Many Not the Few: The Stolen History of the Battle of Britain

by Richard North

  From a series of reports, sent by the Military Attaché in Washington, on the morale of the population and the situation in London, it emerges that the will to fight of the London population is considerably affected by lack of sleep. This physical weakness is regarded as the worst danger to morale. As regards damage, he reports that twenty-four large docks were totally burnt out and four gasometers were destroyed. The stations, Sherrycross (sic) and Waterloo, and several underground stations are damaged. Of ten good airfields round London, seven are almost completely unusable.26

  Other reports in a similar vein provided reason for the Germans to believe that Britain was being badly damaged by the air attacks. Forcing her to conclude a peace was believed to be within the realms of the possible.

  Churchill was unlikely to be thinking in these terms. According to his official biographer, after he had returned from his visit to the bombed areas of London, he had been told of an Enigma decrypt which “made it clear that the German invasion plans were so ill-advanced that even the training was not complete” and that there had been no “hard and fast decision to take action in any particular direction”.27

  For the many millions of ordinary Britons not directly affected by the bombing, and without the inside track, there were the papers to read. The Sunday Express had a three-line banner headline across the full width of the front page. “500 Nazi bombers strike at London: train, theatre, dog track and works hit”, it proclaimed. The Germans, “driven into anger by the RAF attacks on Germany, threw everything they had into the biggest air attack of the war on London yesterday and throughout the night”, the story went – under the subtitle: “Fighters and guns crash 65 raiders down in flames”. Thus, the report concluded, “There is no reason whatsoever for dejection or depression. The RAF is more than holding its own”.

  Sunday Express readers were, by coincidence to enjoy a column from J. B. Priestley, who had been given a regular slot by Beaverbrook. He chose for his title, “The two most dangerous people – those who care but don’t know: those who know but don’t care”. The task of the people of this country, he wrote, was to destroy Nazism abroad and also to create at home a new, thorough and militant democracy. The blockage, stated explicitly, was “Tory Britain”, coming into the category of “those who know but don’t care”. It was a mistake to think the “fifth column” is a foreigner, he wrote. It was this group, with “no particular friends anywhere, simply because it has been regarded for some time now as being short-sighted, fumbling, greedy, reactionary and about to decay”.

  And in the evening, Priestley was back, this time on the airwaves with another BBC Postscript talk. It was a pity, he said,

  that in the earlier months of this war, the authorities were so emphatic that we were civilians, a helpless passive lot, so many skins to save, so much weight of tax-paying stuff to be huddled out of harm’s way. We see now, when the enemy bombers come roaring at us at all hours, and it’s our nerve versus his, that we’re not really civilians any longer but a mixed lot of soldiers – machine-minding soldiers, milkmen and postmen soldiers, housewives and mother soldiers – and what a gallant corps that is – even broadcasting soldiers. Now and then, we ought to be paraded, and perhaps a few medals handed out.28

  Of course, very few of these “soldier civilians” were going to get medals, and then only under exceptional circumstances. Yet every one of the 2,937 British and Allied airmen who qualified as “the few” gained a campaign medal and the coveted Battle of Britain clasp. But the civilians were by no means the only ones to be excluded. The sailors guarding Britain’s shores did not qualify for the clasp. Nevertheless, during the night when most of Dowding’s airmen were safely tucked up in their beds, the Navy was out on the narrow seas.

  In one action off Ostend, three MTBs damaged two ships, one of 2,000 tons and one of 1,000 tons. The light cruiser HMS Galatea, escorted by destroyers Campbell, Garth and Vesper, plus light cruiser Aurora with destroyers Hambledon, Holderness and Venetia were despatched to shell German shipping concentrations off Calais and Boulogne. In the early hours of the morning, an Anson dropped flares over both ports. No shipping was found in Calais Roads and Galetea did not conduct a bombardment. However, Aurora bombarded the Boulogne harbour area. Destroyers Atherstone, Berkley, Bulldog, Beagle and Fernie swept along the French coast from Le Touquet to the south-west up to five miles north of Cape Antifer. The cruisers arrived back at Sheerness on 9 September. On her return, Galatea struck a mine off Sheerness and repaired at Chatham until 8 January 1941.29

  Fighter Command finished the day with 6 aircraft lost. Bomber Command, flying over 130 aircraft on anti-invasion raids, brought the total to 21, against 16 Luftwaffe losses. No less than 10 Blenheims were shot down.

