Seventy-Five Years Ago: FDR's Last Mission

USS Quincy (CA 71), seen here in San Francisco Bay after her return from the Western Pacific in the fall of 1945, was home to President Franklin D. Roosevelt and key members of his administration during a month-long, 14,000-mile diplomatic mission from January 23 to February 27, beginning and ending in Newport News, Virginia. (Naval History and Heritage Command image)

By M.C. Farrington
HRNM Historian

President Franklin Delano Roosevelt’s last, and longest-lasting, diplomatic mission began in secrecy.

At about 10:20 pm on January 22, 1945, the President slipped out of an entrance under the Bureau of Printing and Engraving Annex opposite the National Mall from the White House, where he had been sworn in for his fourth term four days before. Roosevelt boarded a train and traveled through the night, coming to a stop before dawn at Pier Number Six within the sprawling U.S. Army Port of Embarkation in Newport News. The cruiser USS Quincy (CA 71) had been waiting there since 5:37 in the afternoon the day before. Marines who had been patrolling the pier since five that morning watched the President and over 25 people in his entourage, accompanied by 10 Secret Service agents, board.

Captain Elliott M. Senn, Quincy’s commanding officer, noted, “By request, no honors, other than sideboys, were rendered the President as he arrived aboard.”

After a working party of dozens of Sailors loaded baggage aboard Quincy, Roosevelt gave Captain Senn the order to proceed. One minute later, Quincy cast off her lines and headed for Chesapeake Bay. Although by this time the Battle of the Atlantic was largely over, the task force performed its mission as though an attack could ensue at any moment. 

After passing through the Thimble Shoal Channel, Task Group 21.5 assembled with Quincy as its flagship.  Joining them for the first part of the 4,883-mile journey to the island of Malta were USS Satterlee (DD 626), USS Herndon (DD 638), and USS Tillman (DD 641), which formed an antisubmarine screen while the cruiser Springfield (CL 66) fell in behind Quincy for the journey to Bermuda.

Satterlee detached from the group late on the 23rd, followed by Herndon and Tillman on the morning of the 26th. At Bermuda they were replaced by Task Unit 21.5.3., comprised of USS Carmick (DD 493), Doyle (DD 494), and Endicott (DD 495) for the second part of the journey to Malta, which took them to a point 300 miles south of the Azores. There, Springfield was replaced on the 28th by TU 21.5.4 comprised of the cruiser Savannah (Cl 42) and the destroyers Baldwin (DD 624), Frankford (DD 497), and Murphy (DD 603).

Despite some false alarms over unsubstantiated U-boats on January 29, for the most part the sea itself proved the most formidable adversary to many in Roosevelt’s entourage, including his daughter Anna Roosevelt Bottiger and her husband John.

The sea, however, didn’t faze the President.  A lifelong sailor and naval enthusiast and Assistant Secretary of the Navy in Woodrow Wilson's administration over two decades before, Roosevelt took particular delight in the modifications that had been made to the great warship in the months before his transit.

Allied leaders pose in the courtyard of Livadia Palace, Yalta, during the Argonaut conference in early February 1945. Those seated are (from left to right): Prime Minister Winston Churchill (UK); President Franklin D. Roosevelt (USA); and Premier Josef Stalin (USSR). Also present are  Admiral of the Fleet Sir Andrew Cunningham, R.N., Air Chief Marshall Sir Charles Portal, R.A.F. (both standing behind Churchill); and Fleet Admiral William D. Leahy, USN, (standing behind Roosevelt). Note ornate carpets under the chairs. Photograph from the Army Signal Corps Collection in the U.S. National Archives.

Quincy had been selected to transport Roosevelt to the Argonaut conference more than three months before, and in September extensive work was done to the cruiser in Boston to make her wheelchair accessible. Two special gangplanks and an elevator were added to the vessel and two custom-built boats were also added for Roosevelt’s use in Malta and the other diplomatic initiatives he would pursue on the over 14,000-mile journey.

