By late autumn of 1941, more than a year after the evacuation of the British Expeditionary Force from Dunkirk, it was no longer likely that the Germans would attempt to invade Britain. But it was still considered a possibility— not during the coming winter months, when sea and weather conditions would rule out such an operation, but the following spring.
Montgomery was to deal with that contingency. In December, he succeeded General Auchinleck, to whom he had acted so disdainfully, as commander-in-chief in southern England. Auchinleck was sent to assume command of British forces in the Middle East, which were taking a beating at the hands of General Erwin Rommel and his Afrika Korps.
The effect of Montgomery's taking charge in the region was electrifying. General Horrocks said that, "a distinctly peacetime atmosphere" had prevailed earlier despite the war having gone on for so long and Britain having mostly reverses to show for it. But once Montgomery had taken charge, "It was as though atomic bombs were exploding all over this rural corner of Britain."
For Montgomery, preparing men for battle physically and mentally had become more than mere procedure. It had become aspects of an ideology, one of his own devising. His primary task in his new post was to defend southeast England against the Germans if they attempted to invade. But he told his officers they had to understand that a defensive mentality was their worst enemy. Attack was the key to his doctrine; it was the only form of defense that made sense to him in the overall picture. The training of his officers had to focus on the proper organization of command, deployment of forces, preliminary reconnaissance, digestion of intelligence, and preparation for the use of air cover—all for the purpose of bracing to go over to the attack.
Many of Montgomery's officers were required to radically adjust their thinking and procedures, and to do so quickly. Some who were comparatively senior in rank felt humiliated at being obliged to attend lectures to relearn subjects to which they had already devoted their entire adult lives. No allowances were made for them. If Montgomery believed an officer did not meet his standards he told him so to his face, regardless of his rank or previous record and often in the presence of others. He would say, "I am sorry. But you are of no use to me. None whatever." And he would send him packing. There would be no appeal. For fear of arousing Montgomery's contempt and ire, some, never before having been under such intense and relentless pressure from above, felt it prudent to consult Montgomery's staff officers to determine if they were doing anything that might displease him.
Montgomery now had a wider audience for his showmanship. His lectures to his officers were greatly theatrical. After a major training exercise, the officers would be gathered in a large auditorium on whose stage were posted large working maps of the area in which the exercise had taken place for him to use in dissecting how it had been handled. Called to attention, the audience members would snap up from their seats and Montgomery, in battle dress, would cross to center stage from the wings and stiffly call out, "Sit down, gentlemen." He would then say, "Thirty seconds for coughing—then no more
Coughing at all." Remarkably, as officers have recalled, there was none until Montgomery had finished with them, though that must be an exaggeration because his lectures sometimes lasted two hours or longer. Officers risked being exposed to a withering glare from him if they coughed when he was talking even at other times.
Smoking was also prohibited at Montgomery's lectures, and officers soon learned it was dangerous to light up in his presence. He was not against smoking on principle. Later in the war, when he went to visit his troops he would regularly have aides carry along cartons of cigarettes for him to distribute to the men. But he wanted no distractions while he spoke. His ban was also an exercise in discipline and authority.
Learning new catechisms for the theory and practice of combat was not the only adjustment officers serving under Montgomery had to make. He subscribed to Rudyard Kipling's assertion that "Nations have passed away and left no traces. . . because their peoples were not fit." He decreed that everyone in his command had to achieve and sustain top physical condition.
He had intitiated intensive physical-fitness programs when he had commanded V Corps and then XII Corps, and word of it had spread throughout the army. Nevertheless, the introduction of such programs when he arrived at Southern Command came as a shock to its officers. Regardless of rank or physical condition, they were required to engage in vigorous exercise. That included all staff officers younger than forty-five. They had to take part in weekly exercises, carrying rifles and in full marching order. Some had not indulged in such exertion for more than a decade. When told that a colonel, a senior administrative officer, might die if required to undertake the program of exercise that was prescribed, Montgomery said, "Let him die. Much better to die now rather than in the midst of battle when it might be awkward to find a replacement."
Ambulances were brought up to deal with emergencies during training. Details of physical inadequacies were to be noted so that officers in unsuitable condition could be watched and dealt with. Montgomery insisted that, "Commanders and staff officers at any level who couldn't stand the strain, or who got
Tired, were to be weeded out and replaced—ruthlessly." An officer later recalled that they loathed what they were required to put up with, but it "shook away the cobwebs." It was easy enough to recognize the value of the torture long after it had been endured. But at the time, officers posted to serve under Montgomery groaned and received the commiseration of their friends when their orders came through. One of them later recalled that when he received his orders to report to Montgomery's headquarters, the brigadier delivering them, "shot me a sympathetic look as if he were sentencing me to immediate execution."
