The Second World War

by Winston S. Churchill

  It was necessary above all to warn the House and the country of the misfortunes which impended upon us. There is no worse mistake in public leadership than to hold out false hopes soon to be swept away. The British people can face peril or misfortune with fortitude and buoyancy, but they bitterly resent being deceived or finding that those responsible for their affairs are themselves dwelling in a fool’s paradise. I felt it vital, not only to my own position but to the whole conduct of the war, to discount future calamities by describing the immediate outlook in the darkest terms. It was also possible to do so at this juncture without prejudicing the military situation or disturbing that underlying confidence in ultimate victory which all were now entitled to feel. In spite of the shocks and stresses which each day brought, I did not grudge the twelve or fourteen hours of concentrated thought which ten thousand words of original composition on a vast, many-sided subject demanded, and while the flames of adverse war in the Desert licked my feet I succeeded in preparing my statement and appreciation of our case.

  Even before I left the White House, my hopes of a victory, in which Rommel would be destroyed, had faded. Rommel had escaped. The results of Auchinleck’s successes at Sidi Rezegh and at Gazala had not been decisive. The revival of the enemy air-power in the Mediterranean during December and January and the virtual disappearance for several months of our sea command was to deprive him of the fruits of the victory for which he had struggled so hard and waited too long. The prestige which he had given us in the making of all our plans for the Anglo-American descent on French North Africa was definitely weakened, and this operation was obviously set back for months.

  Worse was now to come. Space forbids a detailed account of the military disaster which, for the second time, at this same fatal corner and one year later, was now to ruin the whole British campaign in the Desert for 1942. Suffice it to say that on January 21, from his position at Agheila, Rommel launched a reconnaissance in force, consisting of three columns each of about a thousand motorised infantry supported by tanks. These rapidly found their way through the gaps between our contact troops, who had no armour working with them, and were ordered to withdraw. He again proved himself a master of Desert tactics, and, outwitting our commanders, regained the greater part of Cyrenaica. A retreat of nearly three hundred miles ruined our hopes and lost us Benghazi and all the stores General Auchinleck had been gathering for his hoped-for offensive in the middle of February. General Ritchie reassembled his crippled forces in the neighbourhood of Gazala and Tobruk. Here pursuers and pursued gasped and glared at each other until the end of May, when Rommel was able to strike again.

  On January 27 the debate began, and I laid our case before the House I could see they were in a querulous temper, because when I had asked as soon as I got home that my forthcoming statement might be electrically recorded so that it could be used for broadcasting to the Empire and the United States objection was taken on various grounds which had no relation to the needs of the hour. I therefore withdrew my request, although it would not have been denied in any other Parliament in the world. It was in such an atmosphere that I rose to speak.

  I gave them some account of the Desert battle, but the House did not of course appreciate the significance of Rommel’s successful counter-stroke, for they could be given no inkling of the larger plans that would be opened by a swift British conquest of Tripolitania. The loss of Benghazi and Agedabia, which had already become public, seemed to be a part of the sudden ebbs and flows of Desert warfare. Moreover, I had at the time no precise information as to what had happened, and why.

  I presently came to the larger issue of our nakedness in the Far East:

  There never has been a moment, there never could have been a moment, when Great Britain or the British Empire, single-handed, could fight Germany and Italy, could wage the Battle of Britain, the Battle of the Atlantic, and the Battle of the Middle East, and at the same time stand thoroughly prepared in Burma, the Malay peninsula, and generally in the Far East, against the impact of a vast military empire like Japan, with more than seventy mobile divisions, the third Navy in the world, a great Air Force, and the thrust of eighty or ninety millions of hardy, warlike Asiatics. If we had started to scatter our forces over these immense areas in the Far East we should have been ruined. If we had moved large armies of troops urgently needed on the war fronts to regions which were not at war and might never be at war, we should have been altogether wrong. We should have cast away the chance, which has now become something more than a chance, of all of us emerging safely from the terrible plight in which we have been plunged.…

  The decision was taken to make our contribution to Russia, to try to beat Rommel, and to form a stronger front from the Levant to the Caspian. It followed from that decision that it was in our power only to make a moderate and partial provision in the Far East against the hypothetical danger of a Japanese onslaught. Sixty thousand men, indeed, were concentrated at Singapore, but priority in modern aircraft, in tanks, and in anti-aircraft and anti-tank artillery was accorded to the Nile Valley.

  I had to burden the House for nearly two hours. They took what they got without enthusiasm. But I had the impression that they were not unconvinced by the argument. In view of what I saw coming towards us I thought it well to end by putting things at their worst, and making no promises while not excluding hope.

