‘Heil Hitler!’ he shouted and marched out of the room.
Churchill said into the silence, ‘Good Lord.’
He turned back to the Duke and continued his affable conversation as before. The mood in the room lightened noticeably.
Now that our negotiations were complete I was starting to think anxiously about returning home. I could not see what more work I would be called upon to do for the Red Cross, but the inescapable fact was that I could not return to England on my own. I tried to find out from some of the people I was sitting close to what the arrangements for flying home were going to be, but everyone else was in the dark too.
At the end of the dinner, Winston Churchill rose to his feet and made a brief speech. For me, it was a moment of high anticipation, the thought of being present when he might have something to say of historic significance. As soon as he began speaking, though, it was clear that he saw this as no opportunity for high oratory. In plain language he merely congratulated us on our work and said that despite the apparent bad faith of the Nazi leadership he believed the treaty would hold and that the peace would be genuine and lasting. He also explained that he was obliged to return to London as soon as possible. After his few words he sat down to warm applause. Somehow, imperceptibly, he had turned the meeting round: it was no longer an international forum for peace, but was now a Churchill occasion.
Not long after, we began to collect our personal property together as cars arrived to take us back to our hotel in Stockholm. When I passed through the main conference room for the last time, I saw Winston Churchill there. He broke off his conversation and came across to me, his cigar smoke trailing behind him. He was cradling a brandy balloon, with a generous quantity of the liquor swilling around inside.
‘I remember you from our meeting at Admiralty House last week,’ he said, without preamble. ‘Your name is J. L. Sawyer, is it not?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Let me ask you a question, Mr Sawyer. Your name had already come up before I met you. There was some confusion about you which I think Dr Burckhardt might finally have resolved for me, but I should like to hear it from you too. He tells me you have a brother or a close relative with the same name as you.’
‘I have a brother, Mr Churchill. We are twins, identical twins.’ I briefly explained about the similarity of our initials.
‘I see. Your brother is the one serving in the air force, I take it?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘And he is the married one of you?’
‘No, sir. I believe he is still single.’
‘But then you are married. To a German?’
‘My wife is a naturalized British citizen, Mr Churchill.’ I added quickly, ‘She came to England before the war began and we were married five years ago.’
Churchill nodded with some sympathy. ‘I understand your concerns perhaps. There is no need for you to worry any longer about your wife’s position. But let me say that I have been amused by the confusion your name was creating, because something of the sort once happened to me. When I was younger I discovered that there was another Winston Churchill loose in the world, this one an American. A novelist he was and rather a good one too. We were both writing books and before anyone realized what was happening we innocently caused a muddle. Ever since I have used the S for Spencer as a middle initial, but only on my books.’
He seemed to be in an expansive, talkative mood and in spite of his warning at dinner that he had to hurry back to London he did not appear to be in any great haste to leave me. Because of that, I raised the subject that was on my mind.
‘Sir, do you suppose the Germans really intend to observe the peace?’
‘I do, Mr Sawyer. As you know, most of the impetus for peace came first from their side. Hess clearly intended that he and I should fall into each other’s arms like long-lost brothers. That is not my way in any event. Although I will parley with Nazis I do not expect to have to hug them afterwards.’
‘He seemed furiously angry as he left.’
‘Indeed he did. But if it is any consolation to you, I can tell you that the peace has already broken out. Because you have been here in Sweden, you will not know that on Saturday night London suffered the worst air raid of the war. Terrible damage was done and many people died. Since then, though, not a single German plane has crossed the Channel. We too launched massive air raids against Germany on the same night, but they were the last we will be flying. U-boat activity in the Atlantic has entirely ceased. The desert war has halted. Our navy is still on patrol, the air force is flying constantly and the army remains vigilant everywhere, but there hasn’t been a single hostile incident from either side since Sunday afternoon. Because we have not yet had the opportunity to announce our armistice, the war will continue in theory for the time being, but in every practical way there has been a cease-fire for more than twenty-four hours.’
Mr Churchill swirled his brandy one more time and tipped the balloon against his lips.
‘Then why did Hess act the way he did?’ I said.
‘I do not know. Maybe because I refused to shake his bloodstained hand.’ Churchill made a chortling sound. ‘I suspect darker deeds will soon be afoot, and his departure in that fashion was a little play-acting for our benefit. Most people are afraid of the Nazis, but I find them tiresome, as everyone else will too, once their threat to our safety has passed. This reminds me, though. Now that we have entered the post-war period you’ll have to find a new job. I have one I can offer you. We are going to need an organizer with special skills to act on behalf of British interests in Berlin. It would be an administrative job, concerned with moving all those people to Madagascar. It’ll be a huge responsibility, but Dr Burckhardt says that no less a man than you should be the one.’
I heard what he said with an extraordinary sense of déjà vu.
‘I really don’t know, sir,’ I said, the arguments against such a move fresh in my mind. ‘I would like to have time to think about it. There’s my wife, and the upheaval—’
‘The government can take care of problems like that. You would be attached to the Foreign Office, working from the British Embassy, but it would not be a diplomatic appointment. You’d be responsible directly to the prime minister’s office.’
