Permission to Resign
Page 4
29th Feby, 1928
6 Treborough House
Gt. Woodstock Street
Marylebone, W.1.
‘My dear O’Malley
I have ordered the Graysons. The little book now enclosed is, to me, a wonderful ever-deepening philosophy of Life – Life itself – not in any sense what is currently spoken of as “religion” which is one of the incomprehensibles so aptly illustrated by the Athanasian Creed.
I have marked a passage on page 49, and another on page 101. (These are Matt. VI, 24; Mk. IX, 19; Luke IX, 37. M.O’M.) All things to constitute real happiness are added unto us, I deeply believe, if we have trust in our Father who is Love.
Yours sincerely
N. F. Warren Fisher
I am sure you will not think of me as trying to preach. But this little book has been a rock that has stood the test of suffering – telling us to seek and trust the God who is Love.’
And
Treasury, S.W. (No date)
‘My dear O’Malley
The Graysons are going off to you today to your Oxfordshire address: I know you will like them for what they say and how they say it. The other little book reached the Blands just after you left and was forwarded on. You will remember, won’t you, that you promised to take “short views” about the future and to have a simple trust. And the present (I don’t admit the truth of time, but language and habit force a reference to it) is, as I told you, witnessing that fullness of sympathy and understanding which is the mainstay of Life, indeed Life itself.
Yours sincerely
N. F. Warren Fisher’
They met one morning a day or so later, again at Portia’s house. Owen there read the memorandum which follows to Sir Warren Fisher. The reason for this meeting was that on the first occasion Sir Warren had obtained from Owen a promise to do absolutely nothing for the time being, and since sending in this memorandum was a definite démarche, Owen wished to make Sir Warren aware of what he was doing. Fisher however raised no objection, and next day the memorandum, accompanying Owen’s resignation, was sent in to Sir William Tyrrell.
Memorandum by O.O’M., accompanying his letter of resignation.
‘1. The procedure of most English courts provides that an accused person shall be charged with certain definite offences and shall be entitled to plead and to hear the evidence against him. The procedure under which I have been compelled to leave the Foreign Office differs, and for all I know quite rightly differs, from this. It was comparable not so much to criminal justice or to the exercise of justice in the Army or Navy as to the procedure under which an unsatisfactory servant in ordinary civil life is removed from his employment. I have not now got the knowledge or desire to criticize this procedure, which was framed and applied with the most complete wish to ensure to me, amongst others, fair treatment. It is, however, the fact that no definite charges were brought against me by the Board of Enquiry, that no invitation was extended to me to plead, and that it was only subsequent to my examination that charges were formulated, verdict given and sentence pronounced without an opportunity being afforded to me to speak on my own behalf. In these circumstances it would seem to be not inconsistent with the ordinary principles of fair play that the statement I now make should be read by the Prime Minister and the Foreign Secretary, as well as by the Board upon whose Report they acted; and to them I respectfully submit it.
2. There is one sentence (paragraph 20) in that Report, and that the most damaging to myself, to which I must demur; and its character is such that I can, in my own interest, only usefully express my disagreement with it now or not at all. It is this: “In his (Mr O’Malley’s) case ... we cannot doubt that he knew well what he was doing.” Whatever be the exact meaning of the Board expressed in these words, they will always be read by ordinary persons to mean that in the Board’s opinion I did what I well knew to be wrong. That charge I deny. But if in future I apply for employment in some position of trust, I must expect to be refused on the grounds that I stand condemned of moral turpitude; and that by my silence, if I now am silent, I assented to the justice of the Report. It will be useless, in such circumstances, to protest my innocence of that particular offence. “Why”, I shall be asked, “did you not protest to the proper people at the time, when all the witnesses were available, and the Enquiry was fresh in the minds of all concerned? If your statements had then been explicitly declared to be untrue, so much the worse for you; but you should at least have given your judges the opportunity of considering what you call injustice. To resign in silence shows that you had little confidence in your case.”
