Patton, Montgomery, Rommel: Masters of War
Through previously unreleased research and historical reinterpretation, Patton, Montgomery, Rommel presents the Second World War as it was experienced by three of its most controversial and influential commanders.
"synopsis" may belong to another edition of this title.
About the Author:
Terry Brighton is a master historian and curator of the Queen's Royal Lancers Museum. He has also served as an Anglican priest in England, and he is the author of Hell Riders: The True Story of the Charge of the Light Brigade. He lives in England.
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.:
i
Introductions: Three Portraits
In December 1940 the lord mayor of Heidenheim, a small town fifty miles east of Stuttgart, sent a Christmas gift parcel to Wehrmacht troops born in the town and now serving abroad. It contained a fir branch as a token of the trees that decorated their homes, Magenbrot (locally made biscuits), cigars and a color postcard of Major General Erwin Rommel, Heidenheim’s most famous son.
Rommel was forty-nine years old and had commanded the 7th Panzer Division during the invasion of France. The spectacular success of his armored blitzkrieg made him the first divisional commander to reach the English Channel coast and his name was celebrated throughout Germany. Jealous voices in the Oberkommando der Wehrmacht (High Command of the Armed Forces) already whispered that he was Hitler’s favorite general, but the troops applauded him and none more than those also born in Heidenheim. One soldier replied to the mayor:
"My greatest thanks for the Rommel card. This picture catches our general exactly as he is in real life. Hard and relentless on himself and his men. It was with this face that he himself fired a round from a flare gun into the vision slit of a French tank, forcing it to retire. This is “our Rommel.” Can I ask you to send me more cards for my comrades?"
Although sent ostensibly by the mayor of Heidenheim, the parcel was funded by the local branch of the National Socialist Party. The postcard had been reproduced from a portrait painted by war artist Wolfgang Willrich. Sergeant Willrich believed that art should portray the “heroic ideal” defined in racial as well as military terms and had produced a book of drawings, Des edlen ewiges Reich (The Everlasting Nobility of the Reich). He was recruited by Propaganda Minister Joseph Goebbels and attached to the Propaganda Company that traveled with the 7th Division in its thrust across France.
The portrait of Rommel showed him in uniform and greatcoat with a cap and goggles, wearing the Knight’s Cross of the Iron Cross and the Pour le Mérite. War correspondent Hanns Gert von Esebeck described in print the Rommel caught on canvas by Willrich: “He has a high forehead, a strong, forceful nose, prominent cheekbones, a narrow mouth with tight lips, and a chin of great determination. The strong lines around his nostrils and the corners of his mouth relax only when he smiles. His clear blue eyes, penetrating and focused, reveal the cunning that marks the man.”
At the end of the war the victorious Allies portrayed Rommel for reasons of their own as “the good German” and “conspirator against Hitler.” Much was made of the fact that he had never joined the Nazi Party. But neither did Willrich, who considered his work to be a record of racial purity and who in his portrait of the general caught a quite different Rommel. Here was the original Rommel formed by the nationalist bias of the Second Reich in which he grew up and the war academy he attended as a young man. He was a nationalist and a devout believer in the Führer, and cooperated happily with both the portrait painter and the propaganda minister in presenting an image not only of the victory of the Wehrmacht over its enemies but also of the German superiority that they defined in racial terms. Rommel appears to have had no problem with that and accepted Willrich as happily as he did Lieutenant Karl-August Hanke, the “Party man” attached to the 7th Division: “I won’t have to watch my tongue, but some of the others will be on guard.” When Goebbels wrote in his diary that Rommel was “not just sympathetic to the National Socialists; he is a National Socialist,” he was aware of the general’s ?non-?membership but implying a deeper identity. Willrich saw this too and caught it brilliantly on canvas: an innate sense of superiority that fed the darkest roots of Nazi doctrine.
Thousands of copies of the Willrich portrait were printed by the Volksbund für das Deutschtum im Ausland (National
League for Germans Abroad) and distributed among the troops. So popular had the general become that ?poster-?size reproductions were printed by the Propaganda Ministry and several of these appeared in the windows of Heidenheim. Its citizens were proud that this hero of the Reich was one of them.
