The Windsors were not the only royals to worry him. Churchill quashed a parliamentary critic’s attempt to see the appointment of the Duke of Gloucester, the king’s mediocre younger brother, as commander in chief of the army, not an entirely ceremonial position. It was not the first time this duke would attempt to intervene in military matters—it was he, for example, who supposedly prompted the king to urge Chamberlain to dump the unpopular Leslie Hore-Belisha as secretary of state for war back in 1940. The rationale given now for this appointment was Churchill’s being spread too thin and his meddling in military decisions, which seemed, by the beginning of 1942, to be contributing to bleak prospects. It would be better, Leo Amery said, if Churchill were both “Minister of Defence and P.M. only in name” so that his energies could be better focused on the war. Others were less certain. “Hitler may be a self-educated corporal and Winston may be an experienced student of tactics,” noted Colville, “but unfortunately Germany is organised as a war machine and England has only just realised the meaning of modern warfare.” Yet “Hitler seems not only to direct the policy of war, he even plans the details.”
“Yes,” Churchill added, “that’s just what I do.”
The king’s burden extended also to other royals whom he hosted or for whom he otherwise felt responsible. The best known was Queen Wilhelmina of the Netherlands, who arrived in Britain in the nick of time with little more than the clothes on her back. In the cases of others like Leopold of Belgium and Paul of Yugoslavia, the difficulties in their own countries also proved too great to surmount as each monarch’s rule succumbed to desperation and defeat. The king may have recalled his father’s experience with the Romanovs—George V had denied them sanctuary. He may have been determined to do better.
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The war continued to go badly for Britain during the spring of 1942. In April came the so-called Baedeker Raids on cities, it was said, with more history than industry, like Exeter, Bath, Norwich, and York. The king met Marshall and Hopkins, and backed Brooke’s proposed plan to attack German positions by way of Cyprus and Syria. This “resulted in good argument with Winston.”
In June came the German recapture of Tobruk and with it Britain’s fear of losing North Africa. Churchill was dismayed, in part because he got the news while he was again with Roosevelt in Washington. It brought the two closer together but was nonetheless “one of the heaviest blows I can recall during the war.” Churchill added: “Defeat is one thing; disgrace is another.” In response would come Operation Torch.
The invasion of North Africa presented several difficulties, not least of which was coordination with some unfamiliar and sometimes disagreeable American allies. The above-mentioned saga of the second front need not be recounted here in full; suffice it to say that in addition to the Soviet element, which was paramount, there were persistent difficulties with the Americans. Since entering the war, they naturally demanded a heavier role in making strategic and operational decisions. Who would not have wanted to delay that moment as long as possible, if it was possible to delay at all?
Marshall, Hopkins, and now Admiral Ernest King had returned to London in July. “It will be a queer party,” Brooke predicted, “as Harry Hopkins is for operating in Africa, Marshall wants to operate in Europe, and King is determined to strike in the Pacific!” Then there was the ever more demanding Stalin. That month the chiefs had told Churchill it was important “not [to] lead the Russians to think there is no chance of our attacking this year.” Roberts has explained: “The double negative is instructive. Brooke did not want Stalin to know that there was no hope of a second front in Europe in 1942; however, he did not want the Americans to be told that Sledgehammer [the early plans for the invasion of France] was off the agenda ‘at once.’” The war calculations were almost always zero-sum in this way. As the king later recorded in his diary: “[Churchill] has decided no more convoys to Russia are to be run due to the existing circumstances, which will allow the extra escorts for the Atlantic routes. He wants to tell Stalin the true reason for their stoppage, which is, that if we starve ourselves, we cannot help him with armaments.” Churchill appealed directly to Stalin in person for patience, which he said “was like carrying a large lump of ice to the North Pole.”
He flattered the Soviet leader’s sense of Realpolitik. Often overlooked in Churchill’s famous line about Russia being a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma is what he said next: “[B]ut perhaps there is a key. That key is Russian national interest.” He drew for Stalin a picture of a crocodile, showing its soft belly and hard snout. Stalin liked this.
“If Torch succeeded,” Stalin said, then “everybody will understand.” But the Soviet leader was still seen to be unhappy. On the way back from Moscow, Wavell sat on the floor of the aircraft and wrote a ballad, which ended,
Prince of the Kremlin, here’s a fond farewell,
I’ve had to deal with many worse than you,
You took it though you hated it like hell,
No Second Front in 1942.
The king welcomed Churchill back from his mission: “Your task was a very disagreeable one, but I congratulate you heartily on the skill with which you have accomplished it.”
In addition to the turns in the war, the king was about to suffer a tough personal blow. His younger brother the Duke of Kent was killed in a plane crash a few days later on August 25. The king got the news while at Balmoral during dinner; when the others there saw his distress, everyone assumed Queen Mary had died, but instead it had been her favorite son.
Finally in November the luck all around changed. Churchill arrived for Tuesday luncheon on November 3 “carrying before him a red dispatch box.” He said to the king, “I bring you victory.” The queen “remember[ed] we looked at each other, and we thought, ‘Is he going mad?’ We had not heard that word since the war began.” Added the king: “A victory at last. How good it is for the nerves.” The Battle of El Alamein had been won.
This was the first major military victory since Churchill had become prime minister. It came at just the right moment. The king wrote to him enthusiastically:
I must send you my warmest congratulations on the great Victory of the 8th Army in Egypt. I was overjoyed when I received the news & so was everybody else. In our many talks together over a long period I knew that the elimination of the Afrika Corps, the threat to Egypt, was your one aim, the most important of all the many other operations with which you have had to deal. When I look back & think of all the many arduous hours of work you have put in, & the many miles you have travelled, to bring this battle to such a successful conclusion you have every right to rejoice; while the rest of our people will one day be very thankful to you for what you have done. I cannot say more. At last the Army has come into its own, as it is their victory primarily, ably helped by the forces of the air, & of those that work under the surface of the sea.
I am so pleased that everybody is taking this victory in a quiet & thankful way, though their rejoicing is very deep & sincere.
Churchill replied:
I am deeply grateful to Your Majesty for the most kind and gracious letter with which I have been honoured. I shall always preserve it during the remaining years of my life, and it will remain as a record of the support and encouragement given by the Sovereign to his First Minister in good and dark days alike. No Minister in modern times, and I daresay in long past days, has received more help and comfort from the King, and this has brought us all thus far with broadening hopes and now I feel to brightening skies.
It is needless to me to assure Your Majesty of my devotion to Yourself and Family and to our ancient and cherished Monarchy—the true bulwark of British freedom against tyrannies of every kind; but I trust I may have the pleasure of feeling a sense of personal friendship which is very keen and lively in my heart and has grown strong in these hard times of war.
Some American servicemen attended a tea party at the palace for Thanksgi
ving. “One young officer, enjoying a whisky and soda, was heard to say, ‘I never get Scotch at the White House. I like this king-racket.’” Roosevelt had written to the king that “on the whole the situation of all of us is better . . . and that, while 1943 will not see a complete victory for us, things are on the up-grade.” The new year, 1943, thus began on an optimistic note. Brooke could not
help glancing back at Jan 1st last year when I could see nothing but calamities ahead. . . .
Horrible doubts, horrible nightmares, which grew larger and larger as the days went on till it felt as if the whole Empire was collapsing round my head. . . . And now! We start 1943 under conditions I would never have dared to hope. Russia has held, Egypt for the present is safe. There is a hope of clearing North Africa of Germans in the near future. The Mediterranean may be partially opened. Malta is safe for the present. We can now work freely against Italy, and Russia is scoring wonderful successes in Southern Russia. We are certain to have many setbacks to face, many troubles, and many shattered hopes, but for all that the horizon is infinitely brighter.
