CHAPTER SIX
MOUNTBATTEN
Earl Mountbatten of Burma played a dubious role in many of the great events of the twentieth century. As last Viceroy of India, Supreme Commander South East Asia and as a member of the Royal Family Lord Mountbatten was quite unique. He was born into the Victorian world and his first photograph was on the knee of Queen Victoria who was his godmother and his great-grandmother. This world was soon to be shattered by the Great War in which he served as a midshipman. Then followed the Russian Revolution and the deaths of his close relations, the Russian Imperial Family with whom he had spent many happy holidays. Better times followed when he accompanied his cousin and great friend, the Prince of Wales (later King Edward VIII), on two world tours visiting New Zealand, Australia, the West Indies, Japan and India. It was during World War Two that he became known to a much wider public, first as Captain of the renowned HMS Kelly, then as Chief of Combined Operations and later as Supreme Commander South East Asia. Having presided over the surrender of the Japanese at Singapore he and Lady Mountbatten returned home to a media welcome as war heroes. Then as last Viceroy of India and its first Governor-general in the momentous events surrounding the birth of independent India and Pakistan, resulting in the dissolution of the British Empire. In 1955 Lord Mountbatten achieved his great ambition and became First Sea Lord. This was the first time a father and son had both held the highest appointment in the Royal Navy and both were appointed by Winston Churchill. Mountbatten met his death at the hands of the IRA in 1979.
On 23rd August 1939, only days before World War Two broke out, Mountbatten was appointed Captain (D) commanding the 5th Destroyer Flotilla. These were all brand-new ships of the ‘J’ and ‘K’ Class and Mountbatten's own ship, the flotilla leader, HMS Kelly, was named after Admiral Sir John Kelly and launched by his daughter. During the Norwegian Campaign in April 1940, the Kelly was ordered to intercept and destroy some German minelayers, and while speeding to her destination was hit by a torpedo. Luckily, a destroyer from another flotilla, arrived and took the Kelly in tow.
While the Kelly was being repaired, Mountbatten continued to command the flotilla from other destroyers, which went on to carry out bombardments at Cherbourg and later Benghazi, and fought in day and night actions against enemy destroyers. In a night action of November 1940 the ship he was in, HMS Javelin, had her bow and stern blown off by a salvo of torpedoes but again got way under tow, this time to Devonport. In November 1940 the Kelly was recommissioned and as many of her old company as were available rejoined her. In 1941 Kelly was sent to the Mediterranean, and in May, after the successful bombardment of Maleme airfield in Crete, the Kelly was herself attacked by twenty-four Junkers 87 dive-bombers (Stukas), and took several direct hits, causing Mountbatten to be thrown overboard. More than half the Kelly's officers and men were lost. The oil-smeared and burnt survivors, with only one raft to cling to, were machine-gunned whilst in the water, before being rescued.
At the end of 1941, Captain Lord Louis Mountbatten was promoted from a Royal Navy ship's captain and appointed Chief of Combined Operations, with a seat alongside Field-Marshal Sir Alan Brooke on the Chiefs of Staff. By March 1942, Mountbatten had been elevated three grades to become the youngest Vice-Admiral in British naval history. Mountbatten's principal claims to fame were threefold. He had been portrayed as a dashing captain of destroyers. Second, he was a master of personal public relations, projecting the image of a young, dashing and heroic commander able to carry the war to the enemy. And thirdly, Mountbatten was formidably well connected. A cousin of the King, confidant of the Prime Minister, personal friend of Noel Coward and able effortlessly to summon powerful friends from Hollywood and the British Establishment alike. Mountbatten was a public relations dream in the dreary Britain of early 1942. There was even talk among some Conservative politicians (almost certainly started by Mountbatten himself) that he should be elevated over the Chiefs of Staff in some capacity.
Mountbatten's carefully cultivated legend hid a ruthlessness and ambition that frequently accompanies great men and their success. In the midst of his wartime responsibilities he could be found posturing on the film set of ‘In Which We Serve’, a propaganda biography based on his own experiences in which the dashing destroyer captain was played by his dose friend Noel Coward. Mountbatten actually wrote to Coward after the Dieppe raid saying; "Your letter caught me on my busiest day, but since the matter is so pressing, I am dealing with it before my service duties”. A normal commander would have 'been visiting the wounded and dying and debriefing the survivors.
