I WAS MONTY’S DOUBLE Page 6

  Chapter VI

  D-DAY REHEARSAL

  We turned off the main road and came in sight of the sea. As we drew up near the beach the scene was extraordinary. I had known I was to attend a full-dress rehearsal of D-Day, but I hardly expected the marvellous spectacle which met my eyes that cold May morning.

  Off-shore as far as the eye could reach were battleships, cruisers, destroyers and other ships of all kinds. Huge tank-landing craft were disgorging tanks, armoured cars and guns by the hundred. Overhead the air was thick with planes, while infantry poured ashore from invasion barges and rapidly moved inland.

  Over on the right stood a big unoccupied hotel with a flat roof where all the .Chiefs of Allied Command were standing watching the operation. Monty, with Sir James Grigg, got out of his car and went to join them. For a moment I wondered if I should follow him, but I decided to wait until he came back to the beach.

  In about a quarter of an hour he reappeared, and at once a small procession formed behind him—the Brigadier, Colonel Dawnay, with the two aides, one of whom was the irate Captain who had taken me for a photographer. I slipped into place behind them, uneasily conscious of the stares of military policemen who must have wondered who was this nondescript I.C. Sergeant who had suddenly appeared on the scene. It seemed incredible that I was here on Monty’s staff to see the dress rehearsal of the greatest invasion in history.

  Once again I was overwhelmed by that feeling of unreality which sometimes comes in dreams. This time I was caught up in one of those nightmares in which you are swept along irresistibly to some hideous climax such as finding yourself in a completely false position. When I looked at this mighty armada it was quite absurd that I could expect to pass for the man who was in charge of it, and I began to get stage-fright.

  When first you take up acting and suffer from this unpleasant malady you imagine it is a beginner’s complaint, but as the years go by you come to realize that it is a chronic disease. It may even get worse. No matter how well you know your part or how thoroughly the show is rehearsed, when the curtain goes up on the first night you are terrified.

  This was the feeling that swept over me as I took my place among these men who had been right through the African campaign with Monty. And besides this, I felt like a jackal among lions, a masquerader among heroes who had earned the right to be in attendance on this famous General. At that moment I heartily wished that I had never met Colonel Lester and that I was back in Leicester sedately copying out the details of soldiers’ pay accounts.

  But as I looked at the busy scene on the beach I reflected that perhaps one month hence many of these men would be severely wounded or dead. I remembered the Dieppe raid and how the enemy were sitting waiting for it. And the thought came to me, if I played my part successfully thousands of these doomed men would escape. I might be a ‘phoney’ with no right to pose as a veteran of the African campaign, but what did this matter if I did not fluff my part when it came to the real thing?

  Monty moved off, talking rapidly to the men beside him. I followed, and my stage-fright left me. The pace increased so that I had difficulty in keeping up with them, but as I watched Monty I forgot everything else. He strode along dominating the scene, but never interfering unnecessarily. Every now and then he stopped and fired questions at officers, N.C.O.S and Privates—checking up, offering advice, issuing orders, and all the time I kept my eyes fastened on him.

  What personality he had! On the stage I have seen even rank bad actors and singers get away with it because they had personality, and I have seen really competent artistes without personality who could get nowhere at all. This man was what we should call a ‘natural’. The moment he appeared, before even he spoke, his personality hit people bang between the eyes.

  He would have made a fortune on the stage, I thought. Here in this great war drama he had carefully chosen his cast, appointed the cleverest directors, managers, technicians and property men, and from the leads down to the walk-on people he was making certain that every one knew his part.

  By now the invasion scene was approaching its climax. The sky was even blacker with aircraft and the infantry were plodding up the beaches in still greater numbers. It looked to me as if many of them had been cooped up in the landing craft for days and that some of them were still feeling seasick. Monty’s dislike of sickness either in himself or in others was so well known that they tried valiantly not to show it, but in spite of their efforts quite a number of them looked a sickly grey and they reeled slightly as they came along.

  I was watching Monty and at the same time trying to take all this in, when he became the centre of one of those homely incidents which are so characteristic of the man.

  Within a few yards of where I was standing, a very young soldier still looking seasick from his voyage came struggling along gamely trying to keep up with his comrades in front.

  I could imagine that, feeling as he did, his rifle and equipment must have been like ton weights. His heavy boots dragged in the sand, but I could see that he was fighting hard to conceal his distress.

  Just when he got level with us he tripped up and fell flat on his free. Half sobbing he heaved himself up and began to march off dazedly in the wrong direction.

  Monty went straight up to him and with a quick, friendly smile turned him round. “This way, sonny. You’re doing well—very well. But don’t lose touch with the chap in front of you.”

  He put his hand on the boy’s shoulder and carefully adjusted his pack which had slipped.

  When the youngster realized who it was that had given him this friendly help, his expression of dumb adoration was a study. Such incidents made me understand how different real life drama is even from the best synthetic drama as portrayed on the Stage.