“The sea was moderate,” recalled Fleet Admiral William D. Leahy, FDR’s chief of staff, “and we made a speed of twenty-one knots with a zig-zag course to avoid submarine attack; covered by destroyer escorts, lights out at night, and no radio communications at any time.”

Capt. Senn recalled later that Roosevelt "was not disturbed at all by the first few days of rough seas out of Newport News, and was a merry guest on January 30, when rival bakers aboard [Quincy] baked five grand cakes for the occasion."  On that day and the day following, the destroyers Laub (DD 613), Nields (DD 616) and Champlin (DD 601) joined the task force for the final leg of the journey to Malta. 

The ships and their crews, most of which like USS Quincy were battle-hardened veterans of operations from Operation TORCH in North Africa in November 1942 to NEPTUNE on D-Day in June 1944, helped make possible FDR's status as one of the "Big Three" convening at a former Imperial Russian palace in the Crimea.

“During our ten days’ cruise at sea on the ‘Quincy,’ the President held daily conferences on problems expected to arise at the Crimea meetings,” wrote Leahy. And the potential problems were formidable indeed.   

Before the airborne leg of the journey was to begin, however, the first order of business was to meet the other friendly member of the three, Winston Churchill, who was waiting in Malta.  Their relationship grew close in August 1941 after Roosevelt slipped away from Washington DC on a supposed fishing trip and resurfaced in Placentia Bay, Newfoundland aboard the cruiser USS Augusta (CA 31), where he met Churchill who had arrived aboard the battleship HMS Prince of Wales. The Atlantic Charter they released after the Arcadia conference detailed intentions for a postwar world which they hoped to codify at Yalta.  That is, if the two could agree upon actually meeting Marshal Josef Stalin there.    
During the journey radio silence had to be broken in order to address Churchill's protests about the venue for the Argonaut conference.  Earlier he had told presidential advisor Harry Hopkins "that if we had spent ten years on research, we could not have found a worse place in the world than [Yalta]..."

Despite their differences during nearly a dozen wartime meetings, Churchill, who wore his blue British colonel's uniform during most public events at the time, was waiting aboard HMS Orion which approached to starboard of Quincy as the cruiser entered Grand Harbor on the morning of February 2.  According to Quincy's Dictionary of American Fighting Ships entry, "The Royal Marine band mustered on her fantail struck up the 'Star Spangled Banner,' and the prime minister doffed his hat and waved to the president, who cheerfully responded in kind. Maltese manning small boats swarmed around the ship to watch the historic occasion, and thousands more gathered along the hillside. Quincy moored starboard side to Boat House Wharf, French Creek, at 1001."

British Foreign Secretary Sir Anthony Eden later recalled: 

As the great warship sailed into the battered harbor, every vessel was manned, every roof and vantage point crammed with spectators.  While the bands played and amid so much that reeked of war, on the bridge, just discernible to the naked eye, sat one civilian figure... All heads were turned his way and a sudden quietness fell.  It was one of those moments when all seems to stand still and one is conscious of a mark in history.

It had not been an easy journey for Prime Minister Churchill, who developed a temperature of 102 as he flew from London on the 29th in a C-54 Skymaster Gen. Henry "Hap" Arnold had lent him. Despite this, he seemed back to normal and, while somewhat irascible, was otherwise in good health.     

Prime Minister Winston L. S. Churchill of the United Kingdom. Portrait inscribed to USS Quincy (CA 71), when Churchill was on board at Alexandria, Egypt, February 15 1945, for post-Yalta conferences with President Roosevelt. (Naval History and Heritage Command image)

Roosevelt, by comparison, was in far graver shape, even with the rest he had been able to get aboard Quincy during the voyage from Newport News.  Vice Admiral Ross McIntire, FDR's personal physician, had vouched for the President's vitality during his recent successful campaign against Governor Thomas Dewey, but accompanying the President aboard Quincy along with Commander Howard Bruenn, a cardiologist, McIntire knew that his health was deteriorating rapidly.  An exam conducted nine months before at Bethesda Naval Hospital found that the 62 year-old Roosevelt had acute bronchitis, heart disease, failure of the left ventricle of the heart, as well as skyrocketing blood pressure.  A decade after receiving an average reading of 136 over 78, the President's blood pressure reading before Yalta had reached a life-threatening 240 over 130.   

