by Mark Zuehlke
Crerar never faltered, constantly undermining McNaughton’s determination to keep First Canadian Army together. Although he was McNaughton’s subordinate, Crerar had greater political clout and better contacts within Canada and Britain’s military hierarchy. The chief of imperial general staff, General Sir Alan Brooke, and Crerar had been cronies during the Great War. Brooke considered McNaughton “devoid of any strategic outlook, and [that he] would sooner have risked losing the war than agree to splitting Canadian forces.”2 Crerar also had Canadian defence minister Ralston’s ear and that of the Canadian chief of staff, Lieutenant General Kenneth Stuart. Both agreed the time was nigh for some element of First Canadian Army to fight—where mattered little.
Taking advantage of an October 1942 meeting with Churchill, Ralston urged that “active employment should be found for the Canadian Army at the first opportunity.” There were no strings attached; it could “be used in whole or in part.” Fighting a rearguard action, McNaughton conceded that the army should be employed where it could make “the maximum possible contribution,” and that this might mean its fragmentation. But, he countered, “there was no reason to doubt that morale could be maintained even if we had to remain in England on guard for another year; that was therefore no reason in itself for advocating active operations for their own sake; that anything we undertook should be strictly related to military needs and objectives.” And what could be more important than keeping the army together so it could eventually participate in the cross-channel invasion?3
Even Prime Minister King, who shared McNaughton’s belief in a unified Canadian army overseas, was wavering by New Year’s Day, 1943. In his national broadcast, King announced that “all our armed forces” would be fighting before the year was out. With the Royal Canadian Air Force and Royal Canadian Navy long engaged in combat operations, the reference could only pertain to the army.4
Concerns about First Canadian Army morale were unwarranted. Certainly there were cases of men not returning on schedule from leaves, but outright desertions were rare. Open insubordination was equally absent. Not that the men were angels. They chased women, drank too much, gambled fiercely, and brawled at the slightest provocation. For an army of young men on an overseas posting, this was just normal behaviour.
Occasionally a company or even a battalion lost its edge. The Seaforth Highlanders of Canada, its men growing increasingly restless in early 1943, showed a decline in efficiency that did not go unrecognized by 2nd Canadian Infantry Brigade’s commander Brigadier Chris Vokes. Fortunately, the Seaforths had just gained a new commander. Lieutenant Colonel Bert Hoffmeister, known as “Hoffy” in the regiment, had been a Seaforth since he was a boy cadet in Vancouver. Hoffmeister had just completed several months’ instruction at the Canadian Junior War Staff College. Although he had risen from the ranks to command, Hoffmeister was a businesslike, hard-working soldier who expected the best of officers and men alike. He mixed easily with the troops and was often informal, even casual in their company. But he brooked no nonsense. When Vokes pronounced his opinion of the Seaforth’s current state, Hoffmeister set the matter right with a will.5
A major issue for most 1st Division battalions was that many of their officers and non-commissioned officers (NCOs) were too old for combat soldiering. The commander Hoffmeister replaced, Lieutenant Colonel J.M.S. Tait, had been a Seaforth officer throughout the 1920s and 1930s. Age and the long years of training in Britain had taken their toll on these men. Private Richard Latimer, a soldier with a predilection for mischief, noted that it “was only because of the lassitude and indifference of the officers and NCOs (most of whom, after all, had been overseas for over three years themselves) that we were able to stay out of serious trouble.”6
Hoffmeister quickly rid the battalion of many old-guard officers and NCOs by arranging transfers back to Canada or to other, less demanding duties in Britain. As “a result of the new, firm hands which now controlled the Seaforths,” the regimental historian later wrote, “a steady improvement in the morale of the unit was noticeable. Hoffmeister demanded a lot from all ranks, and not only did they respond to the challenge but their confidence in Hoffmeister grew weekly.”7
The most pervasive problem was boredom, particularly among the men of 1st Canadian Infantry Division, rather than abnormal rates of ill discipline or decline in soldierly skills. Most 1st Division men had been in Britain for more than three years. Syd Frost, arriving from Canada in April 1943 as a freshly minted lieutenant and assigned to command a platoon in the Princess Patricia’s Canadian Light Infantry (PPCLI), noted that “the officers and men had been soldiering in England since 1940 and were a highly skilled team. All the young NCOs and men had been brought up during the Depression; many had been unemployed. When the call went out for recruits in September 1939, they were the first to join. They could take care of themselves in any situation and were tremendous fighters in action.
