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.”114
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.”115
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:
His Majesty’s Government are determined in no condition to accept any position of inferiority with regard to what air force may be raised in Germany in the future.116
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.”117 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.118
In 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.”119
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.”120
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.”121
If Churchill was e
ncouraged 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.”122 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.”123
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.124 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.”125
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.”126
On Tuesday, March 19, he made this threat good. Backbenchers, he told the House, were beginning to lose faith in the credibility of His Majesty’s Government. He picked up the previous day’s Daily Telegraph and quoted: “ ‘Between 250 and 300 military aircraft have been added to Germany’s total since November.’ ” At that rate, the Nazis could have another 1,500 warplanes by 1936.
I must submit to the House that the Lord President was misled in the figures he gave last November, quite unwittingly, no doubt, because of the grave difficulty of the subject. At any rate, the true position at the end of this year will be almost the reverse of what he stated to Parliament…. I am certain that Germany’s preparations are infinitely more far-reaching than our own. So that you have not only equality at the moment, but the great output which I have described, and you have behind that this enormous power to turn over, on the outbreak of war, the whole force of German industry.127
Laying before the House a string of precise figures, he went on: “At the end of the year, when we were to have had a 50 percent superiority over Germany, they will be at least three and four times as strong as we.” He demanded that RAF expansion be redoubled.
Attlee’s Labourites were outraged. The government’s position was more nebulous. Baldwin chose Under Secretary Sassoon to answer the attack. To what extent Sassoon’s reply was based on duplicity—Baldwin’s duplicity or Sassoon’s—and to what degree on ignorance by either or both, is matter for speculation. The record merely tells us that Sassoon rose, addressed himself to Winston, and said vaguely: “I do not think I can follow him into a morass of figures which must be, after all, very largely conjectural.” Sassoon denied that the Luftwaffe would become “50 percent stronger than ours either on the basis of first-line strength or on the basis of total number of aircraft. So far as we can at present estimate, we shall still, at the end of this year, possess a margin of superiority.”128
Baldwin again questioned Winston’s evidence. It was incredible to him that the Luftwaffe could mount a serious challenge to the RAF. He could, it seemed, be convinced by only one man: Adolf Hitler. And that, amazingly, is what happened. Hitler had everything to gain by remaining silent, leaving His Majesty’s Government comfortable in its false security. But in this, as in all else, he was unlike other men. Curing himself of his cold, he impulsively invited Simon and Eden to Berlin on March 25, less than a week after Parliament’s air debate, and told them that the Reich had “reached parity with Great Britain as far as their respective air forces are concerned.” Simultaneously, Goebbels released this electrifying news to the press. The Luftwaffe, the Führer told Simon, was a bulwark against bolshevism. He was alert to “the Russian danger,” he said, though he seemed to be “a solitary prophet in the desert.” He added confidently: “But later people will find out that I was right.”129
Churchill wrote Clementine: “The political sensation of course is the statement by Hitler that his air force is already as strong as ours. This completely stultifies everything that Baldwin has said and incidentally vindicates all the assertions that I have made. I suspect in fact that he is really much stronger than we are.”130 Hitler had told Simon and Eden that according to his information the RAF had 1,045 first-line aircraft; since he was claiming parity, that, presumably, was the present strength of the Luftwaffe. But German intelligence had blundered. The British were nowhere near as formidable as he believed them to be. According to Air Ministry archives the RAF had only 453 first-line warplanes. Britain was in deep trouble unless she acted swiftly, but as summer approached and the days grew warmer it was often difficult to find any movement at all in Whitehall.
Parliament awaited a response from the front bench. And waited. And waited. In the Daily Mail of April 4 Churchill urged the government to make preparations for co
nverting “the whole of our industry, should it become necessary, to various forms of munition production.” Three days later Ralph Wigram arrived at Chartwell for an overnight stay. With him he brought a February 27 analysis by Creswell, comparing the relative air strengths of Britain and Germany. The Air Ministry report on RAF strength was only one of several sources; they varied greatly, but all confirmed Hitler. Actually the Führer had inflated the operational strength of his air arm, but Nazi “training, design, and production were proceeding apace and expanding rapidly,” Telford Taylor writes. “The [operational] base was rapidly broadening, and by 1936 the threat of German air power would become reality.”131
Given this momentum, and the inertia at No. 10, the threat was already real, and on May 2 Churchill spoke in the House of Commons:
When the situation was manageable it was neglected, and now that it is thoroughly out of hand, we apply too late the remedies which then might have effected a cure. There is nothing new in the story. It is as old as the Sibylline books. It falls into that long dismal catalogue of the fruitlessness of experience and the confirmed unteachability of mankind. Want of foresight, unwillingness to act when action would be simple and effective, lack of clear thinking, confusion of counsel until the emergency comes, until self-preservation strikes its jarring gong—these are the features which constitute the endless repetition of history.132
He bluntly told the House: “It cannot be disputed that both in numbers and in quality Germany has already obtained a marked superiority over our Home Defence Air Force.” At Chartwell Wigram had told Churchill that the Foreign Office staff was profoundly disturbed by the facts the FO was reporting to His Majesty’s Government and HMG’s abuse of them, and a remarkable instance of this had occurred only a few days earlier, on April 30. By April 1937, MacDonald had told the Ministerial Committee on Defence Requirements, “Germany will have 1,512 aircraft, and we shall have 740.” He asked: “Is this a situation that the Government can explain and defend in the House?” Chamberlain replied firmly that they couldn’t and shouldn’t; if they were to remain loyal to Baldwin they were “bound to maintain the position” that his pledge had not been broken. Should they acknowledge the mistake, he said, they would “give Germany the impression that we are frightened.” His proposal, which his colleagues accepted, was that air power should be judged not from the number of fighters and bombers in an air force, but by an intangible “air strength.” Secretary for Air Londonderry eagerly fell in line. Luftwaffe training, he said, “is inferior to ours.” RAF flying skills were so finely honed, and British airplane designers and manufacturers were so imaginative and competent, that to say “Germany is stronger” would be incorrect. Therefore Britain had, in effect, retained parity.