From the left, Vice Admiral H. Kent Hewitt, who in 1942 led U.S. Amphibious forces from his headquarters at the Nansemond Hotel in the Ocean View section of Norfolk, confers with President Roosevelt along with Admiral Harold Stark, Commander, Naval Forces Europe, in Malta after the President's arrival.  (Naval History and Heritage Command image)  

“Later there was much adverse comment in the American press about the condition of the President’s health,” wrote Adm. Leahy long after the conference, “but in working with him every day I saw no sign of deterioration of his physical or mental condition either at sea or ashore after we reached Europe.”

Despite the physical distance between them, the Soviet Union and the United States were closer than they had ever been at that moment, largely due to FDR's policies, yet it could be argued that because of this closeness the Soviets took the American president's generosity for granted. During FDR’s first term, American diplomatic recognition had been extended to the Soviet government for the first time.  Millions of dollars in aid and equipment, including naval vessels and aircraft, had been given to the Soviets since the American entry into the war.  At the time Roosevelt left Hampton Roads for Malta, Soviet pilots were receiving training for some of their new American-made maritime patrol aircraft just south of Hampton Roads at Naval Air Station Elizabeth City.

This excerpt from the forthcoming book Churchill: A Graphic Biography by Vincent Delmas and illustrated by Christophe Regnault and Alessio Camardella, illustrates the dilemma faced by the British prime minister at Yalta regarding Poland's fate after the war. Stalin's army had completely overrun and occupied Poland before the Argonaut conference at Yalta even began. (Greenhill Books/ Dead Reckoning)

Despite benefiting from American Lend-Lease largesse, not to mention their opening of a second front in Continental Europe through the invasions of Italy and both Northern and Southern France to drain German strength from their eastern front, the Soviets wanted much, much more. To get it, Soviet agents working for the American government had penetrated the military’s secret Manhattan Project to steal nuclear weapon technology.  Diplomatic secrets were also highly prized.  Among the diplomatic contingent flying from Washington to Yalta with Secretary of State Edward R. Stettinius was Deputy Director of the Office of Special Political Affairs, Alger Hiss, who was also secretly working for the Soviet cause.

Whether Hiss nudged American diplomatic tactics at Yalta or merely informed the Soviets about his government’s negotiating positions during the talks is unclear. His cover would be blown by Time Magazine editor (and former Communist courier) Whittaker Chambers in 1948, but his denials were so convincing that the American public remained divided about his status for nearly half a century.  That is, until the Venona diplomatic intercepts of Soviet diplomatic communications declassified in the mid-1990s left little room for doubt. 


After meeting with Churchill and myriad other British and American officials throughout the day on February 2, FDR boarded a specially modified Army Air Corps VC-54C Skymaster known officially as The Flying White House, and unofficially as the Sacred Cow, at 3:30 the following morning for the seven-hour flight from Luqa Airport in Malta to Saki in the Ukrainian Soviet Socialist Republic, from which the President would endure yet another five-hour journey along winding mountain roads to Yalta, finally arriving at the Livadia Palace at a little after 6 pm, local time.

The diplomatic give-and-take (or lack thereof) during the following week would make Argonaut the most controversial of the wartime conferences between the "Big Three," but another diplomatic mission conducted by FDR before sailing back to Hampton Roads aboard Quincy would have an even longer-lasting impact upon American foreign policy as well as the American economy.

New Prince's Namesake a Naval Hero in Hampton Roads

Anglophiles around the world are abuzz over all the goings-on with the British Royal Family, from the recent wedding of Prince Harry to Meghan Markle to the new son recently born to Prince William and his wife Catherine, who they named Prince Louis Arthur Charles.  Many of them know that the name Louis (pronounced without the "s") has a long history in the family, and that the baby prince was most likely named for Lord Louis Mountbatten, the last Viceroy of India who was killed by terrorists in 1979.  Unfortunately, many news reports only mentioned Mountbatten's tragic death, yet he was a man whose amazing life impacted the destinies of millions around the globe.

