Paddy Mayne

by Hamish Ross

  Coming out here again all depends on what party I would be with, or rather what personnel would compose the party. I wouldn’t stay at the same base as Walton. He is about the only one who would be left who really gets my goat.24

  Mulling it over, Mayne debated the pros and cons of opting to return to complete his contract. At this stage he took the optimistic view that hospital treatment would cure his back problem and allow him to keep his options open. On the side of returning to the South Polar option, he constructed a best-case scenario:

  People I would like to be with are O’Sullivan, Small, Tonkin, Sadler, Hardy, Slessor and Featherstone. To be with people like that, I would willingly come out. A decent geologist and the present two surveyors, Mason and Freeman. That would leave out from E Base Walton and Salter. About either I can’t visualise many tears being wept. I don’t know whether Bingham would be staying or not.

  I could spend a very happy year with that crowd. One objection to it is that the whole lot would be coming back home at the end of the two years, but that would not be insurmountable. The new people at D would have had a year’s acclimatising for it.25

  As far as he was concerned, returning was a serious option and, after all, his original reasons for choosing to go on the survey to Antarctica were unfulfilled. The drawback would be that the two-year contract of the others would be completed; his would have one year to run.

  The other element that influenced Mayne’s thinking was, of course, Cdr Bingham. But to what extent? As we saw earlier, Mayne’s provisional assessment of Bingham, as they spent time in Montevideo, was balanced. Basically, he found him pleasant and thought that he was honest; but against that, perhaps inflexible, timorous about trying out innovation and lacking insight into himself and others. Bradford and Dillon’s version of this period had Bingham laying down the law to Mayne about who was in charge. But Mayne’s journal shows that this is fanciful.

  Mayne mentioned Bingham little after that first assessment on 20 December – only that they sailed on the same ship to the Falklands and both stayed in Stanley at Government House – until 13 January.

  Bingham mentioned that he thought of taking Walton to Base E; it is his business, but the combination of Salter and he will be hard for Sadler to stand.

  I cannot quite assess Bingham. I have been doing my best to put a good word in for him on every occasion: the chaps are all prepared to like him. I hope he doesn’t behave like a schoolmistress with a crowd of kids out on a picnic.26

  So, although Mayne had expressed reservations early on about how good he would be at playing the underling, he fulfilled his role as a loyal first lieutenant and was consistently supportive of Bingham. Then, on 19 January, six days later, Mayne came back for the last time in his journal to Bingham, and in penetrating detail. Mayne anticipated seeing him the following day, 20 January, at Laurie Island.

  It would help the party as a whole if Bingham kept them better posted about what is happening and what would be likely to occur. If I can, I will persuade him to tell these chaps that they will be at other bases next year. Incidentally I was forgetting about Choice and Joyce. Choice might also need to be moved to D, need three more ‘met’ [meteorologists] people to come out.27

  But something happened unexpectedly which was to mean that Mayne did not get the chance to meet and speak with Bingham.

  Mayne’s entry for 19 January 1946 is lengthy and was written on two separate occasions. There is no indication when he wrote the first section, but he began the second part at 10 p.m.

  At 8.30 tonight we turned back towards Stanley. Why, I don’t know; we would have been at Laurie Island tomorrow after midday. A confounded nuisance, I hope it doesn’t make any radical difference to Base D being established. Stops me going on to Marguerite Bay and to Newfoundland; may be better as far as my back is concerned, but I wasn’t going to worry about it.

