The Day We Went to War

by Terry Charman

  A halt has been called. Force has had to be resorted to to check the march of force. Honest dealing, the peaceful adjustment of differences, the rights of independent peoples to live their own lives, the honouring of international obligations and promises – all these things are at stake. There never was any doubt as to where Great Britain stood in relation to them. There can be no doubt that where Great Britain stands, there stands the entire British world.

  Bitter as we may feel at this wanton crime, this is not a moment for rhetoric. Prompt as the action of many thousands must be, it is for the rest of us a moment for quiet thinking, for that calm fortitude which rests not upon the beating of drums but upon the unconquerable spirit of man, created by God in his own image. What may be before us we do not know, nor how long the journey. But this we do know: that truth is with us in the battle, and that truth must win.

  Before I end, may I say this to you; in the bitter months that are to come, calmness, resoluteness, confidence and hard work will be required as never before. The war will involve not only soldiers and sailors and airmen, but supplies, foodstuffs, money. Our staying power, and particularly the staying power of the Mother Country, will be best assisted by keeping our production going; by continuing our avocations and our business as we fully can; by maintaining employment, and with it our strength. I know that, in spite of the emotions we are all feeling, you will show that Australia is ready to see it through. May God in His mercy and compassion grant that the world may soon be delivered from this agony.

  12.25pm (9.25pm), SWAN HILL, VICTORIA

  When Menzies tells the Australian people they are at war, the parents of nine-year-old Margaret Maxwell both burst into tears.

  12.25pm (9.25pm), SYDNEY

  As she hears the broadcast from Melbourne, pacifist Margaret Holmes begins to feel ‘absolutely terrible’. She has the sensation of the world dropping to pieces, and her ‘whole life . . . going down the drain’. She is ‘terribly depressed and terribly worried’.

  12.25pm (9.25pm), LEEDERVILLE, PERTH

  Twelve-year-old schoolboy Maurie Jones, his parents and fourteen-year-old brother are coming home from a church function when they hear the news that Australia is now once again at war. His mother is very upset. Maurie’s father tries to reassure her by saying, ‘It’s alright, Kate. It’ll be over long before the boys are of military age.’

  12.25pm (9.25pm), NEW SOUTH WALES

  After a hard day’s sheep-shearing, Bob Bahnsen has only just gone to bed. Now he is rudely woken up by the farmer’s son, who tells him, ‘They’ve declared the bloody war.’ Bob cannot take it in. He just cannot believe ‘that Hitler would be such a maniac as to launch the world into war. But he did it just like that, thought nothing of it.’

  12.25pm (9.25pm), SYDNEY

  Army sergeant Sandy Rayward is on leave, and staying at a friend’s place, where he hears Menzies tells the nation that Australia is at war. As soon as the Prime Minister finishes his broadcast, Sandy rushes back to barracks. When he arrives, he finds every one of his friends also there, eager and ready for orders.

  12.25pm (9.25pm), MELBOURNE

  University student Niall Brennan’s family are in the drawing room, listening to Menzies announce that, as Britain is at war, so too is Australia. As Niall’s cousin bursts into tears, his father jumps up ‘like a firecracker’ and shouts out, ‘That’s constitutionally wrong!’ But for the Brennan family it is ‘the end of possibly two or three years of fearing that there would be a war’, and their overriding feeling is that of relief.

  12.25pm (9.25pm), MOUNT GAMBIER, SOUTH AUSTRALIA

  Tonight, after hearing the Prime Minister’s broadcast, schoolboy Charles Janeway’s father, a Great War veteran, has nightmares. But nevertheless, he, his brother and cousin, all army reservists, are keen ‘to do their bit’ again this time.

  12.25pm (9.25pm), MELBOURNE

  Ralph Doig, a civil servant in the Prime Minister’s Department, sums up the feelings of most Australians as they hear that for the second time in twenty-five years they are at war: ‘Britain’s in it and so we’re in it as a matter of course.’

  12.30pm (12.00 midnight), WELLINGTON

  New Zealand Prime Minister and Labour Party leader Michael Joseph Savage is terminally ill. But he rises from his sick bed to issue an announcement that New Zealand is once again at Britain’s side in the war against Germany. Twenty-five years ago, during the Great War, out of a population of just over a million New Zealand raised forces totalling 124,211 of whom 16,711 died. Now Prime Minister Savage’s announcement reads:

  With reference to the intimation just received that a state of war exists between the United Kingdom and Germany, His Majesty’s Government in New Zealand desire immediately to associate themselves with His Majesty’s Government in the United Kingdom in honouring their pledged word.

