The Day We Went to War

by Terry Charman

  9.30am (10.30am), UNITED STATES EMBASSY, BERLIN

  William Russell and other embassy staff listen to Hitler’s speech on the radio. Russell expects ‘something terrific to happen immediately’ but nothing does. And opposite the embassy a group of workmen continue moving concrete blocks, ‘undisturbed by the declaration of war’. And why not? After all, Russell muses, nobody has asked their opinion about it.

  10.00am, CITY OF LONDON

  ‘Evacuation of the children to the country. The children (I saw some of them at Waterloo on my way to work) are all labelled, carry packets of food and their gas masks and are taking a change of clothing and essentials for carrying on for a day or two. All roads and railways are requisitioned for today, from nine until 5.30 and as we have, most of us, managed to get up to the City early, heaven knows what will happen to us if there is a war before we get home.’ (Vivienne Hall)

  10.00am, HIGHGATE HOSPITAL, LONDON

  Nursing Sister Gwyneth Thomas is supervising the last patients to be evacuated. All this week, she has been busy either getting them ready for evacuation, or preparing strips of cardboard for the sides of the windows as a precaution against bomb blast. Everybody is pitching in, and even the Medical Superintendent is helping to fill sandbags. One of the last patients to leave is a little boy, ‘clutching his gas mask as if it were a toy’. Sister Thomas fervently hopes that ‘it will not mean any more than that to him’. Another patient, Paul, only nine months old, has been very ill in the hospital’s isolation ward. Now he too has to go. Sister Thomas hopes ‘they will be kind to him in the hospital he is going to – but how silly of me to worry about that. He is such a darling, they couldn’t help loving him.’ Amidst all the turmoil of the hospital’s evacuation, Sister Thomas wonders, ‘What type of lunatic is this man Hitler to cause such an upheaval in our lives?’

  ‘Wish me luck as you wave me goodbye.’ Teachers and children from the Robert Montefiore School, Hanbury Street, Whitechapel on their way to evacuation, 1 September 1939.

  10.00am (11.00am), POLISH POST OFFICE, HEVELIUSPLATZ, DANZIG

  The defenders of the Polish Post Office are forced to surrender. Six have been killed in the fighting and another six are mortally wounded. Four others have managed to escape. The rest are going to be shot as francs-tireurs.

  10.15am, WHITEHALL

  With the news of the German invasion of Poland confirmed, the Defence Policy Plans Committee of the Cabinet decide on the total mobilisation of the British armed forces.

  10.15am, CITY OF LONDON

  ‘We have just heard that the Free City of Danzig has just returned to the Reich. If this is true there is no more to say. We are in it to the neck and over . . . the beastly and disgusting machinery of war is slowly turning, and I expect we will be in full blast almost immediately. Well, we have, we are told, brought it on ourselves by our evil and careless living, by our disregard of everything and everyone, our lack of thought, but I feel that we haven’t had much of a chance! The last war, so pathetically labelled the war to end war; what did it bring to either side? Nothing of value, only a legacy of misery and uncertainty. And what of this one – will it really be as bad as we are led to believe? Can’t any of us hope for some future? It seems not.’ (Vivienne Hall)

  At the end of his speech to the Reichstag on 1 September 1939, the deputies ‘declare their unshakeable loyalty to the Fuehrer in the name of the German people’.

  The beginning of Blitzkrieg. Men of the German 76th Motorised Infantry Regiment attacking the village of Lichnowy, 10.00am, Friday, 1 September 1939.

  10.30am, ELYSéE PALACE, PARIS

  The French Council of Ministers meet. They agree to ask the National Assembly for a declaration of war and for a vote of funds to fight it. Foreign minister Georges Bonnet then meets with Polish ambassador Juliusz Lukasiewicz and tells him, without going into specifics, ‘France will fulfil all her obligations.’

  10.30am, BROADCASTING HOUSE, LANGHAM PLACE

  In the day’s first news bulletin, the BBC reports the German invasion of Poland.

  10.30am, FOREIGN OFFICE, WHITEHALL

  Oliver Harvey, private secretary to Lord Halifax, hears that the chiefs of staff want to declare tonight, ‘and get at Germany as soon as possible’. By 6pm, Harvey learns, ‘the children will have been evacuated’.