It was this portrait, rather than any photograph of his foe, that Montgomery chose to hang above the desk in his command caravan, perhaps because this was the Rommel—fiercely nationalist, devoted to the Führer, convinced of ultimate German victory—that he had to defeat before the course of the war, and the deepest beliefs of the man himself, could be changed.
*
Erwin Johannes Eugen Rommel was born in Heidenheim in the German state of Württemberg on Sunday, November 15, 1891. According to his sister, Helena, the boy who was to become the much feared “Desert Fox” began life as “a very gentle and docile child who took after his mother. He had a white skin and hair so pale that we called him the ‘white bear.’?”
The Germans knew Württemberg as “the home of common sense,” a backhanded compliment meant to indicate the population’s lack of intellect and sophistication, and at first Erwin appeared true to type. Helena noted that he spoke slowly and spent all his leisure time “in the fields and woods.” His father (also called Erwin) was a schoolteacher in Heidenheim and this was not the bookish son he might have expected. When Erwin senior was appointed headmaster of the Realgymnasium (which prepared pupils for university) in nearby Aalen the difference between them widened. School life was difficult for the headmaster’s son, who lagged behind his classmates in every academic subject.
The father-son relationship was saved by a glider. Erwin junior was obsessed by airplanes and airships, and when he was fourteen he and his friend Keitel decided to build a full-size glider in a field near Aalen. They had hopes that it might really fly but to get the aerodynamics right required a number of complex mathematical calculations. His father’s obsession was mathematics and in this project the two found common ground. The two boys built the glider, and although they had no way of getting it off the ground, Erwin was so convinced of its aerodynamic qualities that he persuaded anyone who would listen (and some of his later biographers) that it flew for thirty yards.
From this came a decision as the end of his schooldays approached: to become an engineer in the Zeppelin works at Friedrichshafen. Erwin senior, unhappy with any child of his working in a factory but aware that Erwin was not destined for university, came to a commonsense conclusion: the best career for a young man who excelled in practical and outdoor pursuits was the army. The officer class was still largely dominated by the Prussian aristocracy (the “vons”) but had opened up to the bourgeoisie and a headmaster’s son stood a fair chance. The idea of a military career appealed to him and particularly the thought of joining the engineers. The army, however, did not see Erwin Rommel as prime officer material and his father’s letter of support hardly helped by describing his highest quality as “good at gymnastics.” His application was rejected by the engineers and next by the artillery. If the infantry had not accepted him he might have ended up in the Zeppelin works, where his best friend, Keitel, had already found work.
On July 19, 1910, at Weingarten, a small garrison town near Stuttgart, the eighteen-year-old Rommel enlisted in the 124th Württemberg Infantry Regiment as a Fahnenjunker (officer cadet). Württemberg had been one of several states brought together with Prussia in 1871 to form the German Reich. In this new country, only twenty years older than Rommel himself, the one institution that immediately took on a national identity was the Imperial German Army, with the kaiser as its supreme commander. Rommel earnestly adopted this nationalist ethos, becoming for the first time aware of himself as a German rather than a Württemberger, fiercely loyal to Kaiser Wilhelm II and the Reich.
While attending the Königliche Kriegsschule in Danzig for officer training he met Lucie Maria Mollin at a ball held in the officers’ mess. She was a slim, dark-haired language student and despite their differences—she wished to attend every dance held in the city; he was eager to save every pfennig for the motorcycle he wanted—they became lovers. Lucie’s mother was not happy about the relationship: the Mollins were Catholic and the Rommels were Protestant. Erwin and Lucie agreed secretly that they would eventually marry but told no one.
Rommel graduated from the Kriegsschule without distinguishing himself. The training officer who filled in his final report described him as “of medium height, thin and physically rather awkward and delicate...firm in character with immense willpower and a keen enthusiasm...with a strong sense of duty.” He was considered to be merely “average” in all marking categories except one: “Führung—Gut” (Leadership—Good).
He and Lucie celebrated his graduation by having their photograph taken. She wore a flared suit and wide-brimmed hat, he the high-collared tunic and Pickelhaube (spiked helmet) of an infantry officer, his hands stuck firmly in the pockets of a greatcoat that bulked out his wiry frame. The middle-class provincial boy had made something of himself; in the new Reich civilians were expected to step from the pavement into the road to give precedence to officers in uniform. He was shortsighted in one eye and sometimes sported a monocle, Prussian style, rather than the pince-nez spectacles his father wore. But he was not one of the “vons&rd...
