If You Had Known Monty

Like every other American male, when I reached roughly the age of thirty, I had to make a serious choice of lifestyle:  I had to either become an expert at barbecuing meat or become an expert in the history of World War II.  Obviously, I chose the latter pursuit. 

This knowledge became useful a few years later when my wife (The Doc) and I took the boys (What’s-His-Name and The-Other-One) on a trip to England.  We toured the incredible British Museum (where the boys were incredibly bored with my highly detailed explanation of Ashurbanipal’s Lion Hunt), the Imperial War Museum (where we all learned that the British had won two world wars despite the incredible blunders of the American Army), and—at the insistence of my wife—several large, boring cathedrals.  (Or maybe we visited the same cathedral several times, I couldn’t really say).

The very best part of the trip was the week we spent on a canal boat as we cruised around what is referred to as ‘The Oxford Ring’.  We rented a 53-foot canal boat and, after about 15 minutes of instruction, we set off slowly—very slowly—to make our way in a very large circle around the beautiful countryside of Oxfordshire.  

Since the canal boats are only seven feet wide, they are referred to as narrowboats and are powered by diesel engines that have a maximum speed of about 4 knots—slow enough that you can easily step off of one onto the concrete side of the canal while the boat is moving and walk ahead of it.  England has opened up over 3000 miles of the canals that were primarily built in the nineteenth century to serve its rapidly growing industries.  Where the canals were once filled with barges hauling ore and coal (and they do still currently serve some commercial purposes), the primary traffic now is pleasure craft.

We gently motored along, enjoying the green beauty of the English summer (for which the BBC claimed to provide music for “all thirty minutes of it”!) and stopped whenever we wanted.  While the canal boat sported a full, well-stocked galley—as well as several bedrooms and two bathrooms—we frequently stopped at canal-side pubs and restaurants.  (Well, mostly the former).

Since all of the narrowboats moved along at about the same speed, over the idyllic days, we came to make friends with a number of the people in other boats.  One group  of people we met was an extended family traveling together, led by the matriarch of the family—an elderly, frail-looking woman, who had fascinating stories to tell.  During World War II, the woman had been the secretary to Field Marshal Bernard Law Montgomery, 1st Viscount Montgomery of Alamein KG, GCB, DSO, PC, DL, the hero of the Battle of Alamein (or as American General George Patton used to refer to him, “Monty”).

No two generals serving on the same side ever disliked each other more than Montgomery and Patton.  Perhaps some of their rivalry was due to both men’s rather obvious desire for publicity and recognition, along with the natural rivalry of each man as representing his own country.   Both men had enormous egos that frequently interfered with their job performance and both men were undoubtedly extremely good at their jobs.  General Dwight Eisenhower knew both, disliked both, and had either relieved or had come close to relieving both from their jobs.  Oceans of printer’s ink have been used to describe these men, and (like any good student of history) I had spent my share of time reading about both.

Naturally, I wanted not only to meet the woman, but also to pump her for details of her memories of her former boss.  Here was a woman who knew the truth about one of the most controversial leaders of the war.  Since I didn't get permission from her to reveal the story she told me, I'm not going to use her name and the photo below, though fairly close to her likeness, is AI generated.

Naturally, I was far from the first person to have wanted to ask her questions about the general.  Treating me with more kindness than I deserved, she invited me over for tea.  The canal boat her family had rented was much more luxurious than the boat my family was using.  At the bow end of their canal boat was a rather nice parlor, with padded comfortable chairs facing each other.  I sat on the edge of my seat, gingerly holding one of those overly-decorated, delicate teacups whose handle was far too small to get a finger through.  

She outlined how she had landed the job after the Africa campaign and had worked with Montgomery in the days leading up to D-Day.  She detailed how she had remained in his office in England after the invasion, only rejoining the general after Operation Market Garden, working with his staff until a few months after the end of the war, when she returned to London and her family.  

It was only after I asked her what she personally thought of the man that she began to relate stories that were not already in the history books.  After she carefully refilled our teacups and attended to the elaborate ritual of adding the cream and sugar, she leaned back in her chair and spoke of the man she knew.

“You Americans did not like Lord Montgomery,” she said as she stopped to sip her tea.  She continued, “But, if you knew him as I did…knew him as a man you worked with and for…”  She stopped again to take another sip of tea before continuing, “You would have LOATHED him.”