Charles Howard: A Wild and Splendid Man

Posing here in his early 30s, Charles Henry George "Wild Jack" Howard ventured from his aristocratic circle to seek an adventuresome wartime career as a sometime smuggler and bomb-disposal expert. (© National Portrait Gallery, London; marquee image on home page © SSPL/Planet News Archive/The Image Works)
Posing here in his early 30s, Charles Henry George "Wild Jack" Howard ventured from his aristocratic circle to seek an adventuresome wartime career as a sometime smuggler and bomb-disposal expert. (© National Portrait Gallery, London; marquee image on home page © SSPL/Planet News Archive/The Image Works)

France was falling.

The year was 1940, and the Germans marched into Paris on June 14. The French army retreated south, and the government, or what was left of it, relocated to the port of Bordeaux.

The muddy roads were clogged with le peuple du désastre (“the people of the disaster”). By some accounts they numbered in the millions, the displaced who headed for Bordeaux, seeking safety, scrambling for a visa, searching for a ship that would take them away from the imminent danger. They came by car, truck, farm wagon, whatever means of transport they could find, and when they ran out of fuel, they walked.

Amid the confusion and chaos of France in the throes of defeat was a man who seemed to transcend the pandemonium at the docks of Bordeaux. Boyish-looking and athletic, standing 6 feet 4 inches, he was Charles Henry George Howard, the 20th Earl of Suffolk and 13th Earl of Berkshire. Generally referred to in lofty aristocratic circles as Suffolk, he was better known in the workaday world as Jack Howard and reveled in the nickname “Wild Jack.”

‘You can’t play puss-puss with a bomb,’ he often said. ‘You’ve got to be tough with it; otherwise the devil will trick you’

Born in 1906, Jack was the son of Henry Howard, 19th Earl of Suffolk, and American-born Margaret “Daisy” Leiter, whom Henry had met and married in India in 1904. Daisy was the sister of Mary (née Leiter), Lady Curzon, the wife of George, Lord Curzon, Britain’s viceroy in India. In 1917, when Turkish artillery cut down Henry Howard north of Baghdad during the Mesopotamian campaign, 10-year-old Jack succeeded him as Earl of Suffolk. In 1923 the 17-year-old earl left school and spent four months at sea between Liverpool and Sydney as a cadet aboard the wool clipper Mount Stewart. On his return from Australia, Jack joined the Scots Guards but was invalided out of the service in 1927 after a bout of rheumatic fever. He returned to Australia to manage a sheep station in Queensland.

Jack returned to England in the early 1930s, and in March 1934 in London he married Mimi Forde-Pigott, an actress and dancer who went by the stage name Crawford. The couple settled in Scotland, where in 1937 Jack graduated from the University of Edinburgh with first-class honors in pharmacology and was selected a fellow of the Royal Society of Edinburgh. He tried to rejoin the British army but was turned down because of his past illness.

Seeking to serve the nation in some capacity, Jack met with Herbert J. Gough, the director of scientific research for the Ministry of Supply, who recalled having been completely won over by the young man’s enthusiasm, infectious personality and “buccaneering spirit.” Gough gave Jack a temporary, nonpaying job to represent him in Paris, as a liaison with the French Ministry of Armaments. The Earl of Suffolk—as Jack chose to be called when engaged on official business—arrived in Paris in October 1939 and was soon joined by his French-speaking personal secretary, 28-year-old Eileen Beryl Morden.

In mid-June 1940, barely ahead of the advancing Germans—and reportedly with a cache of diamonds “liberated” from Paris banks—the pair headed for Bordeaux, driving past lines of refugees and the remnants of the French army. Finding no vacancies in any of the city’s hotels, they slept in the car with the diamonds. Though he had no way to contact London and had not determined how he would get himself and Morden out of soon-to-be occupied France, Suffolk nonetheless offered to take to safety any scientists or engineers that French armaments minister Raoul Dautry could gather together.

