Monty's Moment

Like a householder who took his visitors for tradesmen, Field Marshal Sir Bernard Law Montgomery stood in the door of his motor van and demanded icily : "What do you want?" Facing him, beside a copse of silvery birches on the bleak, rolling moorland of Lueneberg Heath-- where the Wehrmacht used to hold maneuvers-- stood four German officers: the Commander in Chief of the German Navy, the Chief of Staff of the Wehrmacht command in the north, and two members of their staffs.

It was up to General Admiral Hans Georg von Friedeberg (head of the German Navy since Admiral Doenitz became Reichsfuehrer) to reply. Grey-faced and grim, that scion of a long line of Prussian officers asked permission to surrender three German armies--not those facing Montgomery to the north but those facing the Russians to the east.

Said Montgomery, "No. Certainly not. Go surrender to the Soviet commander."

The Germans, still hoping to surrender to Britain and the U.S. but not to the Russians, still hoping to split the Allies and pose as undefeated opponents of Bolshevism, had another tricky proposal: an agreed retreat before a slow advance of the Allied forces, permitting the Nazis to carry on the fight against the Russians.

Monty refused even to discuss such terms. With the ultimate gesture of military scorn, he took them into his tent and showed them where they stood--on his own battle operations map. Then he sent them off to lunch.

An hour later General Admiral von Friedeberg came back, red-eyed. He had been weeping. Monty made his take-it-or-leave-it offer: unconditional surrender of all the forces facing his armies in Germany, Denmark and The Netherlands. "If you do not agree to the surrender, then I will go on with the war and I will be delighted to do so." Friedeberg agreed to return next day with a decision.

Salvos. Late in the grey, gusty afternoon of the next day, while Montgomery was in staff conference, word reached him of Friedeberg's return. He let the Germans wait--ten minutes, 20 minutes. Then, still deliberate, he walked to his van and sent for Friedeberg. The German commander came, puffing a cigaret to its finger-burning end. A few moments later he emerged, his shoulders drooping. With the others he walked quickly to a brown tent with two of its sides rolled up. They sat stiffly at a plain trestle table covered with a grey blanket. On it was an inkwell with a plain, wooden pen, the kind a post office provides.

Monty let them sit, another ten minutes, while he dressed for the occasion. He donned a freshly pressed battle jacket, with the marshal's baton woven on the shoulder tabs. A tiny gold watch chain stretched from pocket to pocket, under his decoration ribbons. The familiar black beret was at the usual jaunty angle. Monty strolled slowly to the tent where the Germans waited. As he passed the assembled war correspondents he said softly: "This is a very big moment."

Lieut. Colonel J. 0. ("Joe") Ewart recited in German the terms of surrender: unconditional. The wooden-faced Germans signed. At 1825 hours (6:25 p.m.) on May 4, 1945, Field Marshal Montgomery signed the paper, accepting.

The next day at Monty's headquarters the gunners of the 160th (City of London) Heavy Antiaircraft Regiment, veterans of many a blitz night fired 21 salvos from 24 guns. Their long-barreled guns shouted victory into a bombless sky.

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