Alone, 1932-1940

  During the night the first of Rundstedt’s tanks had negotiated the mine-fields near the German-Belgian border, and at daybreak three panzer corps were driving hard, intent upon maneuvering through the wooded ravines of the Ardennes and crossing the Meuse near Sedan in forty-eight hours. Even the few French officers who doubted that the Ardennes were impénétrable believed the enemy could not possibly reach the river in less than ten days, by which time reinforcements could be brought up to dig in along the Meuse, swift and narrow, running between steep banks and therefore easy to defend. Yet already Rundstedt’s armor had easily thrown aside the defense behind the mines—a thin screen of French cavalry, backed by light motorized forces. Thus, while the Allied right wing remained idle in the bowels of the troglodytic Maginot Line, and the left advanced toward what was expected to be the decisive encounter, the center was already gravely threatened. In the confusion of their rout the officers there neglected to send the bad news winging to Vincennes, La Ferté, or Montry. The fox was among the chickens, but the farmer, out in the pasture, didn’t even know he had a problem.

  At No. 10 the first of the War Cabinet’s three meetings that day began with the Chiefs of Staff present. They were dazed, in the state of confusion which was the first reaction to blitzkriegs. Reports were accumulating faster than they could be skimmed. H.M.S. Kelly had been torpedoed off the Belgian coast. The Wehrmacht was in Luxembourg. Nazi paratroops had been dropped at three strategic locations, in the area between The Hague and Leiden, and near Rotterdam; Nancy had been bombed; the Luftwaffe was dropping magnetic mines in the Scheldt to disrupt Dutch and Belgian shipping. Churchill, the ministers were relieved to hear, had already sent sweeping gear to clear it.261

  According to Reith’s diary, Chamberlain “did not refer to Amery or any of the other Conservatives who had attacked him. He was in good form; the news from the Low Countries had stimulated him”; the German invasions had found him “ready for action if encouraged and authorized to act.” He was a new man; he told his sister many of those who had voted against him had written to say “they had nothing against me except that I had the wrong people in my team.” He had, indeed, convinced himself that in this crisis the country would be much better off if he remained as prime minister. Halifax noted in his diary: “The P.M. told the Cabinet… that he thought all would have to wait until the war situation was calmer.” Privately he told his foreign secretary that “he had a feeling that Winston did not approve of the delay, and left me guessing as to what he meant to do.”262

  Reith’s diary, which is confirmed by Eden’s, notes that the prime minister had seen Attlee and Greenwood and understood that they were prepared to defer the political crisis, though the final decision would have to be made in Bournemouth. Hoare later wrote: “Chamberlain’s first inclination was to withhold his resignation until the French battle was finished.” Nicolson and his friends were among the outsiders who learned of this, and they were aghast. One of them phoned Salisbury, who replied, wrote Nicolson, “that we must maintain our point of view, namely that Winston should be made Prime Minister during the course of the day.”263

  Churchill’s feelings about Chamberlain’s switch of mood can only be imagined, but anxiety must have been among them. He was somewhat reassured by Kingsley Wood. At about 10:00 A.M. Wood once more crossed the Horse Guards Parade to report, as Winston later wrote, that the prime minister “was inclined to feel that the great battle which had broken upon us made it necessary for him to remain at his post.” Hoare had encouraged him in this, but Wood’s emphatic comment—which Horace Wilson, embittered, later damned as an act of “betrayal”—was that “on the contrary, the new crisis made it all the more necessary to have a National Government, which alone could confront it.” Wood, wrote Churchill, had told him that Chamberlain had “accepted this view.” But that was not the end of it. Shortly before the second meeting of the War Cabinet, at 11:00 A.M., Simon approached Eden and Hankey. He told them, Eden wrote, that he had heard that “despite the attacks in Flanders, Churchill was pressing for early changes in the Government.” Simon was “indignant,” but Hankey commented “quietly and firmly: ‘Personally, I think that if there are to be changes, the sooner they are made the better.’ ”264

