August 11, 2009

BY Ron Cynewulf Robbins
Finest Hour 97: Winter 1997-98

British confidence in Churchill’s leadership was reinforced by his determination to retaliate against the foe at every conceivable opportunity. But bludgeoning alone could not undermine the ingenuity of German scientists feeding Hitler’s hellish ambitions.

Unswerving resolution and glinting intellect were evident in Churchill’s prompt direction of countermeasures whenever Hitler unleashed new devices to wreak havoc on Britain. Appreciation of how he successfully faced the challenge is peevishly withheld by several present-day critics, who carp ponderously about his wartime decisions. Their hindsight will never equal Churchill’s foresight.

His marshalling of British brainpower and technocrats stands for all time as the achievement of a master mind. Added to this was his gift of inspiring himself and others to almost super-human endeavours. Inventions and daring enterprises were brought to swift completion; the will to win was marvelously served by instruments forged for victory with unparalleled resourcefulness.

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Lodged in Churchill’s memory were gruesome details of ordeals dating back to the First World War. He knew that each fresh assault could cloak another menace. His acute awareness, which may be likened to devastatingly accurate prophecy, underscored the indispensability of his service to freedom.

At the onset of the Blitz he instantly perceived hidden dangers in the podgy below-normal-size bombs suddenly augmenting the terrorizing of London. Nose down, scores of them lay partially buried and he was convinced they had not gone off because they possessed a secret feature: delayed-action fuses. His fears arose from his recollection of Germany’s use of that type fuse during the previous conflict. Surely, he thought, the passing years had been marked by a startling advance in design? Subsequent events proved he was right.

As soon as the apparent “duds” were dropped, he injected his famous sense of urgency into the military machine. He insisted that the UXBs (short for unexploded bombs) must be dealt with rapidly. They were clustered at railway junctions. Traffic was piling up. Invasion loomed and lines to the south coast were imperative for men and material needed to repel an already mightily triumphant army poised in France, barely twenty miles from English shores.

The UXBs had triple objectives: to kill, demoralize the population, and disrupt vital production. The Germans, exploiting surreptitious pre-war mapping of strategically important factories and other essential facilities, were cunningly selecting targets: first London, then the rest of the country.

Spurred on by Churchill, the army organized bomb disposal squads with great expediency. The chief recruits were from the Royal Engineers, whose courage adorns British history. Their task wracked the nerves and wore down the strongest physique. They worked steadfastly, even though they realized only the luckiest among those carrying out the final act of defusing would survive longer than just over a couple of months without being maimed or killed. Sometimes Londoners, trapped beneath a bomb, clung desperately to life for long hours before soldiers could render the fuse harmless and haul them gently to safety. The plight of children was especially harrowing.

Churchill always met and thanked UXB squads when he toured bombed areas. He was deeply moved by their pallid cheeks and the strain etched on youthful brows. Throughout the war he did not encounter more haggard looks. Despite what they had endured, their greetings were heartwarming, their loyalty firm and true. He commented: “Somehow or other their faces seemed different from those of ordinary men, however brave or faithful.” Yet, he saw courage continued to shine in their eyes.

From the start of the UXB crisis, Churchill had pressed hard for the best possible equipment. Typically, he investigated what the United States might have available. Inevitably, initial training for the squads was meagre and the tools elementary. Royal Air Force personnel gave demonstrations of exactly how fuses manufactured in Britain were put together. Usually there were no more than half a dozen or so men in a team carefully shifting bombs to an open space where, to begin with, block and tackle, hammers and chisels were the sole equipment for defusion. Removal of the deadly middle mechanism was a chore reserved for officers. The learning process demanded unflinching sacrifice. In the last four months of 1940 there were 125 deaths.