  The debate then ran on for three days. But the tone was to me unexpectedly friendly. There was no doubt what the House would do. My colleagues in the War Cabinet, headed by Mr. Attlee, sustained the Government case with vigour and even fierceness. I had to wind up on the 29th. At this time I feared that there would be no division. I tried by taunts to urge our critics into the Lobby against us without at the same time offending the now thoroughly reconciled assembly. But nothing that I dared say could spur any of the disaffected figures in the Conservative, Labour, and Liberal Parties into voting. Luckily, when the division was called the Vote of Confidence was challenged by the Independent Labour Party who numbered three. Two were required as tellers, and the result was four hundred and sixty-four to one. I was grateful to James Maxton, the leader of the minority, for bringing the matter to a head. Such a fuss had been made by the Press that telegrams of relief and congratulation flowed in from all over the Allied world. The warmest were from my American friends at the White House. I had sent congratulations to the President on his sixtieth birthday. “It is fun,” he cabled, “to be in the same decade with you.” The naggers in the Press were not however without resource. They spun round with the alacrity of squirrels. How unnecessary it had been to ask for a Vote of Confidence! Who had ever dreamed of challenging the National Government? These “shrill voices”, as I called them, were but the unknowing heralds of approaching catastrophe.

  I judged it impossible to hold an inquiry by Royal Commission into the circumstances of the fall of Singapore while the war was raging. We could not spare the men, the time, or the energy. Parliament accepted this view; but I certainly thought that in justice to the officers and men concerned there should be an inquiry into all the circumstances as soon as the fighting stopped. This however has not been instituted by the Government of the day.* Years have passed, and many of the witnesses are dead. It may well be that we shall never have a formal pronouncement by a competent court upon the worst disaster and largest capitulation in British history. In these pages I do not attempt to set myself up in the place of such a court or pronounce an opinion on the conduct of individuals. I have recorded elsewhere† the salient facts as I believe them. From these and from the documents written at the time, the reader must form his own opinion.

  It is at least arguable whether it would not have been better to concentrate all our strength on defending Singapore Island, merely containing the Japanese advance down the Malayan peninsula with light mobile forces. The decision of the commanders on the spot, which I approved, was to fight the battle for Singapore in Johore, but to delay the enemy’s approach thereto as much as possible. The d
efence of the mainland consisted of a continuous retreat, with heavy rearguard actions and stubborn props. The fighting reflects high credit on the troops and commanders engaged. It drew in to itself however nearly all the reinforcements piecemeal as they arrived. Every advantage lay with the enemy. There had been minute pre-war study of the ground and conditions. Careful large-scale plans and secret infiltration of agents, including even hidden reserves of bicycles for Japanese cyclists, had been made. Superior strength and large reserves, some of which were not needed, had been assembled. All the Japanese divisions were adept in jungle warfare.

  The Japanese mastery of the air, arising, as has been described, from our bitter needs elsewhere, and for which the local commanders were in no way responsible, was another deadly fact. In the result the main fighting strength of such an army as we had assigned to the defence of Singapore, and almost all the reinforcements sent after the Japanese declaration of war, were used up in gallant fighting on the peninsula, and when these had crossed the Causeway to what should have been their supreme battleground their punch was gone. Here they rejoined the local garrison and the masses of base details which swelled our numbers though not our strength. The army which could fight the decisive struggle for Singapore and had been provided for that supreme objective in this theatre was dissipated before the Japanese attack began. It might be a hundred thousand men; but it was an army no more.

  It soon became clear that General Wavell, now Supreme Allied Commander of these eastern regions, had already doubts of our ability to maintain a prolonged defence of Singapore. I had counted much upon the island and fortress standing a siege requiring heavy artillery to be landed, transported, and mounted by the Japanese. Before I left Washington I still contemplated a resistance of at least two months. I watched with misgivings but without effective intervention the consumption of our forces in their retreat through the Malay peninsula. On the other hand, there was the gain of precious time.

  But on January 16 Wavell telegraphed: “Until quite recently all plans were based on repulsing seaborne attacks on [Singapore] island and holding land attack in Johore or farther north, and little or nothing was done to construct defences on north side of island to prevent crossing Johore Straits, though arrangements have been made to blow up the causeway. The fortress cannon of heaviest nature have all-round traverse, but their flat trajectory makes them unsuitable for counterbattery work. Could certainly not guarantee to dominate enemy siege batteries with them …”

  It was with feelings of painful surprise that I read this message on the morning of the 19th. So there were no permanent fortifications covering the landward side of the naval base and of the city! Moreover, even more astounding, no measures worth speaking of had been taken by any of the commanders since the war began, and more especially since the Japanese had established themselves in Indo-China, to construct field defences. They had not even mentioned the fact that they did not exist.