Introductions: Three Portraits
In December 1940 the lord mayor of Heidenheim, a small town fifty miles east of Stuttgart, sent a Christmas gift parcel to Wehrmacht troops born in the town and now serving abroad. It contained a fir branch as a token of the trees that decorated their homes, Magenbrot (locally made biscuits), cigars and a color postcard of Major General Erwin Rommel, Heidenheim’s most famous son.
Rommel was forty-nine years old and had commanded the 7th Panzer Division during the invasion of France. The spectacular success of his armored blitzkrieg made him the first divisional commander to reach the English Channel coast and his name was celebrated throughout Germany. Jealous voices in the Oberkommando der Wehrmacht (High Command of the Armed Forces) already whispered that he was Hitler’s favorite general, but the troops applauded him and none more than those also born in Heidenheim. One soldier replied to the mayor:
"My greatest thanks for the Rommel card. This picture catches our general exactly as he is in real life. Hard and relentless on himself and his men. It was with this face that he himself fired a round from a flare gun into the vision slit of a French tank, forcing it to retire. This is “our Rommel.” Can I ask you to send me more cards for my comrades?"
Although sent ostensibly by the mayor of Heidenheim, the parcel was funded by the local branch of the National Socialist Party. The postcard had been reproduced from a portrait painted by war artist Wolfgang Willrich. Sergeant Willrich believed that art should portray the “heroic ideal” defined in racial as well as military terms and had produced a book of drawings, Des edlen ewiges Reich (The Everlasting Nobility of the Reich). He was recruited by Propaganda Minister Joseph Goebbels and attached to the Propaganda Company that traveled with the 7th Division in its thrust across France.
The portrait of Rommel showed him in uniform and greatcoat with a cap and goggles, wearing the Knight’s Cross of the Iron Cross and the Pour le Mérite. War correspondent Hanns Gert von Esebeck described in print the Rommel caught on canvas by Willrich: “He has a high forehead, a strong, forceful nose, prominent cheekbones, a narrow mouth with tight lips, and a chin of great determination. The strong lines around his nostrils and the corners of his mouth relax only when he smiles. His clear blue eyes, penetrating and focused, reveal the cunning that marks the man.”
At the end of the war the victorious Allies portrayed Rommel for reasons of their own as “the good German” and “conspirator against Hitler.” Much was made of the fact that he had never joined the Nazi Party. But neither did Willrich, who considered his work to be a record of racial purity and who in his portrait of the general caught a quite different Rommel. Here was the original Rommel formed by the nationalist bias of the Second Reich in which he grew up and the war academy he attended as a young man. He was a nationalist and a devout believer in the Führer, and cooperated happily with both the portrait painter and the propaganda minister in presenting an image not only of the victory of the Wehrmacht over its enemies but also of the German superiority that they defined in racial terms. Rommel appears to have had no problem with that and accepted Willrich as happily as he did Lieutenant Karl-August Hanke, the “Party man” attached to the 7th Division: “I won’t have to watch my tongue, but some of the others will be on guard.” When Goebbels wrote in his diary that Rommel was “not just sympathetic to the National Socialists; he is a National Socialist,” he was aware of the general’s ?non-?membership but implying a deeper identity. Willrich saw this too and caught it brilliantly on canvas: an innate sense of superiority that fed the darkest roots of Nazi doctrine.
Thousands of copies of the Willrich portrait were printed by the Volksbund für das Deutschtum im Ausland (National
League for Germans Abroad) and distributed among the troops. So popular had the general become that ?poster-?size reproductions were printed by the Propaganda Ministry and several of these appeared in the windows of Heidenheim. Its citizens were proud that this hero of the Reich was one of them.
It was this portrait, rather than any photograph of his foe, that Montgomery chose to hang above the desk in his command caravan, perhaps because this was the Rommel—fiercely nationalist, devoted to the Führer, convinced of ultimate German victory—that he had to defeat before the course of the war, and the deepest beliefs of the man himself, could be changed.