3. I have not the slightest doubt that the sentence I have quoted was drafted with the most sincere desire for accuracy, but I deny that in dealing in francs as I did, I did what I knew to be wrong, nor so far as I can recollect did I ever admit this in my evidence.
4. Since the Report has been in my hands I have re-examined my recollection and my conscience on the point with all possible care. It is not an easy task at this distance of time for a somewhat disordered mind. But if those for whom I write will recall any experience which has shaken the foundations of their life, they will understand and forgive me if, of such cases, I say that, in the crucible of the mind, thought can be purged of self-esteem and fear by the fires of circumstance, permitting the conscience to speak with a singular detachment. Experience of this kind during the last few days allows me to believe that what I have written in the preceding paragraph is the truth.
5. Another sentence (paragraph 11) in the Report to which I beg leave to demur is as follows: “Eventually her (Mrs Dyne’s) house became the regular meeting-place of the circle who were interested in the subject.” Although I was much interested (but not financially interested) in Mr Gregory’s dealings, and spoke to him about them constantly, it is not at all the case that Mrs Dyne’s house or any other place ever became for me a regular meeting place with anyone interested in francs.
6. In paragraph 15 of the Report it is stated that Lt Comdr Maxse “yielding it would seem to persuasion, agreed that Mrs Dyne should undertake some small transactions in her name on his behalf”, and in paragraph 21 the words are used “if he was not actually induced to follow the ill example that had been set him”. It is not directly implied, but this sentence is open to the construction that I took part in persuading or inducing Lt Comdr Maxse to deal in francs. There would be no foundation whatever for such a charge.
7. In paragraph 11 it is stated that I should “probably seldom if ever have been financially in a position to give or take delivery of (francs sold or bought)”. This statement, which is not in accordance with the facts, is not based on any evidence of mine.
8. It may well be due mainly to my circumstances that I am unable to follow on several points the mind of the Board of Enquiry; to understand, for instance, why in Mr Villiers’ case dealings with a firm of brokers similar in amount to mine but extending over two instead of five months should be dismissed as an “isolated transaction”, while in my case not more than three additional transactions concluded a year later with a colleague and a private acquaintance, should have brought my acts as a whole within the expression “systematic operations of the members of a circle” (paragraph 26); why he alone and not I is entitled to whatever credit a “voluntary statement” may deserve; or why in paragraph 26 “systematic operations” in which I am stated to have taken part are an aggravation of my offence, whereas in paragraph 21, operations by Lt Comdr Maxse to a much larger amount and extending over a longer period of time “do not necessarily import an aggravation of his offence”. There are other points where I cannot fully understand the Board’s reasoning, but I have not seen the evidence, I am not as well qualified as they are to draw conclusions from it, supposing I had seen it, and no man is a good judge in his own case. Had it been open to me, in the face of this Report, to plead my case, I should have hoped to show that my offences were not so great in comparison to the offences committed by Mr Villiers and Lt Comdr Maxse as the Re
port and the judgement declare them to be. As it is, I must limit myself to statements which I can make with assurance about my own doings.
9. I do not for one moment wish to cast doubt on the desire of my examiners or my judges to be scrupulously fair to me, and I realize the great public importance that nothing should be done, if it can be helped, to keep recent events alive or to disturb public confidence in the issue. But if by what I have written I have raised any doubt about the fairness of my treatment in the minds of those among whom rests the responsibility for the Report and the decisions arising out of it, I appeal to them to consider whether means could not be found, even if not immediately, to test the truth and if necessary qualify the damaging character of the words of which I have complained. I feel constrained to go further. Whether or no they consider that all the requirements of fairness have already been satisfied, I appeal to them for mercy. If they have been merciful already, I appeal to them to be more merciful, to consider whether my sixteen years of service, filled with greater efforts to fit myself for that service than they can ever know, do not only, as the Report states, aggravate my offence, but also justify that appeal.’
