The Gathering Storm: The Second World War (83 page)

* * * * *

Hitler’s decision to invade Norway had, as we have seen, been taken on December 14, and the staff work was proceeding under Keitel. The incident of the
Altmark
no doubt gave a spur to action. At Keitel’s suggestion on February 20, Hitler summoned urgently to Berlin General Falkenhorst, who was at that time in command of an army corps at Coblenz. Falkenhorst had taken part in the German campaign in Fin¬land in 1918, and upon this subject the interview with the Fuehrer opened. The General described the conversation at the Nuremberg Trials.

Hitler reminded me of my experience in Finland, and said to me, “Sit down and tell me what you did.” After a moment, the Fuehrer interrupted me. He led me to a table covered with maps. “I have a similar thing in mind,” he said: “the occupation of Norway; because I am informed that the English intend to land there, and I want to be there before them.”

Then marching up and down he expounded to me his reasons. “The occupation of Norway by the British would be a strategic turning movement which would lead them into the Baltic, where we have neither troops nor coastal fortifications. The success which we have gained in the East and which we are going to win in the West would be annihilated because the enemy would find himself in a position to advance on Berlin and to break the backbone of our two fronts. In the second and third place, the conquest of Norway will ensure the liberty of movement of our Fleet in the Bay of Wilhelmshaven, and will protect our imports of Swedish ore.” … Finally he said to me, “I appoint you to the command of the expedition.”

That afternoon Falkenhorst was summoned again to the Chancellery to discuss with Hitler, Keitel, and Jodl the detailed operational plans for the Norwegian expedition. The question of priorities was of supreme importance. Would Hitler commit himself in Norway before or after the execution of “Case Yellow” – the attack on France? On March 1, he made his decision: Norway was to come first. The entry in Jodl’s diary for March 3 reads, “The Fuehrer decides to carry out ‘Weser Exercise’ before ‘Case Yellow’ with a few days’ interval.”

* * * * *

A vexatious air attack had recently begun on our shipping all along the east coast. Besides ocean-going vessels destined for the large ports, there were on any given day about three hundred and twenty ships of between five hundred and two thousand tons either at sea or in harbour on the coast, many engaged in coal transport to London and the south. Only a few of these small vessels had yet been provided with an antiaircraft gun, and the enemy aircraft, therefore, concentrated upon this easy prey. They even attacked the lightships. These faithful servants of the seamen, moored in exposed positions near the shoals along our coasts, were of use to all, even the marauding U-boat itself, and had never been touched in any previous war. Several were now sunk or damaged, the worst case being off the Humber, where a fierce machine-gun attack killed eight out of the lightship’s crew of nine.

As a defence against air attack, the convoy system proved as effective as it had against the U-boats, but everything was now done to find some kind of weapon for each ship. In our dearth of ack-ack guns all sorts of contrivances were used. Even a life-saving rocket brought down an air bandit. The spare machine-guns from the Home Fleet were distributed with naval gunners to British and Allied merchant ships on the east coast. These men and their weapons were shifted from ship to ship for each voyage through the danger zone. By the end of February, the Army was able to help, and thus began an organisation later known as the Maritime Royal Artillery. At the height of the war in 1944, more than thirty-eight thousand officers and men from the regular forces were employed in this task, of which fourteen thousand were found by the Army. Over considerable sections of the east coast convoy route, air fighter protection from the nearest airfields could soon be given on call. Thus the efforts of all three services were combined. An increasing toll was taken of the raiders. Shooting-up ordinary defenceless shipping of all countries turned out to be more costly than had been expected, and the attacks diminished.

Not all the horizon was dark. In the outer seas there had been no further signs of raider activity since the destruction of the
Graf Spee
in December, and the work of sweeping German shipping from the seas continued. During February, six German ships left Spain in an attempt to reach Germany. Only one succeeded; of the remainder three were captured, one scuttled herself, and one was wrecked in Norway. Seven other German ships attempting to run the blockade were intercepted by our patrols during February and March. All except one of these were scuttled by their captains. Altogether by the beginning of April, 1940, seventy-one ships of three hundred and forty thousand tons had been lost to the Germans by capture or scuttling, while two hundred and fifteen German ships still remained cooped in neutral ports. Finding our merchant ships armed, the U-boats had abandoned the gun for the torpedo. Their next descent had been from the torpedo to the lowest form of warfare – the undeclared mine. We have seen how the magnetic-mine attack had been met and mastered. Nevertheless, more than half our losses in January were from this cause and more than two-thirds of the total fell on neutrals.

On the Navy estimates at the end of February, I reviewed the salient features of the war at sea. The Germans, I surmised, had lost half the U-boats with which they had entered the war. Contrary to expectation, few new ones had yet made their appearance. Actually, as we now know, sixteen U-boats had been sunk and nine added up to the end of February. The enemy’s main effort had not yet developed. Our programme of shipbuilding, both in the form of escort vessels and in replacement of merchant ships, was very large. The Admiralty had taken over control of merchant shipbuilding, and Sir James Lithgow, the Glasgow shipbuilder, had joined the Board for this purpose. In the first six months of this new war our net loss had been less than two hundred thousand tons compared with four hundred and fifty thousand tons in the single deadly month of April, 1917. Meanwhile, we had continued to capture more cargoes in tonnage destined for the enemy than we had lost ourselves.