  I thought how great a change must have come over the Army in the last thirty years. All the time I was in the trenches during the First World War I never once set eyes on a General. In fact, the only time I saw one at all was in 1914 when hundreds of us were paraded on Salisbury Plain. An elderly gentleman resplendent in gold braid trotted quickly down the line on his horse, hardly looking at anyone, and obviously thinking of his lunch.

  At half-past twelve Monty made his way back to his car, and I sensed a general feeling of relief that things had gone fairly smoothly. By this time I was absolutely famished, but I had heard so many stories about the well-known Monty Austerity that I was beginning to wonder if on these strenuous occasions anyone had any lunch at all. I was relieved when the watchful Colonel Dawnay appeared discreetly beside me and said, “You will go in that jeep,” pointing to one which was drawn up with the cars.

  When I got into it the driver grinned at me and said impudently: “Wotcher, Sarge. Have those b——s fagged you out?”

  “No, they haven’t. It’s these boots that are crippling me.” I bent down and loosened the laces, experiencing the relief of a heretic when Torquemada and his crew loosened the thumb-screw.

  The driver persisted, “What I meant was—anything wrong?”

  “No. Why should there be?”

  He gave me a knowing look. “No offence. Just wondered.” I saw that he was suspicious of me. It wasn’t surprising. These drivers on Monty’s staff had probably been together for years and they knew one another well. Then all of a sudden an unknown and rather green-looking I.C. Sergeant appeared among them. Who was he? What was he up to?

  “When there are a lot of Brass-hats about they usually send one of us along to keep an eye on things,” I said cryptically. It meant about as much as a Minister hedging on an awkward question in the House of Commons, but to my relief it shut him up.

  All the same, I still felt uneasy about this conversation. If I was to spend some weeks with these men I must allay any doubts they had about me. As soon as possible I must contrive to get on a friendly footing with them all.

  The procession set off, but at various battalion, brigade and divisional headquarters Monty and the War Minister stopped for a discussion while the rest of
us kept at a respectful distance. Monty would ask for certain officers he knew and talk to them quietly and informally, going through the details of the morning’s work. He seemed to have a grasp of every minute particular, and a way of inpressing his wishes on all and sundry, which made it impossible for anyone to forget.

  As he said years later, when addressing a gathering of eminent men at the Mansion House: “If you tell the soldier what you want, and you launch him properly into battle, be will always do his part—he has never let the side down. Never. The British soldier is easy to lead; he is very willing to be led; and be responds at once to leadership.”

  I remember him saying: “I know. Do it my way. This is what you will do.” Again and again I heard these words.

  Most of the officers were young men. Many of them had never yet been under fire, and they were facing one of the greatest battles in history. Inevitably they must have been feeling nervous about it. And then along came this man who inspired them with such a magical degree of confidence that you could see their fears melting like the morning mists.

  I began to see that the Army on active service was not really so unlike the theatrical profession. Many a time I have seen a cast stale, tired and dispirited after weeks of hard rehearsing. Everyone who has been on the Stage knows that ‘dead spot’ which comes some little time before the First Night when it seems a foregone conclusion that the show will flop and you will be out of work again, going the weary round of agents. And sometimes I have seen a producer come in, grasp the situation at a glance, and with a few quiet words change the whole atmosphere so that everyone was cheerful and confident again.

  Monty did just this. I had read about great Generals in history who made speeches to their men on the eve of battle and infused them with a fighting spirit which won the day. Now I saw this actually happening. Monty did not get on to a rostrum and shout an oration through a battery of loudspeakers; he spoke quietly, man to man, and it was far more effective. I saw, too, that a man who is capable of inspiring his subordinates like this and leading them to victory must of necessity be ruthless.

  It was obvious that he would tolerate no second-rate performers in his ‘cast’, and I noticed his habit of turning suddenly on a man and fixing him with those piercing eyes of his as if he could read his innermost thoughts. It seemed to me that this electric stare had the effect of keying men up to a higher pitch of intensity and that the General himself was at such a high pitch that he could sense when others were too far below it.

  The strain of watching him, coupled with hunger and fatigue, began to tell on me and I allowed my attention to wander. Suddenly I was conscious that Monty had stopped talking. In the dead silence I looked up and saw those piercing eyes fixed on myself! It was a strange and rather alarming experience. I felt like a very small boy caught out in some misdemeanour. Time seemed to stop and I almost sank into the ground. Then Monty looked away and went on talking.

  At half-past one the cars turned into a field where there was a group of camouflaged huts and tents under some trees. This was a divisional headquarters. Monty and his entourage got out and made their way to the officers’ mess.

  On the right was a mobile kitchen, and I lined up with a long queue of drivers, signallers and others who were waiting to be served. After the cook had dumped a helping of stew into my mess-tin I made my way towards a group of drivers who were sitting on fallen tree-trunks having their lunch. As I neared them, conversation ceased abruptly and they all looked at me with suspicion.

  I felt very much like a strange dog which has been set down in an unfamiliar neighbourhood and has got to get on a friendly footing with the local canine population. What is it that passes from dog to dog when these animals use their noses to establish relations? Probably some subtle radiation unknown to science. I tried to radiate a feeling of friendliness to these drivers, and presently we were conversing amiably about Brass-hats. Most Privates and N.C.O.S have no very high opinion of ‘Brass’, and so I took the line that somebody had to keep an eye on them because they were too busy with matters of high military importance to look after themselves.