Not many know that Mountbatten, a cousin of King George VI and son of a German prince, spent over 50 years in service to the Royal Navy and that he was never more at home than when commanding a warship.  Fewer still know that the seasoned combat veteran took charge of the largest ship he would ever command, the aircraft carrier HMS Illustrious, right here in Hampton Roads, months before the American entry into the Second World War.  But almost no one alive today knows what important attribute he shared with the ship's mascot.

Although it was common knowledge among residents of Portsmouth and Norfolk, Virginia, that the British aircraft carrier Illustrious was being completely refurbished at Norfolk Naval Shipyard after being nearly destroyed by German dive bombers, this fact was only publicly acknowledged when Captain Lord Louis Mountbatten took command. (Sargeant Memorial Collection, Norfolk Public Library)

Stories about the event appeared in newspapers from coast to coast, largely taking the American public by surprise. Until just a few days before Mountbatten's arrival, it was forbidden to report that British warships were even visiting American ports, much less undergoing major repair work in the U.S. Navy's shipyards. Many at the time wondered why such an important event would take place hundreds of miles from the nearest Royal Navy outpost.
That story is indeed obscure, but we can now shed some light upon it. 

Royal Blood and Seawater

The destinies of the United States and the United Kingdom drew closer throughout 1941. One reason for this is that when the year began, the Royal Navy was in one of the most precarious positions in its long history.

When the war began in September 1939, the German Kriegsmarine had been vastly outnumbered by the British and French navies in terms of battleships (3 vs. 22), cruisers (8 vs. 83), and virtually every other kind of warship and auxiliary. Moreover, it had no viable fleet air arm of its own to counter the Royal Navy’s, not to mention Germany's two planned aircraft carriers were nowhere near completion.  Despite this, the well-organized and coordinated German war machine managed to force the French navy out of the war and put the Royal Navy on the defensive in the North Sea, the Atlantic, and the Mediterranean during the first year of the war.

The Royal Navy had lost its first carrier to the Germans only two weeks after the war began. U-29 struck HMS Courageous with two torpedoes on September 17, 1939.  She sank in 15 minutes with a loss of 519 of her crew of 1,260. In the midst of its violent wake toiled Captain Lord Louis Mountbatten, commander of the 5th Destroyer Flotilla, helping pick up survivors aboard his flagship, HMS Kelly.

Although Lord Mountbatten’s great-grandmother was Queen Victoria, he had been rising through the ranks on his own merit since joining the Royal Navy in 1916.  Although royal blood coursed through his veins, so did seawater.  His father, Prince Louis of Battenberg, had served as First Sea Lord during the First World War’s outbreak over 20 years before.

With every major setback that the British armed forces and those of its allies faced in those early months of the war, Mountbatten acted fearlessly to defray disaster. In April 1940, his flotilla had taken heavy casualties while guarding the evacuation of British troops from Norway. The following month, HMS Kelly was torpedoed off the Dutch coast, after which Mountbatten moved his flag to HMS Javelin, which subsequently had both her bow and stern shot clear away by German torpedoes and gunfire off France.  He again assumed command of his original flagship after her return to service at the end of 1940, but while supporting the withdrawal of British forces from Crete in May 1941, Kelly took a direct hit from a German Stuka dive-bomber and capsized within two minutes. While Mountbatten escaped from under the destroyer, half of his crew did not.

After enduring wave after wave of German planes, which strafed the survivors with every pass, Mountbatten recalled:

“I thought it would be a good thing to start singing and so I started that popular song ‘Roll Out the Barrel’ and the others joined in, which seemed to help.”

