In arguing for withdrawal, Churchill never took his eye from the primary threat. On July 11, he presented this view to the Committee of Imperial Defence: “The ultimate scale25 of the German Fleet is of the most formidable character.... The whole character of the German Fleet shows that it is designed for aggressive and offensive action of the largest possible character in the North Sea or the North Atlantic.... The structure of the German battleships shows clearly that they are intended for attack and for fleet action.... I do not pretend to make any suggestion that the Germans would deliver any surprise or sudden attack upon us. It is not for us to assume that another great nation will fall markedly below the standard of civilisation which we ourselves should be bound by; but we at the Admiralty have got to see, not that they will not do it, but [that] they cannot do it.”
In September 1912, as British battleships were leaving the Mediterranean, the French Admiralty announced that the six battleships of the French Atlantic Fleet would be transferred to the Mediterranean. In 1912, France had a formidable but elderly navy of twenty battleships, fourteen of them pre-dreadnoughts and six semi-dreadnoughts (ships of the Danton class, with four 12-inch and twelve 9.4-inch guns, similar in armament and armor to the British Lord Nelsons). Six of these ships were at Brest. Fourteen were at Toulon, to fulfill the primary mission of France’s navy: safeguarding the sea communications between Metropolitan France and the French North African empire, from which flowed food, raw materials, and manpower. The argument for withdrawing the Atlantic ships had a ring similar to the British Admiralty’s for withdrawing its Mediterranean battleships: the French Navy was being concentrated in the vital theater; six additional ships would give France superiority over the combined fleets of her two potential opponents, Austria and Italy. Similarly, if left at Brest, the six French pre-dreadnoughts could have been massacred by the modern dreadnoughts of the German High Seas Fleet. The French decision appeared to leave the long French Channel and Atlantic coasts to be defended only by torpedo boats and submarines. A feeling of vulnerability on the part of the citizens of these coasts was urgently communicated to the French Admiralty by their deputies in the Chamber. The response, as discreet as possible, was that an arrangement had been made: the ports and coasts would be defended by the fleet of another, friendly power.
The near-simultaneous realignment of the British and French fleets was too obvious and too convenient to be purely coincidental. Berlin assumed that a bargain had been struck: Britain would guard France’s northern coasts while the French looked after British interests in the Mediterranean. In fact, although the French dearly wished for such an arrangement, the British had refused any formal commitment. In the spring of 1912, after the failure of the Haldane mission, French naval authorities began pressing for staff conversations to discuss cooperation in case of war. Churchill had agreed and had himself participated in talks with the Count de Saint-Seine, the French Naval Attaché in London. Nevertheless, the First Lord had warned this French officer that “he must clearly understand26 that no discussion between military or naval experts could be held to affect in any way the full freedom of action possessed by both countries. On such matters, the Foreign Office would express the view of His Majesty’s Government.... [The French Naval Attaché] said that he perfectly understood this and quite agreed with it.” Having issued this warning, Churchill went on to observe that French interests would be served by creating strength in the Mediterranean equal or superior to that of Austria and Italy combined, an accomplishment both parties knew could be achieved only by transferring the French Atlantic Fleet to Toulon. Having encouraged France’s action, Churchill—along with Asquith and Grey—was concerned that France not believe that it possessed a moral argument to compel Great Britain to act. On the eve of the French announcement that the Brest Squadron would move, the First Lord expressed this concern and his own rationalization of the dilemma in a letter to the Prime Minister and the Foreign Secretary:
“The point I am anxious to safeguard27 is our freedom of choice.... That freedom will be sensibly impaired if the French can say that they have denuded their Atlantic seaboard and concentrated in the Mediterranean on the faith of naval arrangements with us. This will not be true. If we did not exist, the French could not make better dispositions.... They are not strong enough to face Germany alone, still less to maintain themselves in two theatres. They therefore rightly concentrate their Navy in the Mediterranean where it can be safe and superior and can assure their African communications. Neither is it true that we are relying on France to maintain our position in the Mediterranean.... If France did not exist, we should make no other disposition of our forces.... Consider how tremendous would be the weapon which France would possess to compel our intervention if she could say, ‘On the advice of and by arrangement with your naval authorities we have left our Northern coasts defenceless. We cannot possibly come back in time.’”
French authorities deplored British skittishness about making commitments. The arrangement on fleet dispositions was unilateral, Paul Cambon protested; it left England “free to aid France or not28 as she liked.” Nevertheless, Britain refused to give way. In an exchange of notes on November 22 and 23, Grey and Cambon agreed that discussions between military and naval experts of the two Entente powers did not constitute “an engagement that commits29 either Government to action in a contingency that has not arisen and may never arise.” It was agreed that in a circumstance of grave threat—if either Power had reason to expect a sudden, unprovoked attack by a third Power—the two governments should discuss whether they would act together and, if so, in what manner. At British insistence, it was stated that “the disposition, for instance,30 of the French and British Fleets respectively at the present moment is not based upon an engagement to cooperate in war.” Great Britain appeared to have won. In fact, she had handed to France the “tremendous weapon” which Churchill had predicted.
During the summer of 1912, discussions in the Committee of Imperial Defence, the Cabinet, and Parliament, and conversations with the French, all on the subject of transferring the two fleets, were accompanied by a drumfire of debate in the press and public. “Abandonment of the Mediterranean” was roundly attacked in the Conservative press, by the Navy League, and by a number of prominent people outside government, including Esher, Lord Roberts, and Beresford. “Because of our preoccupation31 with the North Sea, we have lost our hold upon the Mediterranean, the carotid artery of Empire,” proclaimed the Standard. The idea of depending on the French Navy to guard the lifeline of Empire “was absolutely repugnant32 to the mass of Englishmen,” declared the Daily Express. Indeed, the notion “marked the limits33 of what a self-respecting people should endure,” added the Globe. “Rome had to call in34 the foreigner when her time of decadence approached,” said Esher. None of these opponents disputed the importance of British naval supremacy in the North Sea; their contention was that both the North Sea and the Mediterranean must be held; the solution was to build more ships. “The choice lies35 between such increases of Naval Power as will ensure sea command of the Mediterranean... or a complete reversal of the traditional policy of Great Britain in regard to her trade routes and military highways to the East,” Esher advised the King. The King agreed. Churchill, Grey, and Asquith agreed. The problem was money.
After the war Tirpitz chortled over Britain’s withdrawal from the Mediterranean: “In order to estimate36 the strength of the trump card37 which our fleet put in the hands of an energetic diplomacy, one must remember that in consequence of the concentration of the English forces which we had caused in the North Sea, the English control of the Mediterranean and Far-Eastern waters had practically ceased.” It was difficult to see what use this was to Germany, which had an insignificant squadron in the Far East and a single battle cruiser in the Mediterranean. Churchill, also writing after the war, commented, “The only ‘trump card’ which Germany secured by this policy was the driving of Britain and France closer together. From the moment that the fleets o
f Britain and France were disposed in this new way, our common naval interest became very important.”
Along with building new British dreadnoughts and shifting existing battleships to home waters, Churchill discovered another way to increase British superiority in the North Sea: Canada, he thought, might be persuaded to build dreadnoughts for the Royal Navy. Logic and precedent were on his side. It was obvious that the rise of the German Navy affected the security and prosperity of the Dominions traditionally shielded by the Royal Navy. Following the 1909 Navy Scare, Australia and New Zealand each had offered to pay for a dreadnought; the following year two battle cruisers named after the two dominions were laid down in British shipyards. In 1911, the Dominion governments agreed that in time of war Dominion ships were “to form an integral part38 of the British Fleet and remain under the control of the British Admiralty.” Canada, up to that point, had made no offer, but with a new Conservative government in power in Ottawa, Churchill decided to ask. To match the new German Novelle, Britain needed three new ships. “But,” he explained, “if we come forward now39 all of a sudden and add three new ships, that may have the effect of stimulating the naval competition once more and they would ask us what new factor had occurred which justified or which required this increase in building on our part. If we could say that the new factor was that Canada had decided to take part in the defence of the British Empire, that would be an answer which would involve no invidious comparisons and which would absolve us from going into detailed calculations as to the number of Austrian or German vessels available at any particular moment.”
Sir Robert Borden, the Canadian Prime Minister, received the First Lord’s proposal favorably. To strengthen his hand in the Canadian Parliament, the British Admiralty prepared a statement on sea power: “Naval supremacy is of two kinds:40 general and local. General naval supremacy consists in the power to defeat in battle and drive from the seas the strongest hostile navy or combination of hostile navies wherever they may be found.... It is the general naval supremacy of Great Britain which is the primary safeguard of the security and interests of the great Dominions of the Crown....”
On December 5, Borden introduced into the Canadian Parliament a Naval Bill asking for £7 million to build three dreadnoughts to be controlled and maintained by the Royal Navy for the common defense of the Empire. The bill created a political storm. The Liberal opposition declared that it perceived no danger to Canada. If the ships were to be built, the opposition said, they should be constructed in Canadian shipyards, manned by Canadian seamen, and controlled by the Canadian government. Churchill pointed out to Borden that no building yards capable of constructing dreadnoughts existed in Canada and that it would cost £15 million to create one. Under such circumstances, the laying of the first keel would wait four years. Invoking this argument, Borden managed to get the bill through the Canadian House in February 1913, but in May it was killed by the Canadian Senate. In November, the Malay States joined Australia and New Zealand by offering to pay for a dreadnought, but no Canadian capital ships were available to the Admiralty at the beginning of the First World War.
Admiral von Tirpitz had always argued that Germany built ships for her own needs without reference to the naval power of other states. Early in 1913, Tirpitz altered this position. In statements to the Reichstag Budget Committee on February 6 and 7, he acknowledged the British First Lord’s 60 percent ratio and announced that Germany would abide by it. He did not mention numbers of ships, but put the ratio in terms of battle squadrons: Britain should have eight, Germany five. Tirpitz’ speech pleased the English Liberal press, always hopeful that naval spending could be cut. But it had little impact on the British Foreign Secretary or First Lord. Grey, wary that negotiations with Germany could jeopardize the Entente with France, and especially cool after the collapse of the negotiations following the Haldane mission, assumed that Tirpitz’ statement reflected the demands made on the Reichstag by the German Army. “What Tirpitz said41 does not amount to much,” Grey said, “and the reason for his saying it is not the love of our beautiful eyes, but the extra fifty millions required for increasing the German Army.” Churchill also cautioned his Liberal colleagues to curb their hopes: “We must not try to read42 into recent German naval declarations a meaning which we should like, but which they do not possess,” he told the Commons on March 26, 1913. “If, for instance, I were to say that Admiral Tirpitz had recognized that a British predominance of sixteen to ten dreadnoughts was satisfactory to Germany, that such a preponderance exists almost exactly in the present period [it did], and that in consequence Germany ought not to begin any more capital ships until we did, that might be a logical argument, but it would, I am sure, do a great deal of harm.”
In this speech presenting the 1913–1914 Naval Estimates, Churchill renewed his Naval Holiday proposal: “If, for the space of a year43... no new ships were built by any nation, in what conceivable manner would the interests of any nation be affected or prejudiced? The proposal... involves no alteration in the relative strength of the navies. It implies no abandonment of any scheme of naval organization or of naval increase. It is contrary to the system of no Navy Law. The finances of every country would obtain relief.” Britain would cancel four and Germany two scheduled dreadnoughts, the First Lord pointed out. France, Italy, Austria, and Russia might follow. If his suggestion was rejected, then, he said, “events will continue to move44 forward along the path upon which they have now been set with the result that at every stage the naval supremacy of the British Empire will be found to be established upon a more unassailable foundation.”
