In wartime, truth is so precious that she should always be attended by a bodyguard of lies.
― Winston S. Churchill

Have you ever heard of the Lancastria, a British ocean liner whose sinking resulted in the greatest losses in British maritime history? I’m guessing that most haven’t. I hadn’t until recently as I was reading Erik Larson’s biography of Winston Churchill and family, The Splendid and the Vile.

On June 17, 1940, the RMS Lancastria, requisitioned during Operation Ariel to evacuate British nationals and soldiers two weeks after the Dunkirk evacuation, sank. Bombed by the Germans near the French port of Saint-Nazaire, the Lancastria’s sinking resulted in the British military’s largest loss of life from a single conflict in World War II. More people died from the Lancastria sinking than from the Titanic and Lusitania combined. No one knows exactly how many people died, but death estimates range between 3,500 and 6,500. Some have speculated that the the death toll was even greater. The Lancastria’s occupancy was generally limited to 2,200 with an additional 375 crew members, but 9,000 were crammed on board during Operation Ariel. There were approximately 2,500 survivors.

And yet for five weeks, the British press–under Winston Churchill’s orders of a media blackout–offered no news of this disaster. Only when the late edition of The Scotman published a story featuring claims from the New York Sun newspaper regarding the Lancastria’s sinking did the British government admit that the ship had, indeed, sunk after being bombed by the Germans. In his memoirs, Churchill wrote that he told his staff: The newspapers have got quite enough disaster for today at least. He later admitted that he’d planned to release the news of Lancastria’s sinking a few days later, but that this was Britain’s darkest hour, and the news of France’s surrender crowded upon us so black and so quickly that I forgot to lift the ban.

Churchill’s Minister of Information, Mr. Alfred Duff Cooper, was asked why the Lancastria’s sinking, as well as stories of heroism from British troops on board, were not published in England until weeks after this had been published in the American press. He said:

The reasons for holding the news of the bombing and sinking of the steamship “Lancastria” were the following. This ship was engaged on a military operation, and it was evident from the German wireless announcement that the enemy were totally unaware of the identity of the ship which had been sunk. Further, it is contrary to the general policy of His Majesty’s Government to announce the loss of individual merchant ships. The number and the total tonnage of merchant ships lost is given in a weekly statement. The tonnage of the steamship “Lancastria” was included in the statement issued on 2nd July. This policy is well known, and I cannot, therefore, understand why on this occasion bewilderment should have been caused in Liverpool and shipping circles.

The Lancastria was considered a merchant ship?The total tonnage was reported weekly? In this case, the ship carried people–not merchandise–and the total tonnage was largely made up of human lives. And Cooper couldn’t understand the bewilderment regarding this loss? He undoubtedly did understand the tragic proportions of the Lancastria’s sinking, but as a good soldier whose commander in chief had ordered him to silence–and later to damage control–he spun the story as only those in such positions can. And do.

Mark Hirst, grandson of Walter Hirst, a Lancastria survivor, writes:

The trouble with the story of the Lancastria is it doesn’t fit with the grand narrative of that period – the miraculous evacuation of Dunkirk, and the Battle of Britain.

Like so many stories which have been hidden in the cavernous recesses of history, the Lancastria’s story was largely overlooked and forgotten. And there have been many of those who have commissioned the hiding, who–in the words of Churchill–believed that It is not enough that we do our best; sometimes we must do what is required. Indeed, history is peopled with so many whose justifications have been birthed from and taken refuge in what is required.

I’m not writing to pass judgment but rather to question. In war time–or any crisis–is the truth is so precious that she should always be attended by a bodyguard of lies? Do we require a bodyguard of lies to protect us from truths so brutal, so colossal that most of us would instantly collapse and be buried under their weight? Do most individuals in power insist, as Colonel Jessup did in the movie A Few Good Men: You can’t handle the truth!?

I’ve written recently about the challenges in identifying the truth. There are just as many challenges, I suspect, in determining if–and when–the whole truth is warranted. Always? Sometimes? Rarely? Just as our worldview determines our definition of truth, it also determines how and when we use it. Did Churchill truly believe that the British people should be protected–at least temporarily–from yet another crushing blow in their darkest hour? Was his decision to hide this from the press more an act of compassion than deceit? Did he fully intend to make this news public but found himself so overwhelmed by the fall of France and its implications for Britain that he simply forgot to lift the media blackout? I’m guessing that the answer to all of these questions is yes.

And yet, the hiding, covering, or spinning of the truth rubs us wrong. Even when we know and trust others, believing their motives to be good, we falter when we discover they’ve lied or concealed something from us. Our trust in them begins to erode, if only through pin pricks in their armor. We feel betrayed, at first, and later frightened. A question grows and gnaws at us: what else don’t we know?

Today, as we shelter in place and watch/listen to/read the emerging news about Covid19, most of us have become weary–and wary. News reports and social media posts circle around us as sharks eyeing chum in the water. And as chum, many of us find ourselves bobbing helplessly in threatening waters, eager to be washed up on some sunnier, safer shore. But the reports, the data, the images keep coming. Government officials, medical and public health experts, scientists and all those with mouthpieces keep talking. Day after quarantined day, we wonder if we’re being told the whole truth or if it’s being spun, modified, or withheld by those, like Churchill and so many others, who may contend that in our darkest hours, the truth may undo us.

Churchill once quipped that [a] lie gets halfway around the world before truth has a chance to get its pants on. Maybe this is our fear: that truth won’t have a fighting chance to get its pants on before lies have changed our lives and written our history. And the reality that those who lie to us may genuinely care for us only confuses and saddens us.