A Mighty Endeavor

by Stuart Slade

  “Needs must when the devil drives, Winston. That Man has taken us out of the war; now we must hand the torch on to others. This is the reality we must face. The information we will be giving up will have immense value after the war, of that I have no doubt. Yet it is a sacrifice we must make if we are to emerge victorious. We will be a poorer and much-diminished state post-war, Winston, but it is either that or existing only as a subdivision of a Nazi empire.” The Duke suddenly exploded in anger, his pent-up frustrations bursting out through the reserve his rank and position demanded. “Damn Halifax! Damn him to hell! He’s destroyed us and he doesn’t even realize what he has done. You called the Commonwealth and America our children, Winston. Well, I hope they have learned from the sins of their father, that’s all I can say. I pray that our children will strike back with all the rage and power that we should have had but have become too enfeebled to muster.”

  The Duke stood there shaking as he tried to bring his emotions under control. He strode to the drinks cabinet, poured himself a stiff measure of rum, noted that his brandy and whisky supplies were in as sad a shape as he had expected, and drained it in a single toss. “Tizard’s party and you, Winston, should go out together. One of my relatives is coming over. An American cousin, by the name of Eleanor Gwynne. She is bringing some friends who are skilled in this kind of operation. They will arrange the departure and conduct you and the rest of the party out of this country. Exactly how they will do that, I have no idea.”

  “Eleanor Gwynne? Nell Gwynne?” Churchill smiled for the first time since the coup. “I hope she has the wits and wisdom of her ancestor and namesake.”

  “I think I can safely say that she does, Winston.”

  There was something in the way the Duke made the comment that made Churchill look at him sharply, but he shook his head and dismissed the thought. “Are you not coming with us, Osborne?”

  The Duke shook his head. “No. I will remain here. I am a peer of the realm for better and for worse. My place is here. And somebody has to organize the resistance to the night that is about to fall or we will all be gone and forgotten.”

  The Country Garden Tearoom, Calcutta, India

  “Shall I be mother?” Sir Martyn Sharpe picked up the teapot and carefully poured a cup for his guest. Working on the hallowed principle of milk in first, he’d already poured a little into his cup. His guest, on the other hand, preferred his tea without.

  “Thank you, Sir Martyn. Have you heard from London yet?” Pandit Jawaharlal Nehru sipped his tea delicately. “Ahh, an excellent cup. I do not know what we would do without this establishment.”

  “We have indeed. We received a blunt order from the Colonial and Dominions Office to obey the terms of the Armistice without question. Or else. The else is economic destruction. It is outrageous. Lord Linlithgow is still furious about it. I brought you a copy of the telex.”

  “Most kind of you. Could I trouble you for another cup of tea?” Nehru read the telex while Sir Martyn poured out the last of the pot and unobtrusively signalled for another pot of loose Assam. The Anglo-Indian waitress moved in almost immediately to see her guests had all their needs fulfilled. It wasn’t just the tea that was excellent here; the service was as well. Sir Martyn looked at the cake stand and carefully removed a fishpaste sandwich from the lowest tier. The bread was superbly fresh, the filling home made and exquisite.

  “As you say, an outrageous imposition. I can only imagine how badly you feel at having received such shabby and cavalier treatment at the hands of the authorities.” Nehru hesitated for a beautifully timed second. “Well, of course, I don’t have to imagine it. We have felt much the same way many times in the past. Not least with the current declaration of war against Germany. Thank you, Sir Martyn. Have you tried the egg finger-sandwich?”

  “Indeed; the touch of garlic is an inspired addition. May I recommend in return the fishpaste? Of course, the tenor of the reply from London puts you in an even more difficult position than it does us. We are merely cast adrift, you on the other hand, are adrift without a paddle. More tea?”

  “Allow me, Sir Martyn.” Nehru picked up the fresh pot and poured. “How does this place us in a difficult position? Britain is defeated and forced out of the war. We can now withdraw as well.”

