black Rod/* and 1 walk up to the table bowing three times.
1 then most politely summon " This honourable House to attend
the House of Peers to hear the Royal Commission read."

291

The Speaker descends from his chair and led by the Scrjeant-at-
Arins carrying the mace we walk in procession, with the members
following two by two behind, up to the bar of the House of Lords.
The Royal Assent is still given in Norman French. After the titles
of the Bills have been read the Clerk of the Parliaments turns towards
the Commons and says " La Reine le veult " or, if it is a money bill
"La Reine remerde ses bon sujets, accepte leur benevolance, et ainsi
le veult!' Until these words have been pronounced it is not a
lawful Act. The ceremony of knocking on the door is therefore the
outward and visible sign that the House of Commons has the right
of freedom of speech and uninterrupted debate.

I have now been carrying out these summons for something like
ten years but they are still an ordeal There is a build up in, tension
as I walk through the Palace of Westminster until I enter the
Chamber of the House of Commons where whoever happens to be
speaking at the time sits down. Normally a hush descends. But I
never know quite what to expect. On one occasion when I arrived
in the middle of a particularly lively debate I was told, " Go away
and come back to-morrow/' of which, of course, I took no notice.
Another time one of the Bills which was about to receive the
Royal Assent happened to be extremely unpopular with die
Opposition and my summons was greeted with vociferous cries of,
" No, no, no/'

The most interesting occasion of all, particularly from a historical
point of view, comes at the beginning of a new Parliament when the
Speaker standing at the bar of the House of Lords makes the historic
claim for die " undoubted rights and privileges " of the House of
Commons, " freedom of speech in debate, freedom from arrest and
free access to Her Majesty whenever occasion shall require/*

This petition dates back to at least 1400 though the form of
words has varied; in fact some Speakers have spoken for upwards
of two hours at the bar* In the reign of James I the Commons made
it quite clear that this application was a gesture 4< only of manners "
in fact that the Sovereign was powerless to withhold their
rights.

Two or three days later the new session is opened by the

292

Sovereign in person. As this was so admirably described by Richard
Dimbleby when the ceremony was televised for the first time in
November, 1958, there is little point in going into any details here.
From my point of view the chief interest lies in the wording of the
summons. Once more I am dispatched to fetch the Commons but
this time by the Lord Great Chamberlain who has been instructed
to do so by the Sovereign seated on the Throne, so the summons is
rather more abrupt. It is, in fact, a Royal Command:

" Mr. Speaker, the Queen commands this honourable House
to attend Her Majesty immediately in the House of Peers. 5 *

There is one other interesting bit of ceremonial with which I am
concerned, namely the introduction of a new peer into the House of
Lords. The master of ceremonies on this occasion is Garter King of
Arms acting in the name of the Earl Marshal, the Duke of Norfolk,
and the new peer is led into the House in die following order;
Black Rod, the Earl Marshal, the Lord Great Chamberlain,
Garter King of Arms, the peer himself with a fellow peer as
supporter in front and behind. The peers are robed and Garter
wears his gold tabard; so it is a colourful little procession. The
ceremony itself is quite complicated because the new peer has to
kneel to die Lord Chancellor, bow a number of times, take the oath,
sign the roll, and finally with his two supporters he must take off
his hat and bow three times running to the Lord Chancellor.
Nobody knows why it is three bows. Various explanations have
been offered: " the Trinity " or " die union of England, Scotland
and Wales." These are two suggestions, but the real origin is
hidden somewhere in the dim past. This introduction ceremony is
always rehearsed beforehand and when life peers were first intro-
duced, seven peers and peeresses went through die ceremony in
two days- Garter King of Arms and I worked out afterwards that
in die course of the proceedings we had bowed no fewer than
395 times.

I am often asked whether the introduction of Ufe peeresses has
altered the Upper House, once regarded as the last male stronghold
in the kingdom. The answer is not at all* The only difference is that

293

during the introduction ceremony peeresses do not remove their
very becoming tricorne hats.

Sitting in my box in the House of Lords I often feel rather like a
referee at a boxing match, though fortunately the contest here is
waged by words and not by blows. I once heard a newly-created
peer who had previously been a member of the House of Commons
complaining about the undue politeness of our debates: " This place
needs pepping up," he said. Whereupon an elderly baron looked at
him quizzically and replied: "You must remember that you
come from a place where they use the bludgeon. Up here we prefer
to use the rapier, but it kills just the same." And in the hands of the
really skilled debater it most certainly does kill. There is one very
distinguished member of the House of whom it is said that you have
no idea at all how devastatingly rude he has been until you read what
he said in Hansard next day,

In 1949, when I first took up my appointment, the situation in
the Upper House was particularly interesting. The Labour Govern-
ment was busy introducing a programme consisting mainly of
nationalisation bills. Yet the House of Lords contained a large
Conservative majority to whom all these bills were anathema.
Each could in turn have been thrown out without any difficulty at
all, thus imposing at least a year's delay on the Government legisla-
tion* But to do this would have been fatal. It is precisely because of
this overwhelming Conservative majority that very naturally the
Labour party has always viewed the Upper House with grave
suspicion, and it would obviously have been quite wrong for a
chamber composed mainly of hereditary peers to try and impose its
will on the Government elected by the people. Luckily there were
very wise and experienced politicians in charge, Lord Addisou,
Labour, on the Government side, Lord Salisbury, the leader of the
Opposition, and Lord Samuel, the head of the small Liberal party.
Salisbury and Addison were bitter opponents across the floor of the
House, yet behind the scenes they had a great respect for each other's
point of view. And this I found was the atmosphere which per-
meated the whole place. 1 was once lunching with some Labour
peers before the introduction into the Lords of a distinguished

294

member of their party from the Commons. His daughter opened
the proceedings by saying brightly, " Of course I don't approve of
the House of Lords at all/* The two Labour peers turned and smote
her liip and thigh. They ended by saying : " When you know a little
more about it, young lady, you will realise how small a part party
politics plays up here. We are concerned entirely with doing the
best we can for the country/*

295

CHAPTER XXIII

I STRAY FROM THE STRAIGHT
AND NARROW PATH

THROUGHOUT HIS life my father had been fond of games and the
open air as his chief relaxation from unremitting work, and he
looked forward to his retired life, continuing as editor of the
R.A.M.C. Journal, writing, reading and working with his micro-
scope. In 1923 he became seriously ill and was taken into Millbank
Hospital for a major operation from which he never really recovered,
being left with an internal infection which caused him a lot of
trouble. During the last eighteen years of his life the things he loved
were taken from turn, one by one. His outdoor activities were
reduced gradually to a minimum; even bending over his microscope
gave him a good deal of pain and had to be given up. But he never
uttered one word of complaint. When something had to go, he
looked for something else to take its place. He was an immense
reader, and edited the R.A.M.C. Journal to the day of his death.
In fact he never allowed his physical condition to beat him. Un-
fortunately my father died during the war when I was a brigadier.
If only he could have lived a little longer until I was a corps com-
mander he would have realised that all his self-sacrifices and unstint-
ing devotion to his most unsatisfactory son had not been in vain.

This example was his final gesture to me. Almost precisely the
same thing has happened in my Hfe. Owing to the after effects of
the wound which 1 sustained in North Africa I have also been forced
to give up practically all those outdoor activities which had filled so
much of my life. I can no longer ricle, play golf or even go for
long walks, but like him I have been fortunate to find an outlet for
my surplus energy in other and more sedentary occupations.

I was extremely fortunate to be appointed Black Rod and for the

296

first year or two I was completely absorbed by this new strange
world of politics which I could now observe from a ring-side seat,
but gradually my innate restlessness began to reassert itself. The
truth of the matter was that I had, and still have, too good a staff
to help me. They are men of great experience, who do not require
constant supervision from their boss. Their task is not so easy as it
might sound because they must know when and how to break the
rules. A too rigid adherence to the myriad regulations which
control the activities of the Upper House could be very irritating
for the peers and their guests. With such an expert team to help me,
once I had learned the ropes my day to day duties became less and
less arduous.

