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

by Richard North

  The narrative was then further strengthened by the manner of Dowding’s passing. It conferred on him a certain mystique of “victimhood” and polarized opinion. Acceptance of his narrative became a gesture of solidarity among those whom he called his “chicks”. It also, it seems, attracted a powerful friend. On 15 September 1941, two years after the day when Fighter Command had claimed (falsely) to have destroyed 185 German aircraft, Dowding hosted an anniversary party for 12 of “the few”. The Daily Express celebrated the occasion by giving it the front-page lead, with a photograph of the line-up. One of these “few” was Wing Commander Max Aitken, son of Lord Beaverbrook, proprietor of the newspaper. The Express was to become one of the most prominent champions of the Dowding version of the battle.

  The Daily Mirror covered the event as well, also retailing a claim by Dowding that the RAF had “stopped the invasion”. But the following day, it ran a news piece headed: “They also fought”. It had a photograph depicting a “typical East End group” – men, women and children from the East End. Heroes themselves, said the paper, those folk in the picture are some of “the many” who “owed so much to so few” in the Battle of Britain. They had been attending an open-air thanksgiving service organized for the RAF, in the grounds of a school in the East End wrecked by bombs on 15 September. But, despite the rearguard action, this was – according to the Express – “the second anniversary of the day the Battle of Britain reached its climax and the tide turned in our favour”.

  On 28 September 1942, Herbert Morrison tried to redress the balance and give the people their due recognition. He proposed to the War Cabinet a celebration of the Civil Defence of Great Britain against the “blitz” of 1940–1. This would be on 15 November – then only six weeks hence – with religious services and local parades. There would also be a National Parade, with token contingents of Civil Defence members from heavily blitzed areas.13

  Over the last days of October and the first of November, however, the epic battle of El Alamein had been fought and won. On 10 November 1942, Churchill was speaking in the Egyptian Room at the Mansion House, delivering his famous “end of the beginning” speech. With a significant victory under his belt at last, he was confident enough openly to declare his values. He told his audience: “I have not become the King’s First Minister in order to preside over the liquidation of the British Empire,” an empire he described as “a veritable rock of salvation in this drifting world”. The code was obscure, but this was widely seen as a final rejection of calls for a statement on war aims. Maintenance of the status quo was his only aim. He had seen off the competition. There would be no “new world order” while he was around.14

  Only days after the victory, with church bells rung for the first time since the Battle of Britain invasion alert, Morrison’s Civil Defence Day was celebrated. Dressed in a naval uniform, the King took the salute from a stand outside St Paul’s. The march-past, comprising 1,600 in all, was led by troops of the Anti-Aircraft Command, followed by a small contingent of the RAF. Then came the National Fire Service, the police and contingents of the Civil Defence from all over the country. As they marched, the narrator from Pathe News intoned:

  Had it not been for Mr Everyman’s courage and endurance in the Battle of Britain, the cause of the United Nations would have been lost beyond retrieve.

  The day was the second anniversary of the bombing of Coventry. Perhaps significantly, there was no reference to the celebration in the Daily Express. But a long, illustrated article appeared in the Mirror. It was headed: “YOUR day and YOUR future …”. Morrison was quoted heavily from a BBC broadcast, when he had declared: “[I]t was the self-sacrifice and bravery of ordinary folk which [had] provided the triumphs celebrated on Civil Defence day”.

  Parades, church services and celebrations were held all over the country, some the following Sunday, when civic dignitaries most often took the salutes. A week later, on 30 November 1942, Morrison’s Ministry produced the official account of the Civil Defence of Great Britain. In the detailed, 162-page illustrated pamphlet called, Front Line, it made it absolutely clear that the “Blitz” was an integral part of the Battle of Britain. Said Morrison in his Mirror article: “It is the people’s book of heroism, the story of democracy in action. In my opinion this war has produced no finer story”.

