No, not that bomb story. This doesn’t involve the Trinity test site near Alamogordo, New Mexico, where the first atomic bomb was successfully exploded (although there is, as we shall see, a tie-in to that matter as well).
No, this story involves the twentieth Earl of Suffolk, otherwise known as Charles Henry George Howard, or Charles Howard for short. Most everyone, however, knew him as Mad Jack or Wild Jack.
Charles quit college at 17 and ran away to sea, sailing around the world and earning tattoos on both arms. [In today’s self-expressive age that doesn’t rate as much, but there were not many members of the peerage in the 1920s sporting such adornments.] Upon his return to Great Britain he was commissioned in the Scots Guards but was soon asked to leave because of his “wild ways.” For a while he tried his hand as a jackaroo on a sheep ranch in Australia, before returning to Great Britain again and earning a degree in chemistry and pharmacology from Edinburgh University.
World War II found the Earl of Suffolk serving as Liaison Officer to the French Ministry of Armaments, posted in Paris. With the imminent fall of France in June 1940, the British were eager to spirit out of the country various assets important to the Allied cause, including important research scientists, diamonds, and most importantly, heavy water in the possession of France’s nuclear scientists.
Heavy water was initially considered crucial in the production of a nuclear chain reaction, and the French scientists’ precious supply had itself been previously spirited out of Norway (the only producer of heavy water) under the Gestapo’s very noses. Possession of the world’s then entire supply of heavy water would allow the Allies to continue their experiments with uranium fission; its loss to the Germans would conversely have sped up their own research program.
And here’s where Mad Jack comes in. He arrived in Bordeaux ahead of the Germans and was given the assignment of safely conveying the heavy water, scientists, and diamonds intact to England. As Richard Ketchum describes it in his book The Borrowed Years 1938-1941: America on the Way to War:
“After a series of misadventures, [Hans] Halban, [Lew] Kowarski, and other colleagues from the Collège de France arrived with their families and the heavy water at Bordeaux, where they boarded the little British coaler SS Broompark and encountered a crew that might have emerged from Central Casting. The man in charge—who knew exactly who the scientists were and what they had brought with them—was the twentieth Earl of Suffolk, a swashbuckling character with a thick mustache . . . wearing hunting boots and swinging a loaded hunting crop. At his side, lighting his cigarettes, was his secretary, Miss Morden; hovering nearby was his chauffer, Fred Hards.”
Hedging his bets, Mad Jack, who stood 6’4”, built a raft which carried the heavy water and diamonds. Were the ship to be attacked and sunk (and another vessel leaving Bordeaux at the same time was in fact sunk), the raft could be cut loose and its precious cargo saved. In any event, the ship, which set sail on June 19, 1940, soon reached Falmouth in one piece. Later that year Halban and Kowarski, with the help of the heavy water, proved a self-sustaining nuclear reaction was possible. Mad Jack was commended in the House of Commons for “a considerable service . . . rendered to the Allied cause.”
[Note to my Norwegian friends: the skipper of the Broompark was Olaf Paulsen, born in Oslo (then Christiana) in 1878. Broompark was torpedoed three months later (September 21, 1940) by German U-48, but Paulsen’s efforts saved the ship, for which he was awarded the OBE (Order of the British Empire) by the British Government. Broompark (under a different skipper) was again attacked on July 25, 1942, and this time sunk, by U-552. Note to my American friends: U-552 was the same submarine that sunk the USS Reuben James, the first U.S. Navy ship lost in World War II (October 31, 1941).]
But Charles was just getting started.
Drawing on his scientific training, he now joined a bomb disposal squad, along with secretary Morden and chauffer Hards—the group now dubbed “the Holy Trinity.” With what Winston Churchill would later describe in his magisterial memoir of the Second World War as “urbane and smiling efficiency,” the Holy Trinity proved their prowess, successfully defusing thirty-four unexploded bombs. Mad Jack would closely examine each bomb, dictating notes all the while to Morden, with Hards standing by to assist, under the theory that others would learn from any mistake he might make, and not repeat it again.
Seventy-seven years ago today (May 12, 1941), on his thirty-fifth try, Charles’s luck ran out.
He had been asked to work on a 500-pound unexploded bomb which contained two separate fuses, a Type 17 and a Type 50. Since intact fuses of these types were needed for instructional purposes for other bomb disposal units, and as these types were in short supply, he began his work on the 12th of May with Morden and Hards standing by.
In the cat-and-mouse game between Allied and Axis forces, the Germans began to booby-trap their own bombs, adding yet another detonator, hidden out of sight behind the fuse, which would set-off the bomb once the first fuse was withdrawn. It is believed that the bomb in question held just such a booby-trap (most of the evidence having been destroyed). All three members of the Holy Trinity were killed in the resulting explosion, as were eleven others standing nearby.
The twentieth Earl of Suffolk was 35 years-old. He was survived by his Chicago-born ballet dancer wife, Mimi Forde-Pigott, and three sons.
In 1947 a stained-glass window was dedicated in Charles’s honor at the church of St. John the Baptist, Charlton, Wiltshire, where his remains had been buried. On one panel is a poem, written by John Masefield, the Poet Laureate of the United Kingdom, commemorating his death:
“He loved the bright ship with the lifting wing;
He felt the anguish in the hunted thing;
He dared the dangers which beset the guides;
Who lead men to the knowledge nature hides;
Probing and playing with the lightning thus;
He and his faithful friends met their death for us;
The beauty of a splendid man abides.”