Cold War Britain 1945-1964: New Perspectives

Cold War Britain 1945-1964 New Perspectives

Edited by Michael F. Hopkins, Michael D. Kandiah and Gillian Staerck

Cold War History Series General Editor: Saki Dockrill, Senior Lecturer in War Studies, King’s College, London The Cold War History Series aims to make available to scholars and students the results of advanced research on the origins and the development of the Cold War and its impact on nations, alliances and regions at various levels of statecraft, and in areas such as diplomacy, security, economy, military and society. Volumes in the series range from detailed and original specialised studies, proceedings of conferences, to broader and more comprehensive accounts. Each work deals with individual themes and periods of the Cold War and each author or editor approaches the Cold War with a variety of narrative, analysis, explanation, interpretation and reassessment of recent scholarship. These studies are designed to encourage investigation and debate on important themes and events in the Cold War, as seen from both East and West, in an effort to deepen our understanding of this phenomenon and place it in its context in world history. Titles include: Günter Bischof AUSTRIA IN THE FIRST COLD WAR, 1945–55 The Leverage of the Weak Christoph Bluth THE TWO GERMANIES AND MILITARY SECURITY IN EUROPE Dale Carter and Robin Clifton (editors) WAR AND COLD WAR IN AMERICAN FOREIGN POLICY, 1942–62 Saki Dockrill BRITAIN’S RETREAT FROM EAST OF SUEZ The Choice between Europe and the World, 1945–1968 Martin H. Folly CHURCHILL, WHITEHALL AND THE SOVIET UNION, 1940–45 Michael F. Hopkins, Michael D. Kandiah and Gillian Staerck (editors) COLD WAR BRITAIN, 1945–1964: New Perspectives John Gearson and Kori Schake (editors) THE BERLIN WALL CRISIS Perspectives on Cold War Alliances Ian Jackson THE ECONOMIC COLD WAR America, Britain and East–West Trade, 1948–63 Saul Kelly COLD WAR IN THE DESERT Britain, the United States and the Italian Colonies,1945–52

Dianne Kirby (editor) RELIGION AND THE COLD WAR Wilfred Loth OVERCOMING THE COLD WAR A History of Détente, 1950–1991 Erin Mahan KENNEDY, DE GAULLE AND WESTERN EUROPE Steve Marsh ANGLO-AMERICAN RELATIONS AND COLD WAR OIL Crisis in Iran Donette Murray KENNEDY, MACMILLAN AND NUCLEAR WEAPONS Effie Pedaliu BRITAIN, ITALY AND THE ORIGINS OF THE COLD WAR Andrew Roadnight UNITED STATES POLICY TOWARDS INDONESIA IN THE TRUMAN AND EISENHOWER YEARS Kevin Ruane THE RISE AND FALL OF THE EUROPEAN DEFENCE COMMUNITY Anglo-American Relations and the Crisis of European Defence, 1950–55 Helene Sjursen THE UNITED STATES, WESTERN EUROPE AND THE POLISH CRISIS International Relations in the Second Cold War Antonio Varsori and Elena Calandri (editors) THE FAILURE OF PEACE IN EUROPE, 1943–48

Cold War History Series Standing Order ISBN 0–333–79482–6 (outside North America only) You can receive future titles in this series as they are published by placing a standing order. Please contact your bookseller or, in case of difficulty, write to us at the address below with your name and address, the title of the series and the ISBN quoted above. Customer Services Department, Macmillan Distribution Ltd, Houndmills, Basingstoke, Hampshire RG21 6XS, England

Cold War Britain, 1945–1964 New Perspectives Edited by

Michael F. Hopkins Michael D. Kandiah and

Gillian Staerck

Editorial matter and selection © Michael F. Hopkins, Michael D. Kandiah and Gillian Staerck 2003 Introduction and Chapters 1–14 © Palgrave Macmillan Ltd 2003 All rights reserved. No reproduction, copy or transmission of this publication may be made without written permission. No paragraph of this publication may be reproduced, copied or transmitted save with written permission or in accordance with the provisions of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, or under the terms of any licence permitting limited copying issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency, 90 Tottenham Court Road, London W1T 4LP. Any person who does any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages. The authors have asserted their rights to be identified as the authors of this work in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. First published 2003 by PALGRAVE MACMILLAN Houndmills, Basingstoke, Hampshire RG21 6XS and 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N. Y. 10010 Companies and representatives throughout the world. PALGRAVE MACMILLAN is the global academic imprint of the Palgrave Macmillan division of St Martin’s Press, LLC and of Palgrave Macmillan Ltd. Macmillan® is a registered trademark in the United States, United Kingdom and other countries. Palgrave is a registered trademark in the European Union and other countries. ISBN 1–4039–0121–X This book is printed on paper suitable for recycling and made from fully managed and sustained forest sources. A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Cold War Britain, 1945–1964: New Perspectives / edited by Michael Hopkins, Michael D. Kandiah & Gillian Staerck. p. cm. – (Cold War history series) Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 1–4039–0121–X 1. Great Britain – History – Elizabeth II, 1952– 2. Great Britain – History – George VI, 1936–1952. 3. Cold War. I. Hopkins, Michael F. (Michael Francis), 1953– II. Kandiah, Michael, 1962– III. Staerck, Gillian. IV. Cold War history series (Palgrave Macmillan (Firm)) DA592 .C59 2003 941.085–dc21 2002073954 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 12 11 10 09 08 07 06 05 04 03 Printed and bound in Great Britain by Antony Rowe Ltd, Chippenham and Eastbourne

Contents Notes on Contributors Acknowledgements

vii ix

Introduction Michael F. Hopkins, Michael D. Kandiah and Gillian Staerck

1

Part I Prelude to the Cold War 1 Britain and the Origins of the Cold War 1917–1925 Erik Goldstein

7

Part II The Cold War at Home and Abroad 2 Herbert Morrison, the Cold War and Anglo–American Relations, 1945–1951 Michael F. Hopkins 3 The Conservative Party and the Early Cold War: The Construction of ‘New’ Conservatism Michael D. Kandiah

17

30

Part III Themes in Diplomacy 4 Waging the Economic Cold War: Britain and CoCom, 1948–54 Ian R.W. Jackson 5 Fight Against Peace? Britain and the Partisans of Peace, 1948–1951 John Jenks 6 ‘Our Staunchest Friends and Allies in Europe’: Britain’s Special Relationship with Scandinavia, 1945–1953 Juhana Aunesluoma 7 Revisiting Rapallo: Britain, Germany and the Cold War, 1945–1955 Spencer Mawby

41

55

67

81

Part IV Defence Studies 8 Defence or Deterrence? The Royal Navy and the Cold War, 1945–1955 Ian Speller 9 From ‘Hot War’ to ‘Cold War’: Western Europe in British Grand Strategy, 1945–1948 Martin A.L. Longden v

97

111

vi Contents

10 Whatever Happened to the Fourth British Empire? The Cold War, Empire Defence and the USA, 1943–1957 Wayne M. Reynolds

127

Part V Regional Studies 11 Coal and the Origins of the Cold War: The British Dilemma over Coal Supplies from the Ruhr, 1946 Sean Greenwood 12 The Algerian War, De Gaulle and Anglo–American Relations, 1958 Gillian Staerck 13 A Transfer of Power? Britain, the Anglo–American Relationship and the Cold War in the Middle East, 1957–1962 Stephen J. Blackwell 14 The Origins of Konfrontasi: Britain, the Cold War and the Creation of Malaysia, 1960–1963 Peter Busch

143

155

168

180

Notes

193

Bibliography

131

Index

238

Notes on the Contributors Juhana Aunesluoma is a Lecturer of Contemporary History in the Department of Social Science History, at the University of Helsinki, Finland. His book Britain, Sweden and the Cold War, 1945–54 (Palgrave) is forthcoming. Stephen J. Blackwell was awarded his PhD by the University of Wales, Aberystwyth in 1998. He has published a number of articles on the international history of the Middle East during the 1950s and 60s and is currently researching British civil–military relations in the post-1945 period. He is also working at present for both the Open Society Institute in Romania and the United Nations University in Tokyo. Peter Busch works with German Television, ZDF, lectures at the University of Erfurt and is working on a monograph entitled All the Way with JFK? Britain and Kennedy’s War in Vietnam. Erik Goldstein is Professor of International Relations, Boston University. He is the author of several books on twentieth-century diplomacy. He is the founder-editor of Diplomacy & Statecraft. Sean Greenwood is Professor of Modern History at Canterbury Christ Church University College. His most recent publication is Britain and the Cold War, 1945–91 (Palgrave Macmillan, 2000). Michael F. Hopkins is Senior lecturer in History at Liverpool Hope. He has co-edited Intelligence, Defence and Diplomacy: British Policy in the Post War World (London: Frank Cass, 1994), and is the author of Oliver Franks and the Truman Administration: Anglo-American Relations, 1948–1952 (London: Frank Cass, 2002). Ian R.W. Jackson is Lecturer in International Relations and American Foreign Policy at De Montfort University, Leicester. He is the author of The Economic Cold War: America, Britain and East–West Trade, 1948–63 (2001) and several articles on international trade policy during the Cold War. John Jenks is Assistant Professor of Communication Studies at Dominican University, River Forest, Illinois. He recently published ‘The Enemy Within: Journalism, the State and the Limits of Dissent in Cold War Britain, 1950–51’ in American Journalism. vii

viii Notes on the Contributors

Michael D. Kandiah is the Director of the Witness Seminar Programme, ICBH, Institute of Historical Research, University of London. His publications include: with Anthony Seldon, Think Tanks and Ideas in Contemporary Britain (2 vols. 1996 and 1997); with Harriet Jones, The Myth of Consensus (1996); with Gillian Staerck, PROfiles, British Official Documents 1964 (1996); and with Gillian Staerck and Christopher Staerck, British Documents on Far East Asia (1999). Martin A.L. Longden is a historian at the Foreign and Commonwealth Office. His doctoral thesis on Britain’s early post-war European defence policy was completed at the University of Leeds in 2000, and he is now working on the third series of Documents on British Policy Overseas on 1970s Cold War Europe. Spencer Mawby is a Lecturer in Politics at the University of Leicester and the author of Containing Germany: Britain and the Arming of the Federal Republic (Macmillan/Palgrave, 1999). Wayne M. Reynolds is a Senior Lecturer in History at the University of Newcastle, Australia, where he specialises in foreign affairs and defence studies. He has completed two monographs: Doc Evatt: Patriot, Internationalist, Fighter and Scholar (1994) and Australia’s Bid for the Atomic Bomb (2000). Ian Speller is Senior Lecturer in Defence Studies at the UK Joint Services Command and Staff College. He is the author of The Role of Amphibious Warfare in British Defence Policy, 1945-56 (London: Palgrave, 2001). Gillian Staerck is Editorial Research Officer at ICBH. Her publications include, with Wolfram Kaiser, British Foreign Policy 1955–64 (Palgrave Macmillan, 2000). She is an editor of Modern History Review and the Electronic Journal of International History and is also writing her PhD on Anglo-Franco-American relations, 1958–60.

Acknowledgements The editors would like to thank the staffs of the following libraries and archives for their assistance and permission to use their materials: the Public Record Office, Kew; the National Archives, Washington, DC; the Brotherton Library, Leeds; the Bodleian Library, Oxford, for use of the Gore-Booth Papers. Michael Kandiah wishes to thank the Conservative Party for the use of the Conservative Party Archives at the Bodleian Library, Oxford, and the 3rd Earl of Woolton for allowing him to use his private collection of papers of his grandfather, the 1st Earl of Woolton, and the collection at the Bodleian Library, Oxford. Michael Hopkins wishes to acknowledge the permission of Lady Younger, courtesy of Professor Geoffrey Warner, to quote from the Kenneth Younger Diary. MICHAEL F. HOPKINS MICHAEL D. KANDIAH GILLIAN STAERCK

ix

Introduction Michael F. Hopkins, Michael D. Kandiah and Gillian Staerck

For a generation and more after the Second World War the scholarly debate on the emergence and course of the Cold War was dominated by the image of a Soviet-American confrontation – ‘two big dogs chewing a bone’.1 However, Donald Cameron Watt’s seminal article in 1978 initiated the serious academic exploration of Britain’s role in these events.2 Since then numerous studies have sought to explore that role.3 For example, Anne Deighton and others have constructed a persuasive interpretation of the importance of the British contribution in the origins of the Cold War. They have suggested that, very early on, Britain took the lead in a strong line against the Soviet Union; that she preceded the Americans in proposing the Bizone for West Germany; that her withdrawal from Greece and Turkey in 1947 prompted the Truman Doctrine; that she was a vital booster of the plan for Marshall Aid; and that she was a crucial moving force in the formation of the North Atlantic Treaty. According to these commentators, the Korean War might be regarded as the apogee of this policy – with the common enemy now identified as the ‘communist menace’. Others, however, have suggested that such claims overstate Britain’s role in shaping world events. Geoffrey Warner has challenged the argument that Britain’s influence was as crucial as some had claimed. For instance, he has pointed out that the decision to merge the British and American zones in Germany owed as much to independent US conclusions about its value as it did to British advice.4 If both the scale and nature of the United Kingdom’s role in the birth of East–West confrontation war remain the subject of lively debate, there can be no doubt that successive British governments have placed the Cold War at the centre of their policy-making agenda. A sense of the priority given to this issue is revealed in a Foreign Office Planning Staff paper written in 1959–60: The ultimate aim of any Government in the United Kingdom must always remain the security of these islands from foreign domination or attack, the prosperity of the British people and the protection of our individual freedom and liberty … 1

2 Introduction

In order to fulfil our ultimate aims we must strive: (a) to play a full part in the free world’s efforts to counter the growing power of the Sino-Soviet bloc; (b) to maintain the strength of sterling and to further our trading interests throughout the world; (c) to preserve and strengthen the cohesion of the Commonwealth. Whether we like it or not, our interests are inextricably linked with those of the whole free world. We cannot hope to preserve them by our own independent action, and we are much too important a part of the free world to be able to retreat into a passive role like Sweden or Switzerland. Our duties and responsibilities will be very different in the future from what they have been in the past, but they will be no less onerous and no less demanding of our highest efforts.5 A preoccupation with the Cold War pervaded the thinking of all policymakers and politicians. When surveying recent international developments in 1962 the British Prime Minister, Harold Macmillan, declared to his Australian counterpart, Sir Robert Menzies, that the Cold War ‘really dominates everything’.6 This volume, which is derived from papers presented to the July 1997 ICBH conference on Britain and the Cold War, looks at UK policy-making during the crucial early Cold War years. The chapters have benefited from access to a wide range of the newly available archival documents since the end of the Cold War; from time to reflect on the large amount of research undertaken since its demise; and from the greater distance from events. Additionally, this volume reflects the broadening of approaches scholars have begun to take in the aftermath of the end of the Cold War. It is increasingly being seen in the context of longer-term developments. Erik Goldstein’s opening chapter surveys Anglo–Soviet relations from a vantage point that extends all the way back to the nineteenth century and locates Britain’s response to the Cold War in the framework of early Anglo–Russian rivalry at the height of the Age of Empire. He reminds us that British policy-makers believed right up until the first few years of the twentieth century that Russia was the British Empire’s most dangerous enemy. Following the overthrow of Tsarist Russia and the establishment of the Soviet Union, Britain did not shift in this view but, instead, found that she had new reasons for believing in its validity. One of the advantages of the post-Cold War perspective is that it allows us to see beyond the Cold War and to investigate the extent to which many of the policies pursued in that era were more traditional than was claimed at the time. Many now suggest that national interests were just as influential in shaping foreign policy as the ideological struggle against communism; and that states often adopted a Cold War outlook as much to promote their distinctive national interests as to resist international and domestic communism. In this regard, Spencer Mawby has emphasised the

MIchael F. Hopkins 3

extent to which worries about Germany persisted in preoccupying British policy-makers at a time when they were supposed to be principally concerned with the Soviet Union. In addition, Peter Busch, Martin Longden, Ian Jackson and Gillian Staerck each has suggested that foreign-policymaking must be understood in terms of British policy-makers’ pursuit of national interest and their desire to maintain Britain’s place at the ‘top table’ in international affairs. The rise of the two superpowers and their Cold War confrontation did not end British policy-makers’ belief in their country’s international status. Instead, Cold War considerations were incorporated into the traditional perspectives of the governing elites. Many of the chapters cover aspects that have hitherto been little examined in British Cold War writing. Juhana Aunesluoma discusses the Anglo–Scandinavian ‘Special Relationship’ in the early post-war years and examines the extent to which the Cold War shaped this relationship. Wayne Reynolds discusses Britain’s relationship with her Old Dominion allies in the development of her global nuclear strategy. John Jenks looks at the Attlee Government’s responses to the World Peace Council as the Cold War was unfolding and draws important parallels between the British and the American experience. The differences between the British and American Cold War policies and the economic realities that shaped British policies are elucidated in Ian Jackson’s chapter on the diplomacy pursued by Western powers. As Ian Jackson shows, economic measures were extensively utilised as weapons in East–West confrontation. Sean Greenwood also highlights important economic considerations. He regards the issue of Ruhr coal as a microcosm of the dilemmas facing the British Government at the start of the Cold War and an indication of their motives in responding to them. British policy also embraced other less material but equally significant activities. Much of the Cold War centred on the fight for support, the struggle for hearts and minds.7 In an era where the masses had greater access to information and where the mass media were expanding their reach, it was natural that the Cold War should be conducted via publicity, public relations and propaganda. This was pursued abroad but also, just as importantly, at home. John Jenks adumbrates these issues in his exploration of the response to the World Peace Council. In addition, Michael Kandiah’s chapter examines how the Cold War shaped and modernised British home politics. Michael Hopkins looks at features of the domestic and international activities of Herbert Morrison, a neglected figure in the Labour Government of 1945–51. The Cold War was conducted in a wider number of ways than sometimes realised. It was of importance in regions that have been ignored or have been given limited attention. Juhana Aunesluoma’s chapter seeks to redress this imbalance by examining British policy towards Scandinavia, especially Swedish neutrality, in the early Cold War. The British recognised the economic and strategic importance of the area as a whole and worried about the threat from the Soviet Union. The Scandinavians considered Britain

4 Introduction

their most important partner in political, economic and military cooperation. Nevertheless, no account of Britain and the Cold War can avoid placing the Anglo–American relationship at its centre. Each of the chapters addresses this matter to varying degrees. But three of them put the partnership at the centre of their analysis. Michael Hopkins seeks to understand the role of Herbert Morrison in the Attlee Government’s pursuit of a Cold War special relationship. He was a pivotal member of the Attlee Government, playing important roles in both domestic and foreign policy. Yet he has received limited, and generally unfavourable, treatment. Stephen Blackwell and Gillian Staerck consider aspects of Anglo–American strategic and diplomatic relations concerning, respectively, North Africa and the Middle East, and North Africa, NATO and de Gaulle. Effective security was vital to British Cold War strategy. Four chapters scrutinise different features of this field. Martin Longden turns to the evolution of British thinking and policy about how to protect Western Europe. He argues that it was an area vital to British strategic interests but one that they perceived to be wholly indefensible. Ian Speller considers the Royal Navy’s approach to a Cold War strategy in the nuclear era. Stephen Blackwell shows that Anglo–American Cold War solidarity did not mean that defence relations in the Middle East in the aftermath of the Suez Crisis would run smoothly. Wayne Reynolds points out that there was an imperial dimension to Britain’s early nuclear policy. Between 1943 and 1957 the British Empire played a crucial role in Britain’s atomic strategy: it was indispensable for provision of uranium, fissile material, scientific manpower and test sites for the UK Atomic Weapons programme. This relationship fell apart once Britain was able to get the McMahon Act repealed. Taken together, the studies in this volume suggest three principal themes with regard to Britain and the Cold War. The first is that while the Cold War provided an over-arching framework for Britain’s foreign policy-making during the first two decades after the Second World War, its exigencies were not intentionally pursued at the expense of British national interest. Indeed, the opposite was true. Secondly, the Cold War did not alter the United Kingdom’s view of its position in the world: policy-makers continued to believe that the country remained a significant international power and that it had a right and deserved to remain a major global power. It proved possible to combine the threads of traditional British policy with the new circumstances of the Cold War in these two decades after the Second World War. Thirdly, notwithstanding the first two tendencies, the United Kingdom’s commitment to fighting the Cold War internationally and domestically was unreserved. British decision-makers were in general agreement that communism and collectivism posed the most serious danger to both Western security and civilisation.8 Additionally, they were willing and able to divert a significant portion of the country’s financial resources to fighting this battle across the globe.9 In this way the United Kingdom was the coldest – and the most international – of the Cold Warriors in Western Europe.

Part I Prelude to the Cold War

1 Britain and the Origins of the Cold War Erik Goldstein

The foreign policy of the United Kingdom towards the Soviet Union after the Second World War was rooted in Britain’s traditional policy toward Russia, stretching back at least to the nineteenth century. Geo-politics even more than ideological rivalry have shaped British reactions to Russian intentions and other than during two brief periods of coalition with Russia in the two world wars, and only then in the face of a common enemy, the normal condition of Anglo–Russian relations has been one of rivalry, mutual distrust and suspicion. The British response has been to seek to contain the perceived threat emanating from Russia. Containment is usually associated with United States policy during the Cold War, but as a tactic of statecraft it is much older and was practised by Britain against Russia from the nineteenth century. The result has been an intermittent Anglo–Russian Cold War for over two centuries. During these two centuries of rivalry, three schools of thought about how Britain should deal with any Russian menace, pre- or post-Bolshevik revolution, can be discerned: 1) The hard line school, with a willingness to use military action, if necessary, to block Russian ambitions, which conflicted with British interests. This approach was in the ascendant at the time of the Crimean war (1853–56), and briefly during the Intervention (1918–20). 2) The Cold War (or Proto-Cold War) school, which, while either wishing to avoid direct armed conflict, or acknowledging that public support might be insufficient, sought by all other means to contain Russia. 3) The soft line school, which sought warmer relations with Russia. Figures from this group include Lord Derby, who resigned as Foreign Secretary in 1878 over the Disraeli Government’s tough policy towards Russia, and the Labour Government of 1924, which recognised the new Soviet regime and opened a brief period of diplomatic relations. British perceptions of Russia have often been that of a country difficult to comprehend. Palmerston warned in 1835 that ‘Russia has advanced 7

8 Cold War Origins

specially because nobody observed, watched and understood what she was doing.’1 Owen O’Malley of the Foreign Office, writing of the 1924 Anglo–Soviet conference commented of Russia, ‘where so little is reasonably calculable and passions are so deeply involved.’2 There is Churchill’s famous observation that Russia ‘is a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma.’3 Some public figures had simpler explanations. Aubrey Herbert, MP, wrote in 1922, ‘It seems to me that the present Bolshevism may go on in Russia indefinitely, because the Rusk [sic] are a race of loonies.’4 Such views were reflected in the popular perception of Russia. One of the phenomena of nineteenth-century British politics was the rise of popular Russophobia.5 The popular image of Russia was best summed up by Rudyard Kipling in Kim, where he talks of ‘the dread power of the North’, and this linking of ‘dread’ with Russia appears frequently. Lord Derby in 1876 noted in his diary, ‘Already in the newspapers I see that the old dread of Russia is regaining strength.’6

Pre-1917 Proto-Cold War British diplomacy in the nineteenth century was actively engaged in containing the threat of Russian expansion, and actions taken in the nineteenth century bear close resemblance to some of those of the Cold War. Anglo–Russian rivalry began to emerge as early as the 1790s when Pitt the Younger perceived that the two growing empires were heading towards possible confrontation, at this stage in the Near East. Ideological confrontation with Russia began after the defeat of Napoleon when Tsar Alexander I organised a conservative grouping of states, the Holy Alliance, to which Britain was opposed and which the foreign secretary, Castlereagh, actively moved to block. His successors, Canning and Palmerston, continued the policy of thwarting this Russian-led bloc of reactionary powers, as well as other efforts by Russia to extend her influence. Palmerston in the 1830s thought the build-up of the Russian fleet in the Black Sea and its ability to deploy in the Eastern Mediterranean one of the greatest threats to British interests, and this led to Britain enhancing her naval presence in that theatre.7 The Greek Rebellion (1821–32) became a matter of concern, lest it open the doors to an expansion of Russian influence, and as a result Britain felt obliged to intervene, just as she did in the Greek civil war from 1944. In time the two powers would come into serious conflict in the East Mediterranean, Central Asia and East Asia. The concerns caused by the extension of Russian power into areas of British interest are reflected in the publication of various cautionary books, such as George de Lacy Evans, On the Designs of Russia (1828) and Commander Henry Craufurd, The Russian Fleet in the Baltic in 1836, with some Remarks Intended to Draw Attention to the Danger of Leaving Our Navy in Its Present Extremely Reduced State (1837).

Erik Goldstein 9

In the 1850s this Proto-Cold War became a real war, fought out in the Crimea. Russian ambitions towards the Ottoman Empire had now reached the stage where many British policy-makers were convinced that Russia intended a dramatic southward extension of her power. The Ottoman Empire was seen as the bulwark against Russia bursting upon the Eastern Mediterranean, and dominating the sea lanes and land routes between Europe and Asia. Lord John Russell, a moderate, became convinced of Russian intentions to control the Ottoman Empire, declaring in 1853, ‘if we do not stop the Russians on the Danube, we shall have to stop them on the Indus.’8 Here was a distant echo of Cold War observations about the Rhine. The Crimean War of 1853–56 was about blocking Russian expansion to the south and into the Balkans. Lord Palmerston in explaining British actions observed that, ‘The policy of Great Britain from first to last has been that of protecting Turkey with a view to the repulse of Russia from an exclusive and dangerous domination over the East of Europe.’9 In a similar crisis, the Russo–Ottoman War of 1877–78, when it seemed possible that Russia was intent on further expansion, Disraeli advised Queen Victoria that ‘the Empress of India should order her armies to clear Central Asia of the Muscovites, and drive them into the Caspian.’10 Here was an early call for rollback. At the Congress of Berlin, which resolved the crisis, Disraeli succeeded in blocking Russian aspirations in the Balkans. This confrontation led to the coining of the term ‘jingoism’ from the contemporary music hall song: We don’t want to fight, but by jingo if we do We’ve got the ships, we’ve got the men, we’ve got the money too We’ve fought the Bear before, and, while Britons true The Russians shall not have Constantinopool [Constantinople] British India at the same time was actively engaged in attempting to block Russian expansion into Central Asia, in what became known as the Great Game. Britain’s precedent-shattering 1902 peacetime alliance with Japan was aimed at blocking Russian expansion in East Asia. In a later period, concern about Russia would lead Britain to alter her traditional view about collective security and support the creation of NATO.

1907–1917: interlude Russia’s stunning defeat by Japan in 1905, when she lost most of her navy, briefly removed Russia from the ranks of potential adversaries, a role Germany was now coming to fulfil. The German threat brought about the unlikely Triple Entente of France, Russia and Britain. It was, though, no more than a coalition against a common threat, and Britain’s traditional suspicions of both her partners remained high. This brief wartime partnership was not

10 Cold War Origins

of sufficient duration to change perceptions, and the Bolshevik revolution and the defeat of Germany simply allowed older patterns of behaviour to reassert themselves. The ideology of the Russian regime might have changed, but the threat she could pose was very similar to that of the Tsarist period.

The first Cold War The new, Bolshevised Russia was seen to be just as much a threat as nineteenth-century imperial Russia had been to Britain’s idea of world order. Rex Leeper, the Russia expert of the Foreign Office Political Intelligence Department, who would later serve as ambassador to Athens during the Greek Civil War, advised in 1918 that Russia was ‘a grave menace to civilisation.’11 How to deal with this new regime was an early matter of concern for London. At a meeting of the War Cabinet on 7 December 1917 two possible courses of action were identified: ‘a.) To recognise the Bolsheviks and make the best arrangements possible with them, or b.) To refuse to recognise them, and take open and energetic steps against them.’12 These options would continue to confront British Governments in the decades, that followed. For Lloyd George’s Coalition Government the debate lay between intervention and confinement (containment). Figures such as Winston Churchill, then Secretary of State for War, warned Lloyd George in 1919 that if no action was taken to defeat the Bolsheviks, after they had consolidated control in the old Russian Empire, Britain would find: their armies are menacing Persia and Afghanistan and their missionaries are at the gates of India, when one after another the Border States in the West have been undermined by want and propaganda or overborne by criminal violence, not only the League of Nations but the British Empire, with which we are particularly concerned, will wake up to the fact that Russia is not a negligible factor in world politics.13 Churchill wanted to use force to remove this new Russian threat. In this Churchill was supported by such Cabinet colleagues as Lord Birkenhead, the Secretary of State for India, and one of the hard line anti-Bolsheviks, who believed that the Russians were pursuing ‘by restless and subterranean activities … no other purpose than the destruction of the British Empire’.14 Churchill would later explain, in the context of the Cold War, the necessity for showing the willingness to use force: You have not only to convince the Soviet Government that you have superior force – that they are confronted by superior force – but that you are not restrained by any moral consideration if the case arose from using that force with complete material ruthlessness. And that is the greatest chance for peace, the surest road to peace.15

Erik Goldstein 11

Most of the Cabinet agreed with the concept that a threat was being posed, but not all wanted to follow an interventionist policy. Lord Milner, who had had plenty of experience of such a policy from his role in the Boer War, stated that he was, ‘quite opposed to aggressive action against Bolshevism but he did not wish the fire to spread; he wished to confine it to the area it had already ravaged’.16 Milner advocated what would later be called containment, suggesting that, ‘He would come to terms with the Bolsheviks if they agreed to remain within their own boundaries’.17 Lloyd George, though, was concerned about his backbench Conservative coalition members, many of whom favoured a hard line, as well as the threat from Churchill to resign so that he could attack the government for lack of action.18 As a result, for a brief period, he sanctioned British support for the White forces in Russia. Lloyd George nonetheless was not convinced about the utility of force in toppling the Bolsheviks. In November 1919 he publicly admitted the failure of military measures, and by March 1920 all British forces had been evacuated.19 In late December 1918 Lloyd George informed the Imperial War Cabinet that he ‘was definitely opposed to military intervention in any shape’ and he went on to advise ‘The best thing was to let Bolshevism fail of itself.’20 Lloyd George now moved to lift the economic blockade imposed upon Russia by the Allies, and in February he signalled, in Parliament, his interest in renewing commercial relations: ‘We have failed to restore Russia to sanity by force. I believe we can save her by trade. Commerce has a sobering influence in its operations.’21 He concluded that ‘There is but one way – we must fight anarchy with abundance.’22 After months of negotiation, almost derailed by the Soviet–Polish War of 1920, a trade agreement was concluded, with Britain extending de facto recognition.23 Lloyd George attempted to build on this at the Genoa Conference of 1922, where he hoped to settle the outstanding problem of the Russian debt to open the way to full relations with Russia.24 In this he was defeated, largely through French intransigence.25 In 1922 Lloyd George’s coalition fell, and was replaced by a Conservative administration. Lord Curzon, the Foreign Secretary, now dominated foreign policy. Curzon had been worried since at least the 1880s about Russia using her position in Central Asia to threaten Britain’s Indian Empire.26 As Viceroy of India he intervened in Tibet to block a perceived Russian threat.27 Curzon now argued that the Soviet Government was ‘in a position of special and inveterate hostility towards the British Empire’.28 He told the Cabinet that the regime in Moscow was ‘Communists with wide Imperial aspirations’.29 Curzon saw continuity between traditional Russian aspirations and Communist Russian desires. In the context of the Turkish crisis of 1922 Curzon concluded that Moscow’s objective ‘had always been Constantinople’,30 – an analysis which would equally have been at home in any nineteenth-century cabinet discussion. Indeed in 1926 Birkenhead was telling the Imperial conference that, ‘The policy initiated by Peter the Great

12 Cold War Origins

of penetrating to the warm water has not changed with changing forms of government.’31 One important aspect of Curzon’s strategy at the Lausanne negotiations, which resolved the crisis, was to block Soviet influence in the new Turkey. Once again Britain was anxious to prevent any extension of Russian influence to the south. In 1923 Curzon, together with others involved with foreign policy, became increasingly concerned about Soviet propaganda in Asia and the Near and Middle East. This led to the Curzon Note of May 1923, which threatened the breaking off of the existing de facto relations should the Soviet Union persist in these and other antagonistic policies.32 Hard-liners in the Foreign Office were delighted by the possibility of moving more fully to isolate Russia. J.D. Gregory, head of the Foreign Office’s Northern Department, commented that this was a ‘great opportunity for us who would like a break anyhow’.33 At this critical juncture the rapidly ailing Prime Minister, Bonar Law, resigned and was replaced by Stanley Baldwin. The new Prime Minister, more concerned about possible trade benefits than high imperial policy, moved to avert a rupture, saying during his first week as Prime Minister, ‘we must try to avoid a break with Russia’.34 The Soviets moved to accommodate the British on most points, thus satisfying Baldwin and initiating an improvement in relations. Baldwin’s chief rival for the premiership had been Curzon, and it seems possible to conclude that the advent of Baldwin derailed Curzon’s slowly escalating hard-line policy. Curzon’s personal position had been weakened by Baldwin’s broader support within the Conservative Party. The new government, however, only lasted seven months, and any possible power struggle between Prime Minister and Foreign Secretary never had the opportunity to occur. The first Labour Government, led by Ramsay MacDonald, took office in January 1924, with MacDonald also serving as Foreign Secretary. MacDonald said at his Party’s victory celebration that he would end, ‘The pompous folly of standing aloof from the Russian Government’.35 He had earlier been critical of the Bolsheviks, largely because of their quashing of Georgian independence, but MacDonald now hastened the process of granting de jure recognition, partly out of concern that Italy might steal a march and become the first of the Allied states to open full relations with the Soviet Union.36 MacDonald also negotiated an Anglo–Soviet treaty, intended to resolve and clarify a number of issues between the governments, which would allow for the normalisation of relations. Before the treaty could be ratified, however, MacDonald was forced to call new elections.37 MacDonald’s campaign was famously disrupted by the publication of the Zinoviev Letter, which probably played a role in Labour’s defeat. The role of the Zinoviev Letter in the election campaign ensured that it would not soon be forgotten. A Committee of enquiry chaired by the new Foreign Secretary, Austen Chamberlain, pronounced it genuine.38 As a result Chamberlain informed Parliament that normal diplomatic relations were out of the question, but that the policy would be one of ‘wait and watch’.39

Erik Goldstein 13

Chamberlain observed in February 1925 that, ‘Russia is an imponderable factor, curiously enough as frightened of other people as other people are of her, or so at least it seems to me’.40 Chamberlain initiated a thorough policy review, and one important early memorandum in this process was a January 1925 overview of the situation in Europe, by Harold Nicolson, which divided the continent into three groups, victors, vanquished and Russia. The Russian problem was seen as ‘that incessant though shapeless menace’, with Nicolson concluding that ‘Russia is not therefore in any sense a factor of stability: she is indeed the most menacing of all our uncertainties; and it must thus be in spite of Russia, perhaps even because of Russia, that a policy of security must be framed.’41 Sir William Tyrrell, the Permanent Under-Secretary at the Foreign Office, commented that ‘If we can build up a solid group of powers on the Continent we shall be providing ourselves with a most effective means of protection against the subversive methods of Soviet Russia.’42 Chamberlain’s efforts to run an aloof but flexible foreign policy on this issue came under sustained attack from his die-hard Cabinet colleagues, such as Joynson-Hicks, Churchill and Birkenhead. The first issue relating to Russia which the new government confronted was the accusation by some hardliners, such as the Home Secretary, Joynson-Hicks, that Russia were fomenting unrest in China, and thereby threatening British interests. Chamberlain’s reaction was to be cool but proper to Moscow. He observed that ‘it would be very inexpedient to provoke a controversy with the Soviet Gov[ernmen]t if it can be avoided, and that the less attention we pay to them the more anxious they will be to come to terms with us’.43 He advised the cabinet that Britain’s policy should be ‘to keep the formal relations as distant as possible’.44 Chamberlain’s success at Locarno in 1925 helped to establish his ascendancy in foreign policy, and to diminish the influence of these die-hards. Chamberlain’s intellectual vision of British foreign policy was based on a return to traditional British responses.45 It is perhaps significant that Chamberlain installed a portrait of Castlereagh, who had conducted a similar policy, in the new Locarno Suite at the Foreign Office, as the presiding deity in British foreign affairs. The Locarno agreements were the result of the return of balance of power policy towards Western Europe. Eastern Europe was a much more distant concern, and it was hoped that region would remain quiescent and not cause disturbances which might affect Western Europe. Russia, though, was seen as one of those factors that might disrupt Eastern Europe. There had been concern in London since the 1922 Rapallo Treaty of a German–Soviet alliance, and it was hoped that the Locarno Pact would make such an alliance less attractive to Germany. Britain’s intention is best summed up by Tyrrell, who observed that, ‘One of the chief merits of the Locarno policy was to detach Germany from Russia and thus gradually unite up the block and thereby defeat the obvious tactics of Moscow which aim at splitting up Europe.’46 It is sometimes suggested that Britain and France intended, by

14 Cold War Origins

the Locarno Pact, to turn any Germany revanchism to the East. There is no evidence of this in Chamberlain’s thinking. He did contemplate further Locarnos, such as an Eastern or a Mediterranean Locarno, but the opportunities never arose. What Chamberlain’s policy did, as it did in other spheres as well, was to return to the traditional statecraft of Britain, a policy which was continued with only minor variations by his successors. The result was a lowlevel Cold War with the Soviet Union.

Conclusion As Russian power once again asserted itself as a major force in international affairs with the end of the Second World War, London did no more than adapt and evolve its traditional responses to such regular Russian manifestations. The underlying assumptions of Russian intentions remained unaltered. As Ernest Bevin said in 1946: you have Russia … who in foreign policy is quite clearly as imperialistic as the greatest of the Czars, Peter the Great or anybody else, and who is seeking to put around herself for security purposes whole groups of satellites in the south, east and west with the view of controlling every kind of place which is likely to come in contact with her. I think she has an inherent fear, quite unnecessarily, that the big Powers like us and America may some day or other attack her … Therefore she adopts methods which are very much out of date.47 The aftermath of the First World War saw London grappling with an attempt to grasp the nature of the change, if any, in the new Russian regime, and its impact on British interests. In part because of the necessities of the First World War, this led to a British military presence in Russia, which in turn made the transition to military intervention all too tempting. The failure of this option led the Lloyd George Government to oscillate to the other extreme and to seek to rapidly warm relations with Russia. After the brief interval of the Bonar Law and Baldwin governments, with the latter in effect continuing the Lloyd George line, MacDonald attempted to build upon this foundation with a full rapprochement with the Soviet Union. These tendencies though came to an end with the Zinoviev Letter, a view later affirmed by the Arcos Raid. This confirmed the growing belief in foreign policy circles that Russia was continuing her penetration of other, usually neighbouring states, and was being duplicitous in her actions. By the time of Locarno in 1925 British policy towards Russia had returned to her historic norm, a chilly aloofness, and, in the diplomatic parlance of the time, sought to erect a cordon sanitaire along Russia’s borders. Russia was viewed as a state that was historically unreliable, diplomatically duplicitous, and possessed of inherent expansionist desires. The result was a low-level Cold War throughout the inter-war years, which laid the intellectual groundwork for a much frostier Cold War after 1945.

Part II The Cold War at Home and Abroad

2 Herbert Morrison, the Cold War and Anglo–American Relations, 1945–1951 Michael F. Hopkins

As a sort of watchdog for trouble I had sometimes to go further afield.1 Britain realised even before the end of the Second World War just how important good Anglo–American relations were to an effective international role for the country. This concern fell principally upon the Foreign Secretary. Two figures held this post during the Labour governments of 1945–51. Ernest Bevin served from July 1945 to March 1951. He was succeeded by Herbert Morrison, who held office for the last seven months of the administration from March to October 1951. Bevin’s term has been extensively and favourably studied.2 Morrison has been less extensively examined and has received an altogether less favourable verdict.3 A rounded judgement on the Attlee Government’s foreign policy requires proper scrutiny of Morrison as Foreign Secretary. Neglect of him has also led to a failure to recognise his contribution to various features of foreign affairs even before he became Foreign Secretary. He played an important role in both the domestic and international aspects of the Cold War and the relationship with the United States throughout the term of the Labour governments of 1945–51.

Herbert Morrison Herbert Morrison’s adult life was nearly synonymous with the rise of the Labour Party in local and national politics; and he played significant roles in both arenas. Born in 1888, he joined the Independent Labour Party in 1906, left, and rejoined in 1910. He became a Secretary of the London Labour Party in April 1915. He was Mayor of Hackney, 1920–21 and then a member of the London County Council from 1922 to 1945. He served as Minister of Transport in the MacDonald Government of 1929–31. He then worked as Leader of the London County Council, 1934–40. He was an MP, with two breaks, between 1923 and 1959. During the Second World War he was Minister of Supply from May until November 1940 when he assumed 17

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the politically sensitive post of Home Secretary, which he held until the general election of July 1945. From 1942 to 1945 he was a member of the small War Cabinet, which varied from five to eight members. He was clearly one of the major figures in the party. If the Prime Minister, Clement Attlee, and the Foreign Secretary, Ernest Bevin, enjoyed greater stature than he, he was, in turn, of higher standing than the other two senior members of the government, Hugh Dalton and Stafford Cripps, successive Chancellors of the Exchequer. After Labour’s election victory in July 1945 he was appointed deputy Prime Minister and Lord President of the Council. He acted as the domestic supremo, ensuring the safe passage through Parliament of a considerable amount of legislation. According to Donoughue and Jones, ‘By early August 1946 Morrison had piloted seventy bills through Parliament, and another fourteen were to receive the Royal Assent before the end of the session in November.’4 Morrison deployed great skills. In his many offices in the party, in local government and in Cabinet he displayed considerable administrative capacity. He has been called ‘perhaps the finest Leader of the House in the history of the Commons’.5 He possessed ‘immense executive ability’, though he ‘did not inspire universal affection. Colleagues saw him as too ambitious for the supreme office; civil servants often saw him as erratic and ignorant of economics.’ Yet his role ‘was many-sided and quite indispensable.’ He ‘took on such a variety of tasks that it undermined his health; at key moments (notably in 1947) he was out of action with heart trouble. Morrison was, first and foremost, Leader of the House of Commons, arguably the most subtle and adroit figure ever to occupy that vital post.’6 An American profile drew out his character through a comparison with Bevin, these ‘two men of similar backgrounds.’ ‘Where Bevin was slow and bumbling in his manner, Morrison is as chirpy and cocky as a sparrow. An unruly lock of hair makes him a cartoonist’s delight, and the lost sight in one eye in childhood has given him the habit of tilting his head to one side that gives him a somewhat truculent appearance. He is not; but he is aggressive, brusque and sometimes rude.’7 Central to any successful Cabinet minister is a good relationship with the Prime Minister. Bevin had by far the better relations. He and Attlee enjoyed mutual respect and affection. Bevin was impressed, says Williams, by the ‘unobtrusive skill and firmness with which he [Attlee] presided over the War Cabinet during the frequent absences of the Prime Minister.’ He adds, it appeared an attraction of opposites … Bevin with his egotism, his personalization of issues, his cheerful boasting, his rough humour, massive power and human warmth seemed to most people unlikely to appreciate Attlee’s quiet precision, his modesty and objectivity, his reserve and introspection, his dry wit … But Bevin [came to] respect Attlee’s judgment and lack of self-interest [and] recognized in him qualities of absolute integrity and fidelity by which he set such store.