Denton, March 2
On this second occasion at the Blands, Owen showed Sir Warren Fisher my telegram and the following letter:
Chateau d’Oex, March 1. ’28
‘My dear
I am just waiting for the post to come, when surely I shall get a letter. I want so terribly to hear how you are and also all about it and any reasons you have gathered for this unexpected severity. You can’t do anything more valuable these days than write to me rather fully, because being out here cut off from everything and everyone and unable to afford more than one paper because they cost 45 centimes, is like being in a heavy artillery preparation blindfolded. May and Archie sent me a kind telegram and I got yours of last night about Fisher. But is it any good going round to see all these people? Fisher presumably heard all you had to say before, and he has said what he thought in the Report – well, if he thinks that, will anything you or anyone else says make any difference? Wouldn’t it be better to sit absolutely tight and not say a word and try for a job through Addis or Gull or some City person? I don’t give much for any amount of friendliness from any of these people. They are always friendly.
There are one or two things in the Report that look queer to me. I thought I remembered you frequently warning Fitz against plunging so in francs. If I’m right, how is it that he let the Board put you under the imputation of having “persuaded” him to gamble, equally with Don? Is that just yellowness? And why is Gerry Villiers, who gambled five times to your six and with the same firm, merely censored, when you have to resign? I suppose it is because the sort of moral bad smell round poor old Don is so overpowering that everyone who was closely associated with him shares it to some extent.
However these are questions that you may not be able to answer, and are probably idle ones. What you will like to hear is that John has put on nearly a pound in the last week and I nearly half – that his temperature is still steady, and that he is starting with the Wolf-Cubs today. I haven’t told him anything; there seems no need – he is a little curious about such telegrams as he sees arrive, but as he had a nice quiet evening with plenty of jokes and fun and reading aloud, all quite normal, he isn’t in the least upset or worried and it is better so. Give me – oh my darling give me a mark for making jokes and being normal, when I want so terribly to come home and see for myself how you are and what you are up to.
Mme Juvet whom I told as soon as I got your telegram is a great comfort, talking so sensibly and so kindly and seeing to small comforts. Indeed the whole Juvet family have shewn the greatest kindness and natural tact – even Monsieur was terribly upset and puts Moscow on the wireless for me and makes very Swiss jokes. Madame can’t get over the fact that I don’t shut myself up in my room and cry, and says – “Well, you are brave!” – at intervals. John’s Mr King came down last night and played Bridge and that took my mind off it for an hour or two – I had an Allonal and got some sleep. Step by step is all one can go at present, but a time will come when one has to think over the next move. However I can really initiate nothing out here and must wait on you.
There isn’t a letter! But my dear you will write, won’t you? You won’t go on leaving me without, when it’s the only thing I have to hold to? I don’t want to bother or tire you, but if you knew what it’s like alone out here you would write.
Now I’m going to try to get a nap till lunch. Bless you, and keep your heart up.
Your M.A.
5 p.m.
I didn’t sleep before lunch but I have had a nice nap since while John was out with the Wolf-Cubs. He enjoyed himself. I am resting a good deal today because I am sure the tip is not to get tired, so that when the reactions come along one has plenty of strength to cope with them. In a way it seems impossible to suffer more than in the last 48 hours, but I know that it’s later on that it gets you, when it’s all stale and no one bothers about you and you begin to think hard about money and details. I feel much better this evening – I’ve got warm at last (I was so cold all yesterday) and my head doesn’t ache. I’m going out now to post these letters and get a paper – I’m still afraid of The Times in the salon – and then I’ll be back for John’s prep and bath and reading aloud.
I suppose I shall get a letter tonight, but I hate the evening post because it comes at dinner and either you must read it before everyone or you must wait till dinner is over.
Goodbye – Oh my poor dear I think of you so much.
Your lov.
