The Day We Went to War

by Terry Charman

  10.30am (11.30am), GERMAN-POLISH BORDER

  After the excitement of the air attack, Wilhelm Prueller’s company receives orders to prepare to march on Krakow, Poland’s second-largest city. Prueller writes, ‘It’s supposed to be a forced march . . . Perhaps Poland is already done for today.’

  10.45am (11.45am), FRENCH EMBASSY, BERLIN

  Foreign Minister Bonnet’s urgent telephone call from Paris is taken by Robert Coulondre. He has been ambassador in Berlin since last October. Bonnet tells him of the change in expiry times, and Coulondre alters the text with his own fountain pen. But suddenly the ambassador is seized with doubts. Perhaps it is not Bonnet on the line but an impostor? Coulondre calls for verification. Alexis Leger, the permanent head of the Quai d’Orsay, comes on the line. He confirms to the ambassador that it is indeed France’s foreign minister to whom Coulondre has been speaking. Reassured, the ambassador prepares to leave for the Wilhelmstrasse.

  10.55am (11.55am), FRENCH EMBASSY, BERLIN

  Ambassador Coulondre leaves the embassy to make the short drive to the Foreign Ministry to present France’s final ultimatum. Like Henderson, Coulondre has tried to make an appointment to see von Ribbentrop himself. But the ambassador is told that the foreign minister is not available. Instead, Coulondre will be received by von Ribbentrop’s more sympathetic and congenial deputy, State Secretary Ernst von Weizsacker.

  A small crowd has gathered on the Pariser Platz outside the embassy. It has been drawn perhaps by the smoke billowing from the embassy chimneys. Inside, Coulondre’s staff are frantically burning the last secret documents, codes and ciphers. Just as the dapper French envoy is about to get into his car, a teenage boy approaches him from the crowd. For an instant Coulondre wonders if he is going to be physically or verbally attacked. But the teenager just wants the ambassador’s autograph, which Coulondre willingly gives.

  Arriving at the Foreign Office, Coulondre is greeted by von Weizsacker. He is an ex-naval officer and most of Berlin’s diplomatic colony much prefer to deal with him, rather than his boss, the bumptious von Ribbentrop. But the ambassador is now dismayed when von Weizsacker tells him that he himself can give no reply to the French ultimatum. Coulondre must wait for von Ribbentrop. The French diplomat considers this to be a deliberate snub and he is annoyed to be kept waiting. But von Ribbentrop soon appears. He has been at the Reich Chancellery with Hitler to receive the new Soviet ambassador.

  Getting straight to the point, Coulondre asks the Foreign Minister if he can give him a satisfactory reply to the French note presented on Friday. Von Ribbentrop is evasive and tells the ambassador, ‘The delay in replying was due to Mussolini’s initiative taken on 2 September. The Duce had offered to mediate and we were prepared for a compromise if we had French agreement. Later Mussolini informed us that the compromise had failed owing to British intransigence.’

  Deliberately speaking in German, despite having faultless French, von Ribbentrop continues, ‘This morning, the ambassador of Great Britain gave us an unacceptable ultimatum which was rejected. If the French Government considers itself bound, because of all its engagements towards Poland, to enter the conflict, I can only regret it. We shall only fight France if she attacks us, and it would be on her part a war of aggression.’

  Having heard all the German’s lame excuses in silence, Coulondre now asks, ‘Must I conclude from this that the German Government’s reply to my letter of 1 September is negative?’

  ‘Yes,’ von Ribbentrop curtly replies.

  Coulondre now reads out to the Foreign Minister and von Weizsacker the terms of the French ultimatum:

  Your Excellency

  Not having received by noon on 3rd September a satisfactory reply from the Government of the Reich to the letter which I presented to you on 1st September at 10pm, I have the honour, on the instructions of my Government, to make the following communication to you. The Government of the French Republic consider it their duty to point out for the last time the heavy responsibility assumed by the Government of the Reich in opening hostilities against Poland without a declaration of war and in not taking up the suggestion made by the Governments of the French Republic and of His Britannic Majesty to suspend all aggressive action against Poland and to declare themselves ready promptly to withdraw their forces from Polish territory.

  In consequence, the Government of the French Republic have the honour to inform the Government of the Reich that they find themselves obliged to fulfil, as from today, 3rd September at 5pm, the obligations which France has entered towards Poland and which are known to the German Government.

