“I do not think,” I continued, “that these proposals go nearly far enough. If we give up the Polish Government in London a new start should be made from both sides on more or less equal terms. Before His Majesty’s Government ceased to recognise the London Government and transferred their recognition to another Government they would have to be satisfied that the new Government truly represented the Polish nation. I agree that this is only one point of view, as we do not fully know the facts, and all our differences will of course be removed if a free and unfettered General Election is held in Poland by ballot and with universal suffrage and free candidatures. Once this is done His Majesty’s Government will salute the Government that emerges without regard to the Polish Government in London. It is the interval before the election that is causing us so much anxiety.”
Molotov said that perhaps the talks in Moscow would have some useful result. The Poles would have to have their say, and it was very difficult to deal with the question without them. I agreed, but said that it was so important that the Conference should separate on a note of agreement that we must all struggle patiently to achieve it.
Stalin then took up my complaint that I had no information and no way of getting it.
29*
“I have a certain amount,” I replied.
“It doesn’t agree with mine,” he answered, and proceeded to make a speech, in which he assured us that the Lublin Government was really very popular, particularly Bierut and others. They had not left the country during the German occupation, but had lived all the time in Warsaw and came from the Underground movement. He did not believe they were geniuses. The London Government might well contain cleverer people, but they were not liked in Poland because they had not been seen there when the population was suffering under the Hitlerite occupation. The populace saw on the streets the members of the Provisional Government, but asked where were the London Poles. This undermined the prestige of the London Government, and was the reason why the Provisional Government, though not great men, enjoyed great popularity.
All this, he said, could not be ignored if we wanted to understand the feelings of the Polish people. I had feared the Conference would separate before we reached agreement. What then was to be done? The various Governments had different information, and drew different conclusions from it. Perhaps the first thing was to call together the Poles from the different camps and hear what they had to say. The day was near when elections could be held. Until then we must deal with the Provisional Government, as we had dealt with General de Gaulle’s Government in France, which also was not elected. He did not know whether Bierut or General de Gaulle enjoyed greater authority, but it had been possible to make a treaty with General de Gaulle, so why couldn’t we do the same with an enlarged Polish Government, which would be no less democratic? If we approached the matter without prejudice we should be able to find a common ground. The situation was not as tragic as I thought, and the question could be settled if too much importance was not attached to secondary matters and if we concentrated on essentials.
“How soon,” asked the President, “will it be possible to hold elections?”
“Within a month,” Stalin replied, “unless there is some catastrophe on the front, which is improbable.”
I agreed that this would of course set our minds at rest, and we could wholeheartedly support a freely elected Government which would supersede everything else, but we must not ask for anything which would in any way hamper the military operations. These were the supreme end. If however the will of the Polish people could be ascertained in so short a time, or even within two months, the situation would be entirely different and no one could oppose it.
When we reassembled at four o’clock in the afternoon of February 9 Molotov produced a new formula, namely, that the Lublin Government should be “reorganised [as opposed to ‘enlarged’] on a wider democratic basis, with the inclusion of democratic leaders from Poland itself, and also from those living abroad”. He and the British and American Ambassadors should consult together in Moscow about how this would be done. Once “reorganised” the Lublin Government would be pledged to hold free elections as soon as possible, and we should then recognise whatever Government emerged.
This was a considerable advance, and I said so, but I felt it my duty to sound a general warning. This would be the last but one of our meetings.* There was an atmosphere of agreement, but there was also a desire to put foot in the stirrup and be off. We could not, I declared, afford to allow the settlement of these important matters to be hurried and the fruits of the Conference lost for lack of another twenty-four hours. A great prize was in view and decisions must be unhurried. These might well be among the most important days in our lives.
Mr. Roosevelt declared that the differences between us and the Russians were now largely a matter of words, but both he and I were anxious that the elections should really be fair and free. I told Stalin that we were at a great disadvantage, because we knew so little of what was going on inside Poland and yet had to take great decisions of responsibility. I knew, for instance, that there was bitter feeling among the Poles, and I had been told that the Lublin Government had openly said it would try all members of the Polish Home Army and Underground movement as traitors. Of course, I put the security of the Red Army first, but I begged Stalin to consider our difficulty. The British Government did not know what was going on inside Poland, except through dropping brave men by parachute and bringing members of the Underground movement out. We had no other means of knowing, and did not like getting our information in this way. Could this be remedied without hampering the movements of the Soviet troops? Could any facilities be granted to the British (and no doubt to the United States) for seeing how these Polish quarrels were being settled? Tito had said that when elections took place in Yugoslavia he would not object to Russian, British, and American observers being present to report impartially to the world that they had been carried out fairly. So far as Greece was concerned, His Majesty’s Government would greatly welcome American, Russian, and British observers to make sure the elections were conducted as the people wished. The same applied to Italy—Russian, American, and British observers should be present to assure the world that everything had been done in a fair way. It was impossible, I said, to exaggerate the importance of carrying out elections fairly. For instance, would Mikolaiczyk be able to go back to Poland and organise his party for the elections?
