Empire Lost: Britain, the Dominions and the Second World War

by Andrew Stewart

  The 'First' Dominion

  During the inter-war period even innocent reference to the word 'Imperialism' was liable to generate considerable misunderstanding and hostility on the western shores of the Atlantic Ocean.1 It was patently obvious that wide sections of American public opinion were opposed to the idea of colonies but what was less clear was the extent of the hostility to the wider imperial idea. Dominions, colonies, protectorates, names did not matter; many felt that they were evil and needed to be emancipated from the yoke of British rule. The strategies developed by successive governments at Westminster whose intention was to improve this position formed slowly and had doubtful results. There were those on both sides of the Atlantic who tried to understand why the two countries could not reconcile lingering differences on such issues, but they ran the risk of themselves being derided. Prominent among this group was the New York Times. Its position was typified by a question posed by one of its writers in November 1921 about the Monroe Doctrine. First announced by the president of the same name in December 1823, this was surely an imperial document if ever there was one in so much as, in formalizing a policy of resistance to European encroachment of the American continent, it carried a hidden message; the fledgling Republic would not let its continental neighbours threaten its security. As the newspaper now asked was this not also an important principle of British foreign policy, in effect constituting an Anglo-American Doctrine?2 This was developed further in a supplement to the main publication, it being claimed that the idea had only ever worked because British governments had protected its integrity. This, they did, as a result of ties of sentiment 'based upon the principle of racial solidarity'.3 And the modern British Empire was still doing the same: '[Britain] has constantly striven to enlarge her Dominions, not in order to exploit them—it is very doubtful, indeed, whether on balance her possessions yield a profit to the motherland—but in the instinctive desire of reserving the vast and fruitful territories of the New World to the Anglo-Saxon race'. The article's author was clear in his view that had there been an Anglo-American alliance, in 1914 there would have been no German attack. Such a link, it was concluded, was needed more than ever before following the war's conclusion, the warning being made that 'harmony and union will give peace to the world ... disagreement and strife would fill the world with unhappiness and war'.

  Could the distrust be overcome in the years ahead or would the mistakes of the past be repeated was therefore the question asked by many. Such warnings fell, for the most part, on resoundingly deaf ears. As one distinguished commentator has noted, the reality was that during the inter-war period 'each country turned inwards to brood upon its own troubles'.4 American isolationism was met with British suspicion, 'the irresponsibles' who displayed 'an almost criminal neglect of Anglo-American relations'. Intellectual debate dimmed while even discussion of commerce, foreign affairs and common issues of international security were conducted in the most guarded of manner. Mutual study of law, cooperation in merchant banking and the success of British film stars in Hollywood remained the most promising avenues for cooperation and future discourse, but there was only so much that these could offer. The most celebrated example of the doubts that existed could be seen in 'War Plan Red', drawn up and approved by the American War Department in 1930 then updated at regular intervals. In the late 1920s, military strategists in Washington had developed plans for a war with Japan (referred to as 'Orange'), Germany ('Black'), Mexico ('Green') and Britain ('Red'). The 'Blue-Red' conflict, it was envisaged, would begin over international trade: 'The war aim of Red in a war with Blue is conceived to be the definite elimination of Blue as an important economic and commercial rival.' The planners anticipated a war 'of long duration' because 'the Red race' is 'more or less phlegmatic' but 'noted for its ability to fight to a finish'.5 Sir Charles Mallet was by no means alone in his warnings that all things connected to trade and commerce were disastrous issues for the two countries to squabble over. This did not prevent the 1930 Hawley-Smoot Tariff becoming law, which precipitated, in turn, a strong Imperial response, guaranteeing that suspicion and hostility endured. While it still proved impossible to agree to a full system of Imperial Preference, at the 1932 Ottawa Conference, there was an acceptance between Britain and the Dominions of a preferential understanding of low tariffs within the Empire and higher tariffs elsewhere.6 Essentially, in return for concessions on the part of the Dominions, the British government agreed to give them 'definite advantages' in the domestic market. For its critics, and there were many of them who engaged in an often bitter debate, Ottawa hampered free trade and placed restrictions on Britain's economic relationship with countries who were not members of the Empire but with whom she had previously maintained very close trade relations.7

  These disagreements were watched closely in the United States but, despite Woodrow Wilson's commitment to national self-determination, for the most part political interest in Britain's imperial relationships in the inter-war period was minimal.8 The late-nineteenth century expansion in both countries had excited very little criticism in the other, perhaps because, 'as a partner in the white man's burden the USA was indulgent, in a quite novel degree, to British colonial aspirations'.9 It was after all an American magazine, McClure's, in which Rudyard Kipling first published his 'White Man's Burden'. This understanding, if there was one, changed, however, and with the worsening situation in Europe attempts to influence mainstream American public opinion became increasingly unsubtle; the message was that the British Empire was something to be feared. Typical of such agent provocateurs was Quincy Howe who, according to one critic, saw 'an Englishman under every bed'. He was vocal in his criticisms and sought to deliver them to the widest possible audience. As Time magazine put it, writing in December 1938, since Howe had become editor of 'Simon and Schuster' it had published three books examining the 'massive, muddling, Machiavellian empire of George VI'. The last of these was Robert Briffault's The Decline and Fall of the British Empire, 'the most vehement book of the year' and it was said to be fortunate it would not be published in Britain as 'it consists of 263 pages of denunciation of England and all things English, her politics, smugness, selfishness, morals—even her birth rate'.10

  Such sentiments were not confined to the western shores of the Atlantic. In January 1938 the already long-serving American leader Franklin D. Roosevelt had suggested a plan for discussing the underlying tensions that were weakening the international system. Neville Chamberlain was guarded in his response to the 'woolly and dangerous proposals'. Oliver Harvey, watching from within the FO, felt the prime minister was 'temperamentally anti-American' and the proposals ultimately came to nothing, in large part because of his obstructionism; 'it is always best and safest to count on nothing from the Americans but words' as he warned his sister.11 It was not all doom and gloom. The visit of the royal family to the United States in June 1939 had demonstrated the degree to which there was 'an American anglophilia [that] was deeply nostalgic for a romanticized past'. The inspection by King George VI and Queen Elizabeth of the British Pavilion, part of New York's World Fair, certainly appears to have been well received. Observers were apparently dazzled by the queen's radiant smile and, no doubt for the purposes of the covering press pack, the king consumed his first hot dog. The trip, despite it having 'no discernible impact on entrenched isolationist sentiment', was deemed a great success as it demonstrated the common democratic ideals that existed.12 It had not succeeded in calming the fears of all and elements within the American public continued to warn of the Imperial menace. Writing in his Survey of International Affairs the celebrated, and often controversial, British historian Arnold Toynbee was well qualified to provide the simplest explanation for this:

  American feeling and policy were still governed by past facts which had already become partly or wholly irrelevant to the international situation in which the United States was now actually placed. Perhaps the most powerful of these influences from the past was the fact that over nine per cent of t
he living generation of white inhabitants of the United States and the ancestors of all of them no longer ago, at the earliest than ten or twelve generations back, had, at some particular moment, deliberately pulled up their roots from ancestral ground in Europe and had crossed the Atlantic in order to start, on the American side of it, a new life free from the unhappy elements in their European heritage.13

  The outbreak of war brought with it exacerbated tensions. Writing in October 1939 Douglas Fairbanks Jr., actor, socialite and later to become, at least temporarily, a British commando, offered the friendliest of warnings to Eden. The Dominions secretary was told an argument was being made in the United States that 'Britain is an Imperial autocracy built by plunder and wars—no better for its time than Hitler now'. To counter this he suggested it was imperative for Britain to stress 'the voluntary actions of the free dominions' as part of a strategy of making certain not to appear as 'an Imperial octopus and the more she looks like the mother of an independent but at all times cooperative family the better'. Betraying the American bent for commerce, the conclusion to this long, personal letter was that 'the British government should continue to an even greater extent to regard itself as no more that the "Chairman of the Board" of the British Commonwealth'.14 Roosevelt had privately offered similar advice cautioning the British Ambassador in Washington, Lord Lothian, of how helpful it would be if the British could emphasize their commitment to self-government. Writing to Lord Halifax in December 1939 back in London, the former Philip Kerr repeated the President's message. The suggestion was that the British could point out publicly that the empire-building of earlier centuries had been abandoned and the lesson had been learnt that 'the only foundation for a stable international system was national autonomy'. Chamberlain wrote a marginal comment on the letter rejecting such penance, while the senior figure in the FO, Robert Vansittart, labelled it 'simply lunacy'. 'What jam for German propaganda', he wrote to his secretary of state Halifax, and for all the American isolationists, who, having goaded Britain for cowardice in the past had now 'taken refuge in the pavilion lavatory'.15

  The cause for much of this animosity was fear about what it would cost to bring the first Dominion back into the bosom of the relationship. Frank Ashton-Gwatkin, head of economic relations within the FO had paid a six week visit to the United States the year before the war had started. His observations led him to conclude that the most that could be counted on from the other side of the Atlantic in the event of another war was 'pacific benevolence' leading to possible eventual participation if the conflict was prolonged. This certainly seemed a fair reflection of a country where a sense of isolationism so clearly reigned, both in the Congress and the national mood.16 There were also concerns about American rivalry over air routes which had long existed in both London and Wellington and the inter-war struggle for control of air communications was often fraught.

