He was to be a regular guest at Broadlands throughout the war, often bringing down his girlfriend of the moment, Osla Benning, a beautiful Canadian-born debutante who was sharing a cottage with Dickie’s goddaughter, Sarah Norton, whilst working in a wartime aircraft factory and later in the naval section at Bletchley.381 It was Mountbatten who had asked Sarah, daughter of Jean Norton, to matchmake for the young prince.
The Conservative MP ‘Chips’ Channon had noted in his diary in January 1941, ‘He is to be our Prince Consort and that is why he is serving in our Navy . . . but I deplore such a marriage. He and Princess Elizabeth are too inter-related.’382 Three years later, Dickie was writing to the King:
Personally I hope you can persuade him to stay in your Navy & not go mixing himself up in Greek affairs. He can’t even talk Greek & his outlook & training are entirely English. I don’t believe Greece will remain a monarchy for long – they never have – & an exiled Greek Prince is a sorry sort of a job (look what it did to Andrea!) particularly for an outstanding young man like Philip. He is happy in the RN & can easily rise to the top on merit as my father did.383
One of the reasons Dickie was keen his nephew should serve in the Royal Navy was to help anglicise him. The plotting and romance continued. In April 1944, Philip was taking soundings from family members on whether he should propose; the following month, after Dickie and Edwina had dined with George VI, Mountbatten wrote:
I think your plan of going ahead now with Philip’s British nationality & a permanent commission in the Royal Navy excellent from every point of view as it leaves the question of Lilibet open. I have drafted out a paper, which I enclose, & from which I suggest you re-draft a paper of your own. Will you please let me have a copy of the final paper & decision before I go so that I can talk to Georgie about this in Cairo & Philip in Ceylon when I leave in a week’s time. I take it that the First Lord as well as Foreign Secretary & Pm will have to be consulted.384
By August, however, the King was getting cold feet. ‘I have been thinking the matter over since our talk and I have come to the conclusion that we are going too fast.’385 He felt the schemers should concentrate simply on nationality for the moment. ‘I am sure this is the best way of doing this particular operation, don’t you? Though I know you like to get things settled at once, once you have an idea in mind.’386
Mountbatten continued to push, writing to the King later that month after he had seen Philip in Cairo and he had ‘signed the application for British Nationality and revocation to the throne of Greece’:387
Thus the preliminary steps have all been taken and only the legal formalities now remain to be completed. I am quite sure that all this must be through & completed before the Armistice with Germany to ensure the minimum publicity & the best ‘reception’, but I am NOT trying to hurry you this time.388
‘Philip entirely understood that the proposal was not connected with any question of marrying Lilibet,’ wrote Mountbatten to his mother. ‘Bertie had insisted on this – & Philip was quite happy about it . . . though there is no doubt that he would very much like to one of these days & I think realised that until this preliminary step had been taken he could not even be considered.’389
Eventually, having sown the seeds, Mountbatten and the King realised they should let the relationship between the couple take its course. ‘The young people appear genuinely devoted and I think after the war it is very likely to occur,’ wrote Mountbatten to his mother in February 1945, ‘but any “talk” now would undoubtedly make the situation much more difficult for Philip.’390
* * *
The Mountbatten marriage dynamics had now returned to their pre-war position, with Dickie as busy as ever, but Edwina searching to fill her time. Having experienced the satisfaction of a busy and useful life, she was now at a loss. She had outgrown her pre-war friends and life and had no role nor close intimates. Bunny was married and Jean Norton, one of her closest friends, had died unexpectedly in the spring of 1945. Into the vacuum came a new lover.
Edwina had met the conductor Malcolm Sargent in the 1930s, but the relationship had only developed during the war. Six years older than her, funny and quick-witted, always immaculately turned-out and attractive to women, he had become a well-known and popular public figure through his appearance on the BBC’s The Brains Trust – it is estimated that almost 30 per cent of the population listened to the radio programme – where a panel of guests answered questions put by the listeners.
