There was considerable pressure by elements of the Labour Party, and by some of those many able and ardent figures who had not been included in the new Government, for a purge of the “guilty men” and of Ministers who had been responsible for Munich or could be criticised for the many shortcomings in our war preparation. But this was no time for proscriptions of able, patriotic men of long experience in high office. If the censorious people could have had their way at least a third of the Conservative Ministers would have been forced to resign. Considering that Mr. Chamberlain was the Leader of the Conservative Party, it was plain that this movement would be destructive of the national unity. Moreover, I had no need to ask myself whether all the blame lay on one side. Official responsibility rested upon the Government of the time. But moral responsibilities were more widely spread. A long, formidable list of quotations from speeches and votes recorded by Labour, and not less by Liberal, Ministers, all of which had been stultified by events, was in my mind and available in detail. No one had more right than I to pass a sponge across the past. I therefore resisted these disruptive tendencies. “If the present,” I said a few weeks later, “tries to sit in judgment on the past it will lose the future.” This argument and the awful weight of the hour quelled the would-be heresy-hunters.
My experiences in those first days were peculiar. One lived with the battle, upon which all thoughts were centred, and about which nothing could be done. All the time there was the Government to form and the gentlemen to see and the party balances to be adjusted. I cannot remember, nor do my records show, how all the hours were spent. A British Ministry at that time contained between sixty and seventy Ministers of the Crown, and all these had to be fitted in like a jig-saw puzzle, in this case having regard to the claims of three parties. It was necessary for me to see not only all the principal figures but, for a few minutes at least, the crowd of able men who were to be chosen for important tasks. In forming a Coalition Government the Prime Minister has to attach due weight to the wishes of the party leaders as to who among their followers shall have the offices allotted to the party. By this principle I was mainly governed. If any who deserved better were left out on the advice of their party authorities, or even in spite of that advice, I can only express regret. On the whole however the difficulties were few.
In Clement Attlee I had a colleague of war experience long versed in the House of Commons. Our only differences in outlook were about Socialism, but these were swamped by a war soon to involve the almost complete subordination of the individual to the State. We worked together with perfect ease and confidence during the whole period of the Government. Mr. Arthur Greenwood was a wise counsellor of high courage and a good and helpful friend.
Sir Archibald Sinclair, as official Leader of the Liberal Party, found it embarrassing to accept the office of Air Minister, because his followers felt he should instead have a seat in the War Cabinet. But this ran contrary to the principle of a small War Cabinet. I therefore proposed that he should join the War Cabinet when any matter affecting fundamental political issues or party union was involved. He was my friend, and had been my second-in-command when in 1916 I commanded the 6th Royal Scots Fusiliers at Ploegsteert (“Plug Street”), and personally longed to enter upon the great sphere of action I had reserved for him. After no little intercourse this had been amicably settled. Mr. Ernest Bevin, with whom I had made acquaintance at the beginning of the war, in trying to mitigate the severe Admiralty demands for trawlers, had to consult the Transport and General Workers’ Union, of which he was secretary, before he could join the team in the most important office of Minister of Labour. This took two or three days, but it was worth it. The union, the largest of all in Britain, said unanimously that he was to do it, and stuck solid for five years till we won.
The greatest difficulty was with Lord Beaverbrook. I believed he had services to render of a very high quality. I had resolved, as the result of my experiences in the previous war, to remove the supply and design of aircraft from the Air Ministry, and I wished him to become the Minister of Aircraft Production. He seemed at first reluctant to undertake the task, and of course the Air Ministry did not like having their Supply Branch separated from them. There were other resistances to his appointment. I felt sure however that our life depended upon the flow of new aircraft; I needed his vital and vibrant energy, and I persisted in my view.
In deference to prevailing opinions expressed in Parliament and the Press it was necessary that the War Cabinet should be small. I therefore began by having only five members, of whom one only, the Foreign Secretary, had a department. These were naturally the leading party politicians of the day. For the convenient conduct of business it was necessary that the Chancellor of the Exchequer and the Leader of the Liberal Party should usually be present, and as time passed the number of “constant attenders” grew. But all the responsibility was laid upon the five War Cabinet Ministers. They were the only ones who had the right to have their heads cut off on Tower Hill if we did not win. The rest could suffer for departmental shortcomings, but not on account of the policy of the State. Apart from the War Cabinet, any one could say: “I cannot take the responsibility for this or that.” The burden of policy was borne at a higher level. This saved many people a lot of worry in the days which were immediately to fall upon us.