  Foreign Secretary Lord Halifax receives Polish ambassador Count Edward Raczynski. The ambassador tells Halifax that German troops have crossed the frontier at a number of places. Polish towns have also been bombed. Raczynski also tells the Foreign Secretary that, in his opinion, British should now implement its guarantee to his country. Halifax replies cautiously. Provided the facts are as stated he does not suppose the Government will differ from the Polish ambassador’s conclusion.

  11.00am (12.00pm), REICH CHANCELLERY, BERLIN

  Hitler returns after delivering his speech to the Reichstag. He is exhausted and bathed in sweat. He takes a hot bath and Dr Morrell prescribes him an Ultraseptyl for the relief of inflammation.

  11.00am, PHOENIX THEATRE, CHARING CROSS ROAD

  The cast of Noël Coward’s two new plays, This Happy Breed and Present Laughter, due to open in just over a week’s time, assemble on the stage. They have known that, if war came, the plays would not open. But, ‘like everybody else, they had been hoping all along for a miracle to happen’. Now they all say goodbye to each other and make ‘cheerful false prophecies for the future’.

  French premier Edouard Daladier (third from the right, holding a cigarette) and his ministers emerge from the Elysée Palace, 1 September 1939. They have decided on general mobilisation, and have just heard that Italy will not be joining the war on Germany’s side.

  11.00am, BISHOP’S STORTFORD, HERTFORDSHIRE

  Moyra Charlton motors in from Takeley to have her car oiled and greased. She finds the town ‘is very crowded and glum with news that has just come through that Germany has bombed Poland. They started at 5.30 this morning. Oh, that insufferable Hitler.’

  11.00–11.40am, TEDDINGTON

  ‘Dull morning, bright eleven o’clock. Dull again 11.40. German Embassy in London burnt their secret papers. I should say they need to – they must be pretty damning evidence of Hitler’s diabolic intentions.’ (Helena Mott)

  11.00am (12.00pm), ADLON HOTEL, UNTER DEN LINDEN, BERLIN

  American radio correspondent Max Jordan is in the Adlon bar at the table with a group of Germans. All are less-than-enthusiastic Nazis. One, an officer on the general staff, tells Jordan that the invasion of Poland this morning is just ‘the beginning of World War II’. Another, a countess whose husband is in von Ribbentrop’s ministry, is ‘almost beside herself’. Without bothering to keep her voice down, she tells the American, ‘Oh, if the British would only come tonight and destroy this whole city! Smash everything and us, too! What would it matter, if only these mad dogs could be stopped!’

  11.00am (12.00pm), REICH CHANCELLERY, BERLIN

  Outside the Chancellery there is a crowd of only fifty or sixty Berliners. There are a few shouts from them for the Fuehrer to come out on the balcony. Hitler does not appear, but two windows away, in a part of the building being decorated, three painters in white caps lean out of the window and stare inanely at the crowd.

  11.30am, OXFORD STREET, LONDON

  Fashion writer Florence Speed sees newspaper placards announcing the German invasion of Poland. ‘For half a second’ she feels relieved, but then full realisation of what it means begins to sink in.

  11.30am, 10 DOWNING STREET, WHITEHALL

  The Cabinet meets. Chamberlain tells his ministers that they are meeting under ‘the gravest possible conditions . . . the event against which we had fought so long and so earnestly had come upon us. But our consciences are clear, and there could be no possible question now where our duty lies.’ The Cabinet orders initial preparations for war to be put in operation. Among them are the decentralisation of Smithfield meat and Billingsgate fish markets.

  11.30am, BOLTON
TOWN HALL, LANCASHIRE

  A women passer-by has just heard the news that Hitler has invaded Poland. She tells an observer from Mass Observation: ‘Well, I hope we knock hell out of him now. They said he couldn’t start a war. You don’t know what to expect when a madman is at the head of affairs.’

  12.00pm, BOLTON

  A group of building workers discuss the news from Poland. All are agreed that ‘Hitler is a villain.’ One of them believes, ‘There won’t be a scrap of Germany left after the war. All the countries will get a bit.’ Another agrees, ‘Yes, this treaty will be worse than Versailles.’ But one of them keeps reiterating, ‘But the German people don’t want war, we must help them to get rid of Hitler.’

  12.00pm, RADIOLYMPIA, OLYMPIA EXHIBITION HALL

  A Mickey Mouse cartoon is being televised. Mickey, imitating Greta Garbo, has just said, ‘Ah tink ah go home,’ but now, without warning, the screens have gone blank.

