by Nick Barratt
From then on, events moved quickly, with the Foreign Office staff at the heart of the unfolding diplomatic drama. Relations between Serbia and Austria-Hungary had remained strained ever since the controversial annexation of Bosnia and Herzegovina by the Austrians in 1908 and the assassination provoked anti-Serbian riots in Sarajevo over the next few days, raising the political temperature in the Balkans.
On 5 July, German Kaiser Wilhelm II promised to support any Austrian reprisals taken against Serbia, whose government was blamed for the atrocity – though this was largely political expediency on behalf of the Austrians who wished to further exert their influence over Serbia. Primarily, the German position was an attempt to block any Russian military response, whose own interests in the area were tied to an agreement to aid Serbia if it was threatened; but in effect it widened the crisis by drawing in the other Great Powers, in particular France and Britain, who were bound by the Triple Entente to support Russia.
After a meeting of the Austro-Hungarian Ministerial Council on 7 July and discussions lasting a further two weeks, an ultimatum was issued to the Serbian government in Belgrade on Thursday 23 July. It demanded ten points of action, mainly linked to the suppression of separatist movements opposed to the Austro-Hungarian monarchy. The action points would also include Austro-Hungarian officials acting on Serbian sovereign territory and the Serbian response was required by 5.00 pm the following Saturday – 25 July.
Sir Edward Grey noted at the time that he had ‘never before seen one state address to another independent state a document of so formidable a character’18 – indeed, it is said that the Austro-Hungarian emperor, Franz Joseph, was himself taken aback with the strength of demands when he saw a draft on 21 July – but along with France and Russia, Britain urged the Serbians to comply – despite recognising that the deadline was far too tight for meaningful consideration of the terms.
The day before the deadline, frantic diplomatic initiatives took place across the courts of Europe. The French ambassador tried desperately to impress upon Grey that, should Austro-Hungary invade Serbia, then mediation would be useless. It was now or never. In turn, Grey attempted to persuade the German ambassador to take part in a four-power summit in Vienna with the aim of securing an extension to the Austro-Hungarian ultimatum, urging that Britain, France, Italy and Germany ‘who had no direct interests in Serbia, should act together for the sake of peace simultaneously’.19
There comes a point in every international crisis when the spectre of war becomes more of a probability than a possibility. The tipping point arrived on that Saturday 25 July, when Serbia delivered its response. The Serbian government went further than many had expected in meeting Austro-Hungarian demands, conceding virtually all of the major points in the ultimatum – bar one or two clauses which threatened to compromise its status as an independent nation. But the Austro-Hungarian government still rejected the terms – including international mediation for any outstanding issues – and promptly broke off diplomatic relations. Both sides began mobilising for war.
Levels of diplomatic activity within the Foreign Office were elevated and took on a new gravity. In what can only be described as frantic shuttle diplomacy, Grey desperately tried to persuade the Russians to negotiate with Austria-Hungary while attempts were made on 26 July to convene the international summit proposed two days previously. Russia had already started to mobilise its troops in readiness for any aggression towards Serbia but agreed to halt until mediation had taken place. However, although Italy and France agreed to attend the summit, Germany refused.
In a last ditch effort to prevent what looked like inevitable military conflict in the Balkans, Sir Edward Grey met with the German ambassador to Britain, Prince Karl Max Lichnowsky, whose own diary records how close Grey came to averting disaster between 24 and 27 July.
Sir E Grey went through the Serbian reply with me and pointed out the conciliatory attitude of the government of Belgrade. Thereupon we discussed his proposal of mediation, which was to include a formula acceptable to both parties for clearing up the two points.
Given goodwill, everything could have been settled at one or two sittings, and the mere acceptance of the British proposal would have brought about a relaxation of the tension, and would have further improved our relations with England. I therefore strongly backed the proposal, on the ground that otherwise there was danger of the world war, through which we stood to gain nothing and lose all; but in vain. It was derogatory to the dignity of Austria – we did not intend to interfere in Serbian matters – we left these to our ally. I was to work for ‘the localisation of the conflict.’20
Berlin was in no mood to urge restraint upon its ally and the following day Austria-Hungary declared war on Serbia. Belgrade was bombarded, provoking the Russians into a full mobilisation of their forces. In turn, Germany issued its own ultimatum on 31 July to demand that the Russians stand down their troops while at the same time requesting that France remain neutral in event of war with Russia. The Russians refused while the French coldly replied that they would act in accordance with their own interests. In consequence Germany prepared to march its troops through neutral Belgium against France.
Britain insisted that the neutrality of Belgium, framed in 1839 by the Treaty of London, should be respected by all sides and once again Grey summoned Lichnowsky in a futile attempt to limit the scale of a conflict that neither man wanted but seemed unable to prevent. Diplomatic correspondence between London and Berlin continued throughout the day, with last-ditch attempts made by the Russian Tsar himself to prevent hostilities – but to no avail.
Late on 1 August, Germany declared war on Russia and, when French forces started to mobilise in response, invaded Luxembourg and prepared to invade Belgium. Although a formal request was made to the Belgians on 2 August to allow German troops free passage towards France, this was rejected. Germany declared war on France on 3 August and began the full-scale invasion of Belgium, with troops pouring over the border.