  At this second meeting Winston pointed out that Roger Keyes was a close personal friend of the Belgian king; the admiral was eager to serve his country and might be useful in Brussels. The War Cabinet approved. The ministers were also pleased to learn that Churchill had given instructions “for the removal of the gold still left in Holland.” They were less enthusiastic when Winston, explaining, “It won’t take a minute,” insisted that the war wait while they watch the Prof, who was sitting at a side table, demonstrate an antiaircraft homing fuse. According to Reith, “Ironside, very snotty,” whispered to him, “Do you think this is the time for showing off toys?” This shirtiness sounds more like Reith than Ironside, who, noting the incident in his diary the following day, wrote of Churchill: “I have seldom met anybody with stranger gaps of knowledge or whose mind worked in greater jerks. Will it be possible to make it work in orderly fashion? On this much depends.”265

  During this second meeting of the War Cabinet, Chamberlain had continued to be very much the prime minister. Despite his assurance to Kingsley Wood he made no reference to surrendering his seals. Actually, the crucial decision could not be made by any member of His Majesty’s Government. It rested with the men in Bournemouth; Chamberlain had agreed to abide by their finding. Labour’s national executive, meeting in a basement room of the Highcliff Hotel, resolved that the party was “prepared to take our share of the responsibility, as a full partner, in a new Government, which, under a new Prime Minister, commands the confidence of the nation.” Dalton was responsible for inserting “under a new Prime Minister.” Some of the others doubted its necessity. He told them: “If you don’t make it absolutely plain, the Old Man will still hang on.” Attlee and Greenwood were about to drive to London with the signed document when the prime minister’s private secretary phoned from Downing Street to ask whether Labour had reached a decision. Attlee read the resolution over the telephone.266

  It was now 5:00 P.M. The War Cabinet’s third meeting of the day had begun a half-hour earlier. The private secretary entered the Cabinet Room and handed the typewritten transcript of Labour’s verdict to Horace Wilson, who read it and wordlessly slipped it in front of the prime minister. Chamberlain glanced at it and continued with his agenda. The Germans had bombed a dozen objectives and had dropped incendiaries in Kent; the Rotterdam airfield was in the hands of the Nazis, who were landing troop-carrying aircraft there; six Blenheims had been sent to intercept the troop carriers and five of them had been lost; the BEF had reached the line of the Dyle. After a lengthy discussion the ministers decided not to bomb the Ruhr. More paratroopers had landed in Belgium and the ministers decided to warn British troops in the United Kingdom “against parachutists attempting to land in this country.” Then Chamberlain came to the last item on his agenda: the political situation.267

  He read the Labour resolution aloud and said that “in the light of this answer” he had decided that he should “at once” tender his resignation to the King. It would be “convenient,” he suggested, for the new prime minister to assume that “all members of the War Cabinet” were placing their resignations at his disposal, though there was no need “for this to be confirmed in writing.” The minutes of the meeting ended: “The War Cabinet agreed to the course suggested.” He had not told them whom he preferred as his successor, nor had he mentioned his meeting with Halifax and Churchill the day before. He proposed “to see the King this evening”—that was all.268

  Actually, the prime minister, in his last act as prime minister, was on his way to the palace in less than half an hour. In his diary George VI recorded how he saw Chamberlain “after tea. I accepted his resignation, & told him how grossly unfairly I thought he had been treated, & that I was terribly sorry.” They then talked informally about h
is successor. “I, of course, suggested Halifax,” His Majesty wrote, “but he told me that H was not enthusiastic, as being in the Lords he could only act as a shadow or a ghost in the Commons, where all the real work took place.” His royal host was “disappointed… as I thought H was the obvious man.” Before the former prime minister could mention another name, George “knew that there was only one other person whom I could send for to form a Government… & that was Winston.” He said so; Chamberlain confirmed his judgment. The King “thanked him for all his help to me, and repeated that I would greatly regret my loss at not having him as my P.M. I sent for Winston & asked him to form a Government.”269