  They entirely concur with the action taken, which they regard as inevitably enforced upon the British Commonwealth if the cause of justice, freedom and democracy is to endure in this world . . .

  The New Zealand Government wish to offer to the British Government the fullest assurance of all possible support. They are convinced that the step that has been taken will meet with the approval of the people of this Dominion, and they will give the fullest consideration in due course to any suggestion of the British Government as to the method or methods by which the Dominion can best assist in the common cause.

  The Premier is too weak to undertake more today, so it is Savage’s deputy Peter Fraser who will broadcast the news that New Zealand is standing by Britain for the second time in twenty-five years.

  12.30pm (12.00 midnight), WANGANUI

  Pacifist Merv Brown hears that New Zealand is once more at war. On Friday night he was at the pictures when the news of the German invasion of Poland was flashed on the screen. Leaving the cinema, he had looked up into sky, ‘quite expecting there to be bombers coming over’. Today, he has reaffirmed that, for moral reasons, he cannot fight and will register as a conscientious objector.

  12.30pm (12.00 midnight), AUCKLAND

  Nineteen-year-old Maisie Younger has been praying that there will not be a war. Both her uncles fought last time and she has heard their dreadful stories of 1914–18. Today she is very worried, as once again young New Zealanders, including her three brothers and her fiancé Ken, are intending to join up. Ken is not really keen to go, but recognises it as his duty to do so.

  12.30pm (12.00 midnight), MOUNT EDEN, AUCKLAND

  Teenager Gwen Pollard’s father is a regular listener to the BBC. Tonight they have heard from London that Britain has declared war on Germany. To the Pollard family it doesn’t seem so long since the end of the last war, in which Gwen’s Uncle Norman was killed. Now Gwen’s brother, named after their uncle, is keen to join up. Mr Pollard is not very happy about Norman enlisting, but recognises that it is his patriotic duty to do so.

  12.30pm (12.00 midnight), GISBORNE, NZ

  High-school student sixteen-year-old George Judge hears the news that war has been declared today. Over the last couple of years, he has been avidly following the news of the crises in Europe, first Czechoslovakia, and now Poland. As New Zealand is so far away, he admits, the events unfolding in Europe seem very remote. Nevertheless, he is keen to help the war effort before reaching call-up age. He intends to volunteer to help out at the local Territorial Army headquarters.

  12.30pm (12.00 midnight), HASTINGS, NZ

  Baker’s roundsman Harry Spencer is with a group of friends at a party when the phone rings with the news that war has been declared. The party continues, ‘but in a very gloomy sort of way’. Harry and the others are ‘knocked flat’ by the news and after a while the party breaks up. Tonight, ‘after giving it lots and lots of thought’, Harry decides to join the Army.

  12.20pm (1.20pm), FOREIGN MINISTRY, BERLIN

  On reaching the Foreign Ministry, Sir Nevile is met by von Ribbentrop. He hands Henderson a copy of the German reply to the British ultimatum. S
ir Nevile reads the opening sentence: ‘The Reich Government and the German nation refuse to accept, or even to satisfy, the demands in the form of an ultimatum from the British Government.’

  The rest of the lengthy memorandum is an attack on Britain for giving the Poles a ‘blank cheque’, and promising ‘military help to the Polish Government unreservedly in the event of Germany’s defending herself against any provocation or attack’.

  Sir Nevile considers the document pure propaganda. It is designed for both domestic consumption and to convince world opinion that Britain, not Germany, is responsible for war. The ambassador tells von Ribbentrop, ‘It will be left to history to judge where the blame really lies.’ The Foreign Minister replies that history has already proved the facts. Nobody, von Ribbentrop tells an incredulous Sir Nevile, has striven for peace and friendship between Germany and Britain more than Hitler himself. Von Ribbentrop ends the interview by extending to Sir Nevile his personal good wishes. The ambassador replies that he regrets that his own efforts for peace have failed, but he bears no grudge against the German people. He then leaves, after first presenting a last note to the German Government. It asks if it is their intention to abide by the 1925 Geneva Protocol. This prohibits the use in war of asphyxiating, poisonous, or other gases, and of bacteriological warfare. This task completed, Sir Nevile returns to the embassy. Strangely enough, he finds that its telephone lines are still functioning.