The German Admiralty heard Churchill’s proposal with alarm. The budgetary demands of the German Army had created opposition among taxpayers and in the Reichstag; against this background, a “Holiday” on naval spending might seem attractive. Arguments against the plan were marshalled: Great Britain, it was argued, needed the “Holiday” because her shipbuilding yards were overcrowded and suffering from a shortage of workers; when the “Holiday” was over and building resumed, Britain would have an advantage because she could build ships more rapidly than Germany; what would happen to the German shipyards and building workers during the “Holiday” year? Suppose when the “Holiday” was over and building resumed, the work force had deserted for other jobs. What about the naval building plans of other powers—France and Russia—who were Germany’s enemies?
A speech in the House of Commons was not a formal British government proposal, and Tirpitz moved to head off any official note from the Foreign Office on the subject of a Naval Holiday. Tirpitz instructed Captain Müller, the German Naval Attaché in London, how to handle the matter: “Act as though45 from a naval standpoint we were not altogether unapproachable and... point out at the same time that the English and the German press have given the idea an unfavorable, even a contemptuous reception.... In general, you are to treat the matter in as dilatory a manner as possible and less as a naval than a purely political question.... Talk to Grey about the danger of a naval discussion in the press and say that Churchill can only harm the tender plant of German-English detente by his plan of a naval holiday.” The German Foreign Ministry fell into line; Prince Karl Lichnowsky, the Ambassador to London, assured Gottlieb von Jagow, the Foreign Minister, that he would do everything possible to prevent an official British proposal for a Naval Holiday from reaching Berlin. Soon after, he mentioned to Grey that the German government would prefer not to have to deal officially with the First Lord’s proposal.
No official proposal was made, but this did not stop Churchill. Again, on October 18, 1913, he returned to his theme. Knowing that the size of the 1914 British Naval Estimates, then in the drafting stage, would shock the Cabinet and country, the First Lord offered his radical alternative: “Next year, we are to lay down46 four great ships to Germany’s two. Now we say, while there is plenty of time, in all friendship and sincerity to our great neighbour Germany: If you will put off beginning your two ships for twelve months from the ordin
ary date when you would have begun them, we will put off our four ships, in absolute good faith, for exactly the same period.... There would be a saving... of nearly six millions to Germany and of nearly twelve millions to this country, and the relative strength of the two countries would be absolutely unchanged.”
Again, a torrent of criticism, domestic and foreign, descended upon the First Lord. Esher declared that he assumed that “Winston is playing47 to the Radical gallery... as it is inconceivable to me that so clever a fellow should have been silly enough to imagine that he had any chance of obtaining a favourable reply.” Other critics pointed out that a holiday limited to capital ships meant that Germany would be able to spend more on submarines and airships. The Paris press protested that if Germany were relieved of the necessity of spending £6 million on her navy, she would pour an additional £6 million into her army. In London, the Morning Post advised the First Lord to “take a holiday from speech-making48 for a year, at least as far as dealing with a reduction of armaments is concerned.” In Berlin, Jagow told Goschen that the idea was “utopian and unworkable”49 and “would throw innumerable men50 on the pavement.” Tirpitz solemnly explained to the Reichstag in February 1914 that the idea was illegal and disorderly: if “construction was [simply] postponed for a year51... the omission must be made good the following year. This would upset our finances, dislocate work in the shipyards.... If on the other hand it was desired permanently to drop the construction of the ships for the holiday year in question, that would mean, since we only undertake the construction of replacement ships, a reduction of our organization as established by law.” The Kaiser said little; he told Bethmann-Hollweg that he refused to reopen the “endless, dangerous chapter52 on the limitation of armaments.”
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