Taken from ‘The Fall of Mosley’ by Nigel Wintergarden, Journal of Twentieth Century History, Volume 4, April 1988
Consuela Alvarez was renowned as being one of the most beautiful women of her age. She was born in the small town of Villarica in Paraguay and married, at the age of 17, to Ernesto Alvarez – a minor official in the Paraguayan diplomatic service. Three years after this, in the Spring of 1936, he was posted to Paraguay’s London legation and brought his young wife with him. This pushed what was essentially a very young and inexperienced girl into contact with a world of power and glamour that must have seemed overwhelming. With her mane of dark hair and compelling eyes she was impossible to miss at the parties and functions that she and her husband were required to attend in the capital city of one of the world’s richest and most influential nations.
It was almost inevitable that her husband would grow jealous of her popularity and it is probable that he began to suspect that he was invited to many functions, not so much on his own merits, but for the sake of his wife. Certainly, Consuela inspired both lust and adoration in many of the men who met her, but she also inspired jealousy and contempt in quite a few of the women. It was rumoured that she had many affairs, but she is chiefly remembered for her central role in forcing Britain’s Prime Minister, Oswald Mosley, to resign from office. [64]
It was at a private party in July 1938 that the incident that led to the revelation of what became known as the Alvarez Affair to the British public, occurred; but it is certain that it had been going on for some time prior to this. The party was held at Tytherton House, Lord Ormford’s residence in Wiltshire; but the young South American beauty had caught the Prime Minister’s interest at a reception given for members of London’s Diplomatic Corps in May. He was unable to keep his eyes from her and she was obviously flattered by his attentions.
Mosley’s first wife, Cimmie, had died in December 1934, and while Diana Mitford became his mistress the following year, Mosley continued to have affairs and was a prolific philanderer. He was not unmindful of the danger this might do to his career however, and avoided the wives of colleagues – his motto at the time was “Vote Labour; Sleep Tory”. Mosley was blasé about his conquests – on one occasion, after being told that a group of angry debutantes’ fathers were coming to deal with him, he merely commented “Well I suppose I should wear a balls protector then.” [65] During his time in office such things were common amongst the elite and easily covered up. It is probable, that had it not been for the accidental death of a chambermaid, killed by a stray bullet from the gun of Ernesto Alvarez, a bullet meant for Mosley, that his liaison with Alvarez’ wife would also have been covered up.
Certainly as much as possible was done to prevent the story becoming public. Mosley sustained a gunshot wound in the arm when Ernesto Alvarez, who was drunk and suspected his wife’s betrayal, burst into the Prime Minister’s room and caught him in ‘flagrante dilecto’ with Consuela. Fortunately for Mosley the room was dark and Alvarez’ intoxication affected his aim. Wakened by the shot Mosley’s bodyguard, who was asleep in the adjoining room, burst in and attempted to grapple the gun away from Alvarez, but before he could wrest it from him it discharged at the ceiling, the bullet then instantly killing Nora Smythe who was asleep in the servants quarters on the floor above.
Mosley’s injury was only a flesh wound but he was obliged to wear a sling. This, as well as the death; were officially explained as having been caused by careless cleaning of a shot gun by one of Lord Ormford’s servants. The essential problem, however, was not only the death of Mrs Smythe, but the fact that so many people had been staying in Tytherton house on the night of the shooting. It wasn’t long before rumours began to circulate about what had really happened at Tytherton House and the story began to take on the air of a particularly salacious scandal.
In his time in office, the Prime Minister had made many enemies and fallen out with not a few friends. One such was Lord Rothermere whose newspaper, the Daily Mail, had been a supporter of Mosley up until the abdication crisis. Lord Rothermere had never warmed to Mosley, but had viewed him and his Labour Party as the least unpalatable fixture on the British political landscape. Nevertheless, Rothermere was outraged by what he viewed as Mosley’s immoral stance on Edward VIII’s relationship with Wallis Simpson and there was a noticeable cooling in the Daily Mail’s support of the Prime Minister from that time. It is possible that Lord Rothermere was looking for the right issue on which to reverse his support of Mosley, and if so, he must have counted himself fortunate that the Alvarez Affair landed in his lap.
