by Hugh Purcell
The ambassador disliked socialite Washington, too, and was only too happy to creep into the shadows (as Barbara Castle had observed years before) and leave the limelight to Catherine. Her view of Nixon was less than sympathetic:
I sat next to the President at one grand dinner in the White House. I was wearing a Jean Muir evening dress. It was black velvet, with full black organza sleeves. Mr Nixon plucked at one of these sleeves and said, ‘All women should wear clothes like this all the time’ – a familiarity not really suitable in the circumstances. Then he went on to refer to an aide’s wife: ‘She’s a terrible woman. She refuses to come to Washington to be with him. Women like that should be shot!’ So I replied, ‘Or drowned at birth, perhaps?’ He looked at me and then turned away.34
It was his wife’s lack of deference to the President of the United States that her husband found hard to cope with. On the other hand, Catherine very much liked Henry Kissinger. He was ‘a sophisticated European in America, warm, accessible and amusing’. She saw his insecure side too. In March 1970, they met at a party held by the publisher and hostess Katherine Graham: ‘He looked absolutely shaken. He had just come from a confrontation with former academic colleagues about the bombing of Cambodia. He had a vulnerable side, which I found sympathetic.’
If Freeman’s success was due to the ‘intimate relations’, in Nixon’s phrase, which he established with the White House, then the success of the ambassador’s wife was the atmosphere she created at 3100 Massachusetts Avenue. Washington is a capital of gossip and show and the British embassy was in the spotlight. By all accounts Catherine was a huge success, which reflected well on Freeman whether he liked it or not. As in New Delhi, she entertained with flair. ‘The days of the absolutely conventional diplomatic entertaining are over,’ she declared to a journalist. One of her Washington friends from this period is a former lawyer, Corinna Metcalf:
She was the perfect ambassador’s wife. She was formal and casual at the same time. She knew how to talk to anybody. She knew who to sit next to who. She knew about food, about menus, how to treat staff. She knew how to give people a good time. Everyone in the diplomatic corps thought she was the tops.35
Another friend, Joanna Rose, who dates her friendship with Catherine from university years at Oxford, met up with her again in New York: ‘Catherine was a huge success. She made friends everywhere. You do what you like and she was good at it. John’s success in Washington was in large part due to Catherine.’36
Freeman hated the ‘flummery’, as he put it, so that he frequently sloped off early to ‘read his telegrams’. Joanna Rose thought he had ‘inter-personal problems’ ever since she attended the British embassy Christmas party of 1969, an important date in the social calendar, when the ambassador broke with tradition by refusing to play Father Christmas. His own preferred entertainment was watching the Washington Redskins football team with Wes Pruden, incognito. They ‘eschewed’, as he may well have said, the Honours Box to sit in the cheap seats and drink Tennent’s lager from cans that depicted a ‘lager lovely’ stripped down to her bikini. Nanny Cynthia Gomes recognised the private side of John Freeman:
What a good man he was. In Washington in the evenings, whenever he came home I used to hear him coming and he used to come up to the nursery when I’d been making the children’s tea and he used to say to me, ‘Can I join them for tea?’ And I would make them scrambled egg on toast, or Marmite toast or whatever I was doing for the children, and he would sit there eating it with the children.
He was a very simple man actually, Mr Freeman. He didn’t like all this posh thing. He liked anything for peace and quiet. He was like that.37
The volatile issue during the first year of Freeman’s ambassadorship was the Vietnam War. The United States and her Allies wanted to extricate themselves from the war without losing face; the Vietnamese government wanted to extract the most advantageous peace terms possible. Britain was an ally with a small ‘a’ because although Wilson supported the American intervention, he refused to do so with any military involvement. Freeman’s role was to ensure good relations between a President anxious to maintain popular support during his first term in office and a Prime Minister aware of the unpopularity of the war in Britain at a time of an impending general election. It was not easy. He probably found Nixon easier to deal with than Wilson because the former took a global view of foreign affairs while the latter seemed mildly paranoid and parochial. To make matters worse, the American massacre of Vietnamese civilians at My Lai (called Songmy at the time), that came to light in November 1969, and then the bombing of civilians in Cambodia beginning the following April, further inflamed public opinion in both countries and unsettled their governments.