*
Erwin Johannes Eugen Rommel was born in Heidenheim in the German state of Württemberg on Sunday, November 15, 1891. According to his sister, Helena, the boy who was to become the much feared “Desert Fox” began life as “a very gentle and docile child who took after his mother. He had a white skin and hair so pale that we called him the ‘white bear.’?”
The Germans knew Württemberg as “the home of common sense,” a backhanded compliment meant to indicate the population’s lack of intellect and sophistication, and at first Erwin appeared true to type. Helena noted that he spoke slowly and spent all his leisure time “in the fields and woods.” His father (also called Erwin) was a schoolteacher in Heidenheim and this was not the bookish son he might have expected. When Erwin senior was appointed headmaster of the Realgymnasium (which prepared pupils for university) in nearby Aalen the difference between them widened. School life was difficult for the headmaster’s son, who lagged behind his classmates in every academic subject.
The father-son relationship was saved by a glider. Erwin junior was obsessed by airplanes and airships, and when he was fourteen he and his friend Keitel decided to build a full-size glider in a field near Aalen. They had hopes that it might really fly but to get the aerodynamics right required a number of complex mathematical calculations. His father’s obsession was mathematics and in this project the two found common ground. The two boys built the glider, and although they had no way of getting it off the ground, Erwin was so convinced of its aerodynamic qualities that he persuaded anyone who would listen (and some of his later biographers) that it flew for thirty yards.
From this came a decision as the end of his schooldays approached: to become an engineer in the Zeppelin works at Friedrichshafen. Erwin senior, unhappy with any child of his working in a factory but aware that Erwin was not destined for university, came to a commonsense conclusion: the best career for a young man who excelled in practical and outdoor pursuits was the army. The officer class was still largely dominated by the Prussian aristocracy (the “vons”) but had opened up to the bourgeoisie and a headmaster’s son stood a fair chance. The idea of a military career appealed to him and particularly the thought of joining the engineers. The army, however, did not see Erwin Rommel as prime officer material and his father’s letter of support hardly helped by describing his highest quality as “good at gymnastics.” His application was rejected by the engineers and next by the artillery. If the infantry had not accepted him he might have ended up in the Zeppelin works, where his best friend, Keitel, had already found work.
On July 19, 1910, at Weingarten, a small garrison town near Stuttgart, the eighteen-year-old Rommel enlisted in the 124th Württemberg Infantry Regiment as a Fahnenjunker (officer cadet). Württemberg had been one of several states brought together with Prussia in 1871 to form the German Reich. In this new country, only twenty years older than Rommel himself, the one institution that immediately took on a national identity was the Imperial German Army, with the kaiser as its supreme commander. Rommel earnestly adopted this nationalist ethos, becoming for the first time aware of himself as a German rather than a Württemberger, fiercely loyal to Kaiser Wilhelm II and the Reich.
While attending the Königliche Kriegsschule in Danzig for officer training he met Lucie Maria Mollin at a ball held in the officers’ mess. She was a slim, dark-haired language student and despite their differences—she wished to attend every dance held in the city; he was eager to save every pfennig for the motorcycle he wanted—they became lovers. Lucie’s mother was not happy about the relationship: the Mollins were Catholic and the Rommels were Protestant. Erwin and Lucie agreed secretly that they would eventually marry but told no one.
Rommel graduated from the Kriegsschule without distinguishing himself. The training officer who filled in his final report described him as “of medium height, thin and physically rather awkward and delicate...firm in character with immense willpower and a keen enthusiasm...with a strong sense of duty.” He was considered to be merely “average” in all marking categories except one: “Führung—Gut” (Leadership—Good).
He and Lucie celebrated his graduation by having their photograph taken. She wore a flared suit and wide-brimmed hat, he the high-collared tunic and Pickelhaube (spiked helmet) of an infantry officer, his hands stuck firmly in the pockets of a greatcoat that bulked out his wiry frame. The middle-class provincial boy had made something of himself; in the new Reich civilians were expected to step from the pavement into the road to give precedence to officers in uniform. He was shortsighted in one eye and sometimes sported a monocle, Prussian style, rather than the pince-nez spectacles his father wore. But he was not one of the “vons&rd...
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- PublisherTantor Media Inc
- Publication date2010
- ISBN 10 1615876243
- ISBN 13 9781615876242
- BindingPreloaded Digital Audio Player
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