The use of the expression “unconditional surrender”, although widely hailed at the time, has since been described by various authorities as one of the great mistakes of Anglo-American war policy. It requires to be dealt with at this point. It is said that it prolonged the struggle and made recovery afterwards more difficult. I do not believe that this is true. Indeed, my principal reason for opposing, as I always did, an alternative statement on peace terms, which was so often urged, was that a statement of the actual conditions on which the three great Allies would have insisted, and would have been forced by public opinion to insist, would have been far more repulsive to any German peace movement than the general expression “unconditional surrender”. I remember several attempts being made to draft peace conditions which would satisfy the wrath of the conquerors against Germany. They looked so terrible when set forth on paper, and so far exceeded what was in fact done, that their publication would only have stimulated German resistance. They had in fact only to be written out to be withdrawn.
In several public utterances I made clear what the President and I had in mind.
“The term ‘unconditional surrender’,” I said in the House of Commons on February 22, 1944, “does not mean that the German people will be enslaved or destroyed. It means however that the Allies will not be bound to them at the moment of surrender by any pact or obligation. … Unconditional surrender means that the victors have a free hand. It does not mean that they are entitled to behave in a barbarous manner, nor that they wish to blot out Germany from among the nations of Europe. If we are bound, we are bound by our own consciences to civilisation. We are not to be bound to the Germans as the result of a bargain struck. That is the meaning of ‘unconditional surrender’.”
It cannot be contended that in the closing years of the war there was any misconception in Germany.*
We were now to wind up our affairs. Our last formal and plenary meeting with the Chiefs of Staff took place on January 23, when they presented to us their final report on “The Conduct of the War in 1943”. It may be epitomised as follows:
The defeat of the U-boat must remain a first charge on the resources of the United Nations. The Soviet forces must be sustained by the greatest volume of supplies that can be transported to Russia.
Operations in the European theatre will be conducted with the object of defeating Germany in 1943 with the maximum forces that can be brought to bear upon her by the United Nations.
The main lines of offensive action will be:
In the Mediterranean
(a) The occupation of Sicily, with the object of:
(i) Making the Mediterranean line of communications more secure.
(ii) Diverting German pressure from the Russian front.
(iii) Intensifying the pressure on Italy.
(b) To create a situation in which Turkey can be enlisted as an active ally.
… Operations in the Pacific and Far East shall continue, with the object of maintaining pressure on Japan, and for the full-scale offensive against Japan as soon as Germany is defeated. These operations must be kept within such limits as will not, in the opinion of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, jeopardise the capacity of the United Nations to take advantage of any favourable opportunity for the decisive defeat of Germany in 1943. …
Finally, on the morning of the 24th we came to the Press Conference, where de Gaulle and Giraud were made to sit in a row of chairs, alternating with the President and me, and we forced them to shake hands in public before all the reporters and photographers. They did so, and the pictures of this event cannot be viewed even in the setting of these tragic times without a laugh. The fact that the President and I were at Casablanca had been a well-kept secret. When the Press reporters saw us both they could scarcely believe their eyes, or, when they were told we had been there for nearly a fortnight, their ears.
After the compulsory, or “shotgun”, marriage (as it is called in the United States) of the bride and bridegroom, about whom such pains had been taken, the President made his speech to the reporters, and I supported him.
The President prepared to depart. But I said to him, “You cannot come all this way to North Africa without seeing Marrakesh. Let us spend two days there. I must be with you when you see the sunset on the snows of the Atlas Mountains.” I worked on Harry Hopkins also in this sense. It happened there was a most delightful villa, of which I knew nothing, at Marrakesh which the American Vice-Consul, Mr. Kenneth Pendar, had been lent by an American lady, Mrs. Taylor. This villa would accommodate the President and me, and there was plenty of outside room for our entourages. So it was decided that we should all go to Marrakesh. Roosevelt and I drove together the 150 miles across the desert—already it seemed to me to be beginning to get greener—and reached the famous oasis. My description of Marrakesh was “the Paris of the Sahara”, where all the caravans had come from Central Africa for centuries to be heavily taxed en route by the tribes in the mountains and afterwards swindled in the Marrakesh markets, receiving the return, which they greatly valued, of the gay life of the city, including fortune-tellers, snake-charmers, masses of food and drink, and on the whole the largest and most elaborately organised brothels in the African continent. All these institutions were of long and ancient repute.