On Sunday, June 16, French Prime Minister Paul Reynaud resigned and was succeeded by World War I hero Marshal Philippe Pétain. Suffolk persuaded the new French leader to permit him to leave for England with the scientists he had rounded up. Arguably the most important of these were physicists Lew Kowarski and Hans von Halban, who had both been conducting nuclear fission research for Nobel Prize–winning physicist Jean-Frédéric Joliot-Curie. They had sought the substance deuterium oxide—known as heavy water—a moderating substance indispensable for making an atomic bomb. In March 1940 the manager of Norway’s Norsk Hydro plant sent all of his nation’s heavy water to France, in 26 two-gallon cans, to keep it from falling into German hands.

As the Germans neared Paris, Joliot-Curie told von Halban to get the heavy water out of the city along with a gram of radium and all the files documenting the group’s research. Von Halban put his wife and 1-year-old daughter in the front of the car, the radium in the trunk and, in order to minimize the danger from radiation, stowed the cans of heavy water in between. On arrival in Bordeaux the scientist sought the man he’d been told could arrange his family’s escape to England—the young Earl of Suffolk.

While spiriting key French physicists and their files to safety was Suffolk’s primary concern, he soon took on additional missions. The commercial attaché at the British Embassy in France, for example, asked him to smuggle out a relatively small but decidedly valuable package to England for safekeeping: It contained more than £2 million of diamonds (worth roughly $170 million in inflation adjusted dollars) from Antwerp. When Suffolk and his charges arrived at Bordeaux’s sprawling port, the Englishman also discovered some 600 tons of American-made machine tools abandoned in wagons parked outside a warehouse. Realizing the immense value of the trove, to both the Nazis and the Allies, Suffolk resolved to take the tools with him.

Suffolk had arranged for himself and his party to travel to England aboard SS Broompark, a relatively new cargo steamer of the Glasgow-based Denholm Line. The ship was one of scores dispatched to France as part of Operation Ariel, the seaborne withdrawal of those Allied troops who hadn’t evacuated from Dunkirk weeks earlier. Tall, unshaven and dressed in smart flannels beneath a dirty trench coat, Suffolk supervised the overnight loading of his collected scientists, their baggage and the machine tools—reportedly serving both passengers and crew champagne to keep up their spirits and occasionally brandishing a brace of .45-caliber automatic pistols he referred to as Oscar and Geneviève when he thought the loading was going too slowly or someone was displaying undue interest in the cargo.

Captain Olaf Paulsen took Broompark to sea just before noon on June 19 and plotted a course for the English port of Falmouth in Cornwall. By sailing far to the west of the Brittany peninsula before turning north toward the south coast of England the ship evaded the Germans’ detection, and the 450-mile voyage was uneventful. Broompark and its valuable passengers and cargo arrived in Falmouth early on June 21.

As soon as the cargo vessel was docked, Wild Jack raced to the train station and embarked for London, stowing two battered suitcases holding the diamonds securely in the rack of his third-class compartment. He arrived at the Ministry of Supply, still in his dirty trench coat, with a scraggly black beard and eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep. Stopped at the door, he was asked to fill out a standard visitor form. Reason for requested interview. “Diamonds,” he wrote succinctly. Full name. He wrote simply “Suffolk.” Future British Prime Minister Harold Macmillan, a junior staffer in the ministry at the time, later recalled the young aristocrat as “a young man of somewhat battered appearance, unshaven, with haggard eyes…yet distinguished by a certain air of grace and dignity.”

After handing over the gems—and recounting his fantastic tale—Suffolk raced to the Admiralty to deliver a detailed map showing where more diamonds were buried on the French coast. He’d persuaded another group of scientists to hide there with yet more valuable material, including radium rescued from a number of hospitals. A Royal Navy destroyer soon picked up the scientists and the jewels. Back in Falmouth, Suffolk procured a special train to convey the rest of the cargo under armed guard to London, along with his fellow passengers.

Through courage, daring and resourcefulness Wild Jack—aided by Morden and chauffeur and assistant Fred Hards, the other two members of what he called his “Holy Trinity”—had returned safely to England with a cache of diamonds, France’s most brilliant physicists, the country’s complete stock of Norwegian heavy water and 600 tons of useful machine tools. The feat prompted Minister of Supply Herbert Morrison to later describe Suffolk as “one of the most remarkable young men employed by the government on dangerous missions.”

