by Mary Soames
IN FACT ONE’S SPIRITS revived quickly after a spell of leave, once one was back in the hustle and bustle of camp life. During the spring and early summer the battery received several visits from VIPs—which always involved a great deal of dashing round smartening up ourselves and the camp: all this caused a bit of grumbling, but these visitations kept us on our toes, as we always gave our guests a demonstration “Stand to” and “Action stations,” and a dummy run on an imaginary target. The first of our VIPs were my parents, who came in early April: I, of course, was beset by anxiety—but in fact my comrades really seemed quite pleased to show off our skills. In the event it wasn’t only our skills that were shown off: there were some building works in progress on the site, and—to my embarrassment, but everyone else’s delight—my father stopped, seized a trowel, and laid a line of bricks! Some time later he made a return visit, bringing with him my “favourite American,” Harry Hopkins. I think the officers and senior NCOs quite enjoyed these visits, and they certainly caused less general anxiety than descents upon us by “top brass”—such as when General Pile (Commander-in-Chief of AA Command) inspected us, accompanied by sharp-eyed colleagues. “Tim” Pile, although diminutive in stature, was a great character; on this occasion he called Judy and myself forward and asked us how we were getting on, remembering that it was his visit to Chequers which had inspired us to volunteer as AA gunners.
When we arrived at 469 Battery, Judy and I both kept the rank of lance corporal we had acquired at Oswestry. However, quite soon I was made up to a corporal: this caused me embarrassment vis-à-vis Judy, for up to now we had kept pace with each other. In this smaller unit, however, promotion was governed not only by merit, but by the appearance of vacancies (each unit having its set “establishment” of NCOs). Judy did mind my being promoted ahead of her—as did I—but she accepted it with generosity; it did not ruffle our friendship, and quite soon she too put up her second stripe. Then, two months later, to my great astonishment, I was promoted to sergeant—which meant not only a third stripe, but my having to live in the sergeants’ separate quarters and Mess, and taking on a quite distinct role with different responsibilities. I remember a tearful (on both our parts) conversation: again, Judy’s loyalty and generosity saved our relationship, which was of great importance to us both. Luckily, she was regarded as a great character, and was immensely popular with the other girls and gunners—much more so than I was (I fear I was thought overbossy and too big for my gaiters).
My mother wrote me a remarkable letter about this time in response to news of the first death in action of an ATS on a gun site. I quote it because I think it casts an interesting light on her almost “Roman matron” reaction:
10 DOWNING STREET,
WHITEHALL.
My darling Mary,
Perhaps I may see you before you get this letter. But I want you to know my feelings when I read of the death in action of Private Nora Caveney‖—My first agonizing thought was—it might have been Mary—my second thought was satisfaction & pride that the other girls on duty continued their work smoothly without a hitch ‘like seasoned soldiers’—& then private pride that you my beloved one have chosen this difficult, monotonous, dangerous & most necessary work—I think of you so much my Darling Mouse. I know you never regret your choice. Give Judy my love—
I hear Mrs. Caseya visited your Battery and saw ‘Mary’s rosebud face looking sternly past me’!
Although I managed to see my friends quite a lot, any time at home was precious to me; even if I was going out with someone for an evening, I nearly always went home first. Best of all for me, and always highlighted in my diary, were the times I could spend alone with either or both of my parents. On one such evening when I went home, I found my mother was still at Chequers, as she had been ill, so I rang her up; there was a dinner party at the Annexe that night, and “Papa sent for me to talk to him while he was dressing for dinner. O heaven—something of that companionship has come back; I was able to say I had written to Randolph, who has joined a sort of armoured skirmishing-cum-parachute corps. O darling Randy—how terribly proud I am—we all are.” The dinner guests were Richard Casey,b Oliver Lyttleton,c and Anthony Eden,d and it was obviously a jolly party: “Mr Casey is young & charming, Oliver is as invigoratingly witty as ever. How we all laughed—a good dinner party.”