  DAY 62 – MONDAY 9 SEPTEMBER 1940

  Londoners this morning were confronted with a savagely remodelled landscape. Familiar landmarks lay in ruins, the latest St Thomas’s Hospital in Westminster. It had taken a direct hit overnight. Life nevertheless went on. It had to.

  A problem for the editors of the Monday newspapers was how to deal with the great raids of the Saturday, running into the Sunday morning, with a further set of raids on the Sunday evening. The Guardian handled it by giving the headline lead to the events of the Sunday night but then devoting most of the copy to the Saturday raids, about which there was now considerable detail. The headlines, however, concealed the trauma. Home Intelligence reported that the strongest feeling was “one of shock amongst all classes”, who have lulled themselves into a false sense of security, saying: “London is the safest place”, and “they’ll never get through the London defences”.

  Centre page in the Guardian spread was the tragic story of “Bomb’s havoc in crowded public shelter”, after a bomb had penetrated a ventilation shaft. This admitted to fourteen deaths, the location – as always – unnamed. In Whitechapel, however, a much greater tragedy had played out. One of eight blocks of flats on the Peabody estate, sandwiched between the Royal Mint and East Smithfield’s Goods Station, had taken a hit. The entire building had collapsed onto the basement where tenants and their guests had been sheltering. There were no survivors. Only long after the war was it publicly acknowledged that seventy-eight people had died, when the site was marked by a memorial plaque.30

  Nothing of this got into the media at the time, despite the knowledge of the tragedy being widely known locally. Yet the censorship could not prevent the spread of news locally. In the tight-knit community of the East End, the story of the disaster spread like wildfire. This fuelled what Home Intelligence was constantly noting – a growing cynicism over official casualty reports. That in turn fed rumours of mass casualties and exaggerated numbers of deaths.

  Despite this, Home Intelligence claimed that there were “no signs of defeatism” except among a small section of elderly women in the “front line” districts such as East Ham, “who cannot stand the constant bombing”. Districts sustaining only one or two shocks soon rally, said the day’s report. But in Dockside areas, it said: “the population is showing visible signs of nerve cracking from constant ordeals”:

  Old women and mothers are undermining morale of young women and men by their extreme nervousness and lack of resilience. Men state they cannot sleep because they must keep up the morale of their families and express strong desire to get families away from danger areas. Families clinging together, however, and any suggestion of sending children away without mothers considered without enthusiasm. People beginning to trek away from Stepney and other Dockside areas in families and small groups. Many encountered in City today with suitcases and belongings. Some make for Paddington without any idea of their destination.

  It was clear that nerves were raw. There were “many expressions of bitterness” at the apparent impossibility of stopping German raiders from doing what they liked. This issue was “bewildering and frightening people”, and the opinion of anti-aircraft gunfire was “astonishingly small”.31

  The newspapers were playing down the
effects of the bombing. The Guardian noted that London as a whole had had its first big raid and had come out of it well. It could “hold its head up now with those heroic towns of the South-east which had stood up to repeated battering”. A journalist who had toured the damaged areas in the East End of London claimed he had seen nothing to show that the raids had daunted the spirits of the East End. In other papers, there were laudatory accounts of the sang froid of the nurses at St Thomas’s. A constant theme also was the promise of revenge, although the Daily Mail chose a curious form of words:

  We prefer to put it another way: that the British Forces, the RAF especially, will pursue a steadily increasing campaign against Germany for set purposes to victory, and that object will in time become overwhelming.

