A War Hero and the US Presidential Election of 1948

“So, Colonel, tell me about yourself.” Churchill spoke casually as he poured another large scotch for himself.

David smiled, “Sir, there’s not much to tell. Really – I have been subconded by the Department of Foreign Affairs from General Eisenhower’s Staff to be a Liaison between yourself and the President.”

“Come now Colonel” said Churchill with a smile, “don’t be so modest. Hmm let’s see… You arrived in “Merry Ole England” for the first time in... what was it? October 1943, as a wet behind the ears Lieutenant, in the 115th Infantry division.”

“Your information is very comprehensive” replied David. slightly off-balanced. To cover his feeling that the conversation was starting to get a little out of control, he raised his glass to his lips and drank deeply.

“If memory serves me well, you graduated 7th in your year from West Point. What was it you think that the others had that you didn’t Colonel?”

“I’m sure if you know my position you know my grades” David spoke wryly, “I’m sure you can tell me!”

“You did not seem to have an ability to grasp the mathematics needed for ranged artillery fire. There was something to do with some farmer’s outhouse or some such.”

It can’t be happening - thought David – even the British know of the bloody outhouse fiasco! Dammit! Couldn’t people just let it go! “Err, that’s right sir, and most elegantly put – a simple mathematical problem.”

Churchill smiled again. “And what did your yearbook from high school say? The one most likely to enter the majors – although I’m not sure what that’s all about” said Churchill disingenuously, “You are now a colonel!”

“I guess you will want me to fill in all the facts of my life on my parents’ farm in Virginia next!” replied David hotly, feeling more insecure by the moment.

“No Colonel, not your childhood – rather, your immediate past. I want to know how a soldier such as yourself, twice awarded with the Congressional Medal of Honor, with numerous other military awards… I want to know how it is, that you are not at the least, in command of your own Division.“

Fortifying himself with another large slug of excellent scotch, David replied “Well sir, my peers and superiors have never let me forget that damned outhouse!”

Church roared with laughter, the bathwater rose and fell alarmingly. “Very good Colonel, very good!. That first Congressional Medal – it was Operation Overlord wasn’t it?”

David placed his now empty glass back on the tray. Churchill filled it up. “Yes, yes sir it was.” Gratefully David took his glass and again drank deep.

He again heard the screams and the guns. The smell of blood and piss and shit. He saw again men just like himself chewed up and spat out broken bloody husks. Damn that water had been cold. At least the water around Islands of the Pacific had been warmer…

“Colonel? What happened at “Dog Green”?”

“You want to know what happened? I’ll tell you what happened” David replied. He had had a gutful. The scotch was beginning to warm him up and maybe it was lowering his normal reserve. “The LCA carrying our HQ capsized way before the beach. The Germans had the MGs lined up on our landing craft. You could hear the bullets hitting the underside of the ramp. My men were exhausted from the trip in, vomit made the floor of the craft treacherous. Somehow we prepared ourselves to exit. Lucky for us we hit a sandbank which slewed our craft sideways. The ramp dropped, we were about 50 yards from the beach. With no other orders than to take the bluffs above the beach, my men waded through the surf, made their way over the traps on the beach and got to the bluff. We then climbed the bluff… “

David paused. His emotions were getting out of control – he didn’t know whether his anger at the incompetence of his superiors or pride in his men and the sacrifices they made would win out. He drank again. Took a deep breath and continued nearly in a whisper. “We climbed that bluff, and inch by bloody inch forced the Germans back. They were so efficient, well trained – the bastards! Somehow I survived. Of the 50 my company who actually landed – by the time were reached the top, 14 were left. Operation bloody Overlord” David said bitterly “made Custer’s Last Stand seem like a picnic.”

Churchill grunted. “If only you Americans had seen it through – It would not have been the fiasco it was. Britain and the rest of the Allies felt betrayed by your withdrawal.”

“Don’t get me wrong Sir!” Replied David “I don’t know one officer or soldier who wanted to leave the beachhead. Normandy was ours – we could have finished what we had started – but politics and the loss of life turned the tide.”

“I don’t blame you” Churchill replied quietly “but your President has a lot to answer for”. For once David did not feel like defending his supreme chief.

“I’ll drink to that!” He said and lifted his glass high.

07:00 August 16th 1948

David’s reflections about his first encounter with Churchill were interrupted by the flickering of the overhead lighting. He remembered he had to get to breakfast. Making his way out of the door, he fell in with a number of others walking towards what he hoped and guessed was the mess. There seemed a wide range of bureaucrats and military personnel. All seemed rather pallid under the wan lighting. David wondered how many of them got to see the light of day.

The overall feeling though, was very cheerful. Although that meant nothing. David remembered one tommy he’d talked to in Cherbourg a few days before his departure from France – both legs shot off below the knees. He’d asked for a smoke. What had he said…. “no use moaning cap’n. At least me wife wont step on me toes when we’s dancin’”. The British were hard to figure out. The worse things got, the more resilient they seemed.

Finally the crowd spread out into a large room smelling of tea and toast. Waiting his turn in the queue, David searched the crowded room for his contact. Spotting her with a group of secretaries, he got his toast, porridge and tea and moved over to their table. At the head was Ruth Ive, Churchill’s private secretary.

“Ladies, would there be room at your table for a lost GI?” The women looked at him and smiled “en mass”. There was a flurry of movement and a space was made in between two rather predatory looking typists.