  It seems damned stupid turning back now when we were only another day’s steaming away, less than another day. I had wanted most of all to see Bingham again and try to fix up a decent party for next year. No way of getting in touch with him, letters won’t reach him in time.28

  The strongest terms used in Mayne’s journal, ‘confounded nuisance’ and ‘damned stupid’, preface his wish to see Bingham the next day to discuss allocation to bases the following year, so returning to complete his contract was certainly still an option. However, he accepted the new situation and took stock of its implications:

  I suppose I will probably be home some time at the end of March. Stanley next Tuesday, that is the 22 January. Leave the Falklands about the 14 February; Montevideo by the 18th and then it depends on how soon we can get ship and how quickly we get back. If it is a meat ship from Buenos Aires, it shouldn’t take more than, I don’t know, in a month I suppose. At any rate I should be out of hospital by the end of April. I wish I knew what I really wanted to do. I could enjoy a couple of months at home, taking things easy and doing a bit of work about the place, though everything I can think of involves a lot of twisting and straining of my back.29

  Mayne then returned to Bingham and made an assessment of his own attitude and Bingham’s leadership qualities:

  If Bingham wasn’t staying down next year I believe I would be keener to return. But probably in any case by this time next year he will have got over the first flush of being in command. It wouldn’t take very many changes to make him into a good leader, or rather an excellent leader. At the moment he hasn’t got everybody’s confidence, he is bad at explaining what he wants done and what he intends to do. He also has a bad habit of talking too much to outsiders.30

  Had the above assessment been given to Bingham by his superior at an appraisal interview – and subsequently reviewed at a higher level – it would not have been considered destructive. However, according to Sadler, Bingham did not change and continued to overcontrol and behave as a manager rather than a leader. Five years later, in a letter to Peter Swan, Mayne wrote a postscript, ‘Ted Bingham is at the naval depot in Londonderry. I haven’t seen him and I am not particularly keen to do so as I am afraid he bores me.’31 So in retrospect, his feelings about Bingham were in the category of low-level irritation rather than fundamental antipathy.

  But on the night of 19 January 1946, turning his mind to the present, Mayne was more interested in his surroundings.

  I am sorry I didn’t get a photograph of Trepassey with her sails up. She looked well tonight bucketing through the heavy seas. The spray was freezing on our rigging this evening; before we turned off we had quite a bit coming over. When the wind gets up it makes a great difference in the temperature; yesterday we had a following breeze, about the same strength as our own speed and on the flying bridge I believe sunbathing would have been tolerable and even pleasant.32

  However, when the ship carrying Mayne changed course at 8.30 p.m. on 19 January 1946 to cover the 590 miles to Stanley, whether or not he had made the decision at that point, it was to lead to a parting of the ways with the survey. Sadler and Tonkin continued with it; but Sadler found Bingham too inflexible in allocating men to bases and, after an argument with him, left the following year. Tonkin had another close escape from death: he was walking ahead of his dog team when he fell through surface ice, plunged perhaps twenty feet down a crevasse and was stuck fast. He was rescued and the person principally responsible, the man lowered down to reach Tonkin, was Walton.33 Then fate dealt with Bingham in similar fashion to Mayne: he was considered medically unfit to spend another winter in the Antarctic and he went to Stanley. In his final report on the survey – probably written some time in 1947 – Bingham confirmed that the objectives he had been given had been met, but that they had run into some unexpected company with the arrival of an American team on Stonington Island. He questioned the secrecy which surrounded the survey (in comparison with the Americans, who published reports). He also pointed out that both the Chilean and Argentine bases were on a more pretentious scale and more extensively equipped; and he complained about
the adequacy of their ship, Trepassey, which had been built during the war and had only land-type diesel engines. It had suffered three cracked cylinder heads during its last tour of the bases. Given the politically sensitive nature of the operation, Bingham chose his words carefully for maximum impact. ‘It would be bad for British prestige’, he wrote, ‘were she to be towed to safety by an opposition expedition ship.’ Then, in a gracious gesture, he put on record the loyal cooperation he had received from all members of the survey, ‘often under exasperating and to them entirely strange conditions’.34

  Mayne went into hospital in Stanley on 23 January. He made only two entries in his journal while he was in hospital; both are short. On Friday 25 January he wrote that he was becoming rather bored: he had been receiving radiant-heat treatment twice a day but he felt that it was not doing much good. Bradford and Dillon’s version had him in the wrong country, undergoing the wrong treatment (Buenos Aires for an operation to his back). However, Mayne crossed a watershed between 19 January, when he had pondered the option of returning the following year, and 29 January, when he made his second journal entry in hospital: he had come to a final decision – not to return.