In the early summer of that year we had a spell of lovely fine weather, and one evening I was home early enough to go for a long walk in St. James’s Park with my mother before dinner, “which was deliciously peaceful because Mummie & I & Papa were alone together & we dined on this glorious June evening in the garden [at No. 10] & Papa was pleased about my guns [an emblem awarded me that day and placed above a gunner sergeant’s stripes] & so was Mummie & we were all so together.” But not all our evenings were so tranquil! To Judy, who was away on a course, I wrote describing another evening in the same week:
On Wednesday I went home again and Mummie, the Dove [Judy’s and my odd soubriquet for my father] & myself were all alone which was rather heavenly. We dined in the garden of No. 10. Papa and Mummie were in terrific form … one or two enjoyable flare-ups—during one of which Mummie said: ‘Oh you old son-of-a-bitch!’ Dinner ended in mellow & happy silence. Papa sank into the New Yorker—Mummie & I after 5 minutes rose to go: ‘Don’t leave me’ said the Dove pathetically. Mummie contemplated him with a judicial eye: ‘The trouble is Winston—you [would] like 20 people to come and watch you read the New Yorker!’ Quelle famille! & how I adore them.
But another occasion, little more than a week later, was overcast by events, as I noted in my diary:
Went home to dinner. Mummie & Papa alone. The news is bade & he was in very low spirits. He was unhappy & tortured & Mummie and I tried so hard to comfort him. He may go to America on Thursday [he did, by flying boat]. Brendanf arrived & was cheerful & encouraging. I left with a very heavy heart—but Papa’s last words to me were: ‘Now not a word—& no one must see in your face how bad things are.’ They won’t!
Looking back, these summer months with 469 Battery at Enfield flew by: we certainly expended a lot of time and energy dashing to London and back. My diary, however, is full of introspective and self-critical outpourings: I had to hug to myself my anxiety when my father was on his travels, and my small steps up the ladder of promotion brought their own difficulties for me. Once, some months later, after I was commissioned, I would confide in Major Tony Hogg, the senior instructing officer at the AA training camp at Arborfield, who became a friend and confidant of both Judy and myself; he wrote to his wife:
I’ve had a most interesting talk with Mary C. this evening, who’s been behaving rather loudly and badly lately and who I’m afraid is going to get a wigging from the S.C. [Senior Commander ATS] tomorrow. She’s really a very nice and charming child who can state her case as well as any barrister. She says she’s tried all ways of behaviour, but every one of them seems to be wrong as people will put interpretations on them. If she is quiet and unassuming they say she is smug and stuck up, on the other hand if she’s noisy and matey with all and sundry they say she does it to draw attention to herself …
However, by and large these months at Enfield were happy—certainly busy. My fellow gunners (male and female) were a friendly lot, and long hours of duty were made less tedious by my mild amitié amoureuse with my section commander.
It would indeed have intrigued me and been the cause of much merriment among my family and friends if I had known that about this time I had been momentarily part of Adolf Hitler’s thinking. Over sixty years later I would learn this from an extract from Hitler’s Secret Conversations:
By far the most interesting problem of the moment is, what is Britain going to do now?… At the moment, the British are trying to wriggle out of their difficulties by spreading the most varied and contradictory of rumours. To find out what she really intends to do is the task of the Wilhelmstrasse [foreign ministry]. The best way of accomplishing it would be by means of a little fli
rtation with Churchill’s daughter. But our Foreign Office, and particularly its gentlemanly diplomats, consider such methods beneath their dignity, and they are not prepared to make this agreeable sacrifice, even though success might well save the lives of numberless German Officers and men.2
Towards the end of June I had seven days’ leave which quite fortuitously coincided with my father’s return from Washington, where he had spent ten days conferring with President Roosevelt. The news from the desert war was bad, and it was during this visit, on 20 June, that the grave tidings of the fall of Tobruk had been received. My father travelled home by flying boat, landing in Stranraer harbour at five o’clock in the morning of 27 June; there he boarded a train for Euston, where he arrived in the late afternoon. My mother took me and Uncle Jack with her to the station, where Pamela joined us, and where members of the War Cabinet, the Russian and Chinese ambassadors, and various other persons soon gathered: “I was feeling so excited & relieved that Papa is home. When the train drew in, Mummie & I got in to welcome him. Poor darling—not a very gay homecoming. His enemies have lost no time in his absence.…” Indeed, a major parliamentary row awaited him! On 25 June a motion had been tabled in the Order Paper of the House of Commons that “this House, while paying tribute to the heroism and endurance of the Armed Forces of the Crown … has no confidence in the central direction of the war.”