My first tentative steps away from the straight and narrow path
trod by my many distinguished predecessors came as a result of a
vdsit made to the battlefields of N.W. Europe in 1950 with the rather
vague idea of one day writing a book. By the kindness of the
British Embassy in The Hague my wife and I were able to hire
cheaply a motor launch in which to explore the waterways of
Holland. The boat was in the care of a very nice and extremely
expert young Dutchman. We set off from Rotterdam and each
night we moored to the bank in the vicinity of some village. The
Red Ensign seemed to be immensely popular in those days and we
were always being invited on board some barge or other for a glass
of schnaps or bols. I had never before seen one of those large
continental barges, which form the permanent home of the bargee,
his wife and numerous family, and I was staggered at the comfort
in which they live. Staircases with carpets, electric Hght, running
water, push and pull lavatories, large, comfortable beds and so on.
I have been in many a house which wasn't nearly so roomy and well
furnished* Nor so clean; they were always spotless and gaily
painted.

As I wanted to revisit Rces, which had caused us so much trouble
during the Rhine crossing, we tried to penetrate a few miles over
the Dutch frontier into Germany. Although my wife and I both
had passports with the correct visa our Dutch skipper only had his
identity card. I explained patiently to a young and insufferably

297

conceited British official of the Control Commission that we should
certainly not spend more than three hours inside Germany and on
no account would the Dutchman land anywhere, but it was all
useless. I was once more up against officialdom at its most dense.
" My deah General," he said, " you must remember that the war
has now been over for some time/' I was so angry that we almost
capsized as I swung round at full speed in too tight a circle and set off
back into Holland again.

On approaching Nijmegen we saw crowds manning the river
banks. Then into view steamed majestically a large, white yacht.
On the bridge was standing a small figure reminiscent of the
pictures of Napoleon. At a respectful distance in rear stood a group
of senior and much be-ribboned staff officers from the three services.
Suddenly I realised that it was Monty, and the crowd were there to
welcome the man who had been responsible for liberating their town.
What a curious coincidence ! The last time that 1 had seen Monty
in Nijmegen was just after the unhappy battle of Arnheni.

When the yacht tied up I saw the burgomaster and councillors
going aboard. As I was wearing a dark-blue sweater, a pair of dirty
grey flannel trousers, no socks and an old pair of rubber-soled shoes,
I was improperly clad for this high level party. So I waited until the
introductions were over and then pushing my way past an under-
standably suspicious Dutch sentry 1 confronted my late commander
on the bridge. His astonishment at this unexpected appearance of his
erstwhile corps commander, looking like a scruffy tramp, was not
unnatural! It appeared that he had been carrying out a personal
reconnaissance of our frontier with the Russians, It was as a result
of this incident that I wrote my first newspaper article which was
published by the Daily Dispatch, Manchester; and so started a long,
and from my point of view, very happy association with Kemsiey
now Thomson Newspapers. But the Daily Dispatch is no more,
neither is another paper for which I wrote several articles, Picture
Post.

I have thoroughly enjoyed my amateurish attempts at journalism,
though writing is probably more difficult for me than it is for most
people owing to my extremely inadequate education. It is an

298

exciting world and though all journalists are prone to duodenal
ulcers and die young, I have never met one who would be anything
else. They have always been very helpful and kind to me, an elderly
general whose intrusion into their highly specialised world they
might easily have resented. I was lucky of course to be guided by
that remarkable young man, C. D. Hamilton, the Editorial Director
of Kemsley,now Thomson, Newspapers, who on one occasion, when
I was tearing my hair over some article for the Sunday Times which
simply would not come right, looked at me sadly and said: " What-
ever you do, General, don't try and write English." I have never had
the slightest difficulty in following this excellent advice. Thanks to
this connection with the Press I have managed to keep much more
up-to-date than would have been possible as a retired general-cum-
Black Rod. I have spent several weeks with the French and Spanish
Armies, visited the Canal Zone of Egypt at the height of the
troubles, seen the Israel Army at work and paid many visits to
the British Army of the Rhine and S.H.A.P.E.

The most interesting trip of all, however, was a visit to Cyprus
where I stayed with Field-Marshal Sir John Harding at the time
when he was holding a scries of discussions with Archbishop
Makarios. This, however, very nearly proved my undoing. I found
it quite impossible to write about Cyprus without also commenting
on the political background. The article which I cabled to London
included two-thirds military material and one-third political, but
owing to the inevitable shortage of space it had to be drastically cut.
The final result which appeared on the front page of the Sunday
Times u front our special correspondent " in Cyprus, Lieut.-General
Sir Brian Horrocks was two-thirds political and onertliird military.
When 1 first saw it at the airport near Rome, on my way home, I
realised that I was in for trouble, because at all costs Black Rod must
avoid becoming involved in political controversy. My worst fears
were realised and quite naturally certain peers took grave exception
to what I had written. Since then I have tried hard to avoid any-
thing which faintly borders on politics.

1 never imagined that at one time I would become a fairly regu-
lar contributor to that pillar of British journalism the Sunday Times.

299

How astounded my teachers would have been if they could have
seen London plastered with posters bearing my face and adjuring the
British public to read a series of articles which I was then writing
for that paper. Their astonishment, however, would not have been
greater than my own. I had no idea that an advertising campaign
of this magnitude had been launched so it came as a shock on my
return to London from our holiday to be faced suddenly in Victoria
Street by a huge poster of myself. I have never felt so embarrassed
in my life.

One day a young woman arrived in my office. Her name was
Therese Denny and she worked for the Australian Broadcasting
Corporation. Almost before I realised what was happening I found
myself sitting in the cellar of a B.B.C. building in Oxford Street
prepared to broadcast to Australia on the historical background of
the office of Black Rod. This was my first introduction to that
peculiar instrument of torture, the microphone, which was to play
such an important part in my life from then on. When we had
finished our fifteen minute broadcast, Miss Denny, apparently
deeply moved, said: " That is the best broadcast we have ever
recorded/* I was delighted; but my feeling of complacency was
quickly dispelled when I compared notes with some of her other
victims who had also broadcast to Australia. We had all succumbed
to precisely the same treatment. As far as I can remember Miss
Denny had no appointment yet she arrived in my office. I had no
intention of broadcasting yet I was very soon confronted with a
live mike. And what is more I thoroughly enjoyed the whole
proceeding.

Since those early days when I was her victim I have benefited
considerably from her astonishing ability to get things done, as with
Huw Wheldon she now produces my ** Men of Action '* scries on
television.

B.B.C. sound studios arc always divided into two. In one half
sits the victim who is to make the broadcast, gazing uneasily at a
microphone perched in the middle of the table in front of him,
and trying to watch out of the corner of his eye a series of green
and red light signals which indicate the timings, when to start,

300

if he is going too slowly, when he is approaching the end and so on
which is all very frightening. These are controlled by the producer
who is in the other half of the room separated from his victim by a
sound-proof glass panel. With the producer are usually several
other people; an engineer who controls the volume, secretaries
with stop-watches to check the timings with the script, and any
other members of the B.B.C. staff who happen to be interested in
the programme.

During my first broadcast inside this country on Home Service
I found myself to start with in the second compartment watching
and listening to Wynford Vaughan Thomas interviewing a dis-
tinguished member of the Farmers' Union on the thorny subject of
the military acquiring too much land for training purposes in Wales.
I was to put the army point of view during the next interview.
The farmer had prepared a long script which he had obviously tried
out on his wife and had every intention of delivering in toto. Not by
the flicker of an. eyelid did Vaughan Thomas show that he was
bored stiff, but the producer in our compartment was showing signs
of approaching apoplexy. " My god! Cut, cut, cut/' he kept on
saying. Listening to the unsuspecting farmer I thus learned two
important lessons of broadcasting:

1. The subject matter must be tailored to the time available, and
the more it is tightened the better it will sound over the air.