  Many authors attested that this restraint had been “guided” by the Ministry of Information’s preferences on reporting the public responses to the bombing. The calls for revenge were played down. The preferred image was one of people “stoically heroic and stolidly good-humoured”. This was characterized in the catchphrase, “London can take it”, assiduously promoted by the Ministry of Information, later becoming the basis for a number of newsreel titles covering different towns and cities in the UK.32

  Daylight raids continued, hitting widely dispersed targets, which included south London suburbs such as Weybridge, Kingston and Croydon. As bombers met fighters, they jettisoned their bombs. Considerable damage was done to suburban homes. Kingston and Surbiton suffered heavily. Then Southampton and Rochester were targeted again. Through the day, though, the East End was toured by the Prime Minister and the King and Queen, in an attempt to raise morale.

  At six in the evening, the first of the night shift crossed the Sussex coast, headed for London, for another night of pummelling. Somerset House and the Royal Courts of Justice were among those hit. The newly completed surgical wing of Great Ormond Street Hospital was narrowly saved from complete destruction when veteran stoker William Pendle braved flooding and fire to turn off the hospital’s damaged boilers before they exploded. He was awarded the George Medal.33 By morning, three more main line stations were out of action, another 370 Londoners were dead and more than 1,400 were injured.

  And, of course, the RAF’s battle continued – distant noises off. Fighter Command lost twenty-one aircraft. Bomber Command added five to the toll, bringing losses to twenty-six. The Luftwaffe lost twenty-seven to all causes, including at least five accidents. Twelve of the losses were Me 109s, shot down during the day fighting. Bomber casualties were minimal.

  Overnight, the Royal Navy sent five destroyers to sweep the French coast from St Valery north-eastwards towards Le Touquet, seeking to locate and destroy enemy small craft which had been reported on the loose. Two destroyers had proceeded towards Calais and three towards Boulogne. MTBs also had carried out a sweep between Ostend and the mouth of the Scheldt. Only one small craft was found out of harbour. Reconnaissance aircraft reported “a fair number of vessels of small size” still entering the ports of Flushing, Ostend, Calais and Boulogne.34

  DAY 63 – TUESDAY 10 SEPTEMBER 1940

  By morning, no less than 148 German bombers had visited London. Liverpool Street Station was among the stations hit and a number of other landmarks suffered. A Luftwaffe bomb breached the northern outfall sewer, the great work of Victorian engineer Joseph Bazalgetti, which carried the bulk of London’s sewage. Freed from their bounds, the contents poured into the River Lea, adding a pungent stench to the already overloaded atmosphere. The metaphor was somewhat fitting.

  The morning’s headlines told the story, not that anyone in London needed telling. On the third night of the Blitz just past, the bombing had been heavier than ever. The London correspondent for the Yorkshire Post called it, “the worst terrorist air raid yet inflicted upon London and probably upon any part of the country”.

  Much was made of the royal tour, with the Daily Express headlining its report: “They’d lost their homes, but could still raise a cheer”, marking the reaction of the locals to the visit. Yet, on this day, people had booed the royal couple as they had made their rounds.35 Clearly, the King had been enlisted to assist with the propaganda effort, the paper having him pointing to Anderson shelters among the wreckage, and remarking on the protection they gave. Then, said the paper, “Homeless East Enders crowded round the King’s car to cheer. Police had to force a path for him. But the people climbed on to the running-boards to tap the windows and wave”.

  A sombre War Cabinet met at the usual time, just after midday, when John Anderson had to admit to a “difficult situation” arising for the homeless in the East End. This matter, he said, had not, perhaps, been very well handled by all the local authorities. Arrangements had been made for the London County Council to take over and a special organization was also being set up in Whitehall. It was proposed to transfer the homeless to districts further west.36

  This was going to be too late for Canning Town in the centre of the docklands area, where tragedy was to reach almost unbearable proportions. Prior to the nineteenth century, this had been largely marshland, accessible only by boat or toll bridge. The high water table was not amenable to digging shelters and, for the same reason, there were no underground railways. Now, the hundreds made homeless by the bombing had gravitated to a “rest centre” set up in the now vacated South Hallsville School. They were promised transport away from the heat of the battle.

