History of the Second World War (40 page)

There were two more divisions close behind on the mainland, but General Yamashita did not consider that he could effectively deploy them in the island advance. He did, however, feed in a lot of fresh men as replacements during the days that followed.

Numerically, the defenders had more than sufficient strength in the island to repel the invasion, particularly as it came in the sector where it was most expected. General Percival, even now, had some 85,000 troops under his command — mainly British, Australian, and Indian, with some local Malay and Chinese units. But the majority were ill-trained to match the Japanese attacking force, composed of troops specially selected for the purpose, and had been repeatedly outmanoeuvred in the dense jungle country or rubber plantations. The leadership in general was poor.

The air force had been outnumbered and outclassed from the outset of the campaign, and the little that remained was withdrawn in the final stage. Lack of protection against the enemy’s fierce and incessant air attacks was the more demoralising to troops whose spirits were already depressed by the long retreat down the Malay Peninsula.

The effect of the home Government’s failure to provide such essential air cover was not redressed by the appeals that Churchill and his military advisers now sent that ‘the battle should be fought to the bitter end at all costs’, and that commanders ‘should die with their troops’ for ‘the honour of the British Empire’, carry out a ‘general scorched-earth scheme’ and destroy everything that might be useful to an occupier with ‘no thought of saving the troops or sparing the population’. All this showed an extraordinary ignorance of psychology on the part of the authorities at home. The morale of the men in the fighting line was not raised by the sight of black smoke clouds billowing up behind them, from burning oil tanks. Nor did it encourage them to know that they were doomed to death or captivity. A year later, even the tough German veterans in Africa collapsed quickly when, after Hitler’s order to hold Tunis at all costs, their front was pierced and behind them lay the sea, with the enemy in command of it. To call on troops to fight with ‘backs to the wall’ of such a nature is rarely effective in stiffening their spine.

At Singapore the end came on Sunday, February 15 — exactly a week after the Japanese landing. By that time the defenders had been driven back to the suburbs of Singapore city, which lies on the south coast of the island. Food stocks were running low and the water supply was liable to be cut off at any moment. That evening General Percival went out under a white flag to capitulate to the Japanese commander. For a brave man it was a bitter step, but surrender was inevitable, and he chose to go himself in the hope of obtaining better treatment for his troops and the population.

These two black Sundays at Singapore were fatal to the imperial sway of what had been proudly called for many years ‘the Empire on which the sun never sets’.

The failure to repel the Japanese Army’s attack, however, was not the primary cause. The surrender of Singapore was the sequel to naval defeat — two months before.

It was also the tail end of a long chain of errors and oversights. The development of the new base and its defences had been pitifully slow. Political reluctance to spend money was not the only brake. In the years following the decision to build this base a violent argument raged in Whitehall as to the best means of defending it. The argument was fiercest of all in the Chiefs of Staff Committee — supposedly as united as a trinity. Trenchard, the Chief of the Air Staff, urged the paramount importance of aircraft. Beatty, the First Sea Lord, advocated big guns — while scorning the idea that aircraft could be a grave threat to battleships. Both were famous men, and strong men.

The Government hesitated to decide between their views, and the controversy still continued long after they had retired. On balance, the ‘Senior Service’ prevailed. The big guns were provided, but not the aircraft. Unfortunately, when the attack eventually came it did not come from the way the guns were pointing, but from behind.

In the 1930s various soldiers who studied the problem began to suggest that the attack might come through the backdoor, by way of the Malay Peninsula. It seemed the more likely because the naval base had been built on the north side of Singapore, in the narrow channel between the island and the mainland. Among the soldiers who took that view was Percival, when Chief General Staff Officer in Malaya 1936-7. It was endorsed by the then G.O.C., General Dobbie, who in 1938 began the construction of a defence line in the south of the Malay Peninsula.