Beaverbrook himself warned during the war, "don't trust Mountbatten in any public capacity", knowing that Mountbatten’s dark and untrustworthy side would brook no attack on his carefully managed reputation or self-image. Despite Beaverbrook's warning, the young, unscrupulous, vain and ambitious aristocrat had now been given a seat on the highest military council in the land, together with the resources and authority to attack the German-occupied coasts of Europe. Mountbatten's personality combined with his newly acquired power and ambition were to have tragic consequences.
The roots of the 1942 attack on Dieppe are to be found twenty four years earlier, in the World War One attack on Zeebrugge on St. George's Day 1918. Under the leadership of Admiral Sir Roger Keyes of the Dover Patrol, a raiding force of warships, marines and soldiers stormed the German submarine pens on the Belgian coast in a daring attempt to block the Kaiser's U-Boats from access to the sea. The raid was partly successful and despite heavy casualties, provided a much needed boost to British morale at the time. The Zeebrugge raid created an image of a brilliant military raid, causing serious damage at little cost, precisely the sort of indirect attack so beloved of British strategists over the years.
By 1940 Keyes was back, this time as Chief of Combined Operations with the purpose of attacking the Germans around the coasts of Europe and repeat his success of 1918. Quite why the British felt that they had to raid the defended coasts of Europe is a question that seems rarely to have been asked. The Germans never felt a reciprocal urge to mount similar military adventures against the British coastline. In 1940, however, Britain's new Prime Minister Churchill was determined that even though British forces had been evicted from the Continent, the offensive must be maintained, not just to inflict casualties on the Germans but also as an act of faith with the suffering populations of occupied Europe, who in 1941 had virtually no hope of liberation. Apart from Bomber Command; it was the only offensive option at the time.
Combined Operations was a curious command. It was essentially an experimental inter-service coordinating and planning staff, put together as a result of wartime experience and designed to bring together the military assets of the three armed services to launch, as its name implied, combined operations against the enemy. By the time Mountbatten took over in late 1941 on the direct instruction of Winston Churchill, his orders were in Mountbatten's own words "to continue the raids, so splendidly begun by Keyes, to keep the offensive spirit boiling. Secondly, to prepare for the invasion of Europe, without which we can never win this war”. Mountbatten also claimed that Churchill said, "I want you to turn the south coast of England from a bastion of defence into a springboard for attack”.
This was heady stuff for a recently promoted 41-year-old naval captain whose next command was to have been one of the Royal Navy's new aircraft carriers. But Churchill had another, political, agenda implicit in his choice of the dashing Mountbatten for such a high-profile appointment: the Prime Minister had to sell British aggressive spirit to the Americans, sceptical of their ally's fighting capabilities.
After the humiliations of Norway, France, Dunkirk, Greece, Crete, Malaya and Singapore. Plus Rommel's victories in North Africa culminating in the surrender at Tobruk in June 1942, the Americans had every justification for their scepticism about the British Army's ability to fight. Even Churchill could not understand why the Army kept surrendering, saying plaintively on more than one occasion, "Why won't our soldiers fight”.
The wily Premier knew that if anyone could impress Britain's fighting spirit upon the highest councils of American decision-making, it would be Mountbatten. During visits to Washington the new commander of Combined Ops won over all the Americans he met, including America's most powerful soldier, General George C. Marshall, who became a personal friend. The young hero had done his diplomatic PR work well, doing what he did so brilliantly, and at a time when it mattered for the rest of his countrymen, not just for himself, Churchill was justifiably proud of his protégé.
Mountbatten himself appears to have been well aware of Churchill's wider intentions, boasting to a friend, "Winston told me what he wanted and now it was up to me to carry it out”. Given this level of backing, it would have been difficult for the most humble personality not to have been tempted into delusions of grandeur, and Mountbatten's many friends had never accused him of excessive humility. In turning Mountbatten's head, Churchill was in no small measure responsible. There is even a case for seeing Mountbatten as a victim of an unscrupulous Churchill, manipulating the young Admiral's ego for his own ends.