It was agreed between us that I should provide the luncheon, and the President and I drove together all the way, five hours, and talked a great deal of shop, but also touched on lighter matters. Many thousand American troops were posted along the road to protect us from any danger, and aeroplanes circled ceaselessly overhead. In the evening we arrived at the villa, where we were very hospitably and suitably entertained by Mr. Pendar. I took the President up the tower of the villa. He was carried in a chair, and sat enjoying a wonderful sunset on the snows of the Atlas. We had a very jolly dinner, about fifteen or sixteen, and we all sang songs. I sang, and the President joined in the choruses, and at one moment was about to try a solo. However, someone interrupted and I never heard this.
My illustrious colleague was to depart just after dawn on the 25th for his long flight by Lagos and Dakar and so across to Brazil and then up to Washington. We had parted the night before, but he came round in the morning on the way to the aeroplane to say another good-bye. I was in bed, but would not hear of letting him go to the airfield alone, so I jumped up and put on my zip, and nothing else except slippers, and in this informal garb I drove with him to the airfield, and went on the plane and saw him comfortably settled down, greatly admiring his courage under all his physical disabilities and feeling very anxious about the hazards he had to undertake. These aeroplane journeys had to be taken as a matter of course during the war. None the less I always regarded them as dangerous excursions. However, all was well. I then returned to the Villa Taylor, where I spent another two days in correspondence with the War Cabinet about my future movements, and painting from the tower the only picture I ever attempted during the war.
CHAPTER XXI
TURKEY, STALINGRAD AND TUNIS
THE strategic scene in the Mediterranean had been transformed by the Allied occupation of North Africa, and with the acquisition of a solid base on its southern shores a forward movement against the enemy became possible. The President and I had long sought to open a new route to Russia and to strike at Germany’s southern flank. Turkey was the key to all such plans. To bring Turkey into the war on our side had for many months been our aim. It now acquired new hope and urgency.
Stalin was in full agreement with Mr. Roosevelt and myself, and I now wished to clinch the matter by a personal meeting with President Inönü on Turkish soil. There was also much business to be done in Cairo, and I hoped on the way home to visit the Eighth Army in Tripoli, if it were taken, and also to call at Algiers. There were many things I could settle on the spot, and more which I needed to see with my own eyes. On January 20 therefore I telegraphed from Casablanca to the Deputy Prime Minister and the Foreign Secretary that I proposed to fly from Marrakesh to Cairo, stay there for two or thr
ee days and then get into direct touch with the Turks.
The War Cabinet thought a direct approach to Turkey was premature and urged my return direct to London to give an account to Parliament of my meeting with Mr. Roosevelt, but after some telegraphic debate they acquiesced in my plan. Accordingly on the afternoon of the 26th we sailed off in the “Commando”, and after having an extremely good dinner, provided by Mr. Pendar at the Taylor Villa, I slept soundly till once again I went to the co-pilot’s seat and sat by Captain Vanderkloot, and we saw together for the second time dawn gleam upon the waters of the Nile. This time we had not to go so far to the south, because the victory of Alamein had swept our foes fifteen hundred miles farther to the west. We arrived at the airfield, ten miles from the Pyramids, and were welcomed by the Ambassador, Lord Killearn, and received by the Cairo Command. We then repaired to the Embassy. Here I was joined by Sir Alexander Cadogan, Permanent Under-Secretary of State at the Foreign Office, sent from England by the Cabinet at my desire. We were all able to contrast the situation with what it had been in August 1942 with feelings of relief and satisfaction.