Lord Rothermere assigned two of his most thorough reporters to look into the story and they quickly unearthed several suspicious aspects to the case. Firstly, there was the fact that Ernesto Alvarez had been transferred from his post with unseemly haste and sent to the Paraguayan embassy in Mongolia, his wife accompanying him. Then there was the unusual way in which Lord Ormford had dealt with the police. Although both the police officers who had attended the incident claimed to have been ordered not to answer any questions on the subject one of the reporters was able to find a witness who had seen and apparently had contact with Ernesto Alvarez in the cells at the Chippenham police station. The witness had been arrested earlier that evening after getting into a fight outside a pub at closing time but remembered that Alvarez had appeared to be under great emotional strain and continually repeated the word ‘whore’ in Spanish. The witness had spent some months with the International Brigades in Spain and in consequence was able to understand Alvarez. From these details it wasn’t difficult to piece together a hypothesis concerning what had really happened at Tytherton House and the real cause of the Prime Minister’s injuries. Discreet enquiries, helped in some cases by inconspicuous ‘donations’ to various members of Lord Ormford’s staff provided most of the remaining specifics.
The most devastating revelation, the aspect of the case that certainly sealed Mosley’s political fate, however, was not the Prime Minister’s lecherousness, but the fact that in this instance his lover was also conducting an illicit relationship with the German Naval attaché, Korvettenkapitän Oscar Mannerheim.
When the story broke on the 23rd of August, Mosley tried to deflect attention from it, but his efforts were futile. Once the whiff of sex and scandal was out, the media would not let it go. Even the pro Mosley papers, sensing the unlikeliness of his political recovery from the humiliation, ran the story.
State visits to France and Italy kept Mosley away from Britain for two weeks but if he had hoped that the story would have blown over by the time he returned he was to be disappointed. On the 8th of September, he made the crucial mistake of temporising in the House of Commons, telling the chamber: “Mrs Alvarez and I were on friendly terms.” and refusing to either confirm or deny the story of their affair. However, the knives were out even within his own party which many felt that Mosley had taken too far to the right. Even the whips, who were thuggish bullies and would use all manner of coercion to get Labour MP’s to vote with Mosley’s policy, found resistance within the party ranks hardening.
On 30th September 1938, Mosley signed the Munich Agreement with Adolf Hitler. He tried to present it as a diplomatic triumph and one of the fruits of his policy of ‘Accommodation’ with Germany. He promised the country that: ‘There would be no war over insignificant territories, far from our shores.’ However, it diverted attention away from the Alvarez scandal only briefly, the focus of the press was on Mosley, not Eastern Europe.
A month later, after the opposition (who seized on the twin opportunities of scandal and questionable foreign policy to discredit him) tabled a motion of no confidence, and facing a back bench revolt of unprecedented proportions, a beleaguered and humbled Mosley appeared before MPs again to say “With deep remorse,” that he would resign as Prime Minister, though he did not subsequently resign his seat as many expected.
The government survived the motion, but barely, and promised a public enquiry. O
n 10th January, 1939, when the report was released at midnight, hundreds of curious members of the public queued to buy a copy. Although it contained few salacious details and criticised the government for not dealing with the affair more quickly, it concluded that there had been no breach of national security.
From The Edinburgh Times Tuesday 21st June 1938
England Players Bring Home Football World Cup
England’s World Cup football squad arrived home yesterday at Croydon aerodrome to a rousing welcome from several hundred delighted fans. Eddie Hapgood, the captain, and the rest of the team stopped for half an hour to sign autographs and pose for photographers before returning to their homes for a well-earned rest. Hapgood made no attempt to conceal the black eye that he received during the final from Italian centre forward Gino Colaussi. The match has been described as passionate, robust and physical, but fortunately was not marred by violence to the same extent as the infamous Battle of Highbury four years ago.