Once Keyes had gone, Mountbatten lost no time in putting his own stamp on Combined Ops and was, like many others in his position, able initially to reap the rewards of his predecessor's efforts. Combined Ops basked in the glory of successful raids on Norway and the Parachute Regiment's first battle honour, the daring theft of German radar secrets from Bruneval in northern France. Even the St. Nazaire raid of 27th March 1942, despite its cost (and five VCs), was counted a success because the destruction of the huge dry dock, the only one capable of servicing German battleships on the Atlantic, removed a major strategic pressure on the British. All these attacks were originally the fruits of Keyes's staff regime and planning.
For Combined Ops" new plans for 1942, Mountbatten's staff unveiled wide-ranging schedule of attacks, from the temporary seizure of Alderney in the Channel Islands to a hare-brained scheme for a raid on the Gestapo headquarters in Paris. The set piece was to be an attack on Dieppe in June, under the code name ‘Rutter’. The aims at Dieppe, despite later claims that it was the invasion of Europe gone awry, or some kind of bluff to confuse the Germans, were really quite straightforward: to see whether it was possible to seize and hold a major port for a limited period; to obtain intelligence from captured prisoners, documents and equipment; and to gauge the German reaction to a sizeable demonstration blow against the French coast.
In addition to these purely military goals, there were three other, less clear-cut agendas in play. The first was the wish of the Air Staff to draw the Luftwaffe in the West into a major air battle and inflict serious casualties on the German aircraft deployed in France; the second was the purely political goal of showing the USSR that Britain really was trying to get at the Germans' throats; and the third and most hazy agenda of all was the wish of the Canadian government to get their troops into the war.
The first of these was to play firmly into Mountbatten's hands later. Although the Royal Navy and the Army were wary of committing too many forces to ‘Rutter’, the Chief of the Air Staff, Air Marshal Portal, was only too keen to demonstrate the power of his vastly expanded fighter force in 1942 and bring the Luftwaffe to action in the hope of inflicting a crushing defeat on them. A major fighter sweep over a port well within range of the southern English airfields would "draw the Luftwaffe up". As a result, RAF Fighter Command became willing supporters of the plan whereas the other fighting services were relatively lukewarm.
Churchill's political difficulties in the spring and summer 1942 had much to do with his backing for Operation "Rutter" in particular and Combined Ops activities in general. Any British victory in the West would be an important bargaining chip in the complicated manoeuvring that was taking place between the Allies. The need for decisive action had become more acute following a speech by Stalin in February 1942 in which he made what seemed to many to be a hint of negotiating a separate truce with Hitler. A thoroughly alarmed British Foreign Office assessed the speech as an attempt to bring pressure to bear on the British to ease the pressure on the Russians. In any case, the USSR had to be reassured of Britain's determination to fight. A major attack in the West would do this, irrespective of its outcome.
As the summer wore on with its wearisome defeats in the desert and rumblings of political discontent with his leadership at home, Churchill became evermore depressed and desperate for a success - any success. With the fall of Tobruk on 21st June 1942 the political volcano in Westminster and Whitehall erupted as the murmurings against his wartime leadership surfaced. A torrent of political and press criticism burst over Churchill and his administration. A vote of no confidence was tabled in the House of Commons and, although the outcome was four hundred and seventy five votes to twenty five in his favour; Churchill was badly shaken.
Churchill needed a success to survive, and he knew it. Now he had a sceptical Parliament and Whitehall to battle with as well as the Germans and his strategic allies, Roosevelt and Stalin. The cautious and pragmatic Chiefs of Staff frustrated most of his military adventures as premature, content to build up Britain's military strength for the long haul. Churchill the politician, ever conscious of the need to keep his opponents informed in a democracy, needed some short-term gains. Only Bomber Command under the energetic Harris and Combined Ops under the dashing Mountbatten seemed to share his values and be prepared to carry the fight to the enemy in the summer of 1942.
The third agenda for operation Rutter was to have the greatest human consequences, but was the least practical of the attack's aims. It was the desire of the Canadian Expeditionary Force, after two and a half years of inactivity to get into action. Since the outbreak of war the Canadian Prime Minister, Mackenzie King, had followed a politically sensible but basically unsustainable policy. He had given the public appearance of vigorous Canadian support for the war but without committing his troops to actual fighting. Inevitably, with the raw aggression and justifiably famous fighting spirit of the Canadians, this policy could not last for ever. Although thousands of Canadians flocked to the colours, Mackenzie King knew that conscription, especially in French-speaking Canada, for service overseas was a recipe for political trouble and so he ensured that Canada's exposure to front-line combat was reduced to the minimum.
