Günther and his crew need not have worried; there was no jinx on this, their sixth patrol. Rather, the sinking of Balmoralwood was just the beginning of a slaughter out on the Western Approaches. The U-boat men would call it the ‘Happy Time’.
Back in France, the battle may have been over, but that did not stop Churchill sending more reinforcements. On the same day that the 51st Highland Division surrendered, the newly knighted General Sir Alan Brooke landed back in France, at Cherbourg, to lead the newly reconstituted BEF. He was there reluctantly, aware that it was a fool’s mission doomed to fail. Receiving his orders had been one of the blackest moments of his life. Already half his proposed force – those trapped in the Havre peninsula – had gone. The 52nd Division had already landed and the 1st Canadian was on its way, and Dill had further promised him the 3rd Division, but organizing those into a coherent whole that could achieve anything whatsoever was going to be impossible. Three British divisions amongst the sixty-six French and more than 130 German was peanuts to say the least. ‘All that I found on my return,’ he noted, ‘were the remnants of one brigade which had escaped capture, but were without much equipment and only fit for evacuation. My Corps Headquarters was dispersed all over England after its arrival back from Dunkirk. Chaos prevailed.’
Mercifully, however, Churchill had backed down over the sending of more squadrons to France, persuaded by the united stance of Halifax, Chamberlain, the Air Ministry and Dowding. Even so, it did not stop aircraft operating from England being sent over; on 6 June, no fewer than 144 fighters flew over France. The Prime Minister simply felt unable to abandon France completely, but that did not stop him becoming angry at their incessant demands or hurt by French accusations of inadequate support. ‘Winston is justifiably angry with Vuillemin,’ recorded Jock Colville, ‘who referred to our tremendous air efforts in the first battle as “tardy, inadequate but nevertheless of some value”.’ This revealed one of the persistent inconsistencies of the French: blaming the British for deserting them but then criticizing them for their negligible contribution. British condemnation of the French for letting everyone down was equally vociferous; Churchill was amongst a minority who had a good word to say about them. Bad feeling between the two countries was mounting and these tensions were not just amongst the High Command. British prisoners had been attacked by French POWs for their ‘desertion’ at Dunkirk so that the Germans had to keep them separated.
On 10 June, Mussolini finally entered the war against the Allies, much to everyone’s wrath, including Hitler’s. The Führer had already told Mussolini that he did not want him coming in just yet. After all, Germany had done quite well enough without the Italians and he did not want them trying to cash in on easy booty now that France and Britain were on their knees. ‘It is embarrassingly opportunistic,’ noted Gerhard Engel from Hitler’s headquarters, ‘first of all they are too cowardly to fight with us and now they cannot join us fast enough to get their share of the swag.’ Hitler had muttered that from now on he would have to be far more cautious in his dealings with the Italians. It was not exactly a cosy start to their military alliance.
But while Mussolini’s timing was undoubtedly opportunistic, Italy’s entry into the war created another massive headache for Britain and her interests in the Mediterranean and Middle East at a time when she least needed it. Indeed, barely had the declaration of war been made than Italian bombers were over the key British naval port of Malta, which had been left horribly under-defended. Italian troops were not considered any great threat but the Italian navy was; the British Mediterranean Fleet would be stretched. Rather than resenting Mussolini’s opportunism – and, in any case, Hitler was strong enough to limit Italian involvement in the spoils of war – he should have welcomed such a strategically placed ally, however late her entry into the fray.
Jock Colville had to wake Churchill from his afternoon nap to tell him of the Italian declaration. It was not at all unexpected, but with the news that the French Government had now abandoned Paris, it put the Prime Minister in a foul mood. ‘People who go to Italy to look at ruins,’ he muttered, ‘won’t have to go as far as Naples and Pompeii in future.’ Churchill was determined to strike at Italy right away by launching a bombing raid on the Fiat plant at Turin. So too were many British civilians. After the declaration, Italians living and working in Britain were attacked, ice-cream shops ransacked, restaurants damaged with bricks and stones. The next day, Churchill ordered that all male Italians between seventeen and seventy years of age resident in Britain for less than twenty-five years should be interned. ‘Collar the lot,’ he said, which amounted to more than 4,000. It was draconian but few British people baulked at the measure. Daidie Penna noticed that in her corner of Surrey, at any rate, there was something like relief at Mussolini’s declaration. ‘You mark my words,’ the village grocer told her, ‘in a month’s time, he’ll be a brick round Hitler’s neck!’ Another shopkeeper told her cheerfully, ‘Now we can get the whole bag.’