  Getting a little bored here. Today I have been mapping out my future career. At the moment my inclination is to find a partner and start off as a solicitor. With or without a partner, no more subservience. I imagine I can always make a living.

  Thinking about the letters I must write. To: Bill Irwin, Mrs Hanbury, Poat, Niall Nelson, Williams, Pleydell. I can do them all before I leave the Falklands. Can’t write in bed though.

  Haven’t heard any more about the party down south, whether they left the Orkneys or whether they are in Marguerite Bay yet.

  Lots of moths in this country, falling all over the bed.35

  He did not reveal his reasons for ruling out returning to Antarctica. He may have been medically advised that it would be unwise, or he may have felt that it was just not worth the candle, from the point of view of the changeover of personnel and the short-term nature of the contract. It is clear, however, that, having made up his mind, he did not review the matter.

  On 11 February 1946, Mayne sailed on the return leg of the voyage home from Stanley to Montevideo. On 13 February, he wrote his only retrospective comment on two weeks in Stanley: ‘Quite enjoyed my stay in hospital, the matron was pleasant, Joan Treize her name. Wrote some letters before I left to Poat, Mrs Hanbury, Bill Dowie and home.’ The ship ploughed north through heavy seas in gale-force winds for two days; ‘not many parading for meals’, he recorded. He shared a cabin with Ashton and Berry, whom he described: ‘Ashton is a real craftsman, quite pleasant, Berry a typical old QM.’ Here, he was referring to members of Operation Tabarin, who, having completed a two-year tour of duty, were returning home. Ashton was a Royal Navy rating, a carpenter, and Berry was a Purser. They had both been at Base A, Port Lockroy in 1943–4 and had been moved to Base D at Hope Bay during 1944–5. They and other members of Operation Tabarin were going home now that the survey had taken over.

  Mayne, on that occasion, also recorded that he was not sleeping much at night: ‘bunk too small and narrow and my leg troubles me then’. Anticipating his return to Ireland, he wondered if he would be home in time to celebrate St Patrick’s Day:

  Looks as if we will be home 1st week in March. I wonder will I be in Ireland for the 17th. Last time was 1940, quite pleasant what I remember of it. Stationed at Sydenham then. Lot of everything flowed under the bridge since then.

  Possibly be in hospital, more than likely; I will, if I can manage it, go to hospital at home. I would like that, go in about the 20th, convalesce through May and June, have some holidays through July and August; hope for some deer stalking in September and then, I suppose, think of doing some work. A pleasant programme and I am just about due that amount of leave. I wonder how long it will be before they terminate my contract, should get a couple of months out of them after my return to UK.

  Would like to get fit again. Had a shock when I tried on some shorts which fitted me two years ago – about three inches of a difference.

  They were due to arrive in Montevideo on Friday 15 February but he anticipated that, because of the weather, they would not arrive until the Saturday morning. Then, he went on, ‘Rumour has it we board the Ajax that afternoon. Would have liked up to a week in Montevideo.’ Rumour, on this occasion, was correct.

  The battlecruiser HMS Ajax was no stranger to these waters: River Plate had been added to its battle honours for its part in the pursuit and damage leading to the destruction of the German pocket battleship Admiral Graf Spee off Montevideo in December 1939. The connection was re-established six years later when Ajax left home waters in January 1946 with orders to escort a troop ship, Highland Monarch, which was bringing back the German crew of the Graf Spee who had been interned for the remainder of the war.36 Ajax had shown the flag in Rio de Janeiro and Buenos Aires; on 16 February it sailed to Montevideo, where Mayne embarked; that afternoon it weighed anchor and headed for Freetown in West Africa. The Royal Navy, as one of the progenitors of Operation Tabarin, retained an interest and responsibility for the survey team and was the means of bringing its members home. There were other expedition members on board Highland Monarch and they were to transfer to Ajax at Freetown.

