Heart of War

by John Masters

  ‘Silver Wreath … The Back Badge … Die Hards …’

  ‘Twenty-four, South Wales Borderers, they have a silver wreath hung on their King’s Colour, something to do with the Zulus … Twenty-eight, Gloucesters, fought the Frogs back to back somewhere … Fifty-seven, Middlesex, what their colonel said to them at Albuera … we was there, too …’

  Spencer droned on; the bent soldiers scribbled and listened, listened and scribbled. ‘I’ll never remember all this,’ Fagioletti groaned. ‘How do you learn it?’

  ‘What else is there to do spending bloody hours in wet canteens in Aldershot, bazaar rum shops in Calcutta, red ’ot barrack rooms in Khartoum? You told me ’ow you used to learn customers when you was a waiter – name and face and family and everything? Well, you do this the same way.’

  I will, one day, Fagioletti muttered to himself, through gritted teeth. At the moment though, Spencer might as well be speaking Dutch or Hottentot.

  A triumphant yell arose from a corner of the room, by a window – ‘House!’

  Lucas looked round – ‘Hatfield, in A. Nineteen years, he’s got in … Wonder ’ow young Jessop’s getting on … ’Ere, get us another card. Spencer’ll call this straight.’

  Fagioletti went up to buy a card for the next call, thinking, even ‘straight’ isn’t all that straight in the Army; for ‘11’ was ‘Ladies legs,’ and ‘66’ was ‘clickety-click’ and many other numbers were defined by cockney allusions or rhyming slang.

  Cyril Jessop awoke in Madame Fonsard’s arms at midnight, to an unearthly rumble and rattle and roar in the street. They jumped out and went together to the window, and stood, arms wrapped round each other, watching. One after another in the damp moonlight twenty monstrous metal beasts, grinding forward on wide caterpillar tracks, guns or machine guns sticking out of their flanks, engines roaring and coughing blue smoke rumbled through eastward. Every house trembled, every window rattled, every man, woman and child, awakened, rushed to windows and doors, and watched in awe and deep-seated fear that could not be assuaged by the knowledge that these fearful engines were on their side. Friendly was a word no one could say: those things could never be friends to any human being.

  ‘Tanks,’ Cyril said at last. ‘We’ve been hearing of them since September, but I never seen one before …’

  She pulled him back toward the high bed, ‘Viens, Cyril … you are a wonderful boy … you stay all night … an’ come demain, le lendemain ausii…’

  But the bugles blew at 4 a.m., sounding first the Battalion call, then Company Commanders. The Corps, including the battalion, had been ordered up the line, to the Arras front, to start its march at noon.

  Daily Telegraph, Saturday, December 2, 1916

  EAST AFRICA, Friday

  Further particulars have been received relating to operations since October 19 between Iringa and Ngominji (thirty-two miles southwest of Iringa), and in the vicinity of Lupembe and the Ruhudje River.

  On the date mentioned above the strong German force, under the command of Major General Wahle, dislodged from Tabora by the advance of British and Belgian columns from north, west and southwest, came into contact with the British troops at and south of Iringa … Severe fighting ensued at several points of contact. The enemy attempts to break through near Neu Iringa were repulsed and on October 30 the British columns on the Ruhudje River gained a conspicuous success, driving the enemy opposed to them over the river, with the loss of over 200 killed or wounded, 82 prisoners and a quantity of arms and materiel … Meantime the main body of the western German force divided into two parties, one of which proceeded to invest the British post at Lupembe. This post, held by native troops less than half the strength of the attacking German column, maintained itself for six days when (on Nov. 18) the investing force was caught between converging British columns and driven northward, abandoning a field gun. The remainder of the main German force was isolated in Hembuke Mission Station (68 miles N.E. of Neu Langenburg) where it was forced to surrender on November 26, to the number of 7 officers, 47 other Europeans, and 449 seasoned and fully trained native soldiers …

  During the period October 19 to November 23 alone, 71 German Europeans and 370 native soldiers were killed and buried by our columns or otherwise accounted for … The remnant of General Wahle’s force having lost the bulk of its artillery and machine guns, and suffered casualties probably amounting to over 50 percent of its original strength, is making eastward for Mahenge.

