Westlake, Donald E - NF 01

by Under An English Heaven (v1. 1)

  The firepower of the rebels—who may have been joined by American gangsters and Black Panthers, the trigger-happy wing of the Black Power movement—is unknown.

  London Daily Mail, March 18, 1969.

  But the firepower of the Red Devils was definitely known. They were armed with automatic rifles—Sterlings and Belgian-made SLR's—and machine guns. The frigates were armed with their naval guns and had a pair of Wessex helicopters. They also carried leaflets that they would drop on the island and that said, in part, "Our purpose is to end intimidation . .

  And they had, finally, their leader, Lieutenant Colonel Richard Dawnay, who had flown out to Antigua four days earlier, on the fifteenth, for a "reconnaissance and appreciation." After reconnoitering and appreciating from Antigua, 112 miles south oi Anguilla, and after discussions with a few Englishmen, Lieutenant Colonel Dawnay worked up a tactical plan for the military operation and cabled it to London. The plan was modest at that stage, but somebody in London decided this was a good opportunity to give the boys of the Parachute Brigade some practice at military maneuvers. So the plan was blown up to make it possible for more of the troops to play.

  The engorged plan had as its first objectives the crossroads in the center of the island, the jetty area at Road Bay, the airport, and the road from Crocus Bay to Forest Point. Following the securing of these objectives, the plan called for the troops to disarm the local inhabitants of all ages, to detain known ringleaders, and to search the island for caches of arms.

  At one point the plan had also included the presence of William Whitlock, by his own request. He canceled his appointments and got ready to leave, but when the word filtered upward about his intentions he was told to forget it. Stay home, stay home.

  Now the plan was going into operation. Minerva and Rothesay, sailing north-northwest through the sultry night, steamed past the tiny sleeping Leeward Islands—Nevis and St. Kitts off to the left, Barbuda off to the right; then St. Eusta-tius and Saba to the left and St. Barthelemy to the right; then the U.S. Virgin Islands far away to the left and St. Martin close by on the right; and finally the Gunpoint Island itself, off the starboard bow.

  The frigates steamed past the western tip of the island, turned right, and at last dropped anchor off the northwest coast, between Road Bay and Crocus Bay. Ahead, in the predawn darkness, stretched from left to right the low profile of Anguilla.

  It was 5:16 a.m. when the troops landed. Paratroops and Marines from Rothesay touched ground at Crocus Bay, where the Anguillans had routed the first French invasion of their island in 1745. More paratroopers from Minerva landed at Road Bay, near the salt pond. The troops, ducking and weaving, dashed from the open boats across bare stretches of white beach, their automatic rifles held at the ready. They ducked behind bushes and upturned fishing boats before moving again, cautiously, into the interior. Meanwhile, Royal Navy helicopter R424 was landing four Red Devils inland at the all-important crossroads by the famous mahogany tree.

  Aboard Minerva and Rothesay, gunnery control officers tensed as they saw sudden white lights streaming across the island in the darkness—automobile headlights moving toward the beachheads and the landing parties. The automobiles stopped. The gunners waited, hands gripping their gun mounts. Up on the bridge, Lieutenant Colonel Dawnay watched through binoculars. Suddenly on the beaches there was a barrage of flashes.

  "I fear the worst," said Colonel Dawnay.

  It was photographers' flashbulbs.

  'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves Did gyre and gimble in the wabe; All mimsy were the borogoves, And the mome raths outgrabe.

  —Lewis Carroll, Through the Loo king-Glass

  24

  " 'Shotgun' Said The Sergeant . . . [London Evening Standard, March 19, 1969]."

  Ronald Webster was taking a bath when the troops landed. He didn't know about the invasion until a reporter went to his house to ask his reaction.

  Most other Anguillans were still asleep. With all the security leaks in the British and American press about the oncoming invasion, the islanders had had plenty of time to reconsider the notion of having a war with Great Britain. So they had carried all their guns over to St. Martin and buried them. They're still there.

