It was in Lawrence’s company that Oliphant first mentioned the Bomb project to Robert Oppenheimer, who knew nothing about it. Seeing Lawrence’s discomfiture at Oliphant’s indiscretion, Oppenheimer hinted that it might be best to end the conversation, but Oliphant ploughed on. ‘That’s terrible,’ he told Oppenheimer. ‘We need you.’9
At the end of Oliphant’s stay in California, he gave Lawrence a pithy summary of the MAUD report. Lawrence was convinced of Oliphant’s case and quickly began to use his influence to lobby for the cause. By 3 October, Bush’s deputy James Conant had officially received the report from Thomson. Six days later in the White House, Bush used the report as the basis of his first meeting about the project with the President. After Bush sketched the current arrangement with Britain as ‘complete interchange on technical matters’, Roosevelt approved its continuation but saw the need to clarify how an Anglo-American project would be best managed.10 On his most decisive form, he agreed to set up a secret ‘Top Policy Group’ to guide the initiative, and ordered Bush to draft a letter ‘to open discussion of the [nuclear bomb] at the top’.11 Bush quickly drafted a short note to Churchill proposing that Britain and the US work together to develop the MAUD findings. After making a few trivial changes to Bush’s wording, Roosevelt sent the message post-haste to Churchill, suggesting that the nuclear project ‘may be coordinated or even jointly conducted’.12
The note testified to Oliphant’s success in the United States. Leó Szilárd, who had been labouring in vain for years to get the project off the ground, later wrote that ‘if Congress knew the true history of the atomic energy project, I have no doubt that it would create a special medal to be given to meddling foreigners for distinguished services, and Dr Oliphant would be the first to receive one’.13
In late October 1941, while nuclear weapons research was taking off in the United States, in Britain it was running into the sand. The MAUD scientists had been waiting for three months for the government to respond to their report, whose recommendations had obviously not struck a chord in Whitehall. On the last Monday of the month, Oliphant – now back in Britain – and other leading MAUD scientists received a letter from Edward Appleton at the Department of Scientific and Industrial Research. The news was not what they wanted to hear. The government had decided to hand over the running of their committee to ICI officials, Appleton told them in a note so tactless that many of its recipients considered it rude. The project would in future be shepherded by the company’s research director Wallace Akers – a member of the team that had organised ICI’s abortive attempt to take over the nuclear-energy project – assisted by Michael Perrin, one of the company’s leading administrators. The ICI boss Lord Melchett had lobbied Churchill’s officials so effectively that they had given him more than he had bargained for. The government had earlier refused to sanction ICI’s proposal to run MAUD, and then placed it in the hands of the company official who had written the bid.14
Most of the scientists on the project were appalled not only by the decision but also by Appleton’s discourtesy. To add salt to the wound, he had informed only a handful of the MAUD physicists, leaving the others to hear about it on the grapevine.15 G. P. Thomson was not told officially of the fate of his committee’s work until December.
Oliphant resigned immediately, in a biting letter to Appleton.16 Every line of it was drenched in hurt and anger: hurt that he had not been appointed to the new, top-tier Policy Committee; anger that the project was now being run by ‘commercial representatives completely ignorant of the essential nuclear physics upon which this whole thing is based’. The Americans were also delegating to know-nothings, he said, which is why their project was being ‘badly mismanaged’. Later that day, when writing to Chadwick, he was even more outspoken: the appointment of the new leadership was ‘disgraceful’ and Akers would ‘obviously . . . look after the commercial interests of ICI’.17 It was hard to believe that Akers was unbiased in his treatment of ICI as he was still doing part-time work for them.18
Oliphant contemplated giving up his work for the government, he told Chadwick, so that he could organise a revolt among his fellow MAUD physicists and run a ‘rival show’.19 They could then do their research without referring to ‘a lot of interfering busybodies who know nothing whatever about the problems involved’. Chadwick, who had seen almost a decade of Oliphanticism in the Cavendish, did his best to calm him down. During an exchange of letters, Chadwick agreed with his temperamental colleague that the handling of the transition to the new regime had been dictatorial and impolite:20
I am most dissatisfied with the way [the new arrangements] have been carried out, without the slightest reference to the MAUD Committee. This treatment I consider both autocratic and discourteous.
But when it came to the rub, Chadwick took the establishment line, telling an incredulous Oliphant that ‘the new arrangement is an excellent one’. Chadwick added that while the new leadership would continue to cooperate with the United States, the aim was to preserve an independent British initiative – ‘We are some way ahead and we shall remain ahead.’ To some extent pacified, Oliphant believed that Chadwick was underestimating the scale of the American project.