2. Broadcasting, and lecturing to an audience, require entirely
different techniques. It's no good attempting to deliver an oration
into a mike in Broadcasting House because the recipient is one
person sitting in a chair in his or her room. Wynford treated the
mike as chough it were his wife with whom he was having a quiet,
pleasant discussion. The farmer was rallying an immense audience
to do battle with the hated military. There was no doubt who
carried the most conviction on the air.

Thanks to the B.B.C. I have been privileged to broadcast the un~
veiling of war memorials in many countries, and have thus had the
opportunity to appreciate the remarkable work which has been
carried out since the war by the Imperial War Graves Commission.
No future generation will ever be able to point a finger at us and

301

say that we neglected to care for the dead of the last two world wars.
The cemeteries where they lie are not grim burial grounds but
places of beauty, bright with flowers and carefully tended green
lawns with trees very often around them. The atmosphere of
peace and tranquillity which pervades all the war cemeteries must
surely have brought comfort to the thousands and thousands of
parents and relations who have visited them all over the world.

I have been to many. Each lias its special niche in history.
Cassino in Italy with the famous monastery towering above it.
Bayeux, the first French town to be liberated. Groesbeck in
Holland, gazing across the valley to Germany and the sinister
Reichswald, where so much bitter fighting took place. Dunkirk,
which was unveiled by Queen Elizabeth, the Queen Mother, when
afterwards, from the deck of a destroyer, she laid a wreath on the
sea in memory of the little ships which evacuated our army from
Dunkirk and its neighbouring beaches. And finally Brookwood in
the heart of the United Kingdom where the whole Royal Family
were present for the unveiling. The British Commonwealth may
now rest content in the knowledge that these men, and women too,
who died in our defence lie in honoured graves.

Though sound broadcasting is intensely interesting, television
EOW began to fascinate me more and more. So greatly daring, I
penetrated the inner keep of that immense television, centre which is
rising slowly and majestically in Wood Lane, and had a talk to Cecil
McGivern and Leonard MialL The former is the presiding genius of
all B.B.C. television, the corps commander who fights the tactical
battle on the TV front, and Leonard Mial is one of his subordinate
commanders, the controller of TV talks. I used to think that the
last war was a pretty merciless affair but I soon found that it was
child's play compared to the ferocious conflict waged day in and
day out between the B.B.C. and the independent television com-
panies. I have deliberately used military terms in connection with
TV because the whole business with its split-second timings,
accuracy, team work and discipline, is the nearest approach to battle
which I have met since retiring from the army. The only major

302.

difference is that appearing on the TV screen is much more frighten-
ing than commanding a corps in any battle.

All this, however, is going much too fast. I came down to the
television centre to try and persuade the presiding genius that many
ex-servicemen and their wives would be interested in an account
on TV of some of the more important battles which were fought
during the last war. I did not realise then that, at the age of sixty,
I was venturing into something which would have a major effect on
my whole life. After a most hilarious interview I cannot under-
stand why we laughed so much, but we did they decided to take a
chance, and I was booked to do a series of fifteen-minute programmes
called " Men in Battle." Initially these were put on at 10.45 p.m..
when most sensible people are on their way to bed, the object being
perhaps to hurry them up. Though nobody said so I was left in no
doubt that unless I convinced my expert critics that these pro-
grammes were really worthwhile their duration would be short.
I shall always be indebted to these two men for having the courage
to allow an ancient general to try and sell the craft of war on the
screen,

I very soon found that this TV business which I had entered into
so light-heartedly was a far more difficult medium thaa sound.
The people who handle it, producers, cameramen, artists, studio
managers, make-up girls, are all very different too. They are younger
and very enthusiastic. It is impossible to eater that funny old rabbit
warren, Lime Grove, without becoming aware that the whole place
is full of atmosphere and teeming with energy. My first shock was
to find that it takes forty people full-time to put one person on the
air,

What makes TV so difficult is the sinister influence of the
camera, and that awful feeling of being absolutely alone in a huge,
bare studio filled with nothing but machinery. I find it difficult to
get used to the brilliance of the arc lamps directed on me alone
while all round are cameras and microphones mounted on things
called dollys which enable them to move about in every direction,
During a performance they are rarely still. I have already likened
TV to a battle, but 1 soon found that I was no longer the general but

303

the front-line soldier who had to go over the top. The commander
was the producer originally Huw Wheldon and now Therese
Denny sitting somewhere out of my sight, in a room full of
monitor television sets and surrounded by the chief staff officers
concerned with sound, light, and cameras, to mention the three most
important. All the men who are operating the dollys on the floor of
the studio are wearing ear-phones and from her box Therese controls
their movements like a commander on a battlefield. This must be a
nerve-racking job because the producer can make or mar the
programme; no theatrical producer exerts such a personal minute
to minute control of the performance as does his confrere in the
TV studio.

The camera is the lynchpin of the whole performance because
ultimately success or failure depends on what appears on the screens
in millions of homes all over the country. It is all too easy to become
mesmerised by the camera. Some people lecture it, some are
frightened of it, others hate it, but the wise man treats it as a friend
just a friendly old camera and talks to it accordingly. There arc
many pitfalls for the unwary, as I found to my cost, and the unfor-
givable sin is to talk to the wrong camera. When sitting at the table
I must talk to camera A; if I go to the map, to camera B, or if I am
explaining something on the model, camera C will take over, and
woe betide me if I don't always move my hands the same way from
left to right, or vice versa, so that the camera can follow them.
One added difficulty is the use of film. Very often I use pieces of
film to illustrate some part of the talk and these have to be " cued **
into the programme at exactly the right moment,

Because of all these complications it might be thought that
there are many hours of rehearsal but this is not so. Studios arc
always scarce and when in use they cost a lot of money, so rehearsals
are cut to the minimum. If I am due to appear at 9,30 p.m. I
probably arrive at Lime Grove at 7 p.m., by which time the cameras
have been lined up and the lighting, maps, model, etc., adjusted hi
accordance with the producer's instructions. I shall be lucky if I
get more than two runs through before zero hour* 1 have heard
that while on the stage an opera singer must surrender herself

304

Rape. With my wife in 'IW (named after our granddaughter)

The end of the hne. Emsworth h&rbour at low tide

entirely to the conductor. The performer on TV does the same but
in this case the camera is the master; no performer is a free agent.
I realised very soon that, the whole business being so complicated,
if I wished to give a smooth, relaxed performance I must be clear
in my mind about what I was going to say and do. Otherwise it is
only too easy to be thrown out of your stride by the myriad dis-
tractions of the studio. I also felt that, if from the remoteness of the
studio, I was to establish personal contact with the unseen audience
in their homes I must be able to talk to them the whole time, which
ruled out the use of a script. Every time a performer looks down
from the camera, even for a split second, he breaks that personal
contact with the viewers which is so difficult to establish. Their
automatic reaction is " Oh, he's looking at his notes," which
distracts their minds from the story which he is trying to tell. So I
have always made it a rule to do without notes though I keep a
few headings by me just in case I get a blackout.

The preparation of a programme involves much hard work.
After hours and hours of research I start by writing out everything I
want to say, and then time myself. As a rule the first script lasts
for anything up to an hottr or more; then starts the process of ruth-
less cutting in order to reduce it to approximately twenty-five
minutes. I used to hate doing this; now I know that the tighter the
script the better it will be. Then comes the conference with Me Watt
who is an expert at maps; followed by numerous visits with the
producer to small cinema theatres in order to view the existing film,
and select the bits which we wish to use. These are then cut and
tailored by the film editor who works in the Baling studios.

When this has been completed I try the programme out on the
most non-military minds I can find, to ensure that, in the extremely
unlikely event of Mum wanting to watch the programme, she will
understand what I am talking about. Some unsuspecting B.B.C.
secretaries arc usually selected as guinea pigs, and if there is some
military detail which they do not understand I alter it until they do.
The next problem is to rehearse the wretched ding in my mind.
Most of this is done while walking round the parks with my boxer
dog Maxic, He is the only person in the world who has heard every

305

word of every programme. I regard it as highly significant if at any
stage in my recital he lies down and goes to sleep.