  The troops were very nervous and jumpy. Later on it was going to be a joke, but right now they kept waiting for the war to start. As sleepy Anguillans emerged from their houses, troops carrying machine guns shoved them against walls, searched them, questioned them. Troops mounted machine guns on building roofs, made tense little comments back and forth on their walkie-talkies, and kept waiting for the goddamn war to start. They were here for a war, they were dressed for a war, they were primed for a war, they'd stayed up all night thinking about war. Where the hell was the war?

  The boy, not more than 15, spun around a corner and his motor-cycle backfired.

  "Right—a shotgun: Get him," a sergeant shouted.

  London Daily Mail, March 20, 1969

  The British reporters were heartily disliked by both sides, though only yesterday everybody had thought they were nice fellows. But today here they were strolling around in shirts open at the neck, taking pictures, interviewing soldiers who were trying to keep their minds on the war, and generally making the troops self-conscious, which the troops didn't much care for. As to the Anguillans, they'd just been invaded by Great Britain; for the moment they didn't like any Englishmen.

  The Randalls did. Vera Randall told a reporter, "I grabbed a flag and it was an American one, ran out with it and waved like mad and cheered the helicopters."

  The Anguillan flag had been flying over the Administrative Building, but when the Red Devils captured the building —it was one of the high points in their tactical plan—they took it down. They were assisted in this by a cheerful young local citizen, very helpful; but when it turned out he was the prisoner still waiting to be tried for murder in the death of his girl friend, the troops shooed him back to his cell.

  Lieutenant Colonel Dawnay and his troops commandeered some cars; that is, they took people's cars away from them. With these they were able to spread out more quickly and capture the entire island. They set up roadblocks and searched every car that came along without troops in it. When they asked one Anguillan, "Whose car is this?" he said, "Well, it's not the Queen's, that's for damn sure."

  Cars containing reporters were also searched. The Daily Mail's Andrew McEwen wrote, "Troops stopped my car at cross-roads. 'Get out and sit down over there,' a sergeant ordered. Twenty minutes later, after having it searched, he let me return. We had to make sure there was not a bomb in it,' he said."

  This seriousness was occasionally matched by the Anguillans. A woman came out of her house and watched a group of paratroopers walk by in the dawn light. Very indignant, she called, "Does the Queen know you're here?"

  One loud BANG sent some of the paras leaping into defensive positions. It was only a backfire from the motor-cycle ridden by a smartly dressed schoolboy on his way to morning lessons.

  London Daily Express, March 20, 1969

  There were no lessons at The Valley School that day. The paratroopers had taken it over as their supply dump and command post.

  The helicopters had awakened most of the population by now, but there was nothing to do but stand around and admire the precision of the soldiers. Or not admire it; as one helicopter landed in a cloud of dust and a rush of wind and a roar of noise, a farmer said, "Look at all that filthy mess. It is going to upset my cow."

  Evening Standard reporter Jean Campbell was in Ronald Webster's Park when a helicopter landed there and four Red Devils leaped out. She described what happened next.

  Old William Harley from the Agricultural Station, with his yellow crash helmet on, stood gaping by his bicycle. "Miss, Miss, what manner, what class of people are these?"

  I could not answer "Red Devils." So I grinned and said, "Friendly English soldiers, they are just practising."

  "Uncle William," screamed a 16-year-old. "Why are they running toward us
?"

  Uncle William shook his head. "I just cannot tell what class of people these are, son."

  Four fresh-faced Red Devils from Beckenham, Nottingham and the North came rushing toward us. Silence.

  "Good morning," I said hopefully as the young lieutenant arranged his machine gun. We looked a motley bunch, Old William with his bike and a little group of Anguillan teenagers.

  Still there was silence.

  "Are you from London?" I asked politely.

  "Beckenham," came the answer with a broad grin. "But you can't have my name, not on your life."

  And Ian Ball of the Telegraph reported a Scotland Yard inspector in blue wool uniform sweltering amid the troops, but he wouldn't give his name either.

  Also sweltering in blue serge was Commissioner Way, another early arrival with the troops. Apparently he'd found some tropical wear to fit after all, because he explained his discomfort by saying, "I blame the Navy for this. They dropped my case with my light clothes in it out of one of their helicopters."