The king continued to worry. “Outwardly one has to be optimistic about the future in 1943, but inwardly I am depressed at the present prospect.”
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Churchill headed to North Africa in January. He nearly froze during the journey after ordering the heat on his airplane shut off on account of the fumes. Perhaps this was a source of his illness the following month. He developed what may have been his worst-ever case of pneumonia—or it may have been revenge for the style of his journey. Brooke saw him in Marrakesh, for example:
It was all I could do to remain serious. The room . . . was done up in Moorish style, the ceiling was a marvelous fresco of green, blue and gold. The head of the bed rested in an alcove of Moroccan design with a religious light shining on either side, the bed was covered in a blue silk covering with a 6 in[ch] wide lace “entre deux” and the rest of the room in harmony with the Arabic ceiling. And there in the bed was Winston in his green, red and gold dragon dressing gown, his hair, or what there was of it, standing on end, the religious lights shining on his cheeks, and a large cigar in his face!!
Edward Spears has recalled a similar “apparition” from one of their earlier visits to France: it “resembled an angry Japanese genie, in long, flowing red silk kimono over other similar but white garments, girdled with a white belt of like material, [and] stood there, sparse hair on end, and said with every sign of anger: ‘Uh ay ma bain?’”
“I suppose I ought to have said, ‘Uh ay MONG bain?’” Churchill later corrected. He liked ruses, costumes, and disguises, though they made him look like “a figure which might have stepped straight from the world of Walt Disney.” At Casablanca his code name was Mr. P; Roosevelt’s was Admiral Q. “We must mind our Ps and Qs.” The king may have agreed. He sent an anxious letter on February 22:
My dear Winston,
I am very sorry to hear that you are ill, & I hope that you will soon be well again. But do please take this opportunity for a rest . . . you must get back your strength for the strenuous coming months. I missed being able to have a talk to you last Tuesday, & I understand we may not meet next Tuesday either, so I am writing to you instead.
I do not feel at all happy about the present political situation in North Africa. I know we had to leave the political side of Torch to the Americans, while we were able to keep Spain & Portugal friendly during the time the operation was going on. Since then I feel the underhand dealings of Murphy with the French in North Africa, & his contacts with Vichy have placed both America & this country in an invidious position. I know we had to tread warily at the start, but is there nothing we can do now to strengthen Macmillan’s & Alexander’s hands in both the political and military sphere, to make the French sides come together. . . .
I should not think of bothering you with these questions at this moment, but I do feel worried about them, & I would like an assurance from you that they are being carefully watched.
I cannot discuss these vital matters with anyone but yourself.
Churchill’s seven-page-long reply came from his sickbed, where he lay with a temperature of 102 degrees:
I do not feel seriously disturbed by the course of events in North Africa, either political or even military although naturally there is much about both aspects which I would rather have different. . . . It is quite true that we have for this purpose and to safeguard our vital communications, to work with a mass of French officials who were appointed by Vichy; but without them I really do not know how the country could be governed. . . . The irruption of de Gaulle or his agents into this field, especially if forcibly introduced by us, would cause nothing but trouble. . . . It is entirely his fault that a good arrangement was not made between the two French factions. . . . Although I have been hampered by high fever from reading all the telegrams, I think I have the picture truly in my mind, and I wish indeed that I could have given this account to Your Majesty verbally at luncheon.
The king decided not to pursue the matter further, at least not in writing. He confided in his diary: “[T]he P.M. . . . assured me that the N. Afn. Situation was going well. . . . We had to use the French who were there. . . . The Americans will learn through defeat, & the Germans will learn from the 8th Army when they meet in Tunisia.”