  The counterstroke came on 19 July 1943, when an item was submitted for discussion in the War Cabinet. “In previous years a Civil Defence Day had been organised in the autumn”, it said. But a suggestion had now been made that a “Battle of Britain Sunday” should be held in September, to celebrate the Battle of Britain in 1940. The Blitz of 1940 and 1941 was not mentioned.15 No source for this “suggestion” was given, but it is not hard to guess its origin. The Cabinet agreed that the new day should go ahead, organized jointly by the Ministry of Home Security, the Air Ministry, the Ministry of Aircraft Production and the War Office – Lord Beaverbrook’s ministry.

  On 26 August 1943, the Express announced that Battle of Britain Sunday and Civil Defence Day would be celebrated on 26 September. The date, it said, “falls within the most decisive phase of the massed attacks by the Luftwaffe”. Prayers and ceremonies would commemorate the deeds of the RAF, AA gunners, Civil Defence, Observer Corps and aircraft workers. The same announcement appeared in the Yorkshire Post, but with some additional detail. The day was intended to commemorate “not any particular raid or raids but the defeat of the whole of the massed attacks which were aimed first at the invasion of this country and later at the destruction of the morale of the civil population”. Even at this stage, the people and the RAF were equal partners.

  On 14 September 1943, Dowding held another of his luncheon parties, again surrounded by pilots who took part in the battle. He told the Express that he was convinced that “divine intervention” had guided the RAF to victory. Flight magazine on 23 September, announcing the forthcoming celebration, wrote that “[h]istorians will surely acclaim that great and prolonged struggle as one of the decisive battles of the world”. Then, on 27 September, the Express headlined a piece with: “BATTLE-OF-BRITAIN DAY. THE MANY REMEMBER THE FEW”, offering a picture of marching RAF officers. The King, again taking the salute from a stand outside St Paul’s, this time wore an RAF uniform. The Mirror had a large article spanning two pages, headlined, “In proud remembrance of the few”, the strap declaring: “King leads the nation’s thanks”. The role of the people had begun to disappear.

  What began to appear at this time was the Battle of Britain film made by the US Army Special Service Division, directed by Frank Capra, a Hollywood film-maker of some fame. The fourth in the “Why We Fight” series, it had been made to inform and motivate American conscripts, but the 52-minute film was now being shown freely in British cinemas. In what was described as a “generous tribute” to Britain, it rather blurred the line between Dowding’s battle and the Blitz. The narrative covered the December fire-bombing of London, characterizing the battle as the “people’s war” yet finished with praise for the RAF and a quote from Churchill’s “few” speech. But the outcome of the battle was that “not one single Nazi soldier set foot on British soil”. The battle and the invasion were becoming inexorably linked.16

  Of interest was a sequence some seventeen minutes into the film, where a British fighter was shot down in an air battle and crashed into the sea. The clip was Pilot Officer Mudie’s Hurricane on 14 July 1940, and shortly afterwards the mortally wounded pilot was seen parachuting into the Dover Straits. Seconds more into the clip, however, a Walrus amphibian roared into the picture to pick up a smiling airman in a dinghy. As identified from Flight magazine, that particular sequence had not been shot until the late spring of 1942.17 The time elapsed between the two sequences in the film was less than 20 seconds but in real life it was about two years. The impression presented was false. Such is the power of the imagery, though, that many people, even to this day, believe it represents the truth.

  The thrust of the piece mirrored the line projected i
n an Air Ministry pamphlet, published in June 1942, called Air Sea Rescue. This extolled the virtues of a fully-fledged service, omitting to inform that it had only just come into being. With this and the Capra clip, the Air Ministry had perhaps expended more energy in 1942–3 on telling the public about its rescue services than in 1940 it did in actually providing them.

