Descent into Hell Page 8

  Bond’s later memorandum was a far more precise, realistic and uncompromising document. It contained three basic points. The first was that as the Japanese now had control over southern China and Hainan Island, they were in a position to construct airfields in Siam and Indo-China as a means of covering an assault upon Malaya and Singapore. He conceded that all of Malaya should therefore be held. His second point considered the resources required by the army to accomplish this: ‘a minimum of three divisions, two tank battalions, two machine-gun battalions and a pool of 20 per cent reinforcements’.53 Further, Bond argued, if it was decided to invade southern Siam in order to resist a Japanese invasion, he would require a further two divisions. Bond’s third point was, in effect, an attempt to force the RAF to take full responsibility for its stance on Malaya and Singapore’s defence: if the Governor and Babington’s views for the defence of the whole Malay Peninsula by the primary means of air power were to be adopted, then the RAF should accept total responsibility for the detection and annihilation of the Japanese invasion fleet at sea, or at worst, the prevention of it being able to facilitate the construction of bases within range of the British airfields in Malaya.

  If this course of action were to be adopted, Bond maintained that the army’s role would then be the protection of Penang, the airfields in northern Malaya, and possible enemy landing points on its east coast. He estimated that the resources required by the army to support this plan would constitute around seventeen battalions and a company of tanks. The thrust of Bond’s memorandum, therefore, was that London must decide which of the two defence plans was to be implemented and resource it appropriately.

  The Overseas Defence Committee gathered to assess these conflicting and contentious memorandums on 16 May 1940. Only two days earlier, the Dutch had surrendered to the Germans, and, with the German breakthrough to the English Channel only an additional two days away, they thus convened under the most extraordinary pressure. Clearly, with Britain virtually on her knees, the Chiefs of Staff were going to be most reluctant to send either air or army reinforcements to the Far East—where peace, however threatened, still prevailed. The Overseas Defence Committee sent an insipid response. It now advocated a conscription of local manpower in Malaya, while at the same time requesting that any such measure should not prejudice the output of tin and rubber production.

  These horrendous events, and corresponding decisions, caused further friction between the army, air force and the civil administration in Singapore. To compound these problems, Thomas now undertook extended leave in England, delegating the role of Acting Governor to the Colonial Secretary, Stanley Jones.

  As a consequence of the weak reaction from the Overseas Defence Committee, Stanley Jones was now faced with increased tension on the War Committee. Bond continued to state that he could do no more than defend his vital ground—southern Johore and Singapore Island—and deploy a battalion at both the crucial airfields at Alor Star and at Penang. Babington, on the other hand, knew that any RAF-dominated defence of Malaya and Singapore depended upon the security of the air reinforcement route from India, and therefore, airfields such as Kuantan and Kota Bharu as well as Alor Star. Jones, caught in the middle, and understanding the plight of both Bond and Babington, referred the argument to the Chiefs of Staff in London.

  When, on 4 June 1940, the last ships crossed the English Channel from Dunkirk with their human cargo, the fate of France was sealed. Although some 338 226 British and Allied troops were returned to England most of their equipment was left behind.54 On 10 June, Italy declared war, and twelve days later France signed an armistice with Germany. Britain’s darkest hour had arrived.

  The ramifications of the fall of France upon Britain’s ability to defend her Far Eastern interests were grave indeed. It had been anticipated that in the event of war in Europe, the French Fleet could defeat or at least contain the Italian Fleet, thereby enabling the promised portion of the Royal Navy to sail to Singapore. The Royal Navy was now faced with war against the Italians in the Mediterranean, and a desperate war against German U-boats in the Atlantic, to allow much-needed equipment and food supplies to reach the island fortress. In June 1940, the period before relief of 180 days—established at the outbreak of war in Europe—must have seemed a distant dream. The period before relief was now ‘indefinite’.