  Tabora? Ngominji? Lupembe? This was like an Alice-in-Wonderland geography lesson. In the headlines of the past weeks he had read such headings as ROUMANIAN GOVERNMENT LEAVES BUCHAREST FOR JASSY … BRITISH NAVAL PLANES DROP BOMBS ONDILLINGEN… ORSOVA AND TURNU-SEVERIN LOST WITH ALL WALLACHIA … ALLIED TROOPS TAKE DOBROMIR … KUT EL AMARA…ERZERUM… KIONGA… JEDDA… BIARAMULO … GORIZIA… MONASTIR … but where were Jassy, Turnu-Severin, Biaramulo and the rest of them? Where were those other places whose names had been burned into the conscience and consciousness of all Englishmen these past five months … Butte d’Arlencourt, Mametz, Contalmaison, Fricourt, Bazentin le Petit, Les Boeufs? Perhaps they existed only for the time and place that they had been fought in and over, as, some philosophers believed, objects existed only when observed.

  1915 had been the year of disappointment. 1916 looked like being the year of blood. At the end of 1915 there had been a general feeling in Britain that the commanders in France did not know their business. The feeling was probably correct, and Field Marshal French had gone. Now there was agreement that the trouble lay deeper, and was more universal. If progress was to be made against an enemy as powerful as Germany, it was the upper ranks of the country – the direction of the war – that must be examined, and if necessary taken to pieces and re-assembled, better – with new parts, new ideas, new motive power, and above all, new policies.

  18

  House of Commons, London: Thursday,

  November 30,1916

  The House was in committee the Chairman of Ways and Means in the chair, the great silver Mace gleaming under the table. The voice of the Honourable Member for Bury droned on:

  May I ask whether it would not be for the convenience of the Committee if we were to adopt the Government Amendments en bloc, then recommit the Bill, and work upon it from the White Paper?

  The house was half empty. Harry Rowland, seated well back on the Government benches, stifled a yawn. It wasn’t an exciting process, but the business of the country could not always be like a battle or a mass fencing match – such as the debate on the 8th: the Great Palm Kernel debate, they were already calling it in the gutter press. He was glad that it could not be so. He had only been a Member for a year, but he recognized that the Commons was like a good club, where bitter political enemies flayed each other on the floor of this holy chamber, then shared roast beef and a glass of wine in the House’s dining room.

  That debate of the 8th was Carson’s doing … and Carson’s also the decision to press it to a division after Bonar Law had warned him that the government would consider it a vote of confidence; and a narrow squeak it had been, with only 73 Conservatives voting for the Coalition government – of which they were a part – out of 286 in the House. That debate, and the division, had aroused intense feelings far beyond the House. It might have been some foreign country, not England, so bitter were the expressions being used inside and outside Parliament.

  The honourable and gallant member for Sunderland, Colonel Sir H. Greenwood, was on his feet:

  … it must have a Minister who does not want any advice other than he can get from his own officials, and who is prepared to come to this House, and face the fire with his own decisions, and, as the hon. Member has just said, take the gallows if he fails and a peerage, possibly, if he succeeds. (Laughter)

  A voice: A peerage if he fails! (Renewed laughter)

  The plain fact was, Harry thought, that a sharp split had developed in the Cabinet, and in the country, which transcended party affiliations. The split was over
the war, and its conduct. The battle was being waged not only in this Palace of Westminster, but in every private house, club, and pub in the Kingdom: and it had been brought about through the machinations of Alfred Harmsworth, Lord Northcliffe, the owner of the biggest newspaper chain in the world – the Amalgamated Press. Northcliffe thought that the war was being waged unskilfully, weakly, and without determination. Many parliamentarians agreed with him, notably Sir Edward Carson, the Ulster fire-eater; Winston Churchill, another fire-eater; and even David Lloyd George, the Minister of War since Kitchener’s death.

  Dr Macnamara said that in view of the feeling of the House that there should be a Pensions Minister, the Admiralty felt bound to withdraw its request for exclusion. It accepted, without reserve, the full authority and control of the new Minister …

  The amendment was therefore withdrawn. The clause, as amended, was agreed to.

  The clock above the Chair indicated a quarter to nine in the evening. Harry’s stomach was rumbling ominously. He rose, bowed to the Chairman, and left the Chamber.

  In the House dining room he sat down at a small table by himself. A waiter glided up at once and he ordered a pair of lamb chops with vegetables, and a half bottle of Beaujolais. When the food was brought, and he began to eat, a shadow fell across his plate and he looked up. Winston Churchill was standing beside him, beaming down, a glass of brandy in hand. He said, ‘Did I ever tell you I met your son, when I was in exile in France, Rowland?’

  ‘Quentin,’ Harry said, ‘He did mention in a letter that he had met you.’ He waited. It was obvious that Churchill was paying attention to him, an insignificant backbencher, because every vote would count in the coming struggle for power. Like most conservative-thinking people, of all parties, he had felt a deep distrust for Churchill, but this war had changed many things, including one’s point of view. If Churchill had mismanaged the Dardanelles expedition – which no one could yet say for certain – he had certainly shown an offensive spirit; and he had courage, brains, and determination, which was much more than one could say of most politicians.

  Churchill said, ‘Not long afterward, my battalion was disbanded – lack of manpower – and I found myself once more in these halls of discord … Mind if I join you for a few moments?’

  Harry gestured to the other chair – ‘If you don’t mind my eating. These chops are excellent, but there’s nothing worse than congealed lamb fat.’

  ‘Mind if I light up?’ Harry shook his head, his mouth full. Churhill opened his cigar case and selected a long, fat Havana. As he lit and began to draw on the cigar he said, ‘I suppose you know that affairs here will come to a head at any moment?’

  Harry said cautiously, ‘What affairs, Churchill?’

  ‘In the government … regarding the Prime Minister’s position … It’s been a bad year for the country. Jutland … it was a strategic victory, all right, but Jellicoe didn’t destroy the German fleet and that was what the country was expecting. The Somme … do you know what the total casualty figures were, from July 1st to November 1st, when Haig declared the offensive ended? Four hundred and fifty thousand! The people are appalled. You know how deep and mournful an impression those casualty lists have on one – those endless columns of fine black print, the realization that each of those names, packed like sardines on the page, represents someone’s father, brother, lover, husband. It would be different if we could show some great, decisive result. We would accept the losses then. We could raise our heads, and let our tears crown their triumph … But what in fact do we have to show? A few square miles of scarred and poisoned earth!’

  Harry said slowly, ‘Yours is one point of view. I suppose you think Asquith should go. Northcliffe certainly does.’

  ‘For purely patriotic reasons,’ Churchill interjected.

  ‘Perhaps … But I am not sure that I can accept the vicious attacks that his newspapers have made on the Prime Minister over the Somme offensive, and other matters connected with running the war.’

  Churchill said, ‘Since Northcliffe owns The Times, with its great authority, and the Daily Mail with its enormous circulation, he is a very formidable enemy … Yet Mr Asquith does have two powerful weapons at his disposal, which I and others have long been urging him to use. The first is the secret session of the House. Then Members could learn the truth of affairs, instead of gleaning what they can from, on the one hand, the jejune communiqués of the generals and admirals, and on the other, the insidious and hostile suggestions of Lord Northcliffe … but Mr Asquith will not hear of it. Why, I do not know.’

  He drew deep on his cigar, and swallowed some brandy with evident satisfaction. Harry said, ‘And the other weapon?’

  Churchill said, ‘He has the power to requisition a newspaper – any newspaper – and turn it into the official mouthpiece of the government, the State Monitor, if you will. He could seize The Times for that purpose tomorrow, and so strike that weapon from Northcliffe’s hands. But I fear, sir, though Mr Asquith has been my friend and colleague for a long time, that his metal is not tempered for war. He is a man of peace.’

  And you are not, Harry thought to himself: you, and Carson, the man calling for open rebellion in Ulster, and Lloyd George, who had taken on the whole House of Lords, and beaten them. He said, ‘About the Somme … isn’t it true that the French …’

  ‘Ah, Rowland, I know what you are going to say,’ Churchill cried, stabbing the air with his cigar – ‘that we had to save the French from disaster by attracting German forces away from Verdun. That is true, as a strategic fact … but did it need to be done by these means, which amounted to wholesale slaughter of our men rather than theirs? Sixty thousand men lost on the first day! Figures that stagger the mind, chill the soul!’

  Harry swallowed the last of his meat and, wiping his mouth, said, ‘I suppose Haig could find no better way.’

  ‘And we can find no better general, apparently,’ Churchill said, suddenly gloomy. ‘But we must! Rowland, it is the soldiers we have to think of, and they are now no more than the expression in uniform of the people of these islands … they have grudged no sacrifice, however unfruitful, and shrunk from no ordeal, however destructive … struggling forward through the mire and filth of the trenches across the corpse-strewn crater fields amid the flaring, crashing, blasting barrages and murderous machine-gun fire, conscious of their race, proud of their cause, they seized the most formidable soldiery in Europe by the throat, and slew them, and hurled them unceasingly backward … No attack, however forlorn, however fatal, found them without ardour. No slaughter, however devastating, prevented them from returning to the charge. No physical conditions however severe deprived their commanders of their obedience and loyalty. They were unconquerable, except by death – which they have conquered. They have set up a monument of native virtue which will command the wonder, the reverence, and the gratitude of our island people as long as we endure as a nation among men.’

  Harry, staring mesmerized into Churchill’s face, so close, saw tears welling in the other’s eyes; and as a tear ran down his own cheek and splashed onto his plate, he realized that he too was weeping.

  Churchill’s voice was hoarse, ‘Rowland, we must not let those men down. The conduct of the war must be put into other, stronger, more ruthless hands. We have no higher duty, no stronger loyalty, than to put control of the war into the hands of those who will bring victory. May we count on your support?’

  Harry thought, he means, will I stab Asquith, my leader, in the back, if I am asked to by the conspirators – Carson, Lloyd George, Churchill himself?

  He said, ‘I don’t know, Churchill.’

  ‘Think, Rowland!’ Churchill said, getting up, waving the cigar. ‘Think of the consequences if this nation loses the war, through inept direction … Think.’ He nodded and walked away between the tables, pausing to mutter a word here, pat a shoulder there … mostly backbenchers, Harry noted. The offensive was under way.

  Alfred Charles William Harmsworth, first Baron Nort
hcliffe of the Isle of Thanet, had a heavy face with a big nose, high cheekbones, bags under his eyes, and a wide cruel mouth – a strong face. He was sitting at the head of the long dining room table in his house in St James’s Place. Eleven Members of Parliament sat at the table with him – seven Liberals, of the Prime Minister’s party; and four Conservatives, unwilling allies in the Coalition Government. All four Conservatives had voted against the government in the Great Palm Kernel debate. The table had been cleared of everything but the cut glass decanters of port, madeira, and sherry. A cigar box, clipper, and lighter in the shape of a flaming grenade were being passed round from hand to hand. The servants who had attended the lavish dinner had left the room. The Members and the Press lord were alone.

  Northcliffe was expansive – hands waving or thumping the table – pausing now and then to sip his port: ‘We’re going to form a Committee to run the war … Lloyd George, Bonar Law, and Carson … Asquith can stay as Prime Minister – but he’ll have nothing to do with controlling the war. The Committee will do that.’

  A Member on Harry’s right, a man he didn’t ever remember seeing before, said, ‘What will the P.M. have to do, then?’

  Northcliffe waved a hand – ‘Supervision of political affairs … general control over the Committee, unless they outvote him.’

  The Member shook his head: he was tall and bald, and sounded like a lawyer – ‘I don’t see how Asquith can accept it. If the Committee is to run the war without his real control, then he is Prime Minister in name only. For of course all wars are political as well as military.’

  Northcliffe’s baggy eyes wandered over the speaker. He said, ‘You have given me the clue, the answer to our problem. Bonar Law tells me that in his opinion Asquith will accept the Committee in principle, but make it clear that he must exercise control … which can mean anything he chooses to make it mean. That is what we do not want … it would be fatal for the country. Perhaps we need a forceful leader in The Times, accepting the Committee idea as the right one, since of course it means that the Prime Minister has, quite properly, been deprived of all control of the conduct of the war …’