Introduction
Monday 28 April 1941 was a relatively ordinary day during the extraordinary years of the Second World War. The British Prime Minister had spent the weekend in the country retreat at Chequers. General Sir Alan Brooke, the commander-in-chief of home forces, thought Churchill was in ‘great form’ after a broadcast to the nation. Though he was kept up until 3.30 am, he wrote to Churchill that ‘These informal talks are of the very greatest help to me,’1 though in later times he would be less happy about the Prime Minister’s late hours. Meanwhile Churchill was driven 40 miles, partly though the blitzed streets of London, back to Downing Street to begin his day’s work. He drafted a long memo on the situation in the Middle East, looking at the prospects there now that Greece had been evacuated, and considered the possibilities of war with Japan, which he thought unlikely for the moment. He produced another memo on the use of fighter aircraft fired by catapult from merchant ships to drive off enemy reconnaissance aircraft, to be presented to the Battle of the Atlantic Committee which he chaired. In a separate memo he asked about plans for the evacuation of Egypt if the enemy advance continued there. Another memo queried what had happened about his order of last summer to train 5,000 parachute troops, though that was reduced to 500. He had heard that the Italians had shot Free French prisoners of war and wanted to consider the question of reprisals. He suggested that the navy should resume the blockade of enemy-held ports in Tripoli and asked about plans to defend Crete, where it was believed
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the enemy was planning an airborne attack. He wrote to the Foreign Secretary telling him not to discourage direct questions from President Roosevelt, for United States support was crucial to his plans; and Lord Halifax was also to consult with the Ministry for Economic Warfare about an Italian presence in Iraq. He followed up a previous telegram to the commander-in-chief in the Mediterranean about general policy. Every one of these memos was personal to Churchill. His secretary, John Colville, later wrote that by 1943 ‘it was possible to imitate his style fairly closely on matters which were not of supreme importance and I reached the stage where I could draft most of his shorter compositions without his correcting them’.2 But there was no suggestion that was happening in 1941. There was never any doubt that Churchill’s own thoughts were being conveyed in the memos, and he was not dependent on expert advisers in producing them. All this was done before or after a long lunch followed by his usual afternoon nap. Then in the evening he chaired a meeting of the War Cabinet in which he agreed to have an open debate in the House of Commons on the progress of the war, and offered to begin it himself. He commented on unexpectedly low figures for shipping losses, which paradoxically should not be published as they might give ammunition to American isolationists who would argue that US support was not needed. He thought that American journalists were not being fed enough news, which gave the Germans an advantage. He wanted to warn the puppet Vichy government in France that they should not allow German troops in their colonies, and foresaw friendly neutrality from Turkey. He discussed the evacuation from Greece in some detail, and thought that its success was a matter for congratulation. But still his day was not done, for at 9.30 that evening he took the chair at a meeting of the Defence Committee of the War Cabinet, attended by the heads of the armed services as well as politicians. He wanted the army to fight for every inch in Egypt now that the Germans were fighting there as well as the far less effective Italians. He was told that tanks were the key to desert warfare, and current British types were unsuitable. He queried the efficiency of the air force in the region and was reassured by the Chief of Air Staff. It was clear that Churchill had views on every aspect
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of the war on land, sea and in the air, as well as its effect on neutral and friendly countries. It was not just his work rate and his self-confidence which allowed Churchill to dominate the war effort. He had a unique and intimate inside knowledge of all three services which allowed him to assess their real needs – a crucial task when money, material resources, and especially manpower, were reaching their limits. No defence minister in modern times has faced such severe problems. No one else has ever been able to balance the needs of the services in such a way – most of the ministers came from outside with little service experience, while for those trained in a service career it is almost impossible to gain inside knowledge without a bias in favour of one service or another. But Churchill’s knowledge of the three services was almost perfectly balanced by his experiences since he first joined the army in 1893. He made his share of mistakes as a war leader, but this balance served him, his cause and his country well. This book looks at how Churchill gained his unique insight into war strategy and administration, and the impact this had on his thinking and leadership. The final part deals with the effect of these experiences on his wartime leadership – not just the direct references to the past, which are relatively few, but how they gave him the knowledge and confidence to deal with advisers who were usually vastly more knowledgeable and experienced within their own fields. It is not intended as a history of the Second World War, or even of Churchill’s role in it, but as a demonstration of how his past experiences affected his conduct and decision, and how much his personal opinions and interventions affected policy. It may be difficult to believe there is a gap in Churchill studies, but this book is intended to fill one. His most extensive biographies have been written by political historians who do not always stress the importance of the military dimension in his life. Military histories of the period often focus on specific issues. For example, there are many books on naval history before 1914, but they usually deal with specific aspects – technology, ship design, strategy, gunnery, aviation, administration and so on – and these works do not always appreciate the full range of Churchill’s activity. His administration of the Admiralty from