Six months was the limit for membership of the squads. However, the same soldiers kept extending their period of duty. Some heroes volunteered forty times in succession before death claimed them. There were encouraging signs that the British were proving too clever for their opponents. The knack of teasing out a fuse after undoing the locking ring was quickly acquired. The Germans now threw down a bigger challenge, with an infinitely more dangerous spring detonator. British science solved this problem too. Since the explosive was soluble, it was decided to steam it out, rendering the fuse ineffective. But worse was to follow. The next contrivance could blow up an officer the very second his hand was extracting the core. And, while university dons were again finding answers, a weightier fury was hurled at Britain by Hitler: naval mines descended via parachute.

Anyone devoted to liberty must marvel at Churchill’s grip on the defence of his compatriots. They were more closely besieged than their forebears had been in the days of Napoleon. Picture the scene: no continental ally; the hasty rebuilding of an army that had recently escaped at Dunkirk; death raining daily on civilians at the behest of a dictator who ruled Europe’s coast from the Pyrenees to the North Cape. In addition Mussolini, out of a foolish lust for loot and glory, marched side-by-side with Germany. Along comes the parachute mine and, in the midst of everything else clamouring for attention, Churchill displays the utmost clarity of thought. He sees at once that Hitler’s latest venture in terrorism exposes his crude pretense that it was not Nazi policy to annihilate British civilians.

Churchill was well ahead of his government colleagues and service chiefs in recognizing the full import: it was impossible to avoid a major turning point if Britain was to survive. Key military leaders received a sharp memorandum from him on the enemy’s barbarism: “At five thousand feet he cannot have the slightest idea what he is going to hit. This, therefore, proves the ‘act of terror’ intention against the civilian population.” He advocated “…proportionate retaliation, i.e. equal retaliation…” (The emphasis on “equal” was Churchill’s.)

Thus began a process to which, backstage, Churchill sorrowfully alerted his Cabinet: the horrific fact that totalitarianism could be stemmed and eventually conquered only by all-out war. “Alas, poor humanity,” was how Churchill summed up his anguish.

The parachute mines dangled from rooftops, electricity poles and lamp posts. Churchill called in the Royal Navy to deal with them and intensified his visits to shattered districts where his uplifting presence roused people to cheers. His name had become synonymous with freedom. Women pressed forward just to touch his coat. Standing with them in the ruins of their homes he often broke into tears. He briskly demolished opposition from officialdom to his scheme for immediate compensation whenever damage was inflicted by the Nazis.

Further proof of Hitler’s evil designs took the form of storms of quite small explosives, known as butterfly bombs, which swept the country. But the nation was sustained by unity of purpose and the tenacity that had earned Britons their high place in history. The defeat of the Luftwaffe in the Battle of Britain was indisputable evidence Hitler could be outmaneuvered. The role of British inventiveness in giving the gallant RAF the superior “eyes” of radar was an impetus to efforts, led by Churchill, that enlarged the scope for British scientists locked in combat with their industrious German counterparts.

Although Churchill readily confessed that his practical knowledge of science was minimal, he did not overlook the vital necessity of supporting every proposal that might bring victory in the “Invisible Battle.” And his s disclaimer cannot conceal that at the beginning of the war he was already equipped to head a team to frustrate the results of German research. For twenty years he and a top scientist, Professor Frederick Lindemann, had been companions. Theirs was a magnificent partnership. Churchill became familiar with radar through their collaboration on the Air Defence Committee prior to 1939. Continuity plus affinity turned into golden assets. The committee structure of Parliament had enabled Churchill to study many aspects of defence and to overcome to some extent his pre war preclusion from government office; he also ran what amounted to his own private intelligence service, which had frequently surpassed official attempts to fathom Berlin’s secrets. From May 1940, he combined his Premiership with the duties of Defence Minister and that brought rich dividends. He had authority to give wings to any propitious scientific undertaking. The development of the “sticky” bomb is a prime example.

An experimental station, run by the army, had the notion that invading tanks could be counter-attacked by throwing bombs capable of sticking to armour-plating. Churchill was au courant with everything the station was doing. The idea appealed immensely to his buoyant imagination and he would countenance no hold-ups until the device was an accomplished fact. The memos he fired off on the subject are a delight to read. The bombs were not resorted to in England because, of course, Hitler had to abandon invasion plans after losing the Battle of Britain. But in Syria they justified Churchill’s bold initiative.

