The Day We Went to War

by Terry Charman

  The Ajax was badly hit, too. Only two of her eight guns were able to fire and she had lost her radio aerials when the topmast was hit. But morale remained high. Nineteen-year-old Able Seaman Lancelot Jacques said that he and his gun crew ‘didn’t bother at all’, when told that their opponent was the Graf Spee, and another gun crew kept their spirits up by singing ‘Roll Out the Barrel’ and other songs during lulls in the battle. Able Seaman Robert Macey gained the Distinguished Service Medal (DSM) for his action in charge of a shell room. He ‘set a fine example of cheerful and good hard work’, ensuring that there were no delays in supplying ammunition to the turret which was able to fire the greatest number of rounds at the Graf Spee.

  Early in the action in the New Zealand-manned Achilles, shell splinters struck the gun-director tower, killing three men and wounding two others. Another DSM was awarded to Boy Seaman Allan Dorset for behaving ‘with exemplary coolness despite the carnage around him’. During the action, Petty Officers William Headon and Alfred Maycock, together with Able Seaman Henry Gould, managed to keep up an accurate output of over 200 broadsides. They achieved this despite being faced with large alterations of course as the cruiser manoeuvred at full speed. For this they too all received the DSM. So too did Chief Stoker Job Wain, for acting as ‘an inspiration and a help to all’ and keeping things in the boiler room going with ‘the highest efficiency’ throughout the battle.

  On the burning and badly listing Exeter, Harwood weighed up whether or not to break off the action. ‘We might just as well be bombarding her with bloody snowballs,’ one of his officers heard him say in frustration. But almost at that very moment, to the Commodore’s great surprise, the British ships saw the Graf Spee put up a smokescreen and head westwards, making for the port of Montevideo in neutral Uruguay. The British ships shadowed her until late that evening when, at about 10.30pm, the Graf Spee anchored off the Uruguayan capital. The British captives were now released. A German officer remarked to Captain Dove, ‘You fellows have been prisoners here for quite a while. Now it looks as if it’s our turn.’ Before leaving the Graf Spee, Dove was called to the bridge. There, Langsdorff told him, ‘Your cruisers made a very gallant fight. When people fight like that, all personal enmity is lost. Those British are hard.’

  The Graf Spee, Harwood’s frustrated remark notwithstanding, had received serious damage too: thirty-six of her crew were dead and over sixty badly wounded. Langsdorff was not sure that his ship could make it back to Germany without having essential repairs done immediately. But under international law, his ship would only be allowed to remain in the neutral port for a fixed time limit. Harwood was determined to try and prevent her from leaving before British reinforcements could be brought up. Guile, deception and diplomatic persuasion by the resourceful and energetic British Minister Eugen Millington-Drake were all brought into play. Naval attaché Captain Henry McCall arranged that a bogus order for fuel oil was leaked to the Germans, and Langsdorff was fooled into thinking that the oil was intended for strong reinforcements that had joined Harwood.

  On 17 December, with the time limit nearing expiry and reports that the Graf Spee was about to sail, the sea front at Montevideo was packed with expectant crowds. That evening, just before 6.20pm, the Graf Spee steamed from the harbour, and many now expected to witness a spectacular naval battle. But just three miles out, the pocket battleship stopped, and tugs and small boats were seen to be taking off crew members. Then suddenly at 7.50pm, smoke began to pour from the ship and ‘with a blaze of light and ear-splitting boom’, it blew up. An eyewitness noted how, ‘At that moment the sun was just sinking below the horizon, flooding the sky in which small grey clouds floated lazily, a brilliant blood red. It was a perfect Wagnerian setting for this amazing Hitlerian drama.’ And Captain Henry Daniel, the Daily Telegraph’s special correspondent, saw how ‘sheets of flame spread over the tranquil sea as the oil from the bunkers of the riven ship came to the surface and caught fire. Dense clouds of smoke rose in the air, and soon the wreck was a blazing inferno from stem to stern. It was the end of the tragedy.’

  Rather than risk the British getting hold of the Graf Spee and its equipment, including an early form of radar, Langsdorff had scuttled his ship. Torpedoes had been primed to explode in the ammunition magazines after the skeleton crew had been taken off. Three days later Langsdorff, whom his British prisoners all acknowledged as ‘a real gentleman’, shot himself in his Buenos Aires hotel room. He was wrapped, it was rumoured, in the old Imperial flag and ‘not the Swastika of Hitler’. In his letter of farewell he wrote, ‘I am quite happy to pay with my life for any possible reflection on the honour of the flag.’ He was buried the next day with full naval honours. His funeral was attended by Captain Charles Pottinger of the SS Ashlea, as the representative of the Graf Spee’s captives, whom Langsdorff had treated so chivalrously. Captain Pottinger recalled that Langsdorff had once told him, ‘he was proud to say that not a single British life had been lost by his exploits’.

  In Britain, Langsdorff’s suicide featured prominently in the diaries and reports sent to Mass Observation. On hearing of the Captain’s death, a Tyneside housewife wrote, ‘5pm – Oh! I could weep, feel that I have lost a friend – Captain of the “Graf Spee”. The world has lost another brave man, and Hitler and Co. live . . . that Captain of the “Graf Spee”! – I cannot forget him . . . Queer there are people in this world I feel are my special pals tho’ I know them not.’ But comments recorded in an Ipswich workshop were much more mixed:

  ‘Can’t see how he died for the Fatherland.’

  ‘It shows that there are some decent men in the German Navy.’

  ‘He was a good chap. Treated his prisoners well.’

  ‘Lot of tripe sharing the fate of his ship.’

  ‘He was bloody well told to do it.’

  In Germany, the loss of the Graf Spee plunged the Nazi leadership into gloom. Goering was outraged by the scuttling of the ship, while Goebbels wrote in his diary that the ship’s loss ‘tears at the heart’. The morale of the German Navy was further eroded by a ‘deeply saddened’ Hitler. He changed the name of Graf Spee’s sister ship from Deutschland to Luetzow, for fear that a ship bearing the name ‘Germany’ might share the same fate.

  The Battle of the River Plate was hailed as a triumph both in Britain and throughout the world by Britain’s friends. To Washington, Churchill dispatched details of the ‘brilliant sea fight’ to an appreciative and approving President Roosevelt. And in a special edition on the battle, Picture Post waxed both eloquent and prophetic:

  ‘Violent, insolent, intolerant in success. Bitter and sullen in defeat. Such is the ideal the Nazis have tried to force upon the world. To Nazi Germany the destruction of the Graf Spee is more than a naval disaster. It is a symbol, foreshadowing the collapse of a whole regime – a regime founded upon hatred and the denial of every human right.’

  Photograph showing the scuttling of the Admiral Graf Spee. In Churchill’s words, ‘thus ended the first surface challenge to British trade on the oceans’.

  Captain Hans Langsdorff, the commander of the pocket battleship Admiral Graf scuttling the pocket battleship “Admiral Graf Spee”. I am happy to pay with my life for any possible reflection on the honour of the flag. I shall face my fate with firm faith in the cause and the future of the nation and of my Fuehrer.’

  CHAPTER 9

  The Empire at War

  September–December 1939

  The British Government’s pre-war policy of appeasement was partly dictated by uncertainty as to whether it would receive support from the self-governing ‘white’ Dominions in the event of war. During the Great War, they had raised nearly one and a half million men to serve overseas, a tenth of whom had died. Distinct national identities had been forged by Australians and New Zealanders at Gallipoli, and at Vimy Ridge by the Canadians. They had all gained a fierce reputation in battle among friend and foe alike.

  But in the late 1930s, it was by no means certain that Australian sh
eep farmers or Canadian lumberjacks would go to war, ‘because of a quarrel in a far away country between people of whom we know nothing’. In the event, Hitler’s tearing-up of the Munich Agreement and his occupation of Prague did much to rally public opinion in the Dominions to Britain’s cause. There was a now-general, if reluctant, acceptance that Hitler’s aggressive designs had to be opposed and, if necessary, by force. And the vast majority of the Dominions’ populations, particularly in Australia and New Zealand, regarded Britain as their ‘mother country’. As Melbourne dress designer Patricia Penrose put it, ‘The lion has roared, the cubs are with you.’

