Moonlight

by Fergus O'Connell

  It is Grey who, without telling Parliament, has agreed that the British and French military should have talks about what to do in the event of war. It seemed perfectly sensible at the time. Britain and France were allies. If and when somebody opened up hostilities against them would hardly be the time to begin discussing the best way the two sets of military could work together. But now Grey is starting to find himself in the position of a man who courts a woman for years and discovers that she is thinking in terms of marriage.

  Anyway, apart from all that, if the German Army was to suddenly appear on the coast at Calais, if the German Navy were capable of operating out of Boulogne and Calais, then Britain’s interests would be threatened. So Britain isn’t really an observer or some kind of independent referee – she’s a participant. So the question now is how to avoid war breaking out in Europe.

  Grey returns to London that evening. Years after, he will write, ‘One danger I saw so hideous that it must be avoided and guarded against at every word. It was that France and Russia might face the ordeal of war with Germany, relying upon our support; that this support might not be forthcoming, and that we might then, when it was too late, be held responsible for having let them in for a disastrous war.’

  The words are interesting. First we can see that Grey is not focussed on the right problem. If the issue is saving the peace in Europe, why is this not his central concern? He has already moved on to the next problem. The assumption is that the current issue – the peace of Europe – is already lost.

  So now, for Grey, the issue had become saving the honour of Britain. What does this phrase actually mean? It is hard to see how it could be interpreted as anything other than saving the honour of Sir Edward Grey. Grey has made or implied certain promises. Now, as he sees it, these will have to be met.

  It is a truism that a government must protect its citizens. Where is the protection here? Grey might have argued that there was a long-term threat if Germany should invade France. But at that point no invasion was under way. There had been no Pearl Harbour or invasion of Poland. So in talking of war, there are a group of citizens – in the armed forces, for example – whose protection is suddenly being put to one side.

  Now you may argue that it’s not the job of the government to protect the army, but the job of the army to protect the government. But does this then mean that certain citizens get no protection?

  And anyway, leaving all of this aside, if there was to be a war, then people – whether soldiers or civilians or both – would die. Were Grey’s decisions taken in a world we cannot understand now – a world before television where people didn’t understand the full horror of war? A world before the two world wars, before the Holocaust? A world where life was cheaper – or at least that certain lives of certain classes were?

  One has to wonder what Grey would have chosen had the result been that his beloved ducks and other birds would die.

  In Berlin, the French Ambassador is winding up a meeting with the German Foreign Secretary.

  ‘May I speak to you man to man?’ asks Jules Cambon, the Ambassador.

  Von Jagow, the Foreign Secretary, nods.

  ‘Let me tell you that what you are going to undertake is stupid. You will gain nothing from it and you will risk much loss. France will defend herself a great deal better than you expect. And England, which committed the serious blunder of letting you crush us in 1870, will not do so again. You may be sure of that.’

  ‘You have your information,’ replies the Foreign Secretary. ‘And we have ours. We are sure of England’s neutrality.’

  In Paris, the Ministry of War orders the recall of officers on leave. The men will be left for another few days – the harvest needs to be brought in.

  In London, Grey has arrived home. Winston Churchill, First Lord of the Admiralty, finds him there. Churchill explains that the British fleet, concentrated in the Channel for the review at Spithead, is going to be kept there and not ordered to disperse back to its home ports. Will it help the situation – or not – to state this publicly?

  Grey has no doubt. Stating it publicly will have a steadying effect on Europe. Churchill goes back to the Admiralty and drafts a communiqué accordingly.

  Berchtold does indeed reject Grey’s offer of mediation, writing that if localisation of the war with Serbia isn’t possible, then they’ll be counting ‘with gratitude’ on Germany’s support ‘if a struggle against another adversary is forced upon us.’

  The Russians also reject Grey’s offer of mediation, saying that the proposed conference would be ‘too unwieldy’ and that they would prefer direct talks with the Austrians.