On March 23 they resumed their weekly luncheons. Two weeks later Churchill predicted that there would be more success to come. The “Axis,” he said, is “having a ‘Bumkirk’ in Tunisia.” General Alexander had already reported: “The orders you gave me on August 10 1942 have been fulfilled. His Majesty’s enemies, together with their impedimenta, have been completely eliminated from Egypt, Cyrenaica, Libya, and Tripolitania. I now await your further instructions.” The German and Italian forces there surrendered in May. “It is an overwhelming victory,” wrote the king:
I wish to tell you how profoundly I appreciate the fact that its initial conception and successful prosecution are largely due to your vision and to your unflinching determination in the face of early difficulties. The African campaign has immeasurably increased the debt that this country, and indeed all the United Nations, owe to you.
Churchill replied:
No Minister of the Crown has ever received more kindness and confidence from his Sovereign than I have done. . . . This has been a precious aid and comfort to me. . . . My father and my grandfather both served in Cabinets of Queen Victoria’s reign, and I myself have been a Minister under your Majesty’s grandfather, your father, and your self for many years. The signal compliment which your Majesty has paid me on this occasion goes far beyond my deserts but will remain as a source of lively pleasure to me as long as I live.
The king’s telegram to Churchill on this occasion was publicized widely. By May the prime minister was back in Washington. Halifax said, “I have never seen him in better heart or form . . . an amazing contrast to the very tired and nerve-strained PM I saw last August in England.”
The king meanwhile suggested that he pay a visit to the troops in North Africa. Churchill agreed that this was a good idea. So, traveling as “General Lyon” (later he would prefer “General Collingwood”), the king went on his first visit to the army overseas since he had inspected the BEF in France in 1939. He rode in a large Ford that flew the royal standard. Some sang “For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow” and gave him ovations. He proceeded on to Malta, where the residents hung “rugs and carpets and curtains . . . out of the windows—anything to make a show.” There were so many flowers thrown at him, parts of his white uniform became a multicolored palette. He said he was “the happiest man in Malta today.”
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The next venture was the conquest of Italy. It proved to be much harder and bloodier than most people had expected. As Churchill had once said about a planned attack on Burma: “You might as well eat a porcupine one quill at a time,” and that could also have applied here. The idea was first to take Sicily, then the
whole of Italy. His reaction to the American proposal to begin with a more digestible portion—Sardinia, for example—was negative: “I absolutely refuse to be fobbed off with a sardine.” North Africa must act “as a ‘springboard,’ not as a ‘sofa’ to future action.”
The invasion in Sicily began in July and led to the fall of Mussolini. It produced more confusion than outright jubilation. The Allies then fought their way up the country, over and through some of the most difficult, mountainous terrain in Europe. These obstacles were compounded by the ambiguous aspect of Italian partisanship, for it was unclear sometimes who was fighting whom. The Soviets’ mood continued to fester. The Italian struggle prolonged the opening of the second front that Stalin had constantly urged. Churchill did what he could to mitigate the problem, or at least it appeared that way. Brooke regarded this approach to have been “wrong from the very start. . . . We have bowed and scraped to them, done all we could for them and never asked them for a single fact or figure concerning their production, strength, dispositions etc. As a result they despise us and have no use for us except for what they can get out of us.”
At this moment the king, at the suggestion of the Foreign Office, approved a gift from the British people to the Soviet defenders of Stalingrad in the form of a large sword, called the Sword of Stalingrad. Churchill would present it to Stalin at Tehran for the first of the Big Three conferences in November 1943. The king seemed to be pleased with the sword when he saw it, though he merely noted the absence of a date and asked how much it cost. The sword went on tour across England, where large crowds of people waited to see it. Lascelles managed to prevent the king from having it ornamented with bears by informing him that the Russian bear was generally used “by foreign cartoonists . . . to give [Stalin] a sword with bears on it would be like giving the French one ornamented with frogs.” Churchill handed the sword to Stalin in a special ceremony when they met at Tehran. Stalin kissed the sword, said a few gracious words of thanks, and then handed it to Marshal Voroshilov, who dropped it on his toe.
Churchill and the King Page 14