As conductor of the London Philharmonic, he had made a tour of ten cities, ‘the Blitz tour’, and it was at one of these concerts at the Albert Hall in January 1941 that Edwina had met him again. Sargent, unhappily married and mourning his daughter, who had died aged 18 in 1944, had a penchant for society women – and the two lonely souls became occasional lovers.391
Sargent became her new project. She attended all his concerts and helped raise money for his charities. He, in turn, provided the emotional support that Dickie, focused on his own activities, not least writing his report on his time as Supreme Allied Commander, could not always give her.
Dickie was now all set to resume his naval career. In the New Year, he was due to start the Senior Officers’ Technical Course at Portsmouth in preparation for a new posting to Malta. Arrangements were being made to rent a house, when in December, shortly after being admitted to the Order of the Garter, he was summoned to Downing Street with the offer of a new job – the most important of his whole career.
CHAPTER 17
A Poisoned Chalice
On 17 December, George VI wrote in his diary amidst concerns about the current Viceroy of India, Wavell:
The PM is wondering who to send there as Viceroy instead & suggested Dickie M who he said has tact & gets on well with people. I told Attlee DM must have concrete orders as to what he is to do. Is he to lead the retreat out of India or is he to work for the reconciliation of Hindus & Muslims?392
Indian self-rule had been promised by the British Government since 1917, but it had been slow to come. The Government of India Act 1935 had increased the number of voters to 35 million and created 11 British–Indian provinces with limited autonomy as the first step towards a federal India, to include the 565 Princely States who owed their allegiance to the British Crown.
The plan had always been for a united subcontinent, but from 1936 a sectarian element entered the equation. The leader of the All-India Muslim League, Muhammad Ali Jinnah, once a believer in Muslim cooperation with Congress, began to argue for a separate Muslim ‘nation’ to ensure the protection of the Muslim minority. This new state of Pakistan would be made up of the five Muslim majority provinces: the Punjab, Afghan frontier, Kashmir, Sind and Balochistan.
The Second World War further complicated matters. Congress taking advantage of British vulnerability decided it would not support the British war effort, withdrew its representatives from the 11 provincial governments, and mounted a campaign of civil disobedience. Into the vacuum stepped Jinnah’s Muslims, who agreed to support the British war effort, thereby consolidating the Muslim League’s position at the expense of Congress.
In the summer of 1945, Labour came to power determined to withdraw from India. The following March, a Cabinet Mission arrived against the backdrop of recent elections where Congress had won seats in the largely Hindu provinces and the Muslim League had taken seats in Muslim areas. It proposed a federal India, but with powers at the centre covering defence, foreign affairs, communications and the currency. Accepted by the Muslim League, it was rejected by the Congress Party.
On 16 August 1946, the Muslim League had called for a ‘Direct Action Day’ to protest against Hindu refusal to accept a federation. The four days of communal rioting that followed led to 20,000 deaths or serious injuries in Calcutta alone, and revealed the inability of the British administration to keep order and the impossibility of a united India.
‘I have tried everything I know to solve the problem of handing over India to its people, and I can see no l
ight,’ Wavell told Mountbatten. ‘I have only one solution, which I call Operation Madhouse – withdrawal of the British province by province, beginning with women and children, then civilians, then the army.’393 Without another four or five divisions, he told the Cabinet, he could not hold India for much longer. He envisaged withdrawal by March 1948. ‘Wavell was tired, and could make no progress,’ John Christie, Wavell’s private secretary, later noted. ‘He had maintained the political dialogue, but he lacked the flair, the zest and perhaps the imagination to break the deadlock.’394
It was against this backdrop that the decision to replace Wavell was taken with a new face and policy. Mountbatten had first been mooted in 1943 as one of four possible candidates – Anthony Eden, R.A. Butler and Archibald Wavell. ‘Winston wouldn’t have RAB because he said (in rather coarse language) that he didn’t have the right appearance to carry off the position of Viceroy,’ Julian Amery told Mountbatten. ‘Your name was certainly considered but my father told me that it had been decided that you were to go to another job of the greatest importance in the war.’395
Stafford Cripps, who had been part of the 1946 Cabinet Mission, had hoped to be appointed himself and Pug Ismay, Churchill’s wartime Chief of Staff, had also been considered. In January 1946, Mountbatten was again suggested, this time by a former Vicereine, Lady Willingdon, and also Stafford Cripps, probably at the suggestion of the secretary of the India League in London, Krishna Menon.