  Pray accept, Your Excellency, the assurance of my highest consideration.

  On hearing the terms of the ultimatum, von Ribbentrop says in a cold voice, ‘Very well, France will be the aggressor.’

  To which Coulondre replies, ‘History will be the judge of that.’

  The diplomatic formalities over, the French ambassador makes to take his leave. He gives von Weizsacker a firm farewell handshake, but does not offer his hand to von Ribbentrop. Instead Coulondre gives the despised Foreign Minister a sharp look and returns to his embassy, feeling now ‘a little like a robot’. There is still a small crowd outside the embassy. But the ambassador observes there is ‘no patriotic fever, none of the bellicose enthusiasm which accompanied the war of 1914. If the war with Poland was popular among Nazi and military leaders, it did not seem to be with the man in the street.’

  11.00am, SS ATHENIA, ATLANTIC OCEAN

  Because of the swell, especially the cross currents of the Devil’s Hole, the great Atlantic chasm off Ireland, there are fewer passengers this morning at the ship’s church service. Those who have felt up to attending sing the traditional seamen’s hymns, ‘Eternal Father, Strong to Save’ and ‘Oh God, Our Help in Ages Past.’

  11.00am, HMS SUFFOLK, PORTSMOUTH

  Fifteen minutes ago, the order was given to ‘clear lower deck’ and now naval pilot Hugo Bracken and the rest of the ship’s company are assembled on the parade ground of the Royal Naval Air Station at Lee-on-Solent. As the hour strikes, the Captain tells the crew that Britain is now at war with Germany. He makes a speech and then calls for three cheers for the King. Nobody is surprised by the news. Hugo has been expecting it since Hitler broke the Munich Agreement back in March when he occupied Prague. As the parade is dismissed and the men begin to disperse, the air-raid sirens sound and the men go to their allotted air-raid shelters.

  11.00am, PUTNEY

  ‘No reply from Germany so at eleven o’clock this country declared war. Almost immediately the sirens screeched forth their warning – I looked up from my window and found everyone down the road hanging out of theirs. In my loud carrying voice I shouted, “That’s the warning, you know” and it was most comical to see the heads disappearing and the windows slamming as they all rushed to shelter. Nothing happened and quite soon the “all clear” sounded.’ (Vivienne Hall)

  11.00am (12.00pm), REICH CHANCELLERY, VOSS-STRASSE, BERLIN

  Just as the British ultimatum expires, Adolf Hitler, in his capacity as head of state, receives the new Soviet ambassador. For the ceremony, the Fuehrer is wearing his new field-grey uniform. But with the addition of a gold-embroidered sword-belt, which seems to be more Goering’s style than Hitler’s. The ambassador, Alexander Shkvartsev, is accompanied by his military attaché, Maxim Purkayev. Von Ribbentrop is on hand to assist Hitler with the ceremony. Unthinkable only a month ago, a guard of honour is drawn up in the courtyard to salute Stalin’s envoy and his party on arrival and departure.

  11.00am (12.00pm), BRITISH EMBASSY, BERLIN

  As the British ultimatum expires, staff of the Berlin embassy gather together in the Chancery. Among the assembled diplomats the feeling is one of relief that the waiting is now over. For a long time they have all thought that nothing would prevent Hitler from going ahead and invading Poland. They now stop the ornate Chancery clock with its hands exactly on 11.00am. Third Secretary Geoffrey Harrison pastes a piece of pa
per over its glass face. On it is written a note that says that the clock has been stopped on purpose at the hour that Britain went to war with Germany. It will not be restarted until Hitler is defeated.

  11.00am (12.00pm), BAVARIAN MINISTRY OF THE INTERIOR, MUNICH

  Hard-drinking Gauleiter Adolf Wagner, who lost a leg in the last war, and whose voice sounds just like Hitler’s, finally picks up the envelope that Unity Mitford left earlier this morning. On opening it, he is horrified to find a suicide note from Unity, together with her signed portrait of the Fuehrer and Nazi Party badge. The note says that as she cannot bear a war between Britain and her beloved Germany, ‘she must put an end to herself’. Aware of Unity’s place in Hitler’s intimate circle, Wagner is now thoroughly alarmed. He puts through an emergency call to the Munich Police Department with orders to find the English aristocrat before she goes ahead with her suicide plan.

