by Peter Murphy
Donald, to my continuing surprise, had been appointed Third Secretary at the Foreign Office in London the previous year. I didn’t see a lot of him – we were both very busy – but we would meet for a pint from time to time, and he had grown very pessimistic about Spain, especially as it was becoming clear that our government had absolutely no intention of intervening. By September it seemed that the fall of Madrid was only a matter of time, and a short time at that. In the first week of that month I received a terse note from Roger – from him to me, not Johnson to Boswell. It told me only that he was arriving in London in two days’ time, that he would be staying at the Reform, that he wanted me to meet him there for dinner, and that I was not to discuss anything with our parents before we had the chance to talk.
I arrived at the Reform on that Wednesday evening intrigued by what Roger had written, but I was also preoccupied with the first heavy case I had received as a barrister. I had been accepted as a tenant in Lester’s chambers at the end of my pupillage, and my first months of practice had been meagre in both quality and quantity. But now I had been asked to advise two brothers who had been disinherited by their father in favour of an animal welfare charity not long before his death. There were suspicions that the father might not have been of entirely sound mind by the time he came to change his will, and the estate was a substantial one. It seemed that litigation was inevitable. I had promised the solicitors an opinion by the end of the week, and it had been absorbing most of my time and energy.
Roger was waiting for me in the dining room when I arrived. He had selected a secluded corner table. It was a bit on the early side for dinner, and the dining room was empty apart from the two of us. A glass of dry sherry, his favourite pre-dinner drink, was in front of him on the table, but he had hardly touched it. I also could not help noticing that he was wearing a rather shabby old suit and a threadbare tie, almost as if getting dressed up to go to dinner in his club were something in which he had lost interest. Roger had always been a stickler for being properly dressed for all occasions, something he had learned from my father. After a brief embrace I sat opposite him and asked a waiter to bring me a whisky and soda. I watched Roger closely. He seemed anxious, almost skittish, looking down at the table, playing with the end of his tie.
‘Have you spoken to Father?’ he asked.
‘Not recently,’ I assured him. ‘I did as you asked.’
He nodded.
‘Thank you,’ he said. He seemed unsure, reluctant to begin. ‘We have never talked about this very much,’ he continued eventually, ‘but from what you told me about your time at Cambridge, I gather that you and I have probably taken a very similar path in terms of our political beliefs.’
I nodded, but did not immediately reply.
‘Given our family background,’ he said, ‘it would have been natural for both of us to turn out to be dyed-in-the-wool conservatives, men who embraced the hunting-shooting-fishing classes.’
I smiled. ‘Not something I have ever found very attractive,’ I replied.
He returned the smile. ‘Nor I, though I suppose a certain amount of that must have rubbed off on me, and once I became Sir Roger in the fullness of time, I might have found it impossible to resist.’
I shook my head, still smiling. ‘Not you.’
‘Well, perhaps,’ he replied. ‘In any case, it’s something I have been thinking about quite deeply over the last year or two. I haven’t said much to anyone else about it, but … the fact is that I now regard myself as a committed socialist.’
Having finally said it, Roger lifted his eyes up from the table and allowed his hands to release their hold on his tie.
‘You almost told me as much when I was home last summer,’ I pointed out. ‘It was obvious from what you said about your trip to South America.’
‘Yes,’ he agreed, ‘and I meant every word I said. I felt for those people, and there is no doubt that I had become an intellectual socialist by then. But South America is so far away, and information about what is really going on is hard to come by. I was spending almost all my time on the estate, learning how to run the place, meeting all kinds of important people Father felt I ought to know. I couldn’t even get down to London very often any more. And I suddenly realised that if I went on like this for another couple of years, I was going to forget every principle I had ever learned; I was going to become a country conservative, a loyal son of King and Empire.’
I smiled and shook my head.
The waiter returned with menus, and we took a few minutes to order dinner.
‘You are right,’ I said, after returning the menus to the waiter. ‘I found myself drawn to socialism almost as soon as I went up to Trinity. But that is nothing unusual at Cambridge. Many men saw what was going on in the country; we saw how the Labour Party was powerless to prevent the poverty and the inequality and the injustice, and we wanted to do something about it. It didn’t make you stand out particularly. I am sure it must have been the same in your day?’
‘It was moving in that direction,’ Roger agreed. ‘But I think it speeded up considerably in the years you were up.’
The waiter had returned with our bottle of the Club claret. He asked whether Roger wished to taste it, but Roger signalled him to pour. It was something Roger had taught me when I was elected. The waiter was duty bound to ask, but the Club claret was an institution not to be challenged, and was to be poured without the demeaning demand that it be tasted. In all my years as a member I have never drunk a glass which did not fully justify our trust in it. Roger nodded his thanks to the waiter as he retreated.
‘Besides,’ he said, ‘there is more to it than just combating the poverty and the inequality, isn’t there?’ He paused.
‘Go on,’ I replied quietly.
‘James, I am talking about fascism. Germany and Italy have already been taken over. And now Spain is about to fall. Our government obviously has no intention of lifting a finger to stop it.’
‘I am not sure there is much they could do,’ I said, ‘apart from a military intervention, and I am not sure how we could do that without support.’
Roger leaned forward towards me across the table.
‘James, we are going to have to fight them eventually,’ he replied firmly. ‘If we don’t do it in Spain we will have to do it closer to home – certainly in France, and very possibly in this country too.’
I sat back in my chair.
‘There is no real support for fascism in this country,’ I said. ‘Unthinking and unquestioning conservatism, yes. But even the Conservatives believe in democracy. There will always be political parties here.’
Roger banged his claret glass down on the table.
‘No, you are missing the point,’ he insisted. ‘Do you really think that men like Hitler and Mussolini are going to stop because there is no local support for fascism in a country they have set their sights on? They will march in anyway. Look at the way the German arms industry is churning out weapons – tanks, aircraft, warships. They are rearming at a frightening rate. Do you know how much weaponry they have been able to put at Franco’s disposal in Spain? Do you know how many military advisers they have on the ground there?’
Actually, I did. Donald had given me the essential statistics of the German and Italian support for the Nationalists according to information gathered by our Security Services, and even the Security Services admitted privately that they probably did not know the full extent of it.
‘This is the test case,’ Roger was saying. ‘This is how Hitler assesses how much resistance he is likely to encounter when he pursues his own territorial ambitions in Europe. If there is a precedent for non-intervention in Spain, it will embolden him to think he can occupy territory for the fascist cause elsewhere in Europe without even being opposed. It will give him confidence.’
The waiter returned with our first course, a cold Vichyssoise soup. He offe
red bread rolls and refilled our wine glasses before retreating. We enjoyed it in silence for some time.
‘Roger, if the Government won’t act,’ I said, as the waiter cleared away the soup bowls, ‘there is not much we can do about Spain. All we can do is try to elect a government that sees the dangers and makes plans to stop the fascists from threatening our borders. It’s a matter of practicality.’
He shook his head. ‘I don’t agree. There are things we can do.’
‘Such as?’ As I asked the question, for no reason I could account for – it was a warm evening – I suddenly felt a chill inside me. It took Roger some time to respond and, as he was about to speak, the waiter in charge of the trolley bearing the daily roast stopped at our table to serve our main course, roast beef with Yorkshire pudding and vegetables. After the trolley had departed, Roger looked around the dining room. A few more diners were in evidence now, but our conversation at the corner table remained secure.
‘The Republicans are recruiting what they call international brigades,’ he replied eventually, ‘brigades of volunteers from different countries to fight under the command of the local militias. And there are some arms shipments making their way to Spain from certain sources.’
I put down my knife and fork. I had heard from Donald that efforts were being made to bolster the Republican resistance, but he had said that most of the information filtering back to the Foreign Office was extremely vague; much of it hardly rose above the level of rumour.
‘How do you know?’ I asked.
‘I asked some people I know.’
There was a silence. He was obviously not about to elaborate.
‘Well, who is organising all this?’
‘I can only tell you what they told me. I believe the Comintern is putting a lot of money and other resources into it.’
‘The Soviets?’
‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘Well, why not? They obviously see the dangers even if we don’t. They see how important it is to stop fascism in its tracks, and if we can stop Franco now, it would be a huge blow to the Axis. Even if Franco can’t be stopped, if we can make them fight an extended war in Spain it would use up resources they might otherwise turn on us.’
I made no move to pick up my knife and fork. The roast beef was delicious, but I had lost interest in it.
‘We?’ I asked quietly.
He looked me directly in the eye across the table.
‘I am going to volunteer,’ he said.
I looked at him for what seemed like an eternity. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the waiter hove into view, no doubt concerned that our dinners were for the moment lying untouched. I waved him away.
‘Volunteer to fight?’
‘Yes.’
The terseness of Roger’s letter suddenly made sense.
‘This is why you didn’t want me to speak to Father?’
‘Yes,’ Roger said. His face took on a sad expression. ‘I told him and Mother three nights ago at dinner. The time had come for me to pack to leave. I admit I had been avoiding it, but I couldn’t keep silent any longer. To say that he didn’t understand would be something of an understatement. We had a terrible row. He stormed out of the dining room to his study, and stayed there for most of the next two days. He wouldn’t even say goodbye when Penfold drove me to the station.’
‘How did Mother take it?’ I asked.
‘She didn’t say anything at dinner,’ Roger replied. ‘She cried quietly to herself while we were at the table. But she helped me pack my things and hugged me as I left. If anything could have stopped me going, it would have been that hug, not anything the Old Man said.’
I leaned forward, put both elbows on the table and clasped my hands together.
‘I am sure one of the things Father put to you is that you are his heir,’ I said. I managed a grim smile. ‘And, in fairness, it is the traditional role of the younger son to be the soldier. The older brother is supposed to stay at home to continue the dynasty. If anyone is to go to Spain it should be me.’
‘I can’t absolve myself of my responsibility just because of that,’ he replied. ‘But – and this is one of the reasons I wanted to speak to you tonight – I want you to promise that you won’t try to follow me. One of us going is enough. It’s not fair to our parents. Someone must be here to take care of them. If England were facing invasion, then everyone would take up arms, of course. But at present this is still a foreign war, thank God.’
‘I don’t see how I can possibly make such a promise,’ I said, although in truth, the thought of going to Spain had never crossed my mind for a moment.
‘You must,’ Roger insisted gently. ‘You are not going to talk me out of this, even if you are a barrister now. If Father couldn’t, you can’t, and I would be grateful if you didn’t try. I don’t want there to be bad blood between us, and I am counting on receiving letters from Boswell while I am in Spain – assuming that letters are still being delivered in Spain.’
Roger refilled our wine glasses and I took a long drink.
‘You do know that …?’
‘That it is illegal to fight for a foreign army as an irregular? Yes, James, I do know that. All the volunteers have to hope that there are so many of us that the Government will be too embarrassed to prosecute us for doing what the Government should have done itself, using our regular forces.’
‘I am not at all sure they will take that view,’ I said.
He nodded. ‘I know. That is a chance I am just going to have to take.’
The waiter reappeared, looking disapprovingly at so much untouched food. I told him rather abruptly to clear the plates away, discouraging the question he was preparing to ask about why we had not enjoyed it. Roger ordered us a bottle of whisky and a soda syphon. I knew that I would never dissuade him from what he proposed to do, although everything in me wanted to scream and shout and rage at him until the very walls of the Reform Club collapsed under the onslaught. I am sure my father had had the same reaction. For both of us, the possibility of losing Roger was so dreadful, the risk so unthinkable, that we could never accept it. I also felt ashamed that I had never considered doing what Roger was about to do. I hated fascism as much as he did, and I recognised the threat it posed, but I had never once done more than debate the question with my fellow socialists. Roger was going to do something about it, or die trying; and that, of course, was the horror of it. Our whisky arrived. I had one, weak, argument left, one which I knew troubled Donald, as it did me. It was worth trying on Roger.
‘It’s not as though the Soviets are angels,’ I said. ‘Look at what Stalin is doing to his own people, even loyal Party members.’
Roger nodded, pouring a large whisky for us both.
‘I agree,’ he said. ‘The Revolution is one thing in theory and something quite different in practice.’
He took a long drink of his whisky.
‘But unlike the fascists, the Revolution does at least point in the right direction. It is possible to see Stalin as an aberration that will disappear as socialism becomes more mature. In any case, at the moment, the Soviet Union is the only real hope we have of containing fascism and preventing it expanding any further. I believe they are sending equipment and advisers to Spain to do for the Republicans what Germany and Italy have done for the Nationalists.’
We drank in silence for some time as the dining room filled up.
‘When will you leave?’ I asked.
‘The day after tomorrow,’ he replied. He lowered his voice and leaned forward confidentially. ‘I will tell you this so that you have some idea what is going on, but I must ask you not to tell anyone the details, certainly not anyone at home.’
I nodded my agreement.
‘I am taking the night ferry to Dieppe in the guise of a tourist. From there I take the train to Paris. When I arrive at Gare du Nord, there will be a taxi waiting. Ther
e is a safe house of some kind in the city where all the volunteers meet to receive a briefing. Then we take a train for the south west. There are two clandestine routes into Spain. One involves stowing away on board a ship out of Marseilles, either to Barcelona or Valencia. The second is a hike overnight in the darkness from Perpignan across the Pyrenees into Spain. I won’t know which route I will be taking, or which unit I will be assigned to, until I get there. I will send a letter to you here, care of the Club, as soon as I can, but I have absolutely no idea when that may be, or whether it will arrive. I am going to rely on you to contact Mother and tell her as much as you think she would want to hear.’
We embraced on the steps of the Club as I left to return to Holland Park. My heart was breaking and I could find no words to say goodbye. Roger sensed it.
‘I must insist, Sir,’ he said, as we parted, ‘that I hold you in greater esteem than any gentleman now living.’
‘Sir,’ I replied through my tears, ‘I am sensible of your affection, and hold you in just as great an esteem.’
After I had walked a hundred yards or so along Pall Mall I stopped and turned to look back towards the Reform. Roger was still standing on the steps, leaning against the wall, staring after me. We exchanged waves.
27
In the week which began on Monday 9th November, the case involving the two brothers and the father of unsound mind settled. The solicitors for the estate accepted that our evidence of mental incapacity would very likely be overwhelming at trial, and agreed that the will should be set aside in my clients’ favour. A short hearing was held before a judge of the Chancery Division for that purpose. The solicitors were delighted, and I had received a substantial fee. I took Bridget out to dinner to celebrate. She was living close to me in Holland Park now, and had taken a temporary secretarial job while she worked out what she wanted to do with her degree in anthropology. I had not heard from Roger, apart from one short, cryptic note in early October which confirmed that he had arrived safely in Spain and was awaiting instructions for his deployment, but gave no further detail. She knew I was fretting about it and, in the hope of cheering me up, she suggested that I go up to Cambridge for the weekend, attend a meeting of the Apostles – my debating club, as we still called it – have a few drinks and relax for a day or two. It sounded like a good idea, and I was grateful to her. I took a train up to Cambridge on the late afternoon of Friday the 13th.