The Last Lion Box Set: Winston Spencer Churchill, 1874 - 1965 (188 page)

All Britain was vulnerable to Nazi bombers; modern aircraft traveling 200, 230, and even 240 miles an hour possessed an “enormous range…. The flying peril is not a peril from which one can fly. It is necessary to face it where we stand. We cannot possibly retreat. We cannot move London. We cannot move the vast population which is dependent upon the estuary of the Thames.”
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Characteristically, Churchill had singled out one issue—air power—and would set all else aside when the RAF/Luftwaffe question arose. The year ahead would be crowded with crises, and he would play an active role in all of them, but he would always return to the question of England’s strength in the air, for there England’s very life was at risk. It was the linchpin of his military policy, linked to his call for collective security as diplomatic policy. If European states threatened by Nazi aggression agreed to confront Hitler with a solid phalanx of nations, as Napoleon had been confronted at Leipzig, the RAF’s Fighter Command need never fly into battle.

Facing the hostility of all three party leaders—Baldwin, Attlee, even Liberal leader Archie Sinclair—the old lion braced himself and demanded emergency appropriations to establish an air force “substantially stronger” than Germany’s. If Britain lost her lead, “even for a month,” it should be considered “a high crime against the state.” The turnout in the last election, he reminded them, was the largest in Britain’s history, and the people had voted, above all things, for the maintenance and security of their native land. “That was the emotion which brought us into power, and I venture to say: Do not, whatever be the torrent of abuse which may obstruct the necessary action, think too poorly of the greatness of our fellow countrymen. Let the House do its duty. Let the Government give the lead, and the nation will not fail in the hour of need.”
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Frances Stevenson, Lloyd George’s mistress, watched the speech from the Strangers’ Gallery. In her diary she wrote that she did not think Winston “spoke as well as usual. But I suppose it was the
matter
of the speech that was more important than the delivery…. There was imagination in it too, coupled with a patriotism that was almost imperialistic.”
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Baldwin rose to reply for the government. He was skeptical of Winston’s information. It was “extraordinarily difficult” to acquire accurate figures on German air strength; in that respect the Third Reich was “a dark continent.” But in his position he had access to highly classified reports, he said, and he could assure the House that it was “not the case” that the German air arm was “rapidly approaching equality with us”; alarmists to the contrary, Germany’s strength was “not fifty percent” of England’s. In his reply to Churchill he said: “I cannot look further forward than the next two years,” but “such investigations as I have been able to make lead me to believe that his figures are considerably exaggerated.” Indeed, no other conclusion was reasonable, because “the Royal Air Force is far superior to German air power” and would hold a margin of 50 percent superiority.

Baldwin then made a formal pledge, to Parliament, his king, and his country:

What possessed Stanley Baldwin, the shrewdest of politicians, to climb out so far on so brittle a limb—and for the second time within the year? On that earlier occasion, March 8, 1934, in the face of heated questioning from Churchill, Baldwin had assured Parliament: “Any Government of this country—a National Government more than any, and this Government—will see to it that in air strength and air power this country shall no longer be in a position inferior to any country within striking distance of our shores.”
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Now, as then, Baldwin wanted to silence Churchill, and he had, but the price was exorbitant. he had also been swayed by his craving for peace, of course, and his enjoyment of great personal popularity in the country. Still another explanation is that he ran what parliamentarians call an “easy” government, letting his ministers handle decisions in their departments while he acted as chairman of the board. So great was his indifference to diplomacy that the Foreign Office came to think of itself as a remote kingdom. Finally, the possibilities of error were multiplied by an irrational factor: Baldwin and those around him had repeatedly refused to believe that Hitler was what Hitler was. They had, in short, developed the political equivalent of a mental block.

If Baldwin had shut his mind to what was happening in Europe, however, he certainly knew the meaning of a solemn vow. No public school boy could survive the sixth form without a rigid sense of honor, and Baldwin, a Harrovian, knew how the Game was Played. But appeasement had begun to corrode the character of its evangelists. They were learning how to break promises and survive.