  By 1944, there was no longer even a hint of a Civil Defence Day. Battle of Britain Sunday, celebrated on 17 September, saw the light blue ensign of the RAF flying over London from Westminster Abbey. Dr B. P. Simpson, the Bishop of Southwark, preached the sermon. The RAF, “that splendid child”, had smashed completely the first move of the most powerful force this world has seen, saved us from invasion, given us respite and turned the enemy on to his eastern attempt which was to prove, thank God, his complete undoing.18

  For Churchill, though, memories of the battle and even his performance as a war leader were not enough to win him continued tenure as prime minister. In the 1945 General Election, he chose to campaign with “Give us the tools, and we will finish the job”, the slogan he had minted in February 1941. But, on 5 July, the people rejected the old man, his Empire and his status quo. They wanted a New Jerusalem and gave the tools to the Labour Party which was campaigning under the slogan “And now win the peace”, with posters using Churchill’s trademark V-sign. Clement Attlee was swept into power, to deliver the National Health Service, nationalization, a sterling crisis and more rationing. Within two years, he had also given away the jewel of the Empire, the Indian subcontinent, independence followed by partition and the slaughter of hundreds of thousands.

  Back in 1945, the Battle of Britain anniversary celebrations revelled in post-war extravagance. September fifteen was dominated by the RAF, with a fly-past of 300 aircraft from twenty-five squadrons. It was led by a formation with 15 pilots who had flown in the battle, its leader Douglas Bader, flying a Spitfire.19 The fly-past was followed by a service in Westminster Abbey, packed with RAF personnel. In a torrent of press copy inspired by “information bulletins” from the Ministry of Information, were references to the “thin blue line”. AP wrote of the “little band of pilots”, of whom Winston Churchill had said: “Never in the course of human history have so many owed so much to so few”.20 The transition was complete. The RAF “owned” the battle.

  Then, on 25 October 1951, when the Attlee Government in a snap general election sought to increase its narrow majority after narrowly avoiding defeat in the 1950 contest, Conservatives scraped to a narrow victory. It had been gained almost entirely after a collapse of the Liberal vote, giving them a majority of seats even though Labour had the larger popular vote. Enough people, though, had had enough of the Labour version of New Jerusalem. They voted for nostalgia – the “good old days” of the war, the “Blitz spirit” and Winston Churchill.

  At the age of 76, with the country again at war – this time on the Korean Peninsula – Churchill became the second oldest prime minister in history. Just over a month earlier, two days after the eleventh anniversary of the Battle of Britain when a mass formation of 280 aircraft had overflown London, he had broadcast to the nation via the BBC, to tell them:

  Had it not been for those young men whose daring and devotion cast a glittering shield between us and our foe, we should none of us be sitting at rest in our homes this Sunday evening, as members of an unconquered and, as we believe, unconquerable nation.21

  The people may have won a victory in 1940–1, which they consummated in 1945. But now, in 1951, the old élite was back in power. The true meaning of deeds gone past had been forgotten. The “unconquered people” had been conquered by false memories. Their victory had been “corrected” in the history books, the narrative being strengthened with each passing year as a rash of action books, biographies and autobiographies appeared. Those retailing the exploits of Battle of Britain pilots all reinforced the ownership claim. Typical of the genre was Paul Brickhill’s Reach for the Sky, on the life of Douglas Bader. It was published in 1954 and made into a film of the same name, first shown two years later.

  By 1960, it was being suggested that there should be a memorial to the RAF, erected to commemorate the battle – even though there had already been a chapel in Westminster Abbey dedicated to “the few”, unveiled by the King on 10 July 1947. Strangely, there is no specific memorial in the RAF’s own church, St Clement Danes, in central London. Established in 1957, though, was what is now known as the Battle of Britain Memorial Flight, now comprising Spitfires, a Hurricane, a Lancaster and a Dakota in flying condition – described latterly as “a museum without walls”.22