Michael F. Hopkins 19

They displayed complete confidence in one another. Bevin made sure that he always kept Attlee fully informed.8 As Bevin maintained, ‘Clem never put a forward a single constructive idea, but by God, he’s the only man who could have kept us together.’9 Attlee characterised his relations with Bevin as the deepest of his political life.10 Morrison’s relations with Attlee were altogether less intimate. On two occasions Morrison associated himself with moves that suggested that Attlee be replaced. Immediately after the election victory in July 1945 Harold Laski, chairman of the National Executive of the Labour Party, suggested that Attlee should stand for election as party leader before taking office. Laski clearly favoured Morrison as leader. Morrison, through a mixture of ambition and a desire to follow the party’s constitution, also proposed such a procedure. Bevin, however, urged Attlee to ignore this and accept the King’s invitation to form a government.11 There was a second episode in September 1947 when Morrison, Cripps and Dalton suggested that Attlee should stand down. Morrison, however, distanced himself from this when it became clear that the other two favoured Bevin and not him as the replacement. Once again Bevin showed his loyalty to Attlee: ‘it was not his habit to intrigue against a man he trusted’.12 If relations between the two were not so close before he became Foreign Secretary, they did not show any improvement once he was appointed. According to one study, Attlee was not prepared to give him the free hand he had allowed Bevin. Instead, he kept him on a tight rein.13 Kenneth Younger, Minister of State at the Foreign Office, noted in his diary: ‘I get the impression that there was little love lost between P.M. and Herbert.’14 Relations between Bevin and Morrison were not good. They had been incompatible since 1931 when Bevin resented the exclusion of trade unions from the governing body of Morrison’s London Transport authority. ‘Bevin opposed Morrison thereafter so vindictively that it is hard not to suspect some degree of personal jealousy as well’.15 In his memoirs Morrison observed: I had all along insisted that parliament was the body to decide matters of policy, which annoyed Ernest Bevin, who believed that I should not only consult him but accept his views, particularly as regards the appointment of Traffic Commissioners. I paid due regard to those views – and to those of other Trade Union officers – but I was not prepared to be put in his pocket, though that is where C.T. Cramp of the National Union of Railwaymen thought I was.16 As Williams says, ‘If however what was at issue between them was in the beginning mainly a disagreement on principle arising out of differing attitudes rooted in differing experience, Bevin soon – as was his habit – moved it to a more personal level.’17 Morrison’s behaviour over leadership

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of the party in 1945 and 1947 only served to deepen Bevin’s low regard for him. Nevertheless, they came to respect each other’s abilities.18 Moreover, Morrison proved to be a vital ally for Bevin on the major foreign policy decisions of the 1945–51 government: on the American loan in 1945–46, on the Marshall Plan proposals in 1947, on the negotiation of the North Atlantic Pact in 1948–49, on the Korean War in 1950 and on the vexed issue of increased defence spending in 1950–51 – on all of these issues Morrison consistently backed Bevin. He did this both by supporting Bevin in Cabinet and by using his considerable skills as a party manager to ensure that the parliamentary party endorsed these policies.

The domestic Cold War It was, indeed, in foreign policy that party divisions proved most troublesome. Morrison performed a major task in securing the support of MPs and the Party for the Cold War policy. It was Morrison, not Attlee, who had the principal responsibility for controlling Labour MPs. Bevin ‘never became a Parliamentarian in the full sense and sometimes moved unhandily amongst Parliamentary procedure making mistakes that would have condemned a smaller man. “I sit on the front bench and nudge Herbert Morrison and say, ‘What do I do now, ‘Erbert?’” he once explained.’19 Morrison was adept at keeping in touch with the backbenchers, allowing them to voice their complaints to him, and offering them his counsel. Although not fond of him, Francis Williams, Attlee’s press secretary, conceded that Morrison was ‘A superb politician, shrewd, able, honest and energetic, as well as being the best party manager in the business until the Tories hit on his equal in Woolton’.20 He achieved this partly by his personal skills. Over the years he developed some highly effective techniques. As one Labour MP, Woodrow Wyatt, observed, ‘A little joke, a small compromise, a conciliatory speech and the grievance would disappear’.21 His success was also partly due to the adoption of certain practices and to the introduction of particular institutions. Both Attlee and Morrison were careful to attend the monthly meetings of the National Executive Committee (NEC). Unlike the Prime Minister, Morrison had to be elected annually to the NEC; he was. Morrison set up a Liaison Committee to maintain contact between backbenchers and the leadership. Its chairman was a backbencher. Morrison also sat on it, as did the chief whip, a Labour peer and the secretary of the Labour Party. He also established the Party Policy Groups to cover the departments of State. According to Dalton, Bevin allowed the External Affairs Group to ‘pick itself.’ As a consequence, ‘in came all the pacifists and fellow travellers, pro-Russians and antiAmericans, and every sort of freak harboured in our majority’.22 In addition, he relaxed Standing Orders for MPs ‘to encourage freedom of action and expression “without upsetting the applecart”.’ He told MPs ‘We don’t

Michael F. Hopkins 21

want a gramophone record instead of a debate. I hope that there will be a good deal of free speech, even to the extent of disagreeing with ministers.’ Morrison emphasised that the party whips had the task not just of ensuring loyal support but also of conveying MPs’ concerns to ministers.23 Morrison’s own later judgement was positive: ‘Considering the varied views held by Labour members and their right to voice them, the times when differences became so acute that reprimand or even withdrawal of the whip or expulsion was necessary were very few.’ Moreover, he felt that his approach allowed both for the government to benefit from the expertise of those sitting on the subject groups and for the backbenchers to have a sense that they were ‘usefully contributing to the mass of legislative work of the new government’.24 It was over relations with the Soviet Union that Morrison faced the biggest difficulties. Many Labour MPs shared the outlook expressed in the Labour manifesto, Let Us Face the Future, drafted by Morrison, which declared that left could speak to left in the Soviet Union. ‘Immediately after the war’, according to Stefan Berger, ‘left-wing sympathies were still considerable. After all, Labour in 1945 used the campaign slogan “Left understands Left” – indicating that the antagonistic stance between Churchill and the Soviet leadership could give way to better mutual understanding under a Labour government.’25 Ian Mikardo has explained how a group of a score or so left-wingers used to gather at a table in the Members’ Smoking Room.26 These included Richard Crossman, Tom Driberg and Michael Foot. The ‘area of government policy which caused us deepest concern was external relations.’ They objected to ‘Bevin’s negative, sterile anti-communism’ and to ‘the Government’s self-imposed subservience to the United States.’ They tried to talk both to Attlee but ‘he just wouldn’t listen’ and to Bevin but ‘he was not the easiest man to talk to and the last man in the world to suffer dissent gladly.’ For a year after the election they voiced their criticisms only internally rather than publicly but they realised this was taking them nowhere. So they decided to go public.27 They chose to put down a critical foreign affairs amendment on the Address for the King’s Speech inaugurating the 1946–47 Session. They were joined in this first serious challenge to the government from the backbenches by another, less influential, grouping of dissidents: the anti-American left led by John Platt-Mills, Konni Zilliacus, Leslie Solley, Lester Hutchinson and William Warbey. They consistently demanded a closer relationship with the Soviet Union and looser ties with the United States, while Crossman, Driberg, Mikardo and Foot favoured a neutralist ‘Third Force.’ A total of 58 MPs signed the amendment. In proposing the motion, Crossman declared that he wanted to express the urgent hope that His Majesty’s Government will so review and recast its conduct of International Affairs as to afford the utmost encouragement to, and collaboration with, all Nations and Groups striving to

22 Labour and Anglo–American Relations

secure full Socialist planning and control of the world’s resources and thus provide a democratic and constructive Socialist alternative to an otherwise inevitable conflict between American capitalism and Soviet Communism in which all hope of World Government would be destroyed.28 In replying to the amendment, Attlee remarked: ‘In my view – quite apart from a tendency to take a one-sided view of the facts where everything that goes wrong, or a great deal of what goes wrong is attributed to Britain – every gnat is magnified into troops of camels that are swallowed.’29 The amendment was defeated by 353 votes to zero. According to Bullock, it was the 130 abstentions, though some occurred because of ill-health or unavoidable absence, that bothered the government.30 Driberg had been in Austria at the time of the amendment but on his return he tried to ‘persuade my friends that we ought to form ourselves into an organised group’; ‘it was only at the second attempt, some months later, that I managed to get my proposal accepted.’ This came about as a consequence of their joint efforts to write a pamphlet articulating their views. Keep Left was the result. ‘The pamphlet knitted together the Keep Left Group and spurred its members to greatly increased activity.’31 It was the emergence of this ‘Keep Left’ group in April 1947 that marked a more organised revolt on foreign affairs. They were objecting to the Attlee Government becoming what Stephen Howe describes as ‘by and large enthusiastic Cold Warriors.’ For him ‘The symbolic moment of transition came when a secret cabinet committee, meeting on 8 January 1947, decided that Britain would proceed to develop its own nuclear weapons programme.’32 Both Keep Left and the anti-American left lost support in the face of events. The communist coup in Czechoslovakia of February 1948 and Soviet behaviour over Germany, culminating in the Berlin blockade of June 1948 to May 1949, made the case for a sympathetic attitude to Russia less appealing. The enthusiastic pro-Americanism in the parliamentary Labour Party and amongst the trade union leaders, as Stefan Berger says, ‘was given nourishment by the Berlin airlift and the Marshall Plan. These events ultimately ensured that pro-Soviet feelings were marginalized. The “soft left” gathered around Tribune now contributed to a major campaign of “anti-antiAmericanism” which was to be much more powerful than any residues of anti-Americanism in post-war Labour circles.’33 A last flurry of activity occurred in April 1948 when twenty-two MPs, including Tom Braddock and Konni Zilliacus, sent a telegram of support to Pietro Nenni, leader of the pro-communist socialists in the Italian elections, instead of backing the right-wing socialists under Saragat. By late 1949, says Morgan, the ‘Keep Left’ group was largely broken up, becoming little more than a cipher in the February 1950 general election.34 Mikardo, however, claims that the group was still active.35 Although it might be accurate to say that they continued to meet and discuss problems, such activities ceased to have an impact.

Michael F. Hopkins 23

Some writers feel that events alone did not produce this transformation. Peter Weiler maintains that ‘the Cold War consensus which evolved by 1950 did not just develop “naturally” in response to political events but was politically created, in part at least, by manipulation of the media, both at home and abroad.’ He adds, ‘Britain was not just reacting to the Soviet Union in these years but had its own diplomatic agenda.’36 Certainly, Morrison was attentive to the need to reinforce the impact of events with efforts to educate the party and the public in the meaning of the developments. So, for example, between January and March 1948 he made several fervently anti-communist speeches and took action against Labour MPs not toeing the anti-communist line.37

Working with the United States The natural counterpart to the growing tensions with the Soviet Union was an improving relationship with the United States. If Bevin had taken the lead in this, Morrison strongly supported him and tried to make his own contribution to fostering mutual understanding. Although he possessed only a superficial grasp of foreign policy in the 1930s, Morrison had acquired, through visits there, a sympathy for the United States. He had made three trips to the US in the decade: April–May 1936; March–May 1937; and March–April 1938. In January 1946 he made his first post-war visit to the United States to sell nationalisation and was well received by the Americans.38 It was entirely appropriate that it should be Morrison, since he had devised the model which each of the nationalisations followed. His preference for talking of public ownership was also more conducive to American ears. In May 1946 he was back in America for negotiations on an impending crisis in world food supplies, in particular a wheat shortage. During the Second World War there had been food and raw material scarcities which had been lessened by American Lend-Lease aid. At war’s end in 1945, this assistance ceased. As Morrison said, ‘The wheat shortage was partially engendered by the termination of Lend-Lease on 21 August 1945.’ ‘It was a pity and a nuisance to us. But it could hardly be helped unless Congress had been willing to pass new legislation, which was too much to expect. Harry Truman himself was a good friend of our country, better than his successor.’ The end of Lend-Lease meant there was lack of dollars to pay for North American wheat. Added to this was the new responsibility to feed the British zone of Germany. The situation was made worse still by the failure of the rice harvest in Burma, which produced a food crisis in India. Morrison later explained, ‘We could, and did, pay for the food for our own people, though it was not easy; but Germany was on the verge of starvation and we had to spend precious dollars to buy American food for the people in the British zone of occupation. Worse, India’s vast millions had to be

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fed, and the American food supplies sent there were debited to our account.’ During the war a Combined Food Board had controlled supplies. But in 1945 President Truman took wheat off its list of commodities, expecting there to be plentiful harvests. So the British approached the Americans to help with the problem. Ben Smith, Minister of Food, was felt to be lacking the stature and talents to do justice to the British position. So the Cabinet decided that Morrison should go to Washington and Ottawa to put the British case. On arrival he told his nervous Washington Embassy adviser, ‘I’m going to have a row’, who pleaded ‘Please, no!’ But Morrison replied by observing that ‘I knew Americans never minded plain speaking. They merely regard the kid-glove approach on such an issue as a sign of weakness. I was right.’ He argued first with Clinton Anderson, the US Secretary of Agriculture, saying that it was invidious to lump the British zone in Germany, India and other Commonwealth countries all together on the British food bills and supplies. He asked that they be treated separately. When he failed to make progress, Morrison then adopted a characteristic approach: he used the mass media to take his message to the American people. He made a coast-to-coast radio broadcast in which he conjured up the vivid image that American pigs were eating better than most human beings throughout the world. (Surplus wheat was being fed to farm animals in the USA.) He also hinted that civilisation was being threatened by the forces of famine. It was only when he had further talks with Anderson, who was joined by Dean Acheson, Acting Secretary of State, that a breakthrough was made. Incidentally, this meant that Morrison met Acheson before Bevin, who had his first meeting with the American in April 1949 at the signing of the North Atlantic Pact. The Americans decided to help. India was designated a special famine area. The Americans agreed with the British to consider treating their two occupation zones in Germany as a single unit for food. The British had to make a concession: they would not receive a planned delivery of 200,000 tons of wheat in September. This meant that the British government had to introduce bread rationing in July, which lasted for two years. The concession was necessary to convince sceptics in the United States who suspected that the British were hoarding supplies. 39 In his report back to London Morrison observed that ‘Talking to Acheson is preaching to the converted, as he has publicly urged the use of the wartime requisitioning powers by the United States Government to secure available supplies of cereals in the United States. He warned me that as regards measures by the United States Administration, the atmosphere was rather charged and tempers a little taut all round.’ Morrison added that ‘The President was very friendly and sent messages to you, adding jokingly that he would be glad to arrange for you to address an American College in due course.’ Morrison noted that he spoke ‘frankly’ to Truman and that the

Michael F. Hopkins 25

President ‘encourages me to raise any questions I liked and to talk as frankly as I pleased to his advisers’.40 At the end of his visit he provided the Cabinet with a report. In it he declared that he ‘devoted considerable attention to publicity and met a number of leading editors, columnists and other journalists on various occasions.’ He also noted that the Daily Telegraph ‘suggested that my visit was resented in the United States; if so I can only say that all concerned showed an un-American skill in concealing the fact from me’.41 Publicity and propaganda were particular interests of Morrison. On his return from North America he produced a memorandum for the Cabinet, saying, ‘In Washington I received the impression that we are missing many publicity opportunities … I hope we can take the initiative and clear away bogies such as British Imperialism.’ According to Donald Gillies, the biographer of Archibald Clark Kerr, Lord Inverchapel, who had just taken up the post of British Ambassador in Washington, there was some accuracy in these remarks but Bevin’s dislike of Morrison meant that his comments were treated more as the pompous interference of a busybody.42 The Foreign Office files confirm this. Pierson Dixon wrote to Inverchapel from Paris, saying that the issue had arisen partly owing to ‘ill-informed criticisms of our missions abroad by the new House of Commons and partly because the Lord President has taken it upon himself to interest himself in this.’ Bevin himself minuted the Morrison paper thus: ‘A counter paper must be put with this. I have already told Clark Kerr to go into this … attempt to interfere’ on the basis of a two-day visit.43 Yet it is interesting to note that, at the same time, Bevin himself was contemplating reform. In a letter to Sir Orme Sargent, the Permanent Under-Secretary at the Foreign Office, Sir Pierson Dixon noted that the Foreign Secretary ‘had it in mind’ to appoint a Foreign Office committee to investigate and report on missions abroad. Dixon added that ‘I think many of us are agreed that something on the lines sketched out above ought to be done. I have been restrained, perhaps mistakenly, by a certain delicatesse as personalities are involved.’44 Moreover, Bevin had told Inverchapel, just before he left for the United States, that he wanted him to explore how to wind up the wartime machinery in Washington.45

Morrison as Foreign Secretary It was only when he became Foreign Secretary in March 1951 that Morrison could attempt to give greater emphasis to publicity and propaganda. But the circumstances facing him were difficult. Besides the wide range of international problems, he also had various domestic burdens. His wife was ill with cancer. Attlee was in hospital for treatment of a duodenal ulcer, leaving Morrison as acting Prime Minister. He had the task of overseeing the Festival of Britain which began on 3 May 1951. His appointment

26 Labour and Anglo–American Relations

also coincided with an intense debate on public spending priorities. The Chancellor of the Exchequer, Hugh Gaitskell, realised that growing defence expenditure could only be achieved if cuts were made in other areas. He decided to apply charges on false teeth and spectacles under the National Health Service. This provoked the worst episode of internal strife in the post-war Labour Government. It continued until the end of April when Aneurin Bevan, Minister of Health, and Harold Wilson, President of the Board of Trade, resigned.46 The ‘Bevanites’ in 1951 replaced ‘Keep Left’ as the main exponents of a left-wing critique of the government’s Cold War policies and close ties with the United States. Morrison had already learned that good relations with the Americans were essential. This was especially true of foreign policy. While sharing Bevin’s outlook, he nevertheless brought some different perspectives to his conduct of foreign policy. This was evident even before he became Foreign Secretary. When his Parliamentary Private Secretary, Christopher Mayhew, moved to the Foreign Office in October 1946, Morrison advised him that he should ‘try to be patient with Ernie, he talks all the time and never listens; try to make him detach himself a little more from the Yanks and the Tories … I tell him that there must be no friction in the Bevin/Morrison axis from now on, and he laughs.’47 This approach was confirmed within days of his appointment as Foreign Secretary. The Minister of State at the Foreign Office, Kenneth Younger, recorded in his diary that Morrison ‘may want to be firmer with the US, and to make more use of public relations in dealing with them than Ernie did. That, in itself, will be good.’48 A more robust attitude to the United States and greater use of publicity were to characterise his general approach as Foreign Secretary. So he minuted the record of a Foreign Office discussion about Anglo–American relations: I am inclined to good fellowship, cordiality – combined with frankness, readiness to assert ourselves. At times we have perhaps been a bit too lame. But Anglo–American fundamental friendship is essential, but it can’t [sic] be on the basis of being pushed around.49 He reiterated the need for good publicity work in response to a letter on 26 May from Sir Oliver Franks, the British Ambassador in Washington, who reported on the tensions in Anglo–American relations over Korea, Taiwan and China. Franks noted that the American people were shocked and annoyed to find that their main and most dependable ally was not always 100 per cent with them in every policy. Even when our policy does not change, he added, the constant reiteration of our attitudes and views by the British government was an essential approach to the US public. Morrison minuted: ‘Well said!’50

Michael F. Hopkins 27

Yet he seemed to strike up a good working relationship with the American Ambassador, Walter Gifford. In his memoirs Morrison remarked: A diplomat I remember with great pleasure was Walter Gifford of the U. S. A. … It was delightful to talk to a man who was so frank and who had so quickly gained an acute political insight. I recall that on one occasion he called at the Foreign Office with a list of grievances. They were mostly of a minor character but filled half a column on a sheet of paper. I jokingly warned him that George III was looking down on him from the wall and told him to read out the complaints. Two-thirds of them were settled then and there and the rest in a day or two, directly between one man and another.51 This rapport is confirmed in contemporary documents. Paul Gore-Booth, Head of British Information Services in the United States, who was visiting London, reported to the Washington Embassy that Morrison and Gifford seemed to be getting on well together.52 In a conversation with Gifford about the crisis stemming from the Iranian Government’s nationalisation of the Anglo–Iranian Oil Company (AIOC), Morrison said that he objected to the US Government continually putting the breaks on the British Government. ‘Apologising for frank speaking, I said that we were tired of being lectured by the United States.’ ‘The Ambassador took my remarks in good part and admitted that in his view the United States Government shared the responsibility for the failure of our negotiations with Dr Mussadiq.’53 Morrison was less successful in his relations with the US Secretary of State, Dean Acheson, who observed in his memoirs that ‘Morrison’s unfortunate manner constantly rasped our patience.’54 Contrary to what some have suggested,55 Morrison’s working relations with officials were not uniformly bad. Evelyn Shuckburgh, appointed as his Principal Private Secretary in August 1951, observed: ‘I got on well with him and liked him … He was courageous and quick in the uptake.’ When Morrison left office, Shuckburgh declared: ‘I was really sorry to be parted from him.’56 Yet the majority of opinion in the Foreign Office was unfavourable. Gladwyn Jebb, British Permanent Representative to the UN, 1950–54, maintained that he knew practically nothing about foreign affairs and that his outlook was parochial.57 Denis Greenhill, who worked in the British Embassy in Washington, observed: After Bevin’s retirement, Herbert Morrison who had succeeded him as Foreign Secretary, came to Washington in an effort to get decisive U. S. support over Iran in advance of the approaching British election. It was difficult not to feel sorry for him, but also not to feel a little ashamed. He was clearly exhausted but totally out of his depth. Even with the support of Franks and Roger Makins (later Lord Sherfield) he was no match for Acheson and there was no compatibility.58

28 Labour and Anglo–American Relations

For all his many strengths, Morrison ‘did not have a natural feel for foreign policy’.59 He lacked a command of his brief, showed limited vision and style, and failed to inspire most officials, ministers and MPs. He did not secure the confidence of the Prime Minister. Yet his record was not so bad as some have suggested.60 It was worst in the Middle East over the crises surrounding the Iranian nationalisation of the AIOC in May and the failed negotiations with Egypt that led to its abrogation of the Anglo–Egyptian Treaty in October.61 In each case he advocated armed intervention but was restrained by his colleagues. Over Iran62 he too readily accepted AIOC’s outlook and allowed too great an input from the Treasury and the Board of Trade. Yet so did most of the Cabinet. Moreover, the Prime Minister assumed the ultimate responsibility and indeed chaired the Ministerial Committee on Iran. If policy was a failure, and it was, it was a governmental and Prime Ministerial failure and not just Morrison’s. It also was a failure in the quality of the advice offered by the Foreign Office, as Younger noted. In other regions there was more success. A Japanese Peace Treaty was successfully negotiated and signed in September.63 And here, as Younger observed, Foreign Office advice was of a better order. The negotiations succeeded partly because they were less concerned with British prestige, and partly because the Americans decided so much of the final terms. The Soviets attended the San Francisco conference that finalised the Treaty. Their Foreign Minister, Andrei Gromyko, put forward amendments to the Anglo–American draft treaty but he did not push them very hard. Nor did he raise procedural difficulties, as the British and Americans had feared. A combination of Acheson’s astute chairmanship and a rather restrained Soviet approach ensured that the conference succeeded in completing the formal signature of the Treaty. Morrison’s contribution was slight. He only arrived in time for the formal signing.64 Perhaps his most interesting initiative came in relations with the continental Europeans. Ever since the Marshall Plan in 1947 the Americans had wanted to see closer cooperation between the Europeans. Bevin had resisted moves towards integration. Interestingly, during Morrison’s time as Foreign Secretary Britain moved more in the direction that the Americans favoured. In conversation with Pierson Dixon, Morrison explained how there would be a somewhat different emphasis in the government’s attitude towards integration among the Europeans themselves. Britain now intended to adopt a more encouraging attitude towards such tendencies in Europe.65 John Young has described Morrison’s policy towards France as ‘very constructive’, adding that he ‘healed some of the wounds of Bevin’s last months’.66 He supported French proposals for an end to Allied controls on German industry. He so allayed French fears that Britain would try to sabotage the Schuman Plan that the French Ambassador in London speculated that Morrison might negotiate for membership of the scheme.67

Michael F. Hopkins 29

Conclusion Herbert Morrison made an important contribution to the Anglo–American relationship generally and to Cold War solidarity between the two powers. He was consistently friendly to the United States. But this did not preclude arguing with them. He managed to allay their fears about the Labour programme of nationalisation. His consistent anti-communism was undoubtedly a reassurance for Americans who worried about British socialism. His position was also more than a matter of espousing certain views. He acted on them by tackling those in the Labour Party who advocated a more sympathetic policy towards the Soviet Union. As Foreign Secretary he was less effective. He experienced failure in the Middle East over the AIOC crisis and over the Egyptian rejection of the 1936 Anglo–Egyptian Treaty. It is not clear, however, that any other figure could have retrieved the situation. He did enjoy success in contributing to the completion of the Japanese Peace Treaty. His attitude to European developments has been greatly underrated. By encouraging both Franco–German rapprochement and the creation of the European Coal and Steel Community or Schuman Plan, he displayed wisdom, for he favoured policies that succeeded, and honesty, for he recognised his earlier, more sceptical attitude had to change. Morrison’s greatest contribution, however, probably lay in ensuring that the foreign policy of the Labour Government and the Anglo–American Cold War alliance in particular enjoyed parliamentary support – even during the various phases of Anglo–American tension. If Bevin played the pivotal role, on the British side, in building the foundations of the Anglo–American Cold War alliance, Morrison ensured that they were secure against the tremors of criticism from the Labour left and antiAmerican sentiment.

3 The Conservative Party and the Early Cold War: The Construction of ‘New Conservatism’ Michael D. Kandiah

The Cold War was not merely a dispute between the two post-Second World War superpowers and their respective allies with regard to territorial supremacy or spheres of influence. It was also an international struggle between rival ideologies: capitalism and communism; between competing views of the organisation and aims of the state; between opposing concepts of class and power in society; and between competing discourses and beliefs such as individualism and collectivism; choice and control; and opportunity and equality. In these circumstances the domestic front was bound to be a contested arena for this war. While Britain did not undergo anything as traumatic as the Macarthyite witch-hunts, when the Cold War made an obvious and dramatic intrusion into American domestic politics, it would be wrong to assume that it had little or no impact on UK home politics. It was manifested in a variety of ways. For instance, Peter Hennessy has argued that the Cold War led to the development of a ‘secret state’: an important organisational layer of government was kept hidden from both public and parliamentary scrutiny.1 Dianne Kirby has examined the way in which religion was marshalled as a Cold War weapon both domestically and internationally.2 Others have examined the ways in which the Cold War influenced policy-formation and the actions of the British left, specifically the Labour Party and Communist Party of Great Britain.3 Work is also under way to understand its impact on British culture more broadly, looking at filmmaking, the press, the growth of consumer culture and so on.4 While this academic literature suggests that the Cold War affected the home front profoundly but subtly, the scholarship is still at a fairly rudimentary stage. This chapter will attempt to extend our understanding of this subject by exploring some of the ways in which the Conservative Party responded to the early Cold War. Why this particular focus? Principally because the Conservatives, being the party of the Right, found that they had to respond vigorously to it and had to develop and articulate arguments to counter it on the home front. This chapter will begin by discussing the Conservatives’ 30

Michael D. Kandiah 31

reaction to the rise of the Soviet Union before and during the Second World War. It will then examine how the Conservative Party responded to the onset of the Cold War by redefining and reinventing itself within the context of developments in British domestic politics and changing international circumstances.

Conservatives and the rise of the Soviet Union The Conservatives’ reaction to the Cold War was shaped by how they reacted to the rise of the Soviet Union as an international power. Conservatives were worried when the Bolsheviks seized power in Russia in October 1917, ousting the Kerensky regime, abrogating all previous foreign treaties and agreements, and suing for peace with the Germans at BrestLitovsk. They were disturbed when the Soviet State did not collapse as they had hoped, but instead consolidated, and they became even more alarmed when, in Moscow in 1919, the Communist International, or Comintern, was formed. Both the Soviet Union and the Comintern were committed to fomenting communist revolutions worldwide. Both were exponents of communism, anti-capitalism, anti-colonialism and the international class struggle – all of which was antithetical to what Conservatism stood for. With the prevailing political instability in much of Western Europe – particularly in Germany – in the aftermath of the First World War, and with the establishment of the Communist Party of Great Britain in 1920 (with its expressed intention of promoting a workers’ revolution), Conservatives were convinced that, unless checked, the Soviet Union would seek to cause a red tide of revolution to travel across the globe, destroying Britain and her Empire. Not since the French Revolution, in their opinion, was the country so threatened by a foreign power. In January 1924 the Labour Party, rather unexpectedly, formed a Government – the first since its foundation in 1900. It was a minority government led by Ramsay MacDonald and was not expected to last beyond a few months.5 The Conservatives, who had lost the election because of internal division over the issue of free trade, soon came together in their condemnation of MacDonald’s attempts to normalise relations with the Soviet Union. They believed that this was proof positive that Labour was dangerous, untrustworthy and even possibly traitorous. Conservative MPs harried the government in the House of Commons on the issue of Anglo–Soviet relations and they repeatedly drew attention to the Comintern’s anti-Empire pronouncements, particularly with regards to India where the independence movement was gaining strength. In this ‘red peril’ atmosphere, which the Conservative Party and the Conservativesupporting sections of the press did not allow to settle, the so-called Zinoviev Letter was published in the newspapers four days before the October 1924 General Election. It purported to be a secret communication

32 Conservatives and the Cold War

from Grigori Zinoviev, the first President of the Comintern, to all British communists, urging them to bring about a proletarian revolution. During the remaining days before the General Election, the Conservatives used the Zinoviev Letter to justify their criticism of the MacDonald Government’s foreign policy; to question, by implication, Labour’s patriotic credentials; and to drive home to the public the Soviet threat to the Empire.6 Similarly, during the 1926 General Strike, precipitated by falling wages in the coal industry, the strikers and their supporters were portrayed as extremist, inspired by foreign (namely Soviet) influences, and acting as ‘a direct challenge to ordered government’.7 Following the conclusion of the strike there was a hardening of Conservative attitudes towards the Soviet Union, with whom the government broke off diplomatic relations following a police raid in May 1927 on the All Russian Co-operative Society (ARCOS) in London, which was suspected of promoting subversive activities in Britain.8 Following a major economic crisis in mid-1931, Ramsay MacDonald, who had been returned to power in 1929, felt compelled to construct a crossparty coalition government. The Conservatives soon joined because, they said, the state of national emergency required that they did, and they rapidly established themselves as the dominant political party in the coalition. The National Government, which won a huge electoral mandate in October 1931 and again in 1935, remained in power for the rest of the 1930s and one of its principal aims was to limit domestic unrest in a world that was sinking into economic and political chaos. Its welfare policies were residual and means-tested, which were much resented by the unemployed. There were some Conservatives who feared that this could lead to the widespread political radicalisation of the working classes, who could look eastwards to the Soviet Union which had apparently been left relatively unaffected by world economic crisis. Certainly both the Communist Party, and the British Union of Fascists under Oswald Mosley, gained their converts; however, political structures and systems remained intact and the UK did not suffer much from the extreme Left/Right political travails that were common in much of Europe.9 This was because, despite the famous Jarrow Hunger March in 1936, from the mid-1930s onwards unemployment, although remaining relatively high, dropped and was principally sectoral and largely confined to regional pockets. Additionally, the Conservatives were able to argue that the government’s actions were for the common good and were ‘sensible’.10 The National Government sought to keep the Soviet Union as isolated as possible and saw them as more dangerous than Nazi Germany, whom they believed could be ‘appeased’. When the Soviets were excluded from participating in the Four Power Conference on the future of Czechoslovakia in 1938 (following Hitler’s claim to the Sudetenland), Cuthbert Headlam, a senior Conservative backbench MP and a former newspaper editor, noted approvingly in his diary that this was appropriate because the Soviets were too ‘politically dangerous’.11 Like him, many

Michael D. Kandiah 33

Conservatives feared that, if the USSR’s position was acknowledged, it would be seen as a legitimatisation of a revolutionary regime, and this would have the effect of promoting communism at home. However, following the outbreak of the Second World War the Conservatives had to do the unthinkable. Prime Minister Winston Churchill found that to defeat Nazi Germany Britain had to forge an alliance with the USSR, the largest military power in continental Europe, thereby accepting Soviet international position and power. Nevertheless, this was a tactical relationship and did not represent for him and for the Conservatives anything further than a means to defeat the Nazis. Churchill and other Conservatives remained deeply suspicious of Russian intentions throughout the war and even before it ended had begun to identify the Soviet State and communism as the next major threat to British interests in the post-war period.12 Conservatives observed with dismay that the Grand Alliance of the Big Three (USA, USSR and the UK) had fostered a favourable impression of the Soviet Union in many people’s minds.13 During the 1945 election campaign they would have liked to have played an explicit ‘red card’ against Labour. During the first party political election broadcast on 4 June 1945 Churchill made what was dubbed as the ‘Gestapo’ speech, in which he suggested that if a Labour government were elected, Britain would evolve inexorably into a Nazilike authoritarian state. Churchill would have preferred to say that a Labour government would lead to a Soviet-style totalitarian government but, given that the USSR was then still one of Britain’s Allies, he found that he could not use such words.14 Out of office, he and other Conservatives were extremely alarmed by the fact that the Red Army was in the heartland of Europe, being one of the occupying powers in Germany, and were equally fearful of an American withdrawal from the continent. For these reasons Churchill made his ‘Iron Curtain’ speech in Fulton, Missouri, on 5 March 1946. He knew that he, personally, had a high profile and standing with the American people, and that he would be heard even though he was no longer Prime Minister. It was his explicit aim during the speech to urge them to exercise their new position as a global power to resist communist expansion worldwide and to protect ‘Christian civilisation’ and ‘freedom and democracy’.15

Cold War and conservatism It is not accidental that what has come to be called a ‘New Conservatism’ was being developed and articulated by the Party just as the Cold War was unfolding in Europe. As the Soviets tightened their grip on Eastern Europe through 1947 and with the 1948–49 Berlin Airlift and Czechoslovakia’s slide into Communist rule in 1948, Conservatives became terrified.16 They recognised that the UK alone was not strong enough to halt the Soviet Red Army, now resident in the very heart of Europe.17 The Conservative MP Headlam wrote in his diaries, ‘The Soviet dictators are certainly playing

34 Conservatives and the Cold War

their game extraordinarily successfully – and no wonder – we are entirely powerless … The Russians know this well enough and just carry on as they like – short of atomic bombs they won’t stop – everybody knows this well enough, but no one is prepared to use atomic bombs – the Russians may not be so squeamish when they get hold of them.’18 However, not only was the international capitalist order being challenged, it was also, so Conservatives believed, being undermined at home. The Labour Government, which had won the 1945 General Election with an immense parliamentary majority in the House of Commons, was constructing a welfare state based on universal access and on ‘fair shares for all’ and this was seen as dangerous for domestic capitalism. Conservatives believed that workers’ rights would be equated to, or even supersede, owners’ rights and this would destroy individual incentive and lead to the enfeeblement of British society. Headlam, for instance, was dismissive of the National Assistance Bill when it was being debated in the House of Commons in March 1948: ‘it is one of the “humanitarian” measures which are so fashionable nowadays – designed to improve the lot of the people, but calculated to make them less and less responsible for their own welfare and self-preservation – no people which is a “kept people” can for long remain a great nation – such I believe to be the teaching of history – when national self-confidence declines it is generally due to spoonfeeding’.19 Headlam might have been expressing an extreme view, but it was not very extreme within Conservative circles. In his diaries he consistently referred to members of the Labour Government as ‘comrades’: ‘undoubtedly a most dangerous crew – a fifth column if there ever was one’.20 Few, if any, Conservatives would have disagreed with this assessment. For them, the frontiers of the Cold War were uncomfortably close and, in this context Conservatives had to devise and present a vision of post-Second World War Conservatism. However, the Party had emerged from the war discredited: they found that they, as the most dominant partner of the National Government, were blamed for the country’s economic difficulties and the unemployment of the 1930s; that they were seen as the appeasers of Nazi Germany; and that they were believed to be hostile to any social reform. For all these reasons they suffered a massive defeat in the 1945 General Election.21 There was an understanding among most senior Conservative policy-makers that Conservatism had to be repackaged and, effectively, reinvented.22 This was done in a variety of ways, most importantly through a series of policy documents known as the Charters. The first and most important of these, the Industrial Charter, was published in May 1947.23 It was promoted as being something new and as a major policy shift, but its real significance was not so much in what it actually said or promised, or even how many people actually read them. If analysed closely not much in it was actually ‘new’. There was a recognition of the position of the trades unions and working-class interests, which was obviously important and was meant to

Michael D. Kandiah 35

be indicative that the Conservatives were not hostile to them. However, given the role of the trades unions during the Second World War, the Party could hardly have said otherwise.24 In most other ways the Party’s position differed little from the 1930s, particularly if it is appreciated that the Conservative-dominated National Government was not as laissez-faire as is sometimes believed;25 or, if full account is taken of Conservative thinking during that decade.26 Nevertheless, what was notable about the Charter was the values and concepts that it embodied and promoted. These were key in the Cold War context: individualism, freedom, choice, prosperity and opportunity, all of which would be delivered by progressive and enlightened capitalism.27 The Party Chairman, Lord Woolton, argued that the Charter showed that Conservatives wanted ‘the maximum enterprise and opportunity in industry’ while ‘ strengthening human relationships and individual qualities’. ‘The Socialists stand for a bureaucratic machine’, he said, and for ‘restriction and levelling down’.28 Collectively the Charters – the Industrial Charter, the Agricultural Charter, the Imperial Charter, and the Workers Charter – signalled that the Conservatives recognised the Cold War required that they accept the broad outlines of the welfare state. As R.A. Butler, the principal architect of the Charters, stated in his memoirs, the aim of these documents was to calm anxieties ‘that full employment and Welfare State were not safe in our hands’.29 Nevertheless, they envisaged the welfare state within a strict capitalistic framework. They did not wish to alter the patterns of ownership, and as the Cold War developed, their dislike of the Labour Government’s nationalisation programme intensified. The nationalisation of coal and the railways went through Parliament with relatively little Conservative hostility because it was recognised that these were ailing industries, in trouble before the war and unviable after it. Nevertheless, these nationalisation bills were opposed on principle. However, Conservatives were prepared to fight vigorously the nationalisation of the steel and road haulage industries because both industries were still profitable. During the debates on the Iron and Steel Bill in 1947 Churchill suggested that what the industry needed was better regulation, which they had accepted anyway since the 1930s. He also argued against nationalisation because he noted that the price of coal had risen since nationalisation and that the railway companies had made enormous losses in its first year as a nationalised industry.30 Even so, the Conservatives were anxious not be seen to be acting too obviously on behalf of capitalist interests in their fight against nationalisation. This was because they wished to portray the Labour Government’s actions as purely political, born from political dogma and sectional interests, bad for the consumer and antithetical to the national good. For these reasons the Conservative Party privately told businessmen that the best way to mobilise public opinion against nationalisation was to form their own anti-nationalisation organisations.31 For instance, the Brewers Society was encouraged to form its own organisation to oppose the Labour

36 Conservatives and the Cold War

Government’s 1948 Licensing Bill, which was widely believed to be a precursor to nationalisation.32 Additionally, Conservatives wished to promote capitalism more generally, and made covert links with organisations such as Aims for Industry and encouraged the creation of others, such as the United Industrialists Association, which was established in 1947 with the aim of giving ‘an opportunity for industrialists to help private enterprise’.33 These activities were not exclusively domestic. Party Chairman Woolton made several visits to the United States with the express intention of forging links with American industrialists.34 The Conservatives opposed Labour’s extensive use of governmental controls using explicit Cold War language. They launched an ‘Anti-Socialist Front’ concomitantly with the Industrial Charter. This Front took the form of an agreement between the Conservative and National Liberal Party35 to fight what they called Labour’s ‘mis-government’. Austerity and controls were perpetuated, according to the press release announcing the Anti-Socialist Front, as a result of the Labour Government’s irrational and dangerous political dogma: ‘These policies bear no real relation to the needs of the hour, and they are imperilling the liberties, livelihood and well-being of the people.’36 Anthony Eden explained why Conservatives opposed controls: Communism today suppresses all freedom of worship and every other freedom wherever it can seize power. Communism is ruthless in its methods and worldwide activities. We in Britain have a special responsibility to guide and keep the world in the true path of freedom … The Socialist Party is far too much given to control for the love of control. So in restricting liberty in small matters they are playing into the hands of those who would suppress liberty in the greater things of life.37 Party Chairman Woolton was also particularly keen that Conservatives be seen to address issues that were of concern to ordinary people, one of the most pressing of which was housing. Extensive war damage and poor prewar housing stock meant that there was an acute housing shortage. The Labour Government approached this problem by favouring state planning and public housing schemes, and their policies discriminated against private house building and home ownership. The Conservatives claimed that homes could be provided for all – ‘but not under Socialism’. At the 1950 Annual Conservative Party Conference, Woolton announced that 300,000 more houses would be built if the Conservatives were elected – but this could only be done by freeing private enterprise.38 However, the Cold War could act to the Conservatives’ disadvantage. The November 1951 election campaign was conducted in a highly charged international atmosphere. Britain was having problems in Iran and in Egypt, and she was also involved in the Korean War – the first major military engagement of the Cold War.39 Labour’s campaign suggested that

Michael D. Kandiah 37

the Conservatives in government would inflame the situation. In an election speech, former Cabinet Minister Hugh Dalton said, ‘If we get Churchill and the Tory Party back at the next election we shall have a war with Russia within twelve months.’40 It was also reported in the press that postcards and leaflets were being circulated in constituencies with captions like, ‘A “X” for the Tories is another cross in the cemetery’; and that one election letter read, ‘You know, nothing else will matter if a third world war destroys the world as we know it, and history may well show that the choice was between a third Labour Government and a third world war.’41 For their part, the Conservatives attempted to exploit divisions within Labour ranks, particularly the departure of Aneurin Bevan, who had been Minister of Health and then Minister of Labour, which had come about in consequence of cuts to the health service budget and because of rearmament and the Korean War. In Labour leader Attlee’s election broadcast he referred to the prevalence of ‘a whispering campaign’ to the effect ‘that after the election I shall resign and be replaced by Mr Bevan and that Mr Bevan is a Communist’.42 Two days before the General Election and the day of the election itself the Labour-supporting Daily Mirror ran as its front-page headline, ‘Whose Finger is on the Trigger’, under a picture of Churchill.43 This situation horrified Conservative leaders, who feared that it might cost them the election.44 It didn’t. The extent to which Cold War thinking permeated Conservative thinking can be seen in the November 1951 General Election manifesto. It announced that for Britain: ‘The choice is between two ways of life; between individual liberty and state domination; between concentration of ownership in the hands of the state and the extension of ownership over the widest number of individuals.’ The time had come to ‘set the people free’.45

Conclusions Most Conservatives believed, and many commentators have agreed, that in the aftermath of the Party’s defeat at the 1945 general election a ‘New Conservatism’ was born. This amounted, in their opinion, to a ‘revolution’, which was the result of, first, the experiences of governing as part of a broad coalition during the Second World War and, second, an accommodation to the welfare state that was being created by the first post-war Labour Government. The Conservatives were supposed to have shifted from being a party that believed in laissez-faire government to one that embraced a ‘cradle to the grave’ welfare state, supported government intervention, social reform and was neutral to trade union rights. This was supposed to have given the Party a renewed electoral appeal, and their position was boosted by a reaction against continued rationing and controls at home. The Party was thus able to transform itself into a mass political party, with

38 Conservatives and the Cold War

an active membership base of over two million, and laid the foundation for their hold on power once they were returned to office in 1951.46 Other commentators have also suggested that the Party’s promotion of affluence and consumer values also helped to consolidate the Conservatives’ postwar fortunes and underpinned the Party’s electoral success between 1951 and 1964.47 In these analyses the influence of the Cold War on the party’s domestic policy development and subsequent revival is seen to be largely marginal, though fortuitous. What this chapter aims to illustrate is the vital role of the Cold War in the shaping of modern Conservatism. As has been shown, Conservative antipathy toward the Soviet Union went right back to the Bolshevik Revolution and from that time onwards the Conservatives sought to combat it domestically. In the inter-war period they did so by projecting themselves as the party of patriotism and common sense. With the coming of the Cold War this was not enough. Conservatives were forced to think about and express more clearly what they stood for in a bipolar world dominated by two superpowers, each representative of distinct and opposing world-views. Conservatism thus began the process of clear alignment with capitalism and enterprise and with individualism, freedom and choice.

Part III Themes in Diplomacy

4 Waging the Economic Cold War: Britain and CoCom, 1948–54 Ian R.W. Jackson

Studies of the formative years of the Western multilateral export control coordinating committee on East–West trade (CG–CoCom) have tended to focus on the role of the USA in the development of a strategic embargo against the Soviet bloc (the Soviet Union and her Eastern European satellites). This is owing, in part, to the availability of a large number of recently declassified State Department documents and presidential papers relating to foreign economic and national security policy. The existence, moreover, of a series of published documents in the Foreign Relations of the United States (FRUS) volumes for the years 1947 to 1968 dealing with East–West trade has also facilitated research from the perspective of successive presidential administrations. While some historians have provided revealing accounts of Anglo–American relations in CoCom based on declassified files of the Foreign Office in the Public Record Office (PRO), a thorough analysis of British trade policy towards the Soviet bloc during the Cold War era has yet to appear.1 This chapter, therefore, seeks to fill a significant gap in the historiography of the early years of CoCom and demonstrates the value of examining British export control policy as a means of understanding the Cold War strategies of the Attlee and Churchill governments. It also sheds light on the complexities of the Anglo–American relationship during the first decade of the Cold War: a partnership fraught with conflict as well as one of close cooperation. Furthermore, this chapter argues that Britain seized the leadership of the Western European participant governments in CoCom and was responsible for modifying American proposals for a comprehensive embargo which threatened to limit the supply of non-strategic imports necessary for the economic recovery of Western Europe.

The origins of economic containment The Truman Administration imposed restrictions on trade to Eastern Europe as part of its strategy of containment towards the Soviet Union in the late 1940s. American policy-makers in the State, Commerce and 41

42 Economic Cold War

Defense Departments believed that the national security of the USA would be better served if strategic exports to the Soviet bloc were regulated. The continuation of normal trading relations with Moscow in the context of a Cold War, they feared, would allow the Soviet leadership to acquire strategic raw materials for the development and expansion of the Kremlin’s military power.2 In the summer of 1948 two lists containing commodities to be embargoed in trade with the Eastern European governments were established. The 1-A List was composed of items of a strictly military nature and included, for example, materials relating to atomic production, metalworking machinery, steel mill products and chemicals. On the other hand, the 1-B List comprised items of indirect military significance, that were considered to be strategically beneficial to the Soviet Union if exported in large quantities. The 1-B List included, among other commodities, merchant ships, natural rubber and copper.3 In order for this strategic embargo to be effective the Truman Administration required the support of its key allies in Western Europe. After the devastation of the Second World War these nations sought to establish strong trading links with the countries of Eastern Europe in an effort to preserve dwindling dollar supplies during a period of economic readjustment and reconstruction. American officials in the Commerce Department were charged with ensuring that nations receiving economic assistance through the European Recovery Program (ERP) did not re-export items of strategic value obtained from the USA to the Soviet bloc. Western European Governments, moreover, were encouraged to terminate shipments of commodities contained on the 1-A and 1-B Lists to Eastern European ports in the interests of mutual security. In August 1948 W. Averell Harriman, President Truman’s special representative in Europe, was instructed by the State Department to contact several Western European nations with a view to creating an informal multilateral regime for monitoring East–West trade.4 By January 1950, after much negotiation and compromise, six nations including the USA, Britain, France, Italy, the Netherlands and Belgium formed CG-CoCom. To understand the diplomacy behind the origins and development of CoCom, one must examine the influential presence of Britain in the forging of the Western alliance’s trade policy towards Moscow.

Britain in CoCom, Phase 1: The Anglo–American partnership, 1948–1950 Drawing on the ‘special relationship’ between London and Washington, American diplomats contacted the Attlee Government regarding proposals for a multilateral export programme on East–West trade in September 1948. Subsequently, the Economic Co-operation Administration (ECA) forwarded copies of both the 1-A and 1-B Lists to the British Foreign Office. By

Ian R.W. Jackson 43

contrast, the other participating European governments only received the contents of the 1-A List.5 Through this action the State Department signalled its intention to build a firm partnership with the Foreign Office in embargo policy as it had done in other aspects of Cold War strategy against the Soviet Union. American policy planners envisaged that Britain would work closely with the Truman Administration to establish an export control regime which would prevent the shipment of strategic materials to the Soviet bloc. They, moreover, expected the Attlee Government to play an instrumental role in coordinating the Western European response to Washington’s economic containment initiative. While policy-makers in Whitehall agreed with the objectives of economic containment, they were concerned that a wide-ranging strategic embargo would be detrimental to Western European commercial relationships with the Soviet bloc governments. In other words, although they supported a policy of denying strategic shipments to the Soviet Union for the purposes of national security, British officials did not want to jeopardise access to essential raw materials in Eastern European markets. If supplies of grain, timber, potash and coal could no longer be procured from these markets on account of an extensive Western strategic embargo, these items would have to be replaced from dollar sources. The net effect of this scenario, they pointed out, would be an exacerbation of the dollar gap between Washington and London to such an extent that it would prove almost impossible for the Attlee Government to fulfil the economic objectives required under the Marshall Plan. As a senior Foreign Office official was to argue in a conversation with a representative of the ECA: If we do not get the foodstuffs and raw materials from Eastern Europe we should have to buy them from dollar sources, thus making it more difficult to achieve viability and to fulfil the purposes of the ERP.6 What is more, policy planners in Whitehall concluded that the impact of the dollar gap crisis would not only continue to paralyse the domestic economy, it would ultimately undermine Britain’s global presence and position as Washington’s most important Cold War ally.7 Reacting to the precarious nature of the strategic balance of power in Europe in the latter months of 1948 the Attlee Government adopted a double-edged trade policy towards the Soviet bloc. In effect, under the Export of Goods Order of 1948, shipments of military materials were to be denied to the communist nations of Eastern Europe, while trade in socalled ‘peaceful’ goods remained unhindered. On receiving the American 1-A List the Cabinet ordered the Board of Trade and Ministry of Defence to construct a list of items to be prohibited in East–West trade which reflected the national security and international trade concerns of the United Kingdom.8 By December officials had agreed on a list of commodities

44 Economic Cold War

approximately two-thirds the length of the American List as a basis for negotiating a common embargo with the USA and members of the Organisation for European Economic Cooperation (OEEC).9 Following instructions from the ECA in Paris the 1-B List would not be considered until an agreement had been reached between Washington and its allies on the content and scope of the 1-A List. Now that the Attlee Government had made an affirmative decision to participate in a multilateral export control programme British diplomats recognised the necessity, from the standpoint of international trade and security policy, of obtaining the support of their Western European counterparts for a strategic embargo. If the OEEC membership failed to adopt export restrictions to the extent levelled by Whitehall on East–West trade, the United Kingdom, as the largest trading nation in Western Europe would stand to lose her competitive edge over her commercial rivals. More still, any strategic embargo against the Soviet Union would require the full participation of each of the OEEC governments to prevent the exportation of military materials to Moscow. Finally, if Britain could gain the support of the OEEC for a limited export control programme, based on the Board of Trade/Ministry of Defence version of the 1-A List, officials saw an immediate opportunity to modify American proposals for an extensive embargo on East–West trade. But at a meeting of the OEEC on 17 January 1949 in Paris the membership was reluctant to embrace the British proposal; and therefore to participate with the USA in a multilateral export control programme.10 Like the United Kingdom they were concerned that the imposition of a policy of economic warfare against the Soviet bloc would result in the loss of vital imports should the Soviet Union retaliate by denying Western access to markets containing valuable raw materials essential to economic recovery. Yet, they did not share the Attlee Government’s view that the economic containment of the Soviet bloc could prevent the growth of Soviet industrial and nuclear production and thus preserve Western military superiority in the Cold War. In response to the British delegation’s argument in favour of economic containment, several OEEC governments continued to stress the utility of the Soviet bloc region as a reliable source for acquiring non-dollar imports to reduce the ever-expanding currency crisis with Washington. They also highlighted the importance of Eastern European markets for exports in machine tools and construction materials. Despite efforts by the British delegation to impress upon their partners the benefits of placing restrictions on East–West trade for the purpose of mutual security, the majority of the OEEC delegations refused in principle to approve London’s guidelines for a strategic embargo.11 French delegates, however, after a series of discussions with British representatives appeared to be receptive to the security aspects of the Anglo–American economic containment proposal. They, nevertheless, wanted to secure assurances from the ECA and the British Government that a tacit commitment to an export control

Ian R.W. Jackson 45

programme would not jeopardise France’s existing import agreements in raw materials and foodstuffs with several Eastern European countries.12 France’s decision to partner Britain in establishing a multilateral export control programme with the other more reticent OEEC governments culminated in the development of a new list of items to be prohibited in trade with the Soviet bloc. The Anglo–French (A-F) List, which was based on the Board of Trade/Ministry of Defence List, contained 125 of the 163 items on the 1-A List. As far as one senior French official was concerned, the new list offered ‘the highest common agreement’ that could be obtained by the OEEC nations on the American list. Through this list British and French diplomats hoped to achieve three objectives. First, they believed that the A-F List would be more acceptable to the other OEEC governments as it was considerably shorter than the 1-A List. The A-F List, moreover, was composed solely of strategic and military materials and did not contain items listed on Western European trade agreements with Soviet bloc governments. Second, by constructing their own list based on the example of the American list, London and Paris could moderate economic containment by determining which items to embargo without disrupting traditional trading channels with certain Eastern European countries. Finally, in assuming the leadership of a European-wide export control programme based on a common list of prohibited goods in East–West trade, the two governments could prevent trade discrimination against British and French manufacturers in Soviet bloc markets. The imposition of a multilateral strategic embargo would therefore ensure that the other OEEC members did not benefit from the withdrawal of Britain and France from potentially lucrative export markets in Eastern Europe. The United Kingdom’s effort, in the early months of 1949, to generate support for a strategic embargo amongst the leading members of Western Europe was largely to no avail.13 Despite close cooperation on mutual security evidenced by the signing of the North Atlantic Treaty in April, Western European governments were reluctant to place restrictions on East–West trade. This disinclination to regulate the shipment of strategic exports to Eastern Europe was perhaps surprising given that the growing Soviet military threat and the uncertain future of Germany alarmed many OEEC governments. In an endeavour to persuade her continental neighbours to agree in principle to a limited strategic embargo, the Attlee Government instituted domestic restrictions on East–West trade on 8 April 1949. This bold manoeuvre sought to achieve two aims. First, London wished to honour its commitment to the Truman Administration to participate in a strategy of economic containment against the Soviet Union. Second, Whitehall was hopeful that other OEEC governments would follow the United Kingdom’s example in the interests of mutual security.14 Yet this ploy was to prove unsuccessful. While British firms were forced to reduce shipments of exports in industrial goods to Eastern Europe, their continental counterparts continued to trade with the Soviet bloc countries

46 Economic Cold War

unhindered by commercial restrictions. As a result of this policy of trade discrimination towards Eastern Europe and the corresponding decline of British exports to the Soviet bloc region, many manufacturers suffered heavy economic losses. Smaller firms dependent on Eastern European markets were forced to close, precipitating high levels of unemployment in several regions throughout the United Kingdom. Although not unduly worried by the loss of this trade from a macroeconomic viewpoint, policymakers in Whitehall were worried that the termination of trade agreements with Soviet bloc governments, as a consequence of the strategic embargo, would result in the loss of vital non-dollar imports. An estimate prepared by the Economic Intelligence Department of the Foreign Office concluded that a sharp reduction in the level of imports obtained from Eastern Europe would accentuate the dollar gap between Britain and the USA. The estimate warned that with the loss of these imports London would be impelled to procure essential raw materials and foodstuffs from hard currency sources which would produce a ‘crisis of first-class dimensions’.15 In late summer 1949 several Western European nations retracted their opposition to a strategic embargo on East–West trade.16 This sudden reversal of policy was due to two factors. First, in August the French Government followed the example of the Attlee Government and published a national list of exports to be prohibited in trade with the Soviet bloc. Second, and most significantly, the consolidation of Soviet power in Eastern Europe through a series of communist coups together with Moscow’s confrontation with the NATO powers over Berlin forced the OEEC nations to place national security considerations ahead of trade interests. Once a commitment had been secured from France, Italy, Belgium and the Netherlands, the United States and Britain commenced negotiations on the formation of a multilateral export control group to coordinate Western trade policy towards communist states. In November the six nations founded CG-CoCom. The new consultative body would be responsible for monitoring strategic exports between the participant governments and Eastern Europe.17 Significantly, the international embargo was derived from a newly revised A-F List rather than the 1-A List preferred by the Truman Administration. Given that CoCom’s three international lists were comprised of items agreed for control by Britain and France and omitted thirtyone items contained on the American List, the Attlee Government had achieved its objective of modifying US embargo demands by the time the new organisation held its inaugural meeting in January 1950.18

Britain in CoCom, Phase II: The Anglo–American compromise of 1950 Once an agreement had been achieved with the Western European members on the 1-A List in the early months of 1950, American diplomats

Ian R.W. Jackson 47

moved swiftly to place the question of 1-B List controls on CoCom’s policy agenda. Citing the acquisition of the atomic bomb by Moscow in August 1949 and increased military spending by the Soviet leadership, the State Department concluded, in the policy review document NSC-68, that the USSR was preparing for a ‘hot’ war with the West. The Truman Administration, therefore, implored its partners in CoCom to expand the scope of the export control programme by increasing the number of items under embargo in East–West trade. This, they contended, would enable the Western alliance to prepare adequately for a future ‘open conflict’ with the Soviet Union. One State Department official asserted that a more extensive strategic embargo linked to the Mutual Assistance Program (MDAP), the ERP and the US military programme would allow Washington and its Western European allies to operate from a position of strength in the Cold War struggle.19 The American Secretary of State, Dean Acheson, chose the foreign ministers’ meetings of May 1950 between the USA, Britain and France to outline American proposals to extend the multilateral embargo by incorporating items contained on the 1-B List. The British and French delegations, led by Ernest Bevin and Robert Schuman respectively, rejected these demands stating that the three international export control lists agreed by the CoCom partners in January already prohibited a large number of strategic exports to the Soviet bloc. Any extension of the embargo, they pointed out, would hamper Western Europe’s non-strategic trade with Eastern Europe. In fact, the British delegation to the talks, while reaffirming their commitment to CoCom policy, voiced their dissatisfaction with American 1-B proposals, which they argued would amount to an ‘economic blockade’ of the Soviet bloc. In their opinion an export control policy that sought completely to sever trading links with Eastern Europe would be counterproductive as this would weaken the economies of the ERP nations more than the military power of the USSR.20 American representatives in CoCom would also encounter firm opposition to the 1-B proposal from the other European members at a multilateral East–West trade meeting in Paris during 15–16 May. Despite the opposition of the Europeans to the 1-B List, the Truman Administration was reluctant to alter its stance on the expansion of the strategic embargo and claimed that the Soviet Union was continuing to procure large shipments of military goods from OEEC ports.21 The refusal by both the USA and the European members of CoCom to compromise on the 1-B issue was to plunge multilateral cooperation on East–West trade into crisis. This impasse would last several months before a compromise was finally reached during a series of trilateral meetings between the USA, Britain and France in the autumn of 1950. The reasons behind the British and French governments’ acceptance of a partial extension of the multilateral strategic embargo to include items on the 1-B List have been vigorously debated by historians of CoCom’s forma-

48 Economic Cold War

tive years. One scholar has claimed that astute diplomacy by American officials at the trilateral meetings in New York and London contributed to the Anglo–French compromise;22 while another has argued that the threat of losing economic and military aid from Washington, through legislation implemented by the US Congress, compelled Britain and France to accept further export restrictions on East–West trade as this was the lesser of two evils.23 Both of these interpretations help to explain the motivations behind American policy at this critical juncture in the history of CoCom’s early development. But, as documents from the Foreign Office insightfully show, the Attlee Government’s decision to accept restrictions on certain industrial exports to the Soviet bloc in August 1950 was motivated not by American pressure, but the changed strategic circumstances in Europe posed by the outbreak of the Korean War.24 The Korean War had left Whitehall with little doubt that the Cold War had entered its most dangerous phase thus far. Therefore, with the decision to embark on a comprehensive rearmament programme in September, policy planners saw the necessity of preparing the British economy for war-mode by intensifying strategic restrictions on trade with the Soviet bloc. It is important to note that far from capitulating to the demands of the USA at the trilateral meetings in November the British and French governments did not accept the 1-B List for embargo in its entirety. They refused to embargo a large number of industrial commodities which they deemed to have substantial economic value in trade with Eastern Europe.25 Following the agreement reached by the three powers in London, the multilateral export control programme was expanded by CoCom in December to incorporate some of the semi-strategic items contained on the 1-B List. This increased the total number of exports under control by the CoCom membership to almost four hundred items. While American diplomats were satisfied with this outcome, the European members appeared to benefit most from the compromise negotiated by Britain and France. Although strategic considerations dictated that they widen the parameters of the strategic embargo, they managed to ensure that items contained on trade agreements with Eastern European governments were not subjected to export restrictions. By January 1951 Western economic containment seemed to reflect the economic and security interests of the Attlee Government more than those of the Truman Administration, which continued to press its allies for a more stringent embargo.26

Britain in CoCom, Phase III: ‘Living with the Battle Act’, 1951–1952 While the Truman Administration was reasonably satisfied with the progress of the Western European response towards economic containment, the US Congress was most critical of the multilateral export control

Ian R.W. Jackson 49

programme. Since 1948 congressional representatives had insisted, through the Mundt Amendment to the Economic Cooperation Act, that the Administration should withhold economic and military assistance from ERP nations refusing to impose restrictions on East–West trade. Now, at the height of the Korean War, they decided to take legislative measures, in the interests of national security, to deny aid to American allies that persisted in maintaining normal trading relations with the Soviet Union. The most noteworthy measure enacted on 26 October 1951 was the Mutual Defence Control Assistance or ‘Battle’ Act. Although the Battle Act was not as restrictive as the Kem amendment, which forced aid-recipient nations to prohibit strategic exports to communist nations without exception, it obliged the President to cancel the allotment of military and financial aid to offending nations. In contrast to the findings of some historians, the newly elected Churchill Government and its European partners were clearly outraged by these developments and took a firm stance against this perceived interference by a foreign legislature in the making of their international trade policies. As the newly declassified evidence demonstrates, the Foreign Office, for the most part, ignored the threats of aid denial levelled by the US Congress. In fact, some diplomats were prepared to confront Congress over East–West trade and in the words of the British Ambassador, Sir Oliver Franks, ‘stand up’ to both the Kem and Battle Legislation. Franks argued that London should protest against the involvement of Congress in export control, for failure to do so would mean that Britain’s influence on American policy in CoCom would have ‘less effect in future’.27 During 1952 British officials emphasised the obligation of CoCom members to recognise the ‘multilateral spirit’ of the group in discussions with American representatives in Paris. They suggested that if the Western European governments were forced to comply with the conditions of the Battle Act international cooperation on East–West trade would break down.28 Although they did not fully succeed in convincing American diplomats of the problems posed by the Battle Act to the European governments, the UK delegation was able to rally the support of France, West Germany and the Benelux countries in defence of the international lists that had been so painstakingly negotiated in 1950–51. Contrary to recent scholarship which has concluded that the Americans ‘coerced’ their CoCom partners into accepting a strategic embargo beyond their economic means, the Western Europeans were able to mount an effective challenge against the restrictive conditions of the congressional legislation. It should be pointed out, however, that they were abetted by sympathetic officials in the State Department who were keenly aware of the strategic ramifications of continued conflict with Western Europe over the issue of trade with the Soviet bloc. In fact, when pressed by Congress to suspend aid to Britain, France and Italy for exporting more than two million dollars of goods to Eastern European countries, President Truman

50 Economic Cold War

declined to exercise the provisions of the Battle Act. Explaining his decision in a letter to Congress Truman wrote that: To terminate aid to the United Kingdom, France and Italy would seriously impair that security because it would jeopardise the effectiveness of the free nations’ first line of defence in Europe.29 By obtaining waivers to circumvent congressional legislation dealing with East–West trade, the Truman Administration signified its intention to avoid friction with Western Europe over embargo policy.30 This was due to Washington’s desire to maintain a strongly unified alliance in the face of the growing military presence and power of the Soviet Union in the international system. It could also be argued that the Churchill Government drew on its influence over the USA in CoCom to highlight the dangers that the Kem and Battle legislation posed for the economic positions of the Western European governments. The Truman Administration thus realised that the health of the multilateral export control regime depended on the realisation that European trade interests dovetailed with mutual security considerations.

Britain in CoCom, Phase IV: Economic containment for the ‘long haul’, 1953–1954 The partial relaxation of Cold War tensions between the Western alliance and the Soviet Union precipitated by Stalin’s death and the truce in Korea in 1953 led to a substantial reduction in the strategic embargo by August 1954. This was a crucial period in Britain’s involvement in the multilateral export control programme because it showed the considerable leverage London possessed over the USA in CoCom. It demonstrated, furthermore, the continuing divergence between the positions of the two governments over the scope and content of the East–West trade embargo. Relations between the newly elected Eisenhower Administration and the Churchill Government over international embargo policy against the USSR and the People’s Republic of China (PRC) were characterised by conflict as both countries clashed over the revision of CoCom’s international lists. On the one hand, Washington favoured the deletion from the lists of items no longer of strategic value to the Soviet Union, while on the other, London called for a comprehensive reduction in the number of items under embargo with the exception of key military materials. President Dwight D. Eisenhower was the chief architect behind the American commitment to narrower controls on trade with Eastern Europe. Responsible for engineering a compromise between his liberal stance and the more hard-line positions of his Secretaries of Commerce and Defense, Sinclair Weeks and Charles Wilson, Eisenhower championed freer trade

Ian R.W. Jackson 51

with the Soviet bloc. During discussions of the National Security Council (NSC) on the subject of East–West trade, the president’s views contrasted sharply with those of Weeks and Wilson who were both inclined to support a continuation of the Truman Administration’s policy.31 The compromise, which formed the basis of NSC-152, was to be the blueprint for American economic defence policy in the early years of the Eisenhower Administration. NSC-152 recommended a wide-ranging review of the multilateral export control system and the deletion from the embargo of items that no longer posed a threat to national security when shipped to the Soviet bloc. On completing the review in the summer of 1953 the State Department contacted the Foreign Office with a view to implementing the findings of the NSC in CoCom. If agreement could be reached with the Churchill Government bilaterally on the proposed length and contents of the revised lists, American and British diplomats would be able to present the new proposals to the other members of the multilateral trade control group in Paris.32 In August 1953 the Churchill Government independently conducted an inquiry into domestic and international East–West trade practices, concluding that a substantial relaxation of the multilateral embargo was necessary given the changed strategic and economic circumstances. The Economic Steering Committee (ESC) of the Cabinet made several recommendations regarding trade policy towards Eastern Europe. First, it found that the international lists which underpinned the export control programme were obsolete. The recent development of the Soviet Union’s nuclear weapons programmes had highlighted the ineffectiveness of the embargo in preventing Moscow from acquiring military raw materials from alternative sources. Second, now that tensions between the Western powers and the Soviet Union had eased considerably Britain should reopen her trade contacts with Eastern Europe in order to stimulate economic growth and recovery. Finally, the ECS suggested that the CoCom membership should dispense with the current international export control lists and, instead, establish a single list composed of those items only of high military value to the Kremlin. This would allow for an expansion of East–West trade yielding commercial benefits to Western Europe, while, simultaneously, creating a more enforceable and durable strategic embargo for the ‘long haul’.33 On 6 October the State Department, unaware of Whitehall export control review, contacted the British Embassy in Washington with a view to discussing international embargo policy. The Churchill Government welcomed this initiative and bilateral talks on East–West trade were arranged for November. Despite the acknowledgement by both delegations during the discussions in London that a thorough overhaul of the multilateral embargo was necessary they clashed over the degree to which the international lists should be revised.

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British diplomats pressed for a liberal relaxation of controls on semistrategic and industrial items on each of the three international lists. They asserted that the present export control programme was ‘too cumbersome for the period which both the US and the UK consider will be one of “tension short of war” for an indefinite one’. In the spirit of the ESC review the British delegation argued that International List 1 should be replaced with a more selective embargo comprised of highly strategic commodities which would be easier to enforce and ‘would permit a real expansion in legitimate trade’. By contrast American representatives pressed for more moderate changes to the international lists. While agreeing with British ministers that the embargo which was devised by CoCom during the height of the Cold War in 1950–51 did not reflect the strategic climate of the mid-1950s, they were reluctant to endorse wholesale changes to the structure of the export control system. Unlike their British counterparts they remained sceptical of Soviet intentions, believing that a broad embargo on East–West trade should be maintained in the event of a military confrontation with the Soviet Union in the near future.34 Although Eisenhower and Churchill personally intervened in negotiations between the two powers on East–West trade in March 1954, the rift between the State Department and British officials over the content of the revised export control lists persisted. Significantly, both leaders placed a high priority on Anglo–American cooperation on embargo policy, in contrast to the non-involvement of Truman and Attlee. As leader of the opposition Churchill had implored the Attlee Government to expand export restrictions on trade with communist nations during the Korean War. While in power, however, he hoped to capitalise on the Kremlin’s new strategy of ‘peaceful co-existence’ with the West by leading a campaign for freer trade with Eastern Europe in the early months of 1954. In a letter to Eisenhower he explicitly declared his commitment to the promotion of commercial contact with the USSR and her satellites as a positive step towards the ‘easement of relations with Soviet Russia’. Reaffirming his belief that restrictions should be applied solely to military exports, Churchill underscored the importance of nonstrategic East–West trade to the economy of the United Kingdom. He told the president that competition from West Germany and France had made it necessary that we should open our trade in every possible direction for we have to keep 50 million people alive in this small island as well as maintaining the greatest armaments next to your own in the free world.35 Even though Eisenhower was not disposed towards accepting the British ‘short list’ proposal, he conveyed to Churchill his desire to find a common ground between London and Washington prior to the convocation of a

Ian R.W. Jackson 53

meeting of CoCom to discuss the forthcoming revision of the international lists.36 It was not until April that Eisenhower and Churchill’s intervention in the international embargo process finally yielded some progress. After a series of trilateral discussions with France, the USA and Britain moved towards a resolution of their differences over the shape and scope of the three international lists. Yet, London and Washington remained divided on the issue of ‘dual purpose’ items (commodities of value to the civilian and war economy of the Soviet Union). American negotiators were adamant that the three international lists be retained, despite efforts by the British delegation to reduce the export control programme to a single ‘short list’ of highly strategic exports. While the French Government tended to support the position of the United Kingdom, the conflict in Indo–China forced Paris to adopt a more cautious line on the relaxation of East–West trade controls. French policy-makers were reluctant to abandon export restrictions to the Soviet Union and China while the nation was embroiled in a struggle against communist forces in South East Asia. Thus, the Churchill Government gave assurances to the USA and France that London would not table its ‘short list’ proposal during talks with the other CoCom members on the revision of the export control programme.37 With the unanimous support of CoCom the Anglo–American proposal to revise the strategic embargo for the ‘long haul’ was approved and a systematic review of every item under control undertaken during the summer in 1954. By August three new international export control lists had been prepared by CoCom.38 The August 1954 list revisions were a resounding victory for the East–West trade policy of the Churchill Government. Despite protest from senior officials of the Eisenhower Administration, the CoCom membership agreed to remove restrictions on a large number of ‘dual purpose items’ contained on International List II and III.39 By June action had been taken on the majority of items that comprised the embargo with the exception of approximately 80 items held in dispute by the American and British delegations. The dispute was eventually settled in early July after three arduous days of negotiations between Harold Stassen, the US director of Mutual Security, and Peter Thorneycroft of the Board of Trade. Stassen and Thorneycroft agreed to retain 43 of the items under embargo and to release the remaining commodities from the export control lists. Once this remaining obstacle had been removed, the three international lists were amended on the 16 August as follows: List I was reduced from 250 to 170 items; List II from 90 to 20 items; and List III was to be composed of 34 items. Arguably, the newly revised embargo represented an acceptance by the CoCom membership of the British position rather than the recommendations of NSC-152 which advocated a more ‘gradual and moderate’ relaxation of East–West trade controls.

54 Economic Cold War

Conclusion As this chapter has shown, historians of British foreign policy during the Cold War can profit from a careful study of the making of Western economic containment strategy against the Soviet Union. Evidence from archives in the United Kingdom and USA has underscored the influential role played by the Attlee and Churchill governments in CoCom during 1948–54. Not only were British officials instrumental in the establishment of a multilateral export control system to regulate East–West trade, they were also responsible for shaping and directing international embargo policy in partnership with the Truman and Eisenhower administrations. Three observations can be made with respect to British export control policy in the first decade of the Cold War. First, London recognised the importance of preventing shipments of strategic value to Eastern Europe in waging a Cold War against the Soviet Union. In this respect, policy-makers in the Foreign Office and Ministry of Defence viewed economic containment as an effective tactic that could be used to maintain Western nuclear and military supremacy over Moscow. Second, successive British governments worked closely with the USA in the field of East–West trade. The history of the formative years of CoCom cannot be explained without reference to Anglo–American collaboration. Yet, relations between London and Washington on the question of East–West trade controls were often fraught with friction. Clearly, the two powers had different perceptions of economic containment. American policy-makers, under pressure from Congress and public opinion, wanted more restrictive trade contact between the West and communist nations, whereas Whitehall strove to limit restrictions largely to military items. Finally, Britain took the lead in organising the Western European response to the Truman Administration’s economic containment initiative. She was also the most vocal critic of attempts by Washington to expand the international lists in 1951–52. In cooperation with France, London can thus be seen as the protector of European East–West trade interests against efforts by the USA to force CoCom to broaden the embargo to incorporate industrial and ‘dual purpose’ exports.

5 Fight Against Peace? Britain and the Partisans of Peace, 1948–1951 John Jenks

Peace became a fighting word in the late 1940s. Pro-Soviet partisans fought for peace and built peace fronts, while anti-Soviet forces accused them of peace-mongering and tried to counter-attack against the Soviet-backed peace offensive. Behind these verbal contortions there was a real political and propaganda struggle over the nature of East–West relations and the very meaning of the word peace in a polarised and militarised Cold War Britain. There was an ambiguous preface for the peace battle of the late 1940s and early 1950s. The massive destruction and death brought about by the Second World War, and the arrival of the atomic bomb, gave strong incentives to avoid further wars. Within the Labour Party, pacifist feelings were still strong, though not nearly as powerful as in the 1930s. But at the same time there was a widespread belief that some things – such as Nazism or other forms of totalitarianism – were worse than war. ‘Appeasement’ had become a dirty word, and ‘peace’ would soon become soiled as well. The communist-backed Peace Partisans – later renamed the World Peace Council (WPC) – fought for peace in ways that were favourable to Soviet state interests, such as focusing on the American reliance on nuclear weapons. The Soviets claimed their peace mobilisation was a defensive move in the face of growing Western military strength and cohesion, while privately recognising its ability to carry the offensive into Western domestic and alliance politics.1 The United Kingdom, the USA and other NATO powers clearly saw it as a threat. To them the Peace Partisans were nothing more than tools in a Kremlin-directed international conspiracy to weaken and divide the West in the face of superior Soviet military strength.2 Consequently, they counter-attacked.3 In the British counter-attack the comparatively weak British Partisans became a convenient target, mainly to inspire worried anti-communists overseas and to demonstrate anti-communist bona fides to the Americans.4 The Soviets’ graceless push for hegemony in the peace movement damaged the credibility of all peace groups. That, combined with Western 55

56 Fight Against Peace?

counter-propaganda and action, left the word peace battered, bruised and debased well into the 1950s. In Britain there had always been doubts about the patriotism of peace activists, but the blatant use of peace appeals by the Soviets and anti-communist rebuttals led to widespread distrust – on the right, left and centre – of any peace advocacy.5 As veteran peace activist Vera Brittain claimed, the communists had made peace a ‘dirty word’.6 Brittain and peace movement historian Lawrence Wittner have explored general Cold War conditions and the communist responsibility for the eclipse of the peace movement in Britain and elsewhere, but have given less attention to the role of aggressive counter-propaganda in shaping public discourse.7 The British campaign against the Peace Partisans and its allied organisations began in 1948 and lasted, intermittently, through the late 1980s. The state’s covert anti-communist propaganda arm, the Foreign Office’s Information Research Department (IRD), generated most of the propaganda against the peace movement until it was wound up in the late 1970s. During the initial years, from 1948 to 1951, the pattern of official thinking and public discourse on peace was set for much of the 1950s. Through policy and propaganda the British state encouraged the discourse that made ‘peace’ a dirty word.

Communists and peace Communists had a chequered record on peace from 1917 and largely took their cues from Soviet diplomatic needs.8 Sometimes, of course, these needs coincided with and were able to articulate and organise public opinion far beyond the party faithful. But not always. When the Soviet Union was tacitly allied with Nazi Germany in 1939–41 the British communists called for a negotiated end to the war and a ‘people’s peace.’9 When the USSR was dragged into the struggle communists everywhere immediately embraced an uncompromising pro-war position. But by 1948 the Cold War had replaced the wartime Grand Alliance and communists were against the atomic bomb. The first steps of the international peace movement came at the August 1948 ‘World Congress of Intellectuals’ in Wroclaw, Poland. To some non-communist Westerners the Polish-sponsored event seemed to be an authentic opportunity for East–West dialogue and a possible way to ease a very tense world situation. As Ritchie Calder, journalist and peace activist, wrote in the Liberal News Chronicle, ‘Wroclaw is six hours away by air. The Russians will be there. It is worth trying.’10 The Foreign Office, however, never had any doubts that the congress would be merely a louder version of the typical Soviet ‘front’ operation and had prepared for Wroclaw with that in mind.11 Before the conference Foreign Office propagandists briefed one of the British delegates – Herman

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Ould, secretary of the writers’ group PEN – on communist tactics. They were disappointed when Ould did nothing with the information.12 Nevertheless, support came from an unexpected source – iconoclastic leftwing historian A.J.P. Taylor. Taylor initially considered the congress a rather ‘nebulous’ gathering and went to Wroclaw with an open mind, but he was soon repelled by the one-sided and violent attacks on the West. Speaking with the backing of other disgruntled British delegates, Taylor ridiculed the pro-Soviet distortions of the congress and urged delegates to be critical of all great powers – including the USSR.13 Taylor’s remarks made a splash in the Western media, to the delight of Foreign Office propagandists, but they did not try to enlist him in their ongoing campaign. His reputation for independence made him an effective critic, but also made him an unreliable vessel for Foreign Office propaganda.14 Instead, they searched for other, more pliable figures to ‘play the part of an A.J.P. Taylor’ and infiltrate other communist front gatherings.15 The Wroclaw congress left a bad aftertaste with many non-communists. Mainstream press coverage was negative and some influential figures who had been willing to cooperate with communists were alienated from them. When some British communists tried to set up a peace committee, some of the Wroclaw veterans baulked. New Statesman and Nation editor Kingsley Martin told them that in the past he had favoured ‘popular fronts’ of all left-wing forces, but that it was clear that communists now wanted ‘stooges’ instead of allies.16 The British Peace Committee formed without him, as the peace movement became a top priority for the Soviets and their friends – with the spectre of growing Western strength and cohesion spurring them on.17 In widely publicised statements later in the year Soviet leader Joseph Stalin and his Foreign Minister, V.M. Molotov, both made the struggle for peace the most important job for the world’s communists.18 The Wroclaw liaison committee and other pro-Soviet groups organised a series of peace congresses and committees around the world.19 Before the first major peace congress in Paris, the Foreign Office was still thinking about infiltrating delegates who would follow Taylor’s example and disrupt the pro-Soviet aura of the congress – and provide raw material for anti-communist propaganda.20 They eventually decided the congress would be hopelessly rigged and that it would be more effective to attack the gathering from outside as a total fraud.21 The Foreign Office funnelled material to their allies at home and abroad to portray the congress as unrepresentative and invalid. British diplomatic correspondents were encouraged to ask probing questions about delegate selection and congress procedures. A critical analysis of communist tactics, using the Wroclaw conference as a case study, went out to all diplomatic posts and friendly journalists, politicians and trade union leaders.22 Propagandists in the IRD must have been pleased by the British media’s

58 Fight Against Peace?

response. The Manchester Guardian questioned whether the peace congress delegates really spoke for the people they claimed to represent.23 The BBC composed several home news bulletins from a speech by junior Foreign Office minister Christopher Mayhew (an IRD founder), who denounced the movement as a ‘Fifth Column’ and ‘Partisans of the Red Army’.24 The mainstream press criticised the communist domination and hypocrisy of the congress, especially the widely reported ovation for the Chinese communist capture of Nanking, and mocked the congress’s Picasso ‘dove of peace’ logo.25

Media structures and semiotic warfare Like many Cold War episodes, the fight over peace was primarily a propaganda battle, with each side mobilising language, symbols and carefully applied facts to discredit its rivals, energise its supporters and woo the uncommitted. The news media outside the Soviet bloc became a prime battleground in this struggle as each sought to manipulate news coverage to gain a predominant position in public discourse on war and peace. Although the Western news media had significant freedom in covering the Peace Partisans, the structures of journalism and the dominant Cold War consensus meant that much of the coverage conformed to a limited range in which the partisans were at best fools and at worst communist subversives. Within the United Kingdom, official news management and cooperative habits that had been built up among journalists since the 1930s continued after 1945.26 ‘Public Relations Officers’ had proliferated and in 1948 they were supplemented by the covert IRD.27 Just as importantly, however, the structures of news gathering and processing favoured sources, information and interpretations originating from government offices in Whitehall and other authoritative institutions outside government.28 These structures and habits worked within an anti-communist Cold War consensus, which had emerged slowly in 1946–48.29 Because of this structural cohesion and broad Cold War consensus newsmaking British institutions and leaders largely echoed and in some cases amplified the anti-communist messages. The IRD supplied most of these institutions with factual propaganda to use in their own pronouncements and publications.30 For example, the IRD regularly funnelled information to both the Labour Party and the Trades Union Congress.31 In addition, the Archbishop of Canterbury, fortified with IRD material on the Soviet treatment of religion, condemned in a widely reported statement the Partisans and any clergy foolish enough to support them.32 But the Peace Partisans’ movement was primarily an overseas issue for the British. They could influence overseas opinion on the peace movement directly through the BBC’s Overseas Services, the Central Office of Information’s publications and services, and the information officers attached to most British missions overseas. In addition, they exploited the

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extensive international role of the British news media, the TUC and the Labour Party. The party’s international department worked closely with the IRD and distributed damaging anti-communist information to socialist leaders, newspapers and news agencies around the world.33 Foreign Office propagandists saw both the socialist and trade union movements as good propaganda allies and useful fronts. As Mayhew pointed out, foreign readers would often reject overt British propaganda, but accept the same information if it appeared to come from their independent British comrades.34 Although the IRD and other state agencies believed that attacking the peace movement was an important job, it functioned as part of a larger strategy to discredit the entire Soviet system and international communism. If the Soviets could be shown to be imperialist and warlike – and to be exploiting and abusing their own working class – much of the Soviet mystique would collapse. That would also discredit the Soviets’ tame peace movement in the process. But, early on, the British State decided that struggling to appropriate the concept of peace for its own purpose would be a mistake. As the Foreign Office reported to a special propaganda committee: We cannot well use the slogans of peace ourselves for two reasons: we could not do so nearly as effectively as the Russians; and with different conditions prevailing in the West, there would be a danger that people might actually demand unilateral disarmament. The truth – that it is necessary to build up Western military strength at a cost – is not always expedient to proclaim and is in any case a rather weak defence against the strong emotive cards held by the Kremlin. We cannot encourage the illusions of the masses about peace, but we may at least disillusion them about the USSR and show that the Kremlin’s claim to be the leader of the forces of peace is false.35 In general, the official and unofficial British discourse against the Peace Partisans constantly emphasised the deceptive and subversive nature of an organisation that urged the West to disarm at the same time as it applauded Soviet bloc rearmament. This theme became even more important after the outbreak of the Korean War in June 1950 when anti-communists could point to the blatant hypocrisy of the Peace Partisans, who were calling for peace in Europe while supporting North Korean aggression in Asia. IRD briefing papers used an effective combination of provocative quotations and dry facts from the Partisans themselves to make that point.36 Speeches, pamphlets and leaflets from Labour politicians and their allies – many of which were well reported in the press – brought out that hypocrisy and made clear comparisons between contemporary Soviet behaviour and Nazi German action in the 1930s.37 Fleet Street’s imagery was that of sabotage, the fifth column betrayal, and the militarised confidence game: communists were out to trick the West

60 Fight Against Peace?

into lowering its guard. They relied on woolly minded dupes, dishonest fellow-travellers and cleverly disguised communists to spread doubts about Western rearmament and build up fear of atomic weapons. Several key images emerged again and again – the Partisan movement as a Trojan horse carrying Soviet aggression, the Partisans as wolves in sheep’s clothing and Western pacifists as deluded sheep. (The Archbishop of York improved the cliché, and played off the Russian connection, by urging BBC listeners to recognise ‘the bear under the sheep’s clothing’.)38 At its most sinister, the Partisan movement appeared as an infrastructure for future subversion and sabotage – a fifth column being impudently mobilised under British noses.39 And just in case any readers or listeners missed the point, the press placed the word peace in inverted commas, described the Partisans as a ‘so-called’ peace movement, or just emphasised that it was the ‘Moscow brand’.40 Artist Pablo Picasso, who created the Partisans’ ‘dove of peace’ trademark, often served as a symbol in the British news media of the befuddled fellowtraveller. His ‘dove’ was another deception. Repeatedly journalists pointed out that it was actually a trumpeter pigeon – or as the Daily Express quipped, ‘just a fellow-travelling pigeon with an artificial olive-branch’.41 That image of a pigeon disguised as a dove reinforced the idea that the peace movement was also travelling with a false cover. The idea that the Peace Partisans were an insidious and corrosive force aimed at the British State, society and family was implicit in much press coverage. It was made explicit with a one-week rumpus in the popular press over 15-year-old Geraldine Chalmers, a North London schoolgirl, in July 1950. Chalmers had spoken in favour of the Peace Partisans’ Stockholm Peace Petition at a London rally, and she boasted that she had gathered 150 signatures in her school. Officials quickly launched an investigation into Chalmers’s claims.42 Initial news stories conflated peace and communism and focused on communism as a threat to schoolchildren and as both a cause and a symptom of the disintegration of the family. The Sunday Chronicle pointedly noted that while Geraldine was blithely spouting the communist line in London her twice-married mother was away in the holiday city of Brighton, apparently unaware of her daughter’s mischief. Chalmers seemed to taunt authority when she was quoted in a front-page sub-headline as saying, ‘I’m a Communist and she’ll spank me.’ Patriarchal authority, in the form of the father or stepfather, was absent.43 The Daily Mail and Daily Express looked further and saw the Chalmers family as a metaphor for the post-war domestic settlement coming under communist threat. Mother was Labour, stepfather a Conservative and the family was happy – until the predatory communists ‘lured’ Geraldine and her older sister into their subversive world and threatened to destroy the unity of the family, and by extension the nation.44 But Chalmers’s fame was fleeting. The panic over subversion in the classroom quickly subsided when readers found that most of the schoolchildren

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had not taken the petition seriously at all and had signed it with names such as ‘Mr Molotov’ and ‘Charlie Cheesecake’.45 Chalmers herself found that the way to happiness was not through the Young Communist League and nuclear disarmament, but through Hollywood-style escapism. After a week of notoriety Chalmers and her mother were brooding at home, according to the Daily Express, when her mother suddenly said she just wanted to escape to the cinema to forget everything. That was an epiphany for Geraldine Chalmers: ‘Geraldine turned round. Her eyes lit up. “Yes,” she said. “Let’s all go to the pictures.”’46 End of story. Exit Geraldine Chalmers. Although this sort of imagery was important in influencing public discourse in Britain and overseas, control of the actual news events could be even more important. If the Partisans could not organise congresses, rallies or other media events, there would be little for the world’s press to report. If these events were disrupted, the disruptions could become more important news than the congress itself. In 1950 the British Government had a chance to use its political and police muscle as well as its propaganda.

From Stockholm to Sheffield Public fears about war and atomic weapons had been increasing ever since the news of the Soviets’ first atomic test emerged in September 1949. The US push to develop the hydrogen bomb, announced in January 1950, heightened public worry. The Peace Partisans capitalised on this mood by launching in March the Stockholm Petition for international nuclear disarmament, which called for a ban on nuclear weapons and widespread international atomic inspection. It also urged that the first country to use atomic weapons be branded a war criminal.47 This landed squarely on the Americans because of their heavy dependence on nuclear weapons.48 In the second half of the year, the European and American arms build-up, coupled with the outbreak of the Korean war and its threatened escalation, made world war seem a real possibility. In that tense season, peace advocacy became increasingly linked with communism. The respectable National Peace Council, representing some 50 non-communist peace groups, was feeling the heat. Under pressure from Peace Partisans for a joint ‘peace campaign’, the council’s leaders asked the government for guidance. Foreign Secretary Ernest Bevin personally described to them the cynical Soviet use of the Partisans and urged them to avoid any contact. They did.49 Nevertheless, the NPC and its affiliates repeatedly had to deny accusations that they were under communist domination.50 That summer the Peace Partisans decided to hold their second international congress in England. It is not clear why the Partisan leadership chose England, but the Foreign Office thought it knew. It would show the world that the United Kingdom – a major imperialist power – was impotent

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in the face of the Peace Partisans, thus undermining British status as a leader of anti-communist forces around the world. Meanwhile, the congress would weaken Anglo–American links by inflaming American opinion against Britain for harbouring communists and ‘crypto-communists’. And, of course, holding the congress in the West would obscure the degree of communist control while energising the anaemic British peace movement.51 The government mobilised its friends and supporters for a steppedup campaign against the Peace Partisans and their congress, which was planned for Sheffield in November. As one diplomat explained: The attack on the Peace Campaign requires a network of contacts and a great amount of work directed towards enlisting the cooperation of many different non-official persons and organisations. Thus, we have succeeded in unleashing a campaign against the Campaign here which has involved the Labour Party, COMISCO (Committee of the International Socialist Conference), the TUC, the Liberal Party, the National Peace Council, the Conservative Party, the Confederation of Free Trade Unions and of course the Press and individuals in and out of the Government.52 Labour Party members who consorted with the Peace Partisans were expelled, as were the few Conservatives who strayed.53 Both major parties and the TUC launched vigorous propaganda campaigns against the Peace Partisans through well-timed and widely reported statements, conference resolutions, speeches and publications. When the British Peace Partisans officially launched their campaign in July the Labour Party countered with a speech by left-wing cabinet member Aneurin Bevan, who accused Stalin of betraying the Russian revolution, the international working class and peace.54 The Conservatives, not wanting Labour to get full credit, later provided damaging stories to their media friends and organised anti-Partisan letter-writing panels to provincial newspapers.55 The Labour Party’s Denis Healey guided an attack on the movement through a meeting of an international socialist organisation and supplied his comrades overseas with IRD exposés of the Partisans.56 Other IRD material went directly to other friendly figures such as Italian Prime Minister Alcide de Gasperi, who based a speech on it.57 Prime Minister Clement Attlee’s public relations adviser, along with the Ministry of Defence’s spindoctor, arranged to meet London newspaper editors.58 Respectable pacifists affiliated with the non-communist National Peace Council refused any cooperation with the peace Partisans, and leading Quakers also distanced themselves.59 Although government members were united in their opposition to the Peace Partisans, they were divided about the proper tactics to use. From the beginning the Foreign Office and the Chiefs of Staff wanted legislation to ban the congress.60 The US State Department strongly backed them, with

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Secretary of State Dean Acheson personally urging Bevin to ‘throttle’ the congress.61 But Bevin’s cabinet colleagues did not think they had the power to ban the congress, and argued that it would be better to cripple it through propaganda and visa restrictions on foreign delegates, especially the communist leadership.62 Leaders of the Peace Partisans had expected complications. A full two months before the congress was scheduled to begin in England, organisers were arranging for back-up facilities in Warsaw.63 They were having other problems as well. Comparatively few people in Britain were supporting the peace petition despite painful sacrifices for rearmament, rising antiAmericanism and war fears.64 Meanwhile, after having failed to get a ban on the congress, Bevin began to characterise the Partisans as a direct threat to British security to persuade the cabinet to agree to wholesale visa denials. He mustered a litany of threatening quotations from communists and their allies to try to prove that the movement was shifting away from a ‘sentimental’ appeal to pacifism toward concrete subversion and sabotage of military service, Western rearmament and NATO itself.65 The rest of the Cabinet wanted to uphold liberal principles, yet avoid criticism from the public and the Americans for allowing leading communists into the country. The solution was the creatively strict use of the rules of persona non grata to keep out large numbers of key communists and fellow-travellers – without the public relations problems that might come from a wholesale ban.66 The government also stepped up its propaganda attack. In a widely reported speech to the Foreign Press Association Attlee attacked the Sheffield congress as a piece of deceptive, undemocratic communist hypocrisy designed to subvert the West. The government would keep out foreign delegates who were threats, Attlee said, but would uphold civil liberties within Britain and not ban the congress.67 The speech not only set the tone for British media discourse on the Sheffield congress, but also reassured the NATO allies that toleration of the congress was not a sign of British weakness.68 The government persuaded the BBC to broadcast the speech in prime time on its home and overseas services, and most newspapers covered it prominently.69 The counter-campaign ran into trouble when the Cabinet discovered that more than half the delegates were getting visas despite the restrictions. They decided to clamp down harder, and started cancelling some delegates’ visas and turning away other delegates when they tried to enter the country.70 Eventually about 500 foreign delegates were refused visas or turned away at British ports; others with valid visas did not even bother to come once it became apparent that the congress had been crippled.71 This last-minute clamp-down led to widely reported chaos as hundreds of delegates arrived at airports and channel docks only to be kept waiting for hours before being turned away. The scene in Sheffield was equally confused as British delegates arrived and a few foreigners trickled in.72

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Organisers moved the congress to Warsaw after a brief but heavily reported rump session and press conference. The Manchester Guardian described it as a ‘peace and quiet congress’ and objectively reported organisers’ statements. 73 The mass-circulation Daily Mirror had sent acerbic columnist William Connor (‘Cassandra’) to Sheffield, where he mocked celebrity delegates and Partisan leaders as ‘muscular wielders of the olive branch’, verbally leered at the ‘slim, pert personality of a certain Miss Kim’ from North Korea, and ripped into the British organisers as pathetic, mindless fools. 74 A few days later the Pathé newsreel appeared in cinemas to further denigrate the congress. The newsreel story opened with a quick shot of a protester, followed by shots of milling crowds and close-ups of depressed looking organisers. The narrator urged viewers to see the event as ‘suspect kind of propaganda’ and applauded the government action: For a peace congress it had strange ideas. From all over the world came the bewitched, but Britain couldn’t be bothered and so now they’re bewildered whilst their congress dances off to Warsaw. But still they come, to be told what to do next.75 The visa crackdown later provoked a debate in the House of Commons. Conservative leader Winston Churchill approved of Labour’s hostility towards the Peace Congress, but argued that the government’s muddled tactics gave the Partisans more free publicity.76 The only parliamentary dissent came from left-wing Labour members who objected to arbitrarily denying free speech to foreigners in Britain.77 Among the mainstream press only the Manchester Guardian and the Daily Express questioned the damage to free speech, and the Guardian went so far as to describe treatment of foreign delegates as ‘the methods of the communist police states’.78 The IRD was pleased with the overall reception and believed the congress move to Warsaw clearly exposed the congress as a ‘Communist racket’.79 The Reuters news agency had provided factual descriptions and quotations from the Sheffield congress and other Partisan gatherings. This commitment to objectivity deeply worried the government. As the Commonwealth Relations Minister Patrick Gordon-Walker pointed out, intelligent British readers could easily see through the outrageous accusations and claims quoted in the factual Reuters dispatches, but unsophisticated readers in the former colonies could be fooled. The High Commissioner in Karachi had explained that Pakistanis trusted Reuters and believed what they read, because they were ‘not sophisticated or capable of critical analysis’. Gordon-Walker demanded a meeting with Reuters leaders to discuss their coverage, but it is unclear whether they met or what emerged from the talks.80

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When the Peace Partisans finished their canvassing in December, they tried to present their 1.3 million British signatures to the House of Commons.81 No one would accept them. After several days maverick Labour MP Sydney Silverman, who had refused to sign the petition himself, finally agreed to introduce the petitions to Parliament. They were ignored.82

Warsaw and beyond After the frenzy surrounding the aborted Sheffield congress, the Warsaw gathering was anti-climactic. British newspapers covered it extensively, but without the emotion they displayed at Sheffield. Despite the scathing tones of some reporting, most stories could almost pass as anthropological studies of the communists’ and fellow-travellers’ behaviour in their native habitat – the subsidised congress.83 Daily Express reporter Sefton Delmer emphasised the way delegates were pampered with rich food, copious alcohol and ‘dove of peace’ knick knacks.84 His account of the ‘beer and sausage congress’ must have been galling to British readers still struggling with food rationing.85 But the highlight of the congress, for the non-communist news media, was the righteous and even-handed condemnation of Soviet and American sins by US delegate John Rogge.86 Unbeknownst to newspaper readers, however, Rogge had been in close consultation with the US State Department and had been given advice ahead of time on how to best structure and deliver his speech.87 After news of Sheffield and Warsaw disappeared from the headlines, the leaders of the British branch of the Partisans (renamed the World Peace Council) took stock of the situation. They thought Britain’s back-breaking rearmament bills and the involvement of China in the Korean War were pushing many people toward a 1930s-style ‘popular front’ of left-wing forces opposed to the government’s foreign policy. They pointed out to the WPC’s leadership that a Peace Aims group had formed among Labour backbenchers and that the non-communist National Peace Council, in cooperation with the New Statesman and Nation, had set up a ‘Peace With China Committee’ that had caught a wave of public support. Although this new committee shunned the communist-led peace group, WPC leaders believed they shared important aims and should be encouraged as a ‘transitional’ group for people who were unhappy with British foreign policy, but were not prepared to risk political ostracism by supporting the WPC.88 Despite their hopes at the beginning of the year, 1951 was not a success for the World Peace Council. The WPC’s next campaign – for a five-power peace pact – did not capture the public’s imagination the way the Stockholm petition had. British communists had even less luck; party activists complained at an October meeting about a sense of futility fuelled by unending petitions and the failure to reach beyond the party faithful.89

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The ‘Peace With China Committee’ faced a virtual blackout in the mainstream press. The Observer refused to print advance notice of the committee’s first mass rally because its policy on German and Japanese rearmament mirrored the communist view.90 The liberal News Chronicle also declined to cover the movement because of what it called the group’s objectively pro-Soviet inclination.91 By 1952 the British Government, now in Conservative hands and tired of piecemeal visa refusals, decided to ensure that the United Kingdom would not be the site of any more major peace events. The Cabinet agreed to refuse visas to foreigners coming to the UK for meetings of any group connected with the WPC.92 The IRD continued its work against the World Peace Council, using its newly acquired book publishing capacity to attack in greater depth.93 An affiliated publishing firm, Batchworth Press, published anti-communist pocket books, including Communists on Peace by tame journalist W.N. Ewer. The book assembled 54 quotations from leading communists on the question of peace, drawing on the voluminous works of Lenin and Stalin as well as more esoteric sources.94 Some of the more obscure quotations, including one from a Czech trade union journal and one from a Hungarian-language newspaper, had appeared earlier in IRD briefing material that Ewer regularly received.95

Conclusion By 1952 the word peace had been thoroughly debased in British political discourse, and non-communist peace groups in Britain were at their low point.96 The general public associated most peace groups with the highprofile communist model – and stayed far clear of them. It would take at least five years for ‘peace movement’ once again to become a phrase to use in polite society, and even then the Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament faced a secret government counter-campaign.97 Clearly the communists must take a large share of the blame for discrediting peace in the early 1950s. Their ham-handed manipulation and shrill polemics frequently damaged their cause and alienated potential friends. But the communists alone could not manage to turn the word peace on its head in a few short years. They had plenty of help. Anti-communist forces, such as the British Government, mobilised considerable power and influence to discredit the Soviet-backed peace movement. Fallout from those attacks hurt non-communist peace groups as the public lumped all peace advocates together. Larger Cold War pressures also had an obvious effect. Intense mutual suspicion and hatred, exacerbated by propaganda, made any substantive compromise or independent peace brokering seem dangerous and immoral. Peace had become a dirty word.

6 ‘Our Staunchest Friends and Allies in Europe’: Britain’s Special Relationship with Scandinavia, 1945–1953 Juhana Aunesluoma

The intensification of the Cold War in 1947–48 placed the Scandinavian countries on the horns of a dilemma.1 In the immediate post-war period Norway, Denmark and Sweden, in contrast with the Benelux countries, had maintained distance from the Western powers in the hope that the emerging East–West rivalry would not directly affect their vital interests.2 However, by 1947–48, in all Scandinavian countries a similar view of Northern Europe’s place in international affairs and the future outlook of their strategic situation was rapidly developing. The only possible enemy in a future war was considered to be the Soviet Union.3 Further, with the failure of the Council of Foreign Ministers in late 1947, there was no doubt that their peacetime foreign and security policies had to adapt to the requirements of the Cold War. For Norway, and later also Denmark, this meant that bridge-building or a neutrality policy were no longer options. Instead, an explicit security guarantee was required from the Western powers. For Sweden, the Cold War posed an even more complicated dilemma. It also had to rely on Western help if war ever came, but for various domestic political reasons, membership of the Atlantic Pact was considered impossible in 1948–49. Despite this reorientation from bridge-building towards either NATOmembership or into neutrality policy, the Scandinavian governments’ main aim was to keep the Cold War from spreading into the Nordic region. On this issue, British and Scandinavian views already converged in 1946.4 It was their shared view that their political and strategic interests were best served if the Soviet Union was contained within its established sphere along the Eastern Baltic seaboard. In order to achieve this, the first step was to secure internal political and economic stability in Scandinavia. However, military strength also had to be developed, and this could only be achieved with Western assistance and security guarantees – namely, American backing. The American presence in the North – in itself an entirely new phenomenon in Scandinavian history – and its military assistance had to be formulated in terms such that it would not unnecessarily antagonise the Soviet 67

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Union. Ernest Bevin in particular was apprehensive that the extension of NATO’s borders to touch those of the Soviet Union, as it did in Northern Norway, would be counterproductive.5 Hence, the solution whereby Sweden remained neutral, and Norway and Denmark retained certain limitations in the terms of their NATO membership (no foreign bases in peacetime, for example), was advocated by the British as well as the Scandinavians. At first this seemed hard to swallow in Washington, but soon it became established policy there as well. All this showed that the British were willing to put Scandinavian preferences over the terms of their attachment to the Western powers in the Cold War high on the agenda. This required some careful balancing between the Scandinavian wishes and those of the Americans. It also required specific ways of argumentation. The early Cold War in Northern Europe has normally been analysed through the prism of military security and strategic concerns. However, to understand fully British political aims and their motivations, military strategy and security policy itself do not seem to be enough. Specifically, if one wants to understand British restraint in dealing with the stubbornly neutral Sweden and the way in which Norway and Denmark joined in the Western alliance, purely military calculations have to be related to other motivations and constraints of British policy. Even if strategy and Cold War concerns are involved, an understanding of Britain’s policy towards Swedish neutrality and towards Scandinavia as a part of Western European cooperation requires a wider approach. British policy-makers did not act in a psychological or physical vacuum, where they could freely choose their policies from a maximum of options. In particular, the influences behind foreign policy arising from perceptual factors, such as real or imaginary ideological and ‘mental’ affinities, should not be ignored. The process whereby Britain decided to build her post-war relationship with Scandinavia on far closer relations than had been customary in the past, required new thinking on the behalf of ministers and officials alike. In this the idea of ‘specialness’ appeared very useful, even for those who did not share the genuine pro-Scandinavian enthusiasm of some of the Labour Party’s activists or the officials in the Foreign Office (FO).

Labour looks to Scandinavia: the idea of a special relationship The concept ‘special relationship’ might have been appropriate in Churchillian political vocabulary, but it is not a very good analytical tool and can be misleading when not applied in its original Anglo–American context.6 But if the term should not be used as an analytical tool in the study of international relations, the use of such language, explicit or otherwise, can still be an object of study if it has been a part of the historical phenomenon we are explaining.

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What is argued here is that concepts similar to those used in the Anglo–American context were applied elsewhere as well: in Anglo–Norwegian relations and from thereon to the whole of Scandinavia, save perhaps Finland. The presence of a certain idealised tone in the records of British Scandinavian policy suggests that it may be of some use in helping us to understand their more accommodating approach to Scandinavia and Swedish neutrality when compared to that of the US. The main point of departure in Britain’s post-war policy towards Scandinavia, and particularly Sweden, ‘the key to the problem’, was to draw all the countries closer to the emerging Western bloc.7 This aim was seen in Foreign Secretary Ernest Bevin’s so-called ‘grand design’ on Anglo–European cooperation of August 1945 and was repeated on different occasions until 1948–49, when it was modified.8 After Norway and Denmark joined the Atlantic Pact, non-military cooperation, such as took place in the OEEC, became central in keeping Sweden from withdrawing into isolation, and questions of military security were confined to exchanges among experts.9 This did not require Sweden to abandon openly her official policy of neutrality. In contrast with the hostile American attitude towards neutrality, a general understanding about Sweden’s special position between the East and West developed in London soon after the war, which led to an acceptance of Sweden’s officially proclaimed policy of neutrality.10 This placed Britain in an important mediating position between Sweden and Scandinavia on the one hand, and the US on the other. For Sweden’s policy to keep the emerging blocs at arm’s length, the British attitude posed a different kind of challenge from the open criticism by the US. If the latter was, especially in 1947–49, manifested in open displeasure at Sweden’s line, the British sought to achieve their goals with subtler and quieter means, in an atmosphere of close confidence, trust and consultation. This acceptance, which had already developed during the Second World War and more fully in 1946–47, was tacit as was explained by Hector McNeil, Minister of State in the Foreign Office to Gunnar Hägglöf, the Swedish Ambassador: ‘we, after having listened to your explanations of Swedish policy, fully understand that Sweden has her good reasons. But do not ask me to proclaim this understanding from the roof!’11 Nonetheless, a modus vivendi with Sweden was reached, with which the Americans aligned themselves in 1950–52.12 There was no doubt where the ultimate source of security to Norway and Denmark, and, indirectly, to Sweden, came from in the Cold War. Only the US had the material resources to provide an effective security guarantee, which Norway in particular had first sought from Great Britain.13 However, the Americans had given it lower priority during the war and the area had been primarily a British concern.14 Also, in the immediate post-war period of 1945–47, the US let the British take the lead in Scandinavia.15 On the political and diplomatic plane, Norway especially became a close ally of Britain during the war, with an exiled government and king in

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London and with extensive political and military-technical ties that continued after their liberation.16 Anglo–Norwegian relations were strengthened by personal contacts between the political, military and economic elites, which the common war experience had solidified. A similar situation, although to a lesser extent, existed with Denmark. The fact that it was British troops who liberated Denmark before the Red Army could do the same was considered very important in London as a basis for post-war Anglo–Danish relations. With the general worsening of Anglo–Soviet relations in the autumn of 1945, any tentative ideas Bevin might have had for a Western bloc were vehemently criticised and opposed from Moscow. On 7 November, Bevin delivered a strongly worded speech in the House of Commons in defence of Britain’s right to have ‘good relations with nations bordering on the British frontier’.17 Speaking freely and abandoning the prepared text, Bevin said: What HM Government are willing to give, they claim the right to have, for their part, with France, with Holland, Belgium, Scandinavia or other countries – not a Western bloc for war purposes. They are our cultural friends; they are our historical associates; they acknowledge the same democracy as we do and therefore I say that I am entitled, on behalf of HM Government, to have good neighbours in my street just as any other country is.18 In his speech Bevin reflected the widely held belief, both on the political and official level, that close relations with the Scandinavians, including the Swedes, would continue to develop after the transition from war to peace, despite possible Soviet criticism. In leaving Sweden, the wartime British minister to Stockholm, Sir Victor Mallet, ended his final assessment of Sweden’s wartime record and international orientation on an optimistic note, that Sweden would ‘seek close ties with the United States of America, but her people’s genuine admiration and affection for Great Britain, immensely increased by the British achievement during the war, afford us a real opportunity not only for the closest political and cultural relations but for a valuable market for our exports’.19 The President of the Board of Trade, Sir Stafford Cripps, echoed these sentiments and bolstered them with an ideological dimension in a speech in honour of Gunnar Myrdal in 1946: The Government of this country and of Sweden now have many economic views in common. We are both inspired by the same desire to make this what Mr Henry Wallace called the century of the Common Man, and I trust that, whatever our immediate problems may be and however much our recent experiences may have tended to separate us,

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we shall from now onwards draw closer and closer together in our effort to benefit not only our own peoples but humanity throughout the world … We both believe in a creed of Social Democracy, which is, I am convinced, the one means by which a virile and active democracy can survive in a world still full of totalitarian ideas.20 What was common to all these expressions was a perception of a cultural, economic, social and ideological unity that existed within the Anglo–Scandinavian group of nations, which in turn was part of a wider cultural entity that existed in the West. This sense of unity had been heightened during the recent struggle against totalitarianism, which by 1946 seemed to continue to divide the Eastern from the Western sphere, as long as the Soviet Union followed its policies. While differences between the main poles seemed the greater, so were similarities amongst the Western nations even more striking. If Winston Churchill found this unity in the common historical fate of the ‘English-speaking peoples’, for Labour, similarities with other predominantly social democratic countries, such as were found in Scandinavia, seemed the more significant when contrasted with the fundamental ideological divisions towards both the extreme right and left. In 1945–51 (in Denmark from 1947 onwards), an ideological bond between socialists in governments on both sides of the North Sea was an important part of the belief that Britain and Scandinavia had something in common, which might, in favourable circumstances, develop into a ‘special relationship’, imitating the Anglo–American one. The Labour Government’s attitude towards the Scandinavian countries was coloured by both personal and ideological closeness between British and Scandinavian social democrats. Of the Labour Party’s leadership, Cripps and Herbert Morrison cherished their Scandinavian contacts, and both Bevin and Attlee, if not spending their summer vacations in the Swedish archipelago with the Swedish social democratic leaders as Morrison did, sympathised with their Scandinavian fellow socialists as well.21 Morrison had especially close relations with Tage Erlander, the Swedish Prime Minister, with whom he would keep informally and confidentially in touch over delicate political questions during his time as Foreign Secretary in 1951.22 When the Swedes sent out feelers about covert exchanges of military information in 1950–51, the British considered this as additional proof of the ‘spirit of specialness’ in their relations.23 The fact that the Swedes explicitly wished, ostensibly for security reasons, to keep the US military and political authorities outside the first Anglo–Swedish military talks in 1951–53, further strengthened this image in London.24 On the governmental level, conditions for Bevin’s idea of ‘Left understanding Left’, coined in his well-known speech in the Labour Party conference at Blackpool before the 1945 general election, were certainly better between the British and the Scandinavians than between the British and

72 Britain’s Special Relationship with Scandinavia

continental left. Whereas in Germany the Social Democratic Party had a stronger Marxist tradition, and in France and Italy the Communist Party had widespread support, the British and Swedish labour parties were ‘evolutionist, reformist and committed to democratic transition to socialism through parliament’.25 Denis Healey, at the time Labour’s international secretary, has written how the Scandinavian social democrats, as was Clement Attlee’s Labour Party, were pragmatic rather than ideological in their attitudes. They also shared the British scepticism towards a federal approach to European unity.26 British diplomats could say that ‘[t]he Swedish Social Democratic Party in particular look up to, admire, and tend to imitate their British counterparts, while the strength and vigour of the British parliamentary system is consistently the subject of favourable comment from all parties alike’.27 Kaj Björk, Healey’s counterpart in Sweden, has also pointed out how the Swedes regarded the British Labour Party as the leading light of democratic socialism in Europe. But as seen from the northern horizon, it seemed that the British might be more Scandinavian than the Scandinavians were British, as Björk explains: ‘[Hugh] Dalton … in discussions with French and Italian socialists appeared “Scandinavian” in his opposition to far too airy theoretical speculations’.28 Dalton’s ‘functionalist’ views on European integration also corresponded very well with the Scandinavian attitudes. It can be argued that, while the Scandinavian social democrats looked up to the British Labour movement as an ideological model and a source of inspiration, the British turned their eyes to Scandinavia to learn how their ideas could actually be put in practice. ‘On the side of the British Labour Party, illusions were rife about Scandinavia in general’, Alan Milward wrote in his monumental work, The Reconstruction of Western Europe 1945–51; faced with a ‘hostile European world of revived and vigorous neo-liberalism, supremely indifferent to what they thought of as their own uniquely successful experiment in modern governance … where else could they turn for consolation other than to Scandinavia?’29 As was seen in the well-known memorandum Bevin presented to the Cabinet on 4 January 1948, outlining the consolidation of forces around a kind of ‘Western Union’, Sweden and the other Scandinavians had a particular place in his schemes. In the Cabinet Bevin specifically referred to Sweden when he outlined Britain’s ‘Future Foreign Publicity Policy’. The example of the social democratic countries, such as Britain, Sweden and New Zealand, was instrumental in providing the leadership with a ‘spiritual, moral and political sphere [for] all the democratic elements in Western Europe’.30 In this project to maintain Britain’s international position against the communist ideological challenge, Britain’s ‘main target should be the broad masses of workers and peasants in Europe and [the] Middle East. We should, therefore, use the arguments most likely to appeal to them.’31 Living conditions in a social democratic Sweden provided a useful example in this context.

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Bevin’s ideological sympathies towards the Swedish social democrats were combined with a favourable appreciation of Sweden’s basic Western orientation. In August 1948 Bevin told his officials that ‘if a major emergency were to occur the Swedes would in fact adopt an attitude generally favourable to the Western Powers and would defend her territory’. Bevin was ‘firmly determined not to embark on a policy of pressure on Sweden now’.32 Even the division in Scandinavia between NATO members and neutral Sweden did not lead Bevin to change this view and, in May 1949, he said that he was confident that the Swedes would never side with the Soviet Union, even if they remained outside the Atlantic Pact.33 The idea of some kind of ‘spiritual union’ among socialists resonated deeper within the Parliamentary Labour Party, as was seen in the way Bevin’s ‘Western Union’ speech in the House of Commons on 22 January 1948 was received. Richard Crossman highlighted the fact that the union should be based on democratic socialism throughout Western Europe, and was, remarkably enough, endorsed by Attlee, who said that, although it was up to each country to find the kind of social arrangements that suited them best, ‘in all free countries of Europe today, there is a mixed economy in course of evolution, and, I believe, evolving towards Social Democracy’.34 Attlee mentioned the Scandinavian countries as particularly good examples of this.35 Cripps, from his departmental angle first at the Board of Trade and then at the Treasury, was interested in closer economic relations with the Scandinavians, with whom he believed European economic cooperation was possible to direct along ‘sensible lines’. Already in 1946, Cripps had pointed out to Gunnar Myrdal that Britain and Sweden would profit from closer economic alignment, but these ideas were developed further in 1948 and 1949. Cripps’s enthusiasm eventually led to the establishment of the Anglo–Scandinavian Economic Committee, Uniscan, in January 1950, which served as a useful discussion forum of economic policy until the creation of the European Free Trade Association (EFTA) in 1960. It also provided an additional institutional link between neutral Sweden and her Western neighbours. If much of the political capital in post-war Anglo–Scandinavian relations was invested in the close contacts among fellow socialists, it should not surprise us that apprehensions about the future prospects of this ideological dimension were heightened during the elections of 1950 and when the Conservatives were elected to power in 1951. There was considerable anxiety in Scandinavia that the new British government would not treat the small northern countries with the same consideration as Labour had done.36 According to the Stockholm Embassy, Tage Erlander had a sleepless night after hearing the first results of the February 1950 general election.37 Besides being worried at the prospect of political instability in Westminster, the Scandinavian social democrats saw the fortunes of the British Labour Party linked with their own as an indicator of a possible European-wide

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pendulum swing back towards the political centre and right. The British Ambassador in Stockholm described how the Swedish social democrat party secretaries, ‘were listening to the BBC at my house on election night, exclaiming, each time a Labour victory was announced, “another gain for us”’.38 Additional impetus was provided by the fact that many Swedes were nervous about US foreign policy, ‘which they conceive to be erratic and unpredictable’. Britain, ‘the keystone of the Western arch’, was looked upon for a stabilising influence.39

Whitehall’s views on specialness In the end the Scandinavian anxieties proved to be unfounded, as the Conservatives essentially followed Labour’s policy towards the Scandinavians, which included a tacit acceptance of Sweden’s neutral position between the blocs. There was no attempt to force Sweden to change her policy of neutrality, despite the fact that neither Winston Churchill nor Anthony Eden were enthusiasts of the ‘neutrality principle’ in international affairs.40 Eden went as far as to bring the continuation of the special channels established by the Labour Government to the Swedish ministers and military planners to the Cabinet in early 1952.41 An important practical consideration was that the British should continue to deliver to Sweden previously agreed levels of British arms exports, despite the difficulties in meeting both home and allied demands in the future. But what made the continuity of policy so strong, even after the disappearance of Labour’s finely tuned personal contacts at the governmental level, was that the relevance of the idea of ‘specialness’ in Anglo–Scandinavian relations was not wholly confined to British Labour Party circles. For example, the fourth Marquess of Salisbury, the Conservative Lord President of the Council in Churchill’s Cabinet, spoke about Scandinavia as a group of countries that stood closer to Britain than any other in their culture, social organisation and ideology.42 It was not only Bevin’s determination to treat the Scandinavians with silk gloves, as compared to the more brusque methods of the Americans, that had practical significance. A perception of ‘specialness’ in Anglo–Scandinavian relations existed also on the official level. At a time when Britain had become increasingly isolated politically in Western Europe and strategically eclipsed by the US, the British Ambassador in Stockholm could still describe how the Swedish Government, in their fear of Russian aggression and ‘in spite of the official attitude’, looked ‘ultimately to the Western Powers, and especially to Britain for their salvation’.43 In as much as Swedish opinion felt ‘the need to seek spiritual affinities outside Scandinavia’, then Britain remained ‘the keystone of the arch of any European coalition, and Swedish policy must in the last resort always take its cue from London’, and not from the US.44

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In the Foreign Office in particular opinions like this about the Scandinavians were held among traditionally conservative-minded officials. Although the critical intellectualism of Gunnar Myrdal was not so well received by British officials, the pro-British Atlanticism of Trygve Lie, and the sophisticated pragmatism of Dag Hammarskjöld, won many friends in London. This led Sir Gladwyn Jebb to suggest Hammarskjöld’s appointment to the post of Secretary General of the United Nations in 1953.45 Britain’s close relations with Norway were typically described in the Foreign Office as a ‘special association’ of ‘close confidence, understanding and friendship’.46 This was not, however, restricted to Norway alone. In November 1949 it was pointed out ‘that almost alone amongst the Europeans the Scandinavians have been consistently friendly towards us’.47 There were also explorations into the common ‘volksgeist’ among the British and Scandinavians. ‘Like-mindedness’ was defined as similar thinking in fundamental matters, such as ‘respect for law and Government authority, a sense of social responsibility, etc.’.48 It was also, equally vaguely, said that the Scandinavians had reached ‘a comparable stage of social and political development to our own’ and that ‘we think along similar lines and use similar methods’.49 Deputy Under-Secretary Sir Roger Makins provided the Cabinet with an important report ‘Impressions of Scandinavia’ in the summer of 1951. ‘It is obvious that the three Scandinavian countries are our staunchest friends and allies in Europe’, Makins began, and pointed out that All three countries have a similar social and political outlook to the United Kingdom. Social democracy is strong; English is normally the second language; and there is profound sympathy for British life and culture. Our economic connexion with Scandinavia is both extensive and important.50 Norway was described as ‘the most openly pro-British country in Europe’. Sweden, though neutral, was also ‘staunch and determined to defend herself’ and ‘sympathetic to Western policies and anxious to be associated with them within the limits of its neutral position’.51 With Denmark, Makins was more reserved, but called for careful handling of it as well. What Makins tried to achieve with his memorandum, was that the whole Whitehall machinery, including the economic departments, should be made aware of the unique position in which both the Scandinavians and the British had found each other after the Second World War. That there now existed a ‘special relationship’ across the North Sea also warranted special treatment. Scandinavian interests should be carefully considered when they seemed to clash with those of others. This was the case in particular with meeting Scandinavian needs for raw materials such as scarce British coal, or in addition, with the case of Sweden, British armaments. ‘It

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is no exaggeration to say that the securing and the consolidation of the northern flank of the Atlantic community depends basically on the ability of the United Kingdom to supply coal and steel in adequate quantities to the three Scandinavian countries’, Makins ended his memorandum.52 Permanent Under-Secretary Sir William Strang agreed that ‘Sir R. Makins’s last two para[graph]s show that this is a sphere where economics lies at the very heart of foreign policy.’53 In order to be convincing, the idea of Anglo–Scandinavian unity had to be rooted in history as well. There the journey could be made all the way back to the medieval period and the Vikings. It was revealing that a passage from Sverrissaga, describing an assembly in 1186 in Bergen and comparing British traders rather favourably to Germans, was more than once used by British officials in meetings with their Scandinavian colleagues in 1949–50 when exploring possibilities for closer economic cooperation.54 The essential characteristics of Anglo–Scandinavian economic relations were, according to this view, rooted in a long-term historical experience: ‘A reasonable balance of essential imports; an attempt to restrict less essential imports, disguised in a fashion typical of us and them as social legislation; worries about balance of payments; Schachtian methods by the Germans; and above all satisfactory Anglo–Norwegian commercial relationships.’55 The listeners, of course, could easily supplant the Germans in their minds with Russians if they wished to see Sverre’s views in Cold War terms. Even if the treatment here is based on British material and on the British perception of Scandinavia, anglophile sentiment was not rare in Scandinavia either. In 1946 English was decreed the first foreign language in Swedish schools, replacing German. The prospects of economic cooperation that Uniscan opened from 1950 onwards were welcomed especially by the more pro-Western element in the Swedish civil service and in a book published in 1959, Svenskt och Brittiskt – ‘Swedish and British’, a Swedish historian and archivist, Birger Steckzén, portrayed several centuries of Anglo–Swedish interaction in a true anglophile fashion.56 However, during the Conservative Government in 1951–55, there seems to have been an intentional avoidance of using exactly the same vocabulary that was used to characterise the all-important Anglo–American relationship. An alliance with the modern Norsemen was hardly an alliance of English-speaking peoples, although the fact that the Scandinavians often spoke English as their second language was observed probably with as much satisfaction as relief in London.57 In this respect, the idea of ‘specialness’ was implicit as well as explicit in the Anglo–Scandinavian context. The problem arising from the need to find a similar but not identical vocabulary to describe Britain’s relations with the Scandinavians as well as with the US was solved by using the term ‘special relationship’ in describing Scandinavian, and especially Norwegian, thinking about Britain. As seen from the British side, and from the Foreign Office in particular, it was

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as if the Atlantic ‘special relationship’ was reproduced on a smaller scale over the North Sea. Conveniently enough, the senior partner was now Britain, with the Scandinavians – in the British view – claiming a role similar to Britain’s in the Atlantic model. In the search for economic and military security, the Norwegians in particular, besides having an Atlanticist attachment, were seemingly keen that the British would realise that a special bond existed with the North Sea region.58 When assessing Norwegian attitudes to her relationship with the United Kingdom, the British Foreign Office officials preferred a formulation that ‘Norway regards herself as standing in a very special relationship to us.’59 Why there should be such a convergence of outlook between Norway and Britain was interestingly enough found in their ‘non-Europeaness’. As Sir Michael Wright explained: Norwegians did not think of Norway as being a part of Europe. For many reasons Norway regarded herself as having a specially close relationship with the United Kingdom. Because of this she hoped that the U.K. would feel the same way about Norway and that special efforts would be made to keep Norway in the confidence of Her Majesty’s Government … The links between the two countries were very close, and included contacts between the political parties. The present favourable relationship should not however be taken for granted.60 A similar inversion of the idea of specialness took place with Sweden, although it was always acknowledged that Norway had the closest relationship of all Scandinavians with Britain. As in describing Norwegian thinking about Britain, the focus was on the Swedish ideas of the nature of her relations with Britain. Despite serious friction in the early 1950s in Anglo–Scandinavian trade relations, confidence in the Swedes to cultivate this relationship continued unabated: ‘Anglo–Swedish relations in the political sphere continued to be excellent, and Sweden tended to look to Britain for a lead in international affairs, where her policy of freedom from alliance was not directly affected’, noted the British Ambassador when analysing the situation in 1951.61 A little later it was said that ‘[r]elations between this country and Sweden remain very cordial. Although Sweden has elected to remain outside the Atlantic Pact, her sympathies lie with the West, and she looks, to a great extent, to this country for guidance and friendship.’62 Sweden, even within the limitations of her foreign policy, [F]elt closer to the United Kingdom than to any other great power. She was mistrustful of the Latin races, disillusioned about Germany and had certain nervousness about the policies of the United States. Swedes appreciated the British approach to problems which, like theirs, was

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pragmatic and empirical. They thus adopted in international organisations, such as the OEEC and the Council of Europe, an attitude similar to ourselves towards federal proposals.63 But in the absence of any match to the powerful Churchillian rhetoric, the idea of special unity between the British and the Scandinavian peoples could never have the same popular reach as the term Anglo–American ‘special relationship’ had. Further, despite the advocacy of a number of officials, the relevance of the idea of specialness in Britain’s handling of her relations with the Scandinavians seems to have been in decline by 1954. If the change of government in 1951 did not bring about any immediate changes in Britain’s policy towards the region, a slower change was nonetheless under way. The spirit of specialness that had existed in the Labour Government had been the driving force behind developing closer relations with Scandinavia. The Conservatives were happy to continue from this basis, but they did not contribute much that was new. When difficulties arose, and despite the FO’s rhetoric, the basis for close relations eroded, and the well of Scandinavian goodwill was drawn upon without replacement. But despite the lack of enthusiasm on the part of Churchill and Eden to cultivate the Scandinavians as their predecessors had done, the idea of Anglo–Scandinavian specialness continued to be strong in the Foreign Office. A policy paper in 1954 stressed the need for continuing cooperation and consultation with the Scandinavians was highlighted. However, even if it was ‘beyond question that the United Kingdom is regarded by Government and people alike as Sweden’s most important contact in the West’,64 there were now clearer shades of emphasis: Relations with our Allies, such as Norway, demand this even more than those with neutral countries such as Sweden. Norway regards herself as standing in a very special relationship to us and it is essential not to forget to consult her in advance wherever possible.65 The closest relations were thought to exist with Norway, but with Sweden there was more distance resulting from alliance politics. With Denmark a more positive attitude from Her Majesty’s Government was needed, mainly because of problems in economic relations and the terms of trade.66 All the comments above have told us more about the British perception of Scandinavia than about the Scandinavian perception of Britain. Naturally, the argument can be pushed too far. Indeed, even the Atlantic ‘special relationship’ has been recently described as an illusion: ‘“Specialness” is, and always was, self-deception, “the special relationship” not so much a creation as a construct – a British construct, or, to personalize, a Churchillian one.’67 The Anglo–Scandinavian ‘special relationship’ was probably as much a

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construct as the Atlantic one. But what was different was that it was transformed into a socialist mode of the original Churchillian idea, and curiously enough also adopted by Whitehall’s bureaucrats.

Conclusions From the Second World War onwards, Scandinavia began to receive increasing British attention. The region came under active British interest, which was in striking contrast to the pre-war period. This had its roots in the wartime experience when strong links were forged both with the Norwegian Exile Government in London and with Denmark. Sweden’s wartime neutrality convinced the British that no active policy in the north, in war or in peace, would be viable without Swedish cooperation or at least her consent. The perception of the need for a British role in Scandinavia arose from, and was strengthened by, the deepening crisis with the Soviet Union, but also by similarities of political outlook especially among the social democrats, and also among the national political and administrative elites in general. Even if the term ‘special relationship’ might prove inaccurate in describing the reality of Anglo–Scandinavian relations as the 1950s went on, the ideal of a closer understanding and like-mindedness between the British and Scandinavians cannot be ignored as a motive behind a particular foreign policy. This applies especially to the British Labour Government in 1945–51. There is little doubt that Bevin’s unwillingness to exert pressure to alter the stubborn neutralism of the Swedish Government can in part be traced to his unwillingness to act too toughly with fellow social democrats. In the summer of 1948 his basic sympathies towards the Swedes restrained him from siding with the Americans in their attempt to force Sweden to abandon her neutrality policy. Bevin’s views on the solution of the Scandinavian defence problems were based more on Party considerations than those of his officials’. As Bevin said, the Cabinet took a lively interest in the issue and ‘the close association with all these countries of a large section of Parliament’ influenced his views.68 Besides the ‘mental’, or perceptual, level described above, there were other factors behind the British post-war interest in Scandinavia. A ‘special relationship’ hardly arises from only ideological or popular sympathies. It also needs a set of common interests, even if this need not be ‘a common fate’.69 In the Anglo–Scandinavian case, these arose from the Cold War (that is, a common threat: the Soviet Union) and from European economic cooperation (in other words, a common goal: an intergovernmental Europe). The ideological affinities among fellow socialists and the perception of general ‘like-mindedness’ were compounded with significant British strategic and trade interests, and with a convergence of British and Scandinavian interests in questions of European economic cooperation.

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But in explaining the reasons why the British decided to adopt the kind of policy towards Scandinavia that they did, the level of perceptions and images of specialness can help to explain both the nature of British policy and her differences with US policy.

7 Revisiting Rapallo: Britain, Germany and the Cold War, 1945–1955 Spencer Mawby

It often appears that British foreign policy had to be remade following the onset of the Cold War. Much of the historiography of the post-1945 period concerns the extent to which policy-makers believed they could maintain Britain’s pre-1939 role as a great power and their ability or inability to adapt to the new bipolar world. However, there was a different problem of adaptation, namely the extent to which British foreign policy-making continued to be dominated by the German problem despite the emergence of the Cold War. Between 1945 and 1947 the problem of how to either accommodate or balance the overwhelming strength of a united Germany was radically transformed as the British government sought to establish an economically viable German economy against the background of a divided country, devastated industries, a massive refugee problem and Soviet demands for substantial reparations. The most potent danger now appeared to emanate from Moscow. Even if one discounts the ideological challenge posed by the Soviets, the eruption of their armies into central Europe exacerbated the familiar British dilemma of how to sustain a balance of power on the continent and maintain a global empire. Whether this constituted the old British problem of how to counter the menace posed to far-flung British interests by an expanding Russian empire, whose frontiers were contiguous with the British sphere of influence at numerous points, or an entirely new challenge founded on the precepts of Marxism-Leninism, historians of British foreign policy have been largely united in seeing the Anglo–Soviet antagonism as a central theme of the post-war years. However, when this period is examined more closely it can be seen that the Anglo–Soviet Cold War reached a climax in 1950. By 1955 it appeared that the Soviet threat was receding and attention focused once more on Germany’s future and in particular the danger that the Germans would seek an accommodation with the Soviets. The generation that had lived through two Anglo–German conflicts and for whom the German question in its various forms had been the central issue in European diplomacy, continued to regard it as of seminal importance in the decade after 1945. 81

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Though for a period the Soviet challenge dwarfed all other problems, by 1955 the danger of a renascent Germany had returned to the agenda of British diplomacy. It is probable that this was a reflection of wider societal beliefs but this study will focus on the views of the policy-making elite on the assumption that it was in this sphere that these concerns had the most direct impact on British foreign policy.

The continuity of post-war British foreign policy The argument that there was a continuity about British policy towards Germany that stretched across the war-time period and into the Cold War era has two elements. Firstly, it suggests that British foreign policy-makers continued to regard pre-war precedents as relevant and that they were particularly concerned to learn lessons from the Soviet–German Rapallo pact. In 1922 Prime Minister David Lloyd George went to the Genoa international conference with the intention of securing a programme for European rehabilitation but his efforts were undermined when the Soviet and German representatives, Chicherin and Rathenau, signed a bilateral agreement at Rapallo in the middle of the wider talks. This alleged act of betrayal undermined the UK Government’s strategy and provided the basis for German economic and military recovery. In the period after 1945 British policymakers were preoccupied with the fatal consequences of yet another Russo–German alliance and returned to this danger again and again in their discussions of German policy. For the second time in a generation they considered how to reconcile the Germans to defeat and reintegrate them into Western rather than Eastern European society. A direct parallel was drawn with the experience of the 1920s when the two pariah states, Germany and the Soviet Union, had established an informal alliance. The most vociferous advocate of the view that concessions to German opinion were essential to prevent a repetition of Rapallo was Ivone Kirkpatrick who was successively Permanent Under-Secretary (PUS) at the semi-autonomous post-war German section of the Foreign Office, British High Commissioner to Germany and finally from 1953 to 1957 PUS. In May 1954, with French defeats in Indochina making the Laniel Government more reluctant than ever to make concessions to German opinion, Kirkpatrick wrote: ‘I have always believed that the real ‘German danger’ lies in the German traditional inclination to do a deal with the East… the French conception of the German danger is a lot of repugnant men in picklehaube invading France and routing a lesser number of valiant Frenchmen wearing red trousers and blue coats. Unless we are careful my bad dream will come true. The Russians could offer the Germans enormous inducements. We have one little inducement to offer; membership of the Smarter Club.’1 The second element of continuity is provided by the maintenance of a Germanophobic diplomatic tradition with its origins in the first years of the

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twentieth century, which took the form of a belief that the Germans remained largely unreformed despite the defeats of 1918 and 1945. Though it is possible to trace British doubts about German behaviour to the Bismarck era, it was the emergence of a German naval challenge and the embarrassing failure of Joseph Chamberlain to negotiate an alliance with Berlin at the turn of the century, which represented a watershed in Anglo–German relations. At the Foreign Office a substantial germanophobic group emerged in the first decade of the century under the tutelage of assistant under-secretary, Francis Bertie, and parliamentary under-secretary, Lord Cranborne.2 With the appointment of Edward Grey as Foreign Secretary in 1905 the Foreign Office view that Germany had become committed to a disruptive continental policy and an anti-English imperial policy became influential. The subsequent turbulent history of Anglo–German relations almost institutionalised Foreign Office germanophobia. Robert Vansittart, the Permanent Under-Secretary from 1930 to 1937, embodied this tendency in its most extreme form. His radio talks of late 1940 on the subject of German national character entitled Black Record were merely a public airing of the extreme anti-German views he had expressed throughout the interwar period. After 1945 a number of key officials argued that the Germans remained unreformed by catastrophic defeat and could re-emerge as a threat to British interests. This is not to suggest that the British Government dismissed the threat from the Soviet Union or that they did not spend a good deal of time developing strategies to contain Moscow’s influence but rather that in the post-war decade two distinct but related problems were perceived, one emanating from the massive military power of the Soviets, the other from the alleged instabilities of the German character. The Soviet Union was avowedly hostile to the West and possessed vast resources but by 1955 it was widely believed that a stable relationship had been established based on spheres of influence and mutual recognition of the suicidal consequences of thermonuclear war. Following the congenial confrontations with Khrushchev and Bulganin in July 1955 a new cooperative approach to East–West problems was widely celebrated. The so-called ‘spirit of Geneva’, marked the furthest point yet in the recession of Cold War tension. At just this time concern about Germany’s future in Whitehall was increasing. Though the Federal Republic did not possess armed forces, she soon would, and though she was bound to the West, the restraints were no more than paper treaties that could be broken. The British Government believed that the essence of the problem was German unreliability. There was a particular concern, which found historical corroboration in Bismarck’s Dreikaiserbund, the Molotov–Ribbentrop Pact and most of all the Rapallo treaty, that the Russian–German alignment was a natural one. Bevin’s brief for the 1947 Moscow Council of Foreign Ministers stated: ‘If a German Government in Berlin fairly reproduced the outlook of the country it

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would be neither wholly Eastward looking nor wholly Westward looking. The question would then turn to whether the Western democracies or the Soviet Union would exercise the stronger pull. On the whole the balance of advantage seems to lie with the Russians.’3 There were two views of how to deal with this problem. One school of thought suggested that just as appeasement had failed in the 1930s a new propitiatory policy towards Germany would also fail. The belief that the German character was somehow irredeemable was espoused by some influential Labour ministers, most notably Hugh Dalton.4 Bevin shared many of Dalton’s doubts and in an unscripted parliamentary outburst in March 1950 declared that the Hitler revolution had been an expression of the German character and had been ‘latent there right from Bismarckian days’.5 Yet Bevin more often subscribed to the alternative prescriptions of Kirkpatrick; that Germany should be offered membership of the Western system or ‘smarter club’ in an effort to curb their autocratic tendencies. He supervised the creation of a central German state and was as determined as any of his Foreign Office advisers to prevent a united Germany falling under Russian influence. These inconsistencies were a product of the ambivalence of British policy-makers about Germany. They recognised the danger of a Russo–German alignment and saw German integration into the Western system as the best means to prevent this, yet they were not actually convinced that the Germans could be trusted and they feared the project would fail. By 1955 these doubts combined with the ending of occupation controls produced an atmosphere of intense concern about Germany’s future at a time when Anglo–Soviet relations seemed to have acquired an unprecedented degree of stability. The key issue is how this came about.

Rising Anglo–Soviet tensions and the origins of German revival The first question to be answered is the one just raised. Why did British policy-makers play a prominent role in the creation of a new state in West Germany with massive industrial and military potential if they still believed the Germans were unreformed? The answer was a combination of continued concern about a repetition of Versailles and force of circumstances, in the form of the economic catastrophe that threatened to engulf Germany after the war, the Cold War and American pressure. Of these factors the economic situation had the most immediate impact. Bevin had to deal with the chaotic situation in the British zone while simultaneously striving for some long-term agreement on inter-zonal cooperation in the Allied Control Commission. He rapidly decided to give priority to the stabilisation of the British zone over the creation of a central Germany under four power control. The two aims came into conflict because the Soviets, the French and even the Americans were unwilling to accept plans

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for the revival of German industry which the British believed were essential in order to prevent their zone becoming a constant drain on the penurious British exchequer. The Chancellor of the Exchequer, Hugh Dalton, reported in May 1946 that annual expenditure in the British zone was running at £131million.6 Dalton was keen to make up the deficit in reparations but, John Hynd, the Chancellor of the Duchy of Lancaster and the minister with responsibility for Germany, urged the need to restore German selfsufficiency in order to end the drain on British resources and secure the cooperation of the population. The economic argument for increased levels of German industry was bolstered by the Foreign Office’s championing of the Versailles analogy. It was believed that a punitive peace would undermine any prospect of long-term stability within Germany. In September 1945 Bevin presented a paper to the Cabinet which warned that the continued destitution of Germany, ‘would only give an opportunity to another dictator to seize power on a programme of national revenge … peaceful and harmless development of industry must be encouraged to ensure a modicum of content among the people’.7 At this time the Attlee Government was dealing with the breakdown of the alliance with the Soviet Union. Between May 1945 and the Moscow Council of Foreign Ministers meeting of March/April 1947 a consensus emerged that the wartime alliance with the Soviets could not be sustained and that the Western zones of Germany must be incorporated into a Western bloc. Different British policy-makers reached this conclusion at different stages and Bevin was among the last and most reluctant to accept what he regarded as an unpalatable conclusion. Nevertheless, by 1947 the threat from the Soviet Union loomed larger in British thinking than the possibility of a revanchist, revived Germany. However, the growth of the Anglo–Soviet antagonism should not be allowed to obscure some other basic facts. The first of these is that in 1945 the British were not planning for a prolonged conflict with the Soviet Union or for German revival. Thanks to Churchill’s aversion to post-war hypothesising and the uncertainties surrounding American policy in Roosevelt’s last years the Attlee Government inherited very little in the way of any kind of post-war strategy. Under these circumstances Bevin groped uncertainly towards the chimera of an Anglo–French third force in world politics while responding to the various issues of the early Cold War with a series of extemporisations. In 1945 very few officials or ministers foresaw that by 1951 the United Sates would be committed to continental defence, that Germany would be set on the road to economic, political and defence integration and that the British empire, which played a central role in Bevin’s early plans, would be moving towards dissolution. Though Bevin is generally credited with great foresight and vision his diplomacy, especially in his first years, was essentially reactive. Furthermore, though the British have been criticised for stoking up Cold War tensions, on numerous occasions Bevin

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found the path to compromise blocked by the Americans. During the London conference of September–October 1945 the British championed the idea of a deal with the Soviets involving the recognition of the Rumanian and Bulgarian Governments following Soviet organised elections. Bevin was ‘prepared to exchange one set of crooks for another’ in Eastern Europe but the American Secretary of State, James Byrnes, insisted on an electoral enquiry before any new governments could be recognised. The subsequent disagreement between Molotov and Bevin on this subject was therefore a consequence of American disenchantment with developments in Eastern Europe and Bevin’s willingness to back Byrnes’s policy.8 During the next two years Bevin frequently expressed the hope that the Soviets might agree to cooperate with the Western powers but found his officials increasingly sceptical about the prospects for rapprochement.9 Subsequently, the tough containment policies which would be championed by successive US Secretaries of State – Marshall, Acheson and Dulles – proved somewhat alarming to British policy-makers who from 1947 increasingly sought some relaxation in East–West tension.10 Even while the Cold War was escalating there was intense concern among British policy-makers about Germany’s future. It was widely believed that the inter-war experience proved that the Germans had a natural preference for autocracy and extreme nationalism. John Troutbeck, a counsellor in the Foreign Office, commented in early 1945 that, ‘The German common man, as represented by Hitler, has proved even more dangerous to us than his Junker predecessor’.11 The embassy in Paris was the source of a series of warnings about the dangers of a German recovery. The British Ambassador, Duff Cooper, argued that more consideration be given to the French case for continued restrictions upon Germany. Duff Cooper’s fears were shared by the Foreign Secretary. When he lunched with Bevin in the House of Commons in January 1947 he reported: ‘there was only one point on which he agreed with me, namely that the danger still came from Germany rather than from Russia’.12 Initially Bevin had favoured French plans for the detachment of the Ruhr from Germany and only after his advisers on the Economic and Industrial Planning Staff had outlined the impracticalities of the idea did he agree that the best means of ensuring that the industries of the region were used for pacific purposes was to socialise them.13 However, this strategy was once again undermined by economic constraints. The British Government accepted a merger with the American zone in order to defray the expense of maintaining their zone but found that the Americans were no longer willing to pursue a cautious policy in Germany. By 1947 British plans for socialisation and the slow rehabilitation of the German economy were in conflict with American determination to introduce free market principles and integrate German resources into the European Recovery Programme. From this point forward it was the American administration that took the lead in urging the removal of occupation controls.

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German recovery and the height of the Cold War Between the London Council of Foreign Ministers of December 1947 and the Brussels North Atlantic Council meeting of December 1950 a coherent British strategy for the Cold War emerged which centred on three primary goals which will be considered in turn: 1. The securing of American economic and military support for Western Europe. 2. The creation of a state in Western Germany committed to Western, democratic values by a process of gradual incremental steps to restore sovereignty and the establishment of supra-national authorities to monitor her progress. 3. The avoidance of war with the Soviet Union. The British need for American economic assistance and their desire for an American commitment to European defence constrained Bevin’s diplomacy in this period to an even greater extent than in the first two post-war years. American economic support for the German bizone and the aid supplied by the European Recovery Program (the Marshall Plan) prevented the British implementing their own vision of a socialised German industry with fairly strict limits on production. In early 1949 the Americans presented plans for the removal of 167 German plants from the reparations list. Bevin tried to persuade Acheson that this risked reviving German war potential but was forced to accept a substantial revision of the levels of industry.14 However, the most significant example of American pressure to liberalise the occupation regime in Germany occurred in September 1950 at the meeting of American, British and French foreign ministers in New York when Acheson presented plans for arming West Germany and promised that if agreement was reached on this policy the Americans would send reinforcements to Europe and establish an integrated NATO force under American command. This crucial concession on the subject of continental defence forced Bevin’s hand and he persuaded the cabinet to accept the principle of a German defence contribution. Initially, French obstruction prevented the implementation of the package but at the Brussels North Atlantic Council in December the Americans agreed to implement their half of the deal while negotiations continued on the best means of arming the Federal Republic. This was a decisive success for the Attlee Government, which had strong reservations about the implementation of German rearmament but was eager to gain an American commitment to continental defence. Indeed, though rarely acknowledged as such, the Truman administration’s decision to appoint Eisenhower as supreme commander of NATO and to integrate American forces with those of the European powers was as important as the signing of the North Atlantic treaty in April 1949.

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The Brussels North Atlantic Council also saw a crucial step towards fulfilling the British Government’s slowly emerging policy towards Germany. It had taken time for a coherent British strategy to emerge but as the occupying powers gradually relinquished various controls over Germany, British policy-makers became increasingly alarmed about how the Germans would behave once given their freedom. These concerns were best expressed in the paper entitled ‘The Future of Germany’ produced by the Permanent Under-Secretary’s committee of the Foreign Office under the chairmanship of William Strang in November 1949. Strang was sceptical that the German character could be reformed and his paper stated: ‘The seed of democracy has not in the past fallen on fruitful ground in Germany… Despite their double defeat they probably still identify the German nation with Nietzche’s superman and with Hitler’s master race.’ The committee warned that the division of the country would provide an opportunity ‘for the Germans to blackmail the Western Powers and the Soviet Union in turn and so to recover their strength as a nation and dominant influence in Europe’. It concluded: ‘In view of the possibility of a German nationalist revival… the occupation and the essential controls to prevent German rearmament should continue.’15 Strang’s successor, Ivone Kirkpatrick, had a slightly different perspective though he was equally cynical about the German character. In November 1948, while still head of the German section he wrote a typically forthright memorandum on the subject to Bevin. It stated: to achieve security versus Germany, the first, and indeed the only aim must be to prevent her joining the Soviet bloc. How is this aim to be achieved? Certainly not by running after the Germans and telling them that their accession to Western Union is essential to us. The Germans are the best chisellers in Europe and such an approach would only excite them to play off the East against the West… The most promising course is to take advantage of the present day desire in Germany to be received back into decent society… If we can play upon this foible, we can bamboozle the Germans by roping them in and eventually making them so dependent economically, politically and militarily on the Western world that they cannot afford to break away and join the East.16 This strategy involved a gradual return of sovereignty to West Germany following the prior negotiation of terms between the three occupying powers and a parallel process of integrating West Germany into a variety of Western organisations and programmes including the European Recovery Program, the Council of Europe and the International Ruhr Authority. The American demand for a German defence contribution alarmed the Attlee Government because it undermined this approach by

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putting the Western powers rather than the Germans in the position of supplicants. Bevin complained ‘that it would be fatal to go to the Germans cap in hand with a request for contribution’.17 The Foreign Office brief for the Brussels North Atlantic Council urged Bevin to press the Americans to abandon any idea of setting a date either for a revision of the occupation statute or the implementation of German rearmament. It suggested: ‘the political evolution must develop first and rearmament come later’. In this context the Brussels North Atlantic Council meeting again represented a triumph for the British. As Bevin’s advisor, Pierson Dixon, later noted, not only did they get agreement on the appointment of Eisenhower as supreme commander of NATO forces but also it was accepted that the revision of the occupation statute and the negotiation of a German defence contribution should proceed in tandem.18 In practice this meant substantial delays in both. One reason that the British Government was anxious to avoid early action at Brussels was the fear of Soviet retaliation. The Czech coup, Soviet probes towards Finland, the Berlin Blockade and the Korean War each raised Cold War tensions. There was a genuine fear among policy-makers in Whitehall that these events might be the prelude to a world war brought about by a mixture of Soviet adventurism and American intransigence. A number of ministers and some officials argued for a less confrontational Western policy and a positive attempt to reach a modus vivendi with Moscow. During the course of 1950 there was an escalating sense of crisis which reached a peak in November, when the Chinese communists intervened in the Korean War and Truman refused to rule out the use of nuclear weapons to stop the rout of UN forces. From Moscow the British Ambassador, David Kelly, warned that the American decision to rearm Germany might be the spark that would ignite a Soviet preventive war. In January 1951 the Foreign Office informed its embassy in Washington: ‘In the absence of any comprehensive four-power settlement there will, therefore, be a considerably greater danger that the Soviet Union will precipitate a global war, not so much deliberately as either (a) by some single miscalculation or (b) by gradually forcing the Western Powers from point to point until they are obliged to declare war themselves rather than let their position deteriorate further.’19 Kenneth Younger, the Minister of State who in Bevin’s absence supervised foreign policy formulation at this time, criticised the United States in his diary on 9 January: Having been largely responsible for getting us into this dangerous situation, she is pressing for measures which may make it more dangerous still … she has been pressing for immediate German rearmament regardless of the risk of provoking the Russians at the moment of Europe’s greatest weakness, you could hardly get a more complete picture of dangerous stupidity on the part of a leading power.20

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The dangers inherent in continued Cold War were to be a major factor in encouraging British statesmen to work for détente. Though many were sceptical of a settlement and though no major agreements were reached the substitution of the phoney Cold War of 1951–5 for the bitter Cold War of 1947–50 represented a marked advance from the British perspective.

The phoney Cold War and the renewed German problem Between 1951 and 1955 some progress was also made with the integrationist strategy for the containment of Germany. Paradoxically, as this policy reached fruition the concerns of the British Government intensified. With the direct threat from the Soviet Union abating, British policy-makers once again considered the prospect of a possible long-term threat from a renascent Germany. As they gradually relinquished physical control they sought to secure the Federal Republic’s allegiance to the West through her ties to international organisations and a propaganda campaign designed to persuade the Germans of the benefits of membership of what Kirkpatrick had called the ‘smarter club’. This strategy and British concerns about Germany’s future were summarised retrospectively in the valedictory dispatch of the British Ambassador to the newly sovereign Federal Republic, Frederick Hoyer Millar. Writing in January 1957 he declared: The German, though so far he has shown welcome signs of being a reformed character, is an unaccountable animal, and the old Adam may not be very far below the surface. All the more reason, therefore, why in the coming year we should redouble our efforts to link Germany to the West and, by associating ourselves as closely as possible with the other European countries, convince the Germans that the Western Alliance is really worthwhile.21 What is striking about Hoyer Millar’s analysis is that he freely admits that during his four years in Germany he has seen little evidence of the ‘old Adam’ re-emerging but continues to doubt the capacity of the Germans to reform permanently. Adenauer had consistently demonstrated his allegiance to the West and followed an even more rigid policy towards negotiations with the Soviets than the Americans. The German people at the 1953 Federal elections had endorsed his policy of Western integration, yet British policy-makers remained fixated by the danger of German recidivism. It is necessary to place this official scepticism in the context of past experience and Foreign Office germanophobia. Strang, Kirkpatrick and Hoyer Millar were the descendants of a line of Foreign Office permanent under-secretaries dating back to Charles Hardinge who maintained the view that Germany constituted the major threat to British interests. Having apparently been vindicated in the 1930s they were reluctant to abandon

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their views in the 1950s. Foreign Office policy-makers accepted, with varying degrees of reluctance, that the best means of preventing a repetition of the inter-war years was to offer the Federal Republic a role in the democratic West, which, it was hoped, would be more attractive than an alliance with the Soviets, but they were not convinced that the project would succeed. It was deemed essential that the Western powers should retain control over the method and timing of the process and by late 1951 the occupying powers had reached agreement that the next and final stage would involve the replacement of the occupation statute by a contract and the integration of German forces into a supra-national European army. A Foreign Office brief of August 1952 put the argument for reform plainly. Prolonging the occupation ‘would encourage the revival of these forces in Germany which it had been our aim since the war to eradicate. The Germans, maintained indefinitely in a position of isolation and inferiority, would be driven into the path of extremism.’22 When, two years later, the contract and the European Army had still not been implemented due to French refusal to ratify the treaties, the British Government became convinced that the crisis point had arrived and that the failure to meet German aspirations would once again precipitate a German alliance with the Soviets. In June 1954 Hoyer Millar tried to reassure his colleagues in London that Adenauer could hold the situation for six months while conceding that if the European idea failed ‘there may be a violent reaction in favour of “the national neutralism” of the right wing FDP variety or of trying to reach a rapprochement with Russia.’ Significantly, Hoyer Millar was criticised for being too optimistic.23 Privately, Kirkpatrick warned that German policy was ‘tending towards a new Rapallo’.24 Eden, like Bevin before him, shared the concerns of his advisors about a potential German revival and in June ordered a reappraisal of alternatives to the EDC. In July a working group was established with the Americans to consider how to implement the contract prior to a final decision on the German defence contribution. Frank Roberts, as Under-Secretary responsible for German policy, suggested that Britain might have to participate in a revised, less federal European Army system ‘if only to avoid the certain loss of Germany in one form or another to the Soviet camp’.25 Eden urged Dulles and Eisenhower to accept early action to implement the contract and warned ‘if something were not done to restore sovereignty to Germany by October … the Soviets would be able to pull the Germans across the line.’26 In the event a resolution of the problem was reached on 23 October when the Paris agreements were signed. These entailed the implementation of the contract and German admission to NATO in return for which the French secured an expanded role for the Brussels Treaty organisation in the form of Western European Union and a commitment from Britain to maintain current force levels on the continent.

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Yet the Paris agreements were not regarded by the British as finally resolving the German problem. This is revealed particularly clearly if we examine British reactions to Adenauer’s trip to Moscow in September 1955. Given British concern about a Russo–German alignment it might seem paradoxical that the British reaction to Adenauer’s decision to establish diplomatic relations during the trip was relatively composed. The Western powers had been reassured by Adenauer that he would make no dramatic initiatives while in Moscow. Consequently, when he agreed, following bullying by Khrushchev and Bulganin, to establish diplomatic relations in return for a promised release of German POWs, the American Ambassador, Chip Bohlen, was almost apoplectic in his reaction. He informed the State Department, ‘Soviets have achieved probably the greatest diplomatic victory in post-war period.’27 The British Ambassador, William Hayter, was also disturbed describing it as ‘a very considerable victory for the Russians’. However, in London there was actually a measure of satisfaction that Adenauer had now experienced the brutal nature of Soviet diplomatic conduct. They were insulated against any shock because they regarded a German approach to the Soviets as inevitable and they hoped the bruising nature of the encounter would have a salutary effect. Charles Johnston, the new head of the Western Department, suggested that ‘the availability of a direct line to Moscow may make it somewhat easier for his [Adenauer’s] successors to revert to the old game of playing off East against West. Nevertheless, we should not exaggerate the importance of this aspect. If a future German Government decided to play this sort of game, it would do so anyway… It is worth recalling that the Rapallo treaty of 1922 was concluded before the establishment of diplomatic relations between Russia and Germany.’ The Foreign Office concluded: there is a sudden realisation in the West that Russo/German relations (shades of Rapallo and the Molotov/Ribbentrop Pact) are again a factor in international politics… This was, of course, bound to come about sooner or later and was equally bound to be an unpleasant shock.28 In the preceding four years the direct military threat from the Soviet Union had receded and a ‘phoney’ Cold War emerged which was characterised by an acceptance of the division of Europe; the emergence of mutual deterrence and the recession of the threat of war; the reaching of accommodation in some areas of conflict, including Korea, Austria and Indochina; a series of seemingly endless East–West negotiations including talks about talks, meetings of foreign ministers and finally a summit; and an almost constant exchange of propagandising announcements masquerading as diplomatic notes. The British Government played a key role in many of these developments. The danger of open conflict had stimulated British interest in the prospect of a rapprochement with the Soviets and vigorous

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debate began during the winter of 1950–51 over the possibility of abandoning German rearmament in order to achieve a permanent reduction in tensions. When the four powers met in Paris in March 1951 to discuss the agenda for a conference of foreign ministers the British delegation was eager for the talks to succeed but was frustrated by the refusal of the Soviets and Americans to compromise.29 Once the Western powers had agreed on a formula for West Germany’s integration in the winter of 1951–52, in the form of the contract and the European Defence Community treaty, the exchanges between Moscow and the Western capitals had an increasing air of unreality as each side became more concerned with presenting their case than with reaching genuine agreement. Thus following the signing of the contract and the EDC treaty in May 1952 the British urged the Americans to accept the Soviet offer of a four power meeting on the grounds that, ‘it is essential not only for the Western Powers, but also for the Federal Government, to have a four power meeting in Germany this summer, or at all events to be in a position to show very clearly to a sceptical public that the Russians alone are responsible for any failure to hold such a meeting’.30 For their part the Soviets seemed mainly concerned with issuing polemics and it has even been suggested that Stalin only issued this stream of diplomatic notes once he had been convinced that they were unacceptable to the West.31 This process reached something of a nadir at the foreign ministers meeting in Berlin in 1954 which Eden treated as ‘a Cold War exercise’ and during which the Foreign Office spent most of its ingenuity assessing what would be the most popular issue on which to break off the conference.32 Nevertheless, this war of words signified a reduction in the danger of a genuine armed conflict. Increased British confidence about the maintenance of the peace provided the foundation for the Churchill Government’s advocacy of reduced conventional force goals and greater reliance on the deterrent value of nuclear weapons, which, it was believed, would further stabilise the Cold War. This introduced new elements of tension into relations with the United States and in January 1953 Geoffrey Harrison, the assistant under-secretary responsible for Germany noted: ‘The Americans have always been inclined to rate the likelihood of war higher than we, and the divergence has increased over the past eighteen months.’33 By 1955 the British Government had made substantial progress both in persuading NATO to reduce force goals and in establishing a more stable relationship with the Soviet Union. The culmination of this process occurred at the Geneva summit in July 1955 during the preparation for which we can see many of the themes of this paper in sharp focus. British concerns about Germany’s future had increased as the controls that had been maintained since the war were abandoned and it is evident that, in formulating their proposals for Geneva, British policy-makers placed the reassurance of the newly independent West Germans at the centre of their strategy. In April 1955 Kirkpatrick

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urged British military planners to consider a number of new proposals on German reunification for presentation to the Soviets. He warned: ‘If Russia suggested that Germany should be neutralised, and Germany estimated that this was the quickest way to unification, we should be very careful that we in no way appear to be dragging our feet because such action might result in the Germans making a deal with Russia’.34 This reflects the fact that much of the Cold War diplomacy of the early 1950s was conducted for the benefit of public opinion and in 1955 many in the Foreign Office were still sceptical of a possible deal with Moscow. Hoyer Millar and his deputy in Bonn, Roger Allen, were both keen that the fruitless Berlin exercise should not be repeated and that a demonstration be made of Western willingness to make concessions, but as Allen suggested a genuine settlement seemed unlikely when the Soviets knew ‘the only terms on which they would agree to reunification are likely to be unacceptable to the Western powers’.35 Nevertheless, now that the contract had been implemented, it was necessary to give the impression that German reunification was a priority in order to prevent any new Rapallo alignment. A Foreign Office brief of March 1955 provides a useful summary of British attitudes towards Germany and the Soviet Union at this time. It argued that the West had now come as close to equalling Soviet strength as they were ever likely to and concluded: we must recognise that the present position of the West is not without dangers. In Germany for instance, the Russians hold Berlin as a hostage and could, if they wished, offer the Germans unity on tempting terms at any time. Unless we make a demonstrably serious effort to reunify Germany, the Germans cannot be relied upon to resist Russian blandishments.’36 The notion that Germany could re-emerge as an independent threat to Britain’s interests had been abandoned, while the immediate danger from the Soviet Union appeared less potent, but the history of Russo–German collaboration had not been forgotten.

Part IV Defence Studies

8 Defence or Deterrence? The Royal Navy and the Cold War, 1945–19551 Ian Speller2

During the Second World War both the United States and the United Kingdom developed powerful maritime forces able to project power from the sea to the shore. Carrier-based aviation overcame previous limits of range, payload and performance to launch powerful air strikes from the sea while amphibious warfare developed from humble beginnings into a major strategic capability, offering the maritime powers the ability to land and support modern armies on an enemy-occupied coast. Following 1945 the Soviet Union appreciated the threat posed by Anglo–American sea power and initiated a naval building programme to defend her vulnerable coastline. This presented Britain with the opportunity to deter Soviet aggression through the adoption of a traditional maritime strategy based on the offensive potential of amphibious forces supported by aircraft carriers. However, the Admiralty failed to appreciate the deterrent value of maritime forces and, interpreting the Soviet build-up as offensive, they concentrated resources on providing for defence of the sea-lanes. This chapter will suggest that this was a lost opportunity, placing Britain on the defensive in the Cold War in one of the few areas where she had a major advantage over her continental rival. In addition to this, the concentration of resources on the possibility of a third battle of the Atlantic undermined the Navy’s ability to respond quickly and effectively to the military pressures of the Cold War outside Europe. An examination of naval policy during this period offers an insight into wider defence policy. The changing emphasis within naval planning mirrored changing attitudes towards the likelihood and nature of any future conflict in Europe and of the requirement to cater for lesser contingencies in the wider world. Thus, through an examination of post-war naval policy this chapter will study the manner in which British defence policy adapted to the unfolding challenges of the Cold War. 97

98 The Royal Navy and the Cold War

Conventional deterrence In the era of thermonuclear weapons we are all accustomed to the idea of nuclear deterrence. Britain did not gain atomic weapons until 1952 and she did not receive an entirely satisfactory delivery system until Polaris became operational in the late 1960s. For Britain in the post-war decade deterrence therefore could only be conducted by conventional (namely, non-nuclear) forces. Given the weakness of the British Army compared to that of the Soviet Union, effective national deterrence had to be based on the capabilities of the Royal Air Force (RAF) and/or the Royal Navy. The value of the strategic bomber as both a deterrent and a war-winning instrument had been the tenet of air-power enthusiasts from Giulio Douhet to Sir John Slessor.3 The advent of atomic weapons merely served to heighten the destructive potential, and presumably the deterrent effect, of the bomber and the RAF was to spend the first decade of the Cold War desperately trying to attain a credible nuclear bomber force. The Royal Navy was less interested in nuclear weapons and was mostly concerned with demonstrating that they had not made obsolete the traditional tools of sea power. In response to the American atomic tests at Bikini Atoll in July 1946 the First Sea Lord, Sir John Cunningham, noted that the ships sunk during the tests had been passive and stationary, claiming that ‘It may be that the safest place to be in the next war will be on board a ship.’4 Power projection5 operations required the overt concentration of ships close to a hostile shore and this suggested a vulnerability to nuclear attack. Nevertheless, as late as 1949 it was believed that strong air defences and greater use of dispersion would mean that major amphibious assaults would be possible even against an opponent prepared to use atomic bombs. There was also a general belief that given limited supplies of these weapons few, if any, would be available for use against amphibious landings.6 As for carrier-borne air strikes, the mobility of the aircraft carrier appeared to make them rather less vulnerable to atomic strike than were static land-based airfields. In 1945 the Royal Navy was presented with an opportunity. The navies of the Axis powers lay in ruins, no longer a threat to British security. Britain had lost her position as the premier sea power to the United States whose navy dwarfed her older rival. There was no question of the Royal Navy ever being able to match the size of the American fleet, which was not seen as a potential opponent. Nevertheless, the Royal Navy had grown in size and strength during the war and, with the exception of the US Navy, it was a match for any combination of naval forces. In 1945 the Soviet Navy posed little immediate threat to British security. It had been neglected during the war and any indications that this might change could not alter its immediate inferiority in major surface vessels or the parlous state of its submarine forces.7

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Working from the assumption that the USA would either be allied to Britain or would maintain a benign neutrality, the Navy was once again in the fortunate position of being able to concentrate on the offensive uses of sea power in the absence of any serious threat from hostile navies.8 This presented Britain with the opportunity of using her considerable expertise in amphibious warfare and aircraft carrier operations to create a navy able to act as a deterrent to Soviet aggression by threatening landings and air strikes against coastal bases and installations. Such a navy could also play a vital role in the defence of Scandinavia following a Soviet offensive and would offer a range of capabilities that could prove useful in situations short of major war. It could provide reassurance to friendly nations, offering another tangible sign of British commitment to their defence. At the very least such an approach would force the Soviet Union to devote more resources to the defence of her maritime provinces, diverting forces from other areas and placing the initiative in the war at sea in Anglo–Allied hands. Such a force might also prove useful during any retreat in Europe. Seabased forces could strike an advancing enemy in its flanks and rear, conducting raids and air strikes designed to disrupt supply lines, hit headquarters and communications sites and draw forces away from the main front. Amphibious shipping would also provide a stranded British Army with the means of evacuating both its manpower and equipment in a similar fashion to the evacuation from Dunkirk in 1940, from Crete in 1941 or, later, of the US 10th Corps from Hungnam in 1950. This shipping would also eventually be required to return British forces to the continent should an initial reverse be suffered. It is possible to argue that, given her geographic position, the Soviet Union was relatively invulnerable to the application of maritime power around her periphery. The Soviet Union’s limited access to the sea was as much of a problem for those trying to project power into the Soviet heartland as it was for those trying to project power out from it. Anglo–French operations in the Baltic in 1855 had demonstrated the vulnerability of even an isolated continental power to specialist maritime forces.9 More recently the experience of allied intervention following the Bolshevik revolution offered the Soviets a salutary lesson on the potential of amphibious sea power. In addition to the occupation of Archangel and Murmansk, British naval forces undertook a series of actions against Bolshevik units and installations in the Baltic. Most notably, on 18 August 1919, a number of coastal motor-boats, supported by the aircraft carrier HMS Vindictive, penetrated Kronstadt Harbour and succeeded in sinking two battleships and a depot ship.10

The state of the weapon In 1945 the Navy possessed a strong power-projection force based upon amphibious ships and aircraft carriers. This force could be deployed against

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any state with a coastline and had the potential to act as a powerful deterrent to hostile activities. If deterrence failed then this force would have been able to launch strikes against enemy bases and installations, hitting at the source of the enemy’s air, land and maritime assets. Aircraft carriers and amphibious forces were necessarily at the centre of this capability. The former provided air defence and offensive strike capabilities whilst the latter offered the ability to land and support troops and equipment on a hostile shore. However, all successful maritime operations would require a degree of control over the relevant battle space or, in naval terms, ‘sea control’. In order to achieve sea control the Navy would also need to possess a range of assets able to counter enemy mines, submarines, aircraft and surface vessels. This implied a balanced fleet made up of a mixture of traditional sea-control assets such as cruisers, frigates, destroyers and minesweepers along with those assets best designed to exploit that control once it was achieved. This was not an easy balance to maintain. In many ways the differing weight which the Admiralty gave to sea control and power-projection assets over this period acted as a barometer of the changing priorities within British defence policy in general.