My daughterly indignation spilled over into my diary:
It is strange to reflect that in the middle of world war Sir J. Wardlaw Milneg—Roger Keyesh etc. etc. could find nothing more glorious to do than table a vote of censure in Papa’s absence & in the middle of a battle which sways to and fro & which so far has proved disastrous to us. It is stalling [sic] that when all Papa’s abilities & energies should be now bent to retrieving the military situation he has got to fight a battle at home. How our enemies must be rejoicing—wherever they are—at this vexation. How our friends must be bewildered & Puzzled.
My father went straight to a Cabinet meeting, but later that evening we all repaired to Chequers. I noted that “Papa is well—but terribly worried & perplexed & harassed. He thinks tactical errors lost us the first part of the Libyan battle.”
Chequers proved a true haven (as on so many occasions) from outer storms, although my father immediately started working on his speech for the vote of censure debate, and visiting colleagues mixed with the family as people came and went. During the weekend Diana and Duncan came down; Nana Whyte was there, and Sarah, just starting some leave, appeared from Medmenham—on a motorcycle! We stayed up till about two, gossiping: over a late breakfast in my mother’s room on Sunday, I noted with delight that “Papa has brought Mummie 4 lovely dressing gowns from America—they are beautiful.” We played croquet quet before lunch, joined by the Prof; later, we had “the chief bomberi and the chief fighterj to dinner & Oliver Lyttleton.… After dinner [we] saw moderately good film—Kipps—Bed V. late. Battle rages in Mersa Matruh.” On the Monday,
Mummie, Sarah, Nana & I & Papa—in fact everyone—decided to stay at Chequers. Lovely day. I spent most of it idling happily in deck chair on lawn. Went for a twirl on Sarah’s motorbicycle. V dangerous & uncomfortable. Great fun tho’. Went for a walk with nana to Beacon Hill. James Stuart (Government Chief Whip) came for dinner to confer about the debate … Mummie & Sarah departed for London. Papa, Mr Stuart, Nana and me [sic] saw Lloyds of London [sic]. Rather good. Papa enjoyed it. After the film, Papa had bad news of the battle. He & I and Mr. Stuart walked up & down the lawn. It was a soft night with high clouds & a moon gleaming through the rent in the ceiling [sic]. Papa was unhappy and anxious. It is so frightful that he has to deal with this political crisis when he should be concentrating every faculty on this battle. I left him still pacing unhappily up & down. Oh darling—would to God I could help you.
The debate was on the Wednesday and Thursday of that coming week. Nana and I went to the House with my mother on both days: for me the most memorable speeches were those of Sir Roger Keyes, who, while professing lifelong friendship and admiration for Churchill, delivered a rambling attack on ways and means; Hore-Belisha—a former government minister who joined in (I judged his “a despicable speech—slimy—clever—opportunist—ugh!”)—and (most exciting) Aneurin Bevan, whom I heard for the first time and
who made a poisonous speech. Point by point one could destroy his speaks [speech?] pointing his phrases with little gestures—with a tone of w[h]eedling spite … As I sat in the Gallery & listened to all these carping voices, I watched the unhappy set of Papa’s shoulders—& my heart went out to him in his anxiety & grief. I know his mind is more with the battle in Egypt than here in the House. Sometimes I could scarcely control myself for rage at these little men who have only jibes and criticisms to offer.