  One sharp report sent the parachute troops leaping into defensive positions—until they found that it came from a backfiring motor cycle being ridden by a young islander.

  London Times, March 20, 1969

  One American lady on the island told Jean Campbell, "Imagine ... I slept in my brassiere to be ready for this invasion. Never did that before in my life."

  Reporter Bill Bruns wrote, in Life magazine, "At a strategic bend in the road one soldier had dug a foxhole, but the only creature to challenge him was a cow grazing 20 feet away. His buddy sat nearby cradling his rifle. I didn't see any ammunition clips, so I asked him if his rifle was loaded. 'No, but don't tell anybody.'"

  Thousands of leaflets were being dropped from helicopters shushle-shushling back and forth. They were headed "Message to the people of Anguilla from the British government," and they started by telling the Anguillans they hadn't been very nice to Mr. Whitlock. They then went on, in boldfaced lettering, "It is not our purpose to force you to return to an Administration you do not want."

  But if the troops weren't there to force the Anguillans to do something they didn't want to do, why were they there?

  The leaflets attempted an explanation: "Our purpose is to end intimidation so that you can live in peace and express your opinions without fear." A purpose attained with machine guns.

  The leaflets next said that Tony Lee was coming in with the troops to be the Commissioner in charge of the island: "He comes as your friend." But very few friends come visiting in quite that fashion.

  Finally the leaflets requested cooperation, and ended with a platitude: "The quicker law and order is restored, the sooner you can resume a normal and peaceful life."

  Before the invasion had started, it had been announced that Colonel Dawnay had been given by the Foreign and Commonwealth Office a list of forty "baddies," to use the newspaper word, who would be "rounded up" once the war had been won and the island secured. The war was won and the island secured so fast that by six-thirty, an hour after the landings, SNOWI could cable London, "operation sheepskin has been a success." (Actually it had been a failure, since it had given Anguilla everything it wanted.)

  And the roundup began. The London Times reported, "Many of the people caught in the first roundup by troops were reporters and press photographers, already ashore to cover the landings." So they let the reporters and photographers go and started again.

  By now, the official word was that there were only twenty names on the list of baddies, but of these only five names were ever made public, and they were all Americans: Jack Holcomb, Lewis Haskins, Raymond Haskins, Sherman Haskins, and the Reverend Freeman Goodge.

  Reverend Goodge started his day in an irreverend manner, screaming at Andrew McEwen of the Daily Mail, "You British bastards. You are no reporter—you're a Scotland Yard man sent here to spy on us." He was shortly introduced to real Scotland Yard men, for comparison. Ten Red Devils went to his house and rounded up the Reverend Freeman Goodge and his wife and his three children. They searched the house, and Goodge later described it this way: "They went through the chicken coop, even searched my wife's underwear and went through a new Bible leaf by leaf." He was then taken away to be questioned by Scotland Yard men, but when it turned out he wasn't a Mafia chaplain they let him go.

  One down out of the forty; or the twenty; or the five.

  Lewis Haskins was arrested and questioned and his premises searched, but he too failed to live up to the advance billing and was released. His sons Raymond (20) and Sherman (22) had fled to St. Martin the night before.

  Four down, leaving thirty-six; or sixteen; or one.

  Jack Holcomb.

  Holcomb had been staying at Jerry Gumbs's Rendezvous Hotel. That's where two Red Devils carrying automatic rifles picked him up. He was taken to the schoolhouse, now being used as invasion headquarters, where Detective Inspector Harry Nicholls of Scotland Yard greeted him with "Good morning, Mr. Holcomb. I am a police officer."

  Holcomb was then taken out to the Minerva and questioned for two hours. The British had spent something over a million dollars to save the Anguillans from Mafia terrorism, and Jack Holcomb was their last possible hope to prove that the money hadn't been a total waste. Holcomb looked good. He was, in the first place, from Florida, and everybody knows that everybody from Florida is in the Mafia. He talked a lot about mysterious big-money backers, and everybody knows that mysterious big-money backers are always Mafia men with dirty money to invest. He had turned Ronald Webster against Britain—so unfairly, so unfairly—and why would he have done a thing like that unless he was in the Mafia?