Messages now reached me to say that the Turkish President, Ismet Inönü, was delighted at the idea of the proposed meeting, and arrangements were made for it to take place at Adana, on the coast near the Turkish-Syrian border, on January 30 I went in the “Commando” to meet the Turks. It is only a four-hour flight across the Mediterranean, most of it in sight of Palestine and Syria, and I had with me in another plane Cadogan and Generals Brooke, Alexander, Wilson, and other officers. We landed not without some difficulty on the small Turkish airfield, and we had hardly completed the salutations and ceremonials before a very long enamelled caterpillar began to crawl out of the mountain defiles, containing the President, the entire Turkish Government, and Marshal Chakmak. They received us with the utmost cordiality and enthusiasm. Several saloon carriages had been put on the train for our accommodation, there being none other in the neighbourhood. We spent two nights in the train, having long daily discussions with the Turks and very agreeable talks at meals with President Inönü.
The general discussion turned largely on to two questions, the structure of the post-war world, and the arrangements for an international organisation, and the future relations of Turkey and Russia. I give only a few examples of the remarks which, according to the record, I made to the Turkish leaders. I said that I had seen Molotov and Stalin, and my impression was that both desired a peaceful and friendly association with the United Kingdom and the United States. In the economic sphere both Western Powers had much to give to Russia, and they could help in the reparation of Russia’s losses. I could not see twenty years ahead, but we had nevertheless made a treaty for twenty years. I thought Russia would concentrate on reconstruction for the next ten years. There would probably be changes: Communism had already been modified. I thought we should live in good relations with Russia, and if Great Britain and the United States acted together and maintained a strong Air Force they should be able to ensure a period of stability. Russia might even gain by this. She possessed vast undeveloped areas—for instance, in Siberia.
The Turkish Prime Minister observed that I had expressed the view that Russia might become imperialistic. This made it necessary for Turkey to be very prudent. I replied that there would be an international organisation to secure peace and security, which would be stronger than the League of Nations. I added that I was not afraid of Communism. He remarked that he was looking for something more real. All Europe was full of Slavs and Communists. All the defeated countries would become Bolshevik and Slav if Germany was beaten. I said that things did not always turn out as bad as was expected; but if they did so it was better that Turkey should be strong and closely associated with the United Kingdom and the United States. If Russia, without any cause, were to attack Turkey the whole international organisation of which I had spoken would be applied on behalf of Turkey, and the guarantees after the present war would be much more severe, not only where Turkey was concerned, but in the case of all Europe. I would not be a friend of Russia if she imitated Germany. If she did so we should arrange the best possible combination against her, and I would not hesitate to say so to Stalin.
During these general political discussions military conversations were conducted by the C.I.G.S. and our other high commanders. The two main points to be considered were the provision of equipment for the Turkish forces, prior and subsequent to any political move by Turkey, and the preparation of plans for their reinforcement by British units in the event of their coming into the war. The results of these talks were embodied in a military agreement.
My parleys with Turkey were intended to prepare the way for her entry into the war in the autumn of 1943. That this did not take place after the collapse of Italy and with the further Russian advances against Germany north of the Black Sea was due to unfortunate events in the Ægean later in the year, which will be described in their proper place.
I flew back from Adana to Cairo, stopping at Cyprus on the way, and then on to Tripoli. It had been taken punctually by the Eighth Army on January 23. The port was found severely damaged. The entrance had been completely blocked by sunken ships, and the approaches lavishly sown with mines. This had been foreseen, and the first supply ship entered the harbour on February 2. A week later 2,000 tons a day were being handled. Although the Eighth Army had still great distances to travel, its maintenance during the fifteen-hundred-mile advance from Alamein, crowned by the rapid opening up of Tripoli, was an administrative feat for which credit lay with General Lindsell in Cairo and General Robertson with the Eighth Army. At the end of the month the Eighth Army was joined by General Leclerc, who had led a mixed force of Free French about 2,500 strong fifteen hundred miles across the Desert from French Equatorial Africa. Leclerc placed himself unreservedly under Montgomery’s orders. He and his troops were to play a valuable part in the rest of the Tunisian campaign.