The final diplomatic attempts to avoid conflict had been overtaken by military events on the ground as the first shots were fired on what would become the Western Front, and the mood in Whitehall was that of resignation towards the inevitability of war. The staff in the Foreign Office had literally worked around the clock during the crisis and, caught in the eye of the storm, men like Oldham would have felt the failure to broker a solution more keenly than most. These were employees rendered increasingly helpless to prevent the conflict and fearful of the days ahead.
Grey certainly suspected the full horror of what was to come, no doubt mindful of the words of Sir Eyre Crowe, who had advocated an anti-German stance for a decade. Stood at the window of his room in the Foreign Office alongside John Alfred Spender, editor of the Westminster Gazette, Grey gazed out across St James’s Park as the sun set. As the first lights appeared along the Mall, he murmured ‘The lamps are going out all over Europe and we shall not see them lit again in our lifetime.’21
The following day, the Cabinet voted to issue a final ultimatum to Germany: if its troops did not withdraw from Belgium then a state of war would exist between the two countries. At 7.00 pm that evening, the ambassador to Berlin, Sir Edward Goschen, delivered the message to the German Secretary of State to the Ministry for Foreign Affairs, Gottlieb von Jagow, leaving five hours for the Germans to comply. The terms were rejected. Goschen sent a telegram to Sir Edward Grey, informing him of the refusal, but Grey never received it. Thus there was uncertainty over the exact diplomatic status between Germany and Britain within the Foreign Office until the deadline expired. This led to mistakes being made by the harassed staff of the Foreign Office as the enormous strain of the previous few days finally showed. As the clock ticked down, Sir John Tilley recalled.
The first piece of duty that was thrown upon us mingled comedy with tragedy. Owing to some mistake which arose because someone had forgotten the difference between Berlin and London time, a certain proclamation had at the last moment to be altered by
hand in time for issue as soon as war was declared. Accordingly a large party of us were gathered on the ground floor and told, like naughty schoolboys, to write out a thousand times the words ‘His Majesty, mindful that a state of war now exists between this country and Germany’…22
Furthermore, the terms of the earlier ultimatum had mistakenly suggested that Germany had declared war on Britain, not the other way around. Henry Nicolson, the son of the Permanent Under-Secretary, was hastily despatched just after 11.00 pm to the German embassy in Carlton House to retrieve the earlier version, in an attempt to clarify the diplomatic situation.
At length the butler appeared and led Nicolson up to the private apartments, where the ambassador, Karl Max Fürst (Prince) von Lichnowsky, lay on a brass bed in his pyjamas. Nicolson told him there had been a slight error in the document sent previously and he had come to substitute for it the correct version. Prince Lichnowsky pointed to the table, where an envelope was lying unattended: ‘You will find it there,’ he said, as if in a daze. It seemed he had not read it, but guessed its significance since the passports of the embassy staff were enclosed. Nicolson had been told to get a receipt, so he took the blotting pad, pen and inkbottle across to the bed. While the ambassador was signing, shouting came from The Mall, and then singing – the ‘Marseillaise’ – as crowds streamed back from Buckingham Palace. Earlier in the day they had broken the embassy windows. Lichnowsky took no notice. Without a word, having signed the receipt he turned out the pink lamp beside the bed – but then, perhaps feeling that he had been uncivil, turned it on again. ‘Give my best regards to your father,’ he said, sadly, with the pronounced ‘r’ and short ‘a’ of the accent of Silesia, his birthplace: ‘I shall not in all probability see him before my departure’.23
On this farcical note, the Great War had begun.
Chapter three
IN THE FIRING LINE (1914 – 1918)
You have fought valiantly and never lost a trench, or failed to do what was required of you. You have often been hungry and thirsty, had to endure intense cold and rain, mud and discomfort, had to work and march in the course of your duty, till you had hardly strength to stand. You have done all this without a murmur, and with a cheerfulness which has been beyond all praise.
UNIT WAR DIARY, 5TH BATTALION KING’S OWN SHROPSHIRE LIGHT INFANTRY, 2 FEBRUARY 1918
Before the retirement to the Haig Line, those of the battalion… seeing themselves surrounded, determined to fight to the last. Owing to the fact that very few got away from this melee very little is known of the actual details of this fight.
UNIT WAR DIARY, 1ST BATTALION KING’S OWN SHROPSHIRE LIGHT INFANTRY, 21 MARCH 1918
On 4 August, the knowledge that Britain had issued an ultimatum to Germany brought crowds onto the streets of London, congregating outside Downing Street, considered the most likely place where a formal response from the German ambassador would be announced.
The Times described the scene in its edition published the next day:
As the evening wore on, the crowd became denser and excitement grew. The German reply was not expected before 11.00 pm. Towards 11, a number of visitors and members of the permanent staff of the Foreign Office gathered in the corridors, which were brilliantly lighted. But the expected dispatch from Sir Edward Goschen was unaccountably delayed. For reasons which can only be surmised, the German Government appears to have delayed it.