By now the two producers Huw and Therese will have approved
the general pattern and we all meet at Baling or at some small studio
in Soho. Everyone who has anything to do with the production is
present and I try a complete run through. I always enjoy these trial
trips because after a time the others manage to forget that I am an
old general and accept me as one of themselves. In the middle of the
day we have a break and if at Ealing we all lunch together in the
canteen, surrounded as like as not by a large number of people in
period costume from some play which is being shot in a neighbour-
ing studio. Ultimately the great day approaches and the first jerk
to my self-confidence is the arrival of the Radio Times. My pro-
gramme looks so professional in black-and-white surrounded by all
tliose well-known television personalities who are also appearing
that night. I become acutely aware of my amateur status. The worst
time of all was when I appeared on the cover of the Radio Times.
Nobody had told me that this was going to happen and the first I
knew of it was when I looked down on a bookstall and to my horror
found I was looking at myself. I returned home a chastened man.

On the previous day I carefully avoid watching TV in case I
should run into my own trailer. On the actual day 1 always wake
up with a pleasant feeling of excitement. It's all rather fun, but
this soon disappears and from breakfast onwards my spirits sink
rapidly until by the evening I could wish that the bottom would
drop out of the floor. I am acutely nervous, far more so than before
any battle, I arrive at Lime Grove to be met with an atmosphere of
forced heartiness. Everyone looks at me as though I am about to
undergo a surgical operation, which indeed I am. How 1 envy all
those sensible, old, retired generals who are slowly digging them-
selves to death all over the country. I find no consolation in the fact
that it is entirely my own fault.

I am introduced to the studio manager who controls all the
operations on the floor of the studio; from now on he is my only
contact with the outside world and I look anxiously to see if he
has a kind face. Like everyone else he wears earphones through

306

which he receives the producer's instructions, often, I suspect,
highly explosive. As I sit in my brightly illuminated corner all the
rest of the studio seems relatively dark and the cameras become more
and more like Quatermass' fearful insects.

" General, Therese would like a complete rehearsal, please "
and off we go. At the end I gaze rather anxiously at the shapes
behind the cameras arid wonder whether they liked it or not, because
by now having been through the script so often, the whole thing
seems complete nonsense to me. I hear a clatter above and see the
chief consultant Huw descending from his box to have a few
words with the victim on the operating table. The hospital
atmosphere is heightened still further by the fact that he has now
assumed his best bedside manner. " General, it won't hurt nearly as
much as you think." He is accompanied by a young woman who
looks suspiciously like a nursing sister, but who turns out to be the
make-up queen on duty for my programme, faced with the
impossible task of making me look like a successful general. The
more she can make me resemble the Iron Duke the better the
audience will be pleased, at least that is the theory. I have only once
been really coated with make-up and that was when I was suffering
from 7 flu and looked ghastly. After the programme I received
many letters from friends saying how glad they were to see me
looking so well.

One more rehearsal and zero hour approaches. By now I
cannot remember a single word of my script, except for the opening
sentences which, from experience, I know must come out absolutely
automatically. There arc murmurs from the outside world. The
previous programme is early, late, or on time. I hear the studio
manager's voice saying " Silence in studio." Curious light signals
appear on the walls. " Sound on," " Vision on," an unseen band
strikes up the signature tune, a camera is shooting the title on
my right, but 1 am watclxing the studio manager like a hypnotised
rabbit. He drops his arm and I am on the air. Nobody can help
me now, it has become a personal matter between me and several
million viewers. 1 have been told that my peak figure was eight
anil a half million viewers, but I fipd it difficult to visualise what

307

even one million people look like and anyhow what are a few
million more or less? After the first few sentences I forget the
viewers altogether; my world is limited to one camera.

And then almost before I know it all is over. The tension in
the studio drops. Huw and Therese have returned to normal.
" Bang on, General/' means a reasonable performance, A brief
word of thanks to the studio manager, camera men and technicians
on the floor, without whom the programme could not have been
produced at all, and then a much needed whisky and soda, I feel
exactly like a deflated balloon witli no sense of achievement at all,
On the night after the programme I find it difficult to sleep and it
takes twenty-four hours to unwind.

I have already said that television was altering my life. This is
not because of the programmes themselves but because of the
aftermath. First of all there are the letters. I never cease to be
astonished by the number of people who take the trouble to write,
and I try to answer them all myself because the great majority come
from men who served with me in the war, or their wives, and I
enjoy their letters very much. The tone, of course, varies con*
siderably. The most complimentary I have ever had came in a short
newspaper article from Canada where my " Epic Battle " pro-
grammes had been recently appearing. It was quite brief. ** Let us
hope the commercials (Canadian equivalent) do not get hold of this
old boy. I reckon lie could sell a collar to a giraffe/*

At the other end of the scale I must quote two, both from
women. The first said, " You annoy me so much that every time
you appear I throw an orange at the television set/* I thought this
was a healthy reaction, much better than switching off. The second
writer was more personal. ** Dear General, you arc a thug, waiting
for the next war in order to increase the sakd bowl (medals) on your
chest. I suppose you spend your time licking the shoes of old
Granny Churchill* Wait till we get in and you will both be out on
your necks/' I regarded it as highly complimentary even to be
considered alongside that old warrior-statesman,

The sad thing about these letters is that a few come from people
who arc obviously mentally ill- Sonic arc so filthy that even after

308

years of barrack-room language I feel sick when I read them.
Others consist of pages and pages with 110 logical meaning at all.

The second and most disturbing effect of television is the
personal approach. I appear on TV only from time to time, say
every month or six weeks. I have a theory that it is fatal to be seen
on the screen too often, particularly in specialised programmes
like mine. But even so, after a time many people recognise me in
the street, in buses, in the tube and, above all, in shops. This is
extremely flattering, and I don't pretend I don't enjoy it, but it can
also be embarrassing. Presumably because I have, so to speak,
appeared inside people's homes they all feel they know me personally
and do not hesitate to come up and talk about the programme.
Everyone likes or dislikes something different. At one time I
could not travel in the tube between Sloane Square and Westminster
without at least two people speaking to me. I cannot imagine what
life must be like for the popular television personalities, like
Eamonn Andrews and Gilbert Harding, who appear regularly.
I have heard it said that it is almost impossible for them to travel by
public transport at all and I can well believe it.

So now I have really gone astray from the straight and narrow
Black Rod path, amateur journalist, sound broadcaster and TV
performer. It says much for the broadmindcdness of their lordships
that they bear with me at all.

To-day, any man who leads a well-filled life should have a
private lane down which he can escape to his other world
preferably as far removed as possible in feeling and tempo from his

everyday existence.

For some the lane leads to a garden, or shelves of books, or a
workshop in which absorbed hours can be spent with wood, tools,
glue, nails and screws. The essential thing, I think, is that the lane
should lead away from ever-ringing telephones, radio, TV, pave-
ments filled with hurrying, elbowing crowds, and roads congested
with impatient, hastening drivers.

For a year or two now my lane has led down to a quiet water's

309

edge where a small boat lies at her moorings. At the age of sixty-
one, I attended with my wife a course in small boat sailing, first of
all at Bosham and then at Emsworth sailing schools. Now we have
found something which occupies all our spare time most happily.
I only wish that I had taken it up many years ago.

During this lovely summer of 1959, day after day I have sat
at the window of our cottage in Emsworth writing this book while
the sun shines down outside and in front of me lies a wide expanse
of Chichester Harbour, stretching away to Hayling Island, covered
with white, blue and yellow sails. I can see my own boat, a sixteen-
foot Emsworth One Design bobbing about at her moorings. Eventu-
ally I can stand it no more. I step on board, cock an eye at the
weather, feel the wind and cast off.