“The men in my platoon were a tough bunch. They knew all the tricks of the professional soldier and were not at all impressed with my two pips and neatly pressed service dress. Luckily, my platoon sergeant understood my problem and came to my rescue with helpful hints on how to deal with this bunch of desperados. He told me, quite frankly, that the men were over-trained and would not brook any nonsense from a young officer out of the Officer Training School; they would take their time to assess me and, until they were satisfied I knew what I was doing, I would have a pretty rough time.”8
At first the Canadians had felt a sense of purpose as defenders of the British Isles against possible German invasion. By 1942—with the Germans heavily engaged in Russia—that danger had passed. “Soldiering in Britain had become humdrum,” observed Captain Strome Galloway of another 1st Division Permanent Force battalion, the Royal Canadian Regiment. “With the Battle of Britain long over and the prospect of action against the enemy none too promising for some time at least, most of the adventure of soldiering had faded before our eyes. Our Army Commander, General Andy McNaughton, said that the Canadian Army was a ‘dagger pointed at the heart of Berlin.’ Most of us thought he was living in a dream world. Possibly we would never fight at all. The Russians would beat the Germans and Canada’s overseas army would return home unblooded.” Offered the chance in early 1943 to gain battle experience as one of 348 Canadian officers and NCOs posted to British units in Tunisia, Galloway jumped at it.
Given command of a company in 2nd Battalion, London Irish Rifles, Galloway saw some tough fighting that culminated in the capture of Bizerte and Tunis and the surrender of 240,000 enemy troops—about 125,000 from Germany’s Afrika Korps. During the three-month posting, four officers and four NCOs were killed, another sixteen wounded, and one lost as a prisoner. But Galloway believed the survivors gained “a splendid introduction to the realities of our wartime career” that “gave us the edge over our stay-in-England comrades.”9
Back in England, the training increasingly concentrated on combined operations involving amphibious landings against contested shores—a clear indication, everyone hoped, that the Canadians were being readied for an offensive operation. “We’ll never be readier,” Lieutenant Farley Mowat of the Hastings and Prince Edward Regiment wrote in his journal. “God knows ...” The disappointment was palpable throughout the regiment’s ranks when one training scheme ended in early January 1943 only to be followed by more interminable waiting. “Wet, cold and dreary, our spirits sank from day to day as we wallowed in the mindless ritual of barrack life. The real war was becoming increasingly chimerical ... something to read about or hear described on the BBC.”10
VARIOUS CANADIAN NEWSPAPER correspondents observing from the sidelines were quick to lament the fact that—with the exception of one bloody day at Dieppe—the nation’s army had yet to see action. Lionel Shapiro reported in the Montreal Gazette that the troops considered themselves no more than “a sort of adjunct to the British Home Guard” and were regarded by Britons as “the country constabulary in the English countryside.”
> At home, newspaper editors, old soldiers, and politicians ever more loudly demanded the troops be deployed. Speaking to the Canadian Corps Association in Vancouver, Great War veteran Colonel J.A. Clark thundered: “It strikes me as one of the supreme tragedies of this war that the United States, following one year in the struggle, has already placed men in battle engagements in Africa while Canadian soldiers are sitting idle in England. This constitutes the greatest disgrace of the present war.”
Government conspiracy was behind it, suggested the Ottawa Citizen. “All other Empire troops have had battle experience in this war . . . The British have been everywhere. Only Canadians, among the Allied combatants have not been tried . . .
“This, we confess, seems strange. To a great many it is disturbing.”