Despite his accomplishment Wild Jack had no desire to rest on his laurels. He intended to get back in the war, one way or another.

The afternoon of Sept. 7, 1940, marked the beginning of the London blitz, the intense German Luftwaffe bombing of the city and its environs that would continue through the following May. Adolf Hitler hoped to destroy London, demoralize its population and force the British to come to terms. It ultimately didn’t work, though German aircraft dropped more than 18,000 tons of high explosives, killing tens of thousands of civilians and rendering some 2 million others homeless.

Devices that detonated on contact were not the only hazard. Unexploded bombs, referred to as UXBs by military personnel and civilians alike, also took a toll. Mechanical failure and delayed-action fuzes left many bombs hidden beneath the rubble of destroyed buildings, or buried in public places, or scattered across important rail lines, highways and seaports. The UXBs not only killed people but also hampered Britain’s war effort.

The wartime government assigned the task of UXB disposal to the British army’s Royal Engineers, with scientific and technical support from several other agencies. The Ministry of Supply was one of those agencies, and Herbert Gough once again teamed with Suffolk. Bearing the unwieldy title Chief Field Research and Experimental Officer of the Directorate of Scientific Research, Wild Jack set about learning how to defuse bombs of new and unknown types.

As with most of what he did in life, Suffolk immersed himself in his new work. A scientist who visited him at his office later described the scene: “I found the Earl of Suffolk dressed in a most extraordinary outfit, consisting of riding boots, corduroy trousers, a striped sweater and a white aviation helmet. He was pacing up and down and raging in a frightful manner at the War Office for not giving him more bombs to play with.”

Suffolk created his own UXB detachment, which of course included the other two members of the “Holy Trinity.” At his own expense Wild Jack fitted out a big red van as a mobile laboratory and stocked it with the delicate instruments of his new trade. Hards, the earl’s right-hand man, would hand Suffolk the necessary tools. Morden would note down the procedure as dictated by the earl; if anything went wrong, at least those who followed would not make the same mistake.

The trio quickly gained fame for their prowess in exploring and deciphering the secrets of German delayed-action bombs—many fitted with increasingly sophisticated anti-handling devices.

Bomb disposal teams needed sample German fuzes to determine the best—and safest—way to neutralize them, and Suffolk offered to collect them. Among his “trophies” were a 500-pound antipersonnel bomb and an intact two-fuze combination. In all, the “Holy Trinity” successfully defused 34 unexploded bombs and provided much valuable intelligence for other UXB teams.

Wild Jack honed his working style down to a ritual. Usually wearing flying boots and a Stetson or a pilot’s helmet, he would start by fitting a cigarette into one of his omnipresent 9-inch cigarette holders and lighting it. He’d then examine the bomb from all angles, tap it and listen to it with a stethoscope. “You can’t play puss-puss with a bomb,” he often said. “You’ve got to be tough with it; otherwise the devil will trick you.”

Once ready to begin disarming the bomb, he’d remove the cigarette holder from his mouth and a second one from his vest pocket, handing them to the closest member of the team. “Hold these a minute,” he’d say. “They might get broken.”

Then he would clear everyone else from the area. On numerous occasions he operated alone, choosing to endanger only himself. He was sanguine about the possibility of dying in the course of his work. “If my name is on a bomb,” he’d say fatalistically, “that’s it.”

Some bomb-disposal technicians criticized what they considered Suffolk’s casual discipline and flamboyant manner. “He was a very colorful, very odd man,” one later recalled. “We didn’t care for Suffolk at all. He wasn’t disciplined. And he wasn’t one of us.”

On May 12, 1941, Suffolk drove out to the Erith Marshes, on the south bank of the Thames River near London. Early in the war the area had served as a “bomb cemetery,” where disposal teams deposited UXBs for study and eventual destruction. The teams had since destroyed or removed most of the devices, but there remained one rusty 500-pound German bomb. Deposited at Erith the previous autumn, the bomb had acquired the moniker “Old Faithful.” Suffolk was confident he could recover both of the device’s fuzes—one of them a Type 17 delayed-action fuze. Unbeknown to Suffolk, the bomb also contained a concealed booby trap, designed to detonate when anyone attempted to remove the Type 17 fuze.