My little craft turns and heads out into the wider waters of the
harbour. The irritations and frustrations slip away. The only
things that matter are the pulse of the restless sea coming to me
through the tiller, and the chuckle and talk of the water against the
sides of the boat.

The enchantment lasts until the westering sun sends me reluc-
tantly, in golden twilight or stormy sunset, back to the shore and
die seaward end of the lane which leads to every day.

INDEX

Aachen, 23

Adair, Maj.-Gen. Sir Allan, 264

Adam, Gen. Sir Ronald, 84

Addison, Lord, 294

Afrika Korps, 108, no, 116, 119, 123,

125, 141, 171
Airborne troops, 157, 207, 210-11, 213,

215-18, 228-30
Aisnc battle, 16
Akarit,Wadi, 158, 159
Alam Haifa ridge and battle, 108, 116,

121-6, 128-9, 130, 147, 277
Alarnein, El: line, 107, 113-14; first

battle, no-xi; second battle, 108,

125, 127, 129, 132-3, 136-40, 142;

mentioned, 101, 147, 152* 155, 158,

213, 251

Alanbrooke, Field-Marshal Lord (for-
merly Lt.-Gen. A. F. Brooke), 80-1,

83-5, in, 144
Albert Canal, 204-5
Aldershot, 65, 66, 7*, 7^, 73, 99, *77>

278
Alexander of Tunis, Field-Marshal

Lord, XOQ", lio f 1x3, 130, 132, 166,

170

Alexandria, 106, 107, xxo, in, 112, 125
Algiers, 159, 173, 17
Alifrey, Lt.~Gcn. Sir Charles, 169
Amiens, 197, 198
Anderson, Gen. Sir Kenneth, 85, 86 f

92, i6B t 172

Antwerp, 203-4, 232, 238
Ardennes, the, 79, 84, 202; battle, 193,

215, 23<5~7, 242
Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders,

260

Armoured divisions, see British Army

Divisions

Army, British, see British Army
Army Group: i8th, 162;

2ist, 77, 182, 231, 234,

243
Arnhem battle, 157, 207-16, 223, 226,

230-2, 234, 298
Artillery, Horse, 16; Royal Regt. o

190-1
Aucbinleck, Field-Marshal Sir Claude,

109, 111-14, 127
Australian Division, 9th, no, 136, 140

Bad Harzburg, 273

Barker, Gen, Sir Evelyn f * Bubbles "),

76-7

Bedell Smith, see Smith, Bedell
Belgian Army, surrender of, 80, 83,

84; renaissance of, 201
Belgium, 77, 81, 84, 200-1, 216, 251
Bellew, Hon. Sir George (Garter King-

of^Arms), 288, 293
Ben Gardane, 147
Benghazi, 142, 143-4
Berkshire Kcgt., 69
Berlin, 274, 275
Birkenhead, 284
Birmingham, 278, 279
Biaserta, I75~<> 28 5

Black Rod, 287-94, 296, 299, 300, 309
BlackWatch, 258
Blake, Adm. Sir Geoffrey, 287
Bobhevik Revolution, 37-9, 44t 5

51, 55; see aho Red Army
Borradaile, Lt.-CoL, 224, 225
Bradley, Gen. Omar, 159, I77 238

311

Bremen, 262-7, 268

Brighton, 93, 94

British Army: B.E.F. (1914), 15;

B.A.O.R. (1920), 64; B.E.F. (1939-

40), 70, 77-8, 80, 84-5, 89-91, 278;

British Liberation Army, 180, 182;

B.A.O.R. (1945-9), 272, 284, 285,

299

Armies

First, 85, 145, 161-2, 163, 164, 166-8

Second, 69, 186, 202, 207, 214, 229-
31, 234, 236, 245, 256, 264

Eighth : ordered to stand at Alamein,
107-14; short of tanks, 116;
standard dress, 118, 166-7; re-
organised, 125, 127, 132; mood
during Alamein, 136; advancing,
142; battle-winning technique,
144-6; Medenine, 147; Mareth,
150; privations, 156; at the end
in Africa, 162, 164, 168, 171;
preparing for Sicily, 173-4; men-
tioned, 106, 115, 122, 126, 139,
*54> *S5 158, *59> 182, 184

Fourteenth, 145

Commands
Eastern, 97
Iraq/Persia, 113
Mddle East, no, ill
South-Eastern, 98, 99
Southern, xi6, 177, 278
Western, 185, 277, 278, 282

Corps

2 Corps, 85

5 Corps, 169

8 Corps, 76, 1 86, 207-8, 226, 260

9 Corps, 166, 168, 169

jo Corps: corps fflitt, 1301; Ala-
ein, 137, 142; taken over by

B.H., 143; in reserve, 147, 148;
Gabes Gap, 158, 160; at the end
in Africa, 162, 164, 173-4; taken
over by McCreery, 176

12 Corps, 194, 207-8, 226, 256, 258,
260, 262

13 Corps: taken over by B.H., 108,
115; prepares for defensive battle,
116, 118-19, 121 ; Alam Haifa,
122; acts as decoy, 131; clears
Alamein battlefield, 142; taken
over by Dempsey, 186

30 Corps, 108, 123, 137, 142, 148,
155; prepares for Alamein, 131;
taken over by Lcese, 132; addressed
by Churchill, 144; fails at Mareth,
150; smashes through Gabcs Gap,
159; taken over by B.H., 180;
assaults Mont Pingon, 186, 189;
runs mobile farm, 188-9; thrusts
into Belgium, 193, 194, 196; enters
Brussels, 201-4; attempts advance
to Amhcm, 207, 214, 216, 223,
226, 229-31; captures Geilen-
kirchen, 233, 235; moved to
protect Brussels, 236-8, 241;
IXeichswald battle, 243, 247, 249,
254; crosses the Rhine, 256-7;
thrusts into Germany, 260, 264;
receives surrender, 266; victory
parade, 267; efficient staff, 269;
occupying Germany, 272-3 ; B.H,'s
farewell, 277

ist Airborne Corps, 207, 219

Divisions

ist Airborne, 157, 207, 213, 214,
7, 222, 226, zztt* 230-1,

ist Armd., 139* 141, 148, 150,

152-5
2nd Infantry, 71

312

British Army

3rd Infantry, 47, 77, 79~8o, 83-5, 92,

93, 96, 98, 261, 264
4th Infantry, 85, 87-8, 168
5th Infantry, 83
6th Airborne, 256
6th Arrnd., 161, 169, 171-2, 197
7th Armd. ("Desert Rats"), 116,

121, 122, 136, 139, 141, 148, 166,
169, 173, 187-8

8th Armd., 141

9th Armd., 100-3

loth Armd., 118, 141

nth Armd., 115, *95 197-8, 202,

203

1 5th Scottish, 246, 248, 249-50, 254
43rd (Wcssex) 189, 191, 194, 207,

221-2, 223-4, 226, 229, 231, 234,

235, 246, 250, 253, 261
44th (H.C.), 97, 100, 107, 108, 112,

136

46th Infantry, 175
50th Infantry, 83, 86, 148-50, 182,

1,95, 202, 203, 207, 213, 226

5ist Highland, 134, 136, 159, 182,

187-8, 246, 250-1, 254, *S7i ^59-

60* 262, 277
52ncl Lowland, 254, 264
53rd Welsh, 346, 250, 251
78th Infantry, 168
79th Armd*, 235
Guards Armd,, 132, 195, 198, 201,

203, 206, 207, 213, 317, 221-2, 223,

224 23 t t 246, 261, 264

1st Guards, 65

5 tli Guards, 202, 219

5th Infantry, 71

8th Armd,, 148, IS>*3
9th Amid., TjH, 139

9th Infantry, 93-7

^02, 207

22nd Armd., 116, 120, 124, 136

23rd Armd., 123, 124, 148

32nd Guards, 226

44th Scottish, 249

1 3 ist (Queens), 97

1 3 2nd, 97, 124

1 3 3rd (Sussex), 97

I5ist and I52nd, 139, 260

I53rd and I54th, 258, 260

20ist Guards, 166

2 1 4th Infantry, 223-4, 226

Sec also under Commonwealth

countries and names of Regiments

British Broadcasting Corporation, 300-

2, 305
Broadhurst, Air Chief Marshal Sir

Harry, 152, 213

Brooke, Lt.-Gcn. A. F. see Alanbrooke
Brown, Pte., of the 5th D.CX.L, 225
Browning, Lt.-Gen. Sir Frederick, 207,