  Back in the Foreign Office, Grey tells his officials that he believes a compromise solution can be worked out if Germany and Britain work together. Not all of his people are convinced, feeling that the Germans may not be dealing with the crisis in good faith. One of them, Nicolson, warns Grey that, in his opinion, ‘Berlin is playing with us.’ But Grey rejects this, believing that Germany is interested in stopping a general war.

  Clara finds Henry upstairs checking that he has a clean shirt for tomorrow. Later on she sees him polishing his shoes, something that she used to do. And her day is complete when she catches him in the kitchen, lighting the grill. ‘I thought I smelt gas,’ he says limply, as his cheeks glow a beetroot colour.

  Henry spends another restless night wondering if he can’t at least get part of his problem sorted out. He decides he is going to take no action with Mary. Whether she stays or goes is going to be entirely up to her. Either way, he doesn’t mind. He tells himself this but, in fact, he’ll be sorry to lose her. He gets aroused just thinking about her. But he can’t let his penis rule his life, he tells himself. (‘Any more,’ he might have added if he was being completely honest with himself.) So he is going to see what Monday brings with Mary. If she comes crawling to him, then he’ll take her back. And if not, then he’ll find somebody else.

  It is on this note that Henry falls asleep only to wake just over an hour later realising that he hasn’t dealt with the problem at all. The problem is not Mary, though she is something of a problem. The problem is that his marriage with Clara is in ruins. And she is now playing him like a fish. How long does she intend this to continue? It could go on for years. No. God, no. He couldn’t tolerate that.

  He must have it out with her. Make up some story, confess his wrongdoing and tell her that it will never happen again. No! He rules the idea out at once. He’s not going to crawl to that bitch like that. Two can play at this game. If she wants to play silly buggers then he will do it too – where he can hurt her most. With money.

  But then he knows that that’s not the answer either. If he keeps money from her, then he is the one who will suffer. There won’t be food on the table. He could always eat in the City, he tells himself, but what about the girls? He can make Clara feel some pain, not being able to buy clothes or things like that. But he has to admit she is quite frugal in that area. No, this won’t do.

  And now, for the first time, the thought that he might leave Clara makes its way into Henry’s mind. Up until now, that has never occurred to him. Up until now, he has always pictured himself married to Clara with Mary or other bits on the side. But now he sees that marriage to Clara could become a sort of extended nightmare. She is quite capable of carrying on the way she is now for years. He could see her becoming more and more bitter as the years went by, becoming more and more hostile to him. Henry had an uncle and aunt who lived like that – two people who ended up completely detesting each other. He is not going to spend his life like that. Maybe now is the time to make a leap – to tell Mary he will forgive her and take her back and that he will now indeed leave Clara.

  Maybe – and at this, Henry is somewhat alarmed – the thing now is for complete honesty with Mary.

  Clara is having great difficulty sleeping. She finds herself waking in the middle of the night and thinking about James. It is like there are two parallel words – the one she exis
ts in now and another with James. She spends most of her waking hours in that one with him. Often she pictures herself in France with him. She tries not to think of how she will cross from this world to that other one. Better by far just to imagine herself already there.

  Tonight she is thinking about how the time is going so slowly. Was it really only three days ago that they were together? It seems so much longer. And how the hours of the weekend are dragging, and then four whole weekdays until she sees him again.

  And wasn’t it wonderful when James said that he really liked her?

  Chapter 39

  Sunday 27 July 1914

  The notice in the Times seems innocent enough. It runs:

  British Naval Measures

  Orders to First and Second Fleets

  No Manoeuvre Leave

  We received the following statement from the Secretary of the Admiralty at an early hour this morning:

  Orders have been given to the First Fleet, which is concentrated at Portland, not to disperse for manoeuvre leave for the present. All vessels of the Second Fleet are remaining at their home ports in proximity to their balance crews.

  Early on Monday, Henry asks Mary to come to lunch with him today. Her demeanour is glacial and she refuses. However, later in the morning she comes by his office and says brusquely that she has changed her mind. She will come after all, but only to hear what he has to say. He says he will meet her at the ABC at one o’clock.

  He arrives on time and takes a table. While he waits he rehearses the speech he intends to make to her. She is going to listen while he speaks. He’s going to admonish her for writing the letter. He’s going to tell her that the ball is in her court. There are plenty more fish in the sea, he keeps telling himself.

  He gets plenty of time for his rehearsals because it is nearly half past one and Henry is on the point of leaving when she arrives. She apologises for being late but gives no reason why.

  ‘Well,’ she says. ‘What is it you want to say to me?’

  Henry’s intention had been to be firm and businesslike with her, exactly as though he were dealing with a supplier who had made a mess of things. Instead he finds himself apologising for the way he behaved towards her on Friday. Mary’s eyes are cold and this throws Henry off his stride. But he manages to get back on track and hears himself saying, ‘You need to make your mind up. Do you want to be with me or not?’

  ‘I want to be your wife and not your whore,’ she says, her eyes drilling into him. ‘If that’s not what you want, then you can go and fuck yourself.’

  Henry looks around in alarm to see if anybody at any of the neighbouring tables heard what Mary said. And now she pushes her chair back and begins to get up. Henry is afraid she will say something else even more loudly.

  ‘Do you have anything else to say to me?’ she demands, her voice rising a fraction.

  She is standing now. Henry is terrified she will make a scene.

  ‘Please. Sit down,’ he says.

  She stands over him, her eyes flaming.

  ‘I’m going.’

  ‘Please,’ he says again, almost in a whisper.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Henry is conscious that somebody is indeed looking at them. Mary hesitates.

  ‘Please sit down,’ he says, and this time it is a whisper. Henry indicates the chair. Slowly, Mary resumes her seat.

  Henry says, ‘I will go and speak with a solicitor to find out about a divorce. Will that satisfy you?’

  ‘When?’ she demands.

  ‘As quickly as I can make an appointment.’

  ‘And once you’re divorced, we’ll be married?’

  ‘Yes.’

  And now it is as though Mary has been transformed. Her eyes fill with warmth and she reaches a hand across to place it on top of Henry’s.

  ‘Say it,’ she says.

  ‘Say what? That once we’re divorced we’ll be married?’

  ‘Ask me to marry you,’ says Mary softly, correcting him.

  Her lips, with their very red lipstick, are parted fractionally. He thinks she looks quite beautiful. She takes her hand away from his but leaves it on the table. Henry assumes he is meant to take it but he is too annoyed to give her the satisfaction of doing that.

  ‘Please Mary, will you … when … once I’m divorced … will you marry me?’

  ‘Do you really want me to?’

  Henry is about to snap at her that of course he bloody well wants to, but instead he just says, ‘Yes, I’d like that very much.’

  Now Mary places both her hands on his and says, ‘Yes, I will, Henry. I will.’

  In London, Herbert Samuel, one of the younger members of the government, finds Grey alone in the Cabinet Room that looks out over the garden in Downing Street.

  ‘There’s some devilry going on in Berlin,’ Grey says passionately.

  Later the Cabinet is split over whether or not to become involved should a European-wide war break out. The only decision that’s made is for Winston Churchill to put the British fleet on alert. His order reads: ‘Secret. European political situation makes war … by no means impossible. This is not the Warning Telegram, but be prepared to shadow possible hostile men of war … Measure is purely precautionary.’

  Der Kaiser arrives at the Wildpark Station at Potsdam looking fit, sunburnt and confident after his three-week cruise.

  Isn’t it funny, dear reader, how sometimes a person’s name reflects some aspect of their character? So it is with Sir Edward Grey. We’ve all heard the expression, ‘It’s not black and white,’ and some things in life aren’t – they don’t have one definitive answer. But many things do. And then there is the related expression, ‘It’s a grey area.’ Maybe Sir Edward has spent too long dealing in diplomacy, because, right now, when plain talking – black and white language – is required, Grey lapses into the grey language of diplomacy.

  Sir Edward summons the ambassadors of three countries – Russia, Austria and Germany – to the Foreign Office. The Russian Ambassador says that the time has come for Britain to declare itself. Grey’s reply is grey. He says that ‘Churchill’s orders to the First Fleet will surely be plain enough to Germany.’ To the Austrian he offers an almost contradictory view. ‘There is no menace in what we are doing,’ he says. ‘But owing to the possibility of a conflagration, we cannot disperse our forces.’ And finally he asks the German Ambassador to use his country’s influence with Austria to take the Serbian reply as a basis for discussion. The Ambassador passes this on, even beefing up Sir Edward’s words. ‘The British government,’ he says, ‘is convinced that it lies entirely with us whether Austria shall jeopardise European peace by stubbornly pursuing a policy of prestige.’

  Diplomacy. Fluffy words and phrases. It would have been perhaps asking too much, for Grey to have stood up, banged the table and said that if Austria continued with its present course, Britain would absolutely go to war.

  The French Ministry of Foreign Affairs begins to call back its troops from its overseas colonies. One man who receives this summons is General Louis Lyautey, the man who runs Morocco. At the moment when the cable arrives, he is presiding over a meeting in Casablanca which is to do with promoting agriculture in Morocco.

  The cable reads, ‘In the event of a continental war all your efforts should be directed to keeping in Morocco only the minimum of indispensable forces. The fate of Morocco will be decided in Lorraine.’ Lyautey is instructed to reduce the French occupation of Morocco to merely holding the principal sea ports.

  ‘They are completely mad!’ is Lyautey’s response. ‘A war among Europeans is a civil war. It is the most monumental folly the world has ever committed.’

  There is a phenomenon known as ‘groupthink.’ It was first coined by a man called Irving Janis in 1972. Groupthink occurs when a group makes faulty decisions because pressures within the group lead to a reduction in ‘mental efficiency, reality testing and moral judgement.’ Janis found that groups affected by groupthink tended to take irrational ac
tions that dehumanise other groups. A group is especially vulnerable to groupthink when its members are similar in background, when the group is insulated from outside opinion and when there are no clear rules for decision making.

  What a pity Janis wasn’t around in 1914. On the other hand, maybe it wouldn’t have made any difference – look at the invasion of Iraq.

  In Paris, the French Foreign Minister tells the German Ambassador that France is anxious to find a peaceful solution. It will do its utmost to influence the Russians if the Germans will urge moderation on the Austrians.

  Austria continues its preparations for war against Serbia. In Vienna, the British Ambassador reports that the ‘country has gone wild with joy at prospect of war with Serbia.’ He concludes that Austria wanted war all along.

  In Berlin, the German Foreign Minister explains to the Austrian Ambassador that he is only pretending to consider the British offer of mediation, and that in reality he has no intention of stopping the war against Serbia. The Germans are anxious to keep the British from getting involved and so are treating them with the utmost deference. If Germany were to explicitly tell Sir Edward Grey that it wasn’t pushing his mediation proposal with the Austrians, then world opinion would see Germany as being responsible for the war. In addition, German public opinion needs to see the war as having been forced on their country. The Germans wire Grey that they ‘have immediately initiated mediation in Vienna in the sense desired by Sir Edward Grey.’ And they do indeed pass on Grey’s offer of mediation to their Ambassador in Vienna. However, they order him not to show it to anyone in the Austrian government for fear that it might be accepted.

  The French President, Poincaré, is still at sea. (Just how much at sea he will find out when he eventually arrives in France.) On board the France, Captain Grandclement keeps her at a steady eighteen to nineteen knots, south westerly through the Skagerrak towards Dunkirk. The seas are heavy, the ship rolls and President Poincaré’s saloon ships a lot of salt water. During the day, a German torpedo boat operating out of Cuxhaven or Emden passes the France and fires a salute.