Officers serving under Montgomery in England had to contend with special restrictions. He denied them their traditional right to quarter their wives privately nearby so they could be with them when off duty. He said that if ordinary troops could not have their wives near them, neither could their officers. Besides, it would distract the officers from their duties. Protests flooded into the War Office. Montgomery could not have cared less. He made certain that his decree was obeyed, going so far once as to dispatch an officer on a bicycle to interrogate a woman spotted near a base because he thought she might be committing the transgression of cohabiting with her officer husband in his off-duty hours.
Montgomery's officers quickly learned the sanctity of discipline and the harshness of the likely penalties if it was flouted. Observing a captain emerging from the bakery of a small town in Kent during maneuvers, eating a bun despite orders that food was not be taken until afterward, Montgomery demoted him to lieutenant on the spot.
Many protests were made to the War Office about Montgomery's often-objectionable behavior. That didn't worry him. He didn't care if people took exception to his conduct or demands so long as they were unable to obstruct him or otherwise make it difficult for him to do what he knew was right. With Brooke as his admirer and protector, he had no need to be concerned about that—at least not yet.
He was no automaton. There was the occasional exception, when he permitted an individual officer more leeway than oth Ers, sometimes by whim, sometimes because the man had qualities Montgomery respected more than he objected to his shortcomings. He was supremely confident in his own infallibility. His own on-the-spot judgment was more important to him than the rules. He was always prepared to jump junior officers in rank if they struck him as the kind of men he needed and wanted. On his regular visits to the troops, he kept a sharp eye out for promising candidates.
Army commanders with many thousands of troops under their command [one of his senior subordinates later said] tend to become remote God-like characters whom few know even by sight, yet in some extraordinary way Monty's influence permeated all strata of S.-E. Command and his knowledge of the personalities under his command was uncanny. Often he would ring me in the evening and make the most searching inquiries about some young second-lieutenant whom he had noticed on training. He would certainly have made a first-class talent spotter for any football club. The only way I could deal with these inquiries was to have a book containing details of every officer in the division handy beside the telephone.
As for the ordinary troops under his command, Montgomery had them driven to the limits of their physical endurance. Forced marches and night exercises were standard, not only for the infantry. Perpetual combat-readiness in the English countryside was the rule, with vehicles dispersed and sentries posted and alert at all time no matter how insignificant the installations they guarded. Standards of combat-training were rigorously maintained and lapses were severely punished. But Montgomery remained little concerned with saluting, polished blouse buttons, and related incidentals. The men appreciated that. It made sense, and it gradually helped them accept the exertions through which they were put.
Generals in the British Army had always been remote creatures, not only of a far more privileged social background than almost all of those they commanded, but linked to ordinary
Soldiers only through long, forbidding chains of command. However, ''Monty" went regularly among his troops, visited their encampments, spoke to them, and showed them that they mattered personally to him and that he was interested in doing everything he could to promote their well-being. The men came to appreciate his efforts to make them understand not only how they would be fighting but what they would be fighting for.
The value of these efforts was recognized by senior army figures. Casualty lists were mounting alarmingly, and reports by British liaison officers in the United States indicated that, despite that country's enormous potential, it might be a while before the Americans would be able to contribute significantly to lightening the load the British were carrying in the conflict. Despite Winston Churchill's stirring oratory, military reverses everywhere had spread a mood of despair over Britain. Sir Alexander Cadogan, Undersecretary of State at the Foreign Office, moaned, ''Our army is the mockery of the world.''
Montgomery responded to the crisis with seemingly misplaced confidence. High-spirited and hard-driving, he continued to conduct himself in a way that others considered peculiar at best and that under other circumstances would have led his army career into a dead end. He never bothered offering explanations or making a fuss to have his way. He merely proceeded without giving a thought to objections and without tolerating even the harmless weaknesses of individuals, including civilian dignitaries, reckless enough to cross his path. Among them was the Archbishop of Canterbury, primate of the Church of England.
The archbishop, a proud and brave man, announced that even if the Germans invaded he would not leave the coastal area. He said that it was unthinkable for him to abandon the magnificent and sacred Canterbury Cathedral. Like Saint Thomas a Becket, he would face the enemy there and let them do their worst. Montgomery thought that was nonsense. He issued orders that if the Germans landed and the archbishop proved obstinate, he was to be removed to safety. He did not do the archbishop the courtesy of discussing the matter with him.