Mountbatten had several obvious attractions: his royal connections would appeal to the Princes and he had already established good relations with Nehru; he was young, dynamic, imaginative, charming, apolitical, had knowledge of India from his time at SEAC, looked the part and his pragmatic and liberal policies dealing with the nationalist risings in South East Asia appealed to Attlee. The Prime Minister wrote in his memoirs, ‘he had imagination, sympathy and tremendous drive. I knew, also that he had, in Lady Mountbatten, a wife who would admirably assist him.’396
Mountbatten, keen to resume his naval career, was worried that a further delay in resuming it would put an end to it and felt he was being handed, after SEAC, another poisoned chalice. Edwina wanted to concentrate on her relief work, and on restoring Classiebawn, a home on the west coast of Ireland she had inherited from her father, and had no wish to be separated from friends and family again. She had had a partial hysterectomy at the end of February that left her suffering from neuralgia, which was exacerbated by plane flights. Her diary often had comments such as ‘feeling like death’.
This reluctance allowed Mountbatten to lay down a series of conditions – perhaps not as many as he later claimed, but still more than his predecessors – before he would accept: his naval career must not be jeopardised by the new appointment; he must go at the invitation of the Indian politicians, rather than be imposed on them; the present Secretary of State for India, Pethick-Lawrence, should be replaced by Billy Listowel; he must have continued use of the York MW102 aeroplane that he had used at SEAC, and he must be able to choose his own staff.397
The most important choice was Pug Ismay as, in effect, his Chef de Cabinet. Others included Sir Eric Miéville, who had been private secretary to Lord Willingdon as Governor-General before becoming assistant private secretary to George V, and several former colleagues from Combined Operations and SEAC: Ronald Brockman as personal secretary; Alan Campbell-Johnson as press attaché, Vernon Erskine-Crum as conference secretary, and Peter Murphy as general adviser and speech writer. Edwina brought with her two women with whom she had worked during the war, Elizabeth Ward and Muriel Watson.
Whilst these negotiations were going on, Wavell had not been told by Attlee that he was to be replaced. Only on 13 February, two days after Mountbatten finally accepted the offer, was he informed. He plaintively wrote that his daughter’s wedding with 800 guests was the following week, asking if the announcement could be made afterwards. On 20 February Mountbatten’s appointment was announced to both Houses of Parliament.
On 18 March, the Mountbattens held a farewell cocktail party at the Royal Automobile Club – Dickie was president – for 700, followed by a dinner with the Brabournes and Prince Philip. Noël Coward, who attended, wrote in his diary, ‘I wonder if they will come back alive. I think that if it is possible to make a go of it in the circumstances they will, but I have some forebodings.’398 It was a concern Mountbatten himself shared: ‘We shall be incredibly unpopular and the odds are we shall end up with bullets in our backs.’399
Two days later, the Mountbattens, including Pamela, were driven to Northolt, where they were seen off by, amongst others, Prince Philip and Malcolm Sargent. ‘It is the definite objective of His Majesty’s Government to obtain a unitary Government for British India and the Indian States if possible within the British Commonwealth, through the medium of a Constituent Assembly, set up and run in accordance with the Cabinet Mission’s plan,’ Attlee had told him. ‘The date fixed for the transfer of power is a flexible one to within one month: but you should aim at 1 June 1948 as the effective date for the transfer of power.’400
On 22 March, the Mountbattens arrived in Delhi and were driven to the gates of the Viceroy’s House, where they transferred to an open landau and continued with a cavalry escort. Awaiting them on the steps, along with bagpipers of the Royal Scots Fusiliers, were the Wavells and a dismounted Sikh Bodyguard in black and gold turbans, scarlet uniforms with white breeches and shiny black thigh boots.