Triumph at Taranto, Trial at Malta 

An artist's depiction of the surprise attack upon the Italian navy at Taranto, near the southern end of the Italian peninsula. (Royal Navy)

As it became obvious in June 1940 that France’s defeat was imminent and its fleet could no longer be counted upon by the Royal Navy, Italy committed its navy against Great Britain when it declared war on June 10.  Confronted by a former ally that it then had to fight and attacked by an opportunistic new foe in its home waters, the Royal Navy was rapidly running out of refuges in the Mediterranean.  Out of the depths of this crisis, however, a brilliant plan was hatched.  On November 11, 1940, the new British aircraft carrier Illustrious made history by launching the first raid by carrier-borne torpedo planes against ships in a protected harbor.  During Operation Judgment, just two waves of 21 antiquated Swordfish biplanes put half of Italy's battleships out of action at Taranto, at a cost of two aircraft.  Although behind schedule and more modest than was originally conceived, the operation stunned Italy and captured the attention of the world's navies, including the Japanese.

As seen from an unspecified Royal Navy warship, HMS Illustrious sustains a near miss right along her starboard bow on December 10, 1941, near the Italian island of Pantelleria. (Admiralty Official Collection/ The Imperial War Museum)

While protecting a merchant convoy reinforcing Malta on January 10, 1941, between 40 and 50 Junkers 87 Stuka dive bombers found Illustrious about 85 miles off the besieged island.  In just six minutes, she sustained six direct hits. One of the bombs scored a direct hit on the carrier's centrally located aft elevator, which was bringing up a Fairey Fulmar fighter and its pilot from the hangar deck. The twisted 300-ton lift platform crashed back into the hangar bay, spreading burning debris and fuel over the four fully-loaded Fulmars and nine Swordfish torpedo planes awaiting their turn to take off. Then another 1,000-pound bomb struck ten feet from the lift entrance, smashing through the buckled deck and exploding in the hangar bay. Another bomb crashed though the flight deck and exploded as yet another wave of Stukas reached the carrier. A seventh 1,000-pound bomb smashed through an antiaircraft gun platform and exploded alongside the hull, tearing shrapnel holes along her side.

Looking aft from Illustrious's island, the results of precision dive bombing can be clearly seen, with smoke from hangar bay fires erupting from fissures and bomb holes in the armored flight deck, as well as the upended aft aircraft lift. (Admiralty Official Collection/ The Imperial War Museum)

She was left a smoking ruin, adrift and without steering or electrical power, aflame from bow to stern, hangar deck to the flight deck. Any other carrier made before her would probably have been destroyed, but, after three more aerial attacks that yielded yet another direct hit near the remains of her aft elevator, Illustrious reached Malta's Grand Harbor, still on fire. Miraculously, only 126 men were killed and 91 were wounded out of her crew of 1,400.  Her mascot, a black cat named Taranto, had survived unscathed.  Her aircraft had also managed to shoot down eight of the attackers.

A photograph taken aboard Illustrious after she reached Malta shows the tremendous damage done to her forward elevator by German Stuka dive bombers. (Courtesy of Marcus Robbins/ Norfolk Naval Shipyard)

 Illustrious withstood several more bomb attacks while under emergency repairs at Malta, including another direct bomb hit, but on January 23, she slipped out of the harbor unbeknownst to the Germans and began an arduous trip back to the Atlantic by way of the Suez Canal, taking the long way around Africa.  Known but to a few on the nearly three-and-a-half-month journey that lay ahead, the tide of the war was about to change.  She was heading for Norfolk, Virginia.

Long Before War's Beginning, Neutrality Ends

In a fireside chat broadcast on December 29, 1940, entitled “On National Security,” President Franklin D. Roosevelt declared to millions of his radio listeners, “If Great Britain goes down, all of us in the Americas would be living at the point of a gun.” He finished his speech to the nation by declaring, “We must be the great arsenal of democracy.”

