After Hitler: The Last Ten Days of World War II in Europe (20 page)

Sergeant Norman Kirby, responsible for security and intelligence at TAC HQ, said:

It seemed it was forever wedded to bracken and fir trees – and the idea of isolation, a strange paradox for a headquarters which, with its buzzing telephone wires, was one of the most vital nerve centres of the war, in constant touch with the British Prime Minister and other Allied war leaders. But perhaps it was its loneliness, its small size, its eccentricity – and the fact that it was the war-time home of General Montgomery – that gave its inhabitants the feeling of belonging to something unique.

Eccentric it certainly was. Albert Williams, a mechanic at TAC HQ, remembered how shortly after D-Day the mobile HQ arrived at the Norman chateau of Creully. The elderly couple who lived there were expecting to make way for the Allied commander – but they were told they could stay. Instead, Montgomery parked his caravan in a far field. ‘Although popular with the troops, Montgomery was a rather quiet man,’ Williams recalled, ‘who enjoyed his own company. When we set up an HQ in each place, his caravans would be placed in a well-secured field, separate from the rest of the HQ. But he liked to have farm animals around him – I think he found their presence comforting. Petting a horse or a donkey could take his mind off the enormity of the situation he found himself in.’ When his son-in-law Tom Carver returned to TAC HQ in Italy in December 1943 he was given a tour that included Monty’s collection of canaries and lovebirds; there had also been a peacock, but it had been given away to a local farmer after it had bitten two of his ADCs.

But at the heart of TAC HQ was an eerie silence. ‘His three caravans were usually in a separate field,’ Sergeant Kirby remembered, ‘and there was a reverential gap between the main camp and the hallowed ground of his enclosure. Even when called to report to the caravan I never lost the guilty feeling of being a trespasser. Everything about his living quarters contributed to the idea of seclusion: the tank by the entrance, the armoured car, the immaculate jeep – and the three caravans themselves, veiled in camouflage netting as if entangled in some giant spider’s web.’

Field Marshal Montgomery was Britain’s best-known Second World War military commander and immensely popular within the United Kingdom. A divisional commander during the battle for France in 1940, he took over the British 8th Army in the summer of 1942 and won a major victory against Rommel’s Afrika Korps at El Alamein, a twelve-day attrition battle that began later that year, on 23 October, and broke German power in North Africa.

The foundations of this memorable victory were not only tactical and logistical, but rested on Montgomery’s clarity of thinking and remarkable gift for lifting morale. When Winston Churchill and General Sir Alan Brooke visited him in the desert on 19 August 1942, Brooke was moved to remark: ‘I knew Monty pretty well by then, but I must confess I was dumbfounded by the situation facing him, the rapidity with which he had grasped the essentials, the clarity of his plans and above all his unbounded self-confidence with which he inspired all those that he came into contact with.’

Montgomery transformed the British 8th Army into a victory-winning force whose morale became legendary – there was virtually no sickness or absenteeism within its ranks: everyone wanted to fight. General Dwight Eisenhower paid his first visit to 8th Army HQ on 1 April 1943 and – much impressed by what he saw there – praised its commander: ‘It is obvious on all sides that a high degree of discipline, morale and battle efficiency characterises the whole force. I congratulate you on the magnificent fighting machine that has been produced, whose excellence is proved by its long record of victories since last October.’

The atmosphere of seclusion at the heart of the army headquarters captured by Sergeant Norman Kirby was a key feature of Montgomery’s generalship. The British commander had a deep sense of spiritual responsibility for his soldiers, once remarking that ‘his chaplains were more important to him than his artillery’ – and was always careful with the lives of his men. Well aware that these lives depended on the quality of his judgement, he created an atmosphere of calm and quiet in which to carry out his decisions.

This was a praiseworthy quality, although one frequently misunderstood by his American allies, and Montgomery was always a sound planner who placed great emphasis on proper training and refused to be rushed into a campaign before he was ready. He devised his war plans in seclusion but then shared them with his troops. His greatest gift was an ability to communicate the big military picture and what was required of his men with wonderful simplicity. He was a commander with a firm belief in being seen by his soldiers, who brought about a transformation of morale in every army that he led. He was also a natural showman, who understood the value of being a larger-than-life character in war. In the desert, these qualities were great strengths rather than weaknesses.

Montgomery led the invasion of Sicily and then fought in Italy before being recalled to plan the D-Day invasion. He was overall ground commander in the first six weeks of the invasion, but relinquished this post when General Eisenhower arrived in France to lead the war in person. Although this had been agreed in advance, when it actually happened Montgomery chose to take offence, clearly resenting the fact that he was commanded by a man with little battle experience. Although a measure of irritation was understandable, it was a sign of some pettiness and egocentricity that he allowed this grievance to consume him as much as it did. But Montgomery, now commander of the 21st Army Group, could still put in good battle performances, particularly during the German Ardennes offensive. He made mistakes militarily, however (the ill-fated Operation Market Garden), and also personally – the chief of these was his utter inability to get on with his American allies.

During the North African campaign Montgomery’s ‘unbounded self-confidence’ and his love of publicity and the media were considerable assets, allowing him to reach out and win the hearts and minds of his soldiers. In Europe they became a liability, one that reached its nadir with a disastrous press conference given during the Battle of the Bulge that succeeded in patronising and offending almost every American commander present. In North Africa Montgomery primarily cared about his army; in Europe he came to be increasingly preoccupied by his own reputation and a belief that he had been denied a chance to exercise his full talents in the war’s closing stages. In short, Monty had a point to prove – and at Lüneburg Heath he would play out that drama on a stage of his own choosing.

The result would be a bravura performance that delighted the assembled British officers, journalists and, most of all, Montgomery himself. The field marshal had top billing in a stand-out piece of theatre that had everything – drama, pathos and knock-about comedy. The result was utterly beguiling – particularly as Montgomery not only had the surrender filmed, but in a notable first had a synchronised sound recording in place to accompany it.

Whereas Eisenhower’s chief of staff, General Beedle Smith – or ‘Beetle’ as he was nicknamed – managed the surrender at Rheims with a near-total aversion to publicity, became agitated if too many cameras were in the room and only with the greatest reluctance allowed one microphone to be present (as long as its wires were not showing), Montgomery preened himself before the assembled journalists and practised the surrender with camera and sound crews as if he were choreographing a West End musical. And in a way, he was.

The German surrender at Lüneburg Heath was a spectacle to be enjoyed and savoured, a
son et lumière
with a dash of George Formby thrown in. But as with most theatre, it should not be taken at face value. In the script, Monty rode roughshod over the leering Hun; in reality, he wanted to strike a deal with the German military. In the script, Monty was always ahead of the game; in reality, he missed a trick (or two) that played into the hands of the Dönitz regime. But we should take our places. The lights are dimming, and so much entertainment at a military surrender, and an unconditional one at that, will rarely be seen again.

The curtain opens on three caravans, used by Montgomery as an office, map room and bedroom. It is the heart of a spider’s web. Around it is a hub of activity. We are introduced to the unique features of Montgomery’s command post. The first is a special liaison regiment, known as ‘Phantom’. This is a secret intelligence and communication unit that gives the field marshal a constant, real-time picture of the battlefield. This is done by patrol – teams of special radio operators, drivers, dispatch riders – attached to the HQ of every division and corps that Montgomery commands. These patrols radio back to TAC HQ – a source of accurate, unembellished information about events on the ground.

Then Montgomery’s liaison officers enter the stage. They are personally selected by the British commander and directed by him on a daily basis. They go out by jeep each morning with a list of tasks: people and HQs to visit, a tactical picture to construct – and return each evening to deliver a report to the field marshal in person.

On this occasion, a very special event is to occur – and Montgomery, informed of it well in advance, is making his plans. It is 11.30 a.m. on 3 May, and a four-man German delegation is about to arrive at Montgomery’s headquarters. It is led by Admiral Georg von Friedeburg, Dönitz’s successor as head of the German navy, and also consists of General Eberhard Kinzel, chief of staff to Field Marshal Busch, Rear Admiral Gerhard Wagner and Major Jochen Friedel.

The delegation moves along the road to Montgomery’s HQ sitting bolt upright in their cars, with long grey belted coats, jackboots and monocles. Friedeburg is cadaverous in his long leather greatcoat; Kinzel – a magnificent 6 foot 5 inches tall – the very epitome of Prussian arrogance. Friedel, according to Montgomery’s ADC, Colonel Trumbull Warren, has ‘the cruellest face of any man I have ever seen’. And as one war correspondent wrote, they are ‘accompanied by a general atmosphere of pent-up defiance’. A British armoured car escorts the column forward.

Let us pass the baton over to the great showman himself and allow Montgomery to describe what follows:

They were brought to my caravan and were drawn up under the Union Jack, which was flying proudly in the breeze. I kept them waiting for a few minutes and then came out of my caravan and walked towards them. They all saluted under the flag. It was a great moment. I knew that the Germans had come to surrender and that the war was over.

I then said to my interpreter: ‘Who are these men?’ He told me.

I then said, ‘What do they want?’

Admiral von Friedeburg then read me a letter from Field Marshal Keitel offering to surrender to me the three German armies withdrawing in front of the Russians between Berlin and Rostock. I refused to consider this, saying that these armies should surrender to the Russians. Von Friedeburg said that this was unthinkable … I said that the Germans should have thought of all these things before they began the war – and particularly before they attacked the Russians.

Von Friedeburg next said that they were anxious about the civilian population in Mecklenburg who were being overrun by the Russians. I replied that Mecklenburg was not in my area of responsibility.

I then decided to spring something on them quickly. I said to von Friedeburg:

Will you surrender to me all German forces on my western and northern flanks, including all forces in Holland, Schleswig-Holstein and Denmark?

I added that if he could not agree to this, and if Germany refused to surrender in these areas unconditionally, I would order the fighting to continue and many more German soldiers would be killed, and civilians too from artillery fire and air attack.

I thought that an interval for lunch might be desirable, so that they could reflect on what I had said.

I sent them away to have lunch by themselves, with nobody else present except one of my officers. Von Friedeburg wept during lunch; the others did not say much.

Afterwards Montgomery met the delegation again in his conference room, ‘with a map of the battle situation spread out on the table. I repeated my demand for unconditional surrender as a prelude to any the discussion. They saw at once that I meant what I said.’

‘The Chief is putting on a pretty good act,’ Colonel Trumbull Warren whispered to Lieutenant Colonel Dawnay. ‘Shut up you son of a bitch!’ Dawnay replied good-humouredly. ‘He has been rehearsing it all his life.’

Von Friedeburg then left to report to Dönitz. He was to return the following afternoon. Montgomery phoned Eisenhower at SHAEF headquarters at Rheims – and the supreme commander told the field marshal that if the German response the next day was favourable, he could accept it as a battlefield surrender on his behalf.

Montgomery phoned Rheims the following lunchtime, Friday, 4 May. The surrender was on. ‘We’ve got everything in hand,’ he said. ‘The correspondents are all set.’ Among them was Alan Moorehead, who had already covered many of Montgomery’s campaigns and now witnessed his final triumph:

Shortly after five o’clock on the 4th May, while the firing died along the front, the war correspondents gathered in a tent at Montgomery’s headquarters. It was a wild hill-top on Lüneburg Heath, especially wild in those alternate gusts of cold rain and watery sunshine, and the lovely colours of the countryside spread away for miles, pools of dark green in the clumps of pine, purple in the heather.

Calmly, almost breezily, Montgomery began to tell us of the events … Half way through his talk Colonel Ewart came in to say that the German delegation had arrived back with their answer. ‘Tell them to wait’ Montgomery said, and he went on addressing us for the next half hour. He was finishing his war exactly as he had begun it – absolutely convinced that he was right and that things were going his way.