Castles of Steel

by Robert K. Massie

  Over the next three years Fisher remained in retirement, but he had Churchill’s ear and much of what Churchill did at the peacetime Admi-ralty was on Fisher’s advice. It was Fisher’s encouragement that spurred Churchill to the adoption of 15-inch guns for the five Queen Elizabeth–class dreadnoughts. Fisher’s old animosities surfaced when Churchill appointed Admirals Sir Hedworth Meux and Sir Berkeley Milne to high commands and he lashed out that Churchill had “betrayed the navy.” This storm quickly passed and Churchill next persuaded Fisher to take control of a matter critical to the navy: the conversion to fuel oil. Fisher had long been obsessed by the idea of using fuel oil for turbine propulsion; oil was cleaner, safer, and more efficient than coal; it would drive the new 15-inch-gun battleships at 25 knots. Churchill now wished to turn this obsession into reality. “My dear Fisher,” he wrote, “The liquid [oil] fuel problem has got to be solved. . . . No one else can do it so well. Perhaps no one else can do it at all. You have got to find the oil; to show how it can be stored cheaply; how it can be purchased regularly and cheaply in peace and with absolute certainty in war. Then . . . develop its application in the best possible way to existing and prospective ships.” Churchill argued that Fisher must do it for his own sake, not just the navy’s. “You need a plough to draw. Your propellers are racing in the air.” Fisher agreed and become chairman of the oil commission.

  For three years, the honeymoon continued. Churchill and Fisher both enjoyed and profited from their relationship. On January 1, 1914, Churchill wrote to Fisher, “Contact with you is like breathing ozone to me.” On February 24, the First Lord’s private secretary wrote to Fisher, “Winston is quite cross with you for not coming to see him. He says he wants to talk to you badly about many things.” On July 15, Winston wrote to Clementine, “Tomorrow old Fisher comes down to the yacht with me. This always has a salutary effect.” Once war began, Fisher came often to see Churchill at the Admiralty. As Prince Louis’s health deteriorated and he retreated to the seclusion of his room, Churchill yearned for Fisher’s sparkling, irreverent dynamism. During these weeks, Churchill studied the seventy-three-year-old admiral,

  [watching] him narrowly to judge his physical strength and mental alertness. There seemed no doubt about either. On one occasion, when inveighing against someone whom he thought obstructive, he became so convulsed with fury that it seemed that every nerve and blood vessel in his body would be ruptured. However, they stood the strain magnificently and he left me with the impression of a terrific engine of mental and physical power burning and throbbing in that aged frame. . . . I therefore sounded him [about returning] in conversation without committing myself and found that he was fiercely eager to lay his grasp on power.

  On October 19, when the Cabinet knew that a change at the Admiralty was necessary, Haldane suggested to Churchill that the restoration of Fisher would “make our country feel that our old spirit of the navy was alive and come back.” The following day, Churchill went to Asquith and asked for approval to bring Fisher back, declaring “that I could work with no one else. I was well aware that there would be strong, natural and legitimate opposition in many quarters to Fisher’s appointment, but, having formed my own conviction, I was determined not to remain at the Admiralty unless I could do justice to it. So in the end, for good or for ill, I had my way.”

  Not without opposition from the highest in the land. Churchill went to see the king on October 27 to warn him of what was coming and to inform him that he proposed to nominate Fisher as Battenberg’s replacement. King George had long detested Fisher (who for his part disliked the monarch) and mistrusted many of the reforms the admiral had initiated. He argued that Fisher was too old and too untrustworthy and that his return to the Admiralty would reopen old wounds. The king preferred almost anyone to Fisher and, during the interview, suggested alternatives. He proposed Sir Hedworth Meux; Churchill declared that Meux lacked the necessary technical expertise. The king suggested Sir Henry Jackson; Churchill conceded Jackson’s scientific and intellectual attainments but said that he was colorless and lacked the energy to do the work. The king mentioned Sturdee; Churchill shook his head. Jellicoe, whom both men liked, was irreplaceable in the Grand Fleet. The interview broke up with the king and the First Lord in complete disagreement; Churchill went back to Asquith to say that if he did not get Fisher he would resign.

  Unable to persuade Churchill, the king appealed to the prime minister. Asquith came to the palace on the afternoon of October 29 and fully supported his First Lord: Meux would not inspire confidence in the navy, Jackson lacked personality, Sturdee was more suited to command a fleet than to remain in Whitehall. Then Asquith warned the king that if Fisher were not brought back, Churchill, whose knowledge of the navy was unique and whose services could not be dispensed with, would resign. Faced with this threat, George V had no choice. Constitutionally, he could not oppose his ministers, but he felt it his duty to record his protest. He would approve Fisher’s appointment, he wrote to Asquith after the meeting, but he did so “with some reluctance and misgivings. . . . I hope that my fears may prove to be groundless.” The following morning, the thirtieth, the new First Sea Lord spent an hour in audience with the king at Buckingham Palace. The visit was a success and King George, who had not seen Fisher for six years, confessed to his diary, “He seems as young as ever.” The monarch and the admiral agreed to meet once a week and, when Fisher returned to Whitehall, Churchill wrote jubilantly to Asquith, “He is already a Court Favourite!”