On this occasion Suffolk was decked out in a white flying helmet and fur gloves. He went to work with his usual gusto and at lunchtime telephoned his office to explain that the Type 17 was ticking, and that he had sent for a device known as a clock-stopper. By 2:45 p.m. the clock stopper and stethoscope were in place, and Suffolk prepared to render the bomb safe by using a drilling and steaming apparatus to remove the explosives from the casing.

As fellow sappers went to collect water for the steamer, there was a sudden bright white flash and a powerful shock wave. The blast set nearby vehicles ablaze and threw the doors of Suffolk’s van 60 feet. Fourteen people were clustered around the bomb when it detonated. All were killed. Four left no trace. Among the dead were Eileen Beryl Morden and Fred Hards. Wild Jack’s boss, Herbert Gough, delivered word of the tragedy to Lady Suffolk. “One loves few men in this world,” Gough later said. “I can honestly say I loved Suffolk. He was a remarkable person, the reincarnation of all his great ancestors.”

Sir Winston Churchill, in Their Finest Hour, the second book in his six-volume series The Second World War, also recalled Suffolk and his squad:

One [bomb disposal] squad I remember which may be taken as symbolic of many others. It consisted of three people—the Earl of Suffolk, his lady private secretary and his rather aged chauffeur. They called themselves ‘the Holy Trinity.’ Their prowess and continued existence got around among all who knew. Thirty-four unexploded bombs did they tackle with urbane and smiling efficiency. But the 35th claimed its forfeit. Up went the Earl of Suffolk in his Holy Trinity. But we may be sure that, as for Mr. Valiant-for-truth, ‘all the trumpets sounded for them on the other side.’”

Wild Jack’s remains are buried in the churchyard of St. John the Baptist in Charlton, Wiltshire, near his family estate. Behind the altar, above the four main stained-glass lights, is a panel centered on the earl’s George Cross, awarded posthumously for “conspicuous bravery in connection with bomb disposal.” The central figures depict St. George, shown trampling the defeated dragon (representing evil), and St. John of Nepomuk, a 14th-century Bohemian priest and patron saint of silence, perhaps calling to mind the concentration necessary for bomb disposal. At lower left is the Suffolk family coat of arms, and above it the image of a clipper ship at sea. At right is an image of SS Broompark, depicting the moment a German plane appeared above the ship but flew off without attacking.

At the bottom of the two central lights are additional contemporary scenes from the earl’s storied life. One shows scientists at work in a laboratory, the other sappers at work on a bomb. Above the bomb disposal scene is an inscription to the memory of Wild Jack and those who died beside him.

Inscribed above the laboratory scene is a poem by John Edward Masefield, poet laureate of the United Kingdom (1930–67), written on hearing the news of “Wild Jack” Howard’s death:

He loved the bright ship with the lifting wing;
He felt the anguish in the hunted thing;
He dared the danger which besets the guides
Who lead men to the knowledge Nature hides.
Probing and playing with the lightning thus
He and his faithful friends met death for us.
The beauty of a splendid man abides.


For further reading Norman Goldstein recommends Inferno: The World at War, 1939–1945, by Max Hastings; The Second World War, Vol. 2: Their Finest Hour, by Winston Churchill; and Danger UXB: The Heroic Story of the WWII Bomb Disposal Teams, by James Owen.

10 Responses

  1. Roy V Martin

    A few points: Jack was an Apprentice on the Mount Stewart for over a year through1923/24; he returned to France with the ship, where it was sold for scrap. He went back to Australia in 1926 and lived there for nine years, much of the time as joint owner of 9,000 acres in Queensland.
    The Suffolk and Morden were partnered by a Major Golding and a Miss Nicolle in what became known as The Suffolk Golding Mission. The two crates of diamonds were brought to Bordeaux by a Paul Timbal (MD of the Antwerp Diamond Bank). The heavy water by two Polish/French scientists working for the Joliot-Curie lab.
    Broompark carried everything to Falmouth, arriving at 0600 21 June 1940. A special train was hired to get them to get them, other scientists and their families, the diamonds and the heavy water to London, where they were met by the Director of Scientific Research. No destroyer was ever sent, though one had been requested to evacuate more high powered French people.