England was undefeated in the four games of the World Cup finals, beating Hungary 3–1 on the fifth of June, Switzerland 1–0 in the quarter–finals on the 12th of June, Sweden 4–0 in the semi–final on the 16th and finally Italy 2–1 in the final on Sunday.
This is the second time that England has played in the World Cup finals; their surprising exit in the semi finals of the 1934 world cup is now a distant memory. [66]
CHAPTER 14: SUNDAY 18TH NOVEMBER 1940
How could it have come to this?
The limousines move slowly down Whitehall. Past the silent Houses of Parliament, across Westminster Bridge, then east along Borough High Street and Jamaica Road. There are nine of them altogether; flags flutter from the front wings of a few. The clouds part for a second and their highly polished flanks gleam in the momentary sunlight. Motorcycle out-riders pause at each intersection to stop traffic, but there is no traffic; London’s streets are almost deserted.
Clement Attlee, Britain’s former Prime Minister, now Foreign Minister, looks out at the grey anonymous day from the back of one of them. Defeat had meant his resignation but ensured his place in this drama. And why not? The can is his to carry. Despite his overcoat he can feel the coldness of the leather seats on his skin. Through his mind a stanza of poetry passes again and again
Unreal City,
Under the brown fog of a winter dawn,
A crowd flowed over London Bridge, so many,
I had not thought death had undone so many…
There is a face in Attlee’s mind too, a face that he cannot banish. Cape Hellas, a morning in 1915, a boy dying in his arms. Shrapnel had pierced his lungs and severed his spine. His body immobile, his confused eyes form a question that the blood foaming from his lips will not let him ask.
He had lied to the boy, he had said; ‘It’s alright lad, we’ll get you out of here, try and relax.’ What else could he do? The boy had been an unmemorable soldier; he had done his job well enough and laughed at the other soldier’s jokes though he had few jokes of his own to tell. He had held him close like a child and waited till he had gone before he let the body slip down to the ground, but the boy’s face would be with him always.
On Evelyn Street a stray dog noses through the rubbish and a lone man walking hurriedly, glances up as the cars pass him by. He hunches into his overcoat as the cold wind whips autumn leaves into small tornadoes at his feet, the convoy of cars cross the bridge at Deptford Creek, turn left onto Horseferry Place and stop at the pier.
The German cruiser Prinz Eugen is anchored in the Thames, her colours snapping in the fitful wind. Men are stepping from the cars now; the doors open and close. Dark overcoats, a few uniforms, the red tabs and gold braid of high command. They stand in resigned knots, few words pass between them. They avoid each other’s eyes.
Attlee leads them down towards the pier and the waiting boats, there is little point in prevarication, he must do what he has come to do and be damned for it. On the quarter deck of the ship they are waiting for him, an honour guard, a table with a pen and a great bound book open at a page. The German officers give nonchalant salutes, their greetings are studiously relaxed, the meticulously observed formalities underpinned by their cockiness, there is laughter in their eyes and smiles come readily to their lips.
He has seen German soldiers before, long lines of them marching back from the front; starving, broken men, with the haunted eyes of defeat. In the summer of 1918 the British Army had shattered the German, sent them reeling from one defensive position to another. They surrendered in droves and Major Attlee watched them go with quiet satisfaction in his heart. How different they looked now.
Men of his generation had justified that war with the hope that it would be the last of its kind. It was the only way they could find to make sense of it, the idea that all the carnage and suffering, the pain and futility of it, had somehow changed the world for all time. How could it have come to this?
Here on the deck with his legs wide apart, a hand theatrically placed on one hip, his lips pursed and his chin jutting outward is the dictator of Italy, posturing like a third rate actor. Absurd, ridiculous; his grey and black uniform reminds Attlee of a vulture’s plumage. Well, the vulture shall have its carrion today and much good may the fly blown wastes of British Somaliland and a couple of miserable settlements in the Sudan and Egypt do him.