  “Indeed you could. But there is a problem inherent with that. By doing so, you would be seen as following Britain’s lead in a most distasteful matter. Any claim you might make to independence would be seen in that light. A declaration would be treated as a matter of words, not backed up by any form of reality. Especially since Australia, South Africa and New Zealand are also ignoring the orders from London, for the moment at least, and remain in the war. India being the odd one out of the Dominions would be an unfortunate position for us.” Sir Martyn bit delicately at a cucumber sandwich, relishing the taste and texture of the chilled cucumber surrounded by the soft, crustless bread.

  Nehru took a fishpaste sandwich and ate it thoughtfully. That was one of the great advantages of discussing issues over High Tea. Consuming sandwiches and small cakes while sipping tea gave each participant an opportunity to think carefully before answering. “Australia, New Zealand and South Africa? Does London know this yet? And what about Canada?”

  “London has not been told, yet and Canada remains silent. But all three countries are treating this matter as a declaration of independence and a renunciation of dominion status. If we continue with the war, we will be placing ourselves in that camp. Independence, Pandit, now. In 1940; not in five or ten years.”

  “But we could declare independence now. That is what much of the Congress Party wants. We could declare independence and also bow out of the war. That would gain us the best of both worlds. Shall we order another plate of sandwiches?”

  “We could do as you suggest, Pandit. But if we declare independence, how would we then bow out of the war? If we follow the instructions from London, our declaration would be nothing more than an indulgence, lost and disregarded. But, if we underline our declaration with a decision to remain within the war, then the break is sharp and clear. Also, if we declare independence, how do we drop out of the war? One country may start a war, Pandit, but two countries must agree to end it. The Germans will not negotiate a fresh Armistice with us. In their eyes, the deed is done by the London Agreement. They have nothing to gain by recognizing our independence and much to lose.”

  “But India also has much to loose by staying in the war. Not least of which are the lives of our young men.”

  Sir Martyn’s mouth twitched slightly at that. He took an egg sandwich and carefully ate it. “Actually, Pandit, not as much as one might think. We can stay in the war, but what can we actually do? We cannot get to Europe to attack Germany and Germany cannot get here to attack us. There are some local issues that need our attention, but they will face us regardless of whether we are at peace or war. There is another factor here. This war will not end with the Armistice signed in London. It will go on. Germany will attack Russia. Probably not this year, but almost certainly next; if not then, the year after. The war will split the world into two parts, those who are aligned with the Nazis and those who are against them. Which side of that divide does India wish to be?”

  Nehru nodded carefully and sipped his tea. His whole upbringing rebelled at the idea of remaining in this war, but the possibility of registering an effective Indian declaration of independence almost immediately was entrancing. He also knew what was happening in Europe and what sort or regime was in power in Germany. His spirit rebelled against being in their company. “What about Japan?”

  “That is another good question. If we drop out of the war, effectively admitting that we are still part of the British Empire whatever we might say to the contrary, then Japan becomes a serious potential threat. They could make a claim that as the regional ally of Germany, they, rather than Britain, has a right to rule over us. You have seen how they have behaved in China. Their likely behavior here is beyond imagining. However, that
lies in the future.”

  Nehru looked at Sir Martyn curiously. “You keep saying ‘us’ and ‘we’, not India and Indian.”

  Sir Martyn looked very pensive for a few moments. “In the years I have worked here, Pandit, I have come to know and love India. I have seen it in all its moods and tempers. In one sense, I go beyond you in ambition. Yours is to see India independent again. Mine is much more than that. I do not wish just to see India independent; I wish to see it become a great regional power again. To see India participating in the great councils of the world, to hear its voice spoken on a world stage.

  “This is a great country, Pandit. It should be given the chance to become that again. No, that is wrong; it should not be given the chance, India should take every opportunity to seize its destiny. The final comment I would make is this. Staying in the war is buying time; it is a reversible act that we can change in the future if needs must. Coming out now is irreversible. We must live with the decision come what may.”

