THE FORESIGHT WAR (6 page)

By the autumn of 1935 the international situation was clearly worsening.
 
On September 5th Italy walked out of the League of Nations Council meeting called to discuss the Italo-Abyssinian crisis.
 
This was followed in October by an Italian attack on Abyssinia, countered by the urgent reinforcement of British forces in the Middle East.
 
In November, German army recruits were required to swear allegiance to Hitler as well as to the nation.
 
Don read the news with a mixture of anxiety, despondency and an uncertain hope that perhaps, this time, he could reduce the scale of the suffering to come.
 
Mary was a patient, unfailing support.

‘You have done everything you can,’ she said for what was probably the hundredth time, ‘you know all the arguments for keeping your existence secret.
 
There is too much hatred and frustration bottled up for anyone to prevent what is going to happen.
 
All you can do is to try to ensure that it is ended quickly, with an outcome that keeps Russia out of as much of Europe as possible.’

‘I know, but I feel so helpless. It’s not just the big
picture,
it’s the personal aspect as well.’ Mary took him in her arms, feeling the tension slowly leaving him as she stroked his neck.

‘It’s your parents you’re thinking of again, isn’t it? It must be so hard for you.’

Don grunted wearily. ‘Fortunately they’re still young children. I can’t help wondering about them, although I know Charles is right when he tells me to leave them alone.’

‘Well, what would you gain from seeing them? They’re just like any other children, and won’t even meet for years yet.’

He sighed reluctantly. ‘I suppose you’re right, but I still feel I should be introducing them to each other, or something!’

Mary grinned. ‘From what I know of young
children, that
would just put them off each other for life!’

Spring to
Autumn
1936

In the following year the pace of events quickened, although not all of them were concerned with the impending conflict.
 
In January King George V died, and Don winced at reading the praise heaped upon his heir, the man who would not become King Edward VIII.

Spring saw rapid developments.
 
In March, the political Left won the Spanish elections; yet another harbinger of war.
 
In the same month, Hitler repudiated the Treaty of Locarno and sent German troops into the Rhineland, previously demilitarised following the last war.
 
As a result of their ineffectual response, the French government was voted out of office in May in favour of Leon Blum’s left-wing Popular Front. Churchill warned that failure to match Hitler’s growing military strength could end in disaster for Britain.
 
A government White Paper on defence, published in March, identified weaknesses and proposed increased spending.
 
Newspapers were filled with concern about the adequacy of the country’s defences and the threat of war.

Far from being worried, Dunning seemed quietly pleased.
 
‘Every time the Nazis make an aggressive move that you’ve predicted, your stock goes up and your recommendations are given even more attention.
 
People are feeling increasingly confident about being able to cope with the future.’
 
No doubt, thought Don rather cynically, the attention isn’t doing Dunning’s status any harm either.
 
However, his evident good humour paid off in a special treat; an unexpected trip for Mary and himself.

Dunning refused to state the destination or purpose, but the big Humber cruised steadily south until it reached Southampton late in the afternoon.
 
Dunning led them to the water’s edge near packed crowds and they looked out over the Solent.
 
By now, Don knew what to expect.
 
The weather was cool and cloudy, but the sun broke through as a huge passenger liner steamed slowly down the Solent.

‘The Queen Mary!’
Mary said, ‘how wonderful!’

‘Off on her maiden voyage,’ added Dunning, ‘first Cherbourg, then on to
New York
.
 
Sure to win the Blue Riband.’

Don watched the magnificent ship with a strange mixture of emotions.
 
Awe, at the majestic vessel.
Excitement, at the noisy pride of the crowds.
 
Perhaps above all, nostalgia, for an era he had never known.
 
He thought about Jumbo Jets crammed with bleary-eyed, irritable passengers, and sighed.

The summer of 1936 saw no relief from the steady build-up of tension, as piece after piece dropped into place.
 
In May, Italy conquered Abyssinia.
 
The next month, Leon Blum’s Popular Front government gave way to concerted strike action by signing the Matignon Agreement, giving French workers high pay for shorter hours and further damaging an already lamentable industrial performance.
 
In July, a right-wing revolt erupted in Spain; the Spanish Civil War had begun.
 
In August, the Berlin Olympics were held.

The bad news wasn’t restricted to Europe.
 
Throughout the summer and autumn, Arabs rioted against the growing numbers of Jews in Palestine; British troops were involved.
 
Don felt particularly low when he read this news.

‘We haven’t even begun this war yet, but more are already being lined up.’

He had to explain this to Mary; wars after 1945 in which Britain would not be involved had understandably been of little interest to the interviewers.
 
Mary seemed particularly thoughtful.

‘My mother was Jewish,’ she said.
 
Don looked at her speechlessly, thinking of all she had heard about the Holocaust.
 
She raised her arms and shrugged helplessly.
 
‘Why does the world have to be like this?’
 
Don had no answer.

October 1936 saw a huge Nazi rally in Nuremberg and clashes between Mosley’s Blackshirts and anti-fascist demonstrators in the East End of London.
 
At the beginning of December, Mary found Don looking at the newspaper, sadness on his face.

‘What’s the matter?’ she asked quickly.
 
Don gestured at the paper.
 
Mary looked at the item featured large on the page.
 
The
Crystal
Palace
had burned down.
 

‘I never saw it,’ said Don regretfully. ‘It was the first thing which made me realise what had happened to me.
 
And I never went to see it.’

1937–1938

The winter was marked by major events at each end of the social scale; unemployed workers marched from Jarrow to London, and King Edward VIII abdicated in order to marry Wallace Simpson.
 
For Don, a much more significant event took place.
 
On
1st January 1937
the Washington and London Naval Treaties expired and the keel-plates of the battleships
King George V
and
Prince of Wales
were laid at Walker-on-Tyne and Birkenhead respectively.
 
So much was in Don’s history; but these were to a different design, guided by his advice.
 
It was the first concrete evidence he had received of the impact he was making.

The months skimmed by, a continual round of meetings with ever more urgent questions being asked as the nation’s defence expenditure rose rapidly in the face of the German threat.
 
Don found it more and more difficult to offer helpful advice.
 
He felt drained dry of everything he had ever learned about the personalities, policies, strategies, tactics, equipment and events of the period.
 

Every now and then, his absorption was punctuated by a news item; the bombing of Guernica, the destruction of the Hindenburg at Lakehurst, the coronation of King George VI, the fall of Blum’s government, followed by further rapid changes of government in France.
 
The Japanese onslaught on China opened yet another chapter in the growing volume of the world’s suffering, while European leaders scurried to and fro, meeting Hitler, trying to avoid the inevitable.

In early 1938 Dunning announced, with unusual good humour, that they were going on a tour, chaperoned by Geoffrey Taylor and himself.

‘Something of a working visit,’ he qualified apologetically, ‘but I’m sure you’ll find it interesting.’

Their first stop turned out to be an almost deserted rifle range ‘somewhere in Surrey.’
 
A small group of Army officers was huddled around some objects on a bench.
 
Don was introduced as ‘a senior civil servant in the Ministry’ and the group parted to show him the weapons gleaming against the wooden bench.
 
A Bren light machine gun was instantly recognisable.
 
The warrant officer picked up a smaller weapon lying next to it.
 
It was a short, brutal looking rifle, all metal pressings with a minimum of wood, a curved magazine jutting down behind the pistol grip.

‘This is the new BSA rifle, called the Besal for short, which it is,’ he laughed, ignoring the groans from the others.
 
‘Action based on the Bren, but turned upside down and located within the stock, behind the handgrip.
 
Calibre three-oh-three inch, self-loading with semi-automatic fire only.
 
Empty cases are ejected straight upwards, but are deflected to one side by this rubber-padded underside of the cheekpiece, which can be instantly flipped over for left-handers.
 
Weight ten pounds with a full fifteen-round magazine, which is interchangeable with the thirty-round Bren magazine.
 
Like a go?’

Don declined, mildly alarmed.
 
He had studied armaments, but firing them was something he had no experience of.
 
The WO seemed disappointed, but not surprised.
 
Doubtless his opinion of civil servants had just been confirmed.
 
Taylor did not hesitate.
 
He picked up the Besal, cycled the action with brisk efficiency then fired a rapid series of shots at the distant target. Don retrieved a distant memory; the Besal had actually been a simplified machine gun based on the Bren, which had not been adopted. Oh well, fairly close, he thought.

‘This other beauty is the new Solen sub-machine gun,’ continued the WO.
 
Don, who had been slow to clap his hands over his ears when the Besal fired, barely heard him but hastily covered his ears again as Taylor picked up a weapon even uglier and more brutal looking.
 
‘Based on the Solothurn SI-100 but simplified by Enfield for mass production.
 
Chambered for the nine-by-twenty-five millimetre Mauser Export cartridge, longer and more powerful than the Luger round used in most such weapons. Gives it an effective range of around two hundred yards, which is enough for most purposes.
Available with a wooden stock, like this one, or a folding metal one.’
 
Taylor enjoyed this one even more, firing off the 32-round side-mounted magazine in short, controlled bursts.

Next
came
a conventional-looking self-loading pistol.
 
‘Based on the American Colt M Nineteen-eleven, modified to fire the nine-by-twenty-five millimetre cartridge and with a two-row magazine holding fifteen rounds.’
 
Dunning stepped forward this time, raised the gun, pulled back and released the slide, then fired off the entire magazine in a seemingly interminable string of concussions.
 

Dunning was smiling as they left.
 
‘We’ve told the Army that these are meant for paratroops and marines, who’ll need lots of firepower.
 
Of course, we’re preparing to mass-produce them instead of the Lee-Enfield Number Four bolt-action rifles.’
 
Taylor snorted amiably, but made no comment.

The next stop was in Dorset, at another army camp busy with construction work.
 
Some tanks were visible as they travelled through the site.

‘This must be Bovington Camp,’ guessed Don.
 
Taylor merely smiled and led him into a large hangar-like building.
 
An armed guard checked Taylor’s and Dunning’s passes carefully.
 
Inside, some large shapes were covered with tarpaulins.
 
A few men were sitting on boxes nearby, playing cards by the light filtering down from the skylights.
 
They jumped up when they saw Taylor and moved to the shapes.
 
Taylor was clearly enjoying himself, Dunning following quietly behind.

‘We’ll start with this one.’
 
The tarpaulin was pulled away, revealing a low squat tank, the sloping armour giving a streamlined look.
 
‘This is the Crusader.
 
Eighteen tons, with two inches of armour on the turret and the frontal plate, one inch elsewhere.
 
Engine at the front, beside the driver – a three hundred horsepower six-cylinder in-line unit; half a Rolls-Royce Merlin, actually.
 
This leaves the rear half of the vehicle clear for the fighting compartment, in this case with a three-man turret mounting a two-pounder gun firing ammunition compatible with the Bofors forty millimetre AA gun – it makes resupply easier.’ Don caught Taylor’s wink as he remembered suggesting just that, in place of the very similar two-pounder ammunition historically used.
 
‘Thoroughly tested in a wide variety of conditions and about to enter mass production in three different factories.’
 
He moved on and more tarpaulins fell.