  The public hailed Fisher’s return, reacting as it had three months earlier to the appointment of Kitchener when it found comfort and reassurance in the presence of a legendary British hero. Fisher’s age was overlooked, as were his cantankerous moods and the methods that had roiled and divided the navy. The press gave a cautious blessing: “Undoubtedly the country will benefit,” said the Times, expecting that Fisher would restore public confidence in the navy through a more aggressive strategy while at the same time restraining Churchill’s impetuosity. From the navy, the response was mixed. “They have resurrected old Fisher,” Beatty wrote to his wife on November 2. “Well, I think he is the best they could have done, but I wish he was ten years younger. He still has fine zeal, energy and determination, coupled with low cunning which is eminently desirable just now. He also has courage and will take any responsibility. He will rule the Admiralty and Winston with a heavy hand.” A few admirals expressed dismay: Rear Admiral Rosslyn Wester Wemyss called it a “horrible appointment” and predicted a falling-out between Fisher and Churchill. “They will be thick as thieves at first until they differ on some subject, probably as to who is to be No. 1 when they will begin to intrigue against each other.”

  Fisher, on returning to the Admiralty, assumed that he had come to take command of the great naval weapon he had forged during his previous dramatic term as First Sea Lord. At once, he swung into action. “Everything began to move. Inertia disappeared. The huge machine creaked and groaned. . . . He was known, feared, loved, and obeyed,” wrote his friend, protégé, and biographer, Admiral Reginald Bacon. Fisher’s first task was to reinvigorate the Admiralty itself. He made new appointments; he swept away deadwood. Churchill had followed up on Haldane’s suggestion and asked a retired former First Sea Lord, Admiral of the Fleet Sir Arthur Wilson, to return to the Admiralty as Chief of Staff. Wilson had refused to accept any official position, since he did not relish having to side with either Fisher or Churchill against the other should they disagree. But he agreed to come back in an unofficial and unpaid capacity, giving advice when asked and being available to work on a variety of special tasks. Sturdee, the incumbent Chief of Staff, had to go. Fisher, it may be remembered, detested Sturdee, a prominent member of Beresford’s camp, and Fisher also suspected him of being responsible for the flawed dispositions that had brought about the Coronel disaster. Churchill, who knew that the faulty dispositions were as much his doing as Sturdee’s, was unwilling to sack him and, instead, sent him to the South Atlantic to find
and destroy Admiral von Spee.

  The workaholic Henry Oliver was appointed Chief of Staff in Sturdee’s place. Oliver had been Director of Naval Intelligence before the war, supplying the First Lord and the Admiralty with facts and numbers related to comparative British and German naval strength. On October 14 he became naval secretary to the First Lord. Now, only a few weeks later, Fisher proposed that he be made Chief of Staff with the rank of acting vice admiral. Thereafter, Oliver, dedicated, unruffled, and inexhaustible, worked fourteen hours a day, Sundays included, and never took leave. He had broad common sense and sufficient self-confidence to stand up to both Churchill and Fisher. His method was simple: if he could not get either to see his point of view, he would agree with them and then quietly go away and do as he thought best. If he was found out, he was rarely overruled. In the months ahead, this combination of Churchill, Fisher, Wilson, and Oliver, known as the War Group or the Cabal, met at least once a day—often many times in a day.

  The key relationship, of course, was that between Churchill and Fisher, “a genius without a doubt” and “a veritable dynamo,” as they described each other. Even apart from the thirty-four-year age difference, they made a curious pair. Churchill enjoyed the company of the clever, wily, irascible, ruthless old man; he warmed to the quips and quotations, the uncompro-mising judgments, the feeling of movement and accomplishment. For all Churchill’s vanity, he was too clever not to allow himself to be guided by someone with Fisher’s weight of experience. Yet the First Lord always knew where ultimate authority lay. “I was never in the least afraid of working with him,” said Churchill, “and I thought I knew him so well and had held an equal relationship and superior constitutional authority so long, that we could come through any difficulty together.” Churchill’s appreciation of Fisher at this stage of the admiral’s life was heartfelt and eloquent:

  Lord Fisher was the most distinguished British naval officer since Nelson. The originality of his mind and the spontaneity of his nature freed him from conventionalities of all kinds. His genius was deep and true. Above all, he was in harmony with the vast size of events. Like them, he was built upon a titanic scale. But he was seventy-three years of age. As in a great castle which has long contended with time, the mighty central mass of the donjon towered up intact and seemingly everlasting. But the outworks and the battlements had fallen away, and its imperious ruler dwelt only in the special apartments and corridors with which he had a life-long familiarity.