The immediate aftermath of Baldwin’s November pledge is more interesting than the pledge itself, for it reveals the deeper motives of the men then governing England, ministers of the Crown who believed they were preserving the peace when in fact they were assuring the inevitability of war—and the end of Britain’s role as a great power. When Baldwin committed his government to setting aside £130,000 for Britain’s defenses, to abolish their “worst deficiencies,” his own chancellor of the Exchequer cut him off at the pass. Bargaining relentlessly in cabinet meetings, Neville Chamberlain succeeded in paring down the £130,000 to £75,000 and finally to £25,000.

Although Chamberlain’s position on rearmament would blur after he moved from No. 11 Downing Street to No. 10, as chancellor he fought every appeal for funds from the War Office, the Admiralty, and the Air Ministry. If Clausewitz saw war as a science, the chancellor viewed it as a business, or at any rate as an enterprise to be managed in the style of successful businessmen. When pondering decisions he liked to make a steeple of his hands and ruminate, looking out across the Horse Guards as to a mote in the middle distance. It was meaningless rite. His was a closed mind. Like Baldwin he was suspicious of innovations and of intellect. His Majesty’s Government’s position was that it would not prevent scientists or any other private citizens from preparing for war, provided they pay for it out of their own pockets and do nothing to obstruct the nation’s business. Lord Weir, a Scottish manufacturer who also served as an adviser to the Air Ministry, said that an RAF expansion would do precisely that, so the project was shelved. Chamberlain explained to the House: “What we have to do is carry through in a limited period of time, measures which will make exceptionally heavy demands on industry and upon certain classes of skilled labour, without impeding the course of normal trade.” He was willing to accept larger arms budgets, but believed that, for financial reasons, there must be a limit. That limit meant the gap between Britain’s defense establishment and Germany’s would continue to widen.
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I
n January 1935 two British peers visited the Reich Chancellery, on the Wilhelmstrasse, where they held vague discussions with Hitler on the subject of arms limitations. The talks were inconclusive, but since the Führer hadn’t actually closed any doors, the FO was cautiously optimistic. Sir John Simon proposed that as foreign secretary he call at the chancellery and explore treaty possibilities. Arrangements were made and a meeting scheduled for March 6. Simon and Eden were packing on March 5 when the German ambassador telephoned to say that the talks would have to be postponed. The Führer had caught “a cold” (
“Erkältung”
) and was in bed, miserable and short-tempered.

The Foreign Office was familiar with diplomatic colds. Other sources in Berlin confirmed what was suspected: Hitler was furious at Britain. From Chartwell Churchill wrote Clementine that Hitler had flown “into a violent rage and refused to receive Simon…. This gesture of spurning the British Foreign Secretary from the gates of Berlin is a significant measure of the conviction which Hitler has of the strength of the German Air Force and Army.”
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There was an explanation for the Führer’s
Zorn
. In London Baldwin’s pledge to keep the RAF supreme in the sky had already begun to look wobbly. The fragments of information about German air strength pieced together by the Foreign Office were, as Michael Creswell put it, “most alarming.” The Central Department had discussed the data, and Ralph Wigram had drawn up a memorandum for the cabinet. His latest information, assembled and analyzed, revealed that by 1936 the German air arm would surpass France’s and exceed Britain’s “very greatly.” There was now no doubt, Wigram had concluded, that Nazi Germany was “out for superiority.”
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Even Chamberlain had realized that something must be done. On March 4, therefore, His Majesty’s Government had issued a White Paper on air defense. In it, HMG deplored the swiftness of Nazi rearmament, which, together with the belligerence of the government in Berlin, was identified as contributing to a general European “feeling of insecurity.” The government therefore announced plans to expedite air force increases and proposed a major additional defense appropriation. Churchill was elated. He wrote Clementine that “all the frightened nations are at last beginning to huddle together.”
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If Churchill was encouraged by the proposed increases, Hitler was enraged—hence his refusal to meet with Simon. Ralph Wigram wrote: “One wonders if in this ‘rage’ there is not also a design to make [it] difficult for the Govt here… to challenge the German rearmament.” That, he pointed out, “would be entirely in the tradition of German diplomacy.” Three days later Vansittart minuted: “All this is a far more overt German interference in British internal politics than anything the Soviets have done.”
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The Labour MPs remained pacifists to the man. Attlee moved to censure the government for recommending the increases. Though the Labour censure motion was defeated soundly, an air estimates debate was scheduled for Tuesday, March 19.