  12.22pm (1.22pm), BERLIN

  It is a still, hot and sunny afternoon in the German capital. On Deutschlandsender, the German home-service radio, the Hamburg Radio Orchestra is playing Lizst’s ‘First Hungarian Rhapsody’. Suddenly and without any warning the music fades out. Listeners now hear the announcer’s voice. He calls them to attention and says, ‘In a few minutes we shall make an important announcement.’ The music then fades in again.

  12.29pm (1.29pm), BERLIN

  On the radio Lizst’s ‘Hungarian Rhapsody’ finishes and the announcement promised seven minutes ago is read over the air:

  The British government, in a note to the Reich government, has made a demand that the German troops which have advanced into Polish territory be withdrawn to their original positions. At nine o’clock this morning the British Ambassador in Berlin informed the Reich government in a provocative note that if a satisfactory answer was not received by eleven o’clock, England would consider itself in a state of war with Germany . . .

  Just like the British, Germans now hear that they are at war through the medium of radio.

  12.29pm (1.29pm), ROT-WEISS TENNIS CLUB, BERLIN

  Life magazine’s Berlin correspondent William D. Bayles hears the news at the capital’s exclusive ‘Rot-Weiss’ Lawn Tennis Club, which numbers Goering, von Ribbentrop and former Chancellor Franz von Papen among its members. He has gone there with Norwegian diplomat Carsten Helgeby to play a game and to try and take their minds off the crisis. Instead they have to listen to a German naval officer who assures them that ‘the Fuehrer knows what he is doing; there will be no war with England’. Helgeby is sure that Britain will honour its obligations to Poland. If it does not, he tells the American, ‘it will be the end of the British Empire’. Bayles is not so sure. He still doubts whether ‘the men who had played so selfishly and recklessly with the reputation of the Empire through the bitter years of appeasement would realise that the day of the show-down had at last arrived’. The German sailor has no such doubts. ‘We Germans’, he tells Bayles and Helgeby, ‘are born fighters and wars bring out the best in us. But the English have dissipated their blood through their Empire and now they are exhausted. They want only an old man’s peaceful world. They won’t fight.’ Just as the German finishes speaking, and as if deliberately on cue to contradict him, the radio announces that Britain is at war with Germany. Bayles is overcome with emotion. His heart seems to fill his throat. He avoids looking at his Norwegian friend because he is barely able to hold himself in check and knows that even a single sign of enthusiasm or understanding from Helgeby might start anything – even tears. At last, Bayles rejoices, ‘The British Empire had come through. The miserable voice of appeasement . . . was dead and the mighty voice of historic England had spoken.’

  Looking around the clubhouse, Bayles sees that the news of Britain’s declaration of war has shocked the Germans. Even the supremely confident naval officer is deflated. But he recovers enough to tell the two foreigners in a peevish and reproachful tone, ‘Again and without cause, England has declared war on us. England is in the wrong. The Fuehrer wanted only peace, but England struck away his outstretched hand. This time England will be condemned by the world.’ Afraid that he is not going to be able to suppress the sensation of gloating that is pushing out of his chest, Bayles leaves the glum Germans and makes for home.

  12.30pm (1.30pm), BERLIN

  William Joyce, a former member of the British Union of Fascists, and his wife Margaret are at temporary lodgings in the German capital. Joyce has ‘an absolute belief in National Socialism’ and admires ‘Hitler’s superhuman heroism’. Realising that as ‘England was going to war . . . I must give her up forever’, the Joyces came to Germany last week. Now their landlady rushes into the room and exclaims, ‘It’s war now with England!’ Her husband enters the room behind her and shakes hands with the Joyces. He tells them, ‘Whatever happens, we remain friends.’

  12.30pm, ‘VILLA VOLPONE’, SOUTH HAMPSTEAD

  James Agate’s secretary, Alan ‘Jock’ Dent, arrives to look for his gas mask. He tells his employer two things. Firstly, that the Irish navvies in Camden Town refuse to leave London, even though Eire has declared herself neutral. One of them has told Dent, ‘Oi don’t mind dying for Ireland, but Oi won’t live in it!’ Secondly, this morning’s sirens caught him eating breakfast at Lyons Strand Corner House. With the other customers, Dent is shepherded to the basement. There, he tells Agate, ‘His first and chief emotion took the form of the angry exclamation, “What a very unattractive crowd of people to die with!”’