This was the second day of the debate, and Sarah had joined the family support group; after luncheon we returned to the fray. I noted that I
put on a sterner hat for the afternoon instead of the hyacinth creation[!].k Felt terribly tensed up. Mummie obviously feeling the strain. The House was terribly crowded—Members standing at all the doorways. In the galleries Mr. Winant & Mrs W, M & Mme Maisky, Averell [Harriman], Kathleen [his daughter], Quentin Reynolds,l Nancy Tree [our hostess at Ditchley]. Papa rose to speak at 3.30. His speech was a remarkable performance. Measured—exact—reasoned—dignified—& throughout an undertone of unalterable determination & sober hopefulness … The House listened in rapt attention. Except for some of the critics—Eddie Wintertonm shrugging his shoulders & cracking his long fingers & smirking at the House. But Aneurin Bevan listening carefully & liking Papa’s points and jokes—but maintaining his opposition standpoint. And then the division 475 to 25. And not as many abstentions as had been expected.—Felt dazed & elated … Went to Papa’s room—He was pleased. Mummie & Sarah went on home. I stayed & had 10 mins all alone with Papa. A crowd had gathered outside the House & Papa was greeted by happy smiles & encouraging waves. One man shouted ‘You stick to it Sir!’ Papa very much moved.
With all this political excitement, and several late parties thrown in, this had been a very eventful—and quite exhausting—leave! But it was not long after my return to the battery that we faced the culmination of all the technical training and practice, all the humdrum routine of alternate manning and camp duties, when—at last—we went into action “for real” in the last week of July: it was a “first” for us all, and PIP section (mine) was on duty. Two nights later we fired again.
The next day, 31 July, Judy and I had to hare off to Reading to be interviewed by an OCTU (Officer Cadet Training Unit) board as possible candidates for commissions. On our way back to camp (combining this with a wild Polish party!) I had a short time with my father: “He & Mummie arrived back from lightening [sic] visit to Chartwell—& he took me into his room & told me ‘I am going to Egypt to try & win this battlen & then I’m going on to meet Stalin.’ … I kissed him goodbye with a heavy heart.” This was to be a long absence—over three weeks. But about a week after I had taken leave of him, I wrote in my diary: “It’s out in the papers now about Papa—it’s a wonderful relief to talk about it—it’s been like a suffocating secret.” And then on 24 August came a joyful, thankful entry: “On 9 o’clock news—Papa is home. THANK GOD. Felt hysterically relieved.”
* * *
* A heavy mixed anti-aircraft battery was composed of eight 3.7-inch guns, with about 600 personnel, of which about one-third were women, commanded by a Royal Artillery major and several RA officers. The senior ATS officer was a junior commander (equivalent in rank to a captain), with about six ATS subalterns. The battery occupied two gun sites in the same area, with four guns on each site.
† Randolph had been elected in 1940 at an uncontested by-election as Conservative Member of Parliament for Preston.
‡ At the end of May Randolph incurred fairly serious injuries in an accident while returning from a long-range raid on Benghazi; after some weeks in a military hospital in Cairo, he was inval
ided back to England until October 1942.
§ The raid by a destroyer and commando force was mounted by Combined Operations. Its purpose—successfully achieved—was to destroy the only dry dock on the Atlantic coast big enough to accommodate the German battleship Tirpitz.
‖ Nora Caveney was serving in a heavy mixed anti-aircraft battery at Southampton when, on duty during a German air attack in April 1942, she became the first female soldier killed in action in the war. She was just eighteen.
a Wife of Mr. Richard Casey: see next footnote.
b Australian, recently appointed Britain’s Minister Resident in the Middle East.
c Minister of Production in the War Cabinet.
d Foreign Secretary.
e At the end of May Rommel had renewed his offensive in the Western Desert; on 15 June The Times reported that the Battle of Libya was being fought with new intensity. Tobruk would fall on 20 June.
f Brendan Bracken, Minister of Information.
g Sir John Wardlaw-Milne, chairman of the Conservative Foreign Affairs Committee (1939–45). Increasingly critical of WSC’s conduct of the war, it was he who tabled the motion of “no confidence in the central direction of the war.”
h Sir Roger Keyes, formerly a friend and supporter of WSC (see note on p. 111) seconded the motion.
i Air Marshal Harris (“Bomber” Harris), appointed Commander-in-Chief, Bomber Command, in February 1942: transformed Bomber Command into an effective weapon against the enemy.
j Air Vice-Marshal Sholto Douglas, Deputy Chief of the Air Staff and Commander-in-Chief, Fighter Command: responsible for rebuilding fighter strength after the Battle of Britain.