The Last Lion Box Set: Winston Spencer Churchill, 1874 - 1965 (83 page)

The Admiralty’s trial mobilization had begun, as scheduled, in the middle of July, over two weeks after the Sarajevo murders. The grand review was held on July 18. Churchill called it “incomparably the greatest assemblage of naval power ever witnessed in the world”—223 battleships, armored cruisers, light cruisers, destroyers, minesweepers, and submarines parading past the royal yacht and the
Enchantress
at Spithead, with the King and his first lord taking the salute. Normally, the next step would have been demobilization of all three fleets, accompanied by liberty for the regular tars and tickets home for the reservists. It wasn’t taken. Churchill, concerned about rumors from central Europe, published an Admiralty notice in the newspapers of July 20: “Orders have been given to the First Fleet, which is concentrated at Portland, not to disperse for naval leave at the present. All vessels of the Second Fleet are remaining at their home ports in proximity to their balance crews.” Yet he was confident that negotiations would settle the differences between Vienna and Belgrade. In a letter to Grey two days later, drawing an analogy between that problem and the more urgent situation in Ulster, he wrote that if the question were how to uphold British interests on the Continent, “you wd proceed by two stages. First you wd labour to stop Austria & Russia going to war: second, if that failed, you wd try to prevent England, France, Germany & Italy being drawn in.” In either instance, mediation was the solution. The following day Lloyd George, who concurred, assured the House that “civilization” would have no difficulty in regulating disputes which arose between nations, by means of “some sane and well-ordered arbitrament.”
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After studying the note Grey had read to the cabinet, however, Churchill wrote Clementine: “Europe is trembling on the verge of a general war, the Austrian ultimatum to Servia [sic] being the most insolent document of its kind ever devised.” It was in fact remarkable. Serbia was required to suppress all criticism of Austria-Hungary in newspapers, magazines, societies, and schools; Serbain officials and teachers who had spoken unfavorably of Austrians were to be dismissed; certain Serbs known to be unfriendly to Austria were to be arrested at once; and Austrian officers were to enter Serbia to enforce all these demands and investigate the Sarajevo assassinations. Belgrade must reply to this ultimatum within forty-eight hours. A request for an extension was denied. In Vienna the foreign minister acknowledged that the tone of the note was “such that we must reckon on the probability of war.”
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“Happily,” Asquith wrote the King, “there seems to be no reason why we should be anything more than spectators.” Churchill shared his view. At Overstrand, on the Norfolk coast, he had rented a little holiday house called Pear Tree Cottage for Clementine and the children—Goonie Churchill and her two young sons had taken nearby Beehive Cottage—and Friday evening he postponed an Admiralty meeting which had been scheduled for Saturday morning, preferring to spend the weekend at the shore. He wrote: “My darling one, I have managed to put off my naval conference and am coming to you & the kittens tomorrow by the 1 o’clock train.” Before he left London, good news arrived: Serbia had accepted all demands upon it except the supervision of compliance by Austrian officers, and Belgrade offered to submit that question to the Hague Court. Even the kaiser believed this reply had removed “every reason for war.” Winston told Prince Louis to run the Admiralty in his absence; he would stay in touch by phone. On the beach he organized the children, distributed buckets and spades, and directed them while they built a sand castle against the rising tide. The surf leveled it. As he remembered later: “We dammed the little rivulets which trickled down to the sea as the tide went out. It was a very beautiful day. The North Sea sparkled to a far horizon.”
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Pear Tree Cottage had no telephone, but their nearest neighbor, Sir Edgar Speyer, a rich German Jew, had offered the use of his. It was here, at noon on Sunday, that Churchill heard the latest development from Prince Louis. Vienna had declared the Serbian response unsatisfactory, severed diplomatic relations with Belgrade, and ordered partial mobilization against the Serbs—who had already mobilized their army. Winston was on the next London train. There newsboys were hawking extras; Vienna had “burst into a frenzy of delight, vast crowds parading in the streets and singing patriotic songs.” At the Admiralty he learned that the first sea lord had anticipated him; the Third Fleet had completed its test mobilization and was scheduled to disperse, but Prince Louis had ordered it to remain ready for battle, and at 4:05
P.M.
he had telegraphed: “Admiralty to C in C Home Fleets. Decypher. No ships of First Fleet or Flotillas are to leave Portland until further orders. Acknowledge.” Churchill approved and began a ten-day shuttle between his office, Whitehall, No. 10, and Admiralty House, catching sleep in brief naps. Other ministers grew wan. He thrived.
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The following morning, Monday, July 27, the cabinet met for the first discussion of the crisis on the Continent. Clearly the Austrians meant to invade Serbia. That might bring in Russia, the Serbs’ ally, which might bring in Germany, Austria’s ally, which might bring in France, Russia’s ally. The kaiser, aware of the threat on his western frontier, might launch a preemptive strike into northern France. If that happened, the Liberal militants thought, England might become involved. A majority of the ministers disagreed. The Entente Cordiale of 1904 was not binding, they pointed out; it was merely “a sentimental liaison.” Grey’s assurance to the French had been unofficial. In an unpublished note Churchill wrote afterward: “The Cabinet was absolutely against war and would never have agreed to being committed to war at this moment.” A message arrived from Pear Tree Cottage: “Goodnight my Dearest One. I trust the news may be better tomorrow. Surely every hour of delay must make the forces of peace more powerful. It would be a wicked war.” Winston had no intention of making it wickeder by being caught off guard. That night he telegraphed all British fleets, squadrons, and flotillas, scattered over five oceans: “European political situation makes war between Triple Alliance and Triple Entente Powers by no means impossible. This is
not
the Warning Telegram but be prepared to shadow possible hostile men-of-war…. Measure is purely precautionary. The utmost secrecy is to be observed and no unnecessary person is to be informed.”
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Austria-Hungary declared war on Tuesday, July 28, and bombed Belgrade. Both Winston and Prince Louis were worried about the position of the First Fleet, now anchored off the Isle of Wight. It was vulnerable there, and a navy’s primary duty, as Mahan had written, was to remain “a fleet in being”; Churchill pointed out that the admiral commanding the Home Fleet was the only man in Europe who could “lose the war in the course of an afternoon.” The ships’ war station was Scottish waters, where they would be secure and a deterrent to any sudden German attack, at the same time serving notice that England was prepared. Yet Winston “feared to bring this matter before the Cabinet,” he wrote, “lest it should be mistakenly considered a provocative action likely to damage the chances of peace.” Instead, he went to No. 10 and told Asquith he was going to act on his own authority. The prime minister, he recalled, “looked at me with a hard stare and gave a sort of grunt. I did not require anything else.” That night, on his instructions, an eighteen-mile-long procession of darkened ships steamed through the Strait of Dover. Dawn found the battleships in Scapa Flow and the battle cruisers off Rosyth, in the Firth of Forth. “A surprise torpedo attack,” wrote Winston, was “at any rate one nightmare gone forever.”
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By Wednesday both Grey and Churchill had recommended to the cabinet, which now met daily, that England take the lead in proposing a conference of great powers to avert catastrophe. Germany had the Continent’s strongest army, so Berlin was approached first. The kaiser wouldn’t discuss it. Until now Winston had believed that peace was possible; Albert Ballin’s biographer describes how, when he took leave of Ballin, Churchill “implored him, almost with tears in his eyes, not to go to war.” But Thursday morning, when seventy-three-year-old Lord Fisher called at the Admiralty to see what was happening, he found the first lord in high spirits, persuading Asquith to approve the warning telegram to all warships, supervising the general alert, and swiftly retiring senior officers he felt were unfit for war service. His most controversial move, applauded by Fisher but resented by almost every other flag officer, was the replacement of Sir George Callaghan, commander in chief of the Home Fleet, by Sir John Jellicoe. Callaghan was sixty-one and in robust health. David Beatty told Churchill that dismissing him was a mistake, and Jellicoe himself sent Winston six telegrams, begging him to change his mind. He wouldn’t do it. He was very sure of himself, making crucial decisions every hour and feeling remarkably euphoric. To Clementine he wrote: “The preparations have a hideous fascination for me. I pray to God to forgive me for such fearful moods of levity. Yet I wd do my best for peace, & nothing would induce me wrongfully to strike the blow.”
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But the blow, he decided Friday, must be struck. That afternoon Grey cabled Paris and Berlin, asking for formal assurances that they would respect Belgium’s neutrality “so long as no other power violates it.” France agreed; Germany did not reply. That was enough for Winston. Asquith and Kitchener joined him for lunch at the Admiralty. He listened attentively when Kitchener argued that “if we don’t back France when she is in real danger, we shall never… exercise real power again.” Asquith nodded in agreement. The prime minister still did not reflect the opinion of his cabinet, however. Churchill and Grey were with him—Grey intimated he would resign if they abandoned France—but the rest remained adamant. Churchill asked the cabinet to approve the final steps in naval mobilization and was refused. The strongest voice for British neutrality was Lloyd George, who had reconsidered his impulsive response to the Agadir incident three years earlier. Lord Hugh Cecil, the best man at Winston’s wedding, was one of the few Tories who agreed with George. England, they said, should remain aloof. After the meeting Churchill wrote “My dear Linky” that “divergent views are certainly to be expected in the grt issues now afoot. But you will be wrong if you suppose that this country will be committed to any war in wh its profound national interests—among wh I include its honour—are not clearly engaged.” In a discreet letter to Arthur Ponsonby that same afternoon he revealed where he thought Britain’s honor lay. “Balkan quarrels are no vital concern of ours,” he wrote. “But the march of events is sinister. The extension of the conflict by a German attack upon France or Belgium wd raise other issues.” And, in a third note, to Lord Robert Cecil, Linky’s brother: “If we allowed Belgian neutrality to be trampled down by Germany without exerting ourselves to aid France we shd be in a very melancholy position both in regard to our interests & our honour.”
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At the Admiralty he anxiously watched the moving flags and pins on his chart of the Mediterranean, now the scene of many French troop movements. The Germans had two capital ships there: the 23,000-ton battle cruiser
Goeben
and the 4,500-ton light cruiser
Breslau.
The
Goeben,
the size of a dreadnought, with a speed of 27.8 knots and immense firepower, “would easily be able,” Winston had noted, “to avoid the French battle squadrons and brushing aside or outstripping their cruisers, break in upon the transports and sink one after another of these vessels crammed with soldiers.” He notified his Mediterranean commander, Admiral Sir Berkeley Milne, that his first mission in the event of war would be to shield French troopships “by covering and if possible bringing into action individual fast German ships, particularly
Goeben.
” Milne was reminded that “the speed of your Squadrons is sufficient to enable you to choose your moment.” The first lord’s tone left no doubt; if the admiral failed, his career would be over. Churchill could put it no stronger than that. If the
Goeben
survived he could not be blamed.
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The controversy over two Turkish warships was, however, another matter. He mentioned it casually at the end of a letter to Clementine, written that Friday evening after he had dined with Asquith. “There is still hope although the clouds are blacker & blacker,” he began. “Germany is realising I think how great are the forces against her & is trying tardily to restrain her idiot ally. We are all working to soothe Russia. But everybody is preparing swiftly for war and at any moment now the stroke may fall. We are ready.” A maelstrom had enveloped London’s financial markets: “The city has simply broken into chaos. The world’s credit system is virtually suspended. You cannot sell stocks & shares. Quite soon it will not perhaps be possible to cash a cheque. Prices of goods are rising to panic levels.” That reminded him of the July expenses for Pear Tree; he thought £175 too high and wanted to see the bills. Almost as an after-thought he mentioned that “I am forcibly detaining the 2 Turkish Dreadnoughts wh are ready.” It was one of the most fateful sentences written in that fateful year.
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Turkey had joined no alliance. In 1911 its leaders had wanted to ally themselves with the British Empire, but Churchill, with the arrogance of his class in that time, had replied that they had ideas above their station. He had merely advised them not to alienate Britain, which “alone among European states… retains supremacy of the sea.” But the vigorous Young Turks, tired of hearing the Ottoman Empire scorned as the “Sick Man” of Europe, had raised £6,000,000 by popular subscription, with every Anatolian peasant contributing at least one coin, and made a down payment for two battleships, to be built in British shipyards and armed with 13.5-inch guns. Both vessels were ready by July; they had been christened the
Sultan Osman
and the
Reshadieh;
officers and sailors from Constantinople were on hand to take delivery. Now, at 12:30
A.M.
on the last day of the month, Churchill wrote the King that he had “taken the responsibility” of forbidding their departure. The Turkish commander was told his ships had been “requisitioned.” When he threatened to lead his men aboard, Churchill ordered that they be repelled “by armed force if necessary.” The Turkish naval minister protested. International law was moot on this point, but to the Turks it was outright piracy. Grey, as imperious as Winston, responded that England had appropriated the vessels to meet its “own needs in this crisis.” Applications for indemnification would be given “due consideration,” but there was no offer of compensation. The warships were summarily rechristened the
Agincourt
and the
Erin.
Turkey then turned to Germany, which eagerly grasped its hand. On August 2 the two countries signed a secret agreement. Churchill would write: “Ah! foolish-diligent Germans, working so hard, thinking so deeply, marching and counter-marching on the parade grounds of the Fatherland… how many bulwarks to your peace and glory did you not, with your own hands, successively tear down!” But in this case it was the diligent Churchill, in an almost unbelievable act, who tore down what could have been a British bulwark and thereby set the stage for a disaster whose chief victim would be he himself.
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R
ussia was mobilizing against Austria-Hungary. Germany, as Austria’s ally, therefore proclaimed a “threatening state of war.” At midnight on Thursday, July 30, the kaiser demanded the Russians demobilize at once, giving them twenty-four hours to stop and “make us a distinct declaration to that effect.” In England it was Bank Holiday Weekend. Saturday morning the governor of the Bank of England called on Lloyd George with the message that the City was “totally opposed to our intervening” in the coming conflict. In the Foreign Office, Grey was reluctantly informing the French ambassador, Paul Cambon, that thus far the dispute on the Continent had been “of no interest” to England, though “Belgian neutrality might become a factor.” Asquith wrote in his diary: “Of course everybody longs to stand aside.”
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Not everybody. His first lord of the Admiralty now relished the prospect of a fight—Jennie wrote Leonie that he now thought war “inevitable”—and the cabinet meeting that day was, as a consequence, tumultuous. Sir Maurice Hankey later wrote: “Winston Churchill was a man of a totally different type from all his colleagues. He had a real zest for war. If war there must needs be, he at least could enjoy it.” Asquith described him in that session as “very bellicose…. It is no exaggeration to say that Winston occupied at least half the time.” When he wasn’t talking, he was passing notes to Lloyd George, trying to persuade him to change his mind. Churchill wanted the cabinet to authorize full mobilization of the navy, including a call-up of all naval reserves. After what one minister called “a sharp discussion,” he was refused on the ground that such a move might, under the circumstances, be considered incendiary. Grey suggested that preliminary plans be drawn up for the dispatch of an expeditionary force to France. He, too, was turned down.
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