218-19, 230

Brownjohn, Lt.-Gen. Sir Nevil, 69
Brussels, 77, 198-205, 209, 231, 236,

238, 247
Buffs, The, 97
Burma, 73, 106

Burrows, Lt.-Gen. M. Brocas, 101
Butts, Maj. F. de, 116, 123, 139

Cairo, 103, 105, 106, 109, m, 112,

113-14, n8, 119, 163, 164
Camberley (Staff College), 66-7, 69-70,

72, 73-6, 77, 9i 93, 103, 104, 158,

161, 169
Canadian troops, 184, 191, 194, 233,

243 24^-7, M9, 250, 253, 254, 259,

260

Cap Bon, 171, 182, 197
Carter, Col, of Dallas, 175-6, 177
Charpcntier, Mmc., 60
Cherbourg peninsula, 184
Chester, 277, 278, 284

China, 67

Churchill, Lady Clementine, 95

Churchill, Sir Winston, 106, 112, 113,
177, 308; Britain's confidence in,
94; disapproves of defensive battle,
118-19, 126; addresses 30 Corps, 144

Churchill tanks, 168

Cirencester, 96

Clark, Gen. Mark, 174

Clausthal P.CXW. Camp, 28-9, 34

Cleve, 243, 245, 247-8, 250

Coldstream Guards, 260-1

Collins, Gen. J. Lawton, 238

Cologne, 64, 233

Combined operations, 93, 97, 1 80,
181-2

Commandos, German, 240

Commons, House of, 291-5

Concentration carnps, 264-5, 266, 267

Coningham, Air Marshal Sir
Arthur (" Mary **), 122, 139, 169

Copenhagen, 61, 62

Corbett, Lt.-Gen. T, W., 112

Cosens, Sgt. Aubrey, 254

Cossacks, 38,42-3, 59

Co2cyde, 87

Crerar, Gen. H. D. G. 246, 247, 253,

Crocker, Lt.-Gen. John T., 166
Custrin P.Q.W. Camp, 21-3, 26, 28
Cuxhaven, 265-6, 267
Cyprus, 65, 299
Czechs in White Russian armies, 38,

45, 50, 52, 54

Daba, 141

D-Day (Normandy), 73, 115, 180, 184

Dempsey, Gen. Sir Miles, 69, 71, i86 f

230, 236, 256
Denmark, 61, 62, 216
Denny, Capt., 189-90
Denny, Therese, 300, 304-3

Derbyshire Yeomanry, 171

Desert Rats see British Army Divisions,

7th Armd.

Desert Victory (film), 148
Desert warfare, 103-4, 109, 115, 118,

120, 124, 156, 167-8
Dieppe, 204

Dill, Field-Marshal Sir John, 70
Dorset Regt., 230
Douai, 198
Dover, 97

Dover, Bishop of, 275
Dover Brigade, 100
Dragoon Guards, 100, 224
Driel, 222, 223, 225, 229
Duke of Cornwall's Light Infantry,

224-5, 228, 229
Dunkerley, Lt.-Col, 189-90
Dunkirk, 80-92, 96, 98, 103, 106, nS,

119, 130, 200, 302
Durham, 13, 102
Durham Light Infantry, a 30
Dyle, River, 77
Dynamo, Operation, 84

East Riding Yeomanry, xoo

East Surrey Regt-, 86

Ebcrbach, Gen., 198

Egypt, 7, 103, 106-113, 143, 299

** Egypt's Last Hope ", 1 16

Eindhoven, 207, 217

Eisenhower, Gen, D wight D., 173-4,
177, 180, 183, 233, 237; contrasted
with Montgomery, 158-9; turns
down Mongomery's narrow front
plan, 192-3 ; criticises U.S. Airborne
Divisions, 234; splits command
during Ardennes offensive, 2,38;
comments on Reiehswald battle, 255

Ekaterinburg see Sverdlovsk

El Alamciu set Alaxncin

El Hamma, 148, 150, 154-5

314

Elbe, River, 262, 266, 274
Elizabeth, Queen Mother, 302
Elizabeth, Queen Mother of the

Belgians, 202, 236, 238
Emmerich, 256
Ems, River, 260-1
Emsworth, 310
Enfidaville, 162, 166
Erskine, Gen. Sir George, 116
Escaut Canal, 81, 206, 209
Essame, Brig., 223-4, 225
Essex Scottish Regt., 254
Eystrop, 268

Falaise, 191

Fife and Forfar Yeomanry, 100

Finland, 6r

Foum Tatahouine, 151

France, 15, 70-7, 89. 93, 9<$ 180, 193,

214

Franklyn, Gen- Sir Harold, 83
Free French Army, 148
Frcyberg, Gen. Lord, 122, 151, 152,

162, 163-4
Frost, Col., 216
Fumes, 85
Furnes-Nicuport Canal, 84

Gabcs Gap, 148, 158, 160
Gaida, Gen., 38, 45
Galal, 141

Garter, Order of the, 287-8
Garter Kin g-of- Arms, 288, 293
Gatehouse, Maj.-Gen. A, H., n8
Gavin, Gen. Jim, 219, 228-9
Geilenkirchen, 233-4, 235
Germany; during World War 1, 18-36;

in early 'twenties, 64-5; Allied

advance into, 255, 256, 260-1;

surrender of, 266-7; occupation of,

268-77, 285, 286, 297-8
Gibbons, Capt.,

Gibraltar, 13, 71, 103, 104, in

Goch, 245, 253-4

Gooch, Col. Sir Robert, 260

Gordons, The, 259

Gort, Field-Marshal Lord, 80

Gott, Gen.W. H. E. (" StrafFer"), 69,

118

Graham, Maj.-Gen. D. A. H., 182
Graham, Maj.-Gen. Sir Miles, 114
Grave (Holland), 207, 217, 247
Grenadier Guards, 200, 217, 218, 219-

Greys, The, 124
Gruenther, Gen. Alfred, 174
Guingand, Maj.-Gen. Sir Francis de,

113-14, I20-I, 131, 139, 150-1
Gwatkin, Brig. Sir Norman, 202, 219

Hamilton, C. D., 299
Harnmam Lif, 171
Hammamet, 171, 172
Hampshire Regt., 38, 45, 168
Harding, Field-Marshal Sir John, 137,

299

Harz Mts., 28, 273, 274, 275
Haydon, Brig. W., 76, 85-6
Hayes, George, 47, 50, 54, 55, 5^
Heathcote, Lt. Keith, 211-12
Heligoland, 267
Helsinki, 61

Henderson, Lt. J. R., 258-9
Hcrvey, officer in R.F.C., 28, 30, 31-2,

34-5

Highland Light Infantry of Canada, 259
Highlanders, 17, 18, 134, 260
Hitler, Adolf, 74, 76, 89, 90, 93, 185,

215-16, 241

Hobart, Maj.-Gen. and " Pat", 115
Hochwald, the, 245, 254
Holland; invaded by Hitler, 76; entered

by Allies, 213, 215-17, 231; its

waterways, 297-8

3*5

Holland, Maj.-Gen. John C. F., 281

Holzminden P.O.W. Camp, 26, 28

Home Guard, 96, 195

Hong Kong, 37

Horrocks, Nancy (nh KitcHn) (wife),

<58, 76, 91, 181, 282, 283, 287, 297,

3io
Horrocks, Col. Sir William (father),

13, 14, 35-6, 62, 66-7, 68, 296
Horse Artillery, 16
Household Cavalry, 200, 223, 224, 260,