The small-mindedness of the new management especially irked Oliphant. When two senior American scientists arrived to talk over the nuclear project with British colleagues, Appleton told them that they should discuss only scientific and technical matters, and, according to Oliphant, arranged to have them accompanied by ‘“Gestapo” representatives’ to ensure that the regulation was followed.21 Yet Oliphant’s opposition to ICI’s involvement soon mellowed. In early January, he had lunch with Akers, who had quickly come to grips with the sprawling project and its political sensitivities.22 In a letter to Chadwick written in January 1942, Oliphant conceded that Akers was ‘an excellent person to be in charge of the work’, but still worried that his loyalty to ICI would compromise his leadership of the nuclear project, now known by the nonsensical but harmless-sounding name of ‘Tube Alloys’. During their conversation, Akers had confided in Oliphant that ‘nothing could happen in this matter before 1944’, though Oliphant thought that was optimistic by some two years.23 The timetable was too long for him and he knew he had no way of influencing it, so it was time, he sighed, to take a step back from his self-appointed role as an onlooker and critic: ‘In the future, I shall be neither critical nor useful.’ Two months later, he sailed for Australia to join his family and to help with his country’s war effort, though he would not be away from Britain for long.24
Oliphant had no idea that the Americans were by then planning a nuclear project that would deliver a weapon long before 1946. Nor had he any idea that, as a result of his proselytising in the United States, Roosevelt had in October 1941 proposed to Churchill a jointly conducted nuclear project along the lines several British scientists were hoping for. Had Oliphant been informed of Churchill’s response, it is safe to predict that he would not have taken it well.
NOVEMBER 1941 TO JULY 1942
Churchill talks about the Bomb with FDR
‘[Winston told me that FDR] was a “charming country gentleman”, but [the President’s] business methods were almost non-existent, so Winston had to play the role of courtier and seize opportunities as and when they arose. I am amazed at [the] patience with which he does this.’
ANTHONY EDEN, 19431
When Churchill regarded a note from Roosevelt as pressing, he usually replied to it within a few days. Yet the President had to wait almost two months for a reply to his offer of an equal-harness collaboration to build nuclear weapons. By then, events had moved on, and Churchill had missed the great opportunity given to him by his nuclear scientists.
Churchill responded to Roosevelt’s offer with a perfunctory cable, noting that he had – following the President’s suggestion – delegated Anderson and Lindemann to explore the matter with the American scientists’ representative in London, Frederick Hovde.2 The hope was, Churchill wrote, that ‘it w
ill be possible for them shortly to hand Mr Hovde a detailed statement for transmission to America’. There is no enthusiasm in this cable and no sense that either Churchill or any of his advisers had grasped the significance of the proposal the President had made.
The meeting with Hovde that Churchill described had taken place on 21 November, seven weeks after the arrival of the President’s letter. It was also attended by Anderson’s Private Secretary, whose excruciating account of the discussion makes clear that Lindemann and Anderson believed they were holding all the aces.3 They had read, and taken at face value, a briefing by British officials who had overestimated the ability of their country’s experts to solve the scientific, technological and industrial problems posed by the Bomb.
After hearing that Bush and Conant were ‘anxious’ for a fuller collaboration and that the President wanted it to be pursued ‘with all possible speed’, Anderson countered with provisos: although he and his colleagues were also ‘anxious’ to collaborate, he said, the Americans needed to improve their security so that it was on a par with Britain’s. His Majesty’s Government would respond to the request only after it had seen and reviewed a statement of the present American organisation of the project. In the meantime, Anderson said he would advise the Prime Minister to write to the President giving him ‘a general assurance of our desire to collaborate’.
To Roosevelt and his advisers, Churchill’s half-hearted response to the offer of a nuclear partnership was in keeping with his reluctance of the past two years to exchange technical information. Any possibility that Roosevelt might give Churchill a second chance ended on 7 December, with Japan’s attack on Pearl Harbor – the US joined the war and pursued the Bomb with an awesome energy, and with no interest in giving Britain any more of a role than was necessary to help the Americans achieve the goal of acquiring the Bomb. Churchill had missed the last bus and was soon running after it with an unseemly desperation, having turned down the driver’s offer of a ride.