  12.00pm, GOODWOOD GOLF COURSE

  Alfred Duff Cooper, who resigned from the Cabinet over Munich last September, has finished a round of golf. In the bar, the club secretary calmly tells him that ‘Hitler started on Poland this morning.’ To Duff Cooper the news comes as a relief. Back home in Bognor, he receives a message that the Commons will be meeting at 6pm this evening. ‘In pretty good spirits’, he then enjoys ‘an excellent luncheon of lobster and cold grouse’, washed down with Montrachet 1924 and Château Yquem 1921.

  12.00pm, BBC TELEVISION STUDIOS, ALEXANDRA PALACE

  Val Gielgud, the Head of Drama, is rehearsing James Mason and the rest of the cast of Somerset Maugham’s The Circle. It is due to be broadcast live on Sunday night. The telephone rings, and Gielgud learns that, due to the ‘emergency’, the television service has been suspended.

  12.00pm, CITY OF LONDON

  ‘Rumours, posters announcing “Poland attacked by Germany”. Rumours of the bombing of Warsaw with 3,000 casualties. God, what a world to live in. The highest drama in films and plays about the last war is not exaggerated. The sight of a newspaper brings a rush to read it, newspaper men are running round the streets, reaping a harvest, everyone feels sick but we are making even more jokes about the whole business. Here we are stuck in the City with very little chance of getting home as the evacuation will, I suppose, be in full swing all day. Someone wished me a happy month, this 1st September!!’ (Vivienne Hall)

  12.00pm (1.00pm), POLSKIE RADIO, WARSAW

  President of the Republic Ignace Moscicki broadcasts to the Polish people. He tells them that war with Germany has broken out.

  12.00pm (1.00pm), ZYRARDOW, WARSAW DISTRICT

  Zbigniew Leon listens on a primitive wireless set to his president’s broadcast. It comes as a real shock to Zbigniew and the others listening. They feel numb and the general mood is sombre and tense.

  12.00pm (1.00pm), ADLON HOTEL, BERLIN

  American correspondent Virginia Cowles with her friend Jane Leslie is on a flying visit to the German capital. Virginia bluntly asks a desk clerk how he feels about a world war. Virginia is astonished at the man’s reply. ‘What do you mean, a world war? Poland is Germany’s affair. What’s it got to with anyone else?’

  12.05pm, PRINCE’S DOCK, THE CLYDE

  SS Athenia, a 13,500-ton ship of the Donaldson Line, is about to leave the Clyde. She is making her way first to Belfast, and then to Liverpool before crossing the Atlantic to Montreal. On board at present are 735 people, including 315 crew. There are 143 Americans among the passengers. As the ship leaves dock, New Yorker Belle Maranov hears shipyard workers shout out, ‘Cowards! Cowards!’

  12.15pm (1.15pm), BROACASTING HOUSE, BERLIN-CHARLOTTENBURG

  NBC correspondent Max Jordan is in the midst of a heated argument with the German radio censor. In his broadcast to New York, Jordan was going to say, ‘Hitler today spoke to the Reichstag almost exactly in the same vein as the Kaiser did to that body twenty-five years ago’, but the censor has cut it. He appeals to Dr Karl Boehmer of the Propaganda Ministry. But Boehmer is adamant. He asks Jordan how he can compare ‘Hitler to the Kaiser, to a Kaiser who suffered defeat?’ Jordan tells the foreign press chief that it is his honest opinion. But Boehmer is unimpressed: ‘I don’t care how honest it is. You can’t say it. This time it isn’t a Kaiser! This time we won’t crack!’

  12.30pm, VICTORIA STATION, LONDON

  A party of elementary schoolchildren have just arrived at the terminus. There are about 200 people to see them off, the vast majority women. The children are belting out ‘The Chestnut Tree’ as they pass down the platform. The sound of their singing fills the station. But the mothers watching the children are quiet, and although some smile, there is a good deal of wiping of eyes with handkerchiefs.

  12.30pm (1.30pm), ADLON HOTEL, BERLIN

  Virginia Cowles and Jane Leslie are having lunch in the hotel’s courtyard with Sir George Ogilvie Forbes of the British Embassy. Virginia sees that at the next table there are a group of German officials. They stare curiously at Sir George and seem perplexed at the diplomat’s smiling and impervious expression. He has received no news yet about the British declaration of war, but it is expected at any moment.

  12.30pm, THE IVY, ST MARTIN’S LANE

  Noël Coward, with friends, lunches at The Ivy as usual. They are all downcast by the news of the German invasion of Poland, which has meant the abandonment of Coward’s two new plays. But to tide themselves over, at lunch they joke and gossip becoming ‘over-bright and jocular’. Coward is expecting to be employed in propaganda work, possibly with the French.