‘To you, sir?’ I said.
‘To the office I presently hold. As you should remember, I shall not be holding the office much beyond the end of this week.’ I felt myself starting to blush at my gaffe. Mr Churchill paid no heed. ‘Of course you may have time to think about it. We won’t need to make the appointment until next month and work will not have to start until August.’
Churchill stuck his cigar into his mouth and walked away from me.
23
Extract from Prime Ministerial broadcast, BBC Home Service, 6 p.m., Tuesday May 13, 1941. Full version in Hansard, May 13, 1941.
Mr Winston Churchill:
‘This afternoon at two o’clock I had the honour and privilege of informing Parliament that the war between Britain and Germany is at an end. I have just returned from Stockholm where I have signed a full armistice with the German government. There can be no greater or better news than word of peace. Everything for which we fought over the last year and a half has been achieved, in spite of terrible difficulties. Our country has endured the greatest onslaught of arms it has ever known. We have seen our cities burned, our cathedrals gutted, our homes shattered. We have lived of necessity in darkness, in fear, under the drone of enemy planes.
‘For the last twelve months, after the fall of our allies in Europe, we in Great Britain, together with our friends from the Empire who came to our aid, have stood alone against the scourge of Hitlerism. We have not shrunk from the duty that history thrust upon us. It fell to us, to our generation of ordinary men and women, to resist the Nazis with unbending resolve. We did it because we had to. We did it without question, we did it bravely and with unrelenting vigour. We did it with thoughts of freedom, and hope, and a wish for a bett
er world. We did it because there was no one else to do it.
‘Herr Hitler and his legions have marched across Europe. They were a terrible enemy: harsh, ruthless, mightily armed and seemingly devoid of human feelings. But we finally stopped Hitler at the Channel coast of France. Last summer, thinking it was only a pause in his great progress, he went to France to see for himself. He stood on the Pas de Calais and looked across the narrow waters towards our white cliffs, so near and yet so far. He reached out for them, intending to take them. It was then that he found his match at last. The indomitable spirit of the English, the Welsh, the Scottish, rose up without question or pause for thought, prepared to lose everything, determined to lose nothing, ready for sacrifice, eager for victory. In truth, we had little more at first than a fist to shake at Hitler. The courage of the British race was never better shown, never admired more widely. Our finest hour followed, our most splendid year, our saving grace. Our tiny island, battered though it has become, bombarded though it was, and besieged as it has been, remained free. It is free now. And it will remain for ever free.
‘Hitler’s war has been fought in vain. He has not prevailed. We have not yielded to his threats, dodged his bombs or run away from his shells. We are still here, as united as ever in our resistance to him. Our reward is that an honourable peace has been achieved.
‘We British are slow to anger, quick to forgive. We are cheerful, optimistic and generous, we love our homes and our families, we cherish our countryside. We are sometimes puzzling to our friends, eccentric even to each other. We are an island race who have taken our culture out to the world. But as Herr Hitler and his friends have discovered, we are also tough, brave and resourceful. We do not yield to threats. We do not panic. We do not give up. We cannot be bullied into submission. When knocked to the floor we spring back at once to our feet, our defiance redoubled, our anger the more keen, our determination to fight for what we believe in more deadly than before.
‘A year ago I promised you that if we should come through this struggle, the life of the world would move into broad, sunlit uplands. That prospect is before us at last.
‘We did not seek or want this war. We had nothing to gain for ourselves by fighting it. We had no territorial gains in mind. We did not even have a quarrel with the ordinary German people. We fought only for the principle of freedom. We were not prepared to be pushed around by the Nazis, and did not see why anyone else should be. So the moment did arise and we therefore braced ourselves to the necessary duty. We dared to resist, we dared to stand firm, we dared to fight to whatever end it would take. The sacrifice has been made and now it is at an end. We have come through the darkest hours this country has ever known, and we are the greater for it.
‘I said as I began that there could be no better news than the news of peace. I have, though, one extra tiding for you, that I believe you will consider to be an improvement even on peace itself. Just before I went into the House this afternoon word came to me that there have been great and important and permanent changes inside Germany. In a sudden access of good sense, the German people have removed Adolf Hitler from office, and not a moment too soon. We do not yet know the fate of Herr Hitler, nor are we going to expend any energy in trying to find out. Good riddance, I say, and here I know I speak for us all. The man who has replaced him as German Chancellor, Rudolf Hess, is the co-signatory to the cease-fire we have arranged. We may safely assume that our peace accord remains in place. Herr Hess, in my experience, will not be any easier to deal with than his predecessor, but at least we shall not have to fight him.
‘We therefore have a rare opportunity to celebrate our country’s glory and for that reason I have declared tomorrow a public holiday. Tomorrow, celebrate with deserved and unashamed joy, in reward for what you have earned. Tonight, though, as a preliminary, we can turn our backs on the recent past with a simple gesture of freedom. Celebrate tonight by switching on the lights in your house and opening your curtains, throwing wide your windows. All danger is past. Let the world find out where we live, see us again for what we are.
‘Long live the cause of freedom. Advance, Britannia! God save the King!’
24
Holograph notebooks of J. L. Sawyer
xxviii
Our negotiating team flew back to England the day after Churchill departed. After a long run across the lake, the great white seaplane lifted away from the smooth waters of Stora Värten. It climbed slowly in a wide, shallow turn above the trees of the countryside and the steep roofs of Stockholm. The mood of everyone in the cabin of the aircraft was one of great elation. None of us stayed in our seats for long during the flight, but for most of the time we clustered excitedly in the narrow spaces and aisle, talking eagerly about what we had achieved, how we had done it, what our hopes were for the bright future that we had helped create.
When the pilot announced some three hours later that the plane was flying along the British coast I moved to one of the seats next to a window, staring out with feelings of rejoicing at the green countryside, the line of white breakers, the smooth blue sea. We were somewhere above the Channel, following the English south coast, not high above the waves nor far from the land. I could see small seaside resorts, tall white cliffs, distant downs. On this day of bright sunshine the country looked remarkably whole from the plane, undamaged by the war. I knew that close up the reality was different, but from this passing eminence it was possible to glimpse England as she had been, as she would be again.
When we were not far from Southampton a flight of RAF Spitfires appeared from high in the blue, streaking down past us, cavorting and rolling, repeatedly circling us as we growled slowly along above the waves. They stayed with us all the way to the Solent, a joyful escort. As we were preparing to make our landing they moved away, formated in the distance into the shape of a long vee, then made one last pass above us, the roar of their engines clearly audible inside our cabin. Then they disappeared towards the land and our slow, cumbersome flying-boat made its crashing, bouncing arrival on the choppy surface of Southampton Water.
Half an hour later, as we stepped ashore from a naval launch, a small crowd applauded us politely. We went through the formalities of arrival in a slight daze, hardly daring to believe that the radical lifting of the mood of the country which we could already sense was real, permanent.
I craved to go home, to see Birgit, to be there with her in the last days before our baby was born, but the problems of travelling around in wartime Britain were not yet a thing of the past. The government had at short notice declared the day a public holiday – PE Day, Peace in Europe Day – and there were no trains, buses, or indeed any easy or affordable way of leaving Southampton until the next morning.
So there was one more night I had to spend away. The Red Cross found us rooms in a small hotel away from the town centre. The dock area and much of the business quarter of the city had been destroyed during the Blitz and choices were few. I decided to make the best of it. As soon as I had put my bag in my bedroom I went to find the others downstairs.
At the bottom of the main staircase I saw a tall figure standing by the window, staring out. He was in military uniform and was holding his cap beneath his left elbow. When he heard my footsteps on the stairs, he turned to look at me and quietly intercepted me as I made to pass him.
He said, ‘Are you Mr Joseph Sawyer?’
‘I am.’ I felt the first tremor of concern.
‘I’m Group Captain Piggott, sir, attached to 1 Group, Royal Air Force, in Lincolnshire. I’d like to speak to you privately. I hope it won’t take more than a few moments.’
‘It’s Jack, isn’t it?’ I said at once, responding to the man’s grave tone of voice. ‘You’ve brought bad news about my brother.’
The officer indicated a door leading to a small lounge at one side. He held it open, so that I could walk through ahead of him. He closed the door behind us. Everything about his manner indicated that the news about to be broken to me was the worst.
br /> ‘I’m afraid it is about your brother, sir.’
‘Has he been killed?’
‘No, I’m relieved to tell you that he has not. But he has been badly wounded.’
‘How serious is it?’
‘His wounds are extensive but his life is not thought to be in danger. I haven’t seen him myself, but I was able to speak to the doctor in charge before I came here to contact you. Your brother is in hospital and he’s under sedation. He’s young and strong and they believe that in time he will make a full recovery.’
‘Can you tell me how bad his injuries are?’
‘I don’t know the full details, Mr Sawyer, but I was told that among other injuries he has a fractured leg, cracked ribs, a blow to the skull, many cuts and bruises. He was injured when his plane was shot down. He spent about eighteen hours in an emergency dinghy before he was rescued. This is often the fate of our airmen. If we could only find them and transfer them to hospital before they are exposed to the elements for too long, they would be able to recover more quickly. However, we do what we can.’
‘When did it happen?’
‘His plane was shot down on Saturday night, early Sunday morning. Your brother had taken part in a successful raid against Hamburg when his Wellington was hit by flak. There was only one other survivor from his plane. The navigator, I believe.’
We stood there in silence for a little while, the air force man standing courteously beside me while I tried to take in the import of his news.
The last raid of the war, Churchill had told me. The last we will be flying, he had said.
xxix
From the time of my accident during the London Blitz, six months earlier, I had not touched a drop of alcohol. There was a deliberate reason for it: I had no idea what triggered my lucid imaginings but they often occurred when I was drowsy or when my attention wandered. Some instinct told me that drinking might increase the likelihood of an attack. It had been reasonably easy to stay away from alcohol since then. At certain times – such as in Stockholm, when many toasts to the peace treaty had been drunk in champagne – it had been possible for me to find a non-alcoholic alternative without making a fuss about it.