  They didn’t get to it straightaway. The monarch enjoyed a bit of regal byplay first. “His Majesty received me most graciously,” wrote Churchill, “and bade me sit down. He looked at me searchingly and quizzically for some moments, and then said: ‘I suppose you don’t know why I have sent for you?’ Adopting his mood, I replied: ‘Sir, I simply couldn’t imagine why.’ He laughed and said: ‘I want you to form a Government.’ I said I would certainly do so.” Since the King had made no stipulation about the government being national in character—apparently Chamberlain had not mentioned this, an unaccountable lapse—Winston felt his commission “was in no formal way dependent upon this point. But in view of all that had happened, and the conditions which had led to Mr. Chamberlain’s resignation, a Government of national character was obviously inherent in the situation.” However, if he failed to come to terms with the Liberal and Labour parties, he believed, “I should not have been constitutionally debarred from trying to form the strongest Government possible of all who would stand by the country in the hour of peril, provided that such a Government could command a majority in the House of Commons.”270

  He told the King that he would “immediately send for the leaders of the Labour and Liberal Parties, that I proposed to form a War Cabinet of five or six Ministers, and that I hoped to let him have at least five or six names before midnight.” On this he took his leave. His sole companion was his bodyguard, W. H. Thompson. As Thompson later recalled, their ride back to Admiralty House was made “in complete silence,” but as the new prime minister was leaving the car he asked: “You know why I have been to Buckingham Palace, Thompson?” The former Scotland Yard inspector said he did and congratulated him, adding, “I only wish the position had come your way in better times, for you have an enormous task.” Churchill’s eyes filled. He said: “God alone knows how great it is. I hope that it is not too late. I am very much afraid that it is. We can only do our best.”271

  While Churchill had been with the King, Randolph found a message in the adjutant’s office asking him to phone the Admiralty. He did, and asked why he was wanted. The private secretary in the private office replied: “Only just to say that your father has gone to the Palace and when he comes back he will be Prime Minister.”272

  Early in the evening Attlee, accompanied by Greenwood, called on Churchill. They talked easily; during the eleven years before the war’s outbreak, Winston had crossed swords with the Conservative and national governments far more often than with Labour. He proposed that Labour should have “rather more than a third of the places, having two seats on the War Cabinet of five, or it might be six.” He asked Attlee for a list of names—they could then discuss “particular offices”—and mentioned Labour MPs he admired: Morrison, Dalton, Ernest Bevin, and A. V. Alexander.273

  As they conferred, Harold Nicolson was on his way to King’s Bench Walk, passing posters saying “BRUSSELS BOMBED,” “PARIS BOMBED,” “LYONS BOMBED,” “SWISS RAILWAYS BOMBED.” That evening he joined his wife at Sissinghurst, their home forty miles southeast of London. They dined together and “just before nine, we turn on the wireless and it begins to buzz as the juice comes through and then we hear the bells”—the BBC identification signal. “Then the pips sound 9.0 and the announcer begins: ‘This is the Home Service. Here is the Right Honourable Neville Chamberlain M.P., who will make a statement.’ I am puzzled by this for a moment, and then realise that he has resigned.” Addressing the nation, the fallen prime minister told the people that the events of the past few days had shown that a coalition government was necessary, and since the only obstacle to such a coalition was himself he had resigned. The King had “asked my friend and colleague, Mr. Winston Churchill, to form a truly National Government.” For the moment, acting ministers “will carry on.” He himself had agreed to serve under Churchill. Nicolson noted: “He ends with a fierce denunciation of the Germans for invading Holland and Belgium. It is a magnificent statement, and all the hatred I have felt for Chamberlain subsides as if a piece of bread were dropped into a glass of champagne.”274