  On 9 September 1960, George Ward, then Secretary of State for Air, observed in a report for Cabinet, that the Battle of Britain was still regarded by the general public as a major victory and deliverance, a fight against the odds in our own skies. It had averted invasion and was the first decisive reverse to German Arms. He thus asked his Cabinet colleagues to consider whether the twentieth anniversary might not be marked by a decision to erect a permanent memorial.23 The Cabinet looked at the issue on 15 September, noting that there had been no national memorials to victories in the Second World War. Mindful of the need to avoid any controversy about the “respective achievements of the three Services in the war”, the Cabinet recommended “further consideration” in relation to “the general question whether there should be memorials commemorating other victories in the Second World War”.24

  The following year, on 11 April 1961, Harold Watkinson, then Defence Secretary, reported, only to conclude that it was doubtful whether there would be much, if any, support, either for a single memorial to victory in the Second World War, or for a series of memorials to particular victories. Nevertheless, he observed in his two-page report, “It may well be that the Battle of Britain occupies a special place in the minds of people”. But he told the Cabinet that, if the battle was to be commemorated, “it would be right for the memorial to be dedicated, not only to the Royal Air Force, but also to all who helped to make the victory possible”.25

  With Prime Minister Harold Macmillan in the chair, the Cabinet considered the report on 25 April. The discussion:

  showed that the Cabinet were doubtful whether there was any appreciable demand for a Battle of Britain memorial and whether it would be fitting to select that particular victory as the one most appropriate for commemoration by a national memorial.

  It then agreed that “it was undesirable in general to provide national memorials to victories in the Second World War”, although it was suggested that if the University of Kent, then under consideration, was established, there might be some suitable commemoration of the Battle of Britain within it.26

  After other attempts to revitalize the issue, it was not until 1993 that an ultimately successful campaign to erect a memorial was launched, this time by the Battle of Britain Historical Society. It culminated in the unveiling by Prince Charles and the Duchess of Cornwall on the 18 September 2005 of a monument on the Embankment, at a cost of £1.65 million, paid for by public subscription.27 The legend was now cast in bronze, a tableau of “the few” racing for their aircraft, so perpetuating the idea of the élite coming to the rescue of the masses.28 The idea was well-intentioned and “the few” deserved their recognition – but so did the many. Yet their victory had been stolen from them.

  Epilogue

  Truth is something which can’t be told in a few words. Those who simplify the universe only reduce the expansion of its meaning.

  Anais Nin, 1903–77

  We do not experience events in nice, neat categories. In real life, they come at us jumbled together, the edges blurred, the categories indistinct or non-existent, with confusion and overlaps. Therefore, we are grateful for the efforts of historians who supply a degree of coherence, and explain the significance of events that would otherwise be obscure.

  However, the process goes too far if it confers clarity and certainty that does not exist. And that is the case when the Battle of Britain is present
ed as a straightforward, “shoot ‘em up” event, with a clear outcome. The battle is far more complex, played out at multiple levels, with an outcome which is more obscure and difficult to read than is often presented. For it properly to be understood, it cannot be left as a series of unrelated parts. Those parts need to be integrated, to make a balanced whole.

  To acknowledge this does not in any way diminish the bravery, dedication and courage of the “few”. It does not make Churchill any worse – or better – a war leader. It does not change the outcome one iota. The complexity makes it a far more interesting battle than the one-dimensional narrative with which we are familiar. It allows for more actors, playing a wider range of roles, each with their own significant inputs. The action becomes more nuanced.

  This was not simply a fighter battle, with “noises off”. The diplomatic manoeuvring, for instance, lends an important dimension to the battle, when seen as part of the whole, and not something detached from the action. The home front was not quaint local colour, to provide a background for the deeds of the gallant pilots. The people were part of the battle, caught up in a total war where technology had allowed the aggressor to bypass the defending forces. The people deserve recognition for what they achieved.

  The same applies to the other branches of the RAF and the other Armed Services – and the merchant marine. James Spaight, in his 1941 book, was absolutely right to highlight the role of Bomber Command aircrew, that of Coastal Command and the Fleet Air Arm. Their aircrews were just as much part of the battle as the airmen of Fighter Command. It is a travesty that the battle honours go only to fighter aircrew.