Amphibious forces Britain had led the way in the development of modern amphibious capabilities. The ships, craft and techniques that proved so successful at Normandy were based largely on British designs and on British practice and by 1945 Britain possessed a surplus of such vessels. By this time the cheap, shortranged and short-lived craft built earlier in the war were being replaced by more capable ocean-going vessels intended for use by Britain in the war against Japan. These ships boasted improved living conditions, greater individual lift, increased speed and range and greater mechanical reliability than their predecessors.11 Another important consideration was that, unlike earlier ships and craft, these vessels saw little or no operational service in the war and consequently remained in a good state of repair for peacetime service. These vessels were to form the backbone of Britain’s post-war amphibious force and their existence to some extent mitigated the worst consequences of the return to the United States of the American-built equipment which had made up much of Britain’s wartime amphibious fleet. Post-war plans for Britain’s amphibious capabilities were decided in 1944 in the period surrounding Operation Overlord. The inter-service Responsibility for Amphibious Warfare Committee (RAW Committee) recommended that amphibious operations should remain a tri-service responsibility. They rejected proposals to create a specialist amphibious force similar to the United States Marine Corps believing that this would prove prohibitively expensive and would not be suitable for the type of operations that they envisaged.12 The committee’s conclusions reflected current thinking

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on amphibious warfare, based on recent experience in Europe. Amphibious assaults were viewed as the prelude to a wider land campaign. As the three services would provide the assault forces in war, a standing specialist assault force was not required. Such a force would not fit into the framework of postassault operations that would be undertaken primarily by the Army supported by the RAF. The influence of the Normandy landings is clear. The possibility of maintaining a permanent amphibious striking force of Royal Marines was raised and rejected. They acknowledged that a specialist striking force might provide a force for use in situations short of major war, but did not foresee any circumstances where it might be required. Should such a requirement arise they believed that conventional military units would suffice. Such units would receive some amphibious training as part of their general training for war. In the opinion of the committee members: ‘There is no escaping the conclusion that the Army itself must be ready to find the assault force required in war.’13 It was hoped that a large permanent amphibious training force capable of lifting an infantry division would be maintained under Admiralty control.14 Unfortunately, the dual limitations of manpower and finance conspired to wreck these ambitious plans. Despite a continued military interest in amphibious training, the post-war Navy proved extremely reluctant to divert the necessary resources to this field of warfare.15 In February 1946 the Chiefs of Staff reduced the requirement for amphibious shipping to that required to lift a brigade group.16 The ideal of lift for a standard brigade group remained approved policy into the 1950s but it was never achieved. 17 The Admiralty consistently opposed proposals to divert men and resources to what they considered was a low-priority activity. In August 1947 the Admiralty described as ‘basically unsound and utterly inadmissible’ the suggestion emanating from the joint organisation responsible for amphibious warfare18 that they should accept a reduction in the ability to retain control of the sea in order to reallocate funds to amphibious forces.19 This suggestion cut across the accepted wisdom of generations and entirely ignored the Navy’s preoccupation with control of the sea-lanes and an increasing emphasis being placed on antisubmarine forces. The Admiralty was determined not to run the risk of losing control of the sea in any future war. As a result, manpower and resources were concentrated on the ships required to maintain sea control and other ‘less immediate’ tasks, such as amphibious warfare, were given lower priority. Eventually the Navy created a standing Amphibious Warfare Squadron (AW Squadron) sufficient to lift a battalion group. The AW Squadron was deployed to the Mediterranean in 1952 where it was centrally placed for Cold War tasks as well as for training.20 The AW Squadron was the closest Britain had come to maintaining an amphibious striking force since the war. Nevertheless, it did not represent a truly balanced force and was of

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more use for training than operations. It lacked close support craft, amphibious vehicles or fast infantry assault ships and had no landing ship, dock capable of embarking craft capable of landing heavy vehicles or tanks on to a shallow beach. The AW Squadron was not a high-profile force and was often below strength. 21

The Royal Marines When the wartime Army Commandos were disbanded in 1946, the three battalion-sized Commando units of No.3 Commando Brigade, Royal Marines were the only amphibious infantry units in the British armed forces. Despite their obvious potential as a mobile sea-based striking force these Commandos spent most of the post-war period conducting traditional land-based imperial policing duties in Hong Kong and then Malaya and later Cyprus.22 This meant that opportunities to conduct unit training in amphibious operations were extremely limited. In such circumstances specialist skills were liable to degrade with a consequent reduction in efficiency and readiness. In July 1956, when the possibility of rapid action against Egypt was first considered, the Commando Brigade, based in Cyprus, had not set foot in a landing craft for almost a year and was divorced from the amphibious shipping based in Malta. The prevailing view of amphibious warfare was based on the belief that future operations would be similar in size and have similar objectives to the major landings in Italy and France in 1943 and 1944. Such operations would require forces on a scale that only the conventional Army could provide. It was appreciated that small-scale raiding operations might be required in the early stages of any future conflict and that these would be carried out by Commando units. However, a lack of priority allied to a persistent shortage of infantry meant that in reality the Commandos spent most of the post-war decade operating ashore in a role indistinguishable from their Army colleagues. The role of readily available, mobile and flexible sea-based forces in situations short of war was not appreciated in the late 1940s and early 1950s. This was to have an unfortunate effect during the Korean War, the Abadan Crisis and later the Suez Crisis when the need for just such a force was felt.

Aircraft carriers In 1945 the Royal Navy possessed a powerful force of aircraft carriers. Earlier in the war British carriers had been equipped with small numbers of obsolescent aircraft unable to stand up to modern land-based fighters. However, once equipped with the latest American aircraft British ships were able to play a valuable part in the final stages of the Pacific War. By March 1945 the British Pacific Fleet consisted of four large ‘fleet’ carriers,

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two fast battleships, five cruisers and eleven destroyers .23 The four British aircraft carriers took part in the Okinawa campaign where the Americans observed with envy the high degree of protection that their armoured decks provided against kamikaze attack. The one serious drawback of all British carriers of the time was that they were considerably smaller than their American counterparts, carrying on average little more than half the number of aircraft. Nevertheless, in 1945 the Navy deployed a powerful force of 6 fleet carriers, 6 small light fleet carriers and 40 escort carriers with 1,336 front-line aircraft.24 There were three large 36,800 ton ships under construction and a further four 46,900 ton carriers planned. The latter were to be built in accordance with American design principles, with unarmoured decks and hangers in order to facilitate the launching of large air strikes.25 Unfortunately the realities of peacetime economy forced the Navy, and indeed all of the services, to cut back on their post-war programmes. Five of the seven fleet carriers on order were cancelled, including all four 46,900 ton ships. The remaining two ships, HMS Eagle and HMS Ark Royal, did not enter service until 1952 and 1955 respectively.26 Manpower shortages and the problems of operating a new generation of aircraft from older unmodified carriers meant that the Royal Navy’s operational carrier force in the 1940s usually consisted of a small number of widely dispersed light fleet carriers carrying a limited number of low-performance aircraft.27 The main role of the aircraft carrier in the late 1940s was to provide air defence for the fleet and to conduct anti-submarine warfare operations. Training was conducted with this in mind. The Fleet Air Arm also trained for anti-surface ship operations and for strikes against the shore, but these were secondary rather than primary roles for the carriers. Operations in Korea demonstrated the potential of carrier-borne aviation but also the limitations of current British equipment. In the 1950s the potential threat posed by Soviet Sverdlov cruisers and the opportunity to contribute to the NATO Striking Fleet in the Atlantic led to greater emphasis being placed upon anti-surface ship and strike operations.

Naval policy and the Soviet ‘threat’ Admiralty plans for the post-war fleet had been ambitious. Before the end of the war Plans Division of the Admiralty was aiming for an active peacetime strength of 4 battleships, 4 fleet carriers, 8 light fleet carriers, 28 cruisers, 48 destroyers, 54 escorts and 45 submarines.28 It was proposed to deploy the Navy in two main Fleets, one at home and one in the Mediterranean. There would be four smaller Fleets based around the world; each would contain a force of cruisers, destroyers, submarines and possibly even a small carrier.29 This represented a considerable reduction on the huge wartime Fleet; nevertheless, it was to prove far beyond Britain’s capabilities in the postwar decade when financial difficulty, a shortage of trained manpower and

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the general dislocation caused by demobilisation was to have a serious impact on operational capability. By the summer of 1947 Britain’s desperate economic position forced the Minister of Defence, A.V. Alexander, to order the Chiefs of Staff to undertake a complete review of the post-war organisation of forces. Central to this examination was the fact that a ceiling on defence expenditure of £600 million was to be established for an indefinite period. Alexander imposed a further constraint: It must be accepted that the risk of a major war is ruled out for the next five years, and that the risk will increase only gradually during the following five years. This risk will vary with our visible offensive strength. If attacked we must fight with what we have. He asserted that, ‘priority should be given to forces in peace which gave the best visible show of strength and thus have the best deterrent value’.30 A strong seaborne striking force based around a powerful amphibious capability and supported by aircraft carriers could have provided just such a visible show of strength. However, an emphasis on long-term research and development and the decision to provide only minimum forces for overseas garrisons and no additional provision for UN operations undermined the need for power-projection capabilities.31 For the Admiralty the major naval priority was to be defence of Britain’s sea communications against submarine and air attack. Other naval tasks, such as amphibious operations, could be downgraded since they would not be required in the early ‘defensive’ stages of a war.32 To some extent this caution may have been justified. In 1945 the Soviets had come into possession of a number of advanced German Type XXI submarines. This led to fears that new German technology would be incorporated in future Soviet boats, greatly enhancing their capabilities.33 In 1947 the British were planning for conflict in ten years’ time. By 1957 the Soviets had produced an estimated 300 modern submarines.34 However, Soviet submarine capabilities in the 1940s and 1950s did not live up to the worst fears of Western planners. Over two-thirds of their boats were uncomplicated Whiskey class submarines, easy to produce and operate. They were based on a wartime Soviet design and were not copies of the German Type XXI. The larger, longer Zulu class did incorporate German design features but only 26 such boats were built. The third post-war design, the Quebec class, was a coastal vessel unsuitable for an Atlantic raiding role.35 There must be serious doubt whether these boats were intended to operate in an offensive role. Stalin’s concepts of maritime strategy were based on defending the Soviet Union’s coastal regions from attack by enemy forces. The main emphasis of Soviet naval strategy appears to have

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been that of countering a perceived threat posed by Anglo–American maritime forces, and it is in this context that the huge submarine force may best be explained, it was certainly not well suited to the role of Atlantic blockade.36 The maintenance of strong amphibious forces may have exercised a powerful deterrent effect on the Soviet Union, reinforcing existing fears. Such forces could have exploited the flexibility and mobility of allied sea power, threatening to strike against a variety of coastal targets, throwing the Soviet Union on the defensive in the war at sea in a similar fashion to that intended by the US Maritime Strategy of the 1980s. The Admiralty chose a different interpretation. It perceived the Soviet naval build-up as essentially offensive and acted accordingly. Facing the possibility of an attack on Britain’s sea communications by a large fleet of submarines it decided to concentrate resources on this threat. This approach can be criticised as over-cautious. However, given recent experience and the parlous state of the post-war fleet it was perhaps inevitable that the Navy should concentrate on what it saw as its core task. The anti-submarine role was one with which both the Navy and the public were very familiar. Recent experience of submarine blockade meant that the Admiralty had to do little to convince the public of the value of maintaining forces to counter this threat. In an environment of strict financial control the challenge posed by a new generation of Soviet submarines provided the Admiralty with a valuable tool for protecting its budget. This threat not only justified the operational fleet, it also provided a rationale for the large mothballed reserve fleet which was intended to provide the ships and craft that would be required for convoy protection and other duties in any future conflict. The Navy was unwilling to divert resources to amphibious warfare as it saw it as a distraction from its main mission.37 Under the existing concepts of amphibious operations the Navy’s role was to support the army in large-scale operations intended as a prelude to a land campaign. This was neither a traditional role nor a glamorous one. In the post-war environment, where there were barely sufficient resources to maintain an adequate fleet, it was not surprising that this inter-service role was accorded a low priority. It is unfortunate that the preoccupation with the Normandy model overshadowed the more traditional use of amphibious forces in raids, diversions, assaults against enemy bases and limited operations overseas. Such operations might realistically be conducted by a force as small as a brigade or even a Commando unit. Thus, in the first decade of the Cold War the Royal Navy was planning to fight very much the same kind of conflict it had fought and won against Germany twice in the past thirty years. This appeared to require the maintenance of large numbers of escorts and minesweepers. In order to be ready for the necessary wartime expansion, hundreds of these vessels were maintained in reserve where they rapidly became obsolescent and unserviceable. Maintenance of a large reserve fleet was a substantial drain on the Navy’s

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manpower and finance, limiting the resources that could be devoted to the maintenance and modernisation of the active fleet.38 The decision in 1947 to plan for war in ten years’ time forced the Navy to accept obsolescent ships and aircraft for the intervening period and placed a premium on long-term plans rather than short- to medium-term capabilities.

Operational capabilities and lost opportunities Quite apart from any possible deterrent effect against the Soviet Union, maritime power-projection forces could be of value in the conflicts and crises that occurred outside Europe. During the Korean War the Royal Navy undertook numerous shore bombardments and made a significant contribution to UN air operations. Unfortunately, in the latter role, the shortcomings of the British carriers and their aircraft became evident, particularly after the arrival of communist Mig-15 jet fighters in 1952.39 A number of amphibious operations were carried out by a small Royal Marine Commando unit, No. 41 (Independent) Commando RM which was specially raised at short notice. The existing Commando Brigade could not be deployed as it was fully employed ashore in Malaya.40 The fact that No.41 Commando had to be formed from scratch to meet a pressing requirement and that it operated from American shipping, carried American weapons and even wore American uniforms reveals much about the position of the Royal Marines in the postwar decade. The inability of the British military to mount an effective response to unforeseen challenges overseas was further demonstrated during the 1951 Abadan Crisis. In a manner that foreshadowed the Suez Crisis four years later, a shortage of military assets of all kinds and a critical lack of power-projection capabilities undermined any attempt to develop a military solution to the crisis and the Attlee Government instead referred the issue to the UN, without success.41

Strategic reappraisal By the mid-1950s it was becoming apparent that, while the emerging nuclear balance in Europe had made war there unlikely, the chances of limited conflicts in Africa and Asia were increasing. In 1955 Prime Minister Anthony Eden initiated a defence review in the hope of cutting expenditure. In response to this the Chiefs of Staff identified the strategic factors affecting the review and concluded that major war in Europe was unlikely and that if it did occur it would be characterised by an early and intense nuclear exchange.42 Military forces designed to fight a conventional war in Europe were thus rather less important than had previously been the case. In future a greater priority would be placed on the national nuclear deterrent and flexible forces required to meet limited challenges overseas. Fortunately for

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the Navy the First Sea Lord, Lord Mountbatten, had anticipated this development and in 1955 The Way Ahead Committee began an inquiry that was to lead to a fundamental shift in naval priorities. In a complete reversal of previous theory and practice the Navy began to stress its responsibilities in limited and Cold War outside Europe and in particular the potential of amphibious forces backed by aircraft carriers. It was under these new priorities that the Navy converted two small carriers (HMS Bulwark and Albion) into helicopter assault ships, built the two new assault ships HMS Fearless and Intrepid and expanded the Commando force from three to five active units. Amphibious warfare was the only role mentioned in the 1962 Naval Estimates and the Navy’s plan to build a new generation of aircraft carriers was justified on the grounds of their utility in support of amphibious forces.43 Attitudes towards amphibious warfare underwent a major transformation. Large-scale assaults on the Normandy model were now believed to be extremely unlikely. However, raiding and small-scale operations in situations short of war received renewed attention. As the requirement to prepare for large-scale operations lapsed, so did the (unfulfilled) requirement to train the armed forces as a whole for amphibious operations. The requirement was now to prepare for small-scale operations with up to one brigade in the assault wave. It was therefore possible to give the Royal Marines prime responsibility for training in, and development of, amphibious warfare.44 This marked a fundamental shift away from previous practice based on experience in the Second World War and towards the development of a modern capability that could offer the ability to project power in a range of circumstances and at a time and place designed to achieve maximum political and military effect. Unfortunately it would be some years before these initial moves would bear fruit. In 1955 Britain’s amphibious capability rested in the hands of the small AW Squadron, backed up by a number of ships and craft depreciating in reserve and available, at best, at one month’s notice. The carrier force had fared better. Aircraft carriers were the Navy’s capital ships and were the centrepiece of any modern fleet. By 1955 the Navy had two active fleet carriers and six light fleet carriers, with five fleet carriers and six light fleet carriers either in reserve, undergoing modernisation or in the process of construction.45 Naval interest in the NATO Atlantic Striking Fleet can be explained as an attempt to protect these carriers from cuts. That these ships could perform a valuable role in strikes against the shore and in support of amphibious operations would be proven at Suez in 1956. However, it was not until the 1960s that the Navy developed a clear and definite plan to use these two offensive arms (amphibious forces/carrier air power) in a coordinated strategy designed to deter aggression, and where necessary fight and win a limited conflict. When the requirement for rapid intervention in Egypt arose in July 1956 it was months before the armed forces were in a position to take effective action.46 The inability to take swift and effective action at the outset of the crisis contributed significantly to the political fiasco in November.

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Defence or deterrence The failure to maintain and develop the Navy’s power-projection capabilities after 1945 was a lost opportunity. The Soviet Union was particularly poorly situated to undertake the kind of U-boat campaign that had in any case failed to prove decisive for the Germans. Carrier/amphibious forces supported by the full range of naval assets would have posed a direct threat to Soviet equipment and facilities in Northern Waters and in the Baltic. They would have provided vital reinforcement capabilities for Scandinavia and would have offered the possibility of conducting air strikes and amphibious landings on the flanks and in the rear of any Soviet advance in Europe. At the very least they would have reinforced existing fears, posing a significant threat to coastal regions, forcing the Soviet Union to devote their defence resources which otherwise might be available for offensive operations. More significantly, the failure to maintain power-projection forces undermined the Navy’s ability to respond to a series of crises outside Europe. Britain’s ability to support UN operations in Korea was limited by the number and quality of carrier-based aircraft that could be deployed from the small carriers that were available. Military options in response to the Abadan Crisis in 1951 were limited by the paucity of Britain’s powerprojection capabilities and this was repeated with disastrous consequences during the Suez Crisis in 1956. One can question whether Britain had the kind of equipment necessary to support such an offensive strategy. Certainly the ships and craft deployed by the Navy in the late 1940s and 1950s were inadequate for this role. Small light fleet carriers carrying obsolescent aircraft were unlikely to give the Soviets too much cause for concern. Likewise, war-built amphibious ships lacked the speed and endurance for a truly mobile strike force. These factors reflect policy decisions rather than technological and financial limitations. The Royal Navy could have had carriers able to launch large air strikes if it had pressed on with the construction of the large 46,900 ton Malta class ships cancelled at the end of the war. Higher priority could have seen the earlier introduction of HMS Eagle and Ark Royal, both very capable ships. New construction could have provided the Navy with a more capable amphibious fleet based on dock landing ships and fast infantry assault ships, carrying a range of supporting craft. Such a force was not beyond Britain’s abilities in the 1940s. Designs for such ships existed and they would not have been prohibitively expensive. Effective infantry assault ships could be converted from existing merchant vessels, although these were in short supply. In 1946 the Admiralty estimated that the cost of a new landing ship dock would be only £650,000.47 The Navy estimate at this time was £255,000,000.48 What was required was a shift in priorities rather than extra money. In 1951, at a time when the Navy was resisting all calls for expenditure on amphibious forces they were proposing the conversion of 45

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obsolete war-built destroyers into fast anti-submarine frigates at a cost of £500,000 each.49 It should be remembered that during the 1960s, with a smaller navy and at a time when Soviet submarine capabilities advanced considerably, the Admiralty was able to develop power-projection capabilities by reallocating resources within the Navy.50 Thus, the failure to adopt an offensive maritime posture owed more to policy than to technical or military limitations. It is possible that the Navy’s acceptance and promotion of the role of the defence of the sea-lanes was in part prompted by the realisation that this role was one that it could justify to its political masters. Adoption of a more offensive strategy may have led to calls to cut back ‘surplus’ capabilities. It may also have brought opposition from within the services, and particularly from the RAF who were to become increasingly wary of any attempt by the Admiralty to develop a role for maritime forces that might reduce the emphasis placed on land-based air power. The bitter dispute that raged between these two services over this issue in the 1960s demonstrated the enduring ability of narrow service interests to cloud the proper appreciation of defence requirements. The main obstacle to the employment of a maritime offensive against the Soviet Union was the growing potential of their sea and air forces. The quality and quantity of Soviet sea and air assets continued to increase throughout the 1940s and 1950s. In some senses the very existence of these defences and the fact that they tied down scarce resources represented a success for sea power. By choosing to devote resources to an offensive posture at sea, Britain would have been exploiting an area of military advantage relative to the Soviet Union. This may have achieved a deterrent effect to reinforce that provided by US possession of atomic weapons. It is not surprising that the Navy chose to concentrate on the traditional tools of sea power. Without command of the sea amphibious operations and offensive aircraft carrier strikes would have been difficult if not impossible. Indeed, any success in war would depend on keeping open the Atlantic sea-lanes to keep Britain supplied with the necessities of life and for the conduct of war and to allow the build-up of US forces in Europe. In such circumstances the Admiralty’s caution is understandable. However, one must question whether adequate resources were devoted to the kind of vessel required to exploit control of the sea once it had been achieved. The concentration on defensive uses of sea power left Britain with a large and outdated Navy with limited offensive options. One of the principles of defence planning in the late 1940s was that the risk of war would vary with Britain’s visible offensive strength.51 Unfortunately, during the first post-war decade the Navy was ill-placed to provide such a deterrent display of strength, concentrating as it did on the ‘defensive’ use of sea power. This is indicative of Britain’s defence posture as a whole. Military planning in the late 1940s was dominated by the possibility of war with the

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Soviet Union. It was appreciated that the Allied occupation forces in Germany would not be able to stem a major Soviet attack and that in many ways a Third World War might resemble the Second, with Allied forces ejected from the continent, returning only after their strength had been mobilised and the Soviet Union had been weakened by strategic air attack. In this scenario amphibious forces would have a major role to play, but only in the latter stages of the war when offensive strength had been built up. As such they could be maintained at cadre strength, ready to be expanded if and when the requirement arose. The main contribution that maritime forces would make would be to keep the sea-lanes open in a third Battle of the Atlantic. The requirement for mobile intervention forces available at short notice for situations short of major war had not yet been appreciated. As the strategic environment changed in the 1950s, so did the Navy’s attitude towards power projection. The proliferation of atomic weapons led to a reassessment of the likelihood of a major conventional war in Europe. At the same time, a series of crises overseas and a reduction in the size of the armed forces indicated that new ways would have to be found to protect Britain’s interests. In this environment power-projection assets gained a new rationale and were enthusiastically embraced by all three services. Amphibious forces were expanded and the carriers gained a new rational in support of the new strategy. The Admiralty emphasised the value of mobile and flexible seaborne intervention forces and reduced the emphasis placed on anti-submarine warfare. This enabled the Navy to meet the various challenges that attended the process of decolonisation in the 1960s. Unfortunately, this change of approach occurred too late to materially support the Anglo–French intervention in 1956. Concentration on the possibility of war in Europe had left Britain with unbalanced armed forces ill-suited to meet the new challenges of the Cold War.

9 From ‘Hot War’ to ‘Cold War’: Western Europe in British Grand Strategy, 1945–1948 Martin A.L. Longden1

If the British declaration of war on Germany in 1939 was proof of the United Kingdom’s strategic interest in the European continent, a superficial glance at the three British treaties that punctuated Western Europe’s early post-war period – the Dunkirk, Brussels and Washington treaties of 1947, 1948 and 1949, respectively – suggests that London still considered, post bellum, that European security remained a vital British concern. Though historians have differed in their interpretation of some of the subtleties of British policy, most have nevertheless concurred that, as the ‘Grand Alliance’ began to fall apart and as what became known as the Cold War began, the United Kingdom pursued a policy that both recognised the danger to Britain of Soviet ambitions in Europe and that also attempted to counter this direct military threat, through a willingness to undertake a revolutionary commitment to station British forces on the continent in peacetime and in the construction of a Western alliance that ultimately embraced the United States. In all this, the British Foreign Secretary, Ernest Bevin, is presented as one of the leading figures, if not indeed the architect, of Western European defence. Historians have suggested that there was a deliberate consistency in Bevin’s policy which aimed first to build up a European security grouping, the Brussels Treaty, and then a larger Atlantic alliance, with American participation – ‘a sprat to catch a whale’. If nothing else, as one historian has pointed out, the signing of the North Atlantic Treaty in 1949 ‘ensured that, in a war, Britain and France would fight side by side’ – an obvious indication of the importance London attached to the territorial and political integrity of France.2 British attitudes towards the importance of Western Europe in Britain’s Cold War strategy were, however, by no means as clear-cut or as unanimously held as has sometimes been assumed. Britain’s military commitment to the continent was highly conditional at best, and the creation of the anti-Soviet alliances, culminating in the North Atlantic Treaty, was not the result of a carefully orchestrated plan, but the product of ad hoc reactions to a series of European crises in 1947 and 1948. Bevin himself was by 111

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no means necessarily the keenest exponent of a Western European security grouping, preferring initially to seek agreement with the Soviet Union. Even when Big Three cooperation began irretrievably to break down, however, Bevin did not consider a Western military alliance as the obvious panacea for Western Europe’s problems, especially if this entailed even greater military commitments on the part of a financially ruined, economically exhausted, and strategically overstretched Britain. His concerns were shared by the British Chiefs of Staff, who wielded considerable influence over British policy towards Western Europe and who, throughout this period, remained highly suspicious of any undertakings that Bevin might give to the continental governments. For the bulk of the British military establishment Western Europe was regarded, not as a vital British strategic concern, but as a potential drain on already scarce resources.

The end of the war The attitude of the British wartime administration, dominated by the figure of Winston Churchill, towards military relations with the continent had been anything but positive. Though the Foreign Office stressed the military advantages of a British-backed military grouping of Western European states – ‘added depth to our defence, increased resources, greater flexibility and a common defence plan concerted in advance’3 – their sentiments were not shared by the Prime Minister, who did not consider Western Europe important to the United Kingdom’s strategic security. Indeed, Churchill remained apprehensive of any alliance with France and the other recently liberated Powers, believing that their ‘hopeless weakness’ would persist for many years after the war. He refused to sanction British participation in any scheme which, he believed, might oblige the UK to maintain a continental-sized army, something the British Exchequer could neither afford nor Parliament accept. Instead Churchill argued that, in the event of a future war in Europe, ‘our policy should be to maintain the defences of our island and rely upon our strength in the air and on the sea’.4 Coupled with the personal animosity between the British Prime Minister and Charles de Gaulle, this ensured that, whilst Churchill remained at the helm, little progress could be made towards a British-sponsored, Western European military alliance.5 The ejection of the Conservative Party from office in the summer of 1945 thus removed one of the major obstacles to closer British military relations with the continent, and many expected that the new Labour Government would mend the rift between United Kingdom and France. At first, such optimism appeared to be justified. On 13 August, Britain’s new Foreign Secretary, Ernest Bevin, met the Western Department of the Foreign Office to tell them of his ‘Grand Design’. His long-term aim, he declared, was ‘extensive political, economic and military cooperation

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throughout Western Europe, with an Anglo–French alliance as a cornerstone’.6 Yet these long-term aims were quickly undermined by the cold light of present political considerations. In the first place, the Foreign Secretary and his staff quickly appreciated that Western Europe’s military weakness would necessitate considerable United States backing in any regional association. Meeting to discuss the benefits of Bevin’s scheme in December 1945, FO officials noted that ‘a Western European regional group without the USA would add very little to the security of this country in case of an attack by [the] USSR’ and that, crucially, the ‘utility of a Western European group in the event of a war between the UK and the USSR [was] not worth considering as an alternative to Anglo–U.S. cooperation’.7 In addition the Foreign Secretary soon began to have doubts about the effect of his ‘Grand Design’ on the Russians, fearing that attempts to build up a Western military bloc would be seen as provocative and destroy the Big Three cooperation that he considered so essential to contain Germany and maintain peace in the post-war world. In conversation with Stalin at the Kremlin on 19 December, Bevin promised the Generalissimo that no security arrangements would be concluded with any of the Western European powers without informing Moscow first.8 If both doubts about the utility of a Western security system without American participation and fears of damaging relations with the Soviet Union hindered Bevin’s August plan for a Western Union, the rapid deterioration in Anglo–French relations that followed the resignation of de Gaulle in January 1946 buried it. Certainly de Gaulle had hardly proved much of a positive force in attempts to construct a cross-channel understanding: his consistent refusal to countenance an alliance with London until his demands in the Levant and Western Germany had been acceded to had all but exasperated the Foreign Office.9 Ironically, however, it was actually the General’s resignation that proved the more damaging to Anglo–French relations. With de Gaulle gone, it was feared, the French Communists could move into the political vacuum left in his wake and France slip into the Soviet orbit, as countries in Eastern Europe had done: ‘Looks like civil war within a year’, minuted a disillusioned Bevin, ‘but de Gaulle will fail, the Channel ports will virtually be in Russian hands and this is a great worry.’10 Although France ultimately weathered the storm caused by the General’s departure, the prospects of a Western European security group, independent of the two superpowers, were fatally injured. Though London still pursued a French alliance throughout 1946, most conspicuously in April when Oliver Harvey, Deputy Under-Secretary of State at the FO, was sent on his failed mission to Paris, such pursuits had a much more limited aim than in the heady days of August 1945. An Anglo–French alliance was seen no longer as the basis for Western European defence, but merely as a propaganda instrument to boost the political fortunes of the moderate parties in the French elections. Writing to Frank Roberts, then

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Britain’s Chargé d’Affaires in Moscow, at the end of 1946, Sir Nigel Roland explained that circumstances had ‘militated against proceeding with the scheme’ for a Western Union, and that Bevin’s attitude was now ‘one of suspended judgement’.11

Back to Dunkirk It was from these rather unpromising circumstances that the Treaty of Dunkirk emerged. Traditionally heralded by some historians as the beginning of Britain’s slide into a continental commitment, it was, as Sean Greenwood’s work has amply demonstrated, nothing of the sort.12 Britain’s Francophile Ambassador in Paris, Duff Cooper, certainly hoped that the Treaty might mark the beginning of a serious British military commitment to the continent, and pressed for the provision of staff talks to be included in the draft under discussion. Bevin, however, manifestly refused to entertain such a significance and wrote to Duff Cooper in late January 1947 explaining that he would ‘not try to establish on paper any wider understanding between the two countries’ other than a guarantee against German aggression, which was hardly an immediate concern in early 1947.13 Neither Bevin nor his officials would run the risk of upsetting the Russians by the creation of a Western bloc, nor were they prepared to do anything that might preclude the Americans from coming in to a European-wide security system. An exclusively Western European bloc, Bevin feared, might persuade Washington that continental security was now assured and that American participation in such schemes was superfluous: ‘I have been very conscious’, he informed the Cabinet, ‘of the importance of saying nothing in the Anglo–French Treaty which could militate against the Byrnes Treaty or discourage the Americans from pursuing this proposal’.14 As a consequence, the Foreign Office chose to adopt as a basis for the Anglo–French alliance the Anglo–Soviet Treaty of 1942. The Treaty would entail no military commitments on the part of His Majesty’s Government, Harvey describing the eventual draft as ‘admittedly rather bare’ and ‘very anodyne’, and doubting that it could seriously concern the British Chiefs of Staff at all.15 But they were concerned. On 10 February 1947 the Ministry of Defence wrote to the Foreign Office, explaining that the Chiefs of Staff would only welcome the Treaty ‘on the firm assumption that it would in no way impair our relations with the Americans’ whom they regarded ‘as the keystone on which our major strategy and planning are based’.16 There was some justification to these concerns. Anglo–American military cooperation, deemed to be so essential, was, in the words of the Permanent UnderSecretary, Sir Orme Sargent, ‘a very tender plant’, and any ‘apparent shift of policy here will be liable to cause valuable American contacts to dry up.’17 Washington’s suspicions of French communism, and its links to Moscow,

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would, it was feared, dissuade the Americans from confiding in their British cousins if the latter were on close terms with the French. British military suspicions of closer relations with the continent derived from more than its possible effect on Anglo–American cooperation, however. In a report by the Joint Planning Staff (JPS), fears were expressed that the wording of the draft treaty, which promised that Britain would afford the French ‘all the military support in her power’, could entail a commitment to send forces to the continent. Assurances from the Foreign Office legal advisers that ‘this expression is standing wording for treaties of mutual assistance and leaves us free to decide what assistance we would be prepared to give’, did little to alleviate these concerns.18 This reluctance to undertake a continental commitment stemmed from two sources. Most obvious was the general perception of Western European military weakness, which persuaded many in the British military establishment that the defence of the continent was a lost cause. Such perceptions applied particularly to France, who would have to provide the bulk of the military forces in any defensive alliance. Reports from the British Military Mission in Paris stressed that a lack of equipment, a shortage of young officers and NCOs, and political manoeuvring amongst senior officers between Gaullists, Vichyites and Giraudists had all conspired to reduce the French army to impotence.19 The admission by the French Chief of Staff, General Blanc, that he ‘considered that France would probably be overrun in a future war’, and that the French Government ‘must therefore be able and prepared to operate from French Empire territory’, was hardly conducive to improving British confidence in their Gallic ally.20 In the very same month that the Dunkirk Treaty was signed, the JPS concluded that a Soviet attack on France, even as late as 1956, would result in the country being overrun in just 40 days.21 The military impotence of the Western European powers ensured that any plans to defend the continent from Russian attack would have to involve substantial British land forces, and it was on these grounds too that the Chiefs of Staff wrote off Western Europe as an area of vital strategic importance. If the French armed forces were struggling in the post-war world, the British were equally pressured. Financially exhausted, but determined to execute their bold social programmes, the new Labour Government sought drastic reductions in British defence spending. The three services thus eyed each other suspiciously, each a potential adversary in the fight to maintain its slice of an ever-shrinking financial cake. If a consensus was to be reached between the Chiefs, the evolution of post-war British grand strategy had to be reconciled with its effect upon individual Service programmes and budgets. When Field Marshal Montgomery left Germany to take up his position as Chief of the Imperial General Staff, he lost no time in suggesting to his two other colleagues that the Chiefs of Staff should produce a paper on the

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strategy to be adopted in a war with Russia. In his paper, Montgomery argued that one of the principal aims should be ‘to build up the strength of our potential allies in Europe to establish a Western bloc which, by holding the land armies in the West, would keep the war away from Britain’. Air Chief Marshal Lord Tedder and Admiral Sir John Cunningham, Chief of Air Staff and First Sea Lord respectively, were horrified. A decision to provide military support to France and Western Europe, as envisaged in the CIGS’s paper, would, they feared, very quickly mushroom into a substantial continental commitment which would see the lion’s share of the defence budget fall the Army’s way, leaving the other two Services to pick up what remained. Montgomery’s paper was consequently vetoed, and it is no coincidence that when Britain’s strategic policy was finally hammered out in May 1947 – two months after the signing of the French Treaty – the document contained elements of strategic policy favourable to all three services. The Army was given the role of land defence in the Middle East, the Navy the protection of the United Kingdom’s sea lines of communication, and the Air Force an independent strategic bombing offensive against Soviet cities. In terms of the status of Western Europe in British strategic policy, the report effectively wrote the continent off: ‘There is now … no combination of European powers capable of standing up to Russia on land, nor do we think that the military capabilities of an association of Western European States at present justify us in relying upon such an association for our defence.’ On the contrary, only one ally really mattered: ‘It is essential that we should have the active and very early support of the United States. The United States alone, on account of her manpower, her industrial resources and her lead in the development of mass destruction can turn the balance in the favour of the Democracies’.22

‘On weak ground’ By the spring of 1947, therefore, British diplomats and soldiers were reasonably united in their attitudes to Western European defence matters. The Chiefs of Staff dismissed its importance to British strategic interests, whilst Bevin understood that, in terms of the wider strategic picture, Western Europe could not stand on its own and would require American assistance to resist aggression from the East. In the run up to the Moscow conference Bevin and his officials had no plans to extend the Dunkirk Treaty to the other smaller powers, especially as the four-power Byrnes Treaty still seemed to promise American participation in European security. Proposed by the then American Secretary of State in May 1946, the Byrnes Treaty would have entailed a four-power agreement to enforce German demilitarisation. As Harvey later noted, though directed against Germany, the most important aspect of the Byrnes proposal was that ‘it appeared the best machinery for ensuring the presence of American forces in Europe’.23

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For the present, this took priority, Bevin agreeing ‘with Sir Orme Sargent’s view that the essential thing to do is to get the Byrnes’ Treaty settled first before thinking about lesser Alliances’.24 Yet in only twelve months the British would sign an exclusively European treaty at Brussels. This change in attitude was the consequence of external factors. In early 1947 the political situation did not perhaps augur badly for European security. Germany was crushed, occupied and hardly a threat for the immediate future. Of more concern, looming ominously on the horizon, was the prospect of a Soviet–American clash, but even here there was optimism that relations had not so badly deteriorated that they could not be repaired and few thought that a third world war was a serious possibility. By the end of the year, however, East–West tensions had worsened considerably. The failure of both the Moscow and London Conferences of Foreign Ministers (CFM) in March and December 1947 to reach agreement on European security matters saw considerable pressure brought to bear on Britain from France and the other Western European states for Staff talks and other military arrangements. In France, the wave of communist-inspired strikes, which swept the country in the autumn of 1947, persuaded the French military authorities that this industrial unrest was being orchestrated from Moscow – ‘fifth column’ activity, perhaps even as a prelude to a Soviet invasion. From Paris in October, Britain’s military attaché, Salisbury Jones, wrote that that he had returned ‘to find an atmosphere charged with electricity’. From one of his sources in the French War Ministry he learned that a Communist insurrection might be imminent. The distribution of Russian arms was completed by 1st October. Many of these, as well as Russian and Czech instructors, had been parachuted into France. Many of the best units in France had been sent to North Africa to avoid their falling into the hands of the Russians if they should overrun France.25 There is no evidence to suggest that the British thought war was so imminent. But French fears – a consequence perhaps of their still recent occupation and greater geographical vulnerability to a Soviet attack – were real enough. In the same month, the French Ambassador in London, René Massigli, pressed Sir Orme Sargent for closer military cooperation between the two countries. Mindful of the ambivalence, if not indeed hostility, of the Chiefs of Staff towards such a development, Sargent successfully sought to put off these French advances until after the London CFM in December.26 Bevin also shared this reluctance to initiate serious military consultations with the continental governments. In a meeting with the Secretary-General of the French Ministry for Foreign Affairs, for example, the British Foreign Secretary suggested that, though he wished for a ‘long-term policy of closer union between Great Britain and France, and subsequently Britain and the

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Benelux countries[,] … he preferred that the military aspects of closer union should be kept in the background.27 At the heart of Bevin’s concerns lay his fear that if open and frank staff talks were held with the continental powers in the immediate future ‘we should have little to reveal … which was not entirely discouraging to them’.28 The British had neither the capability nor the intention of protecting Western Europe from the Soviet threat, and to reveal that to the Western European governments could only have disastrous political consequences. The collapse of the London CFM in December 1947, however, forced Bevin’s hand. Convinced that, without British reassurance of some kind, the continental countries would lose confidence and seek some agreement with Moscow directly, Bevin decided that he had no option but to begin military talks with the French. Realising that he had not yet carried the Chiefs of Staff with him, Bevin warned his French counterpart, Georges Bidault, that though ‘the time had now come to look at this question seriously … at this early stage he could not be very definite with M. Bidault about details’.29 Against a united Chiefs of Staff it is doubtful whether Bevin could have delivered on his promises. But at the same time that Bevin was conceding staff talks to Paris, the hitherto precarious unity of the Chiefs of Staff was beginning to disintegrate. The cause of the dissension was, as ever, the allocation of the defence budget. Taking advantage of Montgomery’s absence on tour in Africa, the other two Service Chiefs argued that the British did not need a large Army, and that home defence could be assured by a strong Navy and a strong Air Force. Sir William Dickson, Vice Chief of Air Staff, pointed out that before a successful Soviet attack could be launched against the British Isles ‘the enemy would have to secure naval and air superiority’, and therefore that ‘in assessing priorities between the Services for manpower and finance, due regard should be paid to the necessity of giving priority to building up the Royal Navy and the Royal Air Force’.30 Attlee was sympathetic to these arguments. In the event of war the British Prime Minister considered the occupation of the continent by Soviet forces an inevitability. British efforts, he suggested, should be directed towards maintaining air superiority over the British Isles and a naval dominance in home waters – 1940 revisited.31 Thus, as Bevin tried to move Britain closer to France, the Chiefs of Staff Committee, with the support of Downing Street, showed no signs of conceding that the continent had any substantial part to play in British strategic planning. The attack upon the army budget, however, destroyed the uneasy truce that had developed since Montgomery’s abortive attempt in July 1946 to include defence of Western Europe in British strategic aims. With the other two Services questioning not just the Army’s commitments but almost, as one historian has suggested, the very existence of the Army itself, there seemed to be renewed purpose for the War Office in stressing the importance of a British military contribution to the defence of Western