  By the end of lunch they were almost friendly, though still obviously on their guard. An hour later we were off again on our tour of inspection in the pouring rain, until five o’clock, when we set off for G.H.Q.

  There was no ceremony about the General’s exit. After he had disappeared into the house with Sir James Grigg, the curtain was down and I began to realize how bone-tired I was.

  I was whirled back to I.C. headquarters in the jeep, and when I had changed back into my uniform I caught a night train to London.

  For nine hours I had followed Monty round and I felt confident that I could imitate his voice, gestures and mannerisms, but his personality was quite a different matter. It was so unique and overpowering that I despaired of ever being him. It was one thing to ape the outside of a man, but quite another to acquire something of his fire and forcefulness. When he stopped and spoke to people they felt something which came from inside him. What would they feel if I stopped and spoke to them? Nothing at all. I would seem like some miserable tailor’s dummy dressed up in the likeness of a popular hero.

  What I needed was a transfusion of morale such as sales managers of furniture firms attempt to give their unfortunate travelling salesmen who have to sell their goods on H.P.

  I thought of the salesman’s job I had once had with the firm of Pendragon, when unemployment on the Stage was at its height, and of the Salesmen’s Hymn which we had been forced to sing in the morning:

  Play the good old game,

  Pendragon is the name;

  We’ll do our best and never fear the worst.

  When selling’s tough we’ll grin

  And take it on the chin.

  Rah, rah! we’ll get our quota by the First!

  ‘First’ referred to the first of the month, by which date we were expected to have sold our quota of £50-worth of the firm’s rather dubious furniture.

  It seemed to me, too, that my background was so utterly different from Monty’s that I should never be able to bridge the gulf between us.

  While I was a schoolboy at Aldenham, he was a Lieutenant in the Warwicks and had already been to India. The limit of my own travels then since early childhood was West Runton in Norfolk, where the Aunts invariably took us for our holidays.

  Five years after the end of the First World War, Major Montgomery was teaching young officers military tactics. At that time I was the Marshal of France in a tour of that famous old drama, Under Two Flags, but in the words of the Frenchman, “C’est magnifique, mais ce n’est pas la guerre.”

  And so it went on until the Second World War came. Major-General Montgomery was in command of the Third Division and I was a lieutenant in the Pay Corps.

  No, I couldn’t go through with the part. I should have to convince Colonel Lester that I wouldn’t do and persuade him to find someone else while them was yet time.

  I was still in this frame of mind when I awoke next morning, and on my way to the War Office I rehearsed in my mind what I should say to make my ‘producer’ see reason. Things were now more like Alice through the Looking-glass: everything was happening the reverse way round. For in normal life you try to cover up your deficiencies and bluff your way through, but now I must exaggerate my shortcomings and do my best to get the sack.

  When I was shown into the familiar room Colonel Lester gave me a very peculiar look.

  Drawing a deep breath I tried to take the plunge. “Good morning, sir… . “I’m sorry, but—”

  “Sit down,” he interrupted. “Have a cigarette.”

  This rather put me off my stroke. While I was lighting up he said: “Before you tell me anything about being sorry I want to tell you something. The General is pleased, very pleased, with the way you did your job yesterday.”

  I was surprised and shaken, but I made another attempt. “Look, sir, I want you to—”

  “Yes, yes, I know how you feel. Yes
terday was a bad dream. The part is too big for you. You think you’ll never be able to carry it off. Well, you’re wrong.”

  For the first time since I had met him he showed signs of emotion. Standing up he fixed me with his eyes, and the thought crossed my mind that all these forceful men who have to deal with subordinates in ticklish situations use their eyes hypnotically.

  Leaning over the table towards me his voice came at me like a pistol shot. “Can’t you get it into your thick head that you are going to be a smash hit? Do you think I’d have taken you on unless I was certain of this? Are you going to back out when you have it in your power to save the lives of thousands of men?”

  The hard lines of his face relaxed and in a different tone he went on: “Perhaps you haven’t taken in what I told you just now. General Montgomery is very pleased with the way you did your job yesterday.”

  “Yes, sir, but—”

  “But what?”

  “When it comes to the real thing—”

  “When it comes to the real thing you’ll sail through it. Don’t keep imagining. Before you went down to Portsmouth you imagined all sorts of things, didn’t you? But you got through splendidly. It will be the same when we come to the real show. Just take things as they come, and for God’s sake leave the worrying to me.”

  Chapter VII

  MILITARY PICNIC IN SCOTLAND

  When I remembered this scene later I realized what a clever man I was dealing with. The whole essence of cleverness in handling human problems is knowing the way people are going to act and react. Really it is a process of getting inside their minds. Whether you are a doctor or a politician, a barrister, a General or a publicity manager, you will get nowhere unless you have this gift of tapping people’s thoughts and feelings.