  Nehru nodded. “Persuading the rest of the Congress Party will not be easy. But with us gaining immediate independence and leaving the Commonwealth in the due course of events, I can gain enough support, I think. I need time to persuade them. Can you win me time?”

  “We will try and buy some more time but our ability to do so is limited.”

  “That is good news, in part at least. But, we never decided on what sandwiches to order. Egg or fishpaste?”

  Nehru took a deep breath and made his decision. “Fishpaste.”

  Boeing 314, “Dixie Clipper”, Foynes Flying Boat Station, Shannon, Ireland

  “Welcome to the Irish Republic, Madam.” The white-coated steward was as deferential as his position dictated. Each of the forty odd passengers on the Pan-American Clipper had paid 375 dollars for a single ticket on the twelve hour flight over the Atlantic. They’d been served a six-course evening meal before the long night flight. Eleanor Gwynne had been woken by the jolt of the flying boat landing in the Shannon Estuary. She’d spent the night in her curtained bunk-bed, soothed into sleep by the drone of the engines and the tranquil rust and beige color scheme around her. Now she smelled the heady aroma of fresh coffee.

  “Breakfast will be served shortly. In the mean time, please accept a glass of Irish coffee, with the compliments of Pan-American Airlines.”

  Eleanor looked at the glass in front of her. A brandy glass, filled with black coffee, topped with a thick layer of fresh cream. The steward had already moved to the next passenger and was repeating the morning ritual. She sipped the coffee; her senses were kick-started into action by the strong dose of Irish whiskey. She finished it off with relish. Eleanor still had time to visit the lady’s dressing room before sitting down to the first course of breakfast.

  “A fruit and cream cheese salad, Madam? Or perhaps you would prefer our green bean salad? We also offer a fine Caesar salad mixed to your order from the serving trolley. And your choice of fresh fruit juice?”

  “I’ll have the fruit please, with orange juice.” To Eleanor’s amazement, the juice really was fresh-squeezed and the salad was made with fresh-sliced fruit. She looked over to Achillea who had just settled into her seat across the table. “We don’t eat this well at home.”

  “Did you try that Irish coffee?” Achillea had settled for the green bean salad and pineapple juice. “We’ll have to try that out on Phillip when we get back. I’d like to know how they get the cream to stay on top of the coffee though.”

  “Pour it over the back of a silver spoon, madam.” The steward was back. “I would caution madam that it takes some practice to get just right though. May we offer you a Creole omelette, eggs Florentine or a south-western scramble with your choice of meats and hashed potatoes?”

  By the time Eleanor had worked her way through her eggs Benedict, croissants and another Irish coffee, she was feeling slightly comatose. It was with a certain degree of relief that she heard the engines start up and felt the big flying boat taxying out to take off. That was when Gusoyn entered the cabin and joined them. He also looked well-fed. “I hope you unmarried ladies have been fed as well as us unmarried gents.”

  Eleanor snorted slightly, one thankfully masked by a judicious roar as the four engines increased power. The passenger deck of the flying boat was divided into cabins; the cabin for unmarried women was well separated from that for bachelors. The niceties had to be observed. “Superbly. Thank you, ducks. How long until we get to Southampton?”

  “I asked our steward. It is a two and a half hour flight so we should be landing in Southampton at ten. Our train for Nottingham leaves two hours later. We have a Pullman coupe reserved for us. We should be at your family home by six. Loki has told them which train we are on. By the way, I hope you did eat well. It may be our last chance for quite a while. Food is still rationed in Britain, you know.”

  “You mean they’ve kept rationing in place, even though the war is over? Why?”

  “Last year, Britain imported 20 million tons of foodstuffs per year, including more than half of its meat and three quarters of its cheese, sugar, fruits, cereals and fats.” Gusoyn reeled the figures off with gloomy relish. “Bacon, meat, tea, jam, butter, sugar, biscuits, breakfast cereals, cheese, eggs, milk and canned fruit have all been rationed. Bread and potatoes have not; not yet, at any rate. If it is any consolation, fish and chips is not rationed either although I am told it is very expensive. We will be given ration books when we disembark. If we stay at a hotel, we have to surrender them to the hotel management while we stay there and retrieve them when we leave. Oh, restaurant meals are not rationed but they are really expensive.”

