According to the author, who has had a good look at the secret files of the Abwehr, Canaris tried to recruit agents in England among members of British Union. He failed, as anyone familiar with English politics could have told him he was bound to do. There is a whole world of difference between the political opposition of patriotic men to a war which, win or lose, they considered was certain to be disastrous for their own country, and helping its enemy to secure its defeat. There has been an English tradition of political opposition to war; Charles James Fox’s attitude during the Napoleonic wars is one example. Mosley and his party followed this tradition, during the first months of the second world war, sometimes called the phoney war period.
Quite different from ordinary spying is the skilled work of decoding and unscrambling. When Churchill, ensconced in his bomb-proof shelter, spoke on the telephone to Roosevelt in Washington, both men imagined that their conversations were private because their hot line was scrambled to the last degree. Sometimes, apparently, they talked frivolously, but often what they said was of great value to the Germans, and in particular to the U-boats. One guesses, given the nature of the two men, that they talked far more than was strictly necessary. Every word was heard and recorded in Germany; not by the Abwehr, but by the Post Office. It was the triumph of the German equivalent of our Postmaster General, Reichsminister Ohnesorge, and a brilliant team of engineers. They invented an unscrambler, so that within a couple of hours the Allied leaders’ conversations were received in the appropriate quarters.
The British government also had its successes. One of these was Operation Doublecross, the object of which was to mislead the Luftwaffe into dropping its bombs on non-strategic targets that would in no way impede the war effort. This it brilliantly did. The choice of the actual targets lay with the politicians, and Mr Churchill was considered ‘rather callous’. This ‘led to a violent clash between the Prime Minister and Herbert Morrison.’ Morrison objected to the selection of working class residential districts as targets for the bombs.
Now that we are all friends again in what we hope is to become united Europe, it may be of interest to the Germans to learn that long before he had the opportunity to order the blanket fire-bombing of German civilians in non-strategic open cities, Mr Churchill had chosen English working class residential districts as targets for the Luftwaffe. C’est la guerre. Mr Farago calls Mr Churchill’s Operation Doublecross ‘somewhat fiendish’. But a very great many of the doings recorded in this exciting book are fiendish to a degree, and it shows there is no limit to the devilish ingenuity of the civilised countries once they are bent upon destroying one another.
For the politicians, and even for the soldiers, all that matters is to win. If you win you are given a statue; a doubtful benefit, perhaps, for we lack a Verrocchio. But if you lose, everything from run of the mill contingency planning to the deliberate bombing of civilians may land you in some Nuremberg of the victors’ devising.
The Game of the Foxes, Farago, L. Books and Bookmen (1972)
Hitler and British Politics
The impact of Hitler on English politics was heavy. During the 30s, policy practically came to mean foreign policy. Recently published figures show that from 1933 to 1937 the Cabinet discussed foreign and imperial affairs 1,480 times, compared with 11 for education, 20 for housing and 47 for unemployment. The old familiar quarrels about protection versus free trade, or whether the prayerbook should be revised, faded into insignificance. As the author points out, in the 20s few could be found to defend the manifest anomalies of the Versailles treaty; the Labour party in particular was loud in demanding revision. But when Hitler came upon the scene and wanted the talk translated into action there was a lukewarm response both from England and from the League of Nations.
Collective security had been the keystone of League policy. It was an excellent idea, but when it came under pressure at the time of sanctions against Italy over Abyssinia it melted away until England remained as its sole protagonist. Since the English had no wish to fight for Abyssinia, sanctions were a half-hearted fiasco, and collective security collapsed and was shown to be an illusion.
The 1935 plebiscite in the Saar was another turning point. English newspapers had argued as to whether the Saarlanders would vote for the status quo (League of Nations rule) or for France. English soldiers kept guard to ensure the secrecy of the ballot. A little over ninety per cent voted for incorporation in Hitler’s Reich. This was about the usual proportion in plebiscites within Germany, but the English press always pointed out that these votes were faked, therefore it came as a surprise. After this disappointing result in the Saar nobody wanted plebiscites in disputed territories: self-determination, once a popular League idea, had lost its savour in the democracies.