  When the Chiefs of Staff convened in late June 1940, their assessment of Britain’s Far Eastern strategy was made against the fall of France, Britain’s resulting isolation, and, therefore, Japan’s increased potential to expand her presence in Indo-China. They recommended the withdrawal of their garrisons in China and advised against any attempt to reinforce Hong Kong. Clifford Kinvig has left us with a succinct description of their changing assessment: ‘The Chiefs of Staff were at last signing the death certificate of Britain’s Far Eastern strategy. It had been a sickly infant when the naval base decision was first adopted in 1922, terminally stricken since 1935; now it was declared stone-cold dead.’55

  Turning to the defence of Malaya, the Chiefs rightly concluded that in the absence of a Far Eastern fleet, the whole of Malaya would have to be defended and that that task now lay mainly with the RAF. In addition to providing aircraft to confront a Japanese land attack upon northern Malaya via Indo-China or Siam, and an amphibious landing on the Malay Peninsula, they were also obliged to protect their airfields in British Borneo and the empire’s trade routes in the Indian Ocean. To meet these responsibilities, the Chiefs of Staff estimated that no less than 22 squadrons comprising 336 first-line aircraft would be required. At the time of their assessment, the RAF’s actual strength in that theatre was a paltry eight squadrons consisting of 88 first-line aircraft—which were predominately obsolete.

  Kirby, in The War Against Japan:

  They recommended that, as soon as possible, and certainly not later than the end of 1940, two squadrons of fighters and two of reconnaissance aircraft should be despatched to the Far East, and that the squadrons in Malaya should be re-equipped with modern aircraft and brought up to establishment. The increased air forces, up to the total of 336 aircraft required in the area, should be provided if possible by the end of 1941 . . .56

  This Chiefs of Staff appreciation was made in late June 1940. When the Singapore strategy was reliant upon the Royal Navy during the period 1922–39, much use of the term ‘period before relief ’ was used by the powers that be in determining the time needed for the arrival of a European-based fleet. The pertinent point is that in June 1940 the Chiefs of Staff were now also imposing an RAF ‘period before relief ’ of six months for the arrival of two further squadrons—to therefore bring the air force establishment of squadrons to ten—and a further ‘period before relief ’ of another twelve months, before the desired total squadron strength would be reached at 22. They further estimated that once this air force component had been reached, an army garrison of six brigades would be required to protect it. Another division was therefore needed, and, with none available from Britain or the Middle East or India, the Chiefs of Staff recommended that Australia supply one.

  Two critical points should be made regarding this RAF ‘period before relief ’. The first is that at the time of the Chiefs of Staff recommendations, the Battle of Britain was about to begin. For the next five months, the grossly outnumbered RAF was faced with the massive task of denying the Germans control of the skies over Britain as a prelude to a possible German invasion. So much was indeed about to be owed by so many to so few. And Churchill and his War Cabinet were hardly going to make the soon to be famous ‘few’, ‘fewer’, by transferring valuable aircraft and pilots to Singapore and Malaya.

  The second point concerns the lamentable lack of cohesion of thought and policy between Churchill and his advisors. To all but Churchill, the days of Singapore being defended by the Royal Navy had passed. Singapore was not a fortress, it had long been recognised that it was vulnerable to a landward assault via the Malay Peninsula, and, after the surrender of two colonial powers (Holland and
France) in mid-1940, it was further recognised that the Royal Navy’s ‘period before relief ’ was now indefinite. As late as August 1940, and at complete variance with his advisors, Churchill, the ‘former naval person’ and now the Prime Minister of Great Britain, cabled the prime ministers of Australia and New Zealand:

  The combined Staffs are preparing a paper on the Pacific situation, but I venture to send you in advance a brief foreword . . .

  I do not think myself that Japan will declare war unless Germany can make a successful invasion of Britain. Once Japan sees Germany has either failed or dares not try I look for easier times in the Pacific . . .

