Sir Francis de Guingand
A great Chief of Staff
Patrick Cosgrave
At the end of his book Operation Victory, which appeared early in 1947, Sir Francis de Guingand sought to distil certain principles of command and, further, the essential characteristics of what he called the 'big man'. He does not specifically say whether, at the time of writing, he thought the seven points applied to his late commander, Montgomery; but it is not unreasonable to suppose that, then at least, he thought they did. In view of his relationship with Monty, which was the core of his professional life, two of the points are North listing. The big man, says de Guingand, 'must be a good picker of men', and 'he must not be petty'.
Montgomery was undoubtedly a good picker of men. When he took over the Eighth Army de Guingand was already en poste as Chief of Staff. Montgomery knew, first, that he himself was only Churchill's second choice as commander (the first choice, Gott, had been killed in an air crash). He knew also that he had to score victories and that it was the Prime Minis ter's deepest conviction that the Eighth Army had gone slack, was badly administered, and had lost morale. Ih view of all these considerations it was his natural inclination to sack the Chief of Staff. But he met de Guingand, assessed him, and asked him to stay on. Over the years which followed the wisdom of his decision was demonstrated again and again, for Francis de Guingand proved to be, quite simply, one of the greatest Chiefs of Staff in modern history, perfectly efficient, perfectly loyal, ever the indispensable support of his commander.
Then the war ended. Montgomery promised his old comrade that, when his turn as Chief of the Imperial General Staff came, de Guingand would come with him to Whitehall, in his old position. Then suddenly, and in a manner both furtive and abrupt, he reneged on the promise. De Guingand's professional military life, though it went on for a bit, was ended. All his fair hopes had failed him. The great task of post-war military reconstruction (which, in the event, Montgomery carried out with no great distinction) in which he had hoped to play so major a role, proceeded without him. He retired to the City and, if he did not become a tycoon, acquitted himself well there.
In his various writings, and in conversation, de Guingand in subsequent years made no bones about the depth of his disappointment at the cavalier treatment he had received because — and this is the blunt truth of the matter — Montgomery felt he might have stood in his own light. But, sharp though his tone frequently was when writing or speaking of his old commander, de Guingand finally showed a generosity that was beyond Montgomery when, ill and partially crippled, he accepted an invitation to act as pallbearer at the great man's funeral, and performed his physically arduous task with dignified energy.
He was a stylish and witty writer, with a quick and sometimes over-active brain — a military intellectual, if you like. He had also a great deal of the loyal old soldier about him, the type that does or dies in the attempt, the type that never questions duty. It was because this second, more rigorous, side of his nature could subjugate the nervy, intellectual side that he was able to become a great Chief of Staff. Good Chiefs of Staff, especially those who serve the same general for long periods, are rarely among nature's artists: they are more likely to be bureaucrats par excellence. De Guingand was an artist not only at his job, but in addition to it.
It is usually the case in history that the general, if he is a good one, has a larger mind than his Chief of Staff, and almost certainly a larger spirit. The reverse was true in the case of Montgomery and de Guingand; and to de Guingand's judgment that a 'big man' should be a good picker of men should be added the old maxim that a general must be lucky. Montgomery was a lucky general all his life — not least in the Chief of Staff whom he inherited.
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