  When Mayne boarded HMS Ajax in Montevideo that Saturday afternoon of 16 February 1946, the journal, which he had begun in that same city, came to its logical end. Its purpose was over. In fact he recorded just two more brief entries. The first was on 25 February when he noted that they had crossed the line that morning and that it ‘has been a pleasant trip’. He also said that they were escorting the Highland Monarch and were due in Freetown on 27 February. The last entry is again brief. It is dated Saturday 3 March, and reports that he had had lunch with Capt Cuthbert of Ajax, and commented, ‘Interesting enough’. He wrote that they took on board the remainder of the expedition from Highland Monarch, which was then going to Hamburg. He then began a new paragraph: ‘We have on board here now . . .’ He had reached the foot of a page, so it looks as though the next page is missing. All that remains, towards the end of the book, is the song previously quoted about the girl from Piccadilly.

  While the objectives of the survey had been met, the larger political issues, of course, concerning competing sovereignty were not resolved. These were effectively put on hold when the Antarctic Treaty came into force in 1961. The Falkland Island Dependencies Survey then became the British Antarctic Survey in January 1962. A faint echo of Operation Tabarin fading into the Falkland Island Dependencies Survey in 1945 resonated in 2001 when the British Army garrison in South Georgia, which had remained there since British Special Services regained the island from Argentine occupation in 1982, handed over its base to the British Antarctic Survey.37

  Mayne’s journal does not illuminate the political background to the survey, but it does have a value that extends far beyond the period it covers. It is important in a number of ways. Most of what others have written about Mayne in the past, both as a man and as a leader, was based on anecdotal reports; there has been very little from written sources and virtually nothing (apart from letters home) from his perspective. His journal of the Falkland Island Dependencies Survey corrects that.

  It certainly supports what both Malcolm Pleydell and Fraser McLuskey observed during their respective times in the unit: Mayne searchingly assessing individuals. For throughout his journal, it is the most prevalent theme. He was adamant that he simply was not prepared to work at the same base as Walton; and this is consonant with his reasoning and swift action in leaving No. 11 Commando in 1941 when Keyes became acting commanding officer. Also, the tenor of Mayne’s probing and assessing is consonant with how David Stirling described him at their first meeting: ‘He questioned me rapid-fire style, but always in that gentle, slightly mocking voice.’38 Now, assessing men is an important part of a combat leader’s role – their lives depend on one another, so they have to be trustworthy – but
Mayne continued the practice beyond the war. Jimmy Storie served with Mayne when the unit operated in small groups in the desert. He put it like this: ‘He had to like you. If he took a dislike to you, you might as well forget it. If he liked you, you were made for life.’39 But since Mayne made no secret of his contempt for the arrogant, the self-conceited or the crude, they knew it. There can be no doubt that three on the survey knew it. Now, to know you have the unconcealed contempt of a physically powerful man cannot be a comfortable sensation; you would certainly not go out drinking with him. So Mayne made enemies, and it is easy to see how the fear that some had of him – as Sadler related – could come about. And it heavily underlines the problem facing those whose interpretion of Mayne’s character was derived from hearsay.

  But equally, the people he wanted to associate with were pleasant, agreeable and considerate. Such people could come from different backgrounds; he did not restrict his friendship to one circle of society; there was the shipwright and the doctor. Mayne’s own qualities appear in his journal; those who knew him well could discern them. As a padre, Fraser McLuskey had no difficulty relating to him.

  He wasn’t, he would have said, a religious man. Yet he had a real reverence for God. Because I stood for something he respected, he helped me. It was a wonderful friendship.40

  Nor did he set a different standard for women. The appearance of an ‘amazing-looking Englishwoman’ was insufficient to compensate for her feelings of superiority – although he chided her inconsiderateness more subtly than he did the men. From his values and his attitudes, the impression that one is left with is of a very decent man, and a humble man.