Darkest Hour

by Anthony McCarten

  Churchill had an appointment to keep. And he needed to prepare himself for what his biographer Martin Gilbert describes as ‘one of the most extraordinary scenes of the war’.

  Earlier that day, Churchill had requested a meeting of the twenty-five Cabinet ministers outside the War Cabinet to brief them in detail on the current situation faced by Britain. He had not had the chance to speak to them since becoming PM, and this was overdue, but by 6.15 p.m., at least, he had changed his mind about the purpose of this address.

  Having ridden out the storm of Halifax’s resignation threats, Churchill knew that whatever course he finally decided to take – towards peace if the BEF were smashed on the beaches of Dunkirk, or to fight it out if he retained a fighting force – he would need either the support of his Foreign Secretary or, in the event of his resignation, the support of the full Cabinet.

  It was the Cabinet’s confidence he now wished to secure. This was his aim.

  The Cabinet ministers, as we know, were not among his most ardent admirers. His dicey CV and punchy style, his flip to the Liberal Party and flop back to the Conservatives, his botched military schemes with their massive loss of life had left him a figure more tolerated than valued, more feared than loved. But come they did, filing into Winston’s offices, afraid of what they might hear. What kind of tomorrow were they looking at? Was the Army truly lost? Was the invasion of Britain now unavoidable? Were they now powerless to avoid the destruction of their homes, their families, their way of life?

  We have no record of how he made his way to his office at the House of Commons, where one of the most decisive moments of the war would take place, but being only a brisk walk of ten minutes, and with much mental work to do, one can suppose he walked it, strange as ever in his Edwardian clothes of black waistcoat and gold fob-chain, puffing on his Longfellow cigar, striking out with his cane, one of his innumerable hats on his smallish head, a head that was a cyclotron of thoughts and arguments and positions and possible outcomes. A leader lives and dies by such moments. The power of their argument can just as easily condemn millions to sorrow and suffering as bring salvation. What to tell his peers, then? Should he listen to them or instruct them? And how much persuasion to apply when the price his listeners might pay, if persuaded, is their own blood?

  It is not certain that he knew full well what he would tell them. But as he walked he began to form an idea. He must reveal that a peace deal with Hitler has its advocates and has indeed been under consideration. It was even possible that Hitler was behind the Italians’ overtures, sending out a subtle signal of readiness to talk. Out of all this, he must discern the mood of his ministers, before publicly disclosing his own. If he sensed that these men – and behind them the British people – were up for a fight, then he would conclude his address one way; if he sensed fatigue and a desire to quit, then he could modify it and finish it another way.

  Entering the Commons he made for the stairs. On the first floor he pushed down the corridor that led to his offices. His colleagues were waiting. The oak-panelled room was full; the air gauzy with cigar smoke. Winston faced them, as a hush fell, looking squarely into the eyes of the men without whom he barely had a viable premiership. After days of uncertainty and personal doubt, of torturous vacillation, of heartache and torment, it was time to take stock, to test out a new vision in a synthesis of all he had absorbed in the three weeks since coming to power. It was not a speech he had prepared for. But his future would depend on its outcome.

  What Winston said was not officially documented by any secretariat, but the diary of Hugh Dalton, Labour’s Minister for Economic Warfare, paints a truly vivid account of his words that day:

  In the afternoon all ministers are asked to meet the P.M. He is quite magnificent. The man, and the only man we have, for this hour. He gives a full, frank and completely calm account of the events in France . . .

  He was determined to prepare the public opinion for bad tidings, and it would of course be said, and with some truth, that what was now happening in Northern France would be the greatest British military defeat for many centuries. We must now be prepared for the sudden turning of the war against this island, and prepared also for other events of great gravity in Europe. No countenance should be given publicly to the view that France might soon collapse, but we must not allow ourselves to be taken by surprise by any events. It might indeed be said that it would be easier to defend this island alone than to defend this island plus France, and if it was seen throughout the world that it was the former, there would be an immense wave of feeling, not least in the U.S.A. which, having done nothing much to help us so far, might even enter the war. But all this was speculative. Attempts to invade us would no doubt be made, but they would be beset with immense difficulty. We should mine all round our coast; our Navy was immensely strong; our air defences were much more easily organised from this island than across the Channel; our supplies of food, oil, etc., were ample; we had good troops in this island, others were on the way by sea, both British army units coming from remote garrisons and excellent Dominion troops, and, as to aircraft, we were now more than making good our current losses, and the Germans were not. I have thought carefully in these last days whether it was part of my duty to consider entering into negotiations with That Man [Hitler]. But it was idle to think that, if we tried to make peace now, we should get better terms from Germany than if we went on and fought it out. The Germans would demand our fleet – that would be called ‘disarmament’ – our naval bases, and much else. We should become a slave state, though a British Government which would be Hitler’s puppet would be set up – ‘under Mosley [Sir Oswald Mosley, British fascist] or some such person’. And where should we be at the end of all that? On the other side, we had immense reserves and advantages. And I am convinced that every one of you would rise up and tear me down from my place if I were for one moment to contemplate parley or surrender. Therefore, he said, ‘We shall go on and we shall fight it out, here or elsewhere, and if this long island story of ours is to end at last, let it end only when each one of us lies choking in his own blood upon the ground.’

  Once more, when on the brink of defeat, Churchill – speaking from the heart – summoned all the skills in his arsenal and produced a masterful display of rhetoric, one that we must assume took its shape in the orator’s head in the fleeting moments before expression, too late to edit it.

  What it meant was this. He had decided. Decided no longer to sit on the fence. Decided to pre-emptively quash any campaign of support Halifax might be attempting for his ‘European Settlement’. Decided to risk the Foreign Secretary’s resignation, and, with it, a no-confidence vote against him. Decided, on balance, that it was better – despite all the valid and powerful arguments against – to fight on, returning to his original position, but now with a full sense of the poor odds, the dangers, the costs and possible sacrifices that lay ahead. His countrymen and countrywomen must risk death, be ready to choke in their own blood.

  He did not have to wait long to find out if his words had hit their mark. The reaction came right away.

  In his memoirs of the Second World War, Their Finest Hour, Churchill recalled the Cabinet’s response with a touch more gusto than the other diary accounts of the meeting:

  There occurred a demonstration which, considering the character of the gathering – twenty-five experienced politicians and Parliament men, who represented all the different points of view, whether right to wrong, before the war – surprised me. Quite a number seemed to jump up from the table and come running to my chair, shouting and patting me on the back. There is no doubt that had I at this juncture faltered at all in the leading of the nation I should have been hurled out of office. I was sure that every Minister was ready to be killed quite soon, and have all his family and possessions destroyed, rather than give in. In this they represented the House of Commons and almost all the people.

  When the War Cabinet reassembled at 7 p.m., Churchill recounted the events of this meet
ing with what must have been a profound sense of relief and satisfaction. And it was an account that was definitely directed at Halifax: ‘They had not expressed alarm at the position in France, but had expressed the greatest satisfaction when he had told them that there was no chance of our giving up the struggle. He did not remember having ever before heard a gathering of persons occupying high places in political life express themselves so emphatically.’

  Halifax and Chamberlain could see the writing on the wall. Not even their combined resignation now could shake the Churchill leadership, not after this victory with ministers, whose collective mood to fight on they had not anticipated.

  Churchill had outflanked his opponents, won game, set and match, and no record can be found that these men – not Halifax, not Chamberlain – ever raised the matter of a negotiated peace between London and Berlin again.

  Lord Halifax, a proud man, acknowledged his defeat silently. The events of these meetings were not mentioned in his diary, which most historians believe were written for the benefit of others rather than as an accurate record. He wrote quite a different account: ‘Another Cabinet at 4 to discuss a further French appeal to us to ask Mussolini to be more reasonable. We thought this perfectly futile after all that has been attempted, and following his flat refusal to listen to Roosevelt’s last approach.’

  Churchill had survived. He had seen out his own period of uncertainty. There would be no vote in the house about his leadership. Against the most vigorous of attempts to back him into a corner, he had foiled, with a speech, the threat to use his weakness within the party against him. The power of his words and the conviction with which he delivered them once more bore him through. As he recalled in his memoirs of that day, ‘There was a white glow, overpowering, sublime, which ran through our Island from end to end.’ And while the country’s trials were only beginning, he knew now that he had the support of his colleagues and of the public to continue the struggle together.

  Before retiring to bed, he telephoned Paul Reynaud to confirm that Britain would not seek terms and would carry on the fight alone, if need be, but he urged the French to fight alongside him.

  WEDNESDAY, 29 MAY 1940

  THE EVACUATION RATE AT DUNKIRK IS UP TO 2,000 MEN PER HOUR AND MORE THAN 40,000 TROOPS HAVE SAFELY LANDED IN BRITAIN

  THE LUFTWAFFE LAUNCHES ‘MAXIMUM EFFORT’ OVER DUNKIRK, SINKING TWENTY-FIVE VESSELS

  CHURCHILL’S FIRM REPLY TO FRANCE HAS GALVANIZED REYNAUD TO CONTINUE THE STRUGGLE AND FIGHT ON AS LONG AS POSSIBLE

  10. ‘Fight on the beaches’

  What a difference is made by having a settled mind. On the morning of 29 May, Churchill awoke revitalized, something of a new man.

  From his bed he received word that the previous night’s message to Reynaud that Britain would not be seeking terms via Italy was reported by Major-General Sir Edward Spears, personal liaison officer between Reynaud and Churchill, to have had a ‘magical’ effect on the French leader and ‘evidently reinforced [Churchill’s] own inner conviction that this was the right course to pursue, and he straightaway vetoed any further communications being sent to Rome’. The stoic and positive language that Churchill had used not only in this message but also in his meeting with the Cabinet was proving to be crucial in fighting the defeatist attitude that had crept in over recent days. He knew now that the strongest weapon he had to save Britain was hope.

  With that in mind, he sent a ‘Strictly Confidential’ memo to Cabinet ministers and senior officials:

  In these dark days the Prime Minister would be grateful if all his colleagues in the Government, as well as high officials, would maintain a high morale in their circles; not minimising the gravity of events, but showing confidence in our ability and inflexible resolve to continue the war till we have broken the will of the enemy to bring all Europe under his domination.

  No tolerance should be given to the idea that France will make a separate peace; but whatever may happen on the Continent, we cannot doubt our duty and we shall certainly use all our power to defend the Island, the Empire and our Cause.

  Following this almost Shakespearean rallying cry, the War Cabinet met at 11.30 a.m. This time Lord Halifax did not even attempt to change the minds of Churchill or other ministers, but he did alert them to a telegram the Foreign Office had received from the British Ambassador in Rome. Confirming what many had been expecting, it stated that ‘Italy’s entry into the war was now a certainty; there remained only doubt about the date. It might be within a week, it might be later, but the delay could no longer be reckoned in months.’ In response, the Ambassador had made clear that ‘if Italy made war, war would be met with war. The responsibility would be Signor Mussolini’s and his alone.’

  This was not the only ‘unpleasant’ news presented to them. Forty thousand troops had already reached England from France, but the military advice was that it was now doubtful whether very many more men could be rescued. The Luftwaffe had completely destroyed Dunkirk harbour in continuous bombing raids and sunk several ships that were now blocking others from entering.

  Lord Gort had sent a telegram requesting ‘definite guidance as to the action he should take in the last resort’. Churchill confirmed to the meeting that the General had been ordered ‘to continue the struggle with the object of gaining time for the evacuation of as many troops as possible, and of inflicting the maximum amount of damage on the Germans’, but Halifax – still determined to save as many lives as possible – voiced his concerns:

  [He] was not altogether happy over the very definite instructions that had been given. He agreed that the grim struggle must continue, but he would like a message sent to Lord Gort expressing the implicit trust that the Government placed in him and on any action that he would see fit to take in the last resort. It would not be dishonourable to relinquish the struggle in order to save a handful of men from massacre.

  The previous days’ arguments seem to have created an irreparable rift between the Prime Minister and the Foreign Secretary, and the subtext of new disagreements could easily be aligned to the now buried matter of peace talks. Lord Halifax resumed his moral argument that there was nothing heroic in dying fighting and no dishonour in saving lives through strategy or retreats, if it were possible. Churchill reacted to this by effectively saying that Halifax was stating the bloody obvious, and of course ‘[i]n a desperate situation any brave man was entitled, in the absence of precise order to the contrary, to use his own discretion, and that therefore he would prefer not to modify the instructions to Lord Gort’. It did not need spelling out: ‘A Commander, in circumstances as desperate and distressing as those in which Lord Gort now found himself, should not be offered the difficult choice between resistance and capitulation.’

  Chamberlain stepped in to mediate, as he had done so often over the past few days, and said that there was a chance that ‘Lord Gort might well interpret the instructions sent him to mean that he was to resist to the last man, no matter in what circumstances he might find himself’, and if the communication lines between the BEF and the Government were cut then he would be unable to request final instructions. As a compromise, Chamberlain suggested that they clarify the existing order, adding that Gort should ‘continue the struggle as long as he remained in touch with His Majesty’s Government . . . if communications were interrupted, then he was free to use his own judgment as to the degree of resistance he should continue to offer’. Clement Attlee thought this caveat gave insufficient credit to the well-respected general, who would know to do this already: ‘Lord Gort could surely be allowed to use his own judgment if communications were severed and he found himself cut off from the sea and in circumstances in which further resistance would inflict no appreciable damage to the Germans.’ Anthony Eden agreed. Churchill concluded this exasperating meeting by saying, ‘The instructions sent to Lord Gort had not been intended to convey the impression that troops which were cut off from hope of relief and were without food or without water or without ammunition should attempt to
continue the struggle. He would consider sending a telegram containing modified instructions on the lines suggested by [Attlee].’

  Cadogan wrote in his diary that the Cabinet meeting had been ‘[a] horrible discussion of what instructions to send to Gort. WSC [Churchill] rather theatrically bulldoggish. Opposed by NC [Chamberlain] and H [Halifax] and yelled to a reasonable extent. Fear relations will become rather strained. That is Winston’s fault – theatricality.’

  It is clear that Churchill was an untested leader no longer. His fears of not having the support of his own party were behind him, and he now believed he had the confidence of the nation too. He was fully formed and free from doubts about the path that lay ahead, and he emanated a new confidence that he could lead his country safely through the danger. Hence, where others saw the numbers arriving back from Dunkirk as likely to be the best that could be achieved, Winston – with his brainchild, Operation Dynamo, barely launched – believed that more were yet to come. Where others feared the French were about to surrender, he believed he could keep them going with resolve and hope.

  As soon as he came out of the meeting, Churchill set about contacting his inner circle, using positive and encouraging words to ensure they felt supported. He messaged Eden, Ismay and General Sir John Dill (who had replaced Ironside as Chief of the Imperial General Staff) to say it was ‘essential that the French should share in such evacuations from Dunkirk as may be possible. Arrangements must be concerted at once with the French Missions in this country, or if necessary with the French Government, so that no reproaches, or as few as possible, arise.’ Next he telegrammed Major-General Spears: ‘Your reports most interesting, and Ambassador strongly praises your work. Continue report constantly. Meanwhile reiterate our inflexible resolve to continue whatever they do . . . ’ And, finally, he telegrammed Lord Gort as per the War Cabinet’s conclusions: