So it turned out to be. Germany walked into the Sudetenland on 1 October 1938, without firing a shot.
Halifax’s continual flip-flopping over what stance he should take in respect of Hitler showed a man still out of his depth with foreign policy. On 12 October 1938, less than two weeks after he had celebrated the success of Munich, he contradicted his own policies in a meeting with the American Ambassador, Joseph Kennedy, who reported back to Washington:
I spent an hour and a half with Halifax this afternoon drinking tea in front of his fireplace while he outlined to me what I think may be the future policy of His Majesty’s Government. First of all, Halifax does not believe that Hitler wants to have a war with Great Britain and he does not think there is any sense in Great Britain having a war with Hitler unless there is direct interference with England’s Dominions. The future of England, as he sees it, is to strengthen herself in the air, and ‘by the way France should do the same,’ so that nobody can get fresh with them from the air. Then after that to let Hitler go ahead and do what he likes in Central Europe . . . [while] fostering Dominion connections, and staying very friendly with the United States, and then, as far as everything else is concerned, Hitler can do the best he can for himself.
The events of Kristallnacht – when throughout Germany waves of anti-Jewish pogroms were carried out on 9 and 10 November – prompted Halifax immediately to think again. He convened an emergency meeting of the Foreign Policy Committee and announced that ‘The happenings in Germany over the last few days following on from the sequence of events since Munich had made the position very difficult.’ As he had informed Joseph Kennedy he would do, he instigated an immediate increase in aircraft production, and suggested – but was overruled by Chamberlain and the Chancellor of the Exchequer, Sir John Simon – a compulsory National Service Register.
At the Cabinet meeting of 15 December 1938, Halifax voiced his open opposition to Germany and stated that the ‘ultimate end which he wished to see accomplished [was], namely, the destruction of Nazi-ism. So long as Nazi-ism lasted, peace would be uncertain.’
As the New Year, 1939, dawned, support for a Halifax premiership gathered momentum. Chamberlain was old and tired, and he was continuing to make one embarrassing mistake after another. Halifax was horrified when, without speaking to his Foreign Secretary first, the PM gave a briefing to the press in which he announced that the situation with Germany was better than it had been ‘for some time’, and that the two nations were discussing disarmament. Chamberlain again looked ridiculous when less than a week later German troops rolled into Prague, and Halifax pressed for Britain to guarantee Poland’s safety should Hitler attempt to invade. This was something of a risky move, but it made the Foreign Secretary look even stronger as a potential future Prime Minister. Germany’s invasion of Poland on 1 September 1939 placed Halifax in a much more culpable position when blame was distributed for Britain’s being taken into war, but he believed that his constant efforts for peace over the previous years vindicated his decisions.
Throughout their careers leading up to the Cabinet crisis of May 1940, Halifax and Churchill had been like oil and water politically and personally. Long-held convictions, ideologies and morals died hard in these two most inflexible of men. Neither forgave the other for opposing opinions over Indian self-governance and appeasement. Yet they shared a superiority of belief that theirs was the right course for Britain, that no one could be more patriotic than they were, and that history had bidden them – virtually by Holy Writ – to protect their nation at its gravest hour.
Halifax later wrote of England in the Second World War:
On our way home [we] sat in the sun for half an hour at a point looking across the plain of York. All the landscape of the nearer foreground was familiar – its sights, its sounds, its smells; hardly a field that did not call up some half-forgotten bit of association; the red-roofed village and nearby hamlets, gathered as it were for company round the old greystone church, where men and women like ourselves, now long dead and gone, had once knelt in worship and prayer. Here in Yorkshire was a true fragment of the undying England, like the White Cliffs of Dover, or any other part of our land that Englishmen have loved. Then the question came, is it possible that the Prussian jackboot will force its way into this countryside to tread and trample over it at will? The very thought seemed an insult and an outrage; much as if anyone were to be condemned to watch his mother, wife or daughter being raped.