Mr Hore-Belisha, who had now become War Minister, was quick to appreciate the necessity for increasing the small garrison — for a main feature of the programme he adopted on taking office was priority for Imperial Defence over Continental action. The danger of war with Germany and Italy combined was becoming so acute that a strengthening of the Mediterranean forces necessarily had first call, but he induced the Government of India to send two brigades to Malaya, for trebling the garrison there. More was hardly possible from the limited pre-war resources.

When war came in September 1939, Britain’s resources began to multiply. But as the war was then confined to the West it was natural that the bulk of them were devoted to that quarter. Then came the catastrophes of May and June 1940 when France collapsed and Italy entered the war. In that appalling crisis, the first need was to build up the defence of Britain, and the second to provide for the defence of the Mediterranean area. Those two needs were difficult enough to meet simultaneously. Indeed, Churchill’s boldest and greatest action was seen in the risks he took to strengthen the defence of Egypt before Britain itself was secure against invasion.

It would be unjust to find fault with the provision made for Malaya during this period. Taking due account of the circumstances it was remarkable that the garrison was reinforced by six brigades during the winter of 1940-1. Unfortunately, there was no similar increase of air strength — which was more vital.

Early in 1940 the new G.O.C., General Bond, had expressed the opinion that the defence of Singapore depended on the defence of Malaya as a whole. For that purpose he estimated that three divisions were the minimum required, while suggesting that the R.A.F. should take over the main responsibility for the defence. The authorities at home adopted these views in principle, but with an important modification. Whereas the commanders in Malaya considered that a force of over 500 modern aircraft was required, the Chiefs of Staff Committee judged that some 300 should suffice, and said that even this total could not be provided until the end of 1941. Moreover, by the time the Japanese invasion came — in December 1941 — the actual first-line air strength in Malaya was only 158, and most of them were out-of-date machines.

During 1941 the bulk of the modern fighter aircraft available, beyond the needs of Britain’s air defence, were sent to support the abortive offensive campaigns in the Mediterranean area. In the second half of the year some 600 were sent to Russia. But Malaya received scarcely any. No long-range bombers were sent there, yet hundreds were used nightly in bombing attacks on Germany that were palpably futile at that stage of the war. It is evident that the needs of Malaya’s defence received inadequate attention.

The clue to the puzzle is provided by Churchill himself in his war memoirs. Early in May the Chief of the Imperial General Staff, Sir John Dill, submitted a paper to the Prime Minister in which he argued against continuing to build up the striking forces in North Africa at the risk of Britain herself or Singapore.

The loss of Egypt would be a calamity which I do not regard as likely. . . . A successful invasion alone spells our final defeat. It is the United Kingdom therefore and not Egypt that is vital, and the defence of the United Kingdom must take first place. Egypt is not even second in order of priority, for it has been an accepted principle in our strategy that in the last resort the security of Singapore comes before that of Egypt. Yet the defences of Singapore are still considerably below standard.

Risks must of course be taken in war, but they must be calculated risks. We must not fall into the error of whittling away the security of vital points.*

* Churchill:
The Second World War,
vol. III, p, 375.

Churchill was upset by this paper, for it ran contrary to his idea of taking the offensive against Rommel, and to his dream of gaining a decisive victory in North Africa at an early date. ‘Compliance with this would have meant a complete reversion to the defensive. . . . There would be nothing in hand for taking the initiative.’ In a sharp reply he said:

I gather you would be prepared to face the loss of Egypt and the Nile Valley, together with the surrender or ruin of the Army of half a million we have concentrated there, rather than lose Singapore. I do not take that view, nor do I think that the alternative is likely to present itself . . . should Japan enter the war the United States will in all probability come in on our side; and in any case Japan would not be likely to besiege Singapore at the outset, as this would be an operation far more dangerous to her and less harmful to us than spreading her cruisers and battle-cruisers on the Eastern trade routes.†

†
ibid.,
p. 376.

