The Second World War

by Winston S. Churchill

  It will no doubt be said that the course of events proved that I took too sanguine a view about the prospects in North Africa and the United States Staffs were right in believing that the decision for “Torch” which we had taken in July closed the possibility of crossing the Channel in 1943. Certainly that was what happened. No one could foresee at this time that Hitler would make his immense effort to reinforce the Tunisian tip by sending thither by air and sea, in spite of heavy losses, nearly a hundred thousand of his best troops. This was on his part a grave strategic error. It certainly delayed for several months our victory in Africa. If he had held the forces which were captured or destroyed there in May he might either have reinforced his retreating front against Russia, or have gathered the strength in Normandy which would have deterred us, even if we were so resolved, from trying to land in 1943. Hardly anyone now disputes the wisdom of the decision to wait till 1944. My conscience is clear that I did not deceive or mislead Stalin. I tried my best. On the other hand, provided we invaded the mainland of Europe from the Mediterranean in the coming campaign and that the Anglo-American armies were in full contact with the enemy, I was not ill-content with the decision which Fate and facts were to impose.

  Indeed there now came a definite check and setback in North Africa. Although we had the initiative and the advantage of surprise our buildup was inevitably slow. Shipping imposed its harsh limits. Unloading was hampered by air attacks on Algiers and Bone. Road transport was lacking. The single-line coastal railway, five hundred miles long, was in poor condition, with hundreds of bridges and culverts, any one of which might be sabotaged. With the arrival of German troops in large numbers by air in Tunis a high-class, stubborn, and violent resistance began. The French forces who had now joined our cause were over a hundred thousand strong. The majority were native troops of good quality, but as yet ill-equipped and unorganised. General Eisenhower thrust forward every American unit on which he could lay his hands. We put in all we could. On November 28 a British infantry brigade, with part of the United States 1st Armoured Division, nearly reached Djedeida, only twelve miles from Tunis. This was the climax of the winter fighting.

  Now came the rainy season. It poured. Our improvised airfields became quagmires. The German Air Force, though not yet strong in numbers, worked from good all-weather airfields. On December 1 they counter-attacked, frustrating the advance we had planned, and in a few days we were forced back to Medjez. Supplies could only reach the forward troops by sea on a small scale. Indeed, it was barely possible to nourish them, far less to make any accumulations. It was not till the night of December 22 that a renewed attack could be launched. This met with some initial success, but at dawn began three days of torrential rain. Our airfields became useless and vehicles could only move along the indifferent roads.

  At a conference on Christmas Eve General Eisenhower decided to give up the plan for the immediate capture of Tunis and, until campaigning could begin again, to guard his forward airfields on the general line already gained. Although the Germans suffered important losses at sea, their strength in Tunisia continually grew. By the end of December their numbers approached fifty thousand.

  The Eighth Army had meanwhile covered immense distances. Rommel succeeded in withdrawing his shattered forces from Alamein. His rearguards were heavily pressed, but an attempt to head him off south of Benghazi failed. He paused at Agheila, while Montgomery, after his long advance, contended with the same difficulties of transport and supply on which his predecessors had foundered. On December 13 Rommel was dislodged and nearly cut off by a wide turning movement of the 2nd New Zealand Division. He suffered severely, and the Desert Air Force took heavy toll of his transport on the coast road. Montgomery could follow at first only with light forces. The Eighth Army had advanced twelve hundred miles since Alamein. After occupying Sirte and its landing-grounds on Christmas Day our troops closed with Rommel’s next main position near Buerat at the end of the year.

  The Chiefs of Staff Committee meanwhile produced two papers for the War Cabinet summarising their considered views upon future strategy. In reaching their conclusions they emphasised a serious divergence of view between themselves and their American colleagues. It was one of emphasis and priority rather than of principle. The British Chiefs of Staff thought the best policy was to follow up “Torch” vigorously, accompanied by as large a preparation for crossing the Channel in 1943 as possible, while the American Chiefs of Staff favoured putting our main European effort into crossing the Channel and standing fast in North Africa. Here was a crucial issue. It could only be resolved by the President and myself, and after considerable debate we decided to meet and settle it at Casablanca.

  I flew there on January 12, 1943. My journey was a little anxious. In order to heat the “Commando” they had established a petrol engine inside which generated fumes and raised various heating points to very high temperatures. I was woken up at two in the morning, when we were over the Atlantic 500 miles from anywhere, by one of these heating points burning my toes, and it looked to me as if it might soon get red-hot and light the blankets. I therefore climbed out of my bunk and woke up Peter Portal, who was sitting in the well beneath, asleep in his chair, and drew his attention to this very hot point. We looked around the cabin and found two others, which seemed equally on the verge of becoming red-hot. We then went down into the bomb alley (it was a converted bomber), and found two men industriously keeping alive this petrol heater. From every point of view I thought this was most dangerous. The hot points might start a conflagration, and the atmosphere of petrol would make an explosion imminent. Portal took the same view. I decided that it was better to freeze than to burn, and I ordered all heating to be turned off, and we went back to rest shivering in the ice-cold winter air about eight thousand feet up, at which we had to fly to be above the clouds. I am bound to say this struck me as rather an unpleasant moment.