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Europe if the Army were not to be turned merely into a garrisoning force for the Middle East.32 When, on 23 December 1947, Bevin sent for Montgomery to inform him that he intended to begin Staff talks with the French, and that the British would have to consider how they might contribute to European defence, this presented the ideal opportunity to reopen the question of a British continental commitment, especially if the Field Marshal could be assured of the support of the Foreign Secretary In the meantime, pressure on Bevin from the continent continued unabated. Bidault reported that he had been ‘struck by the nervousness [in Europe] at the breakdown of the Conference’ in London, and pressed for an extension of the Dunkirk Treaty to Belgium. On 3 January 1948, the French Ambassador in London approached the Permanent Under-Secretary, Sir Ivone Kirkpatrick, to press for the immediate commencement of staff talks. As on previous occasions, the French request was stalled, Kirkpatrick claiming – quite untruthfully – that the Foreign Office had yet to receive a response from the Chiefs of Staff.33 Though the Ambassador agreed to wait a little longer he, ‘added darkly that the French felt in danger of a sudden irruption of Russian hordes from the Eastern Zone’ and ‘clung rather gloomily to the theory that there was an immediate peril’.34 In response to this pressure, Kirkpatrick attended the Chiefs of Staff Committee in person to petition for a more positive attitude. The French, he explained, were fearful for their security and ‘though it would be most undesirable for us to enter into a commitment he thought that there was room for discussion without doing so’. Tedder and Cunningham remained distinctly unimpressed, however, the latter arguing that ‘discussion on military assistance might do some harm’, especially since HMG had no intention of sending a land expeditionary force to the continent in the event of war: ‘It would be most embarrassing if our intention in this respect was questioned by the French’, warned the First Sea Lord.35 Kirkpatrick was therefore unable to secure the military cooperation that Bevin had promised the French the previous December. Indeed there were signs that the Foreign Office was beginning to appreciate the quandary into which Britain was falling. Two days after attending the Chiefs of Staff Committee, the PUS wrote a paper for Bevin in which, noting that Western Europe wanted discussions on security desperately, he warned that ‘[u]nfortunately we are on weak ground here’. If the decision not to send land forces to the continent ‘is maintained, and it is based on sound realism, we shall eventually either have to admit it to our allies or refuse to disclose our intentions’. Either such course would be a disaster for Britain’s political position on the continent: ‘In this predicament’, Kirkpatrick concluded, ‘it seems to me that our only method of satisfying the need for security is to involve America as far as possible in the defence of Western Europe.’ Until and unless the Americans could be brought in to Europe, Britain would have to avoid any military commitments to the continent.36 Bevin, too,

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was beginning to understand that British military weakness severely limited his room for manoeuvre in his relations with the Europeans. ‘I realise that it is going to be difficult for us to put troops on the Continent’, he minuted on 12 January: ‘We do not want any more Dunkirks’.37

Squaring the circle The immediate origins of the Western Union, plans for which were announced by the Foreign Secretary to the House of Commons on 22 January, lay in this inability to assuage continental fears by a traditional and meaningful military alliance. In the winter of 1948/49 the British believed that the threat to the integrity of the Western European countries came not so much from an external military power, as from ‘fifth column’ communists, working on orders from Moscow, destabilising the country from within. Bevin’s plans for a Western Union were aimed more at this latter threat: ‘It is not enough’, he explained to the British Ambassador in Washington, ‘to reinforce the physical barriers which still guard our Western civilisation. We must also organise and consolidate the ethical and spiritual forces inherent in this Western civilisation … building up a counter attraction to the baleful tenets of Communism within their borders’.38 Bevin never envisaged that the Western Union should become primarily a military alliance, questioning ‘whether this is the right moment’ to begin military conversations, especially in view of the attitude of the Chiefs of Staff. ‘It was precisely in order to circumvent this difficulty’, wrote Sir Orme Sargent, ‘that the Secretary of State has approached from the non-material side this question of how to organise Western Europe against the danger of militant Communism’.39 This approach, reflecting the physical constraints under which Bevin’s policy had to operate, represented the triumph of hope over expectation. Kirkpatrick for one quickly appreciated that, though London might try hard to confine discussions with Western Europe to economic and cultural affairs, she would ‘be faced at every turn by enquiries and requests in regard to security’, and such conversations could not serve as a substitute for a military pact.40 Whilst Bevin sought his spiritual union in Europe, he was keen to have something far more tangible from Washington. It had always been his conviction that any West European security system could not function without American participation, and the collapse of the London CFM in December had persuaded him actively to attempt to bring the United States in. Despite the announcement of the Truman Doctrine in March 1947, which had promised economic and military aid for Greece and Turkey in their resistance to communism, the American Administration remained far from committed to Europe’s military security. Though Washington had pledged herself to the continent’s economic recovery through the Marshal Plan,

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neither Bevin, nor indeed the Foreign Office as a whole, considered this sufficient, and they were not prepared to see Europe divided into two armed camps unless the West had the full support and protection of the USA behind it. The nightmare scenario, as Gladwyn Jebb suggested to Sargent, was ‘that the Western European states should themselves enter into some defensive arrangement aimed against Russia, to which the United States would not be a party’.41 Anticipating that the Western Union negotiations would not prove sufficient to allay continental fears, London pressured the Truman Administration for its direct support of the project: ‘the treaties we are proposing cannot be fully effective or be relied upon when a crisis arises unless there is an assurance of American support for the defence of Western Europe’, admitted a telegram to Washington. The UK was ‘only in a position to supply Western European countries with a small part of … the arms and equipment required for their defence’, nor could they promise the despatch of land forces to the continent in the event of war: ‘We shall sooner or later be forced into admitting our situation or refusing to discuss it. Either course is likely to land us into trouble’.42 As Britain’s Foreign Secretary attempted to stall the Europeans and ensnare the Americans, Montgomery was preparing to fight his own battle over continental defence. In a paper for the Chiefs of Staff Committee, he argued that British forces of occupation in Germany should not, if attacked, fall back to the Channel ports as was the plan at the moment, but should stand and fight on the Rhine with their European Allies ‘with the fullest possible weight of our land, air and naval power’.43 Montgomery’s paper was itself a response to a report by the Joint Planning Staff, circulated at the end of January, assessing the strategic importance of the European continent to the British Isles. The JPS agreed with the Field Marshal that ‘the overrunning of Western Europe would seriously jeopardise the security of the UK’. It would facilitate rocket and other aerial attacks on British cities, would make the control of sea-lanes of communication around the British Isles infinitely more difficult and would, if the Russians occupied the whole of the European mainland, close the Mediterranean. Nevertheless, the planners did not endorse Montgomery’s position. The scale of effort needed to keep the Russians behind the Rhine was, they argued, beyond Britain’s capabilities. With the Western European powers still hopelessly exhausted from the last war, the burden of continental defence would have to fall on the Anglo–American armies, who between them would need ‘initially a total of some 30-40 divisions, and a quick build up thereafter’. Instead, they concluded that the best the British could hope to do in the event of war would be to mount a strategic bombing offensive against the Russians.44 The JPS’s conclusions were not received well by Montgomery who ‘blew right up’. 45 But Cunningham and Tedder remained implacable in their opposition to a land campaign in Europe. ‘It had been our

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traditional policy in the past to avoid Continental commitments’, argued the First Sea Lord. ‘Twice in the past we had given a guarantee to assist a continental nation to the limit of our power by the provision of land forces. On both occasions we had suffered severely, first at Mons and more recently at Dunkirk.’ To stand on the Rhine ‘could only result in severe loss of men and material without appreciable gain’ and he ‘questioned seriously whether the United Kingdom could in the foreseeable future be able to afford either economically or financially an effort of such a magnitude’. 46 Deadlocked once more, the Chiefs turned to their political masters for a resolution of the impasse. In their meeting with the Prime Minister, the Minister of Defence and the Foreign Secretary, Tedder and Cunningham tailored their arguments to stress the large fiscal costs of a continental commitment. In reply Montgomery did his best to argue, as his predecessor Henry Wilson had argued almost four decades earlier, that to despatch only a few British divisions would make the difference between success and failure in Europe. But none was convinced that the CIGS’ two divisions really could make the difference to Europe’s military fortunes, and Attlee in particular was suspicious of accepting the principle of British participation: ‘Previous experience’, he noted, ‘had shown how Continental commitments, initially small, were apt to grow into very large ones.’ Strong support for Montgomery from Bevin and A.V. Alexander, Minister of Defence, persuaded the Committee to agree to an examination of the forces and resources required if the British were to despatch two divisions to the continent, with supporting air forces, on the outbreak of war.47 Though this was by no means a conclusive victory for the ‘continentalists’, Montgomery could have had some satisfaction at the outcome. For the first time since the end of the war, a British military commitment to Western Europe’s defence was seriously being examined. Stalemated in the military sphere, Britain’s diplomatic strategy now began to unravel. If Bevin had assumed that the United States was to be the panacea for Britain’s security problems in Europe, these illusions were soon shattered. On 2 February the US State Department announced that America would only consider the part it might play in European defence when the Europeans themselves demonstrated ‘evidence of unity with a firm determination’ to stand up to the Russian threat.48 This horrified Bevin who telegraphed to Washington that ‘we run the risk of getting into a vicious circle. Without assurance of security, which can only be given with some degree of American participation, we are unlikely to be successful in making the Western Union a going concern.’49 His Western Union project, he explained, had been reluctantly undertaken ‘not because I thought Western Union was undesirable, but mainly because I doubted if, and how, we in Britain could support and sustain it alone’.50 Without American help, the whole project looked likely to collapse.

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Having failed to ensnare the Americans, Bevin’s attempts to placate his continental partners’ security concerns with warm words about spiritual union were also beginning to unravel. A report from the Embassy in Brussels typified the attitude of the continental governments towards the forthcoming treaty negotiations: ‘Any eventual treaties must provide, as a fundamental feature, for a military agreement … there must be sufficiently serious joint planning to avoid the risk of a repetition of the events of 1940.’51 Despairing though this may have been for Bevin, who complained to Harvey that the excessive concentration on defence issues was overshadowing his grander plans for the ‘economic and indeed spiritual aspects which are vital to the success of the whole project’, the Foreign Secretary could hardly have been surprised. None of the European governments would be bought off with vague-sounding plans for ephemeral unions as a substitute for military treaties with concrete clauses. Though Bevin complained of the ‘regrettable tendency for all of [the continental governments] to behave like touchy old dowagers’ when they expressed their displeasure at the absence of meaningful military guarantees, this was disingenuous.52 Bevin’s attempt to square the circle was failing: the gap between what the Europeans demanded of Britain, and what the British were prepared – or indeed able – to give remained as great as ever.

The Brussels Treaty That Bevin’s ‘vicious circle’ was broken owed more to Czechoslovakian communists than the actions of Western statesmen. The Prague coup at the end of February not only served to remind the European democracies of the common threat they faced: it further undermined European confidence, and made a firm British affirmation of support ever more necessary. Across the Atlantic, the coup had a no less profound effect, and Bevin milked it for all that it was worth. In a meeting with the American Ambassador, the Foreign Secretary impressed upon him that ‘the Russians might have established themselves on the Pyrenees in the next three months if we did not take effective action now’ and ‘that we were in a critical period of six to eight weeks which I had long foreseen would decide the future of Europe’.53 These representations struck home, and reports from Washington began to suggest that, despite its earlier reticence, the American Government now realised it could not ‘sit back and do nothing’ and that, as far as Britain was concerned ‘our prospects of ultimately securing US support will be greater if we show boldness now than if we hesitate to move without prior American concurrence’.54 This was exactly what Bevin now proposed to do, to negotiate ‘a joint multilateral economic, social and defensive treaty without any previous guarantee of American backing’ but on the understanding and expectation that ‘the Americans would, in fact, come in’, recent events in Czechoslovakia having ‘made this all the more likely’. ‘In any case’, Jebb concluded, ‘it was a risk which we would have to take’.55

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Though the Prague coup may have affected attitudes in Europe and Washington, it failed to move either Tedder or Cunningham, both of whom maintained their opposition to a continental commitment and their suspicions of any political agreements that might bring one about. Attempts by the British diplomats to sell the proposed Brussels Treaty to the Chiefs of Staff on the grounds that ‘in practice the commitment is not very onerous’ since the pact ‘cannot really become operative until and unless it is in some way backed by the Americans’, did not convince.56 Unlike the Foreign Office, the Chiefs of Staff wanted no formal agreements with the Europeans ‘until we are clear on the scope and scale of American co-operation’.57 Bevin, however, was adamant that such assurances would not be forthcoming unless the Europeans could demonstrate to the Americans that they had the will, if not the capability, to stand up to Soviet pressure. And this was what the raison d’être of the Brussels pact had become, ‘a vast exercise in public relations’, as one historian has recently called it, designed to win favour from a still potentially isolationist American Congress.58 On the train from Paris to Brussels for the ceremonial signing of the Treaty, Bevin discussed with Bidault the pressing need to get the United States into Europe immediately, so that ‘if there was a war, the United States should be in from the first day and that we should not have to wait for another Pearl Harbour [sic]’.59 The Frenchman agreed, and had few illusions about the capability of the continent to defend itself on its own: ‘Western Europe above all needed support in the shape of real strength’, he argued, ‘which could alone be found in the USA’.60 Whilst Bevin was putting his signature to the Treaty in Belgium, the Chiefs of Staff proceeded almost as if the Brussels Pact were an irrelevance. Despite continued pressure from Montgomery, the other two Chiefs reaffirmed their support of the ‘three pillars’ strategy of home defence, sea communications and the Middle East, and refused to endorse Montgomery’s latest assertion that the strategic integrity of France and the Low Countries was a vital British interest.61 Despite the signing of the Brussels Treaty on 17 March, the British military had neither the plans, capabilities nor intention to defend the continent in the event of war.62

Conclusion The decision to proceed with the Brussels Treaty in the wake of the Prague coup was, therefore, clearly an attempt to bring the Americans into a European security system. Since before the war’s end, British governments had certainly recognised that only the economic and military muscle of the United States could guarantee peace in Europe. But the progression from the Dunkirk to the Brussels (and to the Washington) treaties did not result from a deliberate and proactive British strategy to forge a military bloc in Western Europe. Few in London were convinced that European alliances – even if

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backed-up by the Americans – could ever produce sufficient military forces to keep the Russians East of the Rhine if war broke out. If Soviet tanks rolled Westward, Europe was in any eventuality lost; victory could only be attained with a massive strategic bombing campaign, including weapons of mass destruction, with a subsequent campaign to liberate what remained of the continent. The British Isles, with considerable sacrifice, might survive a third world war, but the best guarantee for the British, and the only chance for the continent, lay not in conventional defence but in deterrence. To bring the Americans – with their industrial and atomic preponderance – to back by treaty the territorial integrity of Western Europe would, London believed, convince the Soviet Union not to roll the iron dice. Deterring a third world war was not the most immediate aim of British policy, however. By the end of 1948, the raison d’être for the continued British military presence on the continent was not primarily as part of a defensive plan for a ‘hot war’ against the Soviet Union. Rather, the decision to retain forces in Europe was essentially a Cold War measure, not a military act but a political one: ‘military measures for Rhine defence are largely bluff’, admitted the Foreign Office, ‘to keep up our own morale and that of our allies’.63 The deployment of British and American armies on the continent, and the subsequent concerted planning in the North Atlantic Council essentially served, from the perspective of the British, to maintain the confidence of the European governments to stand up to Soviet political pressure. Both Bevin and the Chiefs of Staff had always feared that the greatest danger to the integrity of the European democracies came not from overt Soviet military aggression but from a collapse of political will. Continental ‘jitteriness’ after such crises as the respective failure and collapse of the Moscow and London CFMs and the Prague coup had forced Bevin to undertake military commitments that neither he nor his colleagues believed could or should be realised. It was the fear that Western Europe might suffer a final and cataclysmic loss of confidence and defect to the Soviet bloc if tangible military assistance was not promised that pushed him reluctantly into agreeing to include military clauses in the Brussels Treaty – even when American support was far from assured. Yet, in pursuing this policy, Britain was overreaching her resources. The Chiefs of Staff were not prepared to sanction a strategy that threatened the uneasy balance of forces between the three services, and the Labour Government was not prepared to invest the resources to make a continental-sized army achievable. Faced with this military impotence, Bevin attempted, through his grand-sounding but essentially empty schemes for a ‘spiritual’, non-military Western Union, to circumvent and paper over these limitations of British power. But his plans failed to impress the Europeans, and this unwillingness and inability to provide for European security saw continental confidence in the UK fall away, with obvious consequences for British prestige and leadership in Europe. The psychological

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reassurance that Bevin had hoped to be able to give to the continent, in these circumstances, had proved impossible. Only the Americans, with their manifestly greater resources, could do that. Before the ink on the Brussels Treaty was even dry, all eyes were looking across the Atlantic to provide the confidence and security in Europe that neither the British nor their continental allies knew they could provide.

10 Whatever Happened to the Fourth British Empire? The Cold War, Empire Defence and the USA, 1943–1957 Wayne M. Reynolds

On 24 March 1994 the then President of South Africa, F.W. de Klerk, announced at a special parliamentary session that his country had secretly produced six atom bombs.1 Subsequently it was revealed that in 1957 the Atomic Energy Board sanctioned the first steps to produce weapons-grade plutonium. A vast site had been prepared 35 kilometres from Pretoria at ‘Pelindaba’, in the remote and well-watered Magaliesberg Mountains. Until then South Africa hosted a strategic nuclear store on behalf of the Commonwealth, but now that path was no longer tenable. After the restoration of Anglo–American cooperation on nuclear weapons, which dated from the Macmillan–Eisenhower talks at Bermuda in March 1957, South Africa took her own path to a nuclear deterrent. That decision, in hindsight, is not hard to understand. After all South Africa was alone. She had been surrounded by non-white people who could be attracted to anticolonial ideas that might threaten the strategically vulnerable nation. She was, in many respects, like Australia. Until 1957 both southern Dominions played a central role in Britain’s defence planning – planning based on the waging of nuclear war. There has been a vast literature on Britain’s attempts to restore relations with the USA during the Cold War, especially before the landmark Bermuda Conference in 1957.2 The problem essentially was that after 1945 Washington was not prepared to continue the partnership that had marked the war against the Axis powers. Moreover the situation was transformed by the advent of nuclear weapons. Before 1957, when Britain at last exploded her first thermonuclear device, Washington attempted to exploit its dominance in nuclear weapons and refused to share secrets either with the United Nations or key allies such as Britain. Importantly, British security was defined by events of the Second World War as much as by the later developments during the Cold War. Traumatised by the aerial blitz of 1940 and 1944 Britain would ‘never again’ risk such a war.3 ‘Passive defences’ such as fighter interceptors could not guarantee the safety of the small island. The ultimate safeguard was an ‘active deterrent’ that would allow 127

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effective retaliation. While always aware of the need to harness American support here, London moved to base Britain’s defences on a reinvigorated Empire. In 1943 Australian Prime Minister John Curtin, remembered for his declaration after Pearl Harbor that Australia turned to the USA ‘free of any pangs’ as to the association with Britain, called it a ‘Fourth Empire’. From 1943 to 1957 the Empire was to play a crucial role in British atomic strategy. The central assumption of Empire planning was that in a future war Australia and Southern Africa would be ‘main support bases’ in global war. This chapter develops two hypotheses: first, that Empire planning was of central importance to British, Australian and South African leaders after the Second World War; second that such planning was largely based on the use of nuclear deterrent weapons, not on conventional weapons.

The beginning of Empire defence cooperation 1943–46 The future role of Britain’s Empire in defence arose out of the atomic project in the Second World War. While the British had initiated the project when the MAUD Committee accepted the feasibility of the bomb, it was the US Manhattan Project that ultimately saw its fabrication and use. The key to the Manhattan Project was scale. The Americans had developed the atomic bomb only after putting in place a vast industrial undertaking that could exploit its well-watered interior in the Tennessee Valley, the site of the great hydroelectric dams built during the New Deal, and the mountains of Washington State, the site of the secret plutonium-producing Hanford reactors. Washington could also harness a great reserve of skilled scientists and engineers from the private sector and universities. Over 100,000 workers were directly employed in the construction of three atomic bombs. Scale was also important to the USSR. In the mid-1940s the Soviets had established their own Manhattan programme in the endless Steppes, even establishing a replica of the Los Alamos atomic munitions centre near Moscow, called by inmates Aramas-16 or, inevitably, ‘Los Arzamas’.4 The construction of hydroelectric plants and dams had been a great aim of the pre-war Five Year Plans and after 1945 dramatic progress was made in the establishment of educational infrastructure – in the words of a US Defense Working Group in the Office of Defense Mobilization in December 1955 the Soviets had constructed ‘a vast complex for effectively utilising their scientific and engineering manpower’.5 Most importantly, the USSR also had indigenous sources of uranium and ample space for testing. Britain could hardly replicate this without support from either the Americans or the Empire. Until 1957 the latter was the key – the so-called ‘Special Relationship’ was built on the Fourth Empire. Indeed, the British were made aware of the potential problems of relying on the US from the time of the Quebec Conference in late 1943, when Washington refused

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cooperation in the manufacture of plutonium, then considered the most efficient source of fissile material. It was also clear that the Americans were in a position to tie up Canadian uranium and scientific manpower well into the post-war period. From 1943 there was a reassessment of the nature of the Empire. Ironically, the new view of Empire was put most forcefully by the Secretary of State for India, Leo Amery. In Amery’s opinion the Empire would allow Britain to disperse her population and industries so that in future the defence potential would not be destroyed in the event of an air attack on the British Isles. He also envisaged the construction of overseas bases which would provide munitions standardised with those of Britain. These support areas, in Amery’s view, would be responsible for Empire defence ‘zones’. Australia and New Zealand would form the nucleus in the Pacific. South Africa would be the base for an area ‘stretching as far north as Kenya’.6 The ideas of Amery found powerful support. The Colonial Office in 1943 had argued that there was a need to strengthen imperial ties with Africa while Liddell Hart, the man who had once predicted the role of the tank in modern warfare, convinced Labour leader Clement Attlee that British imperial power could be shielded behind the Sahara.7 In May 1944 the War Cabinet’s Armistice and Post-War Committee prepared a major report on Empire defence with particular reference to past progress on weapons standardisation, common training and staff exchange arrangements. The needs of modern air power and the importance of industrial mobilisation, the committee stressed, gave these elements of cooperation a new emphasis.8 The United Kingdom Government, as a result, put forward proposals in early 1946 for a much more centrally coordinated system of Empire Defence which was to be the basis of planning until 1957. The system would use the resources of the Empire to support Britain, the heart of the Empire. The Chiefs of Staff concluded that in the event of a ‘major war the United Kingdom could not be regarded as the sole base for the whole Commonwealth’. In the atomic age the Commonwealth would have to act as a unit.9 The strategic partnership between Britain and the southern Dominions was forged at the May 1946 Prime Ministers’ Conference in London.10 British delegates stressed that the development of heavy industry, munitions, and aircraft in the Dominions was desirable given the vulnerability of the British Isles.11 At the same time there was another conference, which has not received attention from historians. Empire science delegates met in London at the inappropriately labelled ‘Informal’ Commonwealth Conference on Defence Science.12 The Chairman of the conference, a key architect in the planning for Britain’s nuclear deterrent forces, Sir Henry Tizard, told delegates that they could expect to benefit from biological and

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atomic research ‘within ten years’ – that is, about 1956–57.13 At the first plenary session of the conference, he stressed that the atomic bomb might yet prove a blessing. The British Commonwealth was an example of how nations, while still retaining their own sovereignty, could yet set aside these boundaries and work together for the common good. In the past, concentration in time of war had been a source of strength, but this era was passing and there was a tendency to disperse both population and scientific brains for the more successful prosecution of the war.14 At the end of 1946, before the contours of the Cold War became clear, the British Government was modelling defence for the atomic age and one that mapped out a new role for the Empire. South Africa and Australia, in the wake of the McMahon Act, would provide industrial base areas from which they would take responsibility for regional defence using British equipment.

The development of ‘support areas’ in Southern Africa and Australia One of the most significant developments in Commonwealth discussions in the later war years was the emergence of the view that South Africa and Australia should take much more responsibility for their immediate regions. Britain was assessing the idea of establishing ‘support areas’ in both southern Dominions. The records are, of course, patchy, especially in respect of Australia’s plans for ‘Post-War Reconstruction’. Nevertheless, a broad outline of the early steps in the establishment of these areas is possible when assessing the first attempts to disperse industry. Of particular concern was the need to preserve power plants. Interestingly, investigations in 1944 into the Snowy Scheme in Australia and the Kariba Scheme in southern Africa, both future sites of vast hydroelectric projects, coincided with a report to the Ministry of Power in Britain by the Vice Chief of the General Staff which in essence argued the need to build power stations underground between 1947 and 1950.15 Despite studies to secure industry by dispersal, including the location of vulnerable power facilities underground, there was only one conclusion that could be drawn about the impact of atomic weapons. The Home Defence Committee reported that: the only practical assumption on which planning for passive defence could proceed was that the enemy could and would use weapons of mass destruction … it would be quite impracticable to provide passive defence to sustain a war effort on anything like the 1939–45 scale without wholly disrupting the economy of the country. At this stage of

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the proceedings the suggestion has been made that the solution might lie in a carefully planned large-scale dispersal of industry and population to the Dominions and Colonies.16 Beyond that there was a potential need to locate plutonium-producing reactors in safe areas which had access to cooling waters. The Kafue and Kariba Schemes in southern Africa were investigated in 1944 – at the same time as the investigations into the Snowy River area in Australia.17 They were designed to harness hydroelectricity for Central Africa and were also to provide irrigation. They were also close to sources of uranium.18 It was against this background that Bevin developed the idea of an atomic energy plant at the Victoria Falls. This might explain why in early 1947 Smuts had developed the view that the Cape would be one of the cardinal points in world defence.19 It was not surprising, therefore, that in July 1947, when Britain decided to progress with her own programme, that the idea of a plutonium-producing reactor was proposed. The Director of the British atomic research reactor at Harwell, Sir John Cockcroft, agreed that the project was technically feasible and Attlee approved plans to bring the head of South Africa’s Department of Scientific and Industrial Research, Brigadier Schonland, to Britain for discussions. Portal and Tizard noted on 16 July that the establishment of an atomic energy plant in South Africa would have to proceed ‘as part of a Commonwealth plan’.20 The extent of British thinking was evident in a note that the DSIR sent to the British Embassy in Washington in November 1947: [T]he TVA had to possess powers in six States. There are many regions of the world where a like approach might provide astounding results but where the division of the land into a number of small political units [is a problem]. This is already recognised in British colonial development in this period of the Third [sic] Empire.21 The accession of the Malan Government in 1948 did not change the basic direction of South African foreign policy. Indeed, the steady progress of establishing a base in South Africa was given emphasis by the failure of the US to extend defence planning beyond North America and Europe before 1949 and by the deteriorating international position. In January 1949 the British Joint Planning Staff reported that the Union of South Africa, Southern Rhodesia and Eastern and Central African British Territories have an important role to play in the event of war. Firstly, the industrial developments which are now taking place there, especially in Southern Rhodesia and South Africa, enhance the value of the African continent as a support area. This is particularly important in view of the vulnerability of the United Kingdom. Secondly, it is hoped that

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these countries will provide forces not only for their own local defence but also for the defence of the African continent as a whole. We visualise that these latter forces would be deployed in the Middle East.22 For their part the South Africans, in planning discussions with the British in April 1949, had a ‘strong desire’ to discuss industrial mobilisation. In that context they wanted to plan the regional defence of Africa, including the uranium and copper belt, in terms of Allied strategy. The British Joint Planning Staff visited South Africa in June, the same month that the Australian Defence Committee endorsed the British Joint Planning Report for the defence of the Middle East in the event of global war. While there they ran into the same issues that had developed in Australia, namely: that the size and timing of the contribution of these three [Australia, South Africa and New Zealand] would depend to a great extent on what arrangements we could make to help in providing their forces with modern equipment. 23 The British Joint Planners were here conscious that Australia was on a parallel course to South Africa with respect to defence planning and this is reflected in the development of the Australia ‘support base’ after 1945. Despite the emphasis in the historical literature on the US alliance and the role of conventional war planning in the South East Asian region, the development of Australian defence policy was undertaken in the context of a reassessment of the future role of the Empire. Australian defence planners concluded that the ‘full development for plans to co-ordinate the defences of the Empire was fully vindicated by the experience of the Empire during the war’.24 The southeast of Australia should be developed, the committee concluded: as an arsenal in the Pacific, analogous in function to that which the United Kingdom fulfils in the Atlantic … Resources should be developed in time of peace in different parts of the Empire for the manufacture of munitions … Superior scientific development can, if secrecy be preserved, redress the balance between a weak nation and a strong one and this is of profound significance to Australia.25 Australia’s role after 1946 in hosting the ‘Joint Project’ at Woomera has been well documented. There is, however, a strong suggestion that cooperation was not confined to nuclear delivery vehicles. The British Atomic Energy Technical Committee met on 25 June 1947 and discussed the construction of a 300,000 kW atomic pile. The Australian nuclear physicist and a founder of the MAUD Committee, Marcus Oliphant, who was at the meeting, suggested that the plant be built ‘in one of the Dominions’.26

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Oliphant’s ambitions for an Australian role in atomic development had long been apparent. He warned Australian Prime Minister John Curtin about safeguarding the nation’s uranium supplies in September 194227and advised the British of the ‘considerable official interest’ in Australia in atomic developments.28 It was after Hiroshima that Oliphant pressed his idea of an Empire programme. The Australian point of entry was through cooperation with Britain which, he said, could make the atomic bomb ‘whenever she had the courage to set to work’. Britain had to be particularly careful, he went on, ‘not to be outstripped in the production of Bombs’.29 Influenced by this, Foreign Minister H.V. Evatt wrote directly to Attlee about Australia’s ‘lively interest in atomic energy’, and sought to contribute to an Empire scheme of research and development. The case he made was based on the contributions of Australian scientists such as Oliphant – ‘who have made important contributions to the development of the atomic bomb’; the use of scientists as part of an Empire research programme; ‘extensive deposits of Thorium’; and ‘for later development we have in Australia large open spaces and continuing resources of hydroelectric power, both of which would be useful if full-scale plants were to be erected for the production of raw materials’.30 It is the latter reference that suggested that Evatt, like Smuts, was by then aware of the importance of base areas in the Empire. The heart of the Chifley Government’s programmes for the development of Australia after the war was the Snowy Mountains Scheme. It was to be a great magnet for immigrants and overseas capital and was to provide the electricity that would be required for modern industry. It has also been associated in many minds with the irrigation of Australia’s arid interior. All of these features describe what the Scheme became – but the origins were based on very different premises. There is every reason to suppose that the construction of Commonwealth atomic plants in Africa, in line with Empire policy on base areas, was also considered with respect to Australia. The sequence of events in 1947 lends some weight to this. Following the secret decision to proceed with the atomic project early in 1947, the Australian Government in July requested information on the Harwell lowenergy pile. The following month the annual State Premiers’ Conference in Australia was presented with an additional agenda item. A project would be launched to build a system of power stations inland in the region of the Snowy River system.31 The project was to be undertaken on the grounds of defence – in order to overcome the problem of the States and to draw on the precedent of the TVA. Existing power stations, the premiers were told, were near the coast and vulnerable to attack.32 The Snowy stations, on the other hand, could be sited inland where they were safe. Moreover, a number of stations could be built underground, making them invulnerable to air attack.

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Indeed, most historians have failed to take the Australian Minister for Works and Housing, Nelson Lemmon, who finally moved the Snowy Bill in 1949, at his word. Lemmon wanted a Manhattan Project. The government wanted, he told Parliament, to control the electricity resources of the Snowy for defence reasons and went on to contrast it with the TVA.33 The TVA, said Lemmon, derived its jurisdiction from the defence power of the US Constitution. The TVA had played its part in the winning of the war by allowing a big bloc of power to be taken inland away from the great cities for the development of atomic weapons … Now … the Australian Government desires to proceed with the great Snowy Mountains scheme, in an endeavour to ensure that Australia does not lag in the race to develop atomic power.34 The Snowy was to set aside 400,000 kW for the needs of ‘Empire defence’, a figure similar to the peak demand of the reactors in the TVA during the Manhattan Project.35 As the great Snowy scheme was launched in the early 1950s there was a similar project in Africa. The Kafue and Kariba Scheme envisioned the irrigation of some 400,000 acres while the provision of hydroelectricity for Central Africa and the copper belt would be possible by 1953. The project was ‘integral’ to the Federation of the Central African Federation.36

The Empire and air power Empire cooperation was based on the important links between the various support areas and here the role of air power was crucial. In the Fourth Empire, until the British withdrew from the East of Suez, defences were to be based mainly on air power and atomic weapons, not conventional ground forces. As Australian Minister of Defence Dedman explained to the Cabinet in January 1946, an essential feature in the production of new four-engine Lincoln aircraft in Australia was that it was ‘an integral and essential unit in plans to be formulated for Empire defence east of Suez’.37 An RAAF ‘Mobile Task Force’ was to be made up of two squadrons of heavy bombers and five other squadrons. Associated with this deployment was the protection of imperial communications with British aircraft carriers. Part of the Australian ‘role’, according to the Air Ministry, was the ‘provision of forces in time of war in conformity with the agreed Commonwealth or Allied strategy’.38 The general assumption is that British knowledge of US plans to launch bomber strikes at the USSR were fragmentary and that only after 1949, when the general outlines of Offtackle were made known to London, did British planners develop their equivalent plan Galloper.39 The strategy in at least 1947, however, envisaged that Australia would build modern bomber aircraft and be ‘an arsenal in the Pacific’. Herein planning in the September

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1947 Strategic Appreciation of Australia stressed the role of the RAAF in conducting long-range missions. The Chiefs of Staff estimated that, given that the operational radius of a Soviet heavy bomber loaded with an atomic bomb was about 3,500 miles, it was therefore important to prevent penetration south of Malaya.40 Forward defence had arrived. By 1948 the foundations for a renewed defence agreement – ANZAM (Australia, New Zealand and Malaya), the basis of Australia’s forward defence position until the Vietnam conflict in the 1960s – had been laid. The key lay in the stress on air power.41Empire planning for war in 1950 took on an added urgency with the outbreak of war in Korea and the threat that nuclear weapons might be employed. Canberra accepted the need to send forces to the Middle East but, in a repeat of Second World War strategy, wanted to bolt the northern approaches at Singapore. As a result, in June Australia sent her first forces since the end of the war forward into Asia – Lincoln Bombers to Malaya. From there they could be deployed to the Middle East or be directed to strike targets in China. The South Africans were on a similar course. On 6 June they signalled their consent to send troops to the Middle East but were very concerned about plans to protect South Africa from attack by air. In September the South African Minister for Defence, F.C. Erasmus, argued that South Africa might have to consider the construction of a ‘defensive bastion’ to protect herself in the event that the Middle East was overrun, on a line running west from Nairobi. What is of interest here is that both Kenya and Malaya were to be future locations for siting the Commonwealth Strategic Reserve. The South Africans were, like the NATO Allies and Australia, concerned about the weapons with which they would fight in a global war. The British wanted an active deterrent – the Dominions were no different. In considering this the British Chiefs of Staff thought that the Dominions should be given papers on global war planning but not on the question of equipment: it would probably first be necessary to make available equipment for training purposes and later on we might have to provide a stockpile in the Middle East ready for Commonwealth forces when they arrive. If we therefore want to give any preferential treatment to South Africa we should bear in mind the possibility of subsequent reactions from Australia and New Zealand.42 The question was essentially that of what aircraft would be used by Empire forces. The decision of Empire defence planners to build an atomic bomb was taken in the light of a clear policy to provide a delivery system.43 The Australian role in developing rockets at Woomera in the 1950s is well known. The first delivery vehicles for atom bombs, however, were bombers. It is instructive herein to look at what it was that Australia was actually going to commit to the early forward defence in Asia and later the Middle East.

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Henry Tizard, the architect of the plan to build a British atomic strike force, wanted Australia, apart from her other commitments in the Joint Project at Woomera, to host a ‘Long Range Bombing Project’. The site was chosen in large part because of the large tracts of ‘unfamiliar and featureless land’ which was in many ways ‘akin to Russia’. Since it was urgent to get the training under way, they began conducting trials with Lincoln bombers, even though they ‘were not representative of the future’. Nevertheless, they would introduce the RAF and the RAAF to the planning and execution of long-range operations.44 What is clear is that the Empire was moving comprehensively forward in a great project to acquire deterrent weapons and planning for their use was well under way before Galloper. The Woomera range for testing pilotless aircraft up to 40,000 feet, a height based on atomic detonations, had been approved in 1946. Within two years RAAF Lincolns were involved in the long-range simulation bombing of targets such as Toowoomba (an urban target) or Fenton in the Northern Territory (a ‘special installation remote from a town’). The total Australian tests were to involve Lincolns in 1,800 sorties over 1,500 miles of largely desert terrain. The use of the Lincolns in preparation for atomic war was to involve the aircraft in the British atomic tests as well. In 1952, at the first British ‘Hurricane’ atomic test at the Monte Bello Islands in Western Australia, Lincoln aircraft flew through the cloud to collect samples of radioactive fall-out.45 Significantly, it was this aircraft that led Australia’s forward deployment into Asia in 1950. The decision to send heavy bombers into Malaya was not based on the Emergency, which had been declared two years earlier, but on the outbreak of the Korean War. Lincolns were hardly, despite the protestations of the Australian Official History of the Emergency, for use primarily against guerillas.46An air offensive was at the heart of Canberra’s thinking in 1950. Side by side with the decision to develop the medium bombers – the future atomic ‘V’ Force – the British Government decided to build a light high-speed bomber, a ‘Mosquito replacement’, -which would have a range of 1,500 miles and could fly at high altitude. This plane, the ‘Canberra’, was to be the mainstay of the Australian and South African air forces and was designed to fly above 40,000 feet. While it usually carried an assortment of bombs to the weight of 8,000 lb it was designed to carry 10,000 lb, the weight of an atomic bomb. Beyond that the Canberra could look forward to the use of smaller tactical nuclear weapons when these became available after 1957.47 The bomber force in the Far East, as we have seen, was to be provided by the RAAF. The production of 50 Australian aircraft and their deployment to Malaya in the context of ANZAM planning provided the complement of aircraft in the Far East, with the possibility of reinforcement to the Middle East from that source. The problem was that the British did not have the

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knowledge to produce an efficient tactical bomb until after the results of the atomic tests were analysed.48 Pointedly the Australian Government immediately raised the question of using tactical nuclear weapons on these aircraft after the Maralinga test in 1956.49

Playing the Empire card, 1952–56 The overwhelming emphasis in historical writing has been on London’s attempts to engage American power in Europe after the onset of the Cold War. Indeed, the advent of the Marshall Plan in 1947 and the establishment of NATO in 1949 gave some assurance that the US would indeed renew the strategic cooperation with Britain that had marked the war years. On one issue, however, the Americans refused to bend – the McMahon Act was kept in place and cooperation on atomic weapons denied. Indeed, Washington accelerated its own atomic stockpile after the first Soviet atomic test in 1949, thereby reaffirming its need to monopolise uranium and scarce scientific manpower. Britain was prepared to moderate her own programme in the hope of cooperation but by 1952 was ready to enter the test phase of her own atomic weapons programme. Accordingly, the need for uranium, fissile material, scientific manpower and test sites became irresistible. In this context the Empire was indispensable. In 1952 the director of the British atomic programme, Sir John Cockcroft, did the rounds with the object of securing the closest possible relations with the southern Dominions. An immediate priority was an independent supply of uranium as the British vied with the Americans for supplies. The Americans were keen to lock up South African supplies, but the discovery of a major ore body in Nkana in June 1952 led the British to develop the ore body alone. In return the British were going to extend technical cooperation.50 In August Cockcroft announced that South Africa would be producing atomic power in four years. He then visited Australia and New Zealand where he had talks about a nuclear power programme in September. In the latter case Cockcroft was instructed to ensure that the Americans did not ‘jump in ahead of us’ in establishing atomic reactors.51 Finally in April 1953 the British Government decided to build up a Commonwealth effort in the atomic field.52 By 1953 South Africa, India and Australia then accounted for half Britain’s exports and London was keen to sell large power reactors to these Commonwealth customers.53 The Board of Trade noted that Australia wanted specifically a ‘more high powered reactor’ since this suited her particular needs.54 In July 1954 the UK Atomic Energy Authority (UKAEA) laid the foundations for an Australian full-power reactor programme by agreeing to the building of an experimental reactor at Lucas Heights, to the south of Sydney where it would be close to industry and universities; in short, an Australian Harwell. The Lucas Heights reactor would take 3 to 5 years to develop but power reactors could be in operation in

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10 years. On 20 September 1954, the Australian Minister of Supply, Howard Beale, submitted to Cabinet a plan to recruit scientific staff for training staff in appropriate atomic establishments in Britain – the production of plutonium at Windscale; chemical separation techniques at Springfields; the diffusion plant at Capenhurst; production techniques at Risely; and the site for the fast plutonium-breeder reactor at Dounreay.55 There were parallel developments in South Africa. In December 1953 Schonland wrote to Plowden that practically all South Africa’s coastal cities were short of coal but that the Union had enough uranium for the next 50 years. He suggested two inland atomic reactors and the construction of four along the coast (East London, Port Elizabeth, Cape Town, Luderitzbucht). He noted that South African engineers had been involved in the Kafue Gorge power scheme in Southern Rhodesia and that South Africa had the physicists.56 Whatever reservations authorities in London had about the attitude of the Nationalists and the race question,57 they were keen to strengthen cooperation. On 2 June 1954 the Commonwealth Relations Office finally cabled its assent to Pretoria of cooperation as part of a ‘wider Commonwealth’ programme.58 In return Pretoria was much more forthcoming with uranium. On 15 September the British High Commission sent word that the Union was looking at some ‘hush hush’ deposits and was anxious that the Americans did not hear about them since they would be lost to the Union and the UK for industrial purposes.59 Finally, on 11 July 1956, the South African Government was on the verge of concluding an agreement with Britain on the peaceful use of atomic energy. This would include exchanging information on reactor physics and engineering technology – at precisely the same time as the proposed agreement with Australia.60 Apart from the prospect of building the reactors, a particular concern of the British in mid-1956 was the maintenance of their hold on the great Kariba project in central Africa.61 Indeed, the whole Central African Federation project was seen as turning on the development of Kariba. To that end, on 5 July 1956 the Commonwealth Secretary told Cabinet that the pledges that were given in 1953 concerning Commonwealth membership should be honoured.62 The problem was that there was about to be a sea change that would eliminate forever a ‘Fourth Empire’.