Each month [I said in ending my speech] there has been a steady improvement in imports. In January the Navy carried safely into British harbours, despite U-boats and mines and the winter gales and fog, considerably more than four-fifths of the peace-time average for the three preceding years…. When we consider the great number of British ships which have been withdrawn for naval service or for the transport of our armies across the Channel or of troop convoys across the globe, there is nothing in these results – to put it mildly – which should cause despondency or alarm.

The Fleet Returns to Scapa Flow — Our Voyage Through the Minches — “Mines Reported in the Fairway” — An Air Alarm — Improvements at Scapa
—
Hitler’s Plans as Now Known — Desperate Plight of Finland
—
M. Daladier’s Vain Efforts — The Russo-Finnish Armistice Terms — New Dangers in Scandinavia — “Operation Royal Marine” — The Fluvial Mines Ready — M. Daladier’s Opposition — The Fall of the Daladier Government — My Letter to the New Premier, M. Reynaud — Meeting of Supreme War Council, March
28 —
Mr. Chamberlain’s Survey
—
Decision to Mine the Norwegian Leads at Last — Seven Months’ Delay — Various Offensive Proposals and Devices — Mr. Chamberlain’s Speech of April
5, 1940 —
Signs of Impending German Action.

M
ARCH
12 was the long-desired date for the reoccupation and use of Scapa as the main base of the Home Fleet. I thought I would give myself the treat of being present on this occasion in our naval affairs, and embarked accordingly in Admiral Forbes’ flagship at the Clyde.

The Fleet comprised five capital ships, a cruiser squadron, and perhaps a score of destroyers. The twenty-hour voyage lay through the Minches. We were to pass the Northern Straits at dawn and reach Scapa about noon. The
Hood
and other ships from Rosyth, moving up the east coast, would be there some hours before us. The navigation of the Minches is intricate, and the northern exit barely a mile wide. On every side are rocky shores and reefs, and three U-boats were reported in these enclosed waters. We had to proceed at high speed and by zigzag. All the usual peace-time lights were out. This was, therefore, a task in navigation which the Navy keenly appreciated. However, just as we were about to start after luncheon, the Master of the Fleet, navigating officer of the flagship, on whom the prime direct responsibility lay, was suddenly stricken by influenza. So a very young-looking lieutenant who was his assistant came up onto the bridge to take charge of the movement of the Fleet. I was struck by this officer, who without any notice had to undertake so serious a task requiring such perfect science, accuracy, and judgment. His composure did not entirely conceal his satisfaction.

I had many things to discuss with the Commander-in-Chief, and it was not until after midnight that I went up onto the bridge. All was velvet black. The air was clear, but no stars were to be seen, and there was no moon. The great ship ploughed along at about sixteen knots. One could just see the dark mass astern of the following battleship. Here were nearly thirty vessels steaming in company and moving in order with no lights of any kind except their tiny stern-lights, and constantly changing course in accordance with the prescribed anti-U-boat ritual. It was five hours since they had had any observation of the land or the heavens. Presently the Admiral joined me, and I said to him: “Here is one of the things I should be very sorry to be made responsible for carrying out. How are you going to make sure you will hit the narrow exit from the Minches at daylight?” “What would you do, sir,” he said, “if you were at this moment the only person who could give an order?” I replied at once: “I should anchor and wait till morning. ‘Anchor, Hardy,’ as Nelson said.” But the Admiral answered: “We have nearly a hundred fathoms of water beneath us now.” I had, of course, complete confidence, gained over many years, in the Navy, and I only tell this tale to bring home to the general reader the marvellous skill and precision with which what seem to landsmen to be impossible feats of this kind are performed when necessary as a matter of course.

It was eight o’clock before I woke, and we were in the broad waters north of the Minches, steering round the western extremity of Scotland towards Scapa Flow. We were perhaps half an hour’s steaming from the entrance to Scapa when a signal reached us saying that several German aircraft had dropped mines in the main entrance we were about to use. Admiral Forbes thereupon decided that he must stand out to the westward for twenty-four hours until the channel had been reported clear, and on this the whole Fleet began to change its course. “I can easily put you ashore in a destroyer if you care to transship,” he said. “The
Hood
is already in harbour and can look after you.” As I had snatched these three days from London with difficulty, I accepted this offer. Our baggage was rapidly brought on deck; the flagship reduced her speed to three or four knots, and a cutter manned by twelve men in their life-belts was lowered from the davits. My small party was already in it, and I was taking leave of the Admiral when an air-raid alarm sounded, and the whole ship flashed into activity as all the ack-ack batteries were manned and other measures taken.

I was worried that the ship should have had to slow down in waters where we knew there were U-boats, but the Admiral said it was quite all right, and pointed to five destroyers which were circling round her at high speed, while a sixth waited for us. We were a quarter of an hour rowing across the mile that separated us from our destroyer. It was like in the olden times, except that the sailors had not so much practice with the oars. The flagship had already regained her speed and was steaming off after the rest of her Fleet before we climbed on board. All the officers were at their action stations on the destroyer, and we were welcomed by the surgeon, who took us into the wardroom, where all the instruments of his profession were laid out on the table ready for accidents. But no air raid occurred, and we immediately proceeded at high speed into Scapa. We entered through Switha Sound, which is a small and subsidiary channel and was not affected by the mine-dropping. “This is the tradesmen’s entrance,” said Thompson, my Flag Commander. It was in fact the one assigned to the storeships. “It’s the only one,” said the destroyer lieutenant stiffly, “that the flotillas are allowed to use.” To make everything go well, I asked him if he could remember Kipling’s poem about

“Mines reported in the fairway, warn all traffic and detain.
“Send up …’”

and here I let him carry on, which he did correctly: