by Simon Heffer
‘After the first meeting of the War Committee the usual process of rapid growth set in,’ Hankey recalled, lamenting the inevitable mushrooming of what were supposed to be small, efficient, decision-making bodies.116 Asquith had said the group would be no bigger than five, but within days Law and McKenna had joined too. It began by meeting every two or three days. Hankey kept minutes, and copies of the committee’s conclusions were circulated to all members, of the cabinet, unless in some instances secrecy required the decisions to be passed on verbally. Sometimes, the whole cabinet would overrule the committee, and within six weeks it effectively ceased to function. George Lloyd, the Conservative MP and a future proconsul, told his wife – who recorded it in her diary – ‘that he had been doing his utmost to persuade Lloyd George to come out of the Cabinet, and had on one occasion almost succeeded – only that Winston had come in and spoilt everything. His argument is that neither Carson, Bonar Law or LG are strong enough individually to make an alternative Govt to Asquith and Co – but that collectively they might do so.’117
Asquith was supposed to update the Commons on the progress of the war generally and on conscription on 18 October, but his illness – which Law thought a diplomatic one, though he conceded Asquith was sick with worry – prevented him. He went to the Wharf for a week to rest, and consider his options. On his return, however, he told Hankey he was minded, after Ypres and Loos, to move French from his command. He had been a marked man since July, when the King told Haig (whom he was investing with the Grand Cross of the Order of the Bath) of his dissatisfaction with the friction between French and Kitchener, and of his (accurate) belief that French had conspired with the press; the King, Haig wrote in his diary, ‘had lost confidence in Field-Marshal French.’118
Three months later, on 24 October, Haig dined with the King, who was in France, and who sought Haig’s opinion about French. This time Haig did not hold back, informing the King of French’s ‘conceit’ and ‘obstinacy’ as manifested in the direction of the Battle of Loos. ‘I therefore thought strongly, that, for the sake of the Empire, French ought to be removed.’119 Haig had in fact detested French since the Curragh incident in March 1914, when officers with connections to Ulster, and stationed in Ireland, had been clumsily told to go on leave if they wished to avoid being ordered to confront Unionist rebels. Haig felt French had ‘sacrificed the whole Army’ by mishandling the political crisis with which he had been confronted.120 Rumours soon reached French: Esher noted on 13 November that his close friend ‘has been upset by rumours from London that the Government contemplate his removal.’121
Asquith’s changing view of French was part of the prime minister’s growing realisation, following that of several of his colleagues, that the general strategy for conduct of the war needed urgent revision. There was too much inertia: despite the furore of Carson’s resignation over the issue, no decision had been taken about securing progress in south-eastern Europe, or indeed to continue that offensive at all. General Sir William Robertson, chief of staff of the BEF, made a point of telling Haig, when he visited him in France on 24 October, that it was vitally important no more British troops were sent to the Balkans, and urged him to write to ‘some of my friends in Government’ to that effect.122 Robertson, known universally as ‘Wullie’, remains the only man in the British Army to occupy every rank from private to field marshal: and as might be expected from one who had made that journey in the class-ridden era before the Great War, he was formidable in his energy, intellect, abilities and character. He was the son of a postmaster from Lincolnshire, and formed strong views on the basis of vast experience and after much thought. His strong view of the war was that it would only be won in France and Flanders.
Recognising that French was a spent force, Asquith was at last clear that the question of who should command the BEF was now urgent. Esher was summoned from France, where he was a commissioner for the Red Cross and could gossip with his military friends, to see Asquith at the War Office on 23 November. This is his account of what followed: ‘The government,’ Asquith told him, ‘have come to the conclusion that a change must be made in the Supreme Command on the Western Front.’123 Esher asked whether the debacle at Loos had been the problem, and was told that was part of it. ‘Sir John seemed of late to be unable to rise to the height which the situation demanded, and … he [Asquith] had asked me to come over in order that I might, as an old personal friend … return and break to Sir John the conclusions at which he had arrived … He suggested that in Sir John’s own interest he should take the initiative, and tender his resignation on the ground of age and fatigue.’
Asquith said French would not be humiliated: he would receive a peerage, the offer of a Home Command and, after Esher had helpfully reminded him that French was not a rich man and might have expected a healthy grant of money had he led the BEF to victory, a promise by Asquith that such a grant would be made at the end of the war. Esher called this ‘a very disagreeable task’, and asked for time to consider whether he could do it. The next day, having checked that Asquith’s views were final and unconditional how, he agreed to convey the news, and left the following morning. French, unaware of the King’s lack of support for him, and of the part Haig had played in undermining him, was dumbstruck, and could not understand how he had merited the sack. Esher noted: ‘There was nothing to be done except to give him time to calm down, and to point out all the obvious difficulties in fighting so intangible a thing as a Coalition government, and the hopelessness of such a contest.’124 French was slow to take the initiative to resign, but soon understood what had happened: ‘I was driven out of France by Asquith at the instigation of Haig.’125
Haig had argued with French against the Loos offensive, and the already reduced esteem in which he held his chief suffered as a result of the outcome; not least because French tried in his dispatches to put the blame on Haig. This was the moment when Haig’s abilities as an office politician, learned a decade earlier in Whitehall, came to the fore. Using Esher as intermediary, he relayed his discontent about French to Asquith; and, more to the point, used an audience of the King to express his doubts. By less exalted means French’s chief of staff, Robertson, made similar representations. The friendship between French and the man he had once called ‘my dear, dear Douglas’ was sunk by this act of personal disloyalty.126 Haig, though, sincerely believed he was acting in the best interests of the Army and of the country; and may have felt he had done all he could for French, not least by having lent him £2,000 in 1899 to pay off debts that would, otherwise, have forced him to leave the Army.127 The loan remained outstanding and Haig, a rich man, refused to embarrass French by demanding its repayment.
On 3 December Kitchener wrote to Asquith to recommend Haig be appointed to succeed French in command of the BEF; separately, Haig had recommended to Law that Robertson be made Chief of the Imperial General Staff, in succession to Sir Archibald Murray, who was deemed too subservient to Kitchener. Haig also wanted the General Staff moved from the War Office to Horse Guards to achieve both a physical and strategic separation from Kitchener. French was relieved of his command on 8 December, and Haig (whom Mrs Asquith considered ‘a remarkably stupid man’ though ‘a very fine soldier’) was offered his command.128 French became commander-in-chief of Home Forces. The King would soon hint to Hankey that he felt largely responsible for Haig’s appointment.129 By 16 December, when French saw his old friend Repington to discuss his recall, he could give the impression that he was ‘glad to be out of it, as during the last few months the Government had so pestered him with all kinds of worries, that he had not been able to attend properly to his work.’130
In a rebuke to Kitchener (who had egged French on to undertake the Loos offensive, but whose public standing was such that he could not be removed), the government agreed to Robertson’s insistence that he alone, and not the Secretary of State for War, would determine strategy and answer to the War Committee, not the Army Council. With Haig in charge of the BEF, control of m
ilitary matters had thus passed to two men who believed perhaps even more strongly than their predecessors that the war could only be won on the Western Front, and as new appointees without a record of failure had the authority to press the point on the politicians – notably Lloyd George – who disagreed with them. They were not natural allies. Despite his support for Robertson, Haig admitted he would have found it ‘easier … to work with a gentleman’; however, their relationship would be conditioned by shared adversity rather than class empathy.131 The newly empowered generals were fortunate that Asquith felt that once soldiers had been appointed to senior posts they should discharge their duties without interference. So long as he led the government this would cause no difficulties. Robertson now found himself with enormous power to direct the war.
Seeing he had been marginalised to the point where he was mainly a public totem and believing his functions were ‘curtailed to the feeding and clothing of the Army’, Kitchener asked to resign: but was told it was his duty to remain, Asquith being aware of the effect on public morale of letting him go.132 He was also allowed to maintain direct access to the War Committee. Kitchener was not alone in feeling his nose had been put out of joint. On 11 November Churchill, seething since his exclusion from the War Committee almost a fortnight earlier, resigned from the government. He went with a tone of anger and defiance: ‘I have a clear conscience which enables me to bear my responsibility for past events with composure,’ he told Asquith. ‘Time will vindicate my administration of the Admiralty, and assign me my due share in the vast series of preparations and operations which have secured us the complete command of the sea.’133 The letter excluded a demand in an earlier draft, that the government should publish the details of how the decision to attack the Dardanelles was taken. Churchill’s departure would facilitate a decision to evacuate the Dardanelles. ‘I see no political future for him,’ Mrs Asquith wrote, adding that Churchill was ‘quite unprincipled’. He had an admirer in Scott, and the Manchester Guardian praised him for resigning: Scott told Mrs Churchill that ‘we might want him at home again sooner than he expected.’134 But Churchill, by then in France, would write to him on 19 December to say that ‘I am determined not to return to the Government unless with proper executive power in war matters; and as this is not a likely condition to arise I intend to devote myself to my old profession and absorb myself in it.’135 He felt Lloyd George had done him no favours, despite their long friendship, and his wife agreed: she wrote to her husband in France to advise him not to ‘burn any boats’ with Asquith, and to observe that Lloyd George, with whom she had had lunch the previous day, was ‘the direct descendant of Judas Iscariot’.136
VI
To add to the government’s problems the restructuring of the high command occurred in a context of heightened political tension, and did little immediately to improve matters. Hankey recalled that ‘before October was over the existence of the Coalition Government was in jeopardy, and at one time a political crisis of the first order was threatened.’137 He did not exaggerate, as it started to seem that almost everything was going wrong. Germany’s beating back of the Russians caused deep concern, and Hankey noted that ‘it seemed probable that the Turks would soon receive sufficient ammunition to shell us out of the Gallipoli Peninsula.’ Losses continued to mount. On 28 October Asquith reported that there had been 493,294 killed, wounded or missing, of whom 365,046 were on the Western Front; 67,460 of those were confirmed as killed.138 The conscription debate ran simultaneously with an argument mounted mainly by Liberals, including Asquith, that the British economic engine had to be maintained or there would be no resources to fight a war. Britain had to export or lose foreign exchange with which to buy essential food and materials from overseas, which (thanks to its sea power) gave it a long-term advantage over blockaded Germany.
Asquith’s only Tory ally was Balfour, who had been among the first to point out the economic consequences of wider enlistment. However, his support was cancelled out by Lloyd George and Churchill, who wanted more recruitment. This uncertain approach by the government, and the confusion over national priorities, created problems in public perceptions. Many who were inclined to join up felt they would make mugs of themselves by doing so, when so many others refused. In May 1915 around 135,000 men had enlisted; by September the monthly total was 71,000. As Hankey put it, there was no ‘equality of sacrifice’ between those who had volunteered and died or been wounded, and those who had taken their jobs and were earning a comfortable living, out of danger.139
The National Register was now in place, an important step in allowing the government to see who was at its disposal, and how they might be deployed. Using the register, the authorities spoke to every man not in a skilled occupation essential to the war. As in an election campaign, the canvass was door to door, but officials were instructed to keep calling until they had seen the man face to face. He was invited to enlist: or to attest that he would enlist when the country’s need for him was essential. ‘Put before him plainly and politely the need of the country,’ the canvassers were told. ‘Do not bully or threaten.’140 Those who refused to attest would be asked why, and the officials were urged to offer advice that might overcome their reasons, most of which were financial.
Under the Derby Scheme, unmarried men would be called up before married ones, and younger men would go before older ones in an age range from eighteen to forty. Every man of age and not already under arms or in a reserved occupation received a letter from Derby telling him that if he chose not to enlist he could expect the government would have no choice but to establish conscription; the system did not work perfectly for, as Derby himself admitted, one recipient was Kitchener. Finally, the King issued a message, printed in all newspapers on several days, about the ‘grave moment’ in which the country found itself. He called for more recruits. ‘In ancient days the darkest moment has ever produced in men of our race the sternest resolve. I ask you, men of all classes, to come forward voluntarily and take your share in the fight.’141 In Ireland, where recruiting was even less successful, Lord Wimborne, the Lord Lieutenant, made a similar appeal.
A correspondent to The Times observed that Derby should have sent his recruiters to Newmarket, for the Cambridgeshire meeting – one of the few still permitted – where they could have netted ‘swarms of able-bodied slackers’ who ‘can hardly plead they are rendering useful service to the State by betting and gambling.’142 Most men – though still, as it turned out, not enough – knew their duty. Cambridge University, where 1,100 men had matriculated in 1913, announced that fewer than 300 had done so in 1915: one college, Corpus Christi, welcomed just three new undergraduates.143 In October 1915 the Derby Scheme brought 113,285 immediate recruits, rising to 121,793 in November. By 15 December 2,829,263 men of military age had joined since August 1914, against 2,182,178 of their peers who had not.144
On 2 November, nearly a month into the Derby Scheme, Asquith made an important pledge in the House of Commons: that married men who had attested under the scheme would not be held to their promise to enlist until unmarried men had joined – he hoped by ‘voluntary effort, and if not by some other means.’145 He made this promise at Derby’s insistence, and as part of a speech reviewing the war for which Westminster had waited, to give the country a sense of direction after his fortnight’s absence through illness. The Times was unimpressed: its leading article called the speech ‘very largely a record of shortcomings and an acceptance of responsibility for them’; though it praised Asquith for his pledge to married men, believing it would assist Derby’s campaign.146 Northcliffe claimed the credit for the unmarried-men policy, using the Mail to trumpet that its campaign had won the day. The Times noted, however, that the prime minister had made no attempt to defend his direction of the war: his imminent announcement of the new War Committee would have made such a defence irrelevant. Typical of the tone the newspaper of the Establishment was now taking against Asquith was its snide reminder, at the end of a leading article in which
it noted Asquith’s call for ‘perspective, patience and courage’, that ‘we would remind him that there are three other qualities, of no less consequence, for which the nation looks in its rulers. They are called foresight, initiative and energy. They have been conspicuously lacking in the past …’
Asquith confirmed a total of 377,000 casualties and, without specifying the numbers of dead, said the rate of recovery from wounds meant the ‘net permanent wastage’ was ‘on a much smaller scale’.147 He spoke of the ‘brilliantly conducted’ Mesopotamia campaign that, like the Dardanelles, would soon be subject to an official inquiry. He admitted that the second of those campaigns was ‘not so unchequered a chapter in the story of our operations in the Eastern theatre of war’. He admitted Fisher’s reservations about the operation and that Kitchener had ruled out significant military support; but above all he admitted the War Council had taken the decision and the cabinet had approved it. Asquith said he took his ‘full share’ of responsibility. Without naming Churchill he defended him – ‘I deprecate more than I can say the attempt to allocate the responsibility to one minister or another, or to suggest that in a matter of this kind some undefined personality, of great authority and overmastering will, controlled and directed the strategy of the operation.’ It was technically, but not entirely, true. In his peroration, Asquith enlisted ‘the imperishable story of the last hours of Edith Cavell’ in his support. ‘It has taught the bravest man among us the supreme lesson of courage.’148
The Derby Scheme quickly encountered difficulties. When Scott went to see Derby on 5 November to discuss whether an appeals board with large discretionary powers could be set up for his scheme, he found Derby ‘hopelessly muddled and with no grasp whatever of the essential points … his committee were in despair.’149 When Scott saw Asquith shortly afterwards and expressed reservations about Derby, the prime minister remarked that ‘he had the best intentions, but unfortunately was short of brains.’ Derby further proved his lack of grip over the widespread notion that unmarried men would be taken before married ones. In fact, there had to be a debate about what proportion of unmarried men would have to be called up before starting on the married ones, and whether to go back to unmarried ones once an identical proportion of marrieds had gone. Asquith told him to stop talking about numbers, not least because he himself was vague about what would constitute a success. He said that after 30 November ‘a statement can then be made to Parl. showing the relative proportion of men enlisted & men who can serve, & if the nos. are adequate & it can be stated at the same time that sufficient young men had enlisted to ensure the postponement of the calling up of married men for some considerable time, the campaign can be called a success.’150 He accepted that the Derby Scheme would not be completed by 30 November, but that that would be a suitable juncture at which to ‘take stock’.151