With the failure of collective security and the certainty that self-determination would mean that the brand-new country Czechoslovakia and the artificially swollen Romania and Poland would lose extensive territories which should never have been allotted to them in the first place, Britain’s foreign policy was in disarray.
The author, by means of innumerable quotations from his victims, has no difficulty in showing the politicians of the 30s in an unfavourable light. Never enamoured of them myself, it is ever so disheartening to see the whole lot, from Lloyd George and Churchill down to the very small fry, so avid of place and power, so jealous, disloyal and hypocritical, and so notably lacking in the essential talent of a statesman: that of being able to see a little further than the next man.
The vitally important question is, should England have intervened in a frontier dispute between Germany and Czechoslovakia? Was it a British interest? Was Britain’s frontier on the Rhine, the Oder or the Vistula? It is merely an academic question; we cannot ‘learn from history’ because England was so weakened by the war that such a role is now unthinkable.
Chamberlain’s whole policy may have been misconceived, but according to his lights he did his best for peace. He had to take into account not only ‘Herr Hitler and his methods’, deprecated by everybody, but also France, the alliance between France and Russia, Italy, the Balkans, Japan and its aggression in the Far East, and above all the strains and stresses within the Tory party and its unfortunate accretions (a legacy of 1931) of National Labour and National Liberals. The rump of the Labour party in parliament and in journals like the New Statesman demanded intervention in every war from Spain to Manchuria, while at the same time ardently advocating the disarmament of Britain. Chamberlain was sniped at from all sides, although he was encouraged by a mild popularity among non-politicians; it is doubtful whether any available leader of the Conservative party could have done much more than he did.
English politicians were wonderfully ignorant of European history and Chamberlain spoke but the bare truth when he said Czechoslovakia was a far-away country of which they knew little. The same applied to Poland, guaranteed in 1939, that the prophecy of Lloyd George in 1919 might be fulfilled when he pointed on the map to the Polish corridor and said: ‘Here is where the next war will start.’
For members of parliament, to declare war on Germany was the answer to many things. All the great neglected domestic problems of the day, unemployment, housing, poverty, were solved at a stroke. ‘There’s a war on’ was sufficient answer to any complaint, however pressing. None of them had to bother his head about a general election, a major worry which had been looming near.
Thus the great disaster hit mankind. More than fifty million are estimated to have died, some in battle, some murdered, some starved, some burnt alive with fire bombs or annihilated by atom bombs. After what the author calls the Russo-American victory half of Europe was occupied by Soviet Russia, and thirty years on there are Russian tanks in Prague. England, under Churchill who loved the British Empire and detested socialism, had been reduced to poverty-stricken impotence. As this book demonstrates, Churchill’s coalition ensured socialism’s electoral success; and Churchill himself recognised that the war had gone awry when he called
his own book Triumph and Tragedy. He lived to witness the end of the Empire.
Oswald Mosley is denounced for predicting ‘collapse’, but he has unfortunately been proved right in the event. (As to the insulting suggestion that Mosley would in some way have benefited from a German occupation of England, it is enough to say that from 1932 he never ceased to press for rearmament, and that given his character and record it is impossible to imagine him as the lackey of a foreign power.) He foresaw that whatever the outcome war would be disastrous for Britain.
The author makes extensive and subtle use of inverted commas, often with hilarious effect. An example: ‘Halifax’s “soul” had “risen in indignation” against Mussolini’s “crimes” in Abyssinia’. Written thus, the soul and the crimes appear equally dubious.