There is one civilian, Ribbentrop, the German foreign minister, the Führer himself does not have the time to accept Britain’s surrender, for surrender this is, though it does not go by that name. It will be called the Treaty of Leamouth, it will be sold to the British public and the peoples of the world as a success, peace with honour, an opportunity to end the war, stop the suffering. But it will be none of these things. And the word will get out, it will not be long before the truth will be obvious, the facade of British power has been stripped and the Treaty of Leamouth will not hide the fact of defeat.
One by one, those required to sign shuffle forward, sit and write their names. He is the last. One of the German officers gestures to the chair, the movement is a command. The book lies open before him; the pen is poised in his hand. He hears the whirr of the cine camera, the pop of flashbulbs, signs his name and stands up. The officer dabs the signature with a blotter, snaps the book shut and inclines his head. He does not disguise his smirk. “Thank you Herr Attlee.”
As he turns away and begins to walk back toward the gangway he tells himself again that there is no choice, that his hand has been forced, that by doing this he is preventing a worse defeat, a greater ignominy. He must think of other things now, he must reunite a party that is tearing itself to pieces, try and prepare it for an election that must come within a year, but the face of the dying boy will not leave his mind and in his heart he knows he has betrayed him.
CHAPTER 15: THE UNTHINKABLE VICTORY
“The world believes only in success!” Adolf Hitler, addressing his generals 22nd August 1939
From The Edinburgh Times 22nd March 1970
Cabinet Considered Attacking French Fleet in 1940
Documents released today under the 30 Year Rule show that a suggestion was made to attack the French Navy at its bases in North Africa in June 1940 after the capitulation of France. The proposal was rejected out of hand by the Prime Minister, Hugh Dalton, despite warnings that the French Fleet – if it fell into the hands of the Nazi regime – would seriously affect the balance of power in the Mediterranean and the Atlantic. This surprising revelation has caused some ruffled feathers across the Channel, though no statement has been forthcoming from the Elysee Palace.
From ‘A Concise History of British Politics’ by Tom Shaed, Gloucester University Press, 2007
By 1938, the French government were growing increasingly irritated with British reticence on the issue of the rising power of Germany. Essentially Mosley had abandoned the traditional British policy of the ‘balance of power’ – one to which the United Kingdom had adhered for some two-hundred years, believing instead that the influence of the Le
ague of Nations could grow sufficiently to replace it. Mosley was happy to see Germany expand to the south or east if it wished, believing as he did that it deserved a sphere of influence like any other Great Power. It was Mosley’s hope that a Germany satisfied in the East would provide a counter balance to the threat from Russia and would be happy to rejoin the League. Stability, he believed, would therefore follow. Even at the time, this policy was seen as questionable and many members of his own party, as well as the opposition, were uneasy with its potential consequences. Mosley was content to see the Germans absorb Austria; ‘rectify’ their frontier with Czechoslovakia; even to be the masters of central and eastern Europe. His one concern was that the West wasn’t attacked.
The policy of the Conservative opposition was similar to that of the Labour Government. The term ‘accommodation’ was used to describe it, but in the press it was derided as ‘appeasement’. Of the three major parties, only the Liberals took a position that was not one of pacification towards the dictators. Sir Archibald Sinclair’s was one of few voices raised against Britain’s policy though his was ‘a voice crying in the wilderness’.
The French were deeply alarmed by the Anschluss (Germany’s annexation of Austria in March 1938) and even more so with the seizure of the Sudetenland in September 1938. The Anschluss seemed to mark a reversal of the position Britain had taken four years previously in the Austrian Emergency of July 1934. At that time the British had given the French to understand that their policy included the preservation of Austria as an Italian satellite for Mussolini’s security, their sudden willingness to negotiate this away prompted the familiar outcry in the French press against ‘Perfidious Albion’. But the fact that Italy was now in alliance with Germany left the French diplomatically isolated.
From ‘The The British Empire from 1914 to 1948’ by Ian Shaw, Longacre 2005
The Peace of Amiens Page 13