  We are about to reinforce with more first-class units the Eastern Mediterranean Fleet. This fleet could of course at any time be sent through the Canal into the Indian Ocean, or to relieve Singapore. We do not want to do this, even if Japan declares war, until it is found to be vital to your safety. Such a transference would entail the complete loss of the Middle East, and all prospect of beating Italy in the Mediterranean would be gone.57

  Later in the cable, Churchill made a most significant point. Speaking of Britain’s growing military strength, he made mention of the air arm: ‘Our fighter and bomber strength is nearly double what it was when I cabled you, and we have a very large reserve of machines in hand. I do not think the German Air Force has the numbers or quality to overpower our air defences.’58

  Given this statement, the despatch of even two squadrons of Hurricanes or Spitfires, and perhaps one bomber squadron, to Malaya or Singapore might surely have accomplished two vital defensive measures. The first would have been a significant improvement in the RAF’s ability to wage war, and the second would surely have been a priceless opportunity for both present and soon-to-arrive Far Eastern pilots to begin training with these planes, pending potential reinforcement with further aircraft. But it would have been beyond Churchill’s comprehension to implement such an achievable and not too costly plan, when his misguided—and entirely faulty—plan for the defence of Singapore remained focused upon the Royal Navy.

  In another extraordinary display of his ignorance towards the problems of defending Singapore, and further, his ignorance of the Japanese, Churchill, in a signal to General Ismay on 10 September 1940 stated that:

  The prime defence of Singapore is the Fleet. The protective effect of the Fleet is exercised to a large extent whether it is on the spot or not . . .

  The fact that the Japanese had made landings in Malaya and had even begun the siege of the fortress would not deprive a superior relieving fleet of its power. On the contrary, the plight of the besiegers, cut off from home while installing themselves in the swamps and jungle, would be all the more forlorn.

  The defence of Singapore must therefore be based upon a strong local garrison and the general potentialities of sea-power. The idea of trying to defend the Malay peninsula . . . cannot be entertained.59

  And concerning the Japanese, Churchill wrote some further prophetic words:

  The presence of the United States Fleet in the Pacific must always be a main preoccupation to Japan. They are not at all likely to gamble. They are usually most cautious, and now have real need to be, since they are involved in China so deeply.60

  There are a number of significant points in regard to Churchill’s cable. In relation to his pledge that his government would, if necessary, cut its losses and send its Mediterranean fleet to the aid of Singapore, he qualified his statement by stating that ‘we do not want to do this, even if Japan declares war, until it is found to be vital to your safety’. Given his assessment of the Japanese ability to capture Singapore, the term ‘until it is found to be vital to your safety’ is nothing more than a justification for inaction. Churchill’s statement that ‘the idea of trying to defend the Malay peninsula . . . cannot be entertained’ also flies directly in the face of his Chiefs of Staff assessment, his service heads stationed at Singapore, numerous appreciations conducted by people such as Percival, Bell, Viden, and, for that matter, even numerous war games conducted by the Staff College. To all but Churchill, Malaya had to be defended for Singapore to survive; to all but Churchill, the Royal Navy was a redundant mechanism for Singapore’s defence; to all but Churchill, ‘the plight of the besiegers, cut off from home while installing themselves in the swamps and jungle’ was a fanciful notion; and to an ignorant Churchill, forecast after forecast had warned that in the event of the Japanese gaining a foothold on the Malay Peninsula, two months was about the maximum time that Singapore could hold out.

  Percival’s biographer, Clifford Kinvig, in a masterly piece of understatement, has said that: ‘The Prime Minister and the Chiefs of Staff seemed to be singing from different hymn sheets.’61 The Prime Minister and the Chiefs of Staff were, in reality, not only ‘singing from different hymn sheets’, but were singing in garbled rounds.

  During the period 1922–40, a number of British governments had held divergent views regarding the defence of Singapore. Much has been made—except by Churchill—of the inability of the Royal Navy to defend Singapore. As the emphasis of that defence shifted to the RAF, the same old problem of ‘the period before relief ’ reared its ugly head.