Information from a reliable quarter nevertheless reached His Majesty’s Ministers, shortly before 11, that the British demand for assurances in regard to the neutrality of Belgium had been summarily rejected. The necessary decisions were therefore taken and an official statement was issued to the effect that, in consequence of this rejection, His Majesty’s Ambassador at Berlin had received his passports and that his Majesty’s Government had declared to the German Government that a state of war existed between Great Britain and Germany as from 11.00pm.
Notwithstanding the lateness of the hour, several members of the Diplomatic Corps called at the Foreign Office to ask for information. The scene was one of extraordinary animation, though a sense of the extreme gravity of the moment was everywhere noticeable.
As the news of the declaration of war reached the street, the crowd expressed its feelings in loud cheering. It left the precincts of Downing Street and gathered in front of the War Office, where patriotic demonstrations continued until an early hour this morning.24
Although adverts and messages occupied the first two pages as always, there was extensive coverage in the rest of the paper, including a large notice at the heart of page three, the first news page, which left the public in no doubt as to the seriousness of the unfolding events – a pre-prepared recruitment advert:
Your King and Country Needs You!
Will you answer your country’s call? Each day is fraught with the gravest possibilities and at this very moment the empire is on the brink of the greatest war in the history of the world.
In this crisis your country calls on all young unmarried men to rally round the flag and enlist in the ranks of her army.
If every patriotic young man answers her call, England and her empire will emerge stronger and more united than ever.
If you are unmarried between 18 and 30 years old will you answer your country’s call? And go to the nearest recruiter – whose address you can get from any post office – and
JOIN THE ARMY TODAY!25
Swept up in the patriotic fervour, people from all walks of life responded to the impassioned call to arms, with 750,000 recruited by September and over a million by January 1915. Many men joined together from the same town, workplace or sports club, encouraged by figures such as General Sir Henry Rawlinson to enlist; his direct appeal to financiers in the City of London led to 1,600 stockbrokers signing up to the 10th (Service) Battalion of the Royal Fusiliers within days of the outbreak of war. General Rawlinson would oversee the British assault on the first day of the Battle of the Somme on 1 July 1916, during which many of the Pals battalions would receive horrific casualties that left entire communities bereft of their menfolk.
Another leading figure to inspire mass recruitment was Edward Stanley, the 17th Earl of Derby, who captured the spirit of the time when he announced his aim of raising troops from Liverpool: ‘This should be a battalion of pals, a battalion in which friends from the same office will fight shoulder to shoulder for the honour of Britain and the credit of Liverpool.’26 Local pride and national duty combined with sufficient fervour that four battalions were raised within days.
Inside the Foreign Office there had been a similar eagerness to sign up, particularly amongst the King’s Messengers, who had traditionally come from a military background. At the outbreak of war there were four majors on the army reserve list who were keen to re-enlist so that they could ‘do their bit’. According to their colleague, Victor Wheeler-Holohan, the senior staff at the Foreign Office had other ideas:
They were all liable to be called up, but the Foreign Office had the prior claim on their services, and at once communicated with the War Office with regard to securing their exemption from mobilisation.27
It was not just prior experience of active military duty that made the King’s Messengers such a valuable commodity – their familiarity with Europe and the various diplomatic networks around the world made them prime candidates for other work:
Custance promptly reported to the War Office for duty, and was sent down to Falmouth for Military Intelligence duties... However, the Foreign Office was soon after him and on 10 August he was ordered back. His request to serve on with the army was refused, for in view of the fact that in addition to the usual languages he spoke Spanish and Portuguese fluently, he was too valuable and he was sent out to South America for intelligence work. At the same time he was laden with over 50 new and secret ciphers which had to be distributed all over the place.28
King’s Messengers were not the only personnel that the Foreign Office hierarchy were keen to retain, given the anticipat
ed volume of work that the outbreak of war was likely to cause. As Chief Clerk and therefore holding responsibility for personnel, Tilley recalled:
There was some divergence of opinion as to releasing any of our own men for military service. Crowe, for whom the office came very much first, would have liked to keep everyone. Others were inclined to think that we should let the younger men go but there was a special difficulty in this because the second division clerks had come in at about the age of 18 whereas the diplomatic clerks had come in at 22 to 25, so that to take all the youngest men first meant to take all second and no first division men.29
This meant that there was no immediate pressure on men like Ernest Oldham to enlist – although the perception that they were essential to the continued running of the Foreign Office was soon dispelled:
On the other hand, the second division men were more easily replaced by women. It was a considerable time before it was arranged to let anyone go, but in the end a certain number of both categories were released, though many more second division than first. Of the second division clerks several died gallantly.30
Underpinning the initial public enthusiasm for war was a belief (if not actual downright confidence) that the stalwarts of the British Army – the Old Contemptibles – would prevail, sweeping the Hun aside and delivering a quick success within months. At the time of mobilisation, the strength of the army stood at 710,000, of which there were only 80,000 trained regulars, with the remainder in the Territorial forces – many of whom were simply not ready for front line action. Nevertheless, the British Expeditionary Force was sent to France on 7 August to halt the German advance.