  “Thus,” wrote Winston, “at the outset of this mighty battle, I acquired the chief power in the State…. As I went to bed at about 3 A.M., I was conscious of a profound sense of relief. At last I had the authority to give directions over the whole scene.” He felt, he said,

  as if I were walking with Destiny, and that all my past life had been but a preparation for this hour and for this trial. Eleven years in the political wilderness had freed me from ordinary party antagonisms. My warnings over the last six years had been so numerous, so detailed, and were now so terribly vindicated, that no one could gainsay me. I could not be reproached either for making the war or with want of preparation for it…. Therefore, although impatient for the morning, I slept soundly and had no need for cheering dreams. Facts are better than dreams.275

  Labour endorsed the decision of its leaders to support Churchill by a lopsided vote: 2,450,000 to 170,000—a 93 percent victory—and when a pacifist MP demanded a division of the House on the question of whether Churchill should be prime minister, the vote was 380 to 0, the pacifist presumably abstaining. Winston possessed one great advantage which no other eminent parliamentarian could claim; as the historian Cyril Falls puts it, “His record was completely clean and satisfactory in those years when the Government had been hiding its head in the sand and… simultaneously voting against every attempt to arm the British forces.” But his mood had not yet been synchronized with that of the powerful, including his sovereign. In his diary entry the following day—Saturday, May 11—the King noted: “I cannot yet think of Winston as P.M…. I met Halifax in the garden”—the noble lord had been granted permission to walk through the palace garden en route from his Belgravia flat to the Foreign Office—“and told him I was sorry not to have him as P.M.” George still felt uncomfortable with Winston. There was a generational gap between them. When they had first met in 1912 Winston was first lord of the Admiralty and the future monarch a young naval cadet. By normal reckoning Winston’s political career ought to have ended ten years earlier. He had turned sixty-five the previous November; five months before he became prime minister he had been eligible to draw an old-age pension. Indeed, he was to be the senior statesman of the war—four years older than Stalin, eight years older than Roosevelt, nine years older than Mussolini, fifteen years older than Hitler. The King also liked Tories to be orthodox, conventional, loyal party men, and Churchill was none of those.276

  That same Saturday, Margot Asquith, writing a letter to Geoffrey Dawson at The Times, told how, on impulse, she had taken a taxi to No.10 the previous evening; she had looked at Chamberlain’s “spare figure and keen eye and could not help comparing it with Winston’s self-indulgent rotundity.” R. A. Butler called Churchill “a half-breed American.” And that evening young Colville, at No. 10, wrote in his diary: “There seems to be some inclination in Whitehall to believe that Winston will be a complete failure and that Neville will return.” Long afterward Colville observed: “Seldom can a Prime Minister have taken office with the Establishment… so dubious of the choice and so prepared to have its doubts justified.” Only a month earlier Eden’s followers in Parliament had outnumbered Churchill’s and some of Winston’s closest friends preferred Lloyd George as an alternative to Chamberlain.277

  Among the general public
it was different. Even so, the News Chronicle had reported that according to an opinion poll, his principal support was among “those in the lower income groups, those between 21 and 30, and among men.” A prime minister should enjoy broader approval, particularly among the sophisticated, and a Conservative prime minister, in the House of Commons, ought to receive more cheers from Tory benches than from Labour. In his May 13 diary entry Nicolson noted: “When Chamberlain enters the House, he gets a terrific reception, and when Churchill comes in the applause is less. Winston sits there between Chamberlain and Attlee”—Attlee was now lord privy seal and, in effect, deputy prime minister—“[and then] makes a very short statement, but to the point.” The only tribute to the new prime minister came from Lloyd George, who spoke of his “glittering intellectual gifts, his dauntless courage, his profound study of war, and his experience in its operation and direction.” Winston wept.278

  What Nicolson called Churchill’s “very short statement” and Geoffrey Dawson described patronizingly as “quite a good little warlike speech from Winston” included five words now known to millions who were unborn at the time, who have never seen England, and do not even speak English.

  I would say to the House,

  as I have said to those who have joined this Government:

  “I have nothing to offer but blood, toil, tears, and sweat.”…

  You ask, what is our policy?