On March 11, 1941, despite considerable isolationist resistance in Congress, President Franklin D. Roosevelt signed the Lend-Lease bill, and war materials began streaming forth to Britain from East Coast ports, including Hampton Roads.  Within the Lend-Lease program was a provision for the repair of allied ships.  As a result, American naval shipyards began active war work many months before the rest of the Navy.  Norfolk Naval Shipyard would perform major work on British warships for the first time since it served as a base of operations for Virginia’s last colonial governor during the Revolutionary War.

The 23,000-ton Secret 

HMS Illustrious, photographed sometime between her arrival in Hampton Roads in May 1941 and her dry-docking at Norfolk Naval Shipyard. Note the fragment holes on her starboard bow. (Courtesy of Marcus Robbins/ Norfolk Naval Shipyard)

The port bow of HMS Illustrious, photographed after her dry-docking at Norfolk Naval Shipyard. Note the dozens of temporary patches that had to be applied before she left Malta. (Courtesy of Marcus Robbins/ Norfolk Naval Shipyard)

Illustrious had only been commissioned into the Royal Navy the year before she entered Norfolk Naval Shipyard on May 12, 1941 but she did not look it. Many of the initial survey photos made by shipyard photographers, many published here for the first time online, were kept secret because they showed just how effective the German attacks had been.

Shipyard workers get a look at the destruction wrought upon the aft elevator well of HMS Illustrious, which was located in the center of the aft part of the flight deck. (Courtesy of Marcus Robbins/ Norfolk Naval Shipyard)

Despite the fact that Illustrious had an armored flight deck, which probably saved the ship during the January attack, the entire flight deck would have to be replaced, along with much of the topside and hangar deck equipment. One bomb which had passed through the flight deck, hangar deck and wardroom, exploded in the aft breaker room, putting electrical power for most of the ship out of commission. As a result, most of the carrier's electrical system would have to be replaced at the yard. Some special cable fixtures and machinery that could not be fabricated at the yard had to be shipped over from England.

Today, the international press would certainly turn out to witness, record, and broadcast a heavily damaged British warship's arrival, but Navy Secretary Frank Knox had impressed the importance of secrecy upon his fellow press barons (Knox was publisher of the Chicago Daily News), and they maintained voluntary censorship, acting in concert to deny such information to the Germans. 

“I was in Norfolk when the British plane carrier, Illustrious, was in the yards suffering from every known ailment that an airplane carrier can suffer,” wrote correspondent Henry McLemore that October. “I saw the Illustrious with my own eyes, talked to officers who told me what had happened to her and was all but run over in the streets of Norfolk by Illustrious sailors. But, according to the Navy’s censorship code, I couldn’t write a word about the Illustrious.”

“The Board of Censors is firm in its belief that a 30,000 or 50,000-ton battleship can sneak into a harbor in broad daylight, tie up at a busy dock, disembark hundreds of its crew and undergo riveting repairs without even the cat on the clock noticing that a thing is going on.”

And so it was that the British government decided in mid-August to lift the veil of secrecy from the “riveting repairs,” revealing to the world not only where Illustrious had been for over a year, but also that a member of the royal family was to take command of the rejuvenated carrier. The American press quickly followed suit.

The British were not only happy to show the dramatic transformation the warship had undergone in Norfolk, but also prove to the Germans that her new commander, a man who had two ships torpedoed out from under him already, was equally ready to rejoin the fight.

Just before officially assuming command of HMS Illustrious at Norfolk Naval Shipyard in August 1941, Captain Lord Louis Mountbatten conducts an inspection of junior ratings as shipyard workers watch the proceedings from above. (Courtesy of the Sargeant Memorial Collection, Norfolk Public Library)

Lord Louis Takes Command

“Mountbatten, who looks like the Hollywood version of a dashing naval hero, was piped aboard the battle-scarred Illustrious shortly after 9:30 a.m. today and immediately went about the business of officially taking command of the vessel,” wrote Norfolk Ledger-Dispatch reporter Charles Reilly on August 27, 1941.

“Mountbatten walked leisurely among the men, stopping frequently to chat with some gob or petty officer,” wrote Reilly. “He [sic] deevoted considerable time to talking with crew members who have been singled out for [sic] deecorations for their conduct when the ship was under fire.”