In the House of Commons, opposition member R.B. Hanson complained that it was regrettable Canada’s soldiers overseas should “have it thrown in their faces that while Australia and New Zealand are fighting gallantly on the sands of Africa personnel of the Canadian Army are not there.”
From Toronto, R.B. Bennett, the former Conservative prime minister whom Mackenzie King’s Liberals had swept from power in 1935, chided that he saw no reason the Canadian Army should see another Christmas without having fired a shot.
Such criticisms prompted Assistant Under-Secretary for External Affairs Hume Wrong to warn King that Canada was likely to “become the object of taunts similar to that which Henri Quatre addressed to a tardy supporter who arrived too late for the battle: ‘Go hang yourself, brave Crillon, for we fought at Arques and you were not there!’”11
Assailed from without and equally from within his cabinet, King abandoned McNaughton on March 17, 1943, in a personal telegram to Churchill asking that he intervene to ensure that the Imperial General Staff consider “employment of Canadian troops in North Africa.” The following day, Lieutenant General Stuart signalled McNaughton that, unless the cross-channel invasion occurred in summer 1943, “we should urge re-examination for one and perhaps two divisions going as early as possible to an active theatre.”
McNaughton doggedly resisted. “I do not recommend that we should press for employment merely to satisfy a desire for activity or for representation in particular theatres however much I myself and all here may desire this from our narrow point of view.”
Responding to King, Churchill advised that plans were under way to move a division from Britain to North Africa. But it would be British, for the selected division was well into training for a mission where plans were too far advanced for a substitution by Canadians. King pressed his case with British foreign secretary Anthony Eden, who asked Churchill to reconsider. What words passed between the two men went unrecorded, but in the late afternoon of April 23, General Brooke advised McNaughton that Churchill had instructed that any forthcoming operation should include Canadian troops. Brooke told McNaughton to determine whether his government would accept such an invitation. Without waiting for a response from Ottawa, Brooke informed Allied commanders in the Mediterranean theatre that Canadian troops would join the invasion of Sicily. “Both political and military grounds make it essential that Canadian forces should be brought into action this year. It had been hoped to employ them in operations across the channel from U.K. but likelihood of such operations has now become extremely remote owing to recent addition to Husky of practically all remaining craft.
“It has therefore been decided that 1 Canadian Division and a tank brigade similarly organized to 3 [British] Division and its tank brigade will replace latter in the Eastern Task Force for the Husky operation subject to confirmation from the Canadian Government which we hope will be immediately forthcoming.
“I very much regret this last minute change. We have been very carefully into its implications and consider it quite practicable. The Canadian Division is in a more advanced state of combined training than 3 Division and the Canadian planning staff have already started work with full assistance of 3 Division so no time is being lost.”12
On April 25, McNaughton advised Brooke that the Canadian government had accepted the invitation. But there was one proviso: McNaughton must be allowed to study the operation’s general plan. If the plan looked likely to produce another Dieppe, the Canadians would bow out. McNaughton quickly got down to studying Operation Husky, as the invasion of Sicily was code-named. In the early morning of April 26, he cabled Lieutenant General Stuart in Ottawa. “I have satisfied myself that these plans represent a practical operation of war,” he said. “I therefore recommend your approval of Canadian participation.”13
Approval was granted the following day. The long wait was over. In less than three months, about 26,000 Canadian soldiers would join in the largest amphibious invasion in history.