In November 1969, Wilson complained to Freeman that he was not given special treatment by the White House. Exposing his insecurity, he said in a personal letter to his old political friend that despite feeling slighted he had no wish to visit Nixon:
As John Freeman, rather than HM ambassador, will understand, we are in a pre-election period. There is no mileage whatsoever in a visit to Washington. Any visit would mean a total endorsement of Nixon’s Vietnam position and public opinion in this country is, if anything, less in support of Vietnam than public opinion in America.38
Freeman replied with a tactful warning: ‘There is no effective substitute for personal contacts. If we miss the opportunity to cement personal relationships with the President in his critical first year, they will less easily come by in the future.’39
Shortly after came revelations about the ‘Massacre at Songmy’ the previous March when up to 500 unarmed Vietnamese civilians had been killed in cold blood by American troops. This caused global outrage and Wilson summoned Freeman to London for discussions about the British response. No doubt this was window dressing, but on his return Freeman was given an abject apology from Secretary of State Rogers, which he communicated to London: ‘He had no doubt that disgraceful and almost certainly criminal actions had taken place. He was filled with the utmost horror and shame.’ Then Rogers added a warning: ‘There is no prospect that public opinion will change the President’s mind to get out of Vietnam as fast as possible compatible with national honour.’40 This meant ‘not yet’. In a forceful but diplomatic secret and personal memo to Sir Denis Greenhill on 15 December, Freeman warned against any backsliding in American support:
Special resentment would no doubt be felt against any foreign government that could be argued to have stabbed the United States in the back over Vietnam. This ought to be in the forefront of ministers’ minds considering any change in HMG’s policy at this late stage in the war from general support to general opposition to American war aims in Vietnam.41
So Wilson made a speech in the House of Commons backing Nixon’s policy and the same day Nixon rang up Freeman and asked him to convey his thanks: ‘I wanted him to know I appreciated it.’
At the end of January 1970, Wilson did come to Washington. According to Kissinger, Nixon was not impressed by Wilson’s manner:
He distrusted his views and resented the way he greeted the President with the avuncular good will of the head of an ancient family that has seen better times but is still able to evoke memories of the old wisdom, dignity and power that had established the family name in the first place.42
Apparently Wilson suggested Christian name terms but ‘a fishy-eyed stare from Nixon squelched the idea’. Not withstanding this, Wilson was rewarded by Nixon with a rare honour to attend the security council together with his Foreign Secretary and ambassador. This was planned by Kissinger and Freeman.
Three months later the USAF launched Operation Menu, dropping 110,000 tons of bombs on Cambodia followed up by military operations on the ground. Kissinger informed Freeman the day before, in ‘sombre mood’, and Freeman wasted no time informing the Foreign Office:
Kissinger invited me this afternoon to see a final draft of the President’s speech due to be delivered at 2 a.m. BST tomorrow. He asked me that even m
ore care than usual should be taken to protect his confidence since for the first time he was confiding in me without the President’s authority.
Freeman then relayed the news and ended, as always, that he hoped London would support the invasion: ‘Our good relations stem largely from the President’s appreciation of the understanding he has received from HMG, often in difficult political circumstances.’43
The Foreign Secretary, Michael Stewart, did defend the bombing in a speech to Parliament. Perhaps this is why Freeman was able to obtain for him a meeting with the President the following month. This did not go according to plan. At the last minute Stewart told Freeman that he did not expect to be Foreign Secretary after the general election and, therefore, ‘as one of his last efforts, he wanted to speak with exceptional candour to the President about his anxieties’. In effect, he wanted to complain about American aggression in Vietnam and Cambodia and he intended to ask the President to withdraw US troops from Vietnam. Freeman and Kissinger sat in on the meeting so that Freeman’s complaint to Sir Denis afterwards has the merit of an eyewitness:
He [the Foreign Secretary] did not speak very diplomatically. He fell into the trap of hammering the President about matters on which he had not been properly briefed and his tone may have been a bit too schoolmasterly for the President. The President’s demeanour throughout was attentive, polite and cheerful. I am not sure this represented his true feelings. Kissinger was much irritated and did not conceal this from me. I can’t rid my mind of the thought that we may have used up quite a bit of goodwill to not much purpose and that my welcome at the White House next time may be cooler than usual.44
Sir Denis replied:
Addressee’s eyes only.