Churchill heard the news of Pearl Harbor during a quiet Sunday-evening dinner at Chequers, when he switched on his radio.4 Minutes later, Churchill spoke on the phone with Roosevelt, who confirmed that he would be going to Congress the following day to declare war: ‘We are all in the same boat now.’ Hitler and Mussolini declared war on the United States on 11 December – sealing their fate – and Churchill embarked on his journey across the Atlantic the following day. His personal popularity would guarantee a warm reception, though feelings among Americans about the British were mixed, as he knew from dispatches written by Ambassador Halifax.5
Roosevelt granted Churchill the honour of meeting him on his arrival at Washington’s new National Airport. The President could scarcely have made his guest more welcome, talking strategy and tactics day and night, dispensing pre-dinner cocktails, and eating with him and their advisers dozens of times, the liquor flowing much more copiously than the Roosevelts usually allowed.6 On Christmas Eve, the two men stood together when the White House Christmas tree lights were ceremonially switched on and, two days later, a joint session of Congress cheered the Prime Minister as he gave a bravura speech of amity and resolve, sometimes blinking back tears. The excitement was too much – shortly afterwards he had a mild heart attack, the first sign of his coronary condition, but he quickly recovered. In a joyous telegram, he later told Clement Attlee of his great admiration for the President and how well they were getting on: ‘We live here as a big family in the greatest intimacy and informality.’7 Perhaps he was thinking of the incident when the President entered his bedroom and found him dictating memos while pacing up and down in the nude. ‘You see, Mr President,’ Churchill said, ‘I have nothing to conceal from you.’8
The President and the Prime Minister had much in common – their patrician upbringing, their lust for life, their love of power, their aversion to abstraction and doctrine, their blazing self-confidence.9 Yet there were important differences between them. Roosevelt was the more skilful politician, his gaze fixed optimistically on the future, while Churchill looked backwards to the British Empire when it was in its prime, fearful of what might lie ahead. Roosevelt was cunning and manipulative, whereas Churchill usually got his way through charm and determination. Both men sparkled in company, though for different reasons: Roosevelt was a relaxed and intimate conversationalist, whereas Churchill’s oratorical flights sometimes lapsed into bloviation. It was a friendship of sorts, if a somewhat one-sided one – Churchill got rather less out of it than he put in.10
After a visit to Canada, Churchill took a five-day break in the Florida sun, at the same time running Britain’s war effort from afar and monitoring the threatening news from South-East Asia. Japanese troops were advancing almost unopposed towards the fortress of Singapore and its hinterland, whose survival he regarded as ‘vital’.11 Shortly before he returned to ‘the stir’ of Washington,12 he received a briefing note from his secretary John Martin about Tube Alloys ‘in case the President mentions the matter’.13 Martin reminded him that he had not met with Frederick Hovde, who had hand-delivered Roosevelt’s offer, but had delegated Anderson and Lindemann to visit him. They had assured Hovde of the British wish to collaborate,14 promising a statement in writing, though they had not delivered it before the Prime Minister left London.
It seems that Churchill and Roosevelt did not discuss the Bomb project to any significant extent – it probably seemed a far-fetched prospect compared with all the immediately pressing matters on their plate, including the Lend-Lease Bill, the Battle of the Atlantic and the advance of the Japanese. When Churchill’s visit ended on 14 January, the President crafted his parting words perfectly to touch the Prime Minister’s heart: ‘Trust me to the bitter end.’15 When he returned to London, Churchill told the King of the triumph – Britain and the United States, after many months of courting, ‘were now married’.16 This was a landmark in relations between Britain and America, the birth of the much-vaunted Special Relationship that Churchill held so dear – they would never again be so close.
Roosevelt and his advisers had got the message about Churchill’s attitude to the Bomb – that, for him, it was not especially important. Five days after the leaders parted, Roosevelt approved the top-secret proposal to build the weapon, suggesting to Bush that he keep the document in his own safe. The President did not inform most of his senior White House colleagues, nor does he appear to have mentioned it to Churchill. Yet Roosevelt clearly saw the strategic value of the Bomb. Six weeks later, he told Bush that he wanted the programme ‘pushed not only in regard to its development, but also with due regard to time. This is very much of the essence.’17 Meanwhile, Churchill was allowing himself to be guided by the solid but unimaginative Anderson and by the clever but supercilious Lindemann, who both underestimated American ability and resolve. One of the scientifically-minded officials left out in the cold was Lord Hankey, who nonetheless kept Churchill well informed with pertinent advice. In early December, Hankey wrote a paper to brief him on the secret programme to prepare bacteriological weapons, and suggesting that Britain might want to poison German cattle with feed cake laced with anthrax.18 He stressed that it would not be wise to trust the Nazis’ promise to abide by the 1925 Geneva Protocol, and that Britain should secretly begin to produce the cattle poison ‘for purposes of retaliation’. Churchill endorsed the project, on the understanding that it was kept top secret.
For Churchill, 1942 was to be the unhappiest year of his wartime premiership. Reports of the Japanese army’s advances and other bad news led him in late January to demand a vote of confidence, which he won by 464 votes to 1, the challenge leaving him chastened though unbowed.19 Much worse was to come in mid-February with the humiliating surrender of about eighty thousand British, Indian and Australian soldiers in the colony of Singapore. This was, he later recalled, ‘the worst disaster and the largest capitulation in British history’.20 For the first time in his premiership, he saw that it might be time for someone else to take over as leader – the ascetic Stafford
Cripps, former ambassador to the Soviet Union and a friend of physicist Patrick Blackett, began to emerge as a credible replacement.21
Churchill was now deeply concerned about the quality of his army, which appeared to be less well led and less effective than Germany’s, and less resolute than the Soviet Union’s vast armed forces. Sustained attacks in the press and the Commons put him under pressure to change his team and review the roles of his experts, including Lindemann. Churchill had been unrepentant in Parliament a few weeks before: after an MP publicly questioned his chief science adviser’s integrity, Churchill murmured to his Private Secretary, ‘Love me, love my dog, and if you don’t love my dog you damn well can’t love me.’22 Hankey, long unhappy about what he saw as Churchill’s dictatorial leadership, confronted him about the Prof’s influence and was rewarded in March 1942 with a letter of dismissal written with exceptional cruelty.23
Churchill next visited Roosevelt three months later, a few weeks after the Americans’ victory at the Battle of Midway ended any chance that the Japanese could win naval supremacy in the Pacific. The German armies had been halted in front of Moscow the previous winter, and the Eastern Front was now draining Nazi resources. The Allies’ fortunes were beginning to turn for the better.
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