  12.30pm, LYONS CORNER HOUSE, CHARING CROSS

  Home Office civil servant Peter Allen and a group of colleagues have come up from Whitehall. They are enjoying an extravagant and hilarious lunch. All share the same feeling of relief that at last the decision has been taken and everything now seems simpler.

  12.30pm, BALCOMBE STREET, MARYLEBONE

  The Bayne-Powells decide to lunch at The Sussex, a local pub, and then take a walk in Kensington Gardens. They are struck by the beauty of the gardens, ‘the sun and the green trees and the bright pink and white hibiscus flowers’. The only reminders they have that Britain is now at war are ‘the barrage balloons shining silver in the afternoon sunlight’. Robert and Nancy walk to Paddington Station to see if there are crowds of people leaving London. But they only encounter a slightly larger crowd than normal, mostly made up of women and children. They walk back home, as the No. 27 bus does not seem to be running this afternoon.

  12.30pm (1.30pm), BUGAJ, RADOM DISTRICT

  A Polish two-seat plane is brought down by ground fire from the 4th Panzer Division. The crew are taken prisoner by German soldiers. One of the Poles is tortured by them. His tongue, ears and nose are cut off. He is then murdered by his captors.

  12.30pm (1.30pm), WARSAW

  News of the French ultimatum has reached the Polish capital. Crowds now surge towards the French Embassy to acclaim Ambassador Leon Noël and his staff. On their way, they pass the British Consulate-General, where Consul-General Frank Savery, who has been a Warsaw fixture for nearly twenty years, greets the crowds. On the balcony he appears waving the Union Jack and the crowd goes mad with joy. An old pump organ is brought out and someone starts playing ‘Tipperary’. The crowd bellows its approval. Savery leads shouts of ‘Long Live Poland!’ In turn, a Pole steps up and shouts, ‘Long Live King George!’, ‘Long Live England!’, ‘Long Live British Democracy and twentieth-century civilisation!’ Times correspondent Patrick Maitland and his colleague Hugh Carleton Greene of the Daily Tele
graph receive their share of acclamation from a wildly enthusiastic band of students.

  The crowd then cross the street to the United States Embassy to cheer Ambassador Biddle and President Roosevelt. Pushing his way past the crowds, Ed Beattie manages to get into the embassy. He goes upstairs to see the American military attaché Major William Colbern. Beattie asks the Major how Britain and France can now help the Poles. Colbern tells the reporter, ‘They must draw the pressure from here. They must strike in the west with everything they’ve got and force the Germans to pull back their tanks and planes. But,’ the military attaché insists, ‘they must strike now.’

  1.00pm, SS ATHENIA, ATLANTIC OCEAN

  All of the liner’s twenty-six lifeboats are now ready for launching. Two are swung out in case of an ‘abrupt emergency’.

  1.00pm (2.00pm), WILHELMSHAVEN

  Commodore Doenitz signals his U-boat crews: ‘U-boats to make war on merchant shipping in accordance with operations order.’

  1.00pm (2.00pm), U-30, ATLANTIC OCEAN

  Oberleutnant Fritz-Julius Lemp, twenty-six-year-old commander of the 650-ton submarine, receives signal confirmation from Wilhelm shaven that Britain has declared war on Germany. He gives orders for the U-boat to make for its operational area.

  1.10pm (2.10pm), U-30, ATLANTIC OCEAN

  Radio operator Georg Hoehgel is asleep in his bunk. Suddenly, he is roughly woken up by a shipmate who tells him, ‘My God, Georg, England has declared war on Germany!’

  2.00pm (3.00pm), BERLIN

  Even before the French ultimatum expires, orders are issued to the inhabitants of the threatened Red Zone of Saar-Pfalz to start the evacuation of their area. Already, two days ago, the sick and infirm, old people and children were evacuated on special trains, but now everyone between the ages of ten and sixty must leave. They are only being given two hours’ notice to lock up their homes and make for the evacuation assembly points. Nearly half a million civilians are on the move. A rumour is going the rounds that of the thirty-four ‘Hitlers’ in a Saarland lunatic asylum, only twelve still maintain this identity after being evacuated.