The Eighth Army crossed the frontier into Tunisia on February 4, thus completing the conquest of the Italian Empire by Great Britain. In accordance with the decisions taken at the Casablanca Conference, this Army now came under General Eisenhower, with General Alexander as his Deputy in executive command of land operations. The reader may remember the directive I had given Alexander on leaving Cairo six months earlier.* He now sent me the following reply:
Sir,
The orders you gave me on August [10], 1942, have been fulfilled. His Majesty’s enemies, together with their impedimenta, have been completely eliminated from Egypt, Cyrenaica, Libya, and Tripolitania. I now await your further instructions.
After two long and vivid days I set off with my party to visit Eisenhower and all the others at Algiers. Here the tension was acute. The murder of Darlan still imposed many precautions on all prominent figures. The Cabinet continued to show concern about my safety, and evidently wanted me home as soon as possible. This at least was complimentary. On Sunday night, February 7, 1943, we took off, and flew directly and safely home. This was my last flight in “Commando”, which later perished with all hands, though with a different pilot and crew.
My first task on getting home was to make a full statement to the House of Commons on the Casablanca Conference, my tour of the Mediterranean, and on the general position. It took me more than two hours on February 11 to make my speech. But I was more tired by my journeying than I had realised at the time, and I must have caught a chill. A few days later a cold and sore throat obliged me to lie up. In the evening of the 16th, when I was alone with Mrs. Churchill, my temperature suddenly rose, and Lord Moran, who had been watching me, took a decided view and told me that I had inflammation of the base of a lung. His diagnosis led him to prescribe the drug called M and B. The next day elaborate photographs were taken and confirmed the diagnosis, and Dr. Geoffrey Marshall of Guy’s Hospital was called in consultation. All my work had come to me hour by hour at the Annexe, and I had maintained my usual output though feeling far from well. But now I became aware of a mar
ked reduction in the number of papers which reached me. When I protested the doctors, supported by my wife, argued that I ought to quit my work entirely. I would not agree to this. What should I have done all day? They then said I had pneumonia, to which I replied, “Well, surely you can deal with that. Don’t you believe in your new drug?” Doctor Marshall said he called pneumonia “the old man’s friend”. “Why?” I asked. “Because it takes them off so quietly.” I made a suitable reply, but we reached an agreement on the following lines. I was only to have the most important and interesting papers sent me, and to read a novel. I chose Moll Flanders, about which I had heard excellent accounts, but had not found time to test them. On this basis I passed the next week in fever and discomfort, and I sometimes felt very ill. There is a blank in my flow of minutes from the 19th to the 25th. Soon the President, General Smuts, and other friends who had heard about my illness sent repeated telegrams urging me to obey the doctor’s orders, and I kept faithfully to my agreement. When I finished Moll Flanders I gave it to Doctor Marshall to cheer him up. The treatment was successful.
22 + s.w.w.
Stalin at this time sent me a film of the Stalingrad victory, with all its desperate fighting wonderfully portrayed, and this is the point at which to tell, all too briefly, the tale of the magnificent and decisive struggle of the Russian armies.
THE FRONT IN RUSSIA, APRIL 1942-MARCH 1943
The German drive to the Caucasus had culminated and foundered during the summer and autumn of 1942. At first all had gone very much according to plan, though not quite so swiftly as had been hoped. The Southern Army group cleared the Russians from within the bend of the Lower Don. It was then divided into Army Group A, under List, and Army Group B, under Bock, and on July 23 Hitler had given them their tasks. Army Group A was to capture the entire eastern shore of the Black Sea and the adjacent oilfields, and Army Group B, having established a defensive flank along the River Don, was to advance on Stalingrad, “smash the enemy forces being assembled there, and occupy the city”. The troops in front of Moscow would conduct holding operations, and Leningrad in the north would be captured in early September.
The Second World War Page 85