“Girls” lectured Ruth, “meet Colonel David Ogilvy. For a Yank he looks pretty good – but watch yourself he's a smooth one! And remember the rules – no fraternising with the enemy – oops I mean men” she giggled. There was a titter of laughter around the table. David was very aware that the women on his right and left were moving inexorably closer. In fact any closer and they would be technically on his lap.

“Please, ladies, you can call me David.” David had never found it hard to talk to women, or felt uncomfortable around them – but the level of interest he was arousing was making him feel very uncomfortable. Those at the table introduced themselves. Soon enough, the introductions got to the one he had braved coming to the table to meet.

“Good morning Colonel, I mean David, my name’s Mavis, and this is my best friend Liz.” She motioned in an off-hand way to the girl who was sitting directly opposite him. She smiled, blushed and looked at him from under her lowered lids. David was struck with her beauty. And wondered if there would be time for some fraternising – preferably with just the two of them.

Mavis spoke again. “Colonel, there was a message for you from your ambassador. Could you come along to the secretarial pool sometime and pick it up. Just ask for me.”

“Thanks Mavis. After Breakfast?” She smiled and nodded. “Fine” he said, “I’ll come looking for you.”

David relaxed a little, contact made. He started to chat and amuse the women with stories from his past. He was rather enjoying himself. The girls were all leaning in hanging of every word. He was very flattered – then realised, they probably were very cut off from the outside world – just dispatches and reports. Finally after looking at his watch, he excused himself. “Ladies, it pains me to have to leave you but I have to freshen up before I go and talk to your boss again.”

07:30 16th Augusr 1948

Returning to his room, David sat down at the small desk provided, turned on the lamp, searched the draws for some paper and taking his pen started to write up his thoughts.


David stopped writing. He wondered how he could get access to Military Intelligence files on Dusko. “Something for Mavis to do” he thought. As he thought of Mavis his thoughts turned to her friend Liz. “A sweet kid” he thought. “Don’t get any ideas Colonel, she’s way to young for you, and anyway you’re here on business – no time to mix business with pleasure” He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck.

Checking his watch, he decided that it was time to go see Mavis.

(Edit) Today 25th April is ANZAC day in Australia. I did not want to leave the moment unheralded.


The first ANZAC to hit the beach at Gallipoli was a tough, northern NSW
canecutter named Joseph Stratford.

Letters and records reveal Corporal Stratford was credited by witnesses as being the first ashore at Anzac Cove.

He struggled onto the beach and charged a Turkish machine-gun, bayoneting two Turks before falling over them dead, riddled with bullets.

One officer at the time said Corporal Stratford should have won the Victoria Cross for his bravery.

Stratford was listed as missing in action for more than a year before he was finally confirmed dead.

Stratford was a big man, his muscles hard from years slashing sugar cane and tough farm work.

At age 34 he was a natural leader and the cream of Australia's Anzacs.
He was born in Maitland and was among the first to join up when war broke out.

At 2.45am on April 25, 1915, he was one of the first to climb over the side of the transport ship and down a rope ladder into lifeboats that were to carry the Anzacs ashore.

At 4.10am the boat carrying Stratford was in front and about 300 metres from shore. The men saw the dark coastline slowly emerge against the first streaks of dawn.

"Joe Stratford was the first of Australia's troops ashore at Gallipoli," Private Studley Gahan told a Lismore paper in 1916 in a tribute to Stratford. "Lieutenant Jones was second and I was third."

Other witnesses said Stratford jumped off the boat and went straight underwater, the weight of his pack and weapons dragging him down.

Many died this way, but Stratford managed to shrug off his heavy pack and struggle up to the beach. Stratford had only a bayonet attached to his wet rifle but he stormed up the beach at the Turkish guns.

The army later recorded on its papers for the roll of honour at the War Memorial Museum: "Stated by eyewitnesses to be first Australian ashore at Gallipoli."

Several of Stratford's mates wrote letters to his parents.

Private Gahan wrote: "There was not a man amongst us who did not love and look up to him. He was fair and straight. I felt when he did not answer the roll call that I had lost an elder brother."

Corporal Williams, from Killarney, wrote: "He was a true and loyal friend, a gallant soldier and a gentleman."

Private E. Turner wrote: "Many a man has lost a true friend in losing him."

'For The Fallen'

With proud thanksgiving, a mother for her children,
England mourns for her dead across the sea.
Flesh of her flesh they were, spirit of spirit,
Fallen in the cause of the free.
Solemn the drums thrill: Death august and royal
Sings sorrow up into immortal spheres.
There is music in the midst of desolation
And a glory that shines upon our tears.

They went with songs to the battle, they were young,
Straight of limb, true of eye, steady and aglow.
They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted,
They fell with their faces to the foe.
They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old;
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them.

They mingle not with laughing comrades again;
They sit no more at familiar tables of home;
They have no lot in our labour of the day-time;
They sleep beyond England's foam.
But where our desires are and our hopes profound,
Felt as a well-spring that is hidden from sight,
To the innermost heart of their own land they are known
As the stars are known to the Night;
As the stars that shall be bright when we are dust,
Moving in marches upon the heavenly plain,
As the stars that are starry in the time of our darkness,
To the end, to the end, they remain.
Laurence Binyon (1869-1943)
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