The Sudeten Crisis as it became known, came at a time when the British government was heavily distracted by the Alvarez affair. The French were once again unwilling to act without British support. Partly in an attempt to divert attention from the sordid details of his personal life Oswald Mosley flew to Berlin for talks with Hitler on the issue. This meeting cemented in Hitler’s mind something that he already strongly suspected; that the British Prime Minister, and indeed British policy in general, was essentially unconcerned by German expansion. This was not strictly true, Britain had begun serious re-armament from 1935 onwards, initially on concerns about Japanese and Russian expansionism. Firstly the Royal Navy and later the Army and the Royal Air Force had seen a marked increase in their budgets and were undergoing growth. This was partly as a result of the Labour Party’s efforts at job creation, but also because Mosley firmly believed that the Germans would be reluctant to attack a well-armed Britain and would avoid conflict to the west on that basis. This notion of deterrence was also central to British policy on the containment of Japan, Italy and the USSR [67]
Clement Attlee’s elevation to Prime minister on Mosley’s resignation in late October 1938 marked a distinct change in Britain’s attitude towards Germany. The event unleashed vicious infighting within the Labour party. The battle for Labour’s soul, a battle that was to tear it apart, was just beginning.
Although Mosley’s basic policy was still followed, Attlee gave a personal assurance to the French Prime minister Edouard Daladier in January 1939 that Britain would stand by France if it were attacked. It was only at this point, however, that the British and French began to draw up joint plans for the eventuality of a war with Germany. Then, on 15th March 1939 when Germany Annexed the rump of Czechoslovakia (something Mosley had essentially sanctioned), Britain gave a guarantee of military assistance to Poland that it would support it in the event of German aggression.
The Polish crisis of late August 1939 and the subsequent invasion of Poland by Germany in September prompted an Anglo-French ultimatum to Hitler and when this was rejected a state of war existed between them. The French request that the British send forces to help secure its eastern frontiers prompted a gradual build-up of British ground forces in France over the winter of 1939 – 40 to a total of nine divisions by 10th May 1940 supported be elements of the RAF including ten squadrons of light bombers and ten squadrons of Hurricane fighters. [68]
There was much criticism of Attlee subsequently for his reversal of Mosley’s policy. He was accused of mismanaging Britain’s relations with Germany and in so doing leading Britain to the humiliation of defeat. The War of 1940 was branded ‘The Unnecessary War’ in some circles, particularly on the back benches of the Labour Party. But we can say now with some certainty that Mosley completely misunderstood the true nature of the threat posed by Nazi Germany, that his attempts to ‘manage’ German expansion were doomed to failure and that eventually Britain would certainly have been forced to oppose Adolf Hitler no matter what.
From ‘The War of 1940’ by Evelyn Bailey, Macallister, 1989
When the German armed forces defeated the Allied armies in the Spring and Summer of 1940 it was a victory without precedent in the history of war. In a matter of weeks Germany took control of Denmark, Norway, Holland, Belgium, Luxembourg and France, leaving only Britain and the Commonwealth still opposing them. The world was staggered by the scale of the German success and while the more hysterical commentators prophesied Britain’s swift defeat, those with a clearer grasp of strategic realities pointed out the difficulties of crossing the English Channel against the strength of the Royal Navy. Some even called as examples the events of the Napoleonic Wars where the British built a coalition to fight on land and slowly strangled France with the time honoured tactic of naval blockade.
The Battle of Britain was a serious setback for Hitler’s Luftwaffe [69] and the disastrous losses of mid-September meant that the invasion of Britain failed to materialise before the storms of Autumn made such a venture impossible. The operations carried out by a joint Royal Navy Air Arm/Bomber Command strike force on the evening of 14th September and the full moon night of 16th September meant that the Germans were able to commit only a greatly reduced number of fighters to the attacks of 15th and 17th September. The execution done among the German bombers that day was so fearful that Hitler ordered a drastic reduction in operations over the British Isles and by the end of September the battle was over. [70]
Why then was Britain compelled to seek terms from Germany in November 1940? There was the obvious fact of British military defeat, despite prevailing in the skies over southern England the humiliating reverses in Norway and France and the enormous loss of war materiel was inescapable. The decisive result of the Battle of Britain gave His Majesty’s Government a scrap of clothing to disguise the nakedness of the rout and even claim success, but nothing more.