  Journalist Ritchie Calder visited the school. He described it as “a bulging dangerous ruin” which had survived the raids only by a miracle. But he was distinctly uneasy. “It was a calculable certainty” that it would be targeted again. Yet the promised transport failed to show up. According to some, it had been mistakenly diverted to Camden Town in North London. The refugees thus settled down to spend another night in the unprotected buildings – one of the most dangerous places on earth, under the flight path of German bombers making their runs on the docks. And, at 3.45 a.m., the predictable (and predicted) tragedy struck in the form of a large calibre bomb.

  Rescue workers dragged seventy-three bodies from the wreckage. But as they worked, a cordon was thrown around the area to keep people from seeing what was happening. The censor, or so we are told, warned the press there were to be no reports or pictures of the tragedy, so devastating would be the effect on the morale of an already shattered population.37 In fact, a brief report appeared in next day’s Guardian and the incident was reported in detail by the AP.

  Rescue was then expected to take at least twenty-four hours. The work seems to have been gone on for three days. Then, according to legend, by “government order”, the origin of which is not known – the search was abandoned. The wreckage was limed and razed to the ground. Locals are convinced that the authorities concealed the full death toll, which was far higher than the official figure. Some say it might have been as high as 400 or 450. The Guardian of 12 September reported the casualties of Monday night for the whole area being 400 with 1,400 injured, but with “the majority of the fatalities occurring when an elementary school in the East End of London … collapsed”. There was bitterness that no effort had been made to discover the identities of the many for whom this illusory refuge had been their final resting place. The incident became a festering sore in relations between the much-troubled people and the authorities.

  The full horror had yet to be fully realized as this September day dawned. It revealed a blanket of low cloud across much of northern Europe. Large-scale daylight operations were out of the question. Air activity was confined to sporadic “nuisance” raids. However, across the Channel, more than 3,000 barges and other vessels had been assembled with a view to transporting a German army to England. A decision had to be made on whether they were going to be used. The weather was poor, limiting air operations over England, and the forecast for the next ten days offered unsettled conditions. Hitler decided to delay making up his mind until 14 September.38

  The Naval Staff recorded other concerns, the diarist writing: �
��It would be in conformity with timetable preparations for the operation of Sealion if the Luftwaffe concentrated less on London and more on Portsmouth and Dover, as well as on the naval forces in and near the operational area, in order to eliminate the potential threats of the enemy”. Nevertheless, it went on: “But the Naval Staff does not consider this a suitable moment to approach the Luftwaffe or the Führer with such demands”. Hitler thought the major attack on London might be decisive. Thus a systematic and prolonged bombardment of London could result in the enemy adopting an attitude which would render Sealion superfluous. “Hence the Naval Staff will not proceed with the demand.”39

  This, effectively, acknowledged what had been the case for some time. The air operation was a strategic bombardment. Bremen Radio this day broadcast: “It is a question of time – a few short weeks, then this conflagration will reach its natural end”.40 A Nazi communiqué stated that the air offensive would be “pressed relentlessly until the British capitulate”. New waves of German bombers flying against London would “carry out remorseless and relentless warfare until the smoking ruins of industrial and military objectives, decimation of the British Air Force and shattered morale of the British people bring into power a government that will accept German terms”.41

  This was a remarkably lucid declaration of the German war aims and it would have been entirely logical for the Germans also to be exploring diplomatic channels to present their terms, as they had following Hitler’s peace offer on 19 July.

  Thus, on this day, Karl Haushofer sent a letter to his son, Albrecht – whom we met only two days ago. He referred to “secret peace talks” which were going on with Britain. There was talk of “middlemen” such as Ian Hamilton (head of the British Legion), the Duke of Hamilton and Violet Roberts, whose nephew, Walter Roberts was a close relative of the Duke of Hamilton and was working in the political intelligence and propaganda branch of the Secret Intelligence Service. Violet was living in Lisbon. And Portugal was said to be one of the four main places where secret peace negotiations were taking place, the others being Spain, Sweden and Switzerland.42 All these things may have been connected – and may not have been. But there is no doubt that another “peace offensive” was in progress.