by Simon Heffer
Shortt, addressing the Commons on 25 June, put a brave face on the convention’s achievements, claiming the time would come when its findings would be acted upon. He explained that conscription and a Home Rule measure had been put aside because of two significant events: what he called the ‘German plot’ in Ireland, in which an enemy agent had allegedly been captured off the coast of Clare; and the transformation of Sinn Féin from ‘a harmless literary society’ to one run by ‘extremists and the physical force men’.205 The latter had happened long before the convention met, though the decision after the Rising to label the rebels ‘Sinn Féin’, even though that ‘literary society’ had not taken part in the rebellion, perhaps confused matters. It hardly mattered what those opposing the Crown called themselves; their movement had grown relentlessly for over two years, and the government deluded itself if it thought the militancy was of recent birth.
Sinn Féin had allegedly circulated propaganda in Ireland encouraging people to support the Germans. Shortt gave examples: ‘“Take no notice of the Police Order to destroy your own property, and to leave your homes if a German Army should land in Ireland.” “When the Germans come they will come as friends, and to put an end to English rule in Ireland. Therefore stay in your homes, and assist the German troops as far as you can.” “Any stores, hay, corn or forage taken by the Germans will be paid for by them.”’ He continued: ‘Somebody in Ireland wrote these out, somebody in Ireland pasted them up, somebody in Ireland is responsible for scattering this sort of thing about Ireland. What can be their object?’206 He claimed to have evidence that one of the interned leaders had pointed to the German advance and indicated that the time was near when an ‘opportunity’ would arise again; and in the meantime the Irish could make it impossible for England to govern their country. Another Sinn Féiner had said: ‘So long as England is our enemy it is our duty to assist her enemies, and the best way we can assist the enemies of England is by organising, arming and drilling our Irish Volunteers, and by giving England the knock-out blow at the earliest opportunity.’
The problem was not just propaganda. ‘From the time her big offensive began in the spring … we found that Germany was in touch with Ireland and not only were messages going into Ireland from German sources, but messages were coming out of Ireland to German sources. These two facts were clear. Our sources of information were able to warn us that an agent from Germany would be landed, as landed he was on the 12th April on the West Coast of Ireland.’207 Two German submarines, filled with arms, were said to be en route to Ireland; a rising was planned for late May; and the intelligence said the Germans might try to land men too. The Irish conspirators were, Shortt said with shock, men released following their involvement with the 1916 Rising; he seemed especially amazed that they ‘had proved absolutely irreconcilable and absolutely untouched by the generosity shown to them.’208 Having been humiliated in 1916, the authorities now had no choice but to arrest potential rebels. As Curzon had said earlier, when telling the Lords to forget about Home Rule for the moment, more detailed evidence could have been given were it not for the fact that it would harm the Armed Forces: at least that was the excuse.
Shortt claimed that evidence of the timing of a rising had been gleaned from a correspondence between de Valera – ‘the acknowledged leader of these extremist people in Ireland’ – and a comrade.209 A Tory MP called out to ask whether the writer of the letter had been shot, and Shortt – one lesson of 1916 having been learned – said he hoped no one would have to be executed again. The proclamations that French had issued to try to enlist Irishmen voluntarily had been designed to avoid conscription and therefore remove one provocation for a rebellion. But the misapprehensions, wilful or otherwise, about Ireland persisted: Shortt felt that the problems were limited to ‘200 or 300 extremists,’ something the dramatic rise in support for Sinn Féin in by-elections should have been sufficient to convince him was nonsense.
His statement was taken as proof that conscription would not be enforced; and Lloyd George, who was present, struggled to deny it. Carson, referring to remarks Curzon had made about the Catholic Church’s opposition to conscription, accused the government of ‘crawling upon your knees’ to the hierarchy of that Church, who acted as though there were a ‘religious war.’210 Curzon, who had said the Catholic clergy ‘advised their flocks, under penalties of eternal damnation, to resist conscription to the uttermost’, found himself set upon by the Roman Catholic Church in England, and The Times dismissed his statement as one of ‘crude hopelessness’.211 He defended himself, publishing a statement laced with quotations from clergymen about the divine opprobrium awaiting those who colluded with the English oppressor.
The Irish Nationalist, John McKean, the only member of his party to attend the debate, enlightened Shortt about what had happened:
At the beginning of the War the people of Ireland were as enthusiastically in favour of the Allies as the people of Great Britain. A change took place. It was the mistaken, the criminal, policy of the Government after the rebellion of 1916 that changed the whole state of feeling in Ireland. If the people of Ireland are not now taking what is called their right share in the fight for self-determination, for liberty and for civilisation, you have only got to blame the British Government, which never does the right thing in Ireland even by chance. By these wicked executions the whole face of the situation in Ireland was changed with regard to the conduct of the War.212
Lloyd George intervened to ask for some indulgence rather than the unrelieved criticism the government was receiving ‘due to the conditions under which we have to administer affairs.’213 He claimed considerations solely of ‘equity and fair play’ had lain behind the decision to legislate for conscription; that if Britons of fifty were being called up, so should young, fit Irishmen be. However, that the process awaited an Order in Council showed, he said, that the government recognised the need to treat Ireland differently from England. He finally admitted a link between the attempt to grant Home Rule and the desire for conscription. ‘You cannot force through in the middle of a war a measure which is regarded as highly contentious by powerful bodies of opinion in this country. You cannot do it.’214 This applied as much to conscription in Ireland, however, as it did to Home Rule being accepted in Britain. He had wished to give a measure of Home Rule to twenty-six counties, with a framework of regular meetings on all-Ireland questions with the other six to maintain some measure of Irish unity. However, now it was known that some leading the separatist movement were in league with the Germans, he felt he could not possibly sanction such a course.
The prime minister called the association of the Catholic Church with the alleged plot ‘one of the most fatal mistakes that they have ever committed.’215 It had shattered the hard-won trust of those Unionists prepared to concede Home Rule, who now once more feared domination by a Catholic state and the loss of the religious freedoms of Unionists stranded in the twenty-six counties. However, he confirmed that the only recruiting in Ireland for the foreseeable future would be on a voluntary basis. Asquith asked, again, for Dominion prime ministers, in London for the Imperial War Cabinet, to be asked to solve the Irish question; but was ignored. So was a call from Morrell for the interned Sinn Féin prisoners (who were denied visitors) either to be put on trial, or released.
The landing of an agent, to which Shortt referred, at least showed the government had learned something from its handling of the Rising. A former professional soldier, Lance Corporal Joseph Patrick Dowling of the Connaught Rangers, had been captured during the retreat from Mons in September 1914, and recruited into Casement’s Irish Brigade. On 12 April he had landed in a rubber dinghy from a U-boat off the coast of County Clare. British intelligence had cracked the German codes and knew Dowling was coming; he was eventually arrested on the way to Galway, brought to London, held in the Tower and court-martialled in early August on three charges of cooperation with the enemy. He was sentenced to death by firing squad but the King immediately commuted the se
ntence to life imprisonment, on ministerial advice. He was released in 1924.
On 3 July, after sporadic rioting that had included shooting dead an RIC man in Tralee, French proclaimed Sinn Féin and the Irish Volunteers ‘dangerous organisations’, banning all meetings without a government permit. Arms and ammunition were frequently seized. Duke’s softly-softly approach was finished; and French had Byrne, whom he regarded as ineffectual, removed from running the RIC. In other respects the government continued giving gratuitous offence to the Irish. When in mid-July Mrs Hanna Sheehy-Skeffington, widow of the man murdered by a mad officer in 1916, returned to Liverpool with her nine-year-old son from America, she was banned from going across the Irish Sea to her own country; London justified this ban because the government in Dublin viewed her presence in Ireland as ‘injurious’.216 To aggravate the question the officer, Colthurst, had been released from Broadmoor the previous January; but Mrs Sheehy-Skeffington had yet to receive a penny in compensation. Eventually, the government decided the reason for keeping her out of Ireland was that ‘she has been engaged in anti-British propaganda in the United States’.217 After a short spell in Holloway she was, at least, moved to a hotel.
In late July the Irish Nationalists, diminished after losing by-elections to Sinn Féin, returned to the Commons after a three-month boycott. They hoped to use their presence to bolster their credibility and win back the mass of support lost to the republicans, given that a general election was expected within months. Dillon accused the government of moving to totalitarianism; it had, he said, instituted
a system of universal coercion which is wantonly provocative to Ireland, and in many of its details utterly unnecessary. I give one point only, a small matter but of vital importance to us, because it touches this whole question of the breach of faith. They have in Ireland martial law in full force, a military dictator and the Defence of the Realm Act in a more severe form than in this country. I cannot conceive any Government, no matter how great the danger may be, which could hold that it was not sufficiently covered by these powers. But not content with these powers they have revived the odious and detestable perpetual coercion Act of 1887, quite unnecessarily, and simply therefore for the purpose of wanton insult and provocation, and they have done that in spite of the fact that all the Liberal Ministers of the late Government of 1906 are pledged solemnly never to use that Act again, and that this House, as well as my memory carries me, repealed that Act by a large majority, and the final repeal was only prevented by the House of Lords, and without a shadow of an excuse or reason they have revived it in spite of all the great powers they had. That, in my opinion, proves that one of the purposes of the Government is to flout and outrage the Irish people.218
He said the government had thrown ‘the Irish people into the hands of the revolutionary party’ by failing properly to consult the Nationalists about conscription.219 The Irish people believed no military necessity had caused the policy, but it had been used as an excuse to abandon Home Rule. He ridiculed the idea of a German plot: and noted that the pronouncements of Sir Horace Plunkett, which had once had oracular status in England, were now not printed in the English press, thanks to his having denied knowledge of the alleged plot too. Dillon knew there had been a plot in 1916: he refused to believe there had been one in 1918, though it had suited the government to claim otherwise.
He was speaking days after confirmation of the murder of the Tsar and his family by another brand of revolutionaries. ‘What are you going to do about Ireland when you have turned her over altogether to Sinn Fein as you are now doing your best to do?’ he asked. Prophetically, he continued: ‘You are up against a problem which will try British statesmen more than they have ever been tried before. And look at the language that is being used by you with regard to other nationalities and think of the effect which it has on Ireland. Some men in discussing the Irish problem talk about it as if nothing had happened during the last four years, as if there had never been a war, as if there had never been a Russian Revolution, as if none of the mighty changes that we have witnessed had taken place.’220
Britain supported not just the idea of Belgian sovereignty, but also that of restoring Poland to the map and the concept of Czechoslovakia. But, he asked, ‘What about Ireland, who is more ancient than any of them, and whose struggle for nationality has been unquestionably more persistent than that either of the Czecho-Slovaks or even of the Poles?’221 The Irish wanted to catch this wave of European emancipation but were told the Ulster question prevented them. Dillon, however, contended that in its blithe support of the Czechoslovaks, Britain ignored the protests of what a later generation would know as the Sudeten Germans, who did not wish to be ruled by Czechs. The double standard was obvious, but it would turn out to be an unfortunate comparison.
The time and energy spent on the question of Irish conscription did little good to the war effort, and the campaign of exhortation to help recruitment in Ireland was largely fruitless. British propaganda had it that this would provide 50,000 men by August: in fact, by the Armistice, it had produced 9,000, though even that number was remarkable given the state of Irish opinion.
VI
With Ireland unpromising as a source of manpower, and the Germans still heading towards Paris, other means of saving Western Europe became necessary. On 29 March, Good Friday, the War Cabinet resolved to ask President Wilson to send 100,000 men a month for the following three months to fight in British brigades, for it was impossible to maintain the Army’s strength otherwise. Wilson quickly agreed, offering to send 120,000 men for four months rather than just three. Later that day it seemed the tide might be turning: the Germans had sustained heavy losses and had been stopped outside Amiens. Following a conference with the French and General Pershing, the American commander, at Beauvais on 3 April the British confirmed Foch as commander-in-chief of the Allied Armies on the Western Front. Haig was content, though he had the right of appeal to his own government about any decision with which he disagreed. According to him, Lloyd George, who was present, ‘looked as if he had been thoroughly frightened, and he seemed still in a funk … he appears to me to be a thorough impostor.’222
Haig feared Lloyd George was looking for a military scapegoat. He believed the prime minister was expecting to be attacked in the Commons following the Army’s retreat, and ‘for not tackling the manpower problem before, also for personally ordering Divisions to the east at a critical time against the advice of his military adviser, viz, the CIGS.’223 Lloyd George indeed turned on Sir Hubert Gough, who had commanded the routed 5th Army, but Haig defended him for having done the best he could in difficult circumstances.224 Haig had already told Gough he wanted him out of the front line so that he could prepare a new line of defence along the Somme. On 28 March therefore he handed over command of what was left of his army to Rawlinson. This was not enough for Lloyd George, who wanted Gough sacked altogether. Haig said Gough should not be dismissed without a hearing, and told Lloyd George that if he wanted Gough punished, he would have to send Haig an order to that effect. Haig branded Lloyd George a ‘cur’, a view reinforced the next day when he received a telegram from Derby saying ‘it is quite clear to me that his troops have lost confidence in Gough’ and that he should be relieved of his command.225
Haig had no choice but to obey, but disagreed with Gough’s treatment so vehemently that he wrote to Derby saying that he would place his resignation in the Secretary of State’s hands, if that was the government’s wish: he knew full well it was not and so Gough, like Haig’s other senior comrade Robertson, bit the dust. With his customary bluster, and to justify his own excessive treatment of an officer who had done his best in adverse circumstances that the prime minister’s own policies had done so much to create, Lloyd George even hinted in the Commons on 9 April that Gough could well be court-martialled. There was no depth to which he would not sink to cover up or distract attention from his own misjudgements.
The Army was not Lloyd George’s only problem. Sir Hu
gh Trenchard, who had commanded the RFC in France, became Chief of the Air Staff at the formation of the RAF on 1 April, after he had masterminded the merger of the RFC with the Royal Naval Air Service. However, he resigned almost immediately because of severe differences with Rothermere, the air minister, for whom he had not wanted to work but to whom he was accountable. The minister constantly interfered in decisions about the allocation of service manpower, despite having a small fraction of Trenchard’s knowledge and expertise. Rothermere had also made it clear during an interview with Trenchard the previous November that he and his brother, Northcliffe, would campaign against Robertson and Haig, to whom Trenchard was personally loyal. In the three months as Chief of the Air Staff that Trenchard had to prepare for the birth of the RAF he and Rothermere disagreed on almost everything, with Rothermere routinely disregarding his advice. The War Cabinet accepted Trenchard’s resignation on 10 April and asked him to resume command of the RAF in France: he refused because of the outrageous slight it would have represented to his colleague Major General John Salmond, whom he would displace. Esher, hearing of these absurdities, noted that ‘there literally is no Government in this country.’226
The King, as had been seen over the dismissal of Robertson, hated political interference in his Armed Forces and thought Trenchard’s departure ‘a great misfortune’. He summoned him to Buckingham Palace; and Trenchard did not hold back.227 After the meeting he wrote to Lloyd George to explain himself, and his letter was shown to the War Cabinet. Rothermere dug his own grave by circulating a vicious response; with questions about his judgement and competence raised by more than just Trenchard, he resigned on 25 April. Trenchard took command of a long-range bombing force in France. The King – who, as with so much else during Lloyd George’s rule, was not consulted – was outraged by Trenchard’s treatment and by the evidence it gave of his prime minister’s disregard for him. Rothermere went quietly, having been promised promotion to a viscountcy. When, in April 1919, the time came to pay the debt, Stamfordham told Law (who asked the King to approve it) that the Sovereign (again unconsulted) did so ‘with much reluctance’.228