288

Howard, Brig. Sir Charles, 100
Hughes, Maj.-Gcn, Ivor (Serjeant-at

Arms), IDC

Imperial War Graves Commission, 301

India, 13, iio-n

Indian Brigade, no

Indian Division, 4th 159, 163, 166, 168

Iraq, no, 113

Ireland, 65

Irish Guards, 206, 211, 212, 219

Irkutsk, 59

Italy, in, 126, 173, 182, 250, 302

Jardine, Maj.-Gen, Sir Colin, 104
Johnson, Maj.-Gen, D. G., 87-8
Jones, Lt., R.E., 220,
Jones, Maj.-Gen, C B. f Splosh "),
256-7

Kairouan, 161

Kasscrine Pass battle, 145, 147

Keightley, Gen. Sir Charles, 161, 171*

172, 197

KMrghiz tribes, 38, 48-9
King's Own Scottish Borderers, 93

King's Koyai Rifle Corps, 69
Kirkman, Gen, Sir Sidney, 69
Knox, Maj.-Gcn. Sir Alfred, 38, 47, 48
Knox, Lt-CoL, of the R.U.R., 78-9

Koltchak, Adm., 38, 45, 47
Korea, 253
Krasnoyarsk, 53-9, 275

La Panne, 86-7, 88
Lancashire Fusiliers, 86
Lancers, The, 130, 142, i<5i

Leclerc, Maj.-Gen. P. R, 148

Leese, Lt.-Gen. Sir Oliver, 132, 142, 150

Leigh, Vivien, 289

Leningrad see Petrograd

Libya, 148

Liddcll, Capt., of Coldstream Guards,

261

Lille, 17

Lincolnshire Rcgt., 93
Liverpool, 36, 279, 284
Lloyd, Capt, Seiwyn, 75
Lord Chamberlain, 287, 290
Lord Chancellor, 291, 293
Lord Great Chamberlain, 289, 293
Lords, House of, 287, 289-95, 297
Louvaiu, 77, 78
Luce, Lt.-CoL, 190
Lumsden, Lt.-Gen. Herbert, 130, 138,

142, 143

Lutieburg Heath, IQI
Lyuxc Regis, 92

Maastricht, 333
Maas-Waal Canal, 218
McCreery, Gen. Sir Richard, 176
McGivcrn, Cecil, 302-3
MeGlmchy, Miss, of Camkcrley, 74
Macintosh, Sir Robert, a 8
MacMHlan, of MacMillan, Gen. Sir

C Gordon, 71, 2.60
Malta, 73, 1 10, 143
Mauahi, Sgt,, 161*3
Manchester, 278, 279, 284
Man clnili, 4 1*3
Manchuria, 41

316

ManteufFel, Gen., 241, 242
Maquis, the, 196, 198
Mareth line and battle, 148-55
Market Garden, Operation, 207, 209,

215

Marrakesh, 177

Marshall, Gen. George, 70, 133
Massicault, 169
Matmata Hills, 148
" Maxie ", 305-6
Medcnlne battle, 147
Medjerda, Raver, 169
Mcdjez el Bab, 169, 182
Mcrsa Matruh, 141
Mcrteba,Wadi, 148
Meuse (Maas), River, 210, 217, 236,

238, 243, 245, 246, 247
Meusc-Escaut Canal, 206, 209
Miall, Leonard, 302-3
Middle East, 73, 102, 103, 104, 106,

XXO-XX, II5 XX8, 122, 126, 133, 182,

186
Middlesex Rcgt., 15, 24, 36, 38, 64,

66-8, 76, XQ3, 224

Miteiriya Ridge, 138

Model, Gen., 2 13-1 4, 216, 220

Mons, 1 6

Mont Pinion, x86, 189-90

Montgomery of Alamein, Field-Mar-
shal Lord: first impressions of, 78 ; at
Dunkirk, 83-6; defending Britain,
94; training methods, 97-100, 144;
conference technique, 99; in Kgypt,
xo6-p, 1x3-14, 115; dislikes fancy
expressions, n<$; encourages B.H.,
119, 121-2; his popularity, 120, 145-
6, 284; air-minded, 122; Alam
Haifa, 124-7; builds up 8th Army,
130-2; Alamein, 134-40; Tripoli,
144-4; Metlcnine, 147; Mareth,
148-50, 152., 155; relations with
Eisenhower^ xs&"9 ? 192-3 ; Le

Lilerateur at Sousse, 160; the end
in Africa, 163-6; attitude towards
dress, 167; Normandy landings,
179, 1 80, 183-4; plan for victory,
192-3, 209; Arnlaem, 231-2; the
Ardennes, 236, 238-41; his ** spies ",
240; Bremen, 262-4; in occupied
Germany, 269; C.I.G.S., 281, 282;
retreating at "Windsor, 288; being
welcomed at Nijmegen, 298; esti-
mate of, 127-9, 146; mentioned, 73,
77, 81, 92, 93, 103, 118, 123, 168, 174,
186, 230

Moore, Capt. (" Uncle Charles *'), 37,
41

Morley, Professor John, 284-5

Morshead, Lt.-Gen. Sir Leslie, 140

Moscow, 38, 57, 59-61, 156

Mountbatten of Burma, Lord, 73

Muir, Edward, 177, 178

Mulberry harbour, 181

Mussolini, Benito, 126

Nevill, The Lord Rupert, 143

New Zealand Division, 2nd, 116, 122,

123, 124, 130, 136, 141, 148, 150,

152-5, 162-3, 173
Newmarket, 101, 102
Nicholson, Lt.-Gen, Sir Cameron, 69
Niemeycr, Commandant, 26-7, 28
Nijmegen, 207, 214-20, 223, 231, 233,

236, 243, 246, 248, 298
Nile Delta and River, 107-11 passim,

147
Normandy landings and campaign, 97,

II5 *77 179, 180-92, *95 198, 209,

214, ^3*. ^5*, 353, 254, 259, 260
North Africa, 85, 104-5, m, I45> 161.

166, 168, 173, 176, 183, 197, 251,

296

Northamptonshire Regt, 86
Novosibirsk, 52

317

Nunspeet, 209

Nurses: in Russia, 58-9; in Tripoli,

173 ; at Royal Cambridge Hospital,

177-9

Nutterden, 245
Nye, Lt.-Gen. Sir Archibald, 241

Oliver, Brig. James, 260
Olympic Games, 65-6
Omsk, 38, 40, 44 4&, 50-2, 54
Oosterbeek, 213, 217, 226
Oosterhoot, 224, 225

Paget, Gen. Sir Bernard, 74

Paris, 66, 237

Parker, Maj., of the 5th D.CX.L, 225

Parliament, 287, 289-95

Patton, Gen. George, 144* *59t *<5*

237, 2 75
Pentathlon, 65
Persia, no, 113
Petrograd, 38, 61

Philp, C.S.M., of the 5th D.CX.L, 225
Piron, Brig., 201
Poland, 65
Poles in White Russian Armies, 38, 50,

52, 54
Polish Parachute Brigade, 207, 222, 223,

225, 228, 229
Pont & Marcq, 200
Poston, John (Montgomery's A.D.C.),

160-1
Prison camps: ia Germany, 20-1, 35;

in Russia, 57, 60-1, 62
Pyman, Lt.-Gen. HL E., 188, 189

Qaret el Himeimat, ixo", 125, 129

Qattara Depression, 107

Queen's Own Rifles of Canada, 254

Ragil Depression, m, 124

Ramsay, Adrnu Sir Bertram, 84, 97, 166

Ramsden, Maj. -Gen. W. H., 114, 132
Red Army, 38, 52-3, 56, 275; see also

Bolshevik Revolution, Russian

Army

Rees, 256, 258, 259, 297
Refugees, 37-8, 54, 82
Regina Rifles, 254
Reichswald battle, 186, 236, 243-55,