It may be a mistake to refer to people by their surnames alone. While there was only one Hitler, there were in those days two Macmillans, two Morrisons, two Chamberlains, two MacDonalds; as to the Wilsons, not only were there Horace and Arnold but there is a reference to ‘Wilsonism’ which relates to Woodrow of blessed memory. Another oddity is the disregard of double names. Few, without a glance at the index, will guess that Monsell and Croft are Eyres-Monsell and Page-Croft. Unimportant? Yes; but if they are to be mentioned, the names they were known by might as well be used. The same applies to Hart, generally known as Liddell Hart: it would be too bad if some callow undergraduate were to imagine that Hart refers to Judith, or that one of the Wilsons was Harold, or that ‘Wilsonism’ meant galloping inflation.
The author’s brilliantly interesting book costs £15; this is a steep price but it is worth every penny.
The Impact of Hitler: British Politics and British Policy 1933-1940, Cowling, M. Books and Bookmen (1975)
Of Pigs and Boars
‘Après deux grandes guerres inutiles et ruineuses, réjouissons-nous de savoir qu’une personne au moins, pendant ces sinistres années, s’est amusée.’ [After two pointless and ruinous World Wars, let’s at least cheer the one person who during those disastrous years enjoyed himself.]
‘Two farmyard pigs and a wild boar’ was the comment of de Gaulle on the photograph of Churchill, Roosevelt and Stalin at the Yalta conference—a photograph which has lately been seen again, illustrating an article about this book entitled The Day We Lost the Peace. They are sitting together in the sunshine; Sir Winston in a ‘funny’ fur hat, smoking a cigar, is beaming at the other two who look in his direction—Roosevelt, hatless, wearing a theatrical cloak and vacant expression, and Stalin, dressed in his plain uniform. The proximity of the two politicians in fancy dress does not, as might be supposed, make him too look ridiculous, but rather the reverse. Because he is the wild boar.
Sir Winston has called this last volume of his account of the Second World War Triumph and Tragedy; unfortunately his triumph was transitory, but the tragedy persists. He begins, however, on the triumphant note to which we became so accustomed during the war. It is D Day; the Allies are advancing; he is having the time of his life. ‘I had a jolly day on Monday on the beaches and inland,’ he wrote to Roosevelt on 14 June, 1944. ‘We are working up to a battle which may well be a million a side… How I wish you were here!’ He sang Rule Britannia in a wardroom, visited the ruins of Caen, stayed at Arromanches: ‘They wanted to call the harbour “Port Churchill.” But this for various reasons I forbade.’
In one of Sir Winston’s favourite expressions, the Hun was being made to bleed and burn on all fronts. The Red Army was advancing from the East. ‘Every victory that you gain is watched with eager attention here,’ he wrote to Stalin. ‘This is the moment for me to tell you how immensely we are all here impressed with the magnificent advances of the Russian armies.’
Best of all, he was able to ‘go into action’ on one of His Majesty’s ships, the destroyer Kelvin. ‘Admiral Vian… proposed that we should go and watch the bombardment of the German position… Accordingly we passed between the two battleships, which were firing at twenty thousand yards… and soon we were within seven or eight thousand yards of the shore, which was thickly wooded. The bombardment was leisurely and continuous, but there was no reply from the enemy. As we were about to turn I said to Vian, “Since we are so near, why shouldn’t we have a plug at them ourselves before we go home?” He said “Certainly,” and in a minute or two all our guns fired on the silent coast. We were, of course, well within the range of their artillery, and the moment we had fired Vian made the destroyer turn about and depart at the highest speed. We were soon out of danger and passed through the cruiser and battleship lines.’ No doubt as they sped away from the silent wooded shore he made a whole series of V signs—a gesture of defiance to the continent of Europe upon which he was soon to inflict such fatal wounds.
His finest hour was sweet, but very short. Already, with unconditional surrender almost a year away, a black cloud loomed, a worrying, nagging thought that almost succeeded in spoiling the sport of that exhilarating, victory-laden summer. What would the wild boar do, once he had been let into the garden?