  There was lingering resentment about the Ottawa agreements and the resulting system of Imperial Preference which continued to exclude American products from Australian and New Zealand markets and annoyed many in Washington. There were also the American claims that had been made on a number of islands in the Pacific under British and New Zealand jurisdiction.17

  Chamberlain himself was wary of the cost of American support, writing to his sister in January 1940, 'heaven knows I don't want the Americans to fight for us—we should have to pay too dearly for that if they had a right to be in on the peace terms—but if they are so sympathetic they might at least refrain from hampering our efforts and comforting our foes'.18

  Trading practices caused a great deal of anxiety in these early wartime months and Lothian was largely responsible for helping to smooth over problems as they emerged. Indeed it has been reiterated only recently the degree to which he was 'the nexus of the Anglo-American relationship' proscribing better understanding between the two countries, the FO's response being based largely on his informed judgements.19 Continuing British efforts to wage economic warfare against Germany—which entailed a reduction in purchases of some American goods and the introduction of a blockade—engendered a good deal of enmity in Washington.20 The British financial position was, in fact, certainly at this stage, the critical issue of the war. Even before the first German troops had crossed into Poland the situation facing the British Exchequer was dire. The pressure placed on the pound during 1939 alone reduced Britain's war chest of gold and foreign securities by at least one-quarter.21 The undertaking of a rapid rearmament programme begun after the Munich settlement had placed further strains on resources, and the situation was only likely to get worse.22 And as an internal memorandum prepared by the Treasury had concluded two months before the war's eventual start, unless the United States was prepared either to lend or give money as required, the prospects for a long war were 'exceedingly grim'.23

  The State Department had envisaged that Hitler would follow his rapid destruction of Poland with an equally devastating assault on the Western Front and an inevitable defeat of the Allies. The opposite happened, and the 'Phoney War' helped ensure that there remained virtually no enthusiasm among the American public, and therefore its politicians, for any action beyond selling arms and equipment to those countries which might want them. The Sumner Welles mission came and went with little to be said for it other than the State Department representative formed a strong aversion to Churchill, whom he later told Roosevelt he believed to have been drunk throughout their two hour meeting; much the same tale was given by the American Ambassador in London, Joseph Kennedy.24 There remained little chance of any direct intervention from the United States, at least until the November 1940 presidential elections had been decided. Indeed Lothian's reports, condemned as anti-imperialist by the colonial secretary in London, talked of pessimism and a growing lack of belief that Britain and its Empire could prevail.25

  At the end of February 1940 Lothian posed an interesting question to Halifax: was the British government contemplating a re-summoning of the old Imperial War Cabinet? He believed that 'the more the Empire aspect of the war can be visibly represented the better from the American point of view'. As the ambassador told London, the reconstruction of the Imperial War Cabinet would help to strengthen the argument that the Allies were fighting for the freedom of small nations. He could not see any sense of suspicion or antipathy to be found towards the Dominions in America and, as he continued, if his hosts were ever going to come out of isolation and provide greater assistance 'she would be far more likely to do so if the proposal is to cooperate with a British commonwealth of free nations all of whom are obviously taking a hand in formulating policy and wartime decisions than with a Britain which would seem once more to be bossing the show'. At the DO there was little enthusiasm for the suggestion. In a lengthy, and often insightful, minute 'constitutional difficulties' were highlighted which would most likely result from any attempt to 'suggest the power of decision should be entrusted to the United Kingdom War Cabinet'. As such 'anything in the nature of a super-Cabinet ... would be unacceptable and would, indeed meet with strong opposition'.26

  The significance of the personal relationship that existed between Churchill and Roosevelt has been closely examined. The British capitulation at Munich was the greatest handicap in many American eyes and Chamberlain was at the head of the group of those who were held to be accountable. Churchill was not in this category, and had the added advantage of being half American; his mother Jennie Jerome was an American heiress.27 This did not mean that the relationship between the two was immediately bedecked with intimacy despite the prime minister's subsequent assertion that 'no lover ever studied every whim of his mistress as I did those of President Roosevelt'.28 For much of the inter-war period he and the American leader were not friends nor were they political compatriots. Indeed they had met only once, an encounter in London in 1918 that Churchill completely forgot and his counterpart 'remembered with distaste'.29 In the years that followed the American was, however, keenly aware of the other's reputation as a staunch
opponent of Nazism and this appeared to help overcome his initial reservations as the Anglo-Dominion position grew worse through the dark days of Hitler's crushing of European opposition.