  11.05am, FRENCH EMBASSY, LONDON

  France’s Ambassador to the Court of St James Charles Corbin is meeting with Hugh Dalton and fellow Labour frontbencher and defence expert A.V. Alexander. Corbin is angry. He has heard rumours that around Westminster there are stories current that France is going to dodge out of her obligations to Poland. Nothing could be further from the truth, Corbin tells the two Labour leaders. But Dalton remains sceptical. He looks at his watch and pointedly remarks to the ambassador, ‘My country is at war now in fulfilment of our pledge to Poland.’ Corbin comes back with the reply, ‘And my country will be at war in a few hours’ time.’ Corbin also reminds Dalton and Alexander that France has now got three million men under arms and ‘soon she will have six million’. And he rams home the point that ‘it is upon my country that the heaviest blows will fall’.

  11.10am, CITY OF LONDON

  Daily Express columnist Tom Driberg is in a taxi on the way to Fleet Street. Seeing Driberg’s gas mask, the driver chuckles. ‘You won’t need that, sir,’ he tells the journalist. ‘I have had two campaigns; I know.’ But Driberg tells him that he isn’t allowed in the Daily Express building without it.

  11.10am, GERMAN EMBASSY, CARLTON HOUSE TERACE, LONDON

  Robert Dunbar, forty-four-year-old head of the Treaty Department of the Foreign Office, leaves his office and makes for the German Embassy, which in the absence of ambassador Herbert von Dirksen, is headed by the chargé d’affaires Dr Theodor Kordt. In his briefcase, as he crosses Horse Guards Parade and the Mall, Dunbar is carrying Britain’s formal declaration of war. As soon as he arrives at the embassy, Dunbar, a Military Cross winner in the last war, is taken to Dr Kordt, who is secretly an anti-Nazi. Dunbar has met with Kordt a number of times, and both men respect each other. The British diplomat hands over to the chargé d’affaires Britain’s declaration of war. He also gives him a listing of Germans resident in London whom the British Government consider entitled to have diplomatic protection. The absence of certain names on the list causes Kordt to challenge the validity of the list. He and Dunbar then politely argue backwards and forward about the list for the next three-quarters of an hour.

  11.14am, 10 DOWNING STREET

  Chamberlain gets up from his chair and makes his way to the Cabinet Room, where a microphone has been installed. Outside Number 10 is a large crowd, spreading into the road itself, but they are not making any noise. Nor are they showing any signs of obvious excitement. Waiting in the Cabinet Room is BBC announcer Alvar Lidell who has the job of introducing the Prime Minister. Lidell looks up as Chamberlain enters. His shoulders are hunched and to Lidell he looks ‘very, very serious’. Chamberlain sits in front of the microphone and Lidell leans over his shoulder to make his introduction: ‘This is London. The Prime Minister.’ As Chamberlain begins to speak, Lidell registers how ‘crumpled, despondent and old’ he looks.

  This morning the British Ambassador in Berlin handed the German Government a final note stating that unless we heard from them by eleven o’clock that they were prepared at once to withdraw their troops from Poland, a state of war would exist between us.

  I have to tell you now that no such undertaking has been received and that consequently this country is at war with Germany.

  You can imagine what a bitter blow it is to me that all my long struggle to win peace has failed. Yet I cannot believe that there is anything more, or anything different that I could have done that would have been more successful.

  Up to the very last it would have been quite possible to have arranged a peaceful and honourable settlement between Germany and Poland, but Hitler would not have it.

  He had evidently made up his mind to attack Poland whatever happened, and although he now says he put forward reasonable proposals which were rejected by Poland, that is not a true statement.

  The proposals were never shown to the Poles, nor to us, and though they were announced in a German broadcast on Thursday night, Hitler did not wait to hear comments on them, but ordered his troops to cross the Polish frontier. His action shows convincingly that there is no chance of expecting that this man will ever give up his practice of using force to gain his will. He can only be stopped by force.

  We and France are today, in fulfilment of our obligations, going to the aid of Poland, who is so bravely resisting this wicked and unprovoked attack on her people.

  We have a clear conscience. We have done all that any country could do to establish peace.

  The situation in which no word given by Germany’s ruler could be trusted and no people or country could feel themselves safe has become intolerable.

  And now we have resolved to finish it I know that you will play your part with calmness and courage.

  At such a moment as this the assurances of support that we have received from the Empire are a source of profound encouragement to us.