Such powerful, visceral words from a man so often cold and unemotional could have been written by Churchill. Both men loved Britain with a deep and abiding fervour, yet their differences remained: Winston believing in confronting conflicts head on with a display of strength; Halifax believing that if they left others – India, Germany, Italy – alone, their ambitions need not disturb Britain or the cause of civility. What Roberts terms Halifax’s ‘Whiggish’ outlook meant that he believed ‘that there was a rational solution to all problems and all that was needed was to find a modus vivendi comfortable to all parties . . . A necessary precondition to that view of the world were [sic] national parties who sincerely wanted to reach solutions.’
Halifax’s unshakeable faith in the essential rationality of people would, in the coming days, define his actions, his hopes and ultimately his legacy.
SATURDAY, 11 MAY 1940
CHURCHILL APPOINTS HIS WAR CABINET
GERMAN BLITZKRIEG HAMMERS HOLLAND AND BELGIUM
GERMAN TROOPS LOOM ON FRENCH BORDER
5. The Great ‘Dictator’
Given the previous day’s excitements, the new Prime Minister of Great Britain didn’t get to bed until 3 a.m. Nor did he reward himself with a bit of time off before diving into his new role. First thing after he awoke that Saturday, he wrote again to Neville Chamberlain, requesting that ‘you and Edward [Lord Halifax] would come to the Admiralty War Room at 12:30 p.m., so that we could look at the maps and talk things over’. Chamberlain agreed that they would, adding, ‘Until you get your places filled we three will have to take the responsibility of directing the war.’
The day now presented something of a quandary for Churchill. He had just been handed power but was faced with the delicate balancing act of keeping both sides of this new National Government happy. On the one side were the effective kingmakers, Clement Attlee and Arthur Greenwood, who had not only refused to serve in a government under Neville Chamberlain, but also spelled it out to Winston that no reward be given to him for what they saw as his countless failings by including him in the War Cabinet or giving him a senior ministerial position. Having written his letters to Chamberlain and Halifax requesting their presence at 12.30 p.m., Winston then met with Attlee and Greenwood for a ‘long interview’ in an attempt to reconcile the decisions he now needed to make: namely, whether to include Chamberlain and Halifax in the War Cabinet and high office. When the meeting concluded, the pair believed that they had ‘shaken Winston considerably’, so that he agreed that he himself would become Leader of the House of Commons, and Chamberlain would serve under him as deputy and Lord President of the Council.
With this first compromise achieved, Churchill proceeded to his ‘Meeting of Ministers’ with Chamberlain and Halifax at the Admiralty. Also in attendance were Major-General Hastings (‘Pug’) Ismay, Churchill’s close adviser, and a conduit between the PM and the armed forces, and the Cabinet Secretary, Sir Edward Bridges, along with the chiefs of staff: Chief to the Air Staff, Air Chief Marshal Sir Cyril Newall; First Sea Lord and Chief of Naval Staff, Admiral of the Fleet Sir Dudley Pound; Chief of the Imperial General Staff, General Sir Edmund Ironside; and Vice-Chief of the Imperial General Staff, General Sir John Dill.
The nine men proceeded to discuss such matters as the removal of British gold from Amsterdam; ongoing mine-laying operations in Mannheim; asking the King if he wished to offer the ex-Kaiser refuge from his current position in the Netherlands; despatching further armed divisions to France; attempting to persuade Sweden to enter the war on the side of
the Allies; potentially arming the police in anticipation of an invasion of Britain; and interning 4,000—5,000 enemy aliens in camps in the south-east and east. With the general business of the war concluded, they agreed to meet again at ten o’clock that night.
It is interesting to note that Lord Halifax’s diary account of the meeting states that Winston informed the ministers that ‘the Labour People were trying to be difficult about Neville leading the House of Commons’. The Conservative MP and prolific diarist of the day Sir Henry (‘Chips’) Channon also wrote that:
About one o’clock I heard that a terrific battle had been waging at the Admiralty, where Winston had summoned Neville and Halifax; for it seems that the Labour leaders . . . announced that not only would they not serve under Chamberlain, but not with him either. Winston was in a dilemma as he had offered a post to Neville last night which he practically accepted, and announced as much in his speech. Now Winston may be forced to choose between Labour and Neville, and may thus be unable to form a Government at all. However after struggling all day, he was able to effect a last-moment compromise, and the Cabinet changes were announced.
Why wasn’t this ‘terrific battle’ documented in the minutes? Enter the Cabinet Secretary, Sir Edward Bridges. He was chiefly responsible for the detailed minuting of all pertinent information discussed in the War Cabinet meetings during the Second World War. As the most senior civil servant in Britain, he was highly discreet, and noted by one of Churchill’s telephonists, Ruth Ive, for ‘always [being] particularly concerned with security leaks and indiscretions’. Unfortunately, his stringent approach to what might be considered sensitive comments often makes for a dry account of what were certainly ferocious debates, and here the personal diaries of the key players often provide a better and more visceral sense of the actual language deployed.
To make a true re-creation of these meetings and of the testy exchanges even harder, when the war ended Bridges burned all of his notes that didn’t make it into the minutes. Given the heated discussions to come, the papers must have been highly flammable indeed.
As the afternoon of Saturday, 11 May, progressed, it began to dawn on the Conservative Party exactly what a Churchill premiership would mean, and speculation over who would serve in the new National Government intensified. Not only did the party have a leader that few wanted or trusted, but the necessary inclusion of Attlee and Greenwood in the War Cabinet was polarizing the ministerial offices lining the street of Whitehall. General Ironside believed that ‘[w]e want all the strength of the Labour benches to pull us through’, but Halifax was of quite the opposite opinion, writing in his diary that ‘Attlee and Greenwood take the place of Simon, Sam Hoare and Kingsley Wood. Certainly we shall not have gained on intellect.’ Chamberlain even went so far as to write to Churchill, explaining that ‘[i]t is the personalities that matter, and although Greenwood would be amiable and agreeable enough I do not think he could contribute much else.’ He had barely taken office, and already Churchill was facing opposition and interference from his own party.
As the barrage balloons were once again raised into the blue May skies above London – an ominous signal of the danger the capital faced – Lord Halifax, who had been given a key by the King himself, walked with his wife through the gardens of Buckingham Palace to the Foreign Office. As recorded in his diary, they ‘ran into the King and Queen’ en route.
The Queen spoke very strongly about the House of Commons behaviour. The King told me that he had hoped if Neville C. went he would have had to deal with me, to which I replied with suitable expressions of gratitude, but also of hope that he had thought my reasons for judging differently are sound. On the whole he did not contest this, though he was clearly apprehensive of Winston’s administrative methods.
Apprehension of Winston’s methods was an understatement, and as news started to reach ministers about who he was to appoint, a collective groan could be heard all over Whitehall. The BBC made the announcement at 9 p.m., after which the Minister of Information, Sir John Reith, wrote in his diary: ‘War Cabinet announced tonight, Churchill being defence minister as well as PM. Heaven help us. The three Service departments are Sinclair, Eden and Alexander. This is obviously so that Churchill can ignore them more or less and deal direct with the chiefs of staff. Awful.’ It is perhaps not surprising that, the following morning, Sir John Reith received a letter from Churchill apologizing for sacking him . . . and for not giving him advanced warning for doing so.
By the time you receive this letter, you will have been informed of the change which is taking place in this office . . . I am sure you will forgive me for not giving you previous intimation of the change I have thought it necessary to make. It is a matter of extreme national importance that the new Administration should be installed with the least possible delay.
The second ‘Meeting of Ministers’ on 11 May had been pushed back at the last minute to 10.30 p.m. and did not conclude until after midnight – something which irritated Halifax immensely. He noted in his diary that ‘this night-life is no good to me’. Little did he and other ministers know that this was Churchill’s method of working and the way he would run the war for the foreseeable future. The meetings held on Sunday, 12 May, were equally vexing. Halifax wrote:
The meeting Winston had called for 6.30 [p.m.] was put off till 10.30 [p.m.]; quite intolerable . . . I shall tell him that if he wants midnight meetings he can have them without me. A long and rather discursive discussion, which left me uneasy as to Winston’s methods. Got to bed at 1. These hours are bad enough for anybody, worst of all the Chiefs of Staff. I am seeking to organise a rebellion with Neville on the subject.
It was only Day Two, and Halifax was already planning rebellion with Chamberlain against Churchill.
Perhaps there is something in the water served to prime ministers? Margaret Thatcher famously claimed she slept for only four hours a night. Churchill at least had the excuse that Britain was at war and this was a time of national crisis. He recognized that he did not have time to stroll through the gardens of Buckingham Palace, taking in the unseasonably warm May weather, when the threat of invasion was being discussed in every meeting. However, instead of winning praise for his exemplary work ethic, the new Prime Minister seems to have been met with nothing but a series of complaints. As the staff of the Prime Minister’s office officially transferred over to Churchill, his Principal Private Secretary, John ‘Jock’ Colville, who would later become one of his most trusted employees, noted a ‘certain air of “malaise” about No. 10, which is largely due to the contrast between the fixity of the late P.M.’s habits and the inconsequential nature of Winston’s. I suppose we shall get used to it; but the prospect of constant late nights – 2.00 a.m. or later – is depressing.’
In spite of the late nights, Churchill was also a relatively early riser, though he would often conduct business from his bed. Never one to stand on ceremony, he would remain there smoking cigars, which the War Office operations officer, Sir John Sinclair, recalled as making his ‘stomach queasy at that time in the morning [7 a.m.]. I laid the map on his tummy, when it stopped wobbling, and told him how the British were disposed on the line of the Dyle.’ Behaviour such as this was nothing new for Winston, as the staff at Chartwell knew all too well.
To ensure that he could function late into the night, Churchill religiously took a two-hour afternoon nap, which would then be followed by a hot bath (the second of the day) at 7 p.m. This had to be, as Clementine’s biographer Sonia Purnell describes, ‘two-thirds full and heated to precisely 98 F, rising to 104 F once he had plunged in . . . he did not like to lose water, but was fond of somersaulting in the tub – an alarming manoeuvre that caused gallons of displaced water to seep down onto the coats of visitors in the cloakroom below’. He would vigorously scrub himself with a brush and dictate speeches and memoranda to whichever awkwardly placed secretary was waiting outside the door. A former secretary, Chips Gemmell, recalled how she would be summoned to the bathroom door, wh
ere she would discreetly identify herself by a cough. Churchill would shout, ‘Don’t come in!’ – so she would dutifully ‘stand outside and you’d hear these wonderful bathroom noises, and you’d envisage the sponge being squeezed over the head and the sounds of water trickling down into nether regions. And occasionally he’d call out “Don’t go away!” and you’d say, “no, no I’m still here” and the sounds of bathing would go on and sometimes . . . one really wasn’t needed, he’d forgotten what he’d wanted to say.’ Churchill’s biographer Roy Jenkins noted an almost ‘porpoise-like quality about him, which meant that one of his keenest physical pleasures, second only to alcohol, was submerging himself in either hot bathwater or lukewarm seawater’.
When he emerged from his beloved constitutional, he had no qualms about walking the connecting corridors of Admiralty House and No. 10 Downing Street, as his daughter Mary Soames recounted, ‘robed like a Roman emperor in his bath towel, proceeding dripping from his bathroom across the main highway to his bedroom’. Staff should have counted themselves lucky that he chose to use a towel. When relaxed in the sanctum that was Chartwell, nudity was a frequent occurrence. As Purnell describes, ‘[f]ollowing his ablutions, Winston’s valet would towel him dry, after which he refused to put on a dressing gown; if he wished to go to another room he would do so undressed. New members of staff would be shocked to see a very pink, sixteen-stone naked man with stooping shoulders scurrying towards them exclaiming “Coming through, don’t look!” ’ The alternative announcement Elizabeth Gilliatt, another former secretary, recalled – ‘I am coming out in a state of nature, you’d better watch it!’ – would see secretaries fleeing down the corridors as fast as their heels would carry them.
Darkest Hour Page 9