302

Rennie, Gen. Thomas, 259-60
Rhine, Paver : airborne bridgehead on,

217, 218, 222, 226, 228, 229, 230-3;

battle for, 192, 204, 205, 243, 245,

246, 250, 251, 254; crossing of, 256-

<5o, 297
Rluneland battle, 233, 236, 243, 246,

2-55, 256

Ritchie, Gen. Sir Neil, 109, in, 262
Roberts, Maj.-Gen. G. P. B. (" Pip "),

1 16, 124, 197, *9^ 203-4
Robinson, Sgt., of Grenadier Guards,

220
Roer, River, 236, 237, 241, 243, 248,

254

Rommel, Field-Marshal Erwin, 103-
126 pas$im> 140, 141, 143, 147, 184;
the Rommel myth, 120; estimate of,

127-9
Rotterdam, 297

Royal Air Force; at Dunkirk, 89, 96;
in Egypt, 122, 139, 144; at Marcth,
150, 152; in Normandy, 180, 181,
184; at Arnhem, 212-13; a t Clcvc,
247-8

Royal Army Medical Corps, 13, 296
Royal Army Service Corps, 1 5 x
Royal Military College (Sandhurst),

13-14

Royal Tank Corps, 115, 139, 188
Koyal Ulster Rifles, 78, 93, 94

Royal Winnipeg Rifles, 254
Ruhr* 192, 207

318

Rundstedt, Field-Marshal Gerd von,

89-90, 184-6
Russia, 25, 3<5, 37-62, 69, 155, 271, 274,

276
Russian Army, 56, 155-7, 275-7

St. Cyprian, 169

St. Oedenrode, 222, 229

Salerno, 174, 175, 176

Salisbury, Lord, 294

Sandhurst (Royal Military College),

13-14

Scheldt, River, 204, 231-2
Scottish Horse, The, 254
Seine, River, 80, 184, 191, 194, 195,

201

Selby-Lowndes, Lt-CoJ M. W. W., 94
S.H.A.P.E. (Supreme H.Q., Allied

Powers Europe), 174, 299
Sherman tanks, 132-3, 138
Sherwood Rangers Yeomanry, 100-1,

XS^> ^35

Shinwell, Bmanuel, 283
Siberia, 36, 38, 4<>59 155, 275
Sicily landings, 97, 159, 163, 164, 168,

172, 173* I74 183, 251, 260
Sidi Hanesh, 141
Siegfried Line, 234, 241, 245, 249
Silesia, 65

Simonds, Lt.-Gcn. G. G., 250, 254
Simpson, Gen,, of the U.S.. Army,

^33-4 ^3$ *43

Simpson, Lt.-Gcn. Sir Frank, 69
Slim, Field-Marshal Sir William, 73,

145-3
Smidi, Gen. Walter Bedell, 159, 177,

i So, 234-5

Smith, Maj*-Gcn,. Dorman, HZ
Sollum, 141, 142
Somerset Light Infantry, 224
Sommc battle, 226, 255
Sommc, River, 194, 197, 198

Son (Holland), 221

Sosabosky, Maj.-Gen., 229

Sousse, 160, 161

South African A.C. Regt., 4th, 139

South African Division, ist, 136; 2nd,

Southampton, 15, 76
Spain, 13, 104, in
Staff College see Camberley
Staffordshire Yeomanry, 152
Stalingrad, 155, 157, 191
Stirling, Maj. D., 143
Stratton, Maj.-Gen. W. H., 285
Struggle for Europe, The (Wilmot), 223
Student, Gen., 205, 209, 215, 232
Suez, 36, 161

Supercharge, Operation, 139-40
Sussex Regt., 97
Sverdlovsk (Ekaterinburg), 44-7
Sweden, 25
Switzerland, 21
Syria, no

Takrouna, 162-3

Tank warfare, 115, 118, 132-3, 138;

at night, 197-8 ; cut-down tanks, 250
Taylor, Lt.-Col. George, 225, 229
Taylor, Gen. Maxwell, 228, 229
Tebourba batde, 168
Television, 300, 302-9
Territorial Army, 67-8, 74
Thoma, Gen. von, 121
Thomas, Gen. Sir Ivor, 191, 192, 229,

231

Thomas, Wynford Vaughan, 301
Tiaga, 52

TUston, Maj. F. A., 254
Tobruk, 133, 142, H3
Tripoli, 128, 144-6, 160, 173
Tuker, Lt.-Gen. Sir Francis, 163-4
Tunis, 108, 145, 160, 163, 166, i68-7*>

213

319

Tunisia, 148, 160
Turkey, 73, no

Ulhman, Capt., 45

U.S.A., 70, 133, 174, i?<5, 228, 234,
235, 240

U.S. Army, 56, 133, 144, *6i> *74,
177, 191, 194-5, 228, 233, 234-6,
238, 241-2, 243, 248, 254, 260, 276

U.S.S.R. see Russia

Uppingham, 13

Urquhart, Maj.-Gen. R. E., 230

Valentine tanks, 123

Valkenswaard, 213, 217

Vandeleur, Lt-Cols. Joe and Giles,

206, 212

Vernon, 191, 194

Vining, Maj., 51, 54, 55, 57 5^, 61
Vladivostok, 36, 37, 39, 50, 51, 52, 55,

5<5, 57, 59, <**

Waal, River, 210, 215, 2x8, 219

Walcheren Is., 232, 264

Wales, 278-9, 301

Walker-Smith, D. C, 75

War Office, appointment at, 71;

modernisation opposed by, 281-2
Warburton-Lee, Comm,, R.N., 70
Waterloo, I4o> 162, 238, 252
Wavell, Field-Ma0hal Lord, 72-3, 99
Webb, Brig. George, 188
Welsh Guards, 171, 200, 223
Wesel, 256, 258

Weser, River, 264, 265, 266

West Kent Regt., 97

Wheldon, Huw, 300, 304-8

Whinney, Sgt., 16

White Russians, 36, 38-9, 44, 47, 50,

5i 54, 55-7
Wiart, la Baronne Carton de, 202,

238

Wilmot, Chester, 223
Wilson, Field - Marshal Lord

(" Jumbo "), 72
Wiltshire Regt., 189, 190
Wimberley, Maj.-Gen. Douglas, 134
Winchester, 181, 286
Windsor, 288
World War, First, 14-35, 167, 169,

226, 252, 255, 270
World War, Second, outbreak of, 74;

turning points in, 110-11, 136, 241;

most gallant feat of arms in, 162-3;

B.H/s bravest act in, 173; B.H/s

worst moment in, 228; grimmest

battle in, 255; end of, 266-7

Yeomany regts., 100

Young, Capt. Harold, 142-3, 171-2,

176-7
Young, Maj, Sidney, 224

Ypres battle, 17

Zhukov, Marshal G. 1C, 274, 275
Zigzaou, Wadi, 148, 155
Zornclorf, Fort, 21-3, 26* 28
Zuidcr Zee, 207, 231

320

(Continued from front flap)

the Rhino. One of the most outstanding features
of this book is the author's revealing but fair-
minded assessment of men like Montgomery,
Auchinleck and Eisenhower his ability to see
precisely wherein their greatness as leaders lay,
and to illuminate many of the disputes which in-
evitably arose between men of strong character
in times of stress. Sir Brian is a natural writer of
engaging sympathy, modesty, and humor, as well
as being a man of courage and action.

Born in Indiahis father was an army doctor sta-
tioned in India in ,1895, General Horrocks con-
fosses to having had what would now be con-
sidered an unfashionably happy childhood. He
was educated at Uppingham School and at the
Royal Military College, Sandhurst. TRs distin-
guished military career from Second Lieutenant
to Lieutenant-General and a knighthood is re-
counted in this book.

Sir Brian Horroeks is now one of Britain's most
popular television broadcasters. He holds the an-
cient and honorable office of Gentleman Usher
of the Black Rod and as such is in charge of the
daily administration of the House of Lords, as
well as taking part in various picturesque cere-
monies. Ladv Horroeks is an artist.

IJPJtl * WH.P-T- - " ^

118 152

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