  When I have finished speaking certain detailed announcements will be made on behalf of the Government. Give these your closest attention.

  The Government have made plans under which it will be possible to carry out the work of the nation in the days of stress and strain that may be ahead. But these plans need your help.

  You may be taking your part in the fighting services or as a volunteer in one of the branches of civil defence. If so, you will report for duty in accordance with the instructions you have received.

  You may be engaged in work essential to the prosecution of the war, for the maintenance of the life of the people – in factories, in transport, in public utility concerns, or in the supply of other necessaries of life.

  If so, it is of vital importance that you should carry on with your jobs.

  Now may God bless you all. May He defend the right. It is the evil things that we shall be fighting against – brute force, bad faith, injustice, oppression and persecution – and against them I am certain that the right will prevail.

  11.15am, QUEEN CHARLOTTE’S HOSPITAL, LONDON

  As Chamberlain begins to speak, twenty-eight-year-old Mrs Frank Mooney gives birth to a baby boy. Milkman Frank and his wife have intended to name the baby Michael, but in view of what is happening today, it looks as if the baby is now going to be called Neville after the Prime Minister.

  11.15am, GREAT BRITAIN

  All over the country, volunteer diarists of the Mass Observation organisation are recording their thoughts and emotions as they listen to the Prime Minister’s broadcast. Mass Observation was set up just over two and a half years ago. Its aim is to record and report in minute detail, across as wide a spectrum as possible, the thoughts and behaviour of the British people.

  11.15am, TEDDINGTON

  ‘Clear, bright, breezy – a lovely morning with white clouds in a blue sky after the most violent storm in the night that sounded like a bombardment. Prime Minister at 11.15 . . . “This Country is at War with Germany”.’ (Helena Mott)

  11.15am, SHEFFIELD

  A twenty-one-year-old female office worker is listening to the wireless with her parents. It is a glorious morning outside, but the family are glued to the radio, avidly catching every BBC news bulletin.
As Chamberlain announces that war is declared, the diarist has a ‘funny feeling inside me, and yet all three stood at attention for “The King”, and I know that we were all in the same mind, that we shall and must win’.

  11.15am, UNNAMED SMALL COUNTRY TOWN

  The diarist here is a forty-eight-year-old schoolmistress. As Chamberlain makes his broadcast, she notes, ‘I held my chin high and kept back the tears at the thought of all the slaughter ahead. When “God Save the King” was played we stood.’

  11.15am, LEEDS

  A young housewife writes, ‘The milkman told me about the ultimatum to Germany expiring at 11am. We could eat no breakfast hardly and just waited with sweating palms and despair for eleven o’clock. When the announcement was made, “This country is at war with Germany”, I leant against my husband and went quite dead for a minute or two.’

  11.15am, ESSEX

  In her Mass Observation diary a ‘gentlewoman’ records, ‘I had been told by the gardener that an important announcement would be given out on the wireless. It would be either peace or war, and anxiety increased as the time drew near. Then it was the latter. I stood up for “God Save the King” and my little dog got out of her basket and stood beside me. I took her on my lap for comfort.’

  11.15am, ETON COLLEGE, BERKSHIRE

  Sixteen-year-old Eileen Donald is an evacuee from Wandsworth. She has just taken her Matriculation exams and hopes to get into the sixth form and then go to university. She came to Eton on Friday, and yesterday was at Windsor station helping with the arrival of new evacuees. With her friends, she hears Chamberlain speak on the wireless, and then goes for a walk on the playing fields of Eton, where the Duke of Wellington is supposed to have said the Battle of Waterloo was won. Eileen thinks to herself how beautiful they and the weather are today and how strange it is ‘to be conscious of so much beauty and at the same time to be so horrified at the thought of war’.

  11.15am, THE COTSWOLDS

  Crispin Tickell, nine-year-old son of writer Jerrard Tickell, is staying at his grandmother’s house on the banks of the River Windrush. Just before Chamberlain is due to speak, Crispin and his brother are called into the dining room to hear the broadcast. Crispin is both ‘vaguely disturbed and depressed’ as he listens to the Prime Minister’s announcement. He thinks Chamberlain sounds so sad. But Crispin’s grandmother calls the Prime Minister ‘a damned fool’, just as she did at the time of Munich last year. She then goes out to snip flowers. Cheered up by his grandmother’s forthright response, Crispin follows her out into the garden.