RAF Bomber Command had been busy since beginning its strategic bombing campaign against Germany, although it had called a temporary halt to help with the evacuation of Dunkirk, attacking German positions every day of Operation DYNAMO. No fewer than 126 Blenheims and Wellingtons had bombed the enemy on 31 May, a considerable effort. Yet now that Italy was in the war, Britain was keen to strike immediately – a show of strength that demonstrated they took no truck with their latest enemy.
They had urged the idea of bombing Italy upon the Comité de Guerre at the end of May when it had become clear Mussolini would make his move sooner rather than later. Thus, an advance party of Bomber Command’s 71 Wing had been sent to Marseilles to prepare for such a strike and had taken over two airfields, which would act as a base and refuelling stop for the Wellingtons. These aircraft were duly sent to Marseilles on 11 June but had barely touched down when the French informed them they were not to bomb Italy under any circumstances. Since agreeing to the plan, Général Joseph Vuillemin had thrown most of his southern fighters into the battle further north and the French were now worried that if the Italians retaliated, they would not have any means of defending themselves. Visions of Marseilles and other French cities being razed to the ground by Italian bombers loomed large.
The British were determined to press ahead, however, and ordered the Wellingtons to go ahead, so that a few minutes after midnight the first bombers were beginning to taxi into position. Yet, as they did so, a number of French trucks drove across the airfield blocking their way and preventing them from taking off. The Wing had no choice but to call it off.
Meanwhile, 4 Group’s Whitleys had flown to the Channel Islands, where they refuelled and took off again without any hindrance. Thirty-six aircraft took off, including those from 10 Squadron. Larry Donnelly, now promoted to sergeant, was amongst the crews taking part. Their aircraft began its take-off down the short 800-yard airfield at Jersey at 8 p.m., reassured by the sight of the Whitley in front safely taking to the air. Even so, Larry was feeling particularly nervous about this entire trip. ‘To say that I was feeling tensed up,’ he noted, ‘as I sat in the tail turret of the Whitley bumping its way along the take-off run was an understatement.’ They took off without mishap but initially struggled to gain any height, laden as they were. From the back, Larry glanced out at the sea, keenly aware of how close it was.
Had they been amongst the first to take off, Larry and his crew might have made it to Turin, but unfortunately as they reached southern France they ran into heavy electrical storms. Ice began to build up on the wings, while lightning flashed around. The Whitley was bucked and thrown about the sky and then suddenly there was a blinding flash and an audible bang as they were struck by lightning. Their pilot, Enery, decided they could not go on, so they turned and headed back to the Channel Islands.
In fact, only nine aircraft managed to bomb Turin, dropping their loads from around 5,000 feet, and not on the Fiat plant, but on railway marshalling yards instead. To begin with the Italian ack-ack
gunners fired way too high before eventually adjusting their range, but they were unable to shoot any of the Whitleys down. Two further bombers attacked Genoa by mistake.
Larry and his crew made it safely back to Jersey and from there to Dishforth. Four days later, Turin was bombed again, this time by Wellingtons; the much feared retaliation had not brought the death and destruction the French had feared. In the meantime, however, 10 Squadron, along with the rest of 4 Group, had German positions and communications in France to bomb. The end for France was coming, but while the fighting continued, Bomber Command would do what they could to help.
*
The second part of Case Red, the attack by Army Group A, was launched on 9 June. Once again, Hitler was unable to resist interfering with Halder’s plans, insisting that Army Group A first secure the iron ore basin in Lorraine, the source of France’s armament industry, before turning on the bulk of the French forces. What Hitler failed to understand was that by destroying the French army, there would be no more armament industry.
