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.”208
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.”209
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.210
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.211
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.212
Russia 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 asi
de.”213
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.214
Of the eighteen ministers present, twelve went on record as being opposed to any support of France. Morley, John Burns, Sir John Simon, and Lewis Harcourt threatened to resign if they were overruled. Because of his seniority, Morley was their acknowledged leader, but the most vociferous pacifist was Lloyd George. George wasn’t even sure he would fight over Belgium. If the Germans took the direct route to France, he said, they would only cross a corner of the little country; it would just be a “little violation.” (Berlin would soon describe its earlier guarantee of Belgian neutrality as “a scrap of paper.”) Liberal back-benchers were even more vehement. That afternoon, in an informal caucus, they voted four to one for neutrality, “whatever happens in Belgium or elsewhere.” When news of the vacillation at No. 10 reached Printing House Square, the editor of The Times wrote his aunts: “Saturday was a black day for everyone who knew what was going on—more than half the Cabinet rotten and every prospect of a complete schism or a disastrous or dishonouring refusal to help France…. Winston has really done more than anyone else to save the situation.” But in doing it he was once more alienating members of his party, who had, Hankey wrote his wife, “not the smallest enthusiasm for war.”215
Churchill had invited Bonar Law and Grey to join him for dinner that Saturday evening. The Tory leader declined and Grey then withdrew, so Winston dined alone in Admiralty House. At 9:30 P.M. F.E. Smith and Max Aitken dropped in; two Admiralty officials joined them, and they sat down to bridge, Aitken being odd man out. The cards had just been dealt when a messenger arrived with a large red dispatch box. Winston produced his key, opened it, and drew out a single sheet of paper bearing six words: “Germany has declared war against Russia.” Showing it to the others, he gave Aitken his cards and rang for a servant to bring him a lounge coat. He was going to No. 10. Aitken observed: “He left the room quickly…. He was not depressed; he was not elated; he was not surprised…. Certainly he exhibited no fear or uneasiness. Neither did he show any signs of joy. He went straight out like a man going to a well-accustomed job.”216
In Downing Street he told Asquith that he intended to issue an immediate order for full naval mobilization: summoning forty thousand reservists to the colors to man the Third Fleet, putting all dockyards on a war footing, and directing cruiser squadrons and armed auxiliaries to police the world’s trade routes. That was precisely what the cabinet had forbidden him to do. Once more the prime minister gave silent consent. In Churchill’s words, he “simply sat and looked at me and said no more. No doubt he felt himself bound by the morning’s decision of the Cabinet. I certainly, however, sustained the impression that he would not put out a finger to stop me. I then walked back to the Admiralty and gave the order.” On the way he met Grey, who said: “I have just done a very important thing. I have told Cambon that we shall not allow the German fleet to come into the Channel.” At 1:00 A.M., Winston wrote Clementine: “Cat-dear, it is all up. Germany has quenched the last hopes of peace by declaring war on Russia, & the declaration against France is momentarily expected.” He knew that she, like most Liberals, was praying for peace. “I profoundly understand your views,” he continued. “But the world is gone mad—& we must look after ourselves—& our friends…. Sweet Kat—my tender love—Your devoted W.” He added a postcript: “Kiss the kittens.”217
Years later, Churchill pointed out to Aitken that “the mobilization was actually ordered against Cabinet decision and without legal authority.” On Sunday Asquith’s ministers faced a hard choice. Either they ratified the actions taken by the first lord and the foreign secretary during the night, or the government fell. Reluctantly, they gave their approval, though Grey was instructed to tell the French that no British troops could be sent across the Channel. Thus England, carrying the whole Empire with it, slowly tilted toward France. No overt action was authorized—the British fleet would intervene only if the Germans tried to attack France by sea—but the Liberal rift nevertheless deepened. Morley and Burns resigned; Lloyd George abstained. Asquith said: “We are on the brink of a split.” After they broke up, Winston, with a careless disregard for party loyalty, approached F.E. Smith and said the Liberals were seriously divided. Would the Conservatives consider the formation of a coalition government? F. E. sounded out Bonar Law, who sensibly replied that any such proposal should come from the prime minister. He did, however, empower F.E. to tell Churchill that the overwhelming majority of Tory MPs favored backing France to the hilt.218
“Urgent. German ship Goeben at Taranto,” read a telegram to Winston from the British consul in that Italian seaport. Churchill instantly wired Milne: “Goeben must be shadowed by two battle cruisers.” But the admiral bungled the job; the German ship reached Messina a few hours after Italy’s declaration of neutrality, fueled, and steamed eastward toward Turkey. Everything now was being cut very fine. By a little maneuvering the kaiser could still have kept England out of the war. Instead, he declared war on France on Monday and informed the Belgians that German troops would enter their country within twelve hours. That turned Lloyd George around. He decided that British public opinion wouldn’t stand for it. If the Germans refused to withdraw their threat to Belgium, he said, England must fight. There were more resignations from the cabinet, and Morley bitterly accused George of succumbing to “the influence of the splendid condottiere at the Admiralty,” but Redmond guaranteed the support of the Irish Nationalists, and when the prime minister, chancellor, foreign secretary, and first lord entered the House, they received a standing ovation. Pale and haggard, Grey declared that if England deserted Belgium, “we should, I believe, sacrifice our respect and good name and reputation before the world.” As they left the Treasury Bench together, Churchill asked him, “What happens now?” “Now,” Grey replied, “we shall send them an ultimatum to stop the invasion of Belgium within twenty-four hours.” Back in the House the member for Burnley, Philip Morrell, rose to protest the abandonment of neutrality. He was drowned out by shouts of “Sit down! Sit down!” Morrell’s wife, Lady Ottoline, and her lover, Bertrand Russell, glumly walked the streets of Bloomsbury, trying to console each other. Most other Bloomsbury intellectuals were despondent. Lytton Strachey was an exception. “God has put us on an island and Winston has given us a navy,” he said. “It would be absurd to neglect those advantages.” The most prescient remark, oddly, came from Grey, that elegant, childless widower who had done more than anyone else to commit Britain’s youth. Standing at a window with a friend that evening, watching the street-lamps being lit, he said: “The lamps are going out all over Europe. We shall not see them lit again in our lifetime.” It was an epitaph with special application to 750,000 English boys, children only yesterday, soon to be slain in battle:219
For we are very lucky, with a lamp before the door
And Leerie stops to light it as he lights so many more;
And O! before you hurry by with ladder and with light,
O Leerie, see a little child and nod to him tonight!
Thus the rush of cataclysmic events
came down to Tuesday, August 4, 1914, when at midnight Berlin time—11:00 P.M. in London—Grey’s ultimatum to Germany would expire. In Pear Tree Cottage, Clementine, troubled by the peremptory retiring of Admiral Callaghan, was writing her husband, begging him to consider “the deep wound in an old man’s heart…. Please see him yourself & take him by the hand and (additional) offer him a seat on the Board, or if this is impossible give him some advisory position at the Admiralty…. Don’t think this is a trivial matter. At this moment you want everyone’s heart & soul.” It was excellent advice; Winston had made altogether too many enemies, some on matters of principle but others through sheer thoughtlessness, and the moment was rapidly approaching when he would need every friend he could find. That Tuesday was not the day to start making them, however. There wasn’t time. He was alerting the captains of all British merchant ships, which flew the red ensign, and he was engrossed in the movements of the Goeben. Two British warships had sighted her at 9:30 A.M. He wired: “Very good. Hold her. War imminent.” He wanted to attack at once. “Winston with all his war paint on,” Asquith wrote Clementine’s cousin, the beautiful, worldly young Venetia Stanley, with whom he was infatuated, “is longing for a sea fight to sink the Goeben.” The prime minister had no objection, but the cabinet vetoed the firing of a single shot before the expiration of Grey’s deadline. Prince Louis pleaded with Churchill to give the British gunners a green light before dusk, but the first lord felt he had been insubordinate enough. Night fell and the enemy battle cruiser escaped.220