The first night was spent with Wavell briefing the Mountbattens. ‘The problems are quite horrifying,’ Dickie wrote to his mother the next day, ‘but I feel we shall find a way of surmounting them & that Edwina will be a real help to me in this task.’401 She quickly sought to become châtelaine of her new manor. ‘No detail was left unexamined or unquestioned,’ her daughter Pamela later remembered, ‘the timing and cost of meals, the state of the servants’ quarters, the condition of the linen and plate, the management of the house, the gardens, the stables, the school, the clinic and I would most often accompany her.’402
It was a major undertaking. Sir Edwin Lutyens’ Viceroy’s House, which had only been completed 18 years earlier, had 377 rooms, one and a half miles of corridors and occupied five acres. It consisted of a central block and four wings on four floors and every sort of Indian marble and stone or variety of wood had been used. In the basement was a fully equipped cinema and theatre, a modern printing press, pump-room for the air-conditioning machines, carpenter’s and electrical workshops, storerooms and a laundry. The four large gardens covered a further 175 acres and included gardens in the Moghul and Italianate style, waterways, cricket grounds, a nine-hole golf course, a freshwater swimming-pool and a pack of hounds of the Royal Delhi Hunt, who were accommodated in kennels adjoining the Viceregal stables. Almost 6,000 people worked in the house or in the four large gardens.
Dickie worked from a small study, which he had painted light green with an inscription framed in leather on his desk:
There are four kinds of officers: hard-working and intelligent; lazy and intelligent, lazy and stupid and hard-working and stupid. The first are fit for top staff appointments, the second for the highest commands, the third can be tolerated, but the fourth type could prove dangerous and should be instantly removed.403
He never said which he considered himself.
On 24 March, Dickie was sworn in as the 45th and last Viceroy, accompanied by Edwina, in the magnificent Durbar Hall with its 180-foot dome supported by tall yellow-marble columns. The two walked in slow procession towards the two gold-and-scarlet thrones standing on a semi-circular dais at one end of the hall, Dickie wearing the pale-blue ermine-trimmed robe of the Grand Master of the Star of India over the full-dress uniform of a vice-admiral, Edwina in a long gown of ivory brocade, across which was the delicate pink ribbon of the Crown of India.
As they took their seats, trumpets and artillery sounded, and in every British garrison throughout India the 31-gun Viceregal salute was fired as the Viceroy’s flag was hoisted at
op the dome. Dickie chose to speak briefly. ‘I am under no illusion about the difficulty of my task,’ he told the assembled audience. ‘I shall need the greatest goodwill of the greatest possible number and am asking India today for that goodwill.’404 The whole ceremony, the first to be filmed and photographed, had lasted 15 minutes. Within half an hour of its start, the Mountbattens had shed their finery and were at work.
Alive to the need for pomp and circumstance, they had also decided to adopt a more informal style than their predecessors. Court circulars now simply announced the people they had seen. ‘It’s not by words or pompous notices that one keeps up the prestige of the Crown and one’s country,’ Edwina announced, ‘but I think by behaviour and example.’405
Every week the Mountbattens held two garden parties, three or four luncheons for 30, and two or three larger dinner parties, each comprised of at least 50 per cent Indians with their dietary preferences indicated by a different coloured ribbon on the back of their chair.406 Indians were now appointed as ADCs. Notes were kept of every meeting and circulated daily.
There were long 18-hour days, which began at dawn when Dickie and Pamela would ride together on the ridge above Delhi with a couple of armed bodyguards, sometimes with Mountbatten practising his polo swing along the way. His younger daughter had become his new confidante, with Patricia now married and living in the Chester Street house.
Edwina was now going through the menopause and Dickie found himself the butt of her various mood swings. Often he would spend hours in the evening trying to soothe her. ‘My father would try to comfort her, but he just didn’t know how,’ Pamela recalled. ‘He was very patient with her, but he couldn’t cope with tears and – like a bull in a china shop – he always seemed to say the wrong thing and put his foot in it, when all he really wanted to do was help.’407 Edwina had hoped for a quieter life after the war. ‘My neuralgia has been frightful, but I still hope for the best,’ she confided to her diary.408 She told Pamela she realised, ‘it’s a great adventure, which it is, and I love the work and my Indians and a lot of the interest, but how I long for lovely Broadlands and sweet little Chester Street and the cosy and simple life.’409
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