  All that I had seen or read of war had led me to the conviction that, having regard to modern fire-power, a few weeks will suffice to create strong field defences, and also to limit and canalise the enemy’s front of attack by minefields and other obstructions. Moreover, it had never entered into my head that no circle of detached forts of a permanent character protected the rear of the famous fortress. I cannot understand how it was I did not know this. But none of the officers on the spot and none of my professional advisers at home seem to have realised this awful need. At any rate, none of them pointed it out to me—not even those who saw my telegrams based upon the false assumption that a regular siege would be required. I had read of Plevna in 1877, where, before the era of machine-guns, defences had been improvised by the Turks in the actual teeth of the Russian assault; and I had examined Verdun in 1917, where a field army lying in and among detached forts had a year earlier made so glorious a record. I had put my faith in the enemy being compelled to use artillery on a very large scale in order to pulverise our strong points at Singapore, and in the almost prohibitive difficulties and long delays which would impede such an artillery concentration and the gathering of ammunition along Malayan communications. Now, suddenly, all this vanished away, and I saw before me the hideous spectacle of the almost naked island and of the wearied, if not exhausted, troops retreating upon it.

  I do not write this in any way to excuse myself. I ought to have known. My advisers ought to have known and I ought to have been told, and I ought to have asked. The reason I had not asked about this matter, amid the thousands of questions I put, was that the possibility of Singapore having no landward defences no more entered into my mind than that of a battleship being launched without a bottom. I am aware of the various reasons that have been given for this failure: the preoccupation of the troops in training and in building defence works in Northern Malaya; the shortage of civilian labour; pre-war financial limitations and centralised War Office control; the fact that the Army’s rôle was to protect the naval base, situated on the north shore of the island, and that it was therefore their duty to fight in front of that shore and not along it. I do not consider these reasons valid. Defences should have been built.

  My immediate reaction was to repair the neglect so far as time allowed, but when I awoke on the morning of the 21st the following most pessimistic telegram from General Wavell lay at the top of my box:

  Officer whom I had sent to Singapore for plans of defence of island has now returned. Schemes are now being prepared for defence of northern part of island. Number of troops required to hold island effectively probably are as great as or greater than number required to defend Johore.* I have ordered Percival [the Commander-in-Chief] to fight out the battle in Johore, but to work out plans to prolong resistance on island as long as possible should he lose Johore battle. I must warn you however that I doubt whether island can be held for long once Johore is lost. The fortress guns are sited for use against ships, and have mostly ammunition for that purpose only; many can only fire seawards†. Part of garrison has already been sent into Johore, and many troops remaining are doubtful value. I am sorry to give you depressing picture, but I do not want you to have false picture of the island fortress. Singapore defences were constructed entirely to meet seaward attack. I still hope Johore may be held till next convoy arrives.

  I pondered over this message for a long time. So far I had thought only of animating, and as far as possible compelling, the desperate defence of the island, the fortress, and the city, and this in any case was the attitude which should be maintained unless any decisive change of policy was ordered. But now I began to think more of Burma and of the reinforcements on the way to Singapore. These could be doomed or diverted. There was still ample time to turn their prows northward to Rangoon. I therefore prepared the following minute to the Chiefs of Staff, and gave it to General Ismay in time for their meeting at 11.30 a.m. on the 21st. I confess freely however that my mind was not made up. I leaned upon my friends and counsellors. We all suffered extremely at this time.

  In view of this very bad telegram from General Wavell, we must reconsider the whole position at a Defence Committee meeting tonight.

  We have already committed exactly the error which I feared … Forces which might have made a solid front in Johore, or at any rate along the Singapore waterfront, have been broken up piecemeal. No defensive line has been constructed on the landward side. No defence has been made by the Navy to the enemy’s turning movements on the west coast of the peninsula. General Wavell has expressed the opinion that it will take more troops to defend Singapore Island than to win the battle in Johore. The battle in Johore is almost certainly lost.

  His message gives little hope for prolonged defence. It is evident that such defence would be only at the cost of all the reinforcements now on the way. If General Wavell is doubtful whether more than a few weeks’ delay can be obtained, the question arises whether we should not at once blow the docks and batteries and workshops to pieces and concentrate everything on the defence of Burma and keeping open
the Burma Road.

  2. It appears to me that this question should be squarely faced now and put bluntly to General Wavell. What is the value of Singapore [to the enemy] above the many harbours in the South-West Pacific if all naval and military demolitions are thoroughly carried out? On the other hand, the loss of Burma would be very grievous. It would cut us off from the Chinese, whose troops have been the most successful of those yet engaged against the Japanese. We may, by muddling things and hesitating to take an ugly decision, lose both Singapore and the Burma Road. Obviously the decision depends upon how long the defence of Singapore Island can be maintained. If it is only for a few weeks, it is certainly not worth losing all our reinforcements and aircraft.

  3. Moreover, one must consider that the fall of Singapore, accompanied as it will be by the fall of Corregidor, will be a tremendous shock to India, which only the arrival of powerful forces and successful action on the Burma front can sustain.

  Pray let all this be considered this morning.

  The Chiefs of Staff reached no definite conclusion, and when we met in the evening at the Defence Committee a similar hesitation to commit ourselves to so grave a step prevailed. The direct initial responsibility lay with General Wavell as Allied Supreme Commander. Personally I found the issue so difficult that I did not press my new view, which I should have done if I had been resolved. We could none of us foresee the collapse of the defence which was to occur in little more than three weeks. A day or two could at least be spared for further thought.