  When we got to Casablanca we found beautiful arrangements made. There was a large hotel in the suburb of Anfa with ample accommodation for all the British and American Staffs and big conference rooms. Round this hotel were dotted a number of extremely comfortable villas which were reserved for the President, for me, for General Giraud, and also for General de Gaulle, should he come. The whole enclave was wired in and closely guarded by American troops. I and the Staff were there two days before the President arrived. I had some nice walks with Pound and the other Chiefs of Staff on the rocks and the beach. Wonderful waves rolling in, enormous clouds of foam, made one marvel that anybody could have got ashore at the landing. There was not one calm day. Waves fifteen feet high were roaring up terrible rocks. No wonder so many landing-craft and ships’ boats were turned over with all their men. My son Randolph had come across from the Tunisian front. There was plenty to think about, and the two days passed swiftly by. Meanwhile the Staffs consulted together for long hours every day.

  The President arrived in the afternoon of the 14th. We had a most warm and friendly meeting, and it gave me intense pleasure to see my great colleague here on conquered or liberated territory which he and I had secured in spite of the advice given him by all his military experts. The next day General Eisenhower arrived, after a very hazardous flight. He was most anxious to know what line the Combined Chiefs of Staff would take, and to keep in touch with them. Their plane of command was altogether above his. A day or two later Alexander came in, and reported to me and the President about the progress of the Eighth Army. He made a most favourable impression upon the President, who was greatly attracted by him, and also by his news, which was that the Eighth Army would take Tripoli in the near future. He explained how Montgomery, who had two strong Army Corps, had dismounted one and taken all the vehicles to bring the other on alone, and that this would be strong enough to drive Rommel right back through Tripoli to the Mareth frontier line, which was a very serious obstacle. Everyone was much cheered by this news, and the easy, smiling grace of Alexander won all hearts. His unspoken confidence was contagious.


  After ten days’ work on the main issues, the Combined Chiefs of Staff reached agreement. Both the President and I kept in daily touch with their work and agreed between ourselves about it. It was settled that we should concentrate all upon taking Tunis, both with the Desert Army and with all forces that could be found by the British, and from Eisenhower’s army, and that Alexander should be Eisenhower’s Deputy and virtually in charge of all the operations. On the other immediate step, namely, whether we should attack Sicily or Sardinia, agreement was also reached. The differences did not run along national lines, but were principally between the Chiefs of Staff and the Joint Planners. I was myself sure that Sicily should be the next objective, and the Combined Chiefs of Staff took the same view. The Joint Planners, on the other hand, together with Lord Mountbatten, felt that we should attack Sardinia rather than Sicily, because they thought it could be done three months earlier; and Mountbatten pressed this view on Hopkins and others. I remained obdurate, and, with the Combined Chiefs of Staff solid behind me, insisted on Sicily. The Joint Planners, respectful but persistent, then said that this could not be done until August 30. At this stage I personally went through all the figures with them, and thereafter the President and I gave orders that D-Day was to be during the favourable July moon period, or, if possible, the favourable June moon period. In the event the airborne troops went in on the night of July 9, and the landings started on the morning of July 10.

  The question of de Gaulle had meanwhile been raised. Darlan’s murder, however criminal, had relieved the Allies of their embarrassment at working with him. His authority had passed smoothly to the organisation created in agreement with the Americans during the months of November and December. Giraud filled the gap. The path was cleared for the French forces now rallied in North and North-West Africa to unite with the Free French Movement round de Gaulle, and comprising all Frenchmen throughout the world outside German control. I was now most anxious for de Gaulle to come, and the President agreed generally with this view. I asked Mr. Roosevelt also to telegraph inviting him. The General was very haughty and refused several times. I then got Eden to put the utmost pressure upon him, even to the point of saying that if he would not come we should insist on his being replaced by someone else at the head of the French Liberation Committee in London. At last on January 22 he arrived. He was taken to his villa, which was next to Giraud’s. He would not call upon Giraud, and it was some hours before he could be prevailed upon to meet him. I had a very stony interview with de Gaulle, making it clear that if he continued to be an obstacle we should not hesitate to break with him finally. He was very formal, and stalked out of the villa and down the little garden with his head high in the air. Eventually he was prevailed upon to have a talk with Giraud, which lasted for two or three hours and must have been extremely pleasant to both of them. In the afternoon he went to see the President, and to my relief they got on unexpectedly well. The President was attracted by “the spiritual look in his eyes”; but very little could be done to bring them into accord.