‘Evidently we are approaching a show-down with the Russians about their intrigues in Italy, Yugoslavia, and Greece. I think their attitude becomes more difficult every day.’ This was a minute addressed to the Foreign Secretary. Strange words to use about our ally, who was fighting the Hun with all his might, and was now approaching the Polish frontier. It was almost five years since we had declared war on Germany in order to free Poland from the invader, but apart from setting up an émigré Polish government in London and allowing Polish soldiers and airmen to fight with our armies, England, for geographical reasons, had not been able to implement the guarantee given in 1939. But now our Russian ally was advancing into Poland, which was about to be liberated and take its place once more among the free and democratic nations.
Reviewing this book, the Times Literary Supplement commented on the single, unpolitical, war-aim of the author—to win the war. Clausewitz said that war is the pursuance of political ends by other means. To Sir Winston the means and the end were so confused that he apparently had no other thought in his head than the defeat of Hitler. He seems to have imagined that once this was accomplished there would be a Peace Conference, and Europe would assume its pre-1933 aspect, with Germany enjoying the blessings of democracy and mass unemployment, while the League of Nations was hard at work once more in Geneva. It was not until the summer of 1944 that the fatality of his policy began to dawn upon him, and even then his enjoyment of the triumph often obscured his vision of the approaching tragedy. Those who had warned were silenced; foresight in this matter had been strictly forbidden.
In order to defeat Hitler he was prepared to cast away the wealth and strength of England and see her reduced to a second rate power. That was not all: English honour was held to be involved in the liberation of Poland; yet after the efforts and sacrifices of a six years war Poland is not free. ‘The Germans are a cold in the head but Russia is the pox’ is an old Polish saying; the massacres of Katyn and what happened in Warsaw were not likely to change this opinion. Readers of Triumph and Tragedy know the end of the story, and so did Sir Winston when he wrote the book. It is a piece of special pleading; he wishes to show the world how great was the effort he made during the last year of the war to avoid the results of his colossal errors of judgment. But however hard he tries to shift responsibility, it falls back upon him.
As long as his war-aim was to ‘kill Germans’ it was all straightforward. Not only did England and America pour arms into Russia; they also provided arms and money to ‘Communist banditti’ as Sir Winston calls them, wherever they might be, if they would promise to kill Germans too. (The fact that these ‘Partisans’ put the arms to other uses as well was one of the reasons for the great unpopularity of their English and American benefactors in Europe after the war.) It did not matter whether those killed were soldiers, or even men, so long as they were German. A few weeks before the end of the war, Dresden, an open city full to overflowing with refugees, provided
an opportunity for making them bleed and burn in their tens of thousands. The farmyard creatures were determined to show that they were in no way behind the wild boar when it came to being ‘tough’; the bombing of Dresden had no other object, since it did not affect the course of the war.
In the summer of 1944 grave doubts as to the intentions of Russia began to loom, doubts which became certainties after the Warsaw rising. Sir Winston tells the story in full; the Russian wireless appeal to the Poles in Warsaw to rise against the Germans, now that their liberators were at the gates, how they bravely did so, encouraged by the sound of Russian guns on the outskirts of the city, how the Russians then halted their advance, and gave the Germans several weeks in which to put down the rising, refusing all help to the desperate Poles and even forbidding English and American aeroplanes to land with supplies on the airfields within reach.
Thus (again for geographical reasons) were the Poles for the second time buoyed up with promises which could not be kept. Stalin achieved his object—Poland minus its fighting men was easier to occupy and has since been no trouble to rule.
One of the last broadcasts from the heroic city was picked up in London. This is the stark truth. We were treated worse than Hitler’s satellites, worse than Italy, Romania, Finland. May God, who is just, pass judgment on the terrible injustice suffered by the Polish nation, and may he punish accordingly all those who are guilty.
This chapter, The Martyrdom of Warsaw, might well have been called instead The Result of England’s Guarantee of Poland. On the 30 August General Smuts wrote to Sir Winston as follows:
The Pursuit of Laughter Page 23
