FIELD MARSHAL IN BATTLE

Nelson Evening Mail, Volume 80, 12 May 1945, Page 7

FIELD MARSHAL IN BATTLE

(By A. P. HERBERT, M.P.)

“ ASCETIC . CROMWELLIAN FIG URE'

SECRETS OF MONTGOMERY'S SUCCESS

AT HIS BEST WHEN THINGS ARE BAD

In this article. Mr A. P. Herbert, j M.P., of •‘Punch," well-known humorist | and man of letters, who has been the i guest of Field-Marshal Montgomery in | the field, gives his impressions of 21st | Army Group Headquarters when big events are signalled. “What is Monty like?” The ques- | tion is so often on the lip!? of grate- ! ful Britons that one who has known ■ him for many years, and seen him j recently at work on the Continent, j may perhaps try to put down some J sort of an answer on paper. I have twice had the honour to j visit the field-marshal in the field j (not, I hasten to say, as an M.P.) [ since he landed in Normandy with a • map in his pocket and a precise plan j of victory in his head. The first occasion was in the week j of the Falaise pocket. Headquarters, j a little camp of caravans, was near j the Bois de Cerisy. An idyllic scene. Such a wood as Shakespeare must j have imagined for “A Midsummer i Night’s Dream.” Tall trees . . . delicious sun . . melodious birds. ! In the thick fern tame rabbits wan- j dered about at the batmen’s heels; the absurd dogs, Rommel, Keitel, Hitler and Co., romped on the camouflage netting; and in the general’s caravan a canary sang its head off. After two months of doodlebugs on London River, this battle headquarters was a haven of peace, and I had a quiet night at last. MUST HAVE TIME TO THINK Yet that night “the Chief” (as his followers call him) ordered Falaise, not so far away, to be shelled for the first time, and the fatal pocket began to close. Now, here is one of the secrets. One is inclined to imagine the headquarters of a great general in time t>f battle as the scene of feverish activity, and even noise—staff officers bustling about, telephones ringing everywhere, despatch-riders roaring in and out, multitudes of clerks and soldiers—and reporters. For all I know, there may be such scenes elsewhere; but they are not to be found at Montgomery’s headquarters. For he considers that the job of a supreme leader in the field is to think, and he insists on having the time and the conditions for thinking “SCIENTIFIC DETACHMENT’ From which two things follow: He will not be bothered with a mass of detail and he will not be surrounded by a crowd. The officers about him, day and night, are his own small, chosen, and delightful, personal staff. The other heads of departments, with all their necessary routine and retinue, are elsewhere. And so that night, whdn he was devising and executing perhaps the bloodiest slaughter of the war, we dined in surroundings like the last act in Peter Pan and talked about the House of Commons. But I do not wish to suggest the picture of a general sitting very far back in comfort, forgetting the fight and letting things go hang. Far from it. This detachment is deliberate—and scientific. The “Chief” makes the plans. The generals and the staff work out the details and execute them. A MASTERLY DOCUMENT But he knows that his subordinates will set about the execution of any particular task according to his principles—principles of action in which all those under him have been so thoroughly instructed that they are almost second nature. I have been privileged to see these principles set out, and a masterly document it is. So, once the task is set, the “Chief” can get thinking again; and he has time, by the way, to write those careful long-hand letters home which, bearing the date of some big battle, have astonished so many civilians. I remember goggling at my own invitation to go over to Normandy—and the detailed instructions about arrangements. I might have been art Army Corps. But the battle is not forgotten. And. although the intrusive details are kept at arm’s-length, they are always within easy reach, as I saw that evening. THE MAP CARAVAN After the 9 o’clock news we went across to the map caravan to hear what the “boys” had to say. This is the regular routine. The “boys” an the A.D.C.’s and liaison officers, British, American, Canadian. The “boys” have been out to the various fronts during the day—driving immense distances in cars or jeeps, a tough job in the winter, a wearing one in any weather. Now each in turn comes to the great map on the wall and tells the “Chief” what he knows. “The 21st are through th e wood. It’s a bit sticky by the Windmill. This bridge is ‘blown,’ but they hope to use ‘ducks.’ The 44th will attack at 0400.” And so on. The “Chief” asks a few questions, but makes few comments It might be somebody else’s battle. But it isn’t. These are his own chosen men at work, using his ways; and so there is nothing much to say. A CLASSIC PHRASE But when the last young officer had gone he said: “Come and look at this map. That map’s no use to me.” “This” was a smaller-scale map, on which one could see the big picture. He showed me how the “pocket” had begun and accurately indicated the end; how he had “loosed” the Canadians southward far from Falaise, how that night the northbound force would be turning up through Alencon and Argentan. There was no bombast, no “We’ve got ’em in the bag.” I shall never forget what he ! did say—a classic phrase, I think. Very quietly he said: “It will be very interesting to see the outcome.” It was. “It will be very interesting to see the outcome.” These words, spoken privately about Falaise, are, I suggest, the best answer to all the whispering about conceit, the “showman” and the other nonsense. “BLOWS THE ARMY’S TRUMPET” For one thing, no one can be a “showman” unless he has something to show. For another, I am sure that the things the whisperers have in mind have been done deliberately as part of the job. When he took high command the Army had little to show and few to show it. 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its own, and others’, estimation. Where is it now? The “Chief” blows the Army’s trumpet, not tiis own. And I wish the whisperers could have driven about Normandy with him, as I did one afternoon, and seen his soldiers salute him. Half-naked Pioneers, nobly sweating on the dusty roads, would look up and recognise, and lift their heads high, and salute, sometimes with the mo.:: odd contortions, as if to say, “This is my special salute for my general.” One realised what saluting is for. DRIVING POWER In Holland, in November, in very different headquarters, I was astonished again by many things—by that extraordinary power of detachment, by the binding, driving power of this one personality throughout the forces under him, by his great clarity of mind and powers of expression. One morning the battle for the Meuse pocket began. The same morning the field-marshal received seven editors from London. A tiny room—goldfish—a shrill canary—tanks roaring and rumbling outside. For an hour, without a note, without a pause, he addressed them; a fascinating and masterly account of the whole campaign, from* D-Day, of ' the German generals and the German Army, of his own principles of wari fare, of tank construction, of this and | that. Simply as an example of speechmaking it would have excited my admiration in a long-schooled Cabinet Minister. But this was a soldier — who had just started a battle! So much has been said and written about the “ascetic, Cromwellian” | figure, who does not drink or smoke, i and reads the Lessons and quotes I scripture, that I think many have i formed a faulty impression. NOT A GRIM MAN j This is not a grim man .There is a j strong spiritual quality, certainly, but plenty of quiet fun—as anyone may see who reads the mess betting book. One of his staff told me that he had never seen the “Chief” “more magnificent” than he was during the Rundstedt offensive. And full of fun then. At the height of the crisis—and it was a crisis—he would come down to breakfast and say: “This is awkward. We can’t go out through Dunkirk this time. The Germans are there.” When things are bad he is at his best. He does not drink himself, but anyone may refresh himself as he pleases in the mess. He has even pressed one to smoke, although this, I believe, is a rare honour. He reads a lot and goes to bed on most nights at 9.30. but does not expect the whole world to do likewise. He is interested in everything, but does not, like some big men I have met, lay down the law to the people about their subjects. He can listen as well as talk. He has ideas about many things outside soldiering; about the future of Britain and Europe; but I predict that he will not go into politics. as some have rumoured. Nothing, I suppose, however, can prevent him going into the House of Lords. Once more, then, we shall have cause to be grateful for our Second Chamber, for there, I think, this great man will have some good things to say.