I can see it all only too vividly from your description. I spoke to the Foreign Secretary this morning. He did not feel the President took any umbrage. I can well understand Kissinger’s attitude as much as I regret it. It is most extraordinary thing that the last two presidents have attracted to them the same type of European-born guru who is absurdly jealous of other influences on his chief.45
On 7 May 1970, Catherine held one of her most glittering social events. The press dubbed it ‘Cinderella’s Night’:
All of a sudden, thousands and thousands of pink and white cherry blossoms floated down into the champagne glasses on the terrace of the British embassy in Washington. The entire ‘Salon Operetta’ evening, which Ambassador and Mrs John Freeman planned, to benefit the Friends of the American Museum in Bath, was enchanting. The Freemans erected a blue-carpeted stage in the Wedgwood blue and white Great Hall, set up hundreds of gold chairs and presented ‘Cendrillon’ by Pauline Viardot.
Guests found themselves face to knee with the Freeman’s charming sons, Matthew, eight, and Tom, six, dressed in their best blue blazers and white ducks, who were permitted to stay up past their bedtime to greet each celebrated arrival with a very British ‘Good evening’ and boyish handshake. And since no one likes to miss a British embassy affair, all the Washington illustrati were there in full regalia. The gypsy look, chiffon and antique jewels were big.46
Only two days later, the atmosphere in Washington changed dramatically. Three days before, the Ohio State Guard had opened fire on a peaceful demonstration against the Vietnam War at Kent University and killed four students. The immediate result was incendiary. Four hundred and fifty universities closed and four million students went on strike. On 9 May, 100,000 people demonstrated in Washington. One of Nixon’s speech-writers recalled: ‘The city was an armed camp. The mobs were smashing windows, slashing tires, dragging parked cars into intersections, even throwing bedsprings off overpasses into the traffic down below. That’s not student protest, that’s civil war.’47 Catherine Freeman remembers leaflets stuffed through the window of the ambassador’s Rolls-Royce and rioting in Massachusetts Avenue.
The anti-Vietnam riots were the political sharp end of a new culture sweeping America in the late ’60s. Its musical expression was the ‘tribal love-rock musical’ Hair, which opened in Washington in 1969. A product of the hippy counter-culture and sexual revolution of the 1960s, several of its songs became anthems of the anti-Vietnam War peace movement. Catherine Freeman’s social secretary, Judith Mitchell, was in her element. She loved Hair, went round the residency in bare feet and performed the South African political protest dance toyitoyi, to an appreciative audience. Classical music was not her thing – she told Robert Cassen on an evening out that she had not been to a concert before – but she was in tune with the counter-culture.
This was a difficult time for the Freemans, and it did not get better. When they holidayed with Joanna and Dan Rose at the exclusive summer colony of the Hamptons, Joanna noticed there was tension in the air. After Wes Pruden had taken Catherine and Corinna Metcalf down to Arkansas to show them his family roots, he tried to describe the trip to John at the next Redskins football game. ‘I said “We had a really good trip” and he said “I’m sure you did” and then he started to talk about the tactics of the game we were at. Wasn’t interested.’ Freeman had become so cold that Catherine was drawn to ask if he was having an affair? ‘You have the mind of a housemaid to ask such a question,’ he replied. This, of course, was not an answer but it had the desired result of silencing her. That summer he went on his own to a dinner party given by the outspoken socialite Barbara Howar. She raised her voice down the table and asked him, ‘What’s all this about Edna O’Brien?’ Freeman froze her out: ‘I’ve no idea.’ He must have realised he was treading on thin ice.