PART ONE
TOWARDS AN INVASION
[1]
If the Army Can’t Agree
ON APRIL 23, less than twenty-four hours after federal government approval was given, Eighth Army commander General Bernard Law Montgomery signalled Lieutenant General Andrew McNaughton: “Am delighted Canadian Division will come under me for Husky.”1 Classic Monty hyperbole, still there might have been some kernel of truth contained therein. For Montgomery knew something of 1st Canadian Infantry Division. In 1941, as commander of Britain’s South Eastern Command, he had taken a personal interest in transforming the amateurish Canadians into professional soldiers. Deeming their senior officers too old and inept, Montgomery had imposed rigorous training schedules and schemes. He disdained McNaughton, advising chief of imperial general staff, General Sir Alan Brooke, that the Canadian was unfit for army field command. One training exercise had followed another through 1941 and into early 1942. Fox, Dog, Waterloo, Bumper, Beaver II, Beaver III, and Tiger hammered the troops into shape and instilled skills required to survive and even perhaps win battles. When Montgomery departed Britain for the deserts of Africa in the summer of 1942, he had pronounced the Canadians professional enough.2
The immediate problem was that the Canadians had to hit the ground running to meet the rapidly closing invasion deadline. As Brooke had acknowledged in his signal to Mediterranean theatre commanders, this was a last-minute change. Most under the gun was 1st Canadian Infantry Division’s commander, Major General Harry Salmon, and his General Staff officers. They had to quickly acquaint themselves with an invasion plan still in flux, identify potential problems, and seek solutions while also preparing the division for operations in a completely new theatre.
The forty-eight-year-old Salmon had won a Military Cross during the Great War and was considered one of Canada’s best generals—particularly with regard to training. General staff officer (1) Lieutenant Colonel George Kitching, who acted as Salmon’s chief of staff, found him an unceasing “stickler for detail.” Tall, with “a good physique and a clipped moustache on a square and rugged face,” Salmon exuded confidence. But he was also enigmatic. Kitching later judged him as “one of the most unusual men I ... ever served under and I do not think many people, even his close friends, really knew the inner workings of his mind.”3
Fortunately, Salmon and Kitching had the benefit of planning already undertaken by 3rd British Division headquarters staff. Within hours of McNaughton’s notification, Salmon moved his people to Norfolk House on St. James’s Square in London, which the British used as a top-secret headquarters for combined operations planning. Here, the British officers briefed them in detail. As soon as their counterparts departed, the Canadians got to work. They numbered just fifty senior officers—drawn from 1st Division’s headquarters, its three infantry brigades, and the 1st Canadian Army Tank Brigade—which would provide the armoured contingent. Excepting McNaughton and a couple of his staff, nobody in First Canadian Army was yet privy to operational details. Norfolk House was locked down; heavy security ensured that nobody entered without a pass or removed any secret papers. Almost every document was labelled “Most Secret.”
Salmon and his team checked into the Mayfair Hotel, about a mile from th
eir new headquarters, but with discussion of the invasion forbidden beyond the walls of Norfolk House, the men spent most waking hours there. Kitching considered the discussion prohibition a blessing in disguise. Unexpectedly, Salmon, a workaholic who normally maintained a demeanour of stony reserve even over dinner and drinks, now “became cheerful and lively [at dinner] and thoroughly enjoyed his meals in restaurants when we had time to get them. He would stay up at night and have a drink with us even though we might have been working for 14 hours that day. He was a different man and I thoroughly enjoyed his company.”4
The first five days passed in a hectic whirl. On April 27, barely forty-eight hours after being advised of their new assignment, Salmon presented his staff with a ten-page appreciation that assessed intelligence estimates of enemy dispositions and strengths relative to their own, topographical details of the identified beaches and defences, and allotment of ships; in the document Salmon also drew conclusions about whether the division could win a toehold. He warned that the planned heavy preliminary bombing of Sicily, well before the invasion convoy formed up off Malta, made gaining “strategical surprise impossible.” But he was heartened by how thoroughly unsuited the designated beaches were for amphibious landings. There were two, lying on either side of the small fishing village of Scoglitti on Sicily’s southern coast. Steep banks rose behind each, so that getting tanks and other vehicles off the beach would be extremely difficult. “I may achieve a certain measure of tactical surprise owing to unsuitability of beaches,” Salmon explained. But the enemy, expected to be “at a high state of readiness,” would undoubtedly block the division’s push inland. Right now, however, enemy forces were reportedly weak enough that, even “if tactical surprise is lost, this should not preclude a successful landing unless enemy defences are considerably strengthened prior to D Day.”5