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1911–14 is overshadowed by the Fisher reforms which went before it, and the dramatic events of his own later career, but this book will contend that it was one of the most important periods in his life, and that his reforms, had war not intervened, would have seemed as important as those of Fisher, and often more successful. Military historians are also sceptical about Churchill’s influence, not understanding the depth of his knowledge and his hunger to acquire it. He alienated many people over the years with his overbearing manner, his combative style, his political misjudgements, especially during the 1920s, and his violent opposition to left-wing causes such as the Russian Revolution and the General Strike. All this is reflected in history and in hostile biographies. There is no doubt that he made his share of mistakes, though these have been exaggerated because in his early days he lacked the politician’s ability to sidestep blame, particularly in the case of the Dardanelles. This book attempts to produce a balanced view, and it will show that his many insights helped to create the tools for fighting the Second World War, and equipped him mentally to conduct it. Throughout most of his life Churchill would pursue three careers, as warrior, wordsmith and politician. He was a warrior rather than a mere soldier, for he was never likely to become a cog in the military machine but was always an independent force. If he ever became ‘cannon fodder’ it was not because he was driven to it by the intransigence of generals, but because of his own bravery, which bordered on recklessness. As a wordsmith he wrote as well as he spoke, though usually with a great deal of preparation – his doctor Charles Wilson wrote later: ‘Without that feeling for words, he might have made little enough of his life.’3 The three careers often supported one another. His role as a war correspondent allowed him to see a greater variety of war than any of his contemporary officers, while his training and experience as a soldier gave him insight into topography and tactics. Lecturing to the Royal United Services Institute in 1901, Churchill suggested that official war correspondents might be found among the junior officers – ‘trustworthy and clever, with a good military education and a nice literary style’; one might almost suspect that he was looking for a role for himself, except that by that time he had been elected to parliament. He started
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his political career on the crest of his South African adventures, but throughout it he would deploy his broad knowledge of military affairs. Whilst his combative style would prove valuable in war, it would often be disastrous in peace. His military upbringing was reflected in his parliamentary career. One commentator wrote in 1908, after Churchill had spent some years as a Liberal member. … the whole spirit of his politics is military. It is impossible to think of him except in terms of actual warfare. The smell of powder is about his path, and whenever he appears one seems to hear the crack of musketry and to feel the hot breath of battle. To his impetuous swiftness he joins the gift of calculating strategy. His eye takes in the whole field, and his skirmishes are not mere exploits of reckless adventure, but are governed by the purpose of the main battle.4
Besides his role in the legislature, Churchill was part of the executive for the most important parts of his life. He was immensely proud of the way in which British politicians maintained their supervision over the military. Though he was referring to Lloyd George and his intervention with the Admiralty in 1917 to defeat the U-boat, Churchill’s comments of 1932 also referred to his own attitudes and self-confidence: … we British politicians … were powerful people, feeling they owed their positions to no man’s favour. They asked all kinds of questions. They did not always take ‘No’ for an answer. They did not accept the facts and figures put before them by their experts as necessarily unshakable. They were not under moral awe of professional authority, if it did not seem reasonable to the lay mind. They were not above obtaining secretly the opinions of the junior officers concerned with the problem, and of using these views to cross-examine and confute the naval chiefs.5
His experience as a warrior complemented his role as an administrator. One of his best-known biographers wrote in 2001: ‘Churchill’s position after 1914 … turned on his vastly greater knowledge of naval and military commanders than that possessed by any of his ministerial colleagues – except for Kitchener’.6 But it was far more than that; already he had deep knowledge of the customs, material and practices of both services. Eventually he would spread this to include the air force. In March 1926 he wrote of his ‘unequalled experience of all three fighting
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departments’.7 This experience and knowledge had been ‘bought not taught’, as he told Neville Chamberlain at the start of the Second World War.8 His research assistant Maurice Ashley claimed that ‘much of his conduct as prime minister and minister of defence in the war of 1939–1945 was powerfully influenced by what he had learned not only in taking part in the previous world war but also in writing about it’.9 When he took office as Prime Minister during the fateful month of May 1940, as he recalled later, ‘I felt as if I was walking with destiny, and that my past life had been but a preparation for this hour and for this trial. … I thought I knew a good deal about it all, and I was sure I should not fail.’10 His military experience was an essential part of this preparation.