Meantime, Hitler was neither coughing nor sneezing. Instead he was unusually active, pacing his huge office in the Reich Chancellery, pondering a momentous move. Before April 1, he had promised General Ludwig Beck, an honorable officer who believed Germany’s secret buildup was dishonorable, he would denounce the Versailles
Diktat
as
null und nichtig
. The time seemed ripe. The Versailles carbuncle had been festering long enough. Now he would lance it. To be sure, it would be awkward if France drew her sword. Her 352,000 poilus in metropolitan France could rout his half-formed army. But his instincts told him that they would shrink from force. He decided to test them. Air Minister Göring was told to announce the existence of the Luftwaffe. Everyone already knew it was there, but coming from a Reich minister the announcement would mean a formal, public rejection of the
Diktat
. London and Paris could either fight or submit. His instincts were right. They submitted. On March 9 Göring made his declaration, and the Quai d’Orsay was silent.

The following Saturday, March 16, with the British prime minister and his cabinet relaxing in their remote country homes, Hitler took the next step. After formally renouncing the Versailles treaty he decreed that all German youths were subject to conscription. The next day was Germany’s annual Memorial Day,
Heldengedenktag
. The officer corps, wearing decorations and dress uniforms, gathered in the State Opera House to observe the occasion, the “spiked helmets of the old Imperial Army,” writes William Shirer, who was there, “mingling with the… sky-blue uniforms of the Luftwaffe, which few had seen before.”
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Churchill had tried again and again to tell Parliament that Germany was on a war footing. As he later wrote in the
Strand
, “the full terror of this revelation” now broke “upon the careless and imprudent world,” as Hitler cast aside “concealment.” He saw but one solution. France must use her superiority while she still had it.
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But as Hitler had anticipated and Churchill had feared, France did nothing of the sort. In Geneva the French weakly lodged a protest at Germany’s “violation of international law.” The League of Nations condemned the Führer’s decrees but rejected all proposals of punitive action, including sanctions.

In the House of Commons on March 19, Sir Philip Sassoon, parliamentary under secretary at the Air Ministry, announced that the RAF would be further strengthened by forty-one and a half squadrons over the next four years. During the past four months, he admitted, “the situation has deteriorated. There has been a great acceleration… in the manufacture of aircraft in Germany.” However, he assured the House, “at the end of this year we shall still have a margin, though I do not say a margin of 50 percent.”
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Churchill’s sources unanimously, and vehemently, disagreed. The cabinet, he learned, was aware of the “potential superiority of German air power” but had concluded that Britain must learn to live with it. Baldwin must have known that the air debate would produce a stormy session, and any doubts he may have harbored had been dispelled by a letter from Churchill, who bluntly told him that he meant to raise the issue of the Reich’s growing strength. “I believe,” he wrote, “that the Germans are already as strong as we are and possibly stronger.” The March 4 White Paper, because of its inadequacy, could actually widen the gap between the two air forces. Then: “This will of course run contrary to your statement that ‘this country shall no longer be in a position inferior to any country within striking distance of our shores.’ ” He ended ominously: “I shall argue that according to such knowledge as I have been able to acquire, this is not being made good, as will be rapidly proved by events.”
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