“That will have to be considered by the Ambassadors and M. Molotov when they meet the Poles,” said Stalin.
I replied, “I must be able to tell the House of Commons that the elections will be free and that there will be effective guarantees that they are freely and fairly carried out.”
Stalin pointed out that Mikolajczyk belonged to the Peasant Party, which, as it was not a Fascist party, could take part in the elections and put up candidates. I said that this would be still more certain if the Peasant Party were already represented in the Polish Government, and Stalin agreed that one of their representatives should be included. I added that I hoped that nothing I had said had given offence, since nothing had been further from my heart.
“We shall have to hear,” he answered, “what the Poles have to say.” I explained that I wanted to be able to carry the eastern frontier question through Parliament, and I thought this might be done if Parliament was satisfied that the Poles had been able to decide for themselves what they wanted.
“There are some very good people among them,” he replied. “They are good fighters, and they have had some good scientists and musicians, but they are very quarrelsome.”
“All I want,” I answered, “is for all sides to get a fair hearing.”
“The elections,” said the President, “must be above criticism, like Caesar’s wife. I want some kind of assurance to give to the world, and I don’t want anybody to be able to question their purity. It is a matter of good politics rather than principle.”
Mr. Stettinius suggested having a wri
tten pledge that the three Ambassadors in Warsaw should observe and report that the elections were really free and unfettered. “I am afraid,” said Molotov, “that if we do this the Poles will feel they are not trusted. We had better discuss it with them.”
I was not content with this, and resolved to raise it with Stalin later on. The opportunity presented itself next day, when Mr. Eden and I had a private conversation with him and Molotov at the Yusupov Villa. I once more explained how difficult it was for us to have no representatives in Poland who could report what was going on. The alternatives were either an Ambassador with an embassy staff or newspaper correspondents. The latter was less desirable, but I pointed out that I should be asked in Parliament about the Lublin Government and the elections and I must be able to say that I knew what was happening.
“After the new Polish Government is recognised it would be open to you to send an Ambassador to Warsaw,” Stalin answered.
“Would he be free to move about the country?”
“As far as the Red Army is concerned, there will be no interference with his movements, and I promise to give the necessary instructions, but you will have to make your own arrangements with the Polish Government.”
We then agreed to add the following to our declaration:
As a consequence of the above, recognition would entail an exchange of Ambassadors, by whose reports the respective Governments would be informed about the situation in Poland.
This was the best I could get.
Sunday, February 11, was the last day of our Crimean visit. As usual at these meetings many grave issues were left unsettled. The Polish declaration laid down in general terms a policy which if carried out with loyalty and good faith might indeed have served its purpose pending the general Peace Treaty. The President was anxious to go home, and on his way to pay a visit to Egypt, where he could discuss the affairs of the Middle East with various potentates. Stalin and I lunched with him in the Czar’s former billiard-room at the Livadia Palace. During the meal we signed the final documents and official communiqués. All now depended upon the spirit in which they were carried out.
I had much looked forward to the sea voyage through the Dardanelles to Malta, but I felt it my duty to make a lightning trip to Athens and survey the Greek scene after the recent troubles. Early on February 14 accordingly we set off by car for Saki, where our aeroplane awaited us. We flew without incident to Athens, making a loop over the island of Skyros to pass over the tomb of Rupert Brooke, and were received at the airfield by the British Ambassador, Mr. Leeper, and General Scobie. Only seven weeks before I had left the Greek capital rent by street-fighting. We now drove into it in an open car, where only a thin line of kilted Greek soldiers held back a vast mob, screaming with enthusiasm, in the very streets where hundreds of men had died in the Christmas days when I had last seen the city. That evening a huge crowd of about fifty thousand people gathered in Constitution Square. The evening light was wonderful as it fell on these classic scenes. I had no time to prepare a speech. Our security services had thought it important that we should arrive with hardly any notice. I addressed them with a short harangue. That evening I dined at our shot-scarred Embassy, and in the early hours of February 15 we took off in my plane for Egypt.
Late that morning the American cruiser Quincy steamed into Alexandria harbour, and shortly before noon I went on board for what was to be my last talk with the President. We gathered afterwards in his cabin for an informal family luncheon. I was accompanied by Sarah and Randolph, and Mr. Roosevelt’s daughter, Mrs. Boettiger, joined us, together with Harry Hopkins and Mr. Winant. The President seemed placid and frail. I felt that he had a slender contact with life. I was not to see him again. We bade affectionate farewells. That afternoon the Presidential party sailed for home. On February 19 I flew back to England. Northolt was fog-bound, and our plane was diverted to Lyneham. I drove on to London by car, stopping at Reading to join my wife, who had come to meet me.