  ‘We Australians have no doubt, as you have no doubt, that this war will be won and that the future of humanity will yet be made secure.’ Australian airmen arrived in Britain on Boxing Day to serve with RAF Coastal Command.

  On 3 September, Australia and New Zealand declared war on Germany as soon as Britain’s declaration had been confirmed. In his radio address, Australian premier Robert Menzies, unconsciously echoing a Nazi slogan, declared, ‘there is unity in the Empire ranks – one King, one flag, one cause. We stand with Britain.’ And Labour Party leader John Curtin gave his assurance that ‘the Australian Labour Party can be relied upon to do the right thing for the defence of Australia and the integrity of the British Commonwealth of Nations’.

  In New Zealand, dying Prime Minister Michael Savage announced, ‘We range ourselves without fear beside Britain.’ And in a broadcast, his deputy Peter Fraser promised New Zealand’s fullest cooperation. Already, plans were being drawn up to raise and send an expeditionary force overseas as volunteers rushed to enlist. And in London, over 600 young New Zealanders resident in Britain registered at the High Commission for military service.

  In Canada, Prime Minister William Mackenzie King also spoke over the radio that Sunday. Earlier in the summer he had told Lord Maugham, the British Lord Chancellor, ‘Owing to the attitude of certain of his colleagues, it was not possible for him to make any further announcement of Canada’s attitude until war has broken out, but that Canada would be in it with us.’ Now, referring to the King’s broadcast, in which he had appealed to all his subjects to make this their own fight to destroy once and for all the doctrine that might is right, the premier declared, ‘Canada has already answered that call.’ Mackenzie King went on to tell the Canadian people that parliament was going to be recalled immediately, and that war measures were already being put into operation. ‘There is no home in Canada,’ Mackenzie King declared, ‘and no man, woman or child whose life is not bound up with this struggle.’

  Four days later, in a special session of the Canadian parliament,the Governor-General Lord Tweedsmuir, better known as novelist John Buchan, asked for the provision of war expenditure to be made. And on 10 September, there came the formal announcement that ‘His Majesty’s Dominion of Canada was in a state of war with the German Reich.’ In his war speech to parliament, Mackenzie King reminded his listeners that ‘Canada’s liberties came from those men in England and France who never hesitated to lay down their lives when their freedom was threatened.’

  Just over three months later, on 17 December, the first contingent of Canadian troops arrived in Britain. They were greeted at Greenock by Dominions Secretary Anthony Eden and Canadian High Commissioner Vincent Massey. The Canadians’ arrival had been kept secret, ‘till the troops and ships were clear and safe from German bombings, and even the people of the port knew nothing’. But soon word got round that ‘the Canadians were here, cheering wildly and waving their rifles above their heads, their bugle band blowing like mad. The sailors on the little warship at the pier cheered them as they passed.’ Singing ‘Pack Up Your Troubles’, the Canadians, ‘thick-set, open-faced boys in the same battle-kit that the British Army wears’, were given a warm welcome by the VIPs and the small crowd that had assembled. As the men disembarked, their commander, Major-General Andrew McNaughton, issued a stirring order of the day in which he reminded his men: ‘The people of Canada have reposed in us their trust to defend the cause of justice and liberty against oppression and aggression.’

  In the Union of South Africa, where only the white population had any say in matters, the position was not so clear-cut. There were real doubts in Pretoria and London as to whether the Dominion would go to war at Britain’s side. The large Boer, or Dutch-speaking, population remained hostile or at least antipathetic to Britain. Elements of it were highly sympathetic towards Nazi Germany and especially its racial policies. In the First World War there had been a Boer rebellion, and there were fears that this might happen again.

  ‘In India the present, like the last, war has found us eager and ready to play our part. Our eagerness is the greater through the justice of our cause.’ The first Indian Army contingents arrived in France to join the BEF, late December 1939.

  ‘The arrival of the first Canadian Division in the United Kingdom – safe and sound every one of them – can be marked up as another fine achievement by Britain’s fighting forces in this war.’ The scene at Greenock, 17 December 1939. One Canadian soldier was heard to say, ‘Mr Hitler: nuts to you.’

  The Prime Minister General James Hertzog and some members of his cabinet were in favour of South Africa remaining neutral. In this, he was opposed by General Jan Smuts. Smuts had fought against the British in the Boer War of 1899–1902, but had since become a great believer in the idea and ideals of the British Empire and Commonwealth. Smuts had considerable backing in the country. Typical of that support was an editorial in the Cape Town Independent: ‘By proclaiming an attitude of neutrality we shall be defying the elementary fact that the liberty of South Africa is dependent on the liberty of England.’

  With the support of the Labour and Dominion parties, Smuts defeated Hertzog and replaced him as prime minister. On 6 September, South Africa declared war against Germany, with Smuts stating that his country had taken ‘a stand for the defence of freedom’.

  Three months later, on 2 December, the Dominion’s forces achieved a notable success. Planes of the South African Defence Force intercepted the German liner Watussi, which had slipped out from Lorenço Marques in neutral Portuguese East Africa (now Maputo in Mozambique) on 23 November. Ordered to heave to by the ’planes, Captain Stamer of the Watussi gave the order to scuttle his ship. The passengers’ quarters were set on fire, the sea cocks opened and the order to abandon ship given. Stamer later told a Reuters reporter:

  ‘When the aeroplane ordered me to recall the boats or take the consequences it was too late to turn back as the ship was blazing below decks. In any case, I would not turn back as I was determined that my ship should not be captured.’

  Stamer, his 196 passengers and crew were picked up by the British cruiser HMS Sussex. He told Reuters: ‘We could not have been better treated by the Royal Navy. The captain gave me a much-needed drink and the passengers were given coffee and food. My crew also received every attention.’

  Ironically enough, the planes that had intercepted the 9500-ton vessel were German-built Junkers Ju 86 airliners that had been converted over to military use.

  The smaller countries of the Empire and Commonwealth all rallied around Britain. On 4 September, Queen Salote of Tonga put all her island kingdom’s resources at Britain’s disposal. The next day, the Legislative Council of Malta and the State Council of Ceylon reaffirmed their loyalty and offered wholehearted support. That same day the Bahamas declared their allegiance, while, on 6 September, the High Commissioner for Basutoland, Bechuanaland and Swaziland telegraphed to London a loyal resolution on behalf of the Swazi nations. And ‘native chiefs’ in Nigeria and North Rhodesia declared their loyalty the following week, as did British Honduras, Trinidad and Barbados.

  In many of the colonies, voluntary funds, usually for the Red Cross or British war charities, were established. By the end of 1939, the Malayan Patriotic Fund had reached £100,000, including a generous donation from Singapore’s Chinese rickshaw owners. From Sierra Leone came a cheque for £758 11s 0d (£
758.55p) for the Red Cross. And to celebrate the New Year, the Sultan of Lahej, in the Aden protectorate, sent 13,500 rupees as his contribution to the Empire’s war chest.

  Some colonies went perhaps a little too far in their identification with the Motherland’s war effort. Major-General Charles Foulkes, Britain’s leading exponent of chemical warfare during the First World War, for example, thought it ‘an absurdity . . . that . . . in the Gambia, our West African colony . . . sacks used for packing ground nuts are being used for sand-bag protection and intensive training is being carried out in (gas) decontamination’.

  But as the rest of the Empire rallied round the ‘Motherland’, it was India, ‘the jewel in the crown’, that remained the great imponderable. During the Great War, 680,000 Indians had fought overseas for Britain. Over 62,000 had died. Now, on 3 September, the Viceroy, Lord Linlithgow announced, without consulting any of the country’s political leaders, that India was at war. And although he declared that ‘Nothing could be more significant than the unanimity of approach of all in India – princes, leaders, great political parties, the ordinary man and woman – or of their political contributions, and offers of personal service which have reached me from the princes and people of India’, the reality was somewhat different.

  Gandhi acknowledged Britain’s ‘moral strength’ compared to the Nazis and denounced their aggression against Poland. But, he and the All-Indian Congress Party with its six million members still demanded India’s independence. Their cause suffered a great setback in October when the Viceroy decided to postpone any further measures towards giving India Dominion status until after the war. As a result, Congress withdrew its cooperation from the war effort. This was condemned by Moslem leaders in India and by the Government in London, where it was hinted that coercion might have to be applied.