In Part 1 we looked at Leslie Howard’s contribution to the Allied war effort through his propaganda movies and fundraising. Now we’ll look at Howard’s final flight, the circumstances behind his tour of Spain in May 1943 and some of the conspiracy theories linked to the shooting down of Flight 777.
Remarkably, the Lisbon-Whitchurch civilian route had remained largely unmolested by enemy planes for the first three years of the Second World War. The DC-3 planes on the route were loaned by KLM to British Overseas Airways Corporation (BOAC) in 1940 after the Germans invaded Holland. By 1943 these planes were still being flown by a Dutch flight and ground crew based in Bristol.
Even more remarkably, the BOAC flight desk was positioned next door to Lufthansa’s office at the airport in Lisbon during the war. It seemed that there was some kind of gentleman’s agreement in place to allow Flight 777 to continue its daily schedule, at least for the first few years. People have speculated that the flight to Whitchurch may have enabled Germans in Portugal to read British newspapers, which were conveniently delivered daily. Others have suggested that the civilian flight was left alone because it was used by German spies operating in Britain. Whatever the reason, Flight 777 continued to take off daily from Lisbon at 9.30am in its civilian BOAC livery and, for the most part, flew without danger to England.
Prior to 1 June 1943, there had been two incidents involving Flight 777. First, in November 1942, when a single enemy plane threatened it and then a more serious attempt was made to shoot it down on 19 April 1943.[1] During this period, the U-boat war and the Allied gains in North Africa meant that the Bay of Biscay was under increasing scrutiny by both sides, and the Lisbon-Whitchurch route was becoming more risky.
Leslie Howard flew from Whitchurch to Lisbon, spending a week lecturing in Portugal before travelling to Spain for a two-week lecture tour arranged by the British Council. He was there to lecture on filmmaking, and, according to Colvin, he also talked on the topic of ‘An Actor’s Approach to Hamlet’ at a variety of venues, including the British Institute in Madrid. During his tour, Howard complained of being tired and the grief he still felt for the passing of his close friend the previous October. It was a packed tour, with late nights and a hectic schedule. One afternoon, Howard was scheduled to give a talk to British schoolchildren living in Madrid. To the concern and increasing panic of the British representatives, he failed to appear. Had he been taken by German agents? Thankfully, he turned up having missed the appointment, full of charm and apologies, explaining that it had completely slipped his mind. The absent-minded professor was a favourite caricature of Leslie Howard, so perhaps this was the case.
Like a moth to a lamp, Howard attracted a wide variety of notable figures during his stay in Madrid. One colourful character was Countess Miranda, who happened to be married to a German Count and was suspected by the British of being a German agent. She was working at the hotel where Leslie Howard was staying and had spent some time in Hollywood before the war. The Countess was obviously interested in getting to know Leslie whilst he was at the hotel. Concerned that she might be digging for an ulterior motive for Leslie’s visit to Spain, or worse, a German femme fatale there to cause a scandal, the British agents warned the actor about her. Things came to a head when she came to see Leslie Howard’s lecture at the British Institute. Stalking Leslie Howard at the hotel where she worked was one thing, but for a known German agent to publicly visit the premises of an enemy state was entirely another. Was she flirting with defecting to the Allies, or could she simply not resist coming to see this famous actor perform? Colvin suspected the former and explains that she was summoned to the German Embassy shortly afterwards, and her passport was confiscated (Colvin, 148). When Leslie Howard’s busy tour of Spain came to an end, the Countess Miranda was one of a throng of people who waved goodbye to him on the train to Lisbon on 21 May. Colvin writes,
Countess Miranda shed tears as the train pulled out. Doubtless the Germans too saw her on the platform. Doubtless they saw the tears. But they had made quite sure, that she at least, could not make use of the Lisbon line.
Like so much of Leslie Howard’s tour, there seems to be more to this story that remains hidden.
Leslie was due to fly back to England on his return to Lisbon, but delayed his flight by a week. He had heard that his 1942 film with David Niven, The First of the Few, had not yet been screened in Portugal. He worked with the British embassy to get a copy of the film sent over to Lisbon and hurriedly arranged a premiere at the Estrela Cinema on 31 May. This gave Leslie a welcome week to rest in the sun, staying at the Hotel Atlantico.
At 9.30am on 1 June, he boarded flight 777, accompanied by his business manager, Alfred Chenalls. Commentators have claimed that Mr Chenalls bore a resemblance to Churchill, liked to smoke cigars, and went to the same tailors. Could the Germans have been alerted by their agents at Lisbon airport that the British Prime Minister was on board the flight? It was widely known that Winston Churchill was travelling overseas during this time. He had crossed the Atlantic and publicly addressed the American Congress on 19 May 1943. On 27 May, a plane from Newfoundland landed in Gibraltar carrying the great man enroute to Algiers. Security seemed surprisingly lax, and on 31 May, an article in The Scotsman showed that the Axis powers were aware of the Prime Minister’s movements:
“The German radio, in its overseas service yesterday… stated: “The British Premier, according to well-informed circles, arrived in Gibraltar on Thursday evening by aeroplane from Washington…”[2]
Here’s a photo of Churchill during his visit to Algiers during the first week of June 1943:
Churchill flew from Gibraltar to Algiers on a Lancaster bomber. He flew back to England via Gibraltar a week later in a B24 Liberator, not a civilian aircraft. Did Mr Chenall therefore fool German spies in Lisbon into thinking that he was onboard an unescorted DC-3? It seems unlikely, given the lack of military guard and additional security accompanying flight 777 that morning. However, with the chatter around Churchill’s movements, it was highly likely that the Luftwaffe were scanning the skies with more vigour than usual around the end of May 1943.
We will likely never know the real reason why Leslie Howard’s flight was shot down on that day. Unfortunately, as with so many other incidents during the Second World War, I think the most likely explanation is that Leslie Howard happened to be on a flight that was considered fair game by that stage of the war. It was a huge loss to his family, the nation, and the arts. Intriguingly onboard Flight 777, along with Howard and Chenalls, there was a variety of other interesting characters who deserve a story of their own. One of these was Wilfred Israel. He was suspected by the Germans of belonging to the British Secret Service and was involved in helping Jews escape Europe to settle in Palestine. But that would need to be another story.
If the mystery surrounding Flight 777 helps people remember Leslie Howard’s remarkable life, then I think that’s important. It also provides a tantalising glimpse of the murky world of espionage on the Iberian Peninsula during the Second World War. A topic that has been made more famous recently by the film and books recounting Operation Mincemeat and by Robert Hutton’s portrayal of Dudley Clarke, arrested in drag whilst in Spain, in The Illusionist (2024).[3] It is therefore no surprise that the filmmaker Thomas Hamilton is currently working on a project to bring the story of Leslie Howard and Flight 777 to our screens. Look out for more posts on this exciting project in the near future.
[1] Colvin, Flight 777.
[2][2] The Scotsman, 31 May 1943.
[3] Robert Hutton, The Illusionist: The True Story of the Man Who Fooled Hitler (Weidenfeld & Nicolson, 2024).