M.A.’
I had written at once to William Strang (now Lord Strang) who was a very close friend of us both:
‘Dear William
Will you write to me about all this bloody business? I wish you would. It is rather nasty out here where one only sees the papers.
William why have they been so savage with him?
Yours
M.A.’
He replied promptly and fully; his letter has not survived, but this is what I wrote in return –
Villa Prima-Flora,
Chateau d’Oex,
Vaud,
Suisse.
March 8, ’28.
‘My dear William,
Yours is the letter I most want to answer of the pile. Thank you awfully for writing. That is what I wanted. Let me say at once that I am grateful to you for not preserving a proper reticence, and that I will respect your courage in so doing and not let you suffer for it.
Yes, I agree with you that the mystery is why the Report dealt so with Owen. I have two things to say about that. I know that the first time they asked Owen for names of colleagues who had done the same he protested, and suggested an elaborate plan for submitting his conscience to an arbitrator or something. He wrote and told me he was going to, and I besought him by return, whatever he did not to do that, or it would certainly be regarded as fanciful, obstructive and silly. But he did do it, of course. Even so, it was an honourable scruple. And William dear, the second thing is one which troubles me very much. Read the Report again and see whose evidence most of the most damning implications come from. “He came into a going concern.” “If not actually yielding to persuasion.” “Her house became a regular meeting-place for the circle.”
All these come from Fitz’s evidence, quite clearly and on the face of it. And all contain, as far as Owen is concerned, a suppressio veri or suggestio falsi. Fitz came back in December ’23. Owen stopped dealing in June of that year and only began again in ’24 – the Report gives no date. But the going concern into which Fitz came did not include Owen. Owen denies absolutely having ever persuaded Fitz to join, and certainly I have myself heard him tell him to chuck it. The Cottage was never a “regular meeting-place” for Owen, who was in the country. Yet Owen is made to lie equally with Don under these three imputations. Oh William, can any sane person doubt that Fitz allowed his yellow streak to get the better of him, and
gave, not perjured, but tendentious evidence? I wish I could think otherwise, but I can’t. And this abuse of “benefits forgot” bites very close.
I often hear from Owen. He finds his friends – the Bells and Mrs Mallory and others – a great support. I am sure he does – it must be a comfort to be able to talk. The isolation out here is hard. He is to a great extent preoccupied with the metaphysical side at present. I’m all in a muddle, William, over that. Sometimes I can see this as a splendid opportunity for letting the spirit shine and all that; and sometimes I am overwhelmed with the waste and injustice of it all; and at other times I am just miserable at losing so much of what I enjoy in a sweet-eating sort of way, which of course is very low. But then I am rather an earth-bound spirit. And of course I am kept busy to a great extent just being cheerful and jolly and gay with Pat, who knows nothing, bless him. That was difficult at first – but Owen gave me a good word for it, as he can, you know. He says in one letter – “Every joke you make to Pat is one of the stones of which the Heavenly City is built; nothing else – not honour nor security nor ease – is good enough.” Well they are damned expensive, those jokes.
Curiously enough I’m not much afraid about the future. My middle name really is fight, and I feel quite good enough to wrest a life out of a reluctant world. Being bloody but unbowed presents no special difficulties. (Every third person uses that phrase.) The one thing I worry about is finding something good enough to occupy Owen fully. People make me furious by writing and saying that they are sure I shall manage to steer the family safely through and so on, as if he were out of it.
And I do try to get to the point of accepting it quietly – to get through into the place where love and courage count for more than prestige and fun. I’m sometimes haunted (you’re still Scotch enough to understand this, William) by a feeling that God is after my soul in all this, that He was determined to cure me of my vanity and greed for material things, and that as nothing else would do it, He did this. So that it’s I who’ve let Owen in for it. This is so strong that it quite drowns the fact that when I first heard of the francs industry I besought Owen not to touch it on grounds of common prudence.