Sardonic comments about the Luftwaffe’s lack of efficiency were heard in pubs when hundreds of bombs began to fall harmlessly on open fields. “Rotten shot, eh? I wouldn’t want that Jerry pilot on my darts team” is a sample of the reaction. Other remarks, more amusing but unprintable, caused loud laughter.

But the Germans’ bad aim was no accident. The truth emerged at the end of the war: British skill had foiled a German contrivance intended to guide the Luftwaffe to its targets night and day in any kind of weather with an accuracy that might have gone a long way towards crippling arms output and morale. Churchill was warned by Lindemann that it was in the offing. The Germans had devised a complex radio beam (its code name was “Knickebein”) which led pilots unerringly to a target‹and, frankly, this is an attempt to reduce it to its simplest terms. Churchill, always capable of finding the right words, called the effort to foil this secret weapon “The Battle of the Beam.”

Lindemann explained that Dr. R. V. Jones, who had been his student, was convinced the beam could be bent. The proviso was: immediate action ‹undeniably Churchill’s forte. Typically, the PM called an immediate meeting of scientists and Royal Air Force Commanders at Ten Downing Street. Jones was invited and unfolded his solution. British Intelligence broke the Knickebein code with astonishing speed and, thanks to the dedication of Jones, another menace was checkmated.

At the heart of success was a repeating device which wrecked Knickebein. The Luftwaffe, slavishly following Knickebein, came to doubt its value. Ironically, pilots risking their lives flying above England avoided taking a chance by personally contradicting Goering’s obdurate belief in his newest technique for spreading death and destruction. The introduction of Knickebein heightened rather than diminished British morale. It was a joy indeed for the much-pounded defenders to witness the enemy wasting ammunition.

Churchill was soon informed that only one-fifth of the bombs now landed inside cities Hitler sought to batter out of existence. The giant Nazi edifice was not toppling, but fissures and flaws seemed to presage its end. Certitude was to come with the entry of the United States into the war. Relief and gratitude flooded the British Isles.

There is a lengthy list of the hazards Churchill and his advisers had to grapple with on the scientific front. Conspicuous on that list is the magnetic mine, which jolted Churchill’s customary resilience. Researchers in Britain, diligent and percipient though they were in the 1930s, had not taken fully into account how much harm could be inflicted by ships and planes capable of casting magnetic devices deeply in the ocean.

Hitler’s “secret weapon” (his description) started to sink merchant ships on their approach to harbour. Several were blown up heading for the Thames. Luck, as well as fortune, can favour the brave. At a crucial point, when losses were mounting no answer was forthcoming, a German plane was seen off Shoeburyness dropping a “big object” strung on a parachute. The receding tide exposed an expanse of mud. Prominently stuck in the mud was the “object,” and it had every appearance of being a magnetic mine. Navy personnel recovered it without a qualm at the peril of their lives.

Twice First Lord of the Admiralty in his turbulent career, Churchill mustered naval specialists in underwater weapons. Their work resembles the legendary inventiveness of Daedalus, whose exploits included the construction of wings that flew him out of prison. The nullifying of the magnetic mine followed a rush of experiments embarked on the minute it was dismantled. Trial and error produced a complicated cable, which encircled ships and demagnetised them. It was labelled “degaussing” and naval and merchant seamen thankfully attached it to their vocabulary. Degaussing had to be done in shipyards, so it was impossible to conceal the Navy’s triumph from the public. Their faith in Churchill soared and their fortitude remained solid.

Churchill regarded 1940 as the “most tremendous year” in British history. His verdict epitomizes for future chroniclers the entire struggle: “The soul of the British people and race had proved invincible.”-

Mr. Robbins, of Victoria, B.C., is a FINEST HOUR senior editor.

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