  In these pages various severe statements, based on events of the moment, are set down about General de Gaulle, and certainly I had continuous difficulties and many sharp antagonisms with him. There was however a dominant element in our relationship. I could not regard him as representing captive and prostrate France, nor indeed the France that had a right to decide freely the future for herself. I knew he was no friend of England. But I always recognised in him the spirit and conception which, across the pages of history, the word “France” would ever proclaim. I understood and admired, while I resented, his arrogant demeanour. Here he was—a refugee, an exile from his country under sentence of death, in a position entirely dependent upon the goodwill of the British Government, and also now of the United States. The Germans had conquered his country. He had no real foothold anywhere. Never mind; he defied all. Always, even when he was behaving worst, he seemed to express the personality of France—a great nation, with all its pride, authority, and ambition. It was said in mockery that he thought himself the living representative of Joan of Arc, whom one of his ancestors is supposed to have served as a faithful adherent. This did not seem to me as absurd as it looked. Clemenceau, with whom it was said he also compared himself, was a far wiser and more experienced statesman. But they both gave the impression of being unconquerable Frenchmen.

  One other matter requires mention. In a report to the War Cabinet, I made the following suggestion:

  “… We propose to draw up a statement of the work of the conference for communication to the Press at the proper time. I should be glad to know what the War Cabinet would think of our including in this statement a declaration of the firm intention of the United States and the British Empire to continue the war relentlessly until we have brought about the “unconditional surrender” of Germany and Japan. The omission of Italy would be to encourage a break-up there. The President liked this idea, and it would stimulate our friends in every country …”

  The reader should note this telegram, as the use by the President at the subsequent meeting with the Press of the words “unconditional surrender” raised issues which will recur in this story and certainly be long debated. There is a school of thought, both in England and America, which argues that the phrase prolonged the war and played into the dictators’ hands by driving their peoples and armies to desperation. I do not myself agree with this, for reasons which the course of this narrative will show. Nevertheless, as my own memory has proved defective on some points, it will be well to state the facts as my archives reveal them.

  The records of the War Cabinet show that this was brought before them at their afternoon meeting on January 20. The discussion seems to have turned, not upon the principle of “unconditional surrender”, but on making an exception in favour of Italy. Accordingly on January 21 Mr. Attlee and Mr. Eden sent us the following message:

  The Cabinet were unanimously of opinion that balance of advantage lay against excluding Italy, because of misgivings which would inevitably be caused in Turkey, in the Balkans, and elsewhere. Nor are we convinced that effect on Italians would be good. Knowledge of all rough stuff coming to them is surely more likely to have desired effect on Italian morale.

  There can therefore be no doubt that the phrase “unconditional surrender” in the proposed joint statement that was being drafted was mentioned by me to the War Cabinet, and not disapproved in any way by them. On the contrary, their only wish was that Italy should not be omitted from its scope. I do not remember nor have I any record of anything that passed between me and the President on the subject after I received the Cabinet message, and it is quite possible that in the pressure of business, especially the discussions about the relations of Giraud and de Gaulle and interviews with them, the matter was not further referred to between us. Meanwhile the official joint statement was being prepared by our advisers and by the Chiefs of Staff. This was a careful and formally worded document, which both the President and I considered and approved. It seems probable that as I did not like applying unconditional surrender to Italy I did not raise the point again with the President, and we had certainly both agreed to the communiqué we had settled with our advisers. There is no mention in it of “unconditional surrender”. It was submitted to the War Cabinet, who approved it in this form.

  It was with some feeling of surprise that I heard the President say at the Press Conference on January 24 that we would enforce “unconditional surrender” upon all our enemies. It was natural to suppose that the agreed communiqué had superseded anything said in conversation. General Ismay, who knew exactly how my mind was working from day to day, and was also present at all the discussions of the Chiefs of Staff when the communiqué was prepared, was also surprised. In my speech which followed the President’s I of course supported him and concurred in what he had said. Any divergence between us, even by omission, would on such an occasion and at such a time have been damaging or even dangerous to our war effort. I certainly take my share of the re
sponsibility, together with the British War Cabinet.

  The President’s account to Hopkins seems however conclusive:

  “We had so much trouble getting those two French generals together that I thought to myself that this was as difficult as arranging the meeting of Grant and Lee—and then suddenly the Press Conference was on, and Winston and I had had no time to prepare for it, and the thought popped into my mind that they had called Grant “Old Unconditional Surrender”, and the next thing I knew I had said it.”*

  I do not feel that this frank statement is in any way weakened by the fact that the phrase occurs in the notes from which he spoke.

  Memories of the war may be vivid and true, but should never be trusted without verification, especially where the sequence of events is concerned. I certainly made several erroneous statements about the “unconditional surrender” incident, because I said what I thought and believed at the moment without looking up the records. Mine was not the only memory at fault, for Mr. Ernest Bevin in the House of Commons on July 21, 1949, gave a lurid account of the difficulties he had had to encounter in rebuilding Germany after the war through the policy of “unconditional surrender”, on which he said neither he nor the War Cabinet had ever been consulted at the time. I replied on the spur of the moment, with equal inaccuracy and good faith, that the first time I heard the words was from the lips of the President at the Casablanca Press Conference. It was only when I got home and searched my archives that I found the facts as they have been set out here. I am reminded of the professor who in his declining hours was asked by his devoted pupils for his final counsel. He replied, “Verify your quotations.”