The end of Empire cooperation Britain’s success in developing deterrent weapons in 1956 and 1957, along with the dramatic successes of the Soviet Union in rocketry and thermonuclear weapons, paved the way for a renewal of Anglo–American atomic relations.63 This was affected in a series of steps after the historic Bermuda summit between Eisenhower and Macmillan in March 1957, a conference that saw the beginning of a process that was to work its way through every

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facet of Empire defence cooperation. An important step the month after the conference was that Britain gained access to Canadian ores after an agreement with Eldorado mines.64 In July the USA and Britain held discussions designed to end the production of fissile material for nuclear weapons.65 There were indeed those in Britain who still championed strategic cooperation with the Empire, especially in the RAF. Duncan Sandys himself tried to balance the need of cooperation with the US with the need to accommodate the Dominions if at all possible. Even Macmillan held out hope that Australia might purchase the nuclear bomber TSR-2 on the basis of preserving the ‘independent deterrent’, but only if Washington could be convinced of such an arrangement. At the end of the day, however, the Dominions were left in no man’s land. In keeping with long-standing policy Eisenhower at Bermuda was concerned about the ‘Fourth Country problem’ – there was a ‘danger that atomic weapons might come into the hands of irresponsible countries’.66 The ‘Fourth Country’ problem was to be treated in terms of the NSC approach to the provision of nuclear weapons, namely: (1) the Combined US–Canada air defence programme; (2) the UK IRBM; (3) the NATO new weapons programme.67 There was no conception of an Empire defence. Indeed Eisenhower had no great plans for members of the Empire. He accepted a report after Bermuda entitled the ‘Development of a Defence Production Base in Australia and New Zealand’ which concluded that The United States should not provide assistance to any foreign country (including Australia and New Zealand) for the purpose of developing a base for rehabilitation of the Free world after massive nuclear destruction of the United States.68 It was against this background that the Australians signed a defence agreement with the USA on 12 July 1957.69 The terms provided for the training of personnel in the ‘employment of and defence against atomic weapons’ and also the ‘evaluation of capabilities of potential enemies in the employment of atomic weapons’. The agreement spelt out that there would have to be strict security of atomic information, but the US gave no firm commitment to providing Australia with nuclear arms.70 Menzies advised Parliament on 19 September 1957 that Australia ‘at present’ had ruled out plans to produce nuclear weapons. The reason was that The modern attitude of the US, expressed in the Eisenhower Plan and the accession of American military advisers to the Bagdad Pact machinery, has clearly indicated that Communist aggression is not going to be readily accepted. Menzies noted that while there was a receding chance of global war there was still a risk of ‘more limited operations’ and that in determining

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Australia’s contribution to collective security in South East Asia ‘the chances are that jungle fighting will be involved’.71 By a curious coincidence Nevil Shute’s novel On the Beach replaced Peyton Place on the top best-seller list in 1957. The point of significance for Australian audiences was that they lived in the relatively safer haven provided by the Southern Hemisphere. Nuclear holocaust would be played out in the north, the Tasmanians would be the last to go.72 There were indeed prominent Australian government figures such as W.C. Wentworth and future Prime Minister John Gorton, who attempted to construct Australia’s first reactor in 1968, who were keen to press on with an Australian deterrent programme, as was Phillip Baxter at the Atomic Energy Commission. But the Menzies Cabinet hesitated.73 The government watched anxiously as Britain manoeuvred to end her commitments to Empire defence. In 1960 the British at last announced the effective end of testing ballistic missiles in Australia and foreshadowed the winding down of the Joint Project. The leader of the Australian atomic programme, Leslie Martin, informed the government that these events indicated ‘an important re-orientation in British defence policy’.74 There were, of course, parallel developments in South Africa. In February 1960 Prime Minister Macmillan had given his ‘Winds of Change’ speech in South Africa. At the same time, at a constitutional conference at Lancaster House, the way was opened to transfer power to Kenya and to make a major reversal in policy – the Kenya base for a Commonwealth Strategic Reserve was dead.75 The great scheme for a Central African Federation was also finished, leaving in its wake an embittered white settler community that would take the emerging non-white Commonwealth to the verge of disintegration over Rhodesia. It is clear, as the comments at the beginning of this chapter show, that South Africa took a very different path from that of Australia.

Conclusion Historians are right to study, and to emphasise, the evolution of the Anglo–American ‘special relationship’ after the Second World War. It is, after all, the fundamental basis of British defence policy as it emerged after 1957. London was indeed determined to engage the US in a renewed partnership and was to gain essentially this at the 1957 Bermuda Conference. To be sure the transition was a painful one. The cancellation of the Blue Streak missile not only destroyed the Joint Project at Woomera but cost thousands of Britons their jobs. Well into the 1960s British defence policy to the East of Suez was based on the closest cooperation with Australia in Malaysia, as well as with the US in SEATO. Ultimately, however, Polaris and European membership defined the role of modern Britain. Before that point, however, there was a much greater goal – to survive another conflict and in the quest for nuclear deterrent weapons the Empire had a potentially crucial role to play.

Part V Regional Studies

11 Coal and the Origins of the Cold War: The British Dilemma over Coal Supplies from the Ruhr, 1946 Sean Greenwood

The subject of this chapter is a quite narrow one: the British predicament during 1946 over whether to allocate the significant coal resources of the Ruhr – their right to do so stemming from their occupation of that portion of defeated Germany – principally to their French allies or use them to buttress the failing economy in the German zone over which they were now the masters. Its wider setting, however, is the early history, some might say the pre-history, of the Cold War. The year 1946 marks an intermediate stage between the final disintegration of the alliance which had defeated the Axis and the onset of Cold War. The beginning of the year witnessed a deepening, though incomplete, British recognition of a potential threat from the USSR. There were several centres of this apprehension, though none was more worrying or more complex than developments in Germany. By the end of the year, British determination to treat Germany severely and to remove from German control the Ruhr, the potential arsenal of a revived German militarism, had been stood on its head. A change in policy took place from one which emphasised the containment of a future threat from Germany to one which stressed – not without the occasional hesitation – the strengthening of Western Germany as a barrier to the spread of Soviet influence. Logic increasingly argued that as much as possible of the Ruhr’s resources should be retained in Germany. Coal was the crucial commodity. Over 80 per cent of German coal production came from the Ruhr and British control over the destination of this output was predominant. Unanimity with Washington over this altered direction in Germany helped draw the British closer, but as yet without intimacy, towards the United States. The new policy also raised doubts about the significance of Anglo–French relations which, until then, were viewed both as an important reinsurance against the probable unreliability of both the Americans and the Russians and as the focal point of the construction of a European bloc to match the strength of the two greater Allies.1 The debate over coal allocations from the Ruhr pits throughout 1946 faithfully reflected this moving ground and, in its own way, helped the political 143

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sands to shift. This is particularly evident in the growing divergence of interests between Britain and France. Slower to translate her mistrust of Germany into fear of the Soviet Union, suspicious of the intentions of the Anglo-Saxons, France felt politically thwarted and economically undermined by her depleting receipts of coal from the British zone. British uncertainty over the way in which the wind was really blowing ensured that serious attempts were made to mitigate the impact of cuts in German coal deliveries to France. Entangled with this was a desire to support the electoral fortunes of the French socialists and, conversely, avoid providing a propaganda boost for the French communists – the largest political party in the Assembly for most of the year. This, however, was not sufficient to wipe out suspicions in Paris that Britain and her American collaborators were, as Duff Cooper, the British Ambassador put it, ‘for some reason more interested in rehabilitating German industry than French industry’.2

The French position The French attitude was simple. Before the war France had been the world’s greatest importer of coal.3 The war, which Germany had caused, had ravaged France and devastated the French economy. Coal remained the force on which industrial production depended and German resources, in particular coal, should now serve the speedy reconstruction of France. At the same time, expropriation of German resources would add to French security. De Gaulle had put the French case clearly to the British when Churchill visited Paris in November 1944 and when he was in Washington in the summer of 1945.4 That the matter of coal supplies invariably cropped up in the form of French complaints at not receiving sufficient coal from the Ruhr for their needs reveals an early unease on their part over the use which Britain intended to make of her control of the lion’s share of German coal.

The shifting British position French anxiety reached a high point in November 1945 when their allocation of Ruhr coal was reduced from 1,200,000 tons to 900,000 tons a month, and fears were voiced that this was part of a campaign to put pressure upon France to agree to inter-zonal central administrations for occupied Germany.5 This was not, in fact, the case. The objective of the British Foreign Secretary, Ernest Bevin, at this juncture, was tough treatment for Germany which included extracting the Ruhr from German sovereignty in order to use it as the flywheel of European recovery and the industrial heart of a Western European economic and security grouping. This allowed him a good deal of sympathy with the French point of view. The Anglo–American Hyndley-Potter report of June 1945, which served as the original basis for British policy on Ruhr coal and which recommended

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mounting exports of coal at the expense of Germany, was not inconsistent with this purpose.6 The allocation reduction of November was, in part, the result of transport dislocation in Germany and a Russian demand for an increased allotment which the Foreign Office, reluctantly, felt unable to resist.7 A vigorous, but unsuccessful, attempt was made to prevent the cut on the basis that sensitive negotiations with the French over the future of the Levant states were then at a critical stage.8 But the reduction came into force and the French had to be content with assurances from Britain that she was doing all she could for France.9 Despite evident sympathy for the French position in the Foreign Office, the scales were already beginning to tilt against France over the future of Germany. In October 1945, Field Marshal Montgomery, the Commanderin-Chief of the British zone, had warned of the dangerous state of the economy there and demanded that more coal be retained in Germany. Bevin now began to have doubts about the Hyndley-Potter criteria and ‘thought it would be a good thing if [Montgomery] said to the German miners quietly, “I must go on exporting but of any extra output you give I will devote a fair percentage to the processing of food and keeping your schools and institutions warm through this winter.”’ He emphasised that ‘this is outside all government directives and must be regarded as secret’.10 The same worries about conditions in the British zone also had something to do with the reduction in the French allocation which took place in November and stiffened the resistance of British officials in Berlin to pressure from London to restore it.11 ‘We have’, they argued, ‘to balance possible strain upon our relations with France against the possibility of economic collapse here.’12 This neatly summed up the British dilemma and, as concern over the economic problems of the British zone merged with the wider fears of communist infiltration in the early months of 1946, the balance against France became more pronounced. A good indication of the new drift in British policy is provided in a memorandum drawn up at the end of March by the Head of the Supply and Relief Department of the Foreign Office.13 The essence of this chapter – which seems to have contributed towards Bevin’s decision to come out against setting up an independent Ruhr some days later – was the need to use Western economic muscle, in the guise of the United Nations Relief and Rehabilitation Administration (UNRRA), ‘to remove, or at least shift the [iron] curtain’. Austria was judged to be the Soviets’ Achilles Heel and the entry of UNRAA into Austria, it was claimed, had pushed the iron curtain back to the Hungarian frontier. Moscow’s hold on Hungary might be similarly eroded, especially if accompanied by the attractions of an economically healthy Western Europe. ‘If we want to re-establish our position in Europe’, the memorandum stated, ‘if we are to have a European policy which makes sense to Europeans and is not just a matter of passing likes and dislikes for particular countries, the secret lies, not in France, but

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in western Germany.’ It was argued that a ‘tug of war’ was now taking place either for the loyalty of a united Germany – which the Russians still seemed to prefer – or for the eastern and western zones if all else failed. Food and coal were seen to be essential weapons in this struggle. ‘If we allow the west of Germany to starve and continue with idle factories’, the paper asserted, ‘we can … reckon on a large increase in communist support and consequently for a movement for a link up with the Russian zone in a matter of months.’ More Ruhr coal should be retained in Germany and French complaints that they were receiving too little coal dismissed on the ground that, ‘economically the industry of West Germany can contribute far more to the reconstruction of Europe (and we can control its use)’. In other words, if Western Germany was to become a bastion against Soviet incursions and a base for Western forays behind the iron curtain then its reconstruction must proceed apace. In the meantime, French reproaches that they were being starved of coal should be ignored. French assertiveness, however, made their complaints difficult to disregard. In April 1946 an Anglo–French conference on coal production was held at the Villa Hügel, the requisitioned home of the Krupp family in Essen. Intended by the British partly as a means of easing French doubts, the conference had the reverse effect and emphasised the fissures opening between the two governments.14 Whilst both delegations accepted that coal exports from the Ruhr to the liberated countries had to be maximised, they differed fundamentally over how this might be achieved. The British argued that, unless more coal was allocated to Germany, the whole economy of their zone would crumble, with dire consequences for the whole of Western Europe. In reply, the French contended that the Germans had, throughout the war, run the French economy at a low level and that it had fared surprisingly well. They now wished Germany to receive similar treatment and made it clear that the only solution which would satisfy them would be that the issue of export allocation be settled first. Only then should the remainder of the coal be left for use by the Germans.15 This, despite determined British attempts to budge it, remained the French view.16

A souring impact on Anglo–French relations The coal question served to inflame Anglo–French relations which were anyway now under increasing strain because of divergence over other aspects of German policy. Issues on which until recently London and Paris had seen eye to eye – the French refusal to set up central administrations for Germany and the aim of a separate state which included the Ruhr – now seemed to the British to be to the advantage of the Soviets. In Whitehall there now emerged a distinct feeling that British intentions were being misunderstood and that their position in Germany was being insidiously undermined by France, a nation already addled with communism. In

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turn, the French considered that the British were setting the matter of coal supplies on its head and suspected them of being both incompetent and blasé about the whole matter.17 Unable, or unwilling, from their own experiences in their primarily agricultural zone to gain insight into British problems, they felt in danger of being tricked out of what they regarded as their due inheritance. Duff Cooper noted that ‘the French have a tendency to believe that we are people of infinite cunning whose public actions always conceal some deep and complicated ulterior motives … It frequently attacks Anglo–French relations like a disease.’ He warned the Foreign Office that any attempt to prove the British case on Ruhr coal with facts and figures was ‘doomed to failure’.18 It is tempting to consider how different British relations with the French – and also with the Russians – might have been had Britain not pressed so hard towards the end of the war for possession of the northwestern zone of occupation. As it was, there existed sufficient truth in Anglo–French complaints of each other’s position to militate against any easy compromise. That coal did not produce a serious breach between the two, as occasionally threatened, owed much to Bevin’s responses which showed sensitivity to the French point of view and a readiness, whenever it seemed practicable, to try and meet them with concrete offers of increased supplies. There were a number of reasons for this. Bevin had significant control over supplies of coal and if he wished to manipulate allocations of coal he could attempt to do so. Also, Bevin was physically accessible to direct French persuasion at the time when coal allocations had become a crucial factor in Anglo–French relations. For much of April to October of 1946 Bevin was in Paris for the Council of Foreign Ministers and the Peace Conference and this left him open not only to the influence of French socialists, but also to that of Francophiles such as Oliver Harvey (Assistant Under-Secretary in the Foreign Office) and Duff Cooper who were close at hand to argue the merits of the French case. Above all, the sense of despair that the French political scene had induced in Bevin in the panic following De Gaulle’s resignation in February was quickly replaced by a feeling that France might still be a useful partner.19 Concessions over coal supplies, it could also be argued, might make the French more malleable over the wider German settlement.20 The French, moreover, made sure that London knew of their ‘great preoccupation’ with Ruhr coal and of its significance, in their eyes, in raising ‘the standard of life of the working classes to a point at which those classes would be immunised against communist propaganda’.21 This fuelled a persisting desire, if possible, to combat the forces of communism within France by the propaganda use of material aid. It is not, therefore, surprising to find that the peaks in British anxiety to respond to French complaints over coal supplies were intimately linked with the imminence of French elections which took place in June and again in November of 1946. In May, with their eyes on elections due the

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following month Foreign Office officials were ‘racking our brains … to think of ways in which we could provide the French with some practical assistance’.22 In an attempt to ‘neutralise’ French dissatisfaction, a suggestion was taken up that, whilst it might be impossible actually to increase coal supplies to France, it might be feasible to give them a clearer understanding why this could not be done.23 This took the shape, early in May, of the appointment of a French expert to the British-run North German Coal Control, the body which advised on allocations of Ruhr coal for export. The manoeuvre failed to appease the French who were not interested in this sort of palliative. What it did do was demonstrate the growing disparity of views on the British side between those who held on to the idea of close Anglo–French collaboration and those who were becoming more preoccupied with Germany. Harvey, for instance, wished for ‘political reasons’ to see the French expert have all facilities in the British zone in order to report back to Paris.24 Others showed less sympathy for France. It was noted that the original proposal for associating advisers to the North German Coal Control had come from the Americans. Suspicions were voiced that the suggestion had been French-inspired and that by this indirect route France had achieved her objectives ‘to obtain for the French a measure of control over production’ and ‘to improve their position over the larger question of the detachment of the Ruhr’.25 Underlying such misgivings was the belief that British policy in Europe must have a change of emphasis: Proponents of this view argued, not entirely accurately, that, ‘at the moment the French are complaining that too much coal is being allocated to Germany. This is a bare-faced political try-on … France, with some eighty percent of her 1938 supplies, is the best supplied in Europe and is in no position to complain. The boot is on the other foot. Unless we are to see a collapse of our whole European policy, it is imperative that more coal should be retained in Germany.’26

Bevin’s influence Bevin tried to steer a middle course. In early May, he responded positively to an appeal from Felix Gouin, the socialist Prime Minister, for extra supplies of coal ‘as a gesture in the interests of the Socialists for the Elections’.27 Despite opposition from Attlee, from the German experts in the Foreign Office – who argued that a donation to France would create a free-for-all amongst the recipients of Ruhr coal – and warnings from the Control Office for Germany of the ‘grave political consequences’ if Germany was deprived of more coal, Bevin insisted that ‘we must help the French’.28 Assisted by the Americans, who at this point were fearful of an imminent communist putsch in France, Bevin managed to wring an extra 100,000 tons of Ruhr coal for France’s June allocation.29 This was not only a good deal less than

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the 500,000 tons that Gouin had requested but was further devalued by pressure, which Bevin felt unable to resist, from within the Foreign Office and from British officials in Berlin that the grant should be processed by the European Coal Organisation (ECO) – a United Nations body which technically authorised coal allocations. Their argument was that a direct increase in allocation to France alone would put the machinery of the ECO at risk and bring chaos to the general distribution of Ruhr coal.30 Although this administrative quibbling dismayed the Americans who pointed out that, should the extra allocation pass through the ECO, ‘the French would probably only receive a portion and the whole object of the loan would be defeated’, the British insisted.31 Sure enough, the French, when they heard, ‘reacted violently’ declaring it to be ‘evident that HMG’s policy was to build up Germany at the expense of France’.32 Warnings from the Paris Embassy that this incident had strengthened French suspicions that it was ‘the deliberate policy of HMG to build up a powerful Germany as a counterweight against Russia’ were discounted in the Foreign Office as ‘wild assertions’. But the dissonance between British and French policy in Germany was becoming increasingly difficult to smooth over.33 A dearth of food for the miners in the Ruhr, shortage of German manpower and a lack of new machinery going into the mines all contributed to a fall in output of Ruhr coal. Even as Bevin was scouring around to find extra coal as a means of influencing the French electorate, the British officials in Berlin were compiling a case for the retention of a larger proportion of coal within the British zone.34 On 4 June, Sholto Douglas, Montgomery’s successor as British Commander-in-Chief in Germany, affirmed that, in fulfilling the claims of the liberated nations, Western Germany had been so deprived of coal that her economic life, in the British zone in particular, ‘had been depressed to an extent which can only be described as fantastic’. He argued that a Germany without coal for its industries would be ‘an easy prey for those influences most prejudicial to ourselves’ and recommended a complete moratorium on exports of coal from the Ruhr for four or six months.35 This was too radical a proposal to be palatable to anyone in the Foreign Office. Like General Clay’s reparation dismantling halt in the American occupation zone of a month earlier, a moratorium might ameliorate one problem but would aggravate another – namely, the economic reconstruction of the Western powers. Also, there existed a real danger that France would walk out of the ECO following her recent disappointment over the extra allocation and the Foreign Office did not want to push the French to the brink.36 ‘There would be far-reaching political repercussions’, it was argued, ‘and we should have a very serious incident with the French.’37 ‘France’, it was noted ‘is already (unreasonably) dissatisfied with the scale of exports of German coal and is pressing for more … A moratorium … would aggravate French suspicions, already strongly expressed, that we were more concerned with the prosperity of German industry than with French industry.’38

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A better response to the problem, it was considered, would be an all-out production drive in the Ruhr with the bulk of any increased output being retained in Germany. Bevin too favoured this solution. From the Council of Foreign Ministers in Paris, he informed his officials that he did ‘not at all like the idea of a moratorium’ which ‘would prove a grave crisis in our relations with France and all the western powers and make my position here extremely difficult’.39 He added the possibility that the French and other importers might barter food and consumer goods in exchange for German coal. This, he believed, would act as an incentive for the German miners to work harder and might also provide a first step towards integrating the economy of the Ruhr with that of Western Europe. He was eager to put these suggestions to the French by taking up a recent offer made to him by Hervé Alphand, the Director of the Economic Department of the Quai d’Orsay, for Anglo–French expert talks on the coal problem. ‘I regard this as a question of great importance’, Bevin told his officials, ‘and I hope that we shall be in a position to meet the French with some constructive proposals.’40 Bevin had in fact already set the date, 26 June, for the opening of the talks with the French. But neither this nor his proposal for a barter system were welcome in the Foreign Office where sympathy for French demands had now become paper-thin. Suspicions gained ground that France’s claims were immoderate in that ‘she had turned the corner economically … [But] despite this the French government was in fact claiming absolute priority in reconstruction over all other countries.’41 Signs of a superficial economic recovery were indeed discernible.42 On the other hand, the French were now receiving only a fraction of the Ruhr coal they needed for the iron and steel furnaces of Lorraine and to reduce their dollar import bill. Yet there was also concern in the Foreign Office, justified as it turned out, that France was seeking Germany’s former steel markets in Europe and that this would ‘presumably bring the French into direct competition with ourselves’.43 It was persistently suggested, too, that French demands for coal had a hidden political objective. By insisting upon Allied supervision of the Ruhr mines, as opposed to the German supervision which the British by this time favoured, and by their attempts to increase the number of French technicians employed there, French policy, it was believed, ‘was intimately bound up with their desire for the political separation of the Ruhr and Rhineland and the ownership of the Ruhr mines by an international organisation’.44 Bevin’s idea of a bartering system for coal exports was disliked mainly on these grounds. ‘We do not want to place ourselves in a position’, it was argued, ‘where the importing countries have a right to claim participation in the operation of the Ruhr mines.’45 A direct exchange of goods, it was clearly felt, would threaten the convenient remoteness of the coal allocation machinery and Bevin’s plan did not survive. In July the British firmly turned down a suggestion from Alphand that Anglo–French teams of experts should visit the mines in the Ruhr and Saar on the ground that

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there were already adequate facilities for liaison. Privately, it was admitted that the French proposal smacked of infiltration.46 The Americans, on the other hand, were coming to be seen as much more amenable partners. Like the British but unlike the French, the Americans were running a balance of payments deficit in their zone. This, it was thought, gave London and Washington a common interest in reviving the economy in each of their zones in order to eradicate this problem. Also, it was understood that, whilst the Americans would not favour a moratorium or indeed any reduction in the current coal export figure to France of 900,000 tons a month, they would provide support for British resistance to French pressure to increase that figure.47 Brushing aside the dangers of seeming ‘to be “ganging up” against the French’, the Foreign Office chose to anticipate the intimate Anglo–American cooperation which zonal fusion would soon bring, by urging Bevin to transform the forthcoming Anglo–French talks into tripartite discussions.48 ‘The French’, it was argued, ‘might be less likely to be unreasonable if faced with the combined arguments of the British and American experts.’49 Bevin now fell in with this strategy. The agreed Anglo–French talks, due to begin on 26 June, were now postponed owing to ‘lack of time’ and the delay was used to transform them into tripartite conversations by including the Americans.50 These tripartite conversations, which opened at the Quai d’Orsay on 4 July, merely provided a new set of grievances between the British and French. Alphand, irritated by the involvement of the Americans, proposed that the Russians should also be brought into the talks.51 This was most unwelcome to the British, who only concurred when the Americans supported the French.52 The outcome was a resolution in the Council of Foreign Ministers on 12 July that a quadripartite Committee of Experts be set up to examine, via an on-the-spot investigation, methods of increasing German coal production. This Committee was to report to the Council before 1 September.53 The British remained halfhearted about the whole project and viewed it as a dangerous wedge for Soviet – and French – intrusion into the British zone. In particular they had no taste for an open discussion of the coal question in the Council of Foreign Ministers which might open the door to Russian and French manoeuvres and generally undermine the British position in the Ruhr.54 The French received the news that there was to be a 150,000 ton reduction in their allocation for October with surprising equanimity.55 Cuts, no doubt, now seemed inevitable to them. Their objective became the establishment of a dialogue with the British in order to persuade them to keep cuts to a minimum. This corresponded with Bevin’s wishes anyway. Yet the tactics which the French employed augmented British irritation towards France. Their ploy was to work upon British distaste for the forthcoming experts’ committee report.56 Not surprisingly, disharmony amongst the experts led to a delay in the publication of their report. This did not

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produce dismay in London. Indeed, the British did not disguise from Alphand their hopes that discord would be such that no agreed report would ever surface. At first Alphand suggested that, as the work of the quadripartite committee had revealed such wide differences, it would be valuable to have private Anglo–French talks before the report materialised.57 But the British were not interested. They wanted ‘to see the report buried’ and ‘to discuss it in detail with the French on the official level would tend to keep it alive’.58 Above all, they refused to be weaned away from the Americans who might then accuse them of a lack of frankness.59 Nevertheless, the experts’ report remained an uncomfortable card in the French hand so far as the British were concerned. Late in September Bevin put it to Georges Bidault, the French Foreign Minister, that to raise the report at the Council of Foreign Ministers would only create difficulties with the Russians. He could not agree to bilateral coal talks with France, which would put him in an awkward position with the United States, but he did offer the possibility of informal talks between himself and Bidault if the French would undertake not to press for the report to come to the Council.60 Bidault agreed. But within a month he had reneged on this and told Bevin that, after all, he wished the experts’ report ‘to be the object of close examination’ at the Council of Foreign Ministers in New York the following month.61 Simultaneously Bidault suggested the opening of Anglo–French conversations on coal at the end of October, the implication being that if these were agreed to the French would drop their demand for discussion of the report. Incensed by this ‘rather transparent’ manoeuvre, there was an initial inclination in the Foreign Office to call Bidault’s bluff and return a stiff reply. In the end, however, it was decided that ‘in view of the French elections the Secretary of State may not now wish to go as far as this’ and that agreement instead be given to purely informal talks with the French and upon the particular topic of the findings of the experts’ report.62 The report was not, in the event, discussed in New York.

Dénouement By this time Bevin’s attempts to balance the distribution of Ruhr coal between Germany and the Western European allies was rapidly crumbling. The more Britain’s European policy came to be fixated by the problem of resisting the expansion of communism into West Germany, the greater was the clamour from the British in Berlin and the Control Office for Germany that priority in coal supplies be given to the Germans. The confrontation with the Soviets over reparation from Germany and the opening of negotiations for zonal fusion between the British and the Americans made the rationale behind such pressure difficult to resist and the question of how much coal should go to France increasingly became that of a holding operation. Not how to prevent cuts, but how to reduce them in scale and

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how to ensure that the news of them broke at a politically expedient moment became the paramount issues. Bevin continued to fend off the demand from Berlin for deepening cuts – British officials there believed that a complete moratorium would be required in January 1947 – and insisted that the decision taken to decrease allocations in December, of which France yet remained ignorant, should only be discussed with the French at a low level in the hope that it would not become widely known before the next round of elections due on 10 November.63 This policy of restraint certainly put a brake upon those in London and Berlin who would have preferred a more determined switch of emphasis from France to Germany. Nevertheless, Bevin’s strategy met with only limited success. An open rupture with the French over coal was avoided. When news of the increased cuts for December was informally passed on to Alphand at the end of October, it was again received with unexpected stoicism though the persistent French argument that the British had embarked upon a policy of restoring German industry which enabled Germany to prepare for a fresh war was repeated.64 The basic French case had, in fact, remained unchanged after a year of often acrimonious debate. For their part, the British saw no other way of reversing the spiralling decline of the West German economy without retaining more coal in German hands. At the heart of the issue was a severe divergence in the response of the two nations to the whole question of Germany and German recovery. Latent from the beginning of the occupation, this gap was increasingly widened by the singular difficulties presented in the British zone and by deepening British apprehension of the Soviet Union. The coal question was important because it mirrored this gulf in a most material way. The French, even if inclined to do so, could not dismiss their suspicions of a new thrust to British policy in Germany as groundless for it was exhibited to them clearly in the shape of coal. To the British it seemed ‘as if there is no way of making the French appreciate our point of view in connection with a problem which is just as difficult for us as for anyone else’.65 Yet, whilst it is possible to appreciate the coherence and reasoning behind the British stance, their failure to deal openly with the French, their reluctance to enter into frank discussion, their suspicion of any proposals for Anglo–French cooperation in the Ruhr and their open collaboration with the Americans could only heighten French apprehensions of a pro-German British policy with the United States in the driving seat. Bevin’s efforts also failed in their more pragmatic objectives. In the November elections the communists regained the dominant position in the French Assembly that they had lost in June. The socialist vote went further into decline. Despite the diligence with which he had worked to soften the blow for the French for the purposes of electoral advantage, his prospects of success must always have been in doubt. Only increases in coal supplies to

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France could have provided any useful advantage for the non-communist parties and all that Bevin had in the bag were reduced or postponed cuts. There were also grave doubts as to how long he could offer even these. A month after the November elections the Control Office was again urging harsher cuts upon the Cabinet and raising the possibility of a moratorium.66 Bevin still wished to avoid further reductions but added significantly that he ‘was not prepared, however, to quarrel with the Americans if they insist that a further cut in exports is necessary in the interests of the fusion of the two zones’.67 Thus, whilst willing to moderate British policy on Ruhr coal, the new priorities that Bevin had accumulated during the year meant that he would not radically change it. His famous assertion that ‘if I had three million tons of coal which I could export … I could do something effective. I could have a foreign policy’ is perhaps nowhere better exemplified than over the issue of Ruhr allocations in 1946. A surplus of coal supplies, as well as hastening Britain’s own economic rehabilitation, might also have obviated uncomfortable choices between the recovery of Western Germany and of France. It might also have kept Bevin from the pocket of the Americans. One small indication of what might have been came in September. Notwithstanding their difficulties over coal supplies, the French put forward a proposal for a limited form of customs union between the two countries. This immediately re-ignited Bevin’s enthusiasm for a Western European Group and the possibility of establishing close and permanent ties, not only with France and the other neighbouring countries in Western Europe, but with all the countries on the fringe of Europe from Greece to Scandinavia and including Italy, Spain and Portugal. If all these countries could be linked together by close economic ties the position of this country, politically as well as economically, would be enormously strengthened. The first step, he considered, should be something like a customs union with France.68 The President of the French National Bank, for one, was ‘delighted’ by Bevin’s idea. While the Soviet Union was recuperating, Britain and France should ‘use the time to develop an agreement in Western Europe, to which America would be an acquiescent partner. In these circumstances Russia would be forced to make accommodations with us.’69 But Treasury and Board of Trade officials, never enthusiasts for Bevin’s grand schemes, doused his excitement in cold water.70 Before economic cooperation with France could develop further, the French, they said, must produce more exportable goods. ‘The crux of the matter’, they concluded with some irony, ‘is coal supply from the Ruhr.’

12 The Algerian War, De Gaulle and Anglo–American Relations, 1958 Gillian Staerck

While ostensibly united in confronting Eastern bloc hostility, Britain, France and the United States each had different priorities and strategies for opposing communist propaganda and subversion. These were built on pursuit of national self-interest. Arising from these differences, their responses to events in North Africa during 1958 offer a case study of Western diplomatic relations at a time of heightened Cold War tensions. Britain and the United States wanted the Algerian war ended quickly because it provided the nationalists and the communist bloc with antiWestern propaganda to feed to the anti-imperialist Afro–Asian non-aligned group in the United Nations (UN) General Assembly.1 This was unsettling Arab allies of the West. For the Americans, gaining advantage over the communist bloc in the Cold War was of supreme importance. But cultivation of good relations with Arab groups was desirable too. Resolving the Algerian problem would end a source of anti-Western propaganda and also the war’s weakening effect on France, an important North Atlantic Treaty Organisation (NATO) ally. For Britain the issues were much more complex. The Anglo–American relationship was of overriding importance and Britain’s Cold War strategy was built on recognition of American hegemony in international relations. Britain thus sought influence on the formulation of American foreign and defence policies so that, in effect, America might assist achievement of British foreign and defence policy aims.2 Nevertheless, while agreeing with American concerns about unsettling Arab friends, anti-Western propaganda and the weakening of France, Britain shared with France similar colonial problems. Thus Britain supported France in the UN against censure arising from the Algerian war. Britain also needed to ‘keep France sweet’ in pursuance of a favourable outcome to the concurrent Free Trade Area (FTA) negotiations. The Algerian problem brought General Charles de Gaulle back to power in June 1958. He resented American hegemony,3 believing that France 155

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should have greater control of her destiny and should pursue a more independent course in foreign policy. For this he would need a credible nuclear capacity, to finance which he must end the Algerian war. It is the contention of this chapter that, to end the war on his preferred terms, he intended to seek NATO assistance,4 but first he must gain much greater influence in NATO strategy formulation through participation in Anglo–American decision-making. Pursuit of these aims provided a hidden agenda behind his memorandum of 17 September 1958 which, in effect, suggested replacement of what he saw as a de facto bipartite Anglo–American directorate with a tripartite directorate of Britain France and the USA. The British and the Americans had no appreciation of a potential hidden agenda. Moreover, they were reluctant to concede to de Gaulle the role in NATO and their consultations on world affairs that he sought, albeit at the risk of snubbing a major ally. Their concern to preserve the secret and informal nature of Anglo–American consultation and collaboration5 overrode their anxieties about Cold War tensions and the Algerian war.

Background: the Algerian War Algeria was important to French prestige.6 France had insisted on including Algeria within the rubric of the North Atlantic Pact when it was negotiated, though French colonial interests in Africa made the Mediterranean the axis of French security rather than the Rhine.7 The Algerian war was precipitated by the reluctance of the French Fourth Republic to implement their 1947 promise to Algerian Muslims that they would share fully in the social and political life of Algeria. On 1 November 1954 the Algerian Front de la Libération Nationale (FLN) declared war, and remained undefeated although heavily outnumbered. In May 1958 the Army, under General Salan, and the colons suspected that the French Government intended imminent negotiations with the FLN. Their rejection of government authority and planned coup in pursuit of Algérie Française precipitated a government crisis, the fall of the Fourth Republic and recall to power of de Gaulle, the one person thought capable of resolving the issue.8 The Americans feared that, if France abandoned Algeria, chaos would result, followed probably by a communist regime. They had already marked an ‘increase of Soviet interest in North Africa’, 9 and the Soviet Union and the People’s Republic of China (PRC) were encouraging Arab Nationalism.10 With political support coming from the communist bloc, the FLN were deemed open to communist penetration, a view reinforced when they were received warmly in the PRC in December 1958.11 However, FLN representatives at the United Nations were listed as part of the Syrian delegation.12

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British view of the Algerian War The British played an ambivalent hand vis-à-vis the Algerian war. They wanted to help France, but not at the price of jeopardising Anglo–American or Anglo–Arab relations. Britain had no interests to protect in Algeria per se, but was inclined to assist France in seeking an early resolution of Algerian hostilities. There were sufficient tensions within the Commonwealth to sensitise the British to the potential eruption of similar wars of independence, prompting Macmillan’s comment to US President Eisenhower that ‘We have our Algerias coming to us – Kenya and Central Africa.’13 Like France, Britain was sensitive to accusations of imperialism from dissident colonials and the communist bloc because de-colonisation was not being implemented fast enough to satisfy liberal and nationalist opinion. Thus Britain had supported France in the Algerian debate at the UN General Assembly in February 1958, and continued to do so.14 Britain further supported France by sharing information, prompting the Americans to withhold mention of a meeting between FLN leaders and US representatives because ‘the British tell the French everything’.15 Macmillan begged Eisenhower to be sympathetic about Algeria, believing that ‘the “anticolonialism” of America was out-of-date and could be very dangerous’.16 Nevertheless, British assistance to France went only so far. Proposals that British officers be attached to French units in Algiers were resisted by the Foreign Office because they feared a strong reaction in the Arab world if Britain appeared to be associated with France in military action there.17 Continuance of the Algerian struggle remained an obstacle to the development of satisfactory relations between Britain and those Arab States traditionally friendly to the West,18 besides increasing risks to oil supplies, not only to the UK but also to France.19 Like the Americans, the British needed to balance loyalty to France with third world, and especially Arab, opinion. But a fine distinction was made between supporting France in the UN Algerian debates and fighting alongside the French in Algeria. Moreover, the FTA negotiations furnished an ulterior motive for preferring ‘to keep France sweet’20 by not being obstructive about the Algerian war. Macmillan warned US Secretary of State John Foster Dulles that ‘if the supersensitive French were upset they may well use it as an excuse to wreck the prospects of the Free Trade Area’.21 The British were on the horns of a dilemma: Treaty of Rome tariff provisions were due to commence in January 1959, making successful negotiation of an FTA essential to the future health of the British economy. On the other hand, from 1957 Anglo–American consultation and collaboration underpinned much of British defence and foreign policy formulation, and the UK was broadly dependent on these arrangements to maintain much of her global power and influence.22 In this context differences with the Americans over North African issues needed careful handling.

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US view of the North African situation The Algerian war was problematic for the traditionally anti-colonialist Americans too. Their international relations were defined in a Cold War framework and, in the context of access to oil supplies, required cooperation as far as possible with Arab states.23 Supporting France risked identifying the USA as sympathetic to colonialism, alienating the Afro–Asians, jeopardising Arab oil links and potentially assisting communist penetration of the third world; some American officials were persuaded that communism had found its best advocate in French colonialism.24 One way out of this dilemma was to offer suitable foreign aid to North Africa, so that it could have an independent existence.25 The Americans also feared that French policies ‘seem destined to lead to … fighting throughout that area, with the Arab world from Morocco to the Persian Gulf supporting the anti-French position and accepting moral, economic and military assistance from the Soviet bloc’. According to Dulles, ‘Africa dominated by unfriendly influence would be a disaster for the West.’ The Americans also shared Macmillan’s apprehensions about the stability of the Fourth Republic, noting that the ‘conflict is creating ever more serious strains on the French economic and political structure’.26 Dulles was more worried about the Algerian situation in particular than the Middle East in general, feeling it to be a disaster in Cold War terms.27 America’s abstention in the December 1957 UN Algerian debate was underpinned by an innately anti-colonialist stance.28 Having chosen a ‘middle of the road position’,29 they continued to abstain in a series of debates, with the grave corollary of offending a major ally whose support was deemed necessary to defend Europe. Consequently, Congress was keen to internationalise the conflict30 to take the sting out of French resentment.

Anglo–American relations with the Fourth Republic The course of the Algerian war increased tensions between France and ‘the Anglo-Saxons’. Wanting to preserve the pro-Western orientation of North Africa, the Americans and British sold arms to Tunisia in November 1957 to forestall purchases from Czechoslovakia and the SU.31 Perceiving this as interference in an internal matter and of possible help to the FLN, the French refused to understand the rationale of these sales, and ‘une véritable explosion d’indignation’ was unleashed against ‘les Anglo-Saxons’ and resentment directed against the United States.32 Michel Debré walked out of a NATO Parliamentarians conference in protest.33 French anger was reinforced when the Americans began a small programme of military assistance to Tunisia (perceived as ‘very much a Western interest, political and strategic’ and her President, Bourguiba, as ‘perhaps the only pro-Western Arab leader with a genuine basis of foreign support’).34

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The friction was exacerbated by America’s refusal to supply arms to France for fear that NATO arms would be used against the FLN.35 In this context, an international furore followed a French bomber squadron reprisal bombing and strafing of the Tunisian border village of Sakhiet on 8 February 1958.36 If the world was horrified, the Americans were more so, not only on humanitarian grounds but because the French had used American-built B-26 bombers, purchased in the US, and naval aircraft supplied to them under a Mutual Assistance Programme (MDAP) for NATO use.37 The Sakhiet incident confirmed the American view of France as unstable and negative, though nevertheless a vital ally, and unleashed a new crisis in Franco–US relations with an explosion of anti-colonialism in the US. While France sought to represent the Algerian war as a struggle against communism, the Americans saw it as a reprise of Suez.38 Chauvel, the French Ambassador in London, ‘whispered in Macmillan’s ear’ that a British initiative would be appreciated.39 Consequently Britain and America launched a ‘Good Offices’ mission to mediate between France and Tunisia (and thus the FLN). Widely criticised in the French press,40 it comprised American Under-Secretary of State Robert Murphy41 (a bête noire of many French people and especially of de Gaulle)42 and Harold Beeley, an Assistant Under-Secretary at the Foreign Office, who earned ‘high praise all round’.43 French Foreign Minister Pineau and the British Foreign Office credited Eisenhower and Murphy with the demise of the Gaillard Government and ultimately of the Fourth Republic.44 Because the State Department had concluded that the Algerian War could not be allowed to drag on indefinitely, Eisenhower proposed to send a personal envoy to the French Premier advancing his personal initiative for cease-fire terms and a conference on North Africa. However, if the French would not agree, the Americans, to maintain the Western orientation of Tunisia and Morocco, threatened that they would be obliged to act to obtain a cease-fire. If the FLN would not surrender on French terms (the triptych of cease-fire, elections, conference) then the Americans would force France to accept FLN terms (independence followed by a cease-fire).45 Sir Gladwyn Jebb, the British Ambassador in Paris, suggested these initiatives emanated from Dulles