In my long political experience I had held most of the great offices of State, but I readily admit that the post which had now fallen to me was the one I liked the best. Power, for the sake of lording it over fellow-creatures or adding to personal pomp, is rightly judged base. But power in a national crisis, when a man believes he knows what orders should be given, is a blessing. In any sphere of action there can be no comparison between the positions of number one and number two, three, or four. The duties and the problems of all persons other than number one are quite different and in many ways more difficult. It is always a misfortune when number two or three has to initiate a dominant plan or policy. He has to consider not only the merits of the policy but the mind of his chief; not only what to advise but what it is proper for him in his station to advise; not only what to do but how to get it agreed, and how to get it done. Moreover, number two or three will have to reckon with numbers four, five, and six, or maybe some bright outsider, number twenty. Ambition, not so much for vulgar ends, but for fame, glints in every mind. There are always several points of view which may be right, and many which are plausible. I was ruined for the time being in 1915 over the Dardanelles, and a supreme enterprise was cast away, through my trying to carry out a major and cardinal operation of war from a subordinate position. Men are ill-advised to try such ventures. This lesson had sunk into my nature.
At the top there are great simplifications. An accepted leader has only to be sure of what it is best to do, or at least to have made up his mind about it. The loyalties which centre upon number one are enormous. If he trips he must be sustained. If he makes mistakes they must be covered. If he sleeps he must not be wantonly disturbed. If he is no good he must be pole-axed. But this last extreme process cannot be carried out every day; and certainly not in the days just after he has been chosen.
The fundamental changes in the machinery of war direction were more real than apparent. “A Constitution,” said Napoleon, “should be short and obscure.” The existing organisms remained intact. No official personalities were changed. The War Cabinet and the Chiefs of Staff Committee at first continued to meet every day as they had done before. In calling myself, with the King’s approval, Minister of Defence I had made no legal or constitutional change. I had been careful not to define my rights and duties. I asked for no special powers either from the Crown or Parliament. It was however understood and accepted that I should assume the general direction of the war, subject to the support of the War Cabinet and of the House of Commons. The key change which occurred on my taking over was of course the supervision and direction of the Chiefs of Staff Committee by a Minister of Defence with undefined powers. As this Minister was also
the Prime Minister, he had all the rights inherent in that office, including very wide powers of selection and removal of all professional and political personages. Thus for the first time the Chiefs of Staff Committee assumed its due and proper place in direct daily contact with the executive head of the Government, and in accord with him had full control over the conduct of the war and the armed forces.
The position of the First Lord of the Admiralty and of the Secretaries of State for War and Air was decisively affected in fact though not in form. They were not members of the War Cabinet, nor did they attend the meetings of the Chiefs of Staff Committee. They remained entirely responsible for their departments, but rapidly and almost imperceptibly ceased to be responsible for the formulation of strategic plans and the day-to-day conduct of operations. These were settled by the Chiefs of Staff Committee acting directly under the Minister of Defence and Prime Minister, and thus with the authority of the War Cabinet. The three Service Ministers, very able and trusted friends of mine whom I had picked for these duties, stood on no ceremony. They organised and administered the ever-growing forces, and helped all they could in the easy, practical English fashion. They had the fullest information by virtue of their membership of the Defence Committee, and constant access to me. Their professional subordinates, the Chiefs of Staff, discussed everything with them and treated them with the utmost respect. But there was an integral direction of the war to which they loyally submitted. There never was an occasion when their powers were abrogated or challenged, and anyone in this circle could always speak his mind; but the actual war direction soon settled into a very few hands, and what had seemed so difficult before became much more simple—apart of course from Hitler. In spite of the turbulence of events and the many disasters we had to endure the machinery worked almost automatically, and one lived in a stream of coherent thought capable of being translated with great rapidity into executive action.
Although the awful battle was now going on across the Channel, and the reader is no doubt impatient to get there, it may be well at this point to describe the system and machinery for conducting military and other affairs which I set on foot and practised from my earliest days of power. I am a strong believer in transacting official business by the Written Word. No doubt, surveyed in the after-time, much that is set down from hour to hour under the impact of events may be lacking in proportion or may not come true. I am willing to take my chance of that. It is always better, except in the hierarchy of military discipline, to express opinions and wishes rather than to give orders. Still, written directives coming personally from the lawfully-constituted Head of the Government and Minister specially charged with defence counted to such an extent that, though not expressed as orders, they very often found their fruition in action.
To make sure that my name was not used loosely, I issued during the crisis of July the following minute:
Let it be very clearly understood that all directions emanating from me are made in writing, or should be immediately afterwards confirmed in writing, and that I do not accept any responsibility for matters relating to national defence on which I am alleged to have given decisions unless they are recorded in writing.
When I woke about 8 a.m. I read all the telegrams, and from my bed dictated a continuous flow of minutes and directives to the departments and to the Chiefs of Staff Committee. These were typed in relays as they were done, and handed at once to General Ismay, Deputy-Secretary (Military) to the War Cabinet, and my representative on the Chiefs of Staff Committee, who came to see me early each morning. Thus he usually had a good deal in writing to bring before the Chiefs of Staff Committee when they met at ten-thirty. They gave all consideration to my views at the same time as they discussed the general situation. Thus between three and five o’clock in the afternoon, unless there were some difficulties between us requiring further consultation, there was ready a whole series of orders and telegrams sent by me or by the Chiefs of Staffs and agreed between us, usually giving all the decisions immediately required.