  After two hours Holcomb was returned to the island and deported. Nobody said anything about the Mafia. In fact, the British pretended they never had said anything about the Mafia. The deportation order gave no particulars, outlined no charges against Holcomb, made no specific points of any kind. No reasons were suggested other than that the British didn't like him, that they had to show something for their morning's work, and that he was unwelcome.

  Holcomb asked permission to get his things from the hotel. He was told he could go, with military escort, but not in a military vehicle. He had to take a cab. They drove out to Rendezvous, Holcomb packed, and then he paid his bill. The last act of this conspirator in the great plot to take over Anguilla and run it by mobster fear was to write a check for his hotel bill and hand it to Jerry Gumbs's sister, Aunt B.

  "Right—a shotgun: Get him," a sergeant shouted. Three Sterling sub-machineguns were pointed at the boy . . .

  London Daily Mail, March 20, 1969

  Back home in London, a BBC announcer reported the invasion of Anguilla in a somewhat awed voice: "British troops have landed," he said. "It is a phrase we thought we would never hear again."

  Only one shot was fired in the course of the invasion; appropriately enough, it was fired at reporters. A charter plane was bringing in a group of British correspondents, and when it came inadvertently close to a Hercules transport airdropping equipment, a warning shot was fired in its direction. Other than that, it was a very peaceful war.

  British paratroops leaped to defensive positions as a sharp report rang out after they had landed on Anguilla. "Shotgun," shouted a sergeant. His men swung their guns round—to cover a sheepish young Anguillan riding up on a backfiring motorcycle.

  London Evening Standard, March 19, 1969

  What if they had killed that boy?

  He had merely considered him a humbug in a Pickwickian point of view.

  —Charles Dickens, The Pickwick Papers

  25

  The world's press was not kind. "What a Laughing Stock" was the headline on the London Daily Mail's story announcing that the invasion was about to start. And on the very day of the landings, The New York Times was running an editorial titled "No Case for Invasion," which began, "Developments on Anguilla have been bizarre and baffling but they do not justify a British military seizure of the tiny eastern Caribbean island. Frigates load
ed with paratroopers are en route to the island, but an outright order to invade would reflect no credit on British arms or judgment."

  The London Times, under the heading "A Caribbean Tragi-comedy," wrote, "In the near future, perhaps today, we shall possibly be treated to the rather absurd spectacle of British paratroopers descending on the rebel' island of Anguilla, like a re-run of a jerky-film of colonial times." And continued, "What has happened so far has drifted from inattention to muddle and to farce; it should be pulled back from the brink of tragedy."

  The next day The New York Times remarked, "The British lion has subdued the Anguillan mouse that roared, without spilling any blood. That is one of the few credit marks earned by any of the parties . . ." And, "Skeptical outsiders will expect early evidence to support the notion that the real enemy here is some mafioso descendant of Captain Kidd."

  Nabil Zaki, a columnist in Cairo's Al-Akhbar, called the invasion "a bloody comedy reminiscent of the age of gunboat diplomacy," and the Nairobi Daily Nation said, "The prospect of British might deployed against the tiny Caribbean island of Anguilla is more than faintly ridiculous. The situation is a cartoonist's dream."

  African newspapers generally compared the British reaction in Anguilla to the British reaction in Rhodesia, and were not amused. In Lagos, Nigeria, which has problems of its own, the Daily Sketch said, "Britain could be rightly accused of using double standards as long as it suits her interests to do so. Is the world now to understand that Britain is not opposed to the use of force so far as Anguilla is concerned, while it still insists that force cannot be used in the case of the Rhode-sians?" And in Kampala, Uganda, The People, the ruling party's official newspaper, said, "When a handful of white racists in Rhodesia defied Britain and set up a racist regime to rule the black millions, Britain stepped aside like the toothless bulldog she was said to be."