“I get a genuine thrill out of being associated with a ship that has done so much good and which has such a wonderful record,” Mountbatten told the crew after taking the podium. “I am anxious, as you are, to get her back in action and give the Germans and Italians a few knocks.”

Nine Lives

Royal Navy Captain Lord Louis Mountbatten meets three of Illustrious's nine mascots, the nearest to him held by Seaman Glyn Ellis (center). (Hampton Roads Naval Museum file)

While meeting with some of the junior sailors, Mountbatten was introduced to Taranto, the ship’s mascot, along with several other kittens rescued from other warships lost in action.

Three sailors aboard the British aircraft carrier Illustrious pose with one of the nine feline mascots purportedly living aboard her during her refit at Norfolk Naval Shipyard.  It is unclear whether the cat pictured is "Taranto." (Courtesy of the Sargeant Memorial Collection, Norfolk Public Library)

“Taranto is quite somebody aboard the Illustrious,” wrote Reilly. “She was on board during all the fighting and her calm conduct under fire won her the admiration of the crew and officers alike.”

Shirley Hogge, an artist in the shipyard’s safety office, created a rendering of the introduction, which depicted both the captain and the cat as seasoned combat veterans with nine lives.  A framed copy was presented to Captain Mountbatten on October 13 by Rear Admiral Felix X. Gygax, commandant of the yard. Mountbatten immediately left after the presentation for Washington DC, where he was to meet with President Roosevelt.

An editor at the Virginian-Pilot newspaper wrote, "The cat in the cartoon will be remembered as one of several which are mascots of the Illustrious.  Reference in the two lines of verse perhaps go to Lord Mountbatten, since he is hale and hearty despite having had vessels torpedoed out from under him in the current conflict." The cat is leaning upon the original ship's bell of the carrier, which was heavily damaged during the January 1941 attack.  A replacement was cast by Norfolk Naval Shipyard in August and presented to the Illustrious crew in September.  (Courtesy of Marcus Robbins/ Norfolk Naval Shipyard) 

Captain Lord Louis Mountbatten, RN, accepts the cartoon of him and "Taranto," the mascot of HMS Illustrious, from Rear Adm. Felix Gygax, Norfolk Naval Shipyard commandant.  (Courtesy of Marcus Robbins/ Norfolk Naval Shipyard)

Winston Churchill's Orders

Mountbatten had just arrived in Washington when he was shown an urgent message from London.

Prime Minister to Lord Louis Mountbatten: we want you to home here at once for something that you will find of the highest interest.

He departed for England, where Prime Minister Winston Churchill offered him a new post: Advisor on Combined Operations.  Mountbatten was visibly nonplussed.  He had only been commander of Illustrious for two months. The carrier was more combat capable than she was when she was first launched, yet the finishing touches had not yet been made.  He had not yet even taken her out for sea trials.

Outraged by Mountbatten’s lack of enthusiasm for the post he had been hand-picked for, Churchill exploded.

"Have you no sense of glory?"

"Here I give you a chance to take part in the higher leadership of the war, and all you want to do is go back to sea. What can you hope to achieve, except to be sunk in a bigger and more expensive ship?"

Churchill had more than a special interest in Mountbatten for the job.  He had originated the idea for an advisor on combined operations before he even became prime minister.  The disastrous Gallipoli campaign had happened on his watch as First Lord of the Admiralty during World War I. The lack of coordination between the Commonwealth forces and the Royal Navy factored into the failure to defeat the Ottoman Turks in the Dardanelles a generation ago, yet Churchill knew they were no better prepared to work together in 1941 than they were in 1915.  Britain's armed forces needed a multi-service command dedicated to coordinating the raids, and, ultimately, invasions to come. He needed a proven combat veteran to lead what would essentially be an organization dedicated to ending the defensive phase of the war. With the Americans coming in on their side, the time was ripe to begin making preparations to, in Churchill’s words, "develop a reign of terror" along the enemy's coastline.

Despite Mountbatten’s initial reluctance to relinquish command of Illustrious, the implications of his new position, along with the realization that he could not turn it down anyway, forced a change of heart. He took up the new post on October 27, determined to carry out Churchill's orders to "turn the south coast of England from a bastion of defense to a springboard of attack." Despite some initial setbacks, most notably at Dieppe in August 1942, Mountbatten would lead a diverse group of some of the Commonwealth’s greatest unconventional warriors and thinkers, along with those from America, to create the vessels, equipment, tactics and doctrine required to invade Africa, Italy, and, ultimately, France. 

Illustrious First of Many

With her new commanding officer, Captain Arthur George Talbot, Illustrious departed Norfolk Naval Shipyard on November 25, 1941, just two weeks before the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor, after which the United States officially entered the war.

HMS Illustrious was the first of six battle-damaged vessels to receive extensive repairs and even complete overhauls at the yard during 1941. Also included were the battleship HMS Royal Sovereign; two fleet carriers, HMS Formidable and HMS Indomitable; the cruiser Daytonian, and the escort carrier Archer.  Formidable, which arrived on August 26, underwent the most extensive repairs after Illustrious.

In all, approximately 140 British vessels would be handled at Norfolk Naval Shipyard during the war under the Lend-Lease program. Although many of these were smaller vessels such as the Landing Ship, Tank (LST) that were commissioned into the Royal Navy in droves (yet another big idea credited to Winston Churchill), the repair of those first heavily damaged capital ships made the most meaningful impact during Britain's darkest hours of the war.

Great Britain finally made the last Lend-Lease repayment back to the United States on December 29, 2006.

USS Augusta (CA 31) and the Atlantic Charter, 1941

One of the valuable items in the museum’s World War II exhibit is the aft steering wheel from USS Augusta (CA 31), shown above. On August 14, 1941, this cruiser witnessed one of the most famous summits of the 20^th century, when President Franklin D. Roosevelt and British Prime Minister Winston S. Churchill signed the Atlantic Charter at Argentia, Newfoundland.

President Franklin D. Roosevelt and Prime Minister Winston Churchill at
the Atlantic Conference, where they signed the Atlantic Charter on August
14, 1941. Left to right: General George S. Marshall, USA; President Roosevelt
(seated); Prime Minister Churchill (seated); Admiral Ernest J. King, USN;
Admiral Harold Stark, USN. (National Archives photograph.)

The complexities of the war situation (in which America was still officially neutral) persuaded Churchill and FDR that the time had come to meet.  In August 1941 the two men set out secretly on naval vessels and rendezvoused, along with their staffs, at the new American naval base at Argentia. The President embarked on the Augusta on August 5 in Vineyard Sound, Massachusetts, transferring to the cruiser from the Presidential yacht Potomac at 0617. For security purposes, the President's flag remained on Potomac in New England waters. A Secret Serviceman, approximating the President in size and affecting the Chief Executive's mannerisms when visible from a distance, played a starring role in the drama. Press releases issued daily from Potomac led all who read them to believe that FDR was really embarked in his yacht on a pleasure cruise.

As for the meeting with Churchill, the most important result was the linking of Britain and America in a moral partnership to defeat the Axis powers and seek political freedom for all people in the postwar world. One participant said that the meeting “gave meaning to the conflict between civilization and arrogant, brute challenge.”

USS Augusta (CA 31) and USS McDougall (DD 358) at Argentia, August 1941.
Seen from HMS Prince of Wales. Note the American and British sailors
mustering together. (NHHC photograph collection.)

As for the Augusta, the heavy cruiser (built by Newport News Shipbuilding and Dry Dock Co. and launched on February 1, 1930) went on to distinguished service during Operation Torch and the Normandy Invasion. The sturdy veteran, a one-time flagship of the Asiatic Fleet, hosted President Roosevelt again after the Yalta Conference in 1945 and President Truman en route to the Potsdam Conference that same year.

(This blog post was written by HRNM Curator Joe Judge.)