There was the less obvious but more pressing reason that the United Kingdom was simply out of money. Before both the Great War and the Napoleonic Wars, British Finances were on a sound footing. Money was the foundation of the war effort in both cases but the strain of 1914–18 had eroded much of Britain’s wealth leaving the country with substantial debts. Furthermore, the recession of the early 1930s as well as the slow recovery from it had inhibited growth. Modern economists agree that the Mosleyite program of job creation in the late 30s meant the contemplation of a long war extremely problematic in 1940 because Mosley’s schemes had been partly funded by digging into Britain’s gold and foreign currency reserves. Meanwhile the United States, which had financed part of the British effort in the Great War through loans, was now, because of default, determined not to lend belligerents money. President Roosevelt’s offer to loan weaponry to the British in exchange for basing rights had created a storm of controversy in what was an election year in the United States.
The influence of one of the presidential candidates (the former Governor of Louisiana, Huey Long) was particularly malign for Britain. Long ran as a third party nominee, his campaign was resolutely isolationist and while he was never really a serious contender for the Oval Office (except perhaps in his own mind) his apparent initial success forced a policy review by the Republican candidate, Wendell Willkie. Willkie’s subsequent reversal of his previously interventionist position came as a profound shock to the British government and caused an abrupt re-assessment of strategy.
There had been a suggestion as early as 1937 that the vast manufacturing power of the United States could be used to produce weapons for Britain in any future war. The French had embarked on a similar programme, but in the British case the suggestion had to be rejected because it would mean even greater calls upon the already depleted gold and foreign currency reserves. [71] ‘Self-reliance’ had to be Britain’s motto in weapons procurement though of course a limited programme of buying American weapons and materials was undertaken in the wake of the Polish crisis.
Critically, the British cabinet was forced to its decision by the defeat of Franklin Roosevelt in the Presidential election, for with his dismissal from office faded Britain’s last hope of securing the finance and the manpower to ensure final victory over Germany. It is important to note that because of the innate strength of the economy, Britain was well able to fight on defensively using only her own resources. But in the strategic position of 1940, with Germany in control of the continent and seemingly on friendly terms with Russia, the old British tactics of coalition building and blockade looked to be utterly futile. The only route to a meaningful victory was the invasion of Europe and the military destruction of the German war machine. A daunting prospect to say the least.
President elect Willkie seemed to have become an implacable opponent of measures that might entangle the United States in a European war and thus there seemed no prospect of securing either the alliance or the money to invade Europe and liberate it from the Nazis. Willkie’s chaotic campaign and ambiguous statements on the subject had
caused despair and incomprehension in the British Government. Was Willkie an isolationist or not? His party certainly was. Thus, the British Cabinet saw no clear way forward other than seeking an armistice.
The German terms were not wholly ungenerous and many of the promises the Germans made in their discussions with the British on the wording of the treaty were in fact fulfilled, though recently released cabinet papers show that for their part the British believed none of them.
The symbolism that attended the signing of the document was unmistakable. A German warship moored in Greenwich Reach opposite the twin cupolas of the Royal Naval College sent a powerful signal to the world. Nevertheless the Treaty of Leamouth was essentially meaningless. In drawing it up, the German high command knew that because of the still unbroken strength of the Royal Navy and Royal Air Force they were not then capable of the military subjugation of Britain.
In the end the Treaty of Leamouth was merely an opportunity for each side to pause. On the 1st of November 1940, Neville Chamberlain, leader of the opposition Conservative Party, rose to make his last speech in the House of Commons. Desperately ill with cancer and barely able to speak, he had to be supported as he stood to address the house which listened in absolute silence as he denounced the treaty as “… nothing more than the Peace of Amiens.” [72] He died a week later.