The political contradictions inherent in Canada's war policy gradually forced themselves upon the politicians in Ottawa. Having created a large, well-trained and well-equipped army and sent it to Sussex in England to prepare for battle, Canada's politicians discovered that their military machine had built up a momentum of its own. The Canadian Expeditionary Force's senior commanders in England, MacNaughton, Crerar and Roberts, with two years of training under their belts, were pushing hard for a more active part in the fighting if only to give their bored soldiers something to do. As usual, this showed itself in increased ill-discipline in which the Canadians stole, got drunk, fought and got up to the usual sexual activities common to any large group of fit young men a long way from home with too little to do and too many lonely women available.
The grim and increasingly irritated citizens of Sussex witnessed over three thousand Canadian courts martial up to August 1942 and hoped, like their high-spirited guests, that action would soon focus their minds on other things. In Lord Haw-Haw's mocking words from Berlin. "If you really want to take Berlin, why don't you give each Canadian soldier a motor cycle and a bottle of whisky? Then declare that Berlin is out of bounds. The Canadians will be there in 48 hours and end the war”. By 1942 the Canadians in Britain were the most exercised but least tried army in the war. The Canadians, and their commanders, wanted to fight. When Lieutenant-General Harry Crerar, commanding the 1st Canadian Corps, was summoned to Montgomery's headquarters, South East Command, on 27th April 1942 and asked whether his Canadian soldiers would like to take part in a major attack on the French coast his answer was brisk - "You bet”!
On 13th May 1942 the Chiefs of Staff approved Operation Rutter. As it stood, the plan relied on a frontal attack across Dieppe town beach, supported by flanking attacks by commandos to knock out coastal batteries covering the approaches. In the air a thousand RAF sorties would be flown to seize control of the air and provide an umbrella; and offshore, the Navy would bombard the town’s defences.
‘Rutter’ was not a good plan, and in the final stages was considerably weakened: the Navy refused to provide a battleship or any other large ship for fire support, and the RAF scaled down their plans for heavy bombing of the seafront at Dieppe to a series of fighter-bomber sweeps and strafing attacks in order to avoid French civilian casualties. The Canadian 2nd Division would spearhead the assault and go on to seize a radar station and an airfield three miles inland, for a limited period.
On 5th and 6th July the Canadian troops embarked on their assault ships, but when the weather began to deteriorate they were ordered to batten down the hatches and ride out the weather at anchor. While the troops lay heaving with sea sickness in their small landing craft, two German bombers appeared over one of the Isle of Wight staging ports and bombed the flotilla, without significant result. As the Channel gale continued to blow, on 7th July the operation was cancelled and the troops disembarked to flood the pubs and billets of southern England with stories of the raid on Dieppe that never took place and the horrors of small landing craft in a storm. Most concerned, believed that raid was now hopelessly compromised and it was cancelled.
It was just as well. Neither the Army commander, Montgomery, nor the Naval Commander at Portsmouth, Admiral Sir William James, really believed in the plan. The more ‘Rutter’ had developed, the greater their concerns. Army Commander, Montgomery was very uneasy about the whole idea of a frontal infantry attack, particularly without a proper bombardment by the RAF to soften up the opposition, which C in C Bomber Command was not now prepared to provide in daylight. Montgomery had fought in the First World War and knew all about poorly prepared frontal attacks without proper fire support.
For their part, both the Royal Navy's Commander in Portsmouth and the Admiral commanding the amphibious forces were mindful of the fate of HMS Prince of Wales and HMS Repulse only six months previously off Malaya. They had no intention of risking battleships within five miles of an enemy coast and within striking distance of the Luftwaffe's bombers. The First Sea Lord, Admiral Sir Dudley Pound, agreed wholeheartedly. The professional military view was that the ‘Rutter’ attack on Dieppe had been badly conceived, lacked sufficient fire support and was uncoordinated. Now that it was off, they could all breathe a sigh of relief.
What followed the cancellation of ‘Rutter’ is the beginning of the mystery of Dieppe. Seething from the cancellation of a long-cherished project that would place his command firmly in the public eye, Mountbatten decided to act on his own. On 8th and 11th July be called two meetings of the main staffs involved in the original operation and asked for their support to remount the raid. He did not get it. The Chiefs of Staff disliked Mountbatten, regarding him as an upstart foisted on them by Churchill.
No written record exists of the Chiefs of Staff approving the raid in its final form. Was it really Mountbatten who remounted it without authorisation? As the second conference broke up, a number of Mountbatten’s subordinate officers were quietly asked to remain behind after the main critics of the scheme had left the room. No one is completely clear what transpired at the closed meeting that followed, but from then on Mountbatten and his principal staff officer, Captain John Hughes-Hallett RN, were wholeheartedly dedicated to a substitute operation for ‘Rutter’. This was to be called "Jubilee", and the target was to be Dieppe - again.
Any major operation to attack the continent of Europe needed the authority of the Chiefs of Staff. What followed that July is one of the more remarkable stories of World War Two: the Commander of Combined Operations, protégé of the Prime Minister and darling of the media, Lord Louis Mountbatten, set out deliberately to deceive the combined British Chiefs of Staff, British intelligence, other armed services and most of his own staff officers: Mountbatten had decided to re-launch the aborted attack on Dieppe under another name and without formal authority. He admitted as much towards the end of his life, in a little- publicised interview with BBC Television in 1972: "I made the unusual and I suggest rather bold decision that we would remount the operation against Dieppe”.
Even Captain Hughes-Hallett, who was closest to Mountbatten and a total accomplice in the scheme to remount the attack on Dieppe, was concerned at this lack of authorisation from the top. He pointed out that as Combined Ops Principal Staff Officer he needed to quote some official authority on all the operation's paperwork and requisitions. Accordingly, on 17th July, Chief of Combined Operations formally minuted the Chiefs of Staff, asking the COS Committee for a specific decision to be included in the minutes of their next meeting that the Commander Combined Ops is directed to mount an emergency operation to replace ‘Rutter’ using the same forces. The Chiefs of Staff refused, and the item was not recorded in the minutes.
Mountbatten was now getting desperate. He had another go at the Chiefs of Staff Committee on 25th and 26th July, this time asking for a blanket authority to conduct large-scale raids but without specifying the target every time. Already jealous of Mountbatten's rapid rise and privileged access, and highly suspicious of his ambitions and motives, the Chiefs of Staff were having none of it. On 27th July they recorded a decision that merely widened his planning powers slightly, but specifically endorsed the existing need for Combined Ops to seek formal authority before embarking on any new operations.
That was enough for Mountbatten. Excited at getting his chance and chafing to do something, he gave direct orders for Captain Hughes-Hallett and a few trusted staff officers to proceed. No one knows precisely what he said to Hughes-Hallett, but there seems little doubt that he deceived him. Probably by claiming that he had authority from the Chiefs to proceed with the new plan, Jubilee, under the blanket authority of the decision of 27th July widening his planning powers. Hughes-Hallett was a more than willing accomplice and believed what his charismatic master, a man who spoke directly to prime ministers, film stars and chiefs of staff, told him.
On 28th July orders were issued to selected Combined Ops staff officers that Rutter was back on, under the authority of the Chiefs of Staff and with the code name Jubilee. New operational orders were issued to the raiding force headquarters on 31th July, and the whole planning frenzy for the aborted operation started again. On 12th August 1942, the Chiefs of Staff noted that Mountbatten could, in principle, plan to mount a substitute raid for the abandoned Rutter. Dieppe as a target was not mentioned, nor discussed.
To the end of his days, Mountbatten used these broad planning directives to give the impression that he had received official backing for his second Dieppe raid. Interestingly, none of his colleagues on the Chiefs of Staff nor the Cabinet papers have ever supported this claim, either during or after the war. Even Churchill had great difficulty retracing the decisions for the Dieppe raid when he wrote his own history of the war, ‘The Hinge of Fate’, in 1950. Eventually, frustrated, he accepted Mountbatten's account and took responsibility himself: but we know from his correspondence that Churchill did so only because neither he nor anyone else could locate any substantive Cabinet documents to the contrary.