Though he was courteous and considerate when he chose to
Be, neither courtesy nor consideration ranked prominently in his table of values. He fiad a job to do, had firm ideas about how it should be done, and would not be distracted by what he considered trivialities. At one point, after a grueling few weeks, Montgomery instructed an aide to locate a quiet local inn where he could take a break for a few days to think about defense of the region in a more leisurely setting. Unable to find the sort of place that he believed would adequately serve the required purpose, the aide began scouting large private country houses. He believed their owners would be pleased to have the general as a houseguest.
He made the suggestion to a member of the House of Lords who owned an estate in the region. The man replied that he was expecting houseguests in about two weeks' time but he would be delighted to play host to Montgomery for a few days. Montgomery had mixed feelings about that. The accommodations sounded right, but he feared his host would intrude upon his privacy and would want to chatter away at him during meals.
He knew how to resolve that problem. He would take over a wing of the house, bring his own army cook, and eat his meals separately. When informed, his would-be host was understandably upset. It was not customary for his guests to make demands. But it was war, and he understood there were times when a general had to be alone to relax and think. Since it would only be for a few days, he would accept the ungracious terms imposed on his hospitality.
When the aide reported back to Montgomery, proud of himself for having sorted out a delicate problem, he found that the general had other ideas. "From what you tell me," he said, "it is a lovely place. . . has nice gardens and everything. . . maybe we will stay three or four weeks. Yes, we will—we will be staying for a month. Go back and tell him I have changed my mind and that we are going to bring along a couple of servants as well."
The owner of the estate was outraged. He said he would not be treated like that in his own home and withdrew the invitation. When the aide reported back, Montgomery took a look at
A map of the area and decided it was a restricted zone. ''Kick him out at once," he ordered. "We can't have him in the way of an invasion." The man was ejected from his country home and Montgomery moved in, handing it over to the army for the duration of the war when he was through with it.
The British Combined Operations Staff was a unique organization. Among its personnel it had achieved something that had always proved absurdly elusive in the American military structure—amicable cooperation between Britain's three armed services. The British had known from the beginning that an invasion of the European continent would be required before the Germans could finally be defeated. For months the Combined Operations Staff, under the command of Admiral Mount-batten, had been examining possibilities for a limited raid on the coast of northwest France to test German defenses there. Only through such an exercise could prospects for an Allied invasion of France begin to be evaluated.
Dieppe was chosen as the target for the raid. It was a port city and the Allies would need control of a major port on the English Channel through which to establish a line of supply when the invasion ultimately took place. It was also well within range of support aircraft flying from British bases. As army commander in southern England, Montgomery was closely involved in planning the Dieppe raid. He was subsequently criticized not for the role he played in it, but for trying to downplay the extent of his involvement.
The raid was to take place July 4,1942, but inclement weather forced a delay. Then indications that the Germans were aware a raid was imminent forced its postponement. The attack plan was revised but Montgomery had developed doubts about it and urged that it be abandoned for security reasons. It was not. The raid, launched on August 19, was a fiasco. Of 5,000 troops involved, almost all of them Canadian, more than 3,300 became casualties.
By then Montgomery was out of the picture, in a different job in a different place. But in his memoirs he sought to absolve himself from any responsibility for the rout at Dieppe. He as-
Serted that he would, never have agreed to the changes made in the original raid plan, which eliminated a preliminary aerial bombardment in order to maintain surprise as well as substituted commandos for paratroopers. He implied that the raid failed because of those changes. That may or may not be true. But the fact was that the changes were made while Montgomery was still involved in planning the operation. There is no evidence that he objected to them at the time. Indeed, one history of the Combined Operations Staff has him chairing the meeting at which the disputed changes were made.
His denial of any responsibility was groundless. It was also small-minded. By the time he tried to dissociate himself from any blame in the affair, he had already achieved fame and glory and was honored as one of the greatest commanders in British history. Though he participated in the original planning, he was by no means in charge of it. None of the others involved sought to shift responsibility onto someone else. No one openly criticized Montgomery for the Dieppe failure. But he was obsessed with the need to be right even when he was wrong and with shifting blame to others when he himself shared it.
It is possible that he did not realize he was fabricating about his role in the planning of the Dieppe operation. Later in the war he was often to say things that he believed were accurate and that others knew were not. To Brooke, who repeatedly sought to shield Montgomery from the consequences of his objectionable actions, he sometimes confessed that he was capable of errors. But genuine contrition was not his style. He was convinced that all his equations always added up properly, and if they didn't then someone else must have messed them about.
World History