CHAPTER 16: FRIDAY 28TH AUGUST 1942
The flagship, the battle cruiser Frunze, has already left the dock and is nosing past the mole led by the destroyer Bodryi. The ancient, salt-bitten light cruiser Krasnyi Kavkaz and the newer Molotov have cast off their lines, drawn in their gangways and are belching palls of thick smoke into the hazy sky. Only the large destroyer Kharkov is still tied up right at the end of the quay. It is close now, only another sixty yards.
It is a long time since John Leighton has had to run anywhere. Two months cooling his heels in Istanbul and another three weeks waiting in Tehran for transport to Russia has taken the edge off his fitness and besides, it is years since he went through basic training. His breath comes like the rasp of a saw as his shoes pound the worn concrete of the quay but the crash of bombs falling on the town of Batumi is drawing closer and lends urgency to his feet. He looks up to see a Heinkel 111 roar low overhead, bombs spilling from its belly. One of the warehouses that line the dock disappears in a sheet of flame and the shock wave knocks him down.
When he wakes up a moment later he is lying on the ground with his eyes full of dust and smoke and a ringing in his ears. His minder, Gergiev, is shouting beside him, at least he is trying to shout but the ringing is so strong that Leighton is unable to hear what he is saying. The camera clenched in his left hand is undamaged. It is a Leica III and was given to him by an army Major at the consulate in Tehran, along with thirty rolls of film, a brief explanation of its workings and an admonition to ‘Take as many pictures as you can – we need to know what’s going on over there in as much detail as possible’.
“Come on get up, let’s go, come on…” Gergiev is hauling him to his feet but his voice seems to come from a great distance away. “Get up John, come on, move…”
Gergiev had been waiting for him on the dock at Baku on the Caspian Sea, where the boat from Rasht in Iran had left him. He had introduced himself as an official translator though they both knew that he was not there to help Leighton communicate, but to watch everything he did. An officer in the Narodny Komissariat Vnutrennikh Del – the secret police – there is no getting rid of him, the man has dogged his steps for the past six weeks. He is friendly enough but his English is as limited as Leighton’s Russian.
After being shuffled from one unit to another, Leighton’s requests to be posted to a Soviet warship had got him as far as Batumi, where the surviving vessels of the Soviet Black Sea Fleet had fled after their bases in the Crimea and Ukraine were overrun by the Germans. The ships were streaked with rust, their crews dispirited and indifferent, worn down by inactivity; they had not put to sea for nearly a year.
Again Leighton found himself cooling his heels, his billet this time was in a ramshackle hotel. Weeks had passed without a hint of action, but that morning the base was in uproar. The listless crews of the decaying warships were suddenly galvanized by purpose. Orders had come for the squadron to put to sea, the Germans had made a landing seventy miles to the north at Ochamchire.
He had gone at once to the administration block to get permission to go on board one of the ships, but in the commotion no-one had the time to listen to his request and one sour-faced clerk had given him a fifteen page form and told him to fill it out. He had thrown the form straight back at the man – the squadron was already raising steam – and left the office at a run with Gergiev following in his wake calling out plaintively for him to wait. He had no clear idea how he was going to get on one of the ships, only that he must try and as he ran towards them the wail of the air raid siren started and the first bombs began to fall.
In the chaos, even the guards seem to have deserted their posts, though a mass of soldiers, sailors and civilians are milling about on the docks. As he runs up the gangplank of Kharkov the sentry on deck levels his rifle and challenges him in Russian. Leighton’s hearing is only beginning to come back but the message of the rifle is plain enough. The sentry is a freckle-faced lad and looks terrified.
Leighton is wearing his Royal Navy uniform which must be unfamiliar to the boy. He is about to try and respond when Gergiev pushes past. His voice is hoarse from exertion.