As it happened, the French now collapsed so quickly that both Halder’s and Hitler’s aims were achieved at the same time. On 11 June, Churchill flew to France with Eden, Dill, Ismay, and his representative in France, Edward Spears, to Weygand’s new headquarters in Briare on the Loire. That night they met with the Comité de Guerre, Churchill urging them on and promising twenty and more divisions in 1941. Weygand said they needed that number in hours, not next year. Later, over a brandy man to man, Reynaud confessed to Churchill that Pétain believed the time had come to seek an armistice.
They prepared to leave the following morning, having agreed nothing but an undertaking to try to organize some kind of redoubt in Brittany. At the rather desolate airfield at Briare, Hastings Ismay tried to dissuade Churchill again from committing any more troops to France, but the Prime Minister would have none of it. Ismay, like so many others, felt the French had found it all too easy to blame the British for everything that had gone wrong. He also expressed his belief that Britain would be better off without the French. Churchill, his spirit and optimism for once deserting him, replied that in three months’ time, he and Ismay would both be dead.
His prophecy was nearly fulfilled that morning. With nine-tenths cloud, it was too dangerous to have a fighter escort. Churchill, impatient to return to London, decided they should fly anyway. As they flew out towards the coast, they spotted two German aircraft bombing ships below. By enormous good fortune, the German pilots never looked up.
Thirty-six hours later, Reynaud asked Churchill to fly out again, this time to Tours, where he had now based the Government. The weather was bad once again, but the Prime Minister brushed aside concerns and flew anyway, taking Ismay, Halifax and his close friend Max Beaverbrook with him. They met in a small prefecture, Reynaud looking ashen and aged in that brief day and a half. Weygand wanted to surrender, Reynaud told them, but still hoped he might persuade them to fight on if only the Americans would agree to join the fight. If they would not, would Britain agree that it was now impossible for France to continue? Churchill told him that Britain would fight on. She would never surrender. Churchill felt deep sympathy for France’s agony but could not agree to a French armistice. In the courtyard below, a number of French commanders and politicians gathered to see the British go. Amidst embraces, handshakes and tears, the Prime Minister and his entourage left France for the last time.
Paris fell the next day. Between 8 a.m. and 3 p.m., Leutnant Siegfried Knappe and his gunners in the 87th Division marched thirty miles, before taking up a position along the Marne River; in the distance they could see the Eiffel Tower. At 9 p.m., they were suddenly ordered to a position on the Ourcq Canal, where apparently some French sailors drafted in for the defence of Paris were still resisting. Siegfried went forward with the infantry, who were being pinned down by small-arms fire from the basement of a house on the far side of the canal beside a bridge. Siegfried called up one of his 105 mm guns, and from the cover of a building on their side of the canal the gun was brought up and readied. ‘At my command,’ Siegfried told his men, ‘we will push the gun around the corner and I will aim the gun and give the order to fire. Everyone understand?’ His men nodded. ‘Let’s go!’ shouted Siegfried.
As they pushed it round, pinpoints of fire flashed from the building opposite. Quickly, they aimed the gun and pulled the trigger, then flattened themselves on the ground. Siegfried knew he had been hit on his left wrist, but as he looked up only smoke now came from the basement. The French firing had ceased. Siegfried now looked at his wound. A bullet had passed through the back of his hand and out by his wrist. It was oozing blood, but felt numb. He then noticed a hole through the side of his jacket, his sleeve and his map case, and realized he had been extremely lucky. ‘The bridge was now open to us,’ noted Siegfried, ‘and the next morning the division was in Paris.’
In brief moments between his duties for the PM, Jock Colville was reading War and Peace. He never seemed to be able to finish it, but on the day Paris fell had got to the point where the French were entering Moscow. It was, he felt, in some ways analogous. He also seemed taken with Churchill’s idea for a Breton Redoubt, drawing his own Napoleonic analogy. ‘If the French will go on fighting,’ he jotted, ‘we must now fall back on the Atlantic, creating the new lines of Torres Vedras.’