  “That shouldn’t worry us, ducks. We’ve got a big budget for this trip. Lillith’s done us proud on the money front. I’m not sure why.” Eleanor paused while the engines went to full power and the flying boat took off. Underneath, Ireland was richly green, the rolling hills running down to the deep blue of the Shannon River. She suddenly felt severely homesick and questioned her decision to leave her homeland. Then she settled down and common sense reasserted itself. England had held very little for her and the prospect of a new country had been overwhelming. Then again, there was a lot she had needed to hide.

  Achillea was looking down at the same sights. In her case, she was seriously grateful for the fact that they were flying direct to Southampton. The last time she had visited the area they were now flying over, her behavior hadn’t been calculated to win friends and influence people. She was quite convinced there were people with memories long enough to put a bullet in her back if she ever returned to the small village of Beal na mBIath. “I guess Phillip wants to know what things are really like on the ground over here. We’re a reconnaissance party to him.”

  “Keep that thought to yourself, ducks.” Eleanor looked around but they were alone in their section of the Boeing 314. “What’s a reconnaissance to him there could well be considered spying by the people here.”

  Conference Room, Government House, Calcutta, India

  “We have been given our instructions. It is for us to obey them.” Sir Richard Graham Cardew stuck his chin out pugnaciously. “There may have been some point in discussing whether we should follow London’s lead when we had no specific instructions to do so, although I could not see any merit in such a discussion and still do not for that matter. But now we have clear instructions and we have no option other than to obey them. That is the way it has always been and that is the way it shall remain.”

  Lord Linlithgow frowned mightily, not quite so much at the content of the words but at the tone in which they had been uttered. The truth of the words might be argued; the tone of disrespect within them could not. He was already aware that Cardew was attempting to assemble a supporting clique from the traditionalists within the old guard of the Indian civil service. “Is there any word from the other Dominions?”

  “There is indeed, Your Excellency,” Gerald Tarrant was actually having a hard job stopping himself laughing. The Australians might
be an uncouth lot but they had a talent for a pithy phrase. They have sent a message to London which reads ‘if the Colonial and Dominion Offices had sent us a dispatch of the tone and content exemplified by this message, we would tell them to get stuffed.’ Prime Minister Robert Menzies has resigned, saying his identification with the London regime has rendered him unfit to lead Australia at this time.”

  “Don’t tell me that cad John Curtin is the new Prime Minister there.” Harold Hartley was appalled at the prospect.

  “I think you underestimate Mister Curtin.” Tarrant spoke somberly. “I believe he has every prospect of being an excellent Prime Minister whose leadership promises to serve Australia well. In his inaugural address to the Australian Parliament, he tore up the message from London and threw the pieces on the floor, saying ‘good riddance to bad rubbish.’ That won him much applause from the House.”

  “That is a disgrace.” Cardew wattled furiously. “Who do those people think they are?”

  “People who face a dilemma that is exactly equivalent to ours in form and content,” Lord Linlithgow said mildly. “They have reached their conclusion with regard to their own opinions and interests, just as we shall reach ours with regard to India’s needs and interests.”

  “Maintaining the Imperial Connection is the only need or interest India should have.”

  “‘Should have’ is a matter of opinion, Sir Richard. ‘Does have’ is another matter entirely. Let us not forget there is a moral aspect to this conundrum. Obeying the demands of London mean knuckling under to an accommodation with Nazi Germany and that thought is abhorrent to any civilized person. I have thought this matter over in great depth and I believe that we cannot, in conscience, do what Lord Halifax would have us do. In isolation, I would tend to believe that we should join Australia in our defiance of this order. But, we do not act in isolation. Let us not forget this is India and we should bear the interests and opinions of the Indian people in mind.”