“He’s with me, he’s an English observer. Here, here are my papers.” Gergiev brandishes the wad of documents he carries but the boy shakes his head and holds the rifle steady.
“English observer? What are you talking about?” This time Gergiev shows his party ID and when he speaks, even though he is breathless his voice has an edge like steel;
“I am Captain Vassily Nikolayavitch Gergiev of the NKVD and you will let us aboard, that is an order.” The boy blanches and stands aside, coming neatly to attention as he does.
“Who the hell are you?” An officer is coming down the companionway from the bridge, he looks angry, confused, Gergiev answers him;
“I am Captain Gergiev of the NKVD, I and my companion are here to observe the workings of this ship.” The officer frowns, his expression is part anger, part fear. The NKVD are loathed by everyone Leighton has met. Not that he has been allowed to speak with many people, but the expression on their faces when they see Gergiev’s identity card is more eloquent than words.
“What do you want with us?” Gergiev pauses, sighs and shrugs as if exasperated. Then he says softly;
“To observe Lieutenant, you can let us do that can’t you?” The man hesitates, uncertain, shakes his head.
“You can go up to the searchlight platform, we won’t be needing that just yet, but stay out of the way of my crew and obey any orders they give you – do you understand?” Leighton nods.
The searchlight platform is a good vantage point for photography; it is a raised dais amidships, between the two funnels, where the movement of the ship will be less marked than at the ends. As they pass the mole the sky begins to clear, the sea is calm with only a gentle swell and the Kharkov accelerates to what Leighton estimates must be a speed of over 30 knots. Behind them smoke rises from Batumi, it seems to mingle with the smoke that surges from the funnel above them. They will be off Ochamchire in just over two hours.
It is good to be on the sea again, smelling the salt in the air and listening to the shriek of the white gulls that wheel above him. He checks the camera carefully, polishes the lens with his handkerchief and feels in his pocket for the spare rolls of film. It is a bright day and he sets the aperture and the shutter speed accordingly, his hands are trembling a little.
Kharkov slows to keep pace with the cruisers as they catch up. They are moving at about 28 knots in line ahead, led by the destroyer Bodryi, then the flagship, followed by Molotov and finally Krasni Kavkaz. Khark
ov takes up station off Frunze’ starboard beam. The sky is mostly clear now and the sun warms his face. Gergiev sits down on a tiny metal seat that folds flat against the side of the cylindrical wall of the searchlight mounting, he reaches in to his coat and offers the flask he always keeps there. Gergiev lights a cigarette. “It has turned in to a beautiful morning John.”
Leighton asks; “Do you know where the life jackets are?” Gergiev smiles;
“Can’t you swim?”
“Yes of course…”
“Good, because I can’t.” for some reason Gergiev finds this amusing and his voice tails off into a wheezy laugh.
*
They see the aircraft one hour and fifty two minutes after sailing from Batumi. They are north west of the ship’s position, black dots high against the wispy pattern of cirrus cloud above them. The klaxons ring out and the crew, already at action stations, look tensely at the sky. Leighton estimates that there are more than seventy of them; he asks Gergiev; “Ours or theirs?”
Gergiev makes no answer, then one of the aircraft peels off into a dive, then another and a third; “Theirs.”
They are Junkers 87s and 88s. They come streaking down, black shapes like diving crows, as the guns on the Russian ships open up and the bright summer sky is stained with bursts of smoke. Above the crash of the guns comes the banshee howl of the Stuka’s sirens and the sea around the cruisers begins to churn with explosions. Towering columns of water tinged with brown and grey from the explosives leap upwards and suddenly Krasni Kavkaz disappears in a column of flame that seems to break the ship in half, her stern – with its still thrashing screws – rears out of the water for a moment, then disappears beneath the waves. The bow section stays afloat fractionally longer but a massive explosion obliterates it, sending pieces of steel spinning outwards from the fireball to splash all around them and rattle off the funnel and the decks.
The Peace of Amiens Page 14