    Roy V Martin author: The Suffolk Golding Mission, A Considerable Service

    • David Lauterborn

      Thank you, Roy, for the additional information and clarification of details regarding Charles Howard’s truly remarkable life and wartime career. Suffolk is one of those rare subjects who requires far more pages than we can devote to retelling his life story. We encourage our readers to learn more through your book and those our authors recommend at the end of each feature, which in this case includes “Danger UXB: The Heroic Story of the WWII Bomb Disposal Teams,” by James Owen.

      David Lauterborn
      Managing Editor
      Military History

  2. Gerald F. Evans

    As a young boy, my mother would share stories of her college days at Ohio University in Athens, Ohio. Her older brother, Herbert Finney, played the saxophone for the Savoy Orpheums for 13 years during the 1920’s and 1930’s and he told my mother if she made grades for a sorority, he would bring her to London for the summer. Charles Howard was fond of coming to the Savoy to her the music and to dance with the ladies staying at the famous hotel. Suffolk and my uncle became fast friends and on my mothers visit, she danced many times with the earl.

    My mother had many memories and souvenirs in a box under her bed and even her old \dance cards\ and also, one black patent leather shoe. She told me her brother and the earl had too many drinks one night after leaving the Savoy, and the earl left with only one shoe; she kept the other for a souvenir!

    Years later, in 1941, when I was nine years old, I stayed with my uncle in NYC for the summer and I’d meet him at the \Battery\

  3. Roy V Martin


    Many thanks, most interesting.

    Do you know the year that your mother was in London? I am having difficulty in finding the date ofJack Howard’s return to Australia when he settled there. I suspect that he came back to the UK on a number of occasions. A newspaper dated 31 March 1926 says that he returned via Sydney and was met there by Captain McColm, formerly Master of the Mount Stewart.

    • Gerald F. Evans

      I was unable to finish my initial remarks but when I would meet my uncle at the Battery when the Staten Island Ferry docked, we would go home together. This one time he seemed upset and when I asked him what was wrong, he told me that his dear friend had died defusing an unexploded bomb in the streets of London. I had read Winston Churchhill’s 6 volumes of WWII and recalled his mentioning the Earl of Suffolk.

      My mother was probably in London between 1921-1925 as my brother was born in March of 1927.

  4. Roy V Martin

    That would tie in would seem that he returned to the UK in 1924 and left for Australia again in late 1925, or early 1926. I haven’t got the date of his arrival in Australia, the National Archives cannot find any record of him arriving in January 1926.

  5. Kerin Freeman

    Hi, my book, a biography of the 20th Earl, ‘The Civilian Bomb Disposing Earl’ is due to be released in January next year by Pen and Sword. Can I ask what inspired you to write about this period of time in Jack’s life and how you came upon his story?
    Gerald: I love the story about the ‘stolen’ shoe.

    You can contact me on my website: if you wish

  6. John Bartleson

    To the author,
    With the exerience gain by the Earl he would never give a thought to removing the ELAZ 17 due to the ever present ZUS 40.
    What is amazing is that he did not have a clock-stopper in his kit and had to send for one. To attack the tail plate and steam out the main filler would be a logical move providing it was done remotely.
    Kind Regards,

  7. John Bartleson

    To the Author,
    It is strange and almost unforgivable that the team did not have a clock-stopper in their kit.
    Kind Regards,

  8. Bruno Comer

    Hi, The story of Lord Suffolk does have my interest as I’m a Belgian researcher who published Paul Timbal’s report, a managing director of the Antwerp Diamond Bank: ‘Why the Belgian Diamonds never Fell into Enemy Hands’. Timbal left Antwerp on May 11 th with a fortune of diamonds and escaped to England with the Broompark. All information of the book can be found on There is an English version.


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