The fact was that there was no specific authorisation to re-launch an attack on Dieppe and Mountbatten knew it. He got round the problem of the troops by telling the Canadian commanders to keep details of the new operation to themselves, "in the interests of security". A limited number of staff officers began to plan ‘Jubilee’ in great secrecy. But not everyone was informed. Under the guise of ‘security’, several key agencies were deliberately kept in the dark. Admiral Baillie-Grohmann, the uncooperative naval commander, was excluded and Captain Hughes-Hallett offered the job by Mountbatten. Montgomery's army staff at GHQ were ignored as Mountbatten dealt directly and secretly with the Canadian Army's chain of command. Most dangerous of all, neither Mountbatten's own Chief of Staff nor the high-level intelligence liaison officer and his official deputy; Major General Haydon, were informed that Dieppe was back on. One is left wondering how Mountbatten thought he could ever get away with it. Presumably he was gambling on a major success, in the knowledge that "victory has no critics".
The real danger to the revised operation lay in the intelligence world. While the logistics and administration will always give the game away that a military operation of some sort is afoot, they need not give the objective. The demands for intelligence will inevitably expose the target, however: Mountbatten's subterfuge needed maps, plans, pictures and information about Dieppe. Mountbatten, in fact, now had two threats to his security; not only did he need to keep his revised operation secret from the Germans, but he also had to keep it secret so far as possible from the Chiefs of Staff. The scale of the deception is breath-taking. But Mountbatten still needed intelligence, a lot of intelligence, to mount a successful assault on a defended port in occupied Europe.
The official history, British Intelligence in the Second World War, is absolutely clear on the omission. Not only that, Mountbatten did not request any support from the major intelligence agencies like the Secret Intelligence Service, preferring to rely on the existing "Rutter" target dossiers. He updated this basic intelligence with an ad hoc series of low-level intelligence tasks put out to tactical photo-reconnaissance flights and small special signals units which could be tasked directly by Combined Ops without awkward questions being asked.
The dangers of this disregard of intelligence were serious. In the first place, Mountbatten risked not getting the very best intelligence for his troops as they were beached: In the second, he could not be sure how much the Germans knew of his plans. Dieppe was without doubt by now a deeply compromised target. Six thousand soldiers had been talking about the cancelled ‘Rutter’ raid of 7th July all over southern England since they had disembarked. Why should they not? It was history now so far as they were concerned. Any real security about the Dieppe raid was long gone.
The British Double Cross operation, using MI5's turned agents to send false messages back under control to their German masters, had a field day in the summer of 1942. As a result, the German intelligence service had at least four specific warnings about Dieppe from false agents whom they trusted in the UK. The Germans, in fact, were extremely well-informed, so much so that some commentators have speculated that the second Dieppe operation was a deliberate deception operation offering a sacrifice to build up the reputation of MI5's false agents with the Abwehr. This seems far-fetched. The most likely explanation is clearance to leak redundant secrets to the Abwehr after ‘Rutter’ was aborted. The only problem was that they were not redundant secrets: Dieppe really was going to be attacked, but Mountbatten had chosen not to tell MI5 that the operation was back on again. The risks to Mountbatten's forces were horrific.
The intelligence requirements for Operation Jubilee were relatively straightforward. To attack a defended coastline, operations staffs require four specific kinds of information: the topography of the battlefield, beach gradients, currents, etc.; the enemy's strengths, dispositions and layout; enemy weapons, their locations and capabilities; and last, knowledge of the enemy's reaction plans, to fight, to reinforce or to withdraw.
None of these are particularly difficult in theory, but they all require access to the complete pantheon of intelligence sources and agencies. For example, beach composition and gradients may be laid out in pre-war books, but time and tide mean that a frogman has to double-check what the topography is really like as close to the time of the raid as possible. The enemy's strengths, dispositions and morale can be gleaned from a number of sources: photo-reconnaissance, agent reports disclosures and even open source material. Finding his weapons and their ammunition stocks is harder; once photo- reconnaissance has shown where they are sited, only local information from agents, will reveal the real details from the camera's pictures.
The point is that the whole of Britain's exceptional intelligence-collection armoury was needed to mount a successful operation of Dieppe's scale. It was available and perfectly capable of answering all the questions. But if Mountbatten asked for the full Joint Intelligence Committee support-package for Dieppe, he knew that this would alert the Cabinet Office and Chiefs of Staff to his scheme to remount the raid, and they might stop him. So, by bypassing the Chiefs of Staff, Mountbatten was forced to bypass the intelligence agencies
Mountbatten was accepting the risk of deliberately keeping his troops in the dark about vital information. This failure to use the full