  It will be remembered that it was at this point that the Australian Government was asked to supply an infantry division. Our story now returns to Australia, and the raising and leadership of the AIF division designated for service in Singapore and Malaya.

  4

  RAISING NEW DIVISIONS

  On 15 September 1939, just twelve days after his declaration of war against Nazi Germany, Australia’s Prime Minister Robert Menzies announced the formation of a second Australian Imperial Force (AIF). As the Australian Militia at that time had four divisions and elements of a fifth, the new formation was to be called the 6th Division AIF. This volunteer force, with its auxiliary units, would together number 20 000 men for service either in Australia or overseas.

  There were seven candidates for command of the new division. In order of seniority they were: Major-General Henry Gordon Bennett, 52 years of age; Major-General Sir Thomas Blamey, 55; Major-General John Lavarack, 53; the Adjutant-General, Sir Carl Jess, 55; Major-General Phillips, 57; Major-General Drake-Brockman, 55; and, Major-General Iven Mackay, 57. Of the seven, there were probably three main candidates: Bennett, Blamey and Lavarack.1

  Bennett’s credentials as a fighting commander were unsurpassed in the original AIF. Born in Balwyn, Melbourne on 5 April 1887, he joined the Australia Military Forces as a sixteen-year-old; at 21 he was commissioned in the Australian Infantry Regiment and gained a captaincy in less than three years; and at 25, not long after the introduction of compulsory training, he had reached the rank of major with the 64th (City of Melbourne) Infantry. He was ‘of middle height (five feet eight and a half inches), wiry and active, with the abundant energy which, as well as a quick temper, so often goes with red hair . . . ideally suited, both by physique and temperament, for soldiering’.2

  His service in the first AIF began in 1914 as second-in-command of the 6th Battalion of the 2nd Brigade. Lionel Wigmore, in The Japanese Thrust:

  Bennett established a reputation for personal courage and forceful leadership under fire from the first day at Gallipoli . . . in the famous though ill-fated advance on Pine Ridge, when his men realised that plans had miscarried, he characteristically rejected the suggestion that he should retire, and led an advance to a position where a party of enemy troops came into sight, in front of Turkish guns. Bennett stood to direct his men’s fire, opened a map, and was shot in the wrist and shoulder. Although, when he went to the rear to have his wounds dressed, he was sent to a hospital ship, he was absent without leave from the ship next day, and back in the front-line. Ten days later Bennett led the 6th Battalion in a final attempt by Anglo–French forces to capture the peak of Achi Baba . . .

  When the brigade was relieved from the line, Bennett alone remained of the original officers with the battalion, and succeeded to its command. In 1916, at the age of 29, he
was appointed to command the 3rd Brigade; and thus became probably the youngest brigadier-general in any British army at the time . . .

  Bennett’s reputation continued to rise during his service with the A.I.F. in France, and on several occasions before the war ended he temporarily commanded the 1st Division.3

  After the First World War, Bennett became chairman of the New South Wales Repatriation Board and subsequently commanded the 9th Infantry Brigade from 1921 to 1926. From that appointment he commanded the 2nd Division as a major-general for five years before–as was the custom—being stood down and placed on the unattached list. Bennett’s successful postwar public service saw him as president of the New South Wales Chamber of Manufacturers in 1931, and president of its federal counterpart in 1933.

  The second senior candidate was Sir Thomas Blamey, and, like Bennett, he had had a most distinguished military career. Born at Lake Albert near Wagga Wagga in New South Wales on 24 January 1884, Blamey had won a commission in the Commonwealth Cadet Forces in 1906; he had joined the Australian Military Forces in 1910 and had subsequently furthered his professional training at Quetta in what was then British India; he had been attached to the British Army in England; and at the outbreak of the First World War he was working in the War Office in London.

  A colleague described him thus: ‘Short of stature, rugged in appearance, it took some little time to discover that behind that broad forehead there was well seated an unusual brain, and that the square jaw denoted not obstinacy and lack of tact, but quiet resolution and a calm and definite power of expression.’4