At noon on February 27 I asked the House of Commons to approve the results of the Crimea Conference. The general reaction was unqualified support for the attitude we had taken. There was however intense moral feeling about our obligations to the Poles, who had suffered so much at German hands and on whose behalf as a last resort we had gone to war. A group of about thirty Members felt so strongly on this matter that some of them spoke in opposition to the motion which I had moved. There was a sense of anguish lest we should have to face the enslavement of a heroic nation. Mr. Eden supported me. In the division on the second day we had an overwhelming majority, but twenty-five Members, most of them Conservatives, voted against the Government, and in addition eleven members of the Government abstained.
It is not permitted to those charged with dealing with events in times of war or crisis to confine themselves purely to the statement of broad general principles on which good people agree. They have to take definite decisions from day to day. They have to adopt postures which must be solidly maintained, otherwise how can any combinations for action be maintained? It is easy, after the Germans are beaten, to condemn those who did their best to hearten the Russian military effort and to keep in harmonious contact with our great Ally, who had suffered so frightfully. What would have happened if we had quarrelled with Russia while the Germans still had two or three hundred divisions on the fighting front? Our hopeful assumptions were soon to be falsified. Still, they were the only ones possible at the time.
CHAPTER XXIV
CROSSING THE RHINE
DESPITE their defeat in the Ardennes,* the Germans decided to give battle west of the Rhine, instead of withdrawing across it to gain a breathing-space, and throughout February and most of March Field-Marshal Montgomery had conducted a long and arduous struggle in the north. The defences were strong and obstinately held, the ground was sodden, and both the Rhine and the Meuse had overflowed their banks. The Germans smashed open the valves on the great dams on the Roer and the river became uncrossable until the end of February, but on March 10 eighteen German divisions were all back across the Rhine. Farther south, General Bradley cleared the whole of the eighty-mile stretch between Düsseldorf and Koblenz in a brief, swift campaign. On the 7th a stroke of fortune was boldly accepted. The 9th Armoured Division of the First U.S. Army found the railway bridge at Remagen partly destroyed but still usable. They promptly threw their advanceguard across, other troops quickly followed, and soon over four divisions were on the far bank and a bridgehead several miles deep established. This was no part of Eisenhower’s plan, but it proved an excellent adjunct, and the Germans had to divert considerable forces from farther north to hold the Americans in check. Patton cut off and crushed the last enemy salient around Trier. The defenders of the renowned and dreaded Siegfried Line were surrounded, and in a few days all organised resistance came to an end. As a by-product of victory the 5th U.S. Division made an unpremeditated crossing of the Rhine fifteen miles south of Mainz, which soon expanded into a deep bridgehead pointing towards Frankfurt.
Thus ended the last great German stand in the West. Six weeks of successive battles along a front of over two hundred and fifty miles had driven the enemy across the Rhine with irreplaceable losses in men and material. The Allied Air Forces played a part of supreme importance. Constant attacks by the Tactical Air Forces aggravated the defeat and disorganisation and freed us from the dwindling Luftwaffe. Frequent patrols over the airfields containing the enemy’s new jet-propelled fighters minimised a threat that had caused us anxiety. Continuing raids by our heavy bombers had reduced the German oil output to a critical point, ruined many of their airfields, and so heavily damaged their factories and transportation system as to bring them almost to a standstill.
I desired to be with our armies at the crossing, and Montgomery made me welcome. Taking only my secretary, Jock Colville, and “Tommy”* with me, I flew in the afternoon of March 23 by Dakota from Northolt to the British headquarters near Venlo. The Commander-in-Chief conducted me to the caravan in which he lived an
d moved. I found myself in the comfortable wagon I had used before. We dined at seven o’clock, and an hour later we repaired with strict punctuality to Montgomery’s map wagon. Here were displayed all the maps kept from hour to hour by a select group of officers. The whole plan of our deployment and attack was easily comprehended. We were to force a passage over the river at ten points on a twenty-mile front from Rheinsberg to Rees. All our resources were to be used. Eighty thousand men, the advance-guard of armies a million strong, were to be hurled forward. Masses of boats and pontoons lay ready. On the far side stood the Germans, entrenched and organised in all the strength of modern fire-power.
Everything I had seen or studied in war, or read, made me doubt that a river could be a good barrier of defence against superior force. In Hamley’s Operations of War, which I had pondered over ever since Sandhurst days, he argues the truth that a river running parallel to the line of advance is a much more dangerous feature than one which lies squarely athwart it, and he illustrates this theory by Napoleon’s marvellous campaign of 1814. I was therefore in good hopes of the battle even before the Field-Marshal explained his plans to me. Moreover, we had now the measureless advantage of mastery in the air. The episode which the Commander-in-Chief particularly wished me to see was the drop next morning of two airborne divisions, comprising 14,000 men, with artillery and much other offensive equipment, behind the enemy lines. Accordingly we all went to bed before ten o’clock.
The honour of leading the attack fell to our 51st and 15th Divisions and the American 30th and 79th. Four battalions of the 51st were the first to set forth, and a few minutes later they had reached the far side. Throughout the night the attacking divisions poured across, meeting little resistance at first, as the bank itself was lightly defended. At dawn bridgeheads, shallow as yet, were firmly held, and the Commandos were already at grips in Wesel.
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