Dudley Clarke, renowned as the British military’s leading expert in deception tactics during World War II, crafted strategic misdirections that led to the defeat of Erwin Rommel in the Battle of El Alamein, and set the stage for more substantial victories during the D-Day. Clarke is renowned for his role as the chief of British intelligence in the Middle East, where he developed the idea of creating the Special Air Service (SAS). This was designed to be a phantom regiment or a psychological weapon to intimidate the German and Italian armies into believing that the British had an elite paratrooper brigade capable of annihilating their aircraft. This supposedly fictitious squadron was eventually activated under the notorious Clarke’s name.
Clarke’s deceptive techniques continued in his espionage activities, and he often resorted to eccentric disguises, even getting detained once for cross-dressing while on a covert mission in Madrid in 1941.
A less-known aspect of Clarke’s career was his role as a critical envoy for London when Éamon de Valera’s government sought British aid against a potential German invasion in 1940.
Clarke’s remarkable life has been portrayed by actor Dominic West in the ITV series SAS: Rogue Heroes and is detailed in “The Illusionist: The True Story of the Man Who Fooled Hitler”, a new book penned by British journalist Robert Hutton.
Hutton’s research revealed Clarke’s memoirs, where he recounts being sent to Dublin to conduct discussions with top Irish politicians, civil servants, and military personnel, following the occupation of Norway, Belgium, and the Netherlands in 1940, before France fell.
Clarke’s initial contacts in Ireland included Joe Walshe, the senior official in the Department of External Affairs, predecessor to the Department of Foreign Affairs, and Colonel Liam Archer, head of military intelligence in the Irish Army, whom he met during an impromptu meeting at Downing Street.
Walshe stated to Clarke that Dublin had “no interest” in forming a military alliance, however, Walshe and a handful of his confidantes were acutely aware of their nation’s vulnerability should Germany decide to use Ireland as a chess piece in their military strategies.
In a hitherto unknown chapter of his memoirs, Seven Assignments, Clarke quoted Walshe as suggesting that certain Dublin interests were aligning with those of Britain. It was believed that this convergence could materialise soon. However, Walshe conceded that there wasn’t enough time to gain nationwide acceptance for this unexpected alignment. Consequently, a clandestine visit to London was organised to negotiate an underground mutual aid plan for the worst-case scenario. Permission for publishing this controversial chapter was denied by Clarke’s higher-ups in London.
Walshe and Archer made this secret trip with limited knowledge of De Valera, the Irish army’s commander-in-chief, Gen Daniel McKenna, and only a handful of their other colleagues were privy to this expedition. London’s slow-moving bureaucracy disturbed Clarke though.
According to Clarke, the mission’s urgency was lost on British higher-ups whose slow responses horrified the visitors who had urgently travelled to London to mitigate immediate dangers. Clarke projected a doomsday scenario of Germans conquering Ireland whilst the Brits were still mulling over their options. Thus, Clarke, along with Walsh and Archer, was dispatched to Ireland. To avoid arousing suspicion, they ditched their military uniforms.
Belfast, not Dublin, was their destination where they separated. Here, Clarke was briefed by General Hubert Huddleston who would be responsible for executing the co-operation plans with the Army of Eire if an agreement with Dublin was signed.
Clarke, upon reaching Dublin, waited for several hours for an Irish contact in the sombre surroundings of the Shelbourne Hotel lounge on St. Stephen’s Greens. It was twilight when Walshe finally showed. An unidentified man inspected Clarke’s belongings and got rid of anything that would label him as a Brit, enforcing a strict security protocol reflective of the Troubles period.
Currently, the individual whom he had termed “The Shadow” made his return carrying a small bundle of belongings removed from his baggage, which would be given back to him once he departs from Ireland. “Every single element, even the slightest laundry mark, had been taken into account,” he remarked.
Subsequently, he had a meeting with several high-ranking military officials in which he outlined that a “fully prepared mobile unit” of British troops was poised to navigate southward from Northern Ireland “should Eire request it”. Fighter planes were also accessible upon invitation; while anti-aircraft artillery and other weaponry could be transmitted to Dublin instantaneously, the Irish officers were informed, who then openly discussed their deficiency of equipment.
Clarke pressed for rapid resolutions, but the Irish party’s mood subsided by morning. “The concept of British intervention subsequent to an invasion had been accepted, however, it would unavoidably have to delay until the Government of Eire determined the moment was propitious for them to call for it,” he penned. “Only they would have the capacity to conclude the time when the nation’s anger had reached a level enough to warrant a demand for ‘foreign’ forces. In no situation could this proposal be accepted before the Germans had already touched land.”
When informed that this might be overly tardy, Gen McKenna remained “determined”, rigorously stating, “A premature act would induce certain hostility. In areas where weapons are not accessible, the civilians are prepared to battle in the open using shovels and pitchforks.”
“A torrent of despair engulfed me,” Clarke noted, “since others had made similar statements, the Norwegians, the Belgians, the Dutch. ‘But how,’ I questioned, ‘how can you combat machine guns using pitchforks.'”
Eventually, he succumbed to the Irish stipulation insisting that aid would trail an invasion, not precede it. Later, he had an encounter with Frank Aiken, Fianna Fáil’s defence minister. However, he was advised that Aiken was “the most zealous of all amateurish inventors” and it would be shrewd “to gain his approval” by showing “appropriate respect to his individual beliefs”.
Aiken duly indulged his “beliefs”, suggesting ideas on magnetic mines, balloons and tanks, sketching out designs on the tabletop. “When it was time for departure, I had accumulated a bundle of fresh thoughts for the mechanical enhancement of the war, but sadly, very few for improving the defence of Eire”.
During an interaction with government officials the subsequent day, comprehensive facts regarding the resources of the Free State were disclosed, and equipment was procured. The mood was extremely friendly and welcoming, as he recorded. Despite this, representatives from Ireland reiterated they wouldn’t take any immediate British support until an invasion happened. As he prepared to depart, there was an expressed request for an inspection of Phoenix Park, primarily because of suspicion that German paratroopers could potentially exploit it.
Clarke confessed his readiness to overestimate the danger, “however, upon seeing the park right in front it was clear that no such ploy was necessary. Locating a site more appropriate for an airborne attack would be a challenging task, and the absence of any kind of defensive system was glaringly obvious.”
Clarke’s suggestions of “hammering stakes at this point, installing a machine gun or two at that location, and littering an open area with abandoned vehicles” was met with sincere appreciation by Walshe. He penned, “Upon my return the following day, I was exceptionally gratified to observe fortified posts and barriers beginning to materialise.”
[ Addressing the aftermath of World War II in Ireland ]