It is apparent that Churchill, in his exasperation, distorted the C.I.G.S’s argument. It was not a question of weakening the defence of Egypt, but merely of postponing the offensive on which Churchill had set his heart, and about which he had exaggerated expectations. In the event the June offensive in North Africa proved a fiasco, and the renewed offensive in November, with large additional reinforcements, failed to gain any decisive result. Churchill’s reply to Field-Marshal Dill also makes it clear how gravely he miscalculated the risk to Singapore. It is astonishing that, in retrospect, he remarked:

Many Governments I have seen would have wilted before so grave a pronouncement by the highest professional authority, but I had no difficulty in convincing my political colleagues, and I was of course supported by the Chiefs of the Navy and the Air. My views therefore prevailed and the flow of reinforcements to the Middle East continued unabated.‡

‡
ibid.,
p. 377.

In July President Roosevelt sent his personal adviser, Harry Hopkins, on a mission to London to convey his misgivings about the wisdom of this policy and a warning of the risks involved elsewhere — ‘by trying to do too much’ in the Middle East. The American military and naval experts endorsed the warning, and expressed the view that Singapore should be given priority over Egypt.

None of these arguments altered Churchill’s view. ‘I would not tolerate abandoning the struggle for Egypt, and was resigned to pay whatever forfeits were exacted in Malaya.’ But he did not really expect danger there. He frankly says: ‘I confess that in my mind the whole Japanese menace lay in a sinister twilight, compared with our other needs.’ It is clear that the responsibility for the failure to reinforce Malaya’s inadequate defences rests principally with Churchill himself — and was due to his insistence on launching a premature offensive in North Africa.

The immediate strategic effects of the loss of Singapore were disastrous, for it was quickly followed by the conquest of Burma and the Dutch East Indies — a two-pronged sweep that brought the Japanese menacingly close to India on the one flank and Australia on the other. Nearly four years of struggle followed, at immense cost, before Singapore was recovered as a result of Japan’s own eventual collapse from exhaustion, and atomic bomb-shock.

But the longer and wider effects of Singapore’s initial fall were beyond repair. Singapore had been a symbol — the outstanding symbol of Western power in the Far East, because that power had been erected and long maintained on British seapower. So much emphasis had been given since World War I to the creation of a great naval base at Singapore that its symbolical importance had come to surpass even its strategical value. Its easy capture, in February 1942, was shattering to British, and European, prestige in Asia.

No belated re-entry could efface the impression. The white man had lost his ascendancy with the disproof of his magic. The realisation of his vulnerability fostered and encouraged the post-war spread of Asiatic revolt against European domination or intrusion.

THE FALL OF BURMA

Britain’s loss of Burma was an early sequel to the fall of Malaya, and enabled the Japanese to complete their capture of the western gateways to China, and the Pacific — thus completing the great defensive barrier visualised in their strategic design. Although a sequel, the Burma campaign was an independent operation, and was entrusted to the 15th Army under Lieutenant-General S. Iida.

This ‘army’ comprised only two divisions, and even with supporting troops totalled only 35,000 men. Its task was to occupy Thailand, including most of the Kra Isthmus, and cover the rear of the 25th Army while this was driving south into Malaya from the landings in the Singora area of the isthmus. The 15th Army was then to set out on its independent task of invading Burma, with Rangoon, the capital, as its immediate goal.

Such a large venture with so small a force was justified by the scantiness, both in quantity and quality, of the forces guarding Burma. Initially, these amounted to little more than a division in numbers, mostly consisting of recently raised Burmese units, with a stiffening of only two British battalions and an Indian brigade — while a second Indian brigade was on its way, to provide a general reserve. When the crisis came, most of the available reinforcements were diverted to Malaya, too late to save Singapore, and not until the end of January did the semi-trained and incomplete 17th Indian Division begin to arrive in Burma as a forerunner of the more substantial reinforcements that were promised. The air situation was even worse, as only thirty-seven aircraft were at first available to meet 100 Japanese — which were doubled by another air brigade after the fall of Manila early in January.