The more Freeman distanced himself from Catherine, the closer Judith moved to her. She became a kind of confidante. She was skilled at hairdressing and would put Catherine’s hair up most evenings before parties, and in turn Catherine lent her evening dresses when she needed them. All this irritated the ambassador. Then, completely out of the blue during that summer of 1970, Judith handed in her notice. Catherine was stricken and begged her not to go. Judith seemed equally upset but insisted that family duties in South Africa came first. The ‘3100 REPORT’, edited by Matthew Freeman age nine, noted the departure of Miss Mitchell. ‘We had a great party with a cookout and champagne. Lots of people cried. Mum made a good movie so we have something to remind us. Dad added:
Judith Mitchell came alone
And buried herself on the telephone,
Judith Mitchell, lovely girl,
Left the house in a glorious whirl.
The atmosphere in Massachusetts Avenue was now bleak. Freeman seemed hostile and Catherine reacted badly. There were scenes, sometimes witnessed by others. Robert Cassen, now working for the World Bank in Washington, was invited to several embassy dinner parties because, he said, he had the advantage of the single male:
I always thought John had a shell, a polished, glassy exterior, which covered a dark and mysterious interior. He seemed to have your measure while you did not have his, which was intimidating. He was extremely charming, formidable in a sense that he did what he said he wanted to do and wouldn’t bend one inch from that. Quite a cold person.
On one occasion he asked the ambassador for career advice:
He took me out to lunch and I remember distinctly he said, ‘You should change your entire way of life every ten years.’ I didn’t know then that this was said with huge irony because it wasn’t many months after that lunch that he resigned from the embassy and broke up with Catherine.48
In 1970 the Freemans had been together for thirteen years.
When the Conservative Party surprisingly won the general election in June 1970, Freeman did not expect he would be retained as United States ambassador. Nor did he want to be. He had already written to Michael Stewart implying that he wanted to leave Washington even if Labour were returned to office. In fact, Edward Heath invited him to stay on but Freeman had made his mind up and, as usual, that was that. He turned down the offer of a peerage, saying to Catherine that ‘if it could be proved that an Honour would help me do my job better, then I might consider it. Until the
n, I don’t want one.’ Despite his success, it was time to start a new life. About this time he was sounded out to be the next editor of The Times, an appointment he said he would have accepted, but it came to nothing. In public he gave his usual reason for leaving as the need to earn good money. In private he said that he was bored. In fact, in 1967 he had given an ‘indeterminate promise’ to David Frost that he would join London Weekend Television as possible chairman when he left the diplomatic service and since then he had been written in, confidentially, as deputy chairman. Once again, if this career change worked out in practice, he would have been offered a job rather than having sought it.
The following week Freeman called on Prime Minister Edward Heath at 10 Downing Street with a tour d’horizon of the American scene. He gave him the President Nixon view that, with the withdrawal of American troops from Cambodia at the end of June, he had ‘weathered the worst of domestic reaction’. There would be ‘an honourable settlement in due course’, probably after peace negotiations in the spring of 1971. The President was now turning his attention to the Middle East.
The Henry Kissinger/John Freeman hot line had one further revelation, this time for the new HMG. In a meeting on 17 July Kissinger told Freeman that there had been two recent occasions when Washington and Hanoi had held highly secret peace talks. They had failed because of deep mistrust on either side. This information was of ‘peculiar delicacy’ Kissinger told Freeman, because probably even the state department did not know about it, or ‘if they did then there was no one there who would understand the significance. The information was known only in the most restricted circles of the White House.’49 There can be no stronger evidence of Freeman’s success as United States ambassador than this. He was able to pass on to a foreign government such hugely important information pertaining to the end of the Vietnam War that even the US state department possibly did not know about it.