Jock and Churchill must have been just about the only two people who thought there was any mileage in this whatsoever. Certainly General Brooke did not. That day, he had seen both Weygand and Georges, who told him that it was all over. The French army, Weygand said, had ceased to be able to offer organized resistance. Georges concurred and it was agreed that the Breton Redoubt idea was impossible. Brooke rang Dill and told him this and then began making preparations to get the 52nd and Canadian Divisions to Brest and Cherbourg, and remaining troops to Nantes and then to various ports to be evacuated.
Around 8 p.m., Dill called from Admiralty House and then put Churchill on the phone, who said that he did not want his troops evacuated. He told Brooke that they had been sent to France to make the French feel that Britain was supporting them. ‘I replied that it was impossible to make a corpse feel,’ Brooke noted. The conversation went on for half an hour, Churchill arguing vociferously for their continued presence in France, but Brooke, unmoved, stood his ground. And eventually the Prime Minister said, ‘All right, I agree with you.’
So began the Royal Navy’s latest series of evacuations. Thanks to Brooke, over the next few days, a further 200,000 men were lifted from Cherbourg, Brest, St Nazaire and La Pallice. It meant that more than half a million men were brought back from France in all. Half a million men who could continue the fight.
On 16 June, Reynaud again asked that France be released from its obligation to Britain and be able to seek terms with Germany. The War Cabinet replied that they would do so only if the French fleet sailed to British ports. Meanwhile, Général de Gaulle, one of the few French generals refusing to throw in the towel, had flown to London. He urged Churchill to propose a formal union between Britain and France, which the War Cabinet had been ruminating over for several days. The offer was clearly born of desperation and although it was sent to Reynaud, and Churchill was all set to go to France to discuss it, the French Prime Minister refused to see him again. Indeed, that night, Reynaud resigned. Had he held on, he could have formed a government in exile, but it was not to be. He did, however, perform one last service for the Allied cause by agreeing that all France’s arms contracts in the USA should immediately be transferred to Britain. That was something at least.
Meanwhile, those men of speed, Guderian and Rommel, had continued their full-throttle hurtle through France. On 17 June, Rommel’s men advanced a staggering 160 miles, while that same day Guderian reached the Swiss border, sending a message back to OKW that he was in Pontarlier. A reply came back: ‘Your signal based on an error. Assume you mean Pontailler-sur-Saône.’ Guderian answered: ‘No error. Am myself in Pontarlier on Swiss border.’
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br /> It was also the day the French asked for an armistice. Reynaud had resigned and Pétain taken over, ordering his soldiers to lay down their arms. Hitler, from his new HQ in Brûly-de-Pêche in southern Belgium, now flew to Munich to meet with Mussolini. ‘Reply will be held until then,’ noted Halder. ‘Nothing is known as yet about Britain’s reaction.’ In the meantime, the German forces pushed on, Rommel reaching Cherbourg in the west, the swastika rising over Strasbourg in the east. Halder busied himself preparing for the peacetime organization of the army now that the war was all but over; it would be reduced from 165 divisions to 120.
The Germans offered the armistice terms on 21 June and it was signed the next day at Compiègne, in the very same railway carriage in which the Germans had been forced to sign the surrender in 1918.
Britain now seemed terribly alone. Turkey, who had pledged to enter the war on Britain’s side should Italy come in, had reneged on that promise. So too had Egypt. Anti-British feeling was also growing in Iraq, so that British interests in the Mediterranean and Middle East suddenly looked very shaky indeed. Roosevelt and the United States were still a long way from entering the war, and despite Spain’s claim of non-belligerency there was mounting concern that she, too, would come in on the side of the Axis. At any rate, Franco’s Spain was certainly sympathetic to Germany. This meant that the entire coast from the Arctic Circle to the west coast of Africa was either Nazi or pro-Nazi. Not even during the Napoleonic invasion threat had Britain been confronted by such a wall of hostility. To make matters worse, it looked very unlikely that Britain would be able to get her hands on the all-important French Fleet, or on the American destroyers she so desperately needed. For Britain, the future looked bleak indeed.
The Battle of Britain Page 36