In total war it is quite impossible to draw any precise line between military and non-military problems. That no such friction occurred between the military staff and the War Cabinet staff was due primarily to the personality of Sir Edward Bridges, Secretary to the War Cabinet. Not only was this son of a former Poet Laureate an extremely competent and tireless worker, but he was also a man of exceptional force, ability, and personal charm, without a trace of jealousy in his nature. All that mattered to him was that the War Cabinet Secretariat as a whole should serve the Prime Minister and War Cabinet to the very best of their ability. No thought of his own personal position ever entered his mind, and never a cross word passed between the civil and military officers of the Secretariat.
In larger questions, or if there were any differences of view, I called a meeting of the War Cabinet Defence Committee, which at the outset comprised Mr. Chamberlain, Mr. Attlee, and the three Service Ministers, with the Chiefs of Staff in attendance. These formal meetings got fewer after 1941.* As the machine began to work more smoothly I came to the conclusion that the daily meetings of the War Cabinet with the Chiefs of Staff present were no longer necessary. I therefore eventually instituted what came to be known among ourselves as the “Monday Cabinet Parade”. Every Monday there was a considerable gathering—all the War Cabinet, the Service Ministers, and the Minister of Home Security, the Chancellor of the Exchequer, the Secretaries of State for the Dominions and for India, the Minister of Information, the Chiefs of Staff, and the official head of the Foreign Office. At these meetings each Chief of Staff in turn unfolded his account of all that had happened during the previous seven days; and the Foreign Secretary followed them with his story of any important developments in foreign affairs. On other days of the week the War Cabinet sat alone, and all important matters requiring decision were brought before them. Other Ministers primarily concerned with the subjects to be discussed attended for their own particular problems. The members of the War Cabinet had the fullest circulation of all papers affecting the war, and saw all important telegrams sent by me. As confidence grew the War Cabinet intervened less actively in operational matters, though they watched them with close attention and full knowledge. They took almost the whole weight of home and party affairs off my shoulders, thus setting me free to concentrate upon the main theme. With regard to all future operations of importance I always consulted them in good time; but, while they gave careful consideration to the issues involved, they frequently asked not to be informed of dates and details, and indeed on several occasions stopped me when I was about to unfold these to them.
I had never intended to embody the office of Minister of Defence in a department. This would have required legislation, and all the delicate adjustments I have described, most of which settled themselves by personal goodwill, would have had to be thrashed out in a process of ill-timed constitution-making. There was however in existence and activity under the personal direction of the Prime Minister the Military Wing of the War Cabinet Secretariat, which had in pre-war days been the Secretariat of the Committee of Imperial Defence. At the head of this stood General Ismay, with Colonel Hollis and Colonel Jacob as his two principals, and a group of specially-selected younger officers drawn from all three Services. This Secretariat became the staff of the office of the Minister of Defence. My debt to its members is immeasurable. General Ismay, Colonel Hollis, and Colonel Jacob rose steadily in rank and repute as the war proceeded, and none of them was changed. Displacements in a sphere so intimate and so concerned with secret matters are detrimental to continuous and efficient dispatch of business.
After some early changes almost equal stability was preserved in the Chiefs of Staff Committee. On the expiry of his term as Chief of the Air Staff, in September 1940, Air Marshal Newall became Governor-General of New Zealand, and was succeeded by Air Marshal Portal, who was the accepted star of the Air Force. Portal remained with me throughout the war. Sir John Dill, who had succeeded General Ironside in May 194
0, remained C.I.G.S. until he accompanied me to Washington in December 1941. I then made him my personal Military Representative with the President and head of our Joint Staff Mission. His relations with General Marshall, Chief of Staff of the United States Army, became a priceless link in all our business, and when he died in harness some two years later he was accorded the unique honour of a resting-place in Arlington Cemetery, the Valhalla hitherto reserved exclusively for American warriors. He was succeeded as C.I.G.S. by Sir Alan Brooke, who stayed with me till the end.
From 1941, for nearly four years, the early part of which was passed in much misfortune and disappointment, the only change made in this small band either among the Chiefs or in the Defence staff was due to the death in harness of Admiral Pound. This may well be a record in British military history. A similar degree of continuity was achieved by President Roosevelt in his own circle. The United States Chiefs of Staff—General Marshall, Admiral King, and General Arnold, subsequently joined by Admiral Leahy—started together on the American entry into the war, and were never changed. As both the British and Americans presently formed the Combined Chiefs of Staff Committee this was an inestimable advantage for all. Nothing like it between allies has ever been known before.
I cannot say that we never differed among ourselves even at home, but a kind of understanding grew up between me and the British Chiefs of Staff that we should convince and persuade rather than try to overrule each other. This was of course helped by the fact that we spoke the same technical language, and possessed a large common body of military doctrine and war experience. In this ever-changing scene we moved as one, and the War Cabinet clothed us with ever more discretion, and sustained us with unwearied and unflinching constancy. There was no division, as in the previous war, between politicians and soldiers, between the “Frocks” and the “Brass Hats”—odious terms which darkened counsel. We came very close together indeed, and friendships were formed which I believe were deeply valued.
The Second World War Page 31