  Fisher’s age and the enormous weight of his new responsibilities forced him to parcel out his energy carefully. Their new working relationship also required Churchill to alter his own routine. Fisher usually awoke before 4:00 a.m. in his room at Admiralty House, had a cup of tea, and was in his office by 5:00. He worked diligently during the morning, ate a spartan lunch, and returned to his desk in the afternoon. By this time, Churchill later remembered, “the formidable energy of the morning gradually declined and with the shades of night, the admiral’s giant strength was often visibly exhausted.” He went home to an early supper and bed. Once, when Lady Randolph Churchill, the First Lord’s mother, invited him to dinner, Fisher excused himself, saying, “I can’t dine out—I go to bed at 9:30 and get up at 3:30—I don’t go anywhere. Winston is quite enough dissipation for me. I want no more!”

  [Fisher was seventy-three, but few men of any age could stand up to Churchill’s formidable persuasive powers. Rear Admiral Reginald Hall, the wartime Director of Naval Intelligence, explained how, on one occasion, he managed it:

  Once, I remember, I was sent for by Mr. Churchill very late at night. He wished to discuss some point or other with me—at once. To be candid, I have not the slightest recollection what it was; I only know that his views and mine were diametrically opposed. We argued at some length. I knew I was right, but Mr. Churchill was determined to bring me round to his point of view and he continued his argument in the most brilliant fashion. It was long after midnight and I was dreadfully tired, but nothing seemed to tire the First Lord. He continued to talk and I distinctly recall the odd feeling that, although it would be wholly against my will, I should in a very short while be agreeing with everything he said. But a bit of me still rebelled and recalling the incident of the broken shard in Kipling’s Kim, I began to mutter to myself: “My name is Hall, my name is Hall. . . .”

  Suddenly, he broke off to look frowningly at me. “What’s that you’re muttering to yourself?” he demanded.

  “I’m saying,” I told him, “that my name is Hall because if I listen to you much longer I shall be convinced that it’s Brown.”

  “Then you don’t agree with what I’ve been saying?” He was laughing heartily.

  “First Lord,” I said, “I don’t agree with one word of it, but I can’t argue with you. I’ve not had the training.”

  So the matter dropped and I went to bed.]

  Lady Randolph’s son lived rather differently. He awoke at 8:00 a.m., had breakfast in bed, and, still in bed, began his work. One astonished admiral, a witness to this “extraordinary spectacle,” described the First Lord “perched up in a huge bed, and the whole of the bedspread littered with dispatch boxes, red and all colors, and a stenographer sitting at the foot—Mr. Churchill himself with an enormous Corona Corona in his mouth, a glass of warm water on the table by his side and a writing pad on his knee.” The First Lord then arrived at the Admiralty, spent a few hours, departed for a leisurely luncheon, enjoyed an extended nap, and worked until dinner. He was always invited out and, after several stimulating hours of talk, he would return to the Admiralty, work through until one or two in the morning, and then retire to bed. Four hours later, Lord Fisher would arrive to begin his day. On this basis, the Admiralty kept what Churchill called “an almost unsleeping watch through the day and night.” To coordinate this dual control, Churchill said, “we made an agreement between ourselves that neither of us should take any important action without consulting the other, unless previous accord had been reached.” Even the color of their respective notations and comments on Admiralty documents was coordinated: Churchill habitually used a pen with red ink; Fisher used a green pencil. “Port and starboard lights,” Fisher called this system. And for a while the system worked.

  Fisher returned to the Admiralty during days of crisis. He succeeded Prince Louis on Thursday, October 29. On Sunday, November 1, the Battle of Coronel was fought. On Tuesday, November 3, German battle cruisers appeared off Yarmouth on the English east coast. The very next day, Wednesday, the fourth, reports of the disaster at Coronel reached London, and that afternoon Fisher persuaded Churchill to detach Invincible and Inflexible from theGrand Fleet to deal with Spee. Meanwhile, on Tuesday, in the midst of these other events, Fisher convened a conference of Admiralty officials and principal British shipbuilders to launch the largest emergency shipbuilding effort in the history of the Royal Navy: eventually 606 new vessels flying the White Ensign were to go to sea. At the outbreak of war, the Admiralty had ordered accelerated work on all warships building in British shipyards, with priority to be given to vessels that could be finished in six months. Three months later, when it was apparent that the war would be longer, the policy was changed to “everything that can be finished in 1915 and nothing that can’t.” But only twelve new destroyers and twelve new submarines had been ordered. Fisher considered this grossly inadequate and convened the November 3 meeting to change course. His most urgent concern was the construction of submarines; that same day he placed orders with British shipbuilders for an additional twenty. Then, staring at the Admiralty Director of Contracts, he threatened to “make his wife a widow and his house a dunghill if he brought paper work or red tape into the picture; he wanted submarines, not contracts. . . . If he did not get them within eight months, he would commit hara-kiri.” At this, Keyes, who was present, made the mistake of laughing. Fisher then turned on Keyes “with a ferocious glare, and said, ‘If anyone thwarts me he had better commit hara-kiri too.’ ” Later that day, Fisher saw the American
steel magnate Charles Schwab, who as a passenger on Olympic had witnessed the sinking of Audacious. Schwab took home orders for another twenty submarines to be built by Bethlehem Steel in the United States and Canada. They were delivered within six months.