  12.35pm, VICTORIA STATION, LONDON

  Pupils and teachers from Buckingham Gate School arrive ready for evacuation. One of the older girls is carrying a banner, on which is written ‘L.C.C. Buckingham Gate’. The children are greeted by their parents as they march in twos into the terminus. They are carrying bulging shoe-bags, and have haversacks on their backs. Some of the children have paper parcels and one is clutching a net bag full of tennis balls. All the children are carrying their gas masks in cardboard boxes slung round their necks with string. They, and their teachers, all have red and white LCC armlets and some of them have other pieces of cloth giving their name and school sewn or pinned on their sleeves as well. The children are mostly smiling and look happy. They are quite unselfconscious. Many are looking round for their parents, but there is no attempt to break ranks to meet up with them.

  The parents, too, do not try to butt in on the procession that is now being waved on by the police. Children and parents call out to each other; ‘Ta-ta’, ‘Good-bye, dear’, ‘Cheerio, Mum’, ‘Bye-Bye’, but there is no stopping for a farewell kiss and embrace. The teachers are mostly smiling too. Occasionally, some stop for a second or so to reassure anxious parents. ‘They’ll be all right,’ says one to a mother as the children pass through the barrier. As the last children go through, the police close the barrier. Parents move up and stand close against the railings. The children have stopped near the other end of the platform and are sitting on seats or their cases. They wave to their parents, who wave back at them. ‘Well, we can’t do any more,’ says one mother. ‘Thank God they’ve gone.’

  2.00pm, FOREIGN OFFICE, WHITEHALL

  A telegram is received from Sir Howard Kennard, the British ambassador in Warsaw. In it he includes the request from Polish foreign minister Colonel Beck that the RAF should mount ‘some military action from the air this afternoon’.

  2.00pm (3.00pm), UNITED STATES EMBASSY, WARSAW

  Correspondent Edward Beattie is at his country’s embassy when the sirens sound again. The sky is now deep blue with occasional high-piled banks of cloud. For the first time, Beattie sees the German raiders. There about sixty of them, and he is struck by the beauty of them as the sun silvers them against the blue sky. Puffs of AA bursts show white around them. Now the formation breaks up, and the German ’planes swing singly or in pairs in great circles over Warsaw. Three or four Polish fighters appear and chase ineffectually after them. While Beattie hears
some heavy muffled explosions from across the Vistula, no bombs are dropped on the city centre. An embassy official comes up with an explanation. The German machines are just reconnaissance aircraft. This afternoon, the diplomat tells Beattie, they are pinpointing and photographing objectives for future raids.

  2.30pm, 10 DOWNING STREET

  At Chamberlain’s invitation, Winston Churchill, out of office since 1929, arrives at the Prime Minister’s residence. Chamberlain tells Churchill that he sees no hope of war being averted. He proposes to form a small War Cabinet of ministers without departmental responsibilities to conduct it. Chamberlain says that while the Labour Party is not willing to share in a national coalition government, he has hopes that the Liberals will join. Chamberlain then swallows his pride, and invites Churchill to become a member of the War Cabinet. Without comment, Churchill agrees, and the two men begin to discuss ‘men and measures’. Churchill urges the Prime Minister that Anthony Eden should also be given a cabinet post. Chamberlain agrees. ‘Yes, certainly, one of the major offices of state,’ he tells Churchill.

  2.30pm, THREADNEEDLE STREET, CITY OF LONDON

  An observer from Mass Observation asks two workmen what they think about the crisis. The first tells him, ‘Berlin was never bombed before, but it will sure get it now. It’ll get a taste of what we got. No one is getting settled with these affairs. You can’t settle.’ While the other says, ‘People are fed up with it that they want to have done with it. Get it over.’

  2.30pm, BOLTON

  A Mass Observation observer hears two women what they would like to do to Hitler. One says, ‘I would just like to get Hitler on this field at the top of the street just to give him some punishment. First thing I would do, saw his feet at the ankles, sharpen the shin bones and force him down into the earth, down to his shoulders, then I would just hammer the top of his head with my big saucepan until I’d driven him down out of sight.’ But her friend says, ‘I wouldn’t give you that chance. I should take him on the same field, warn all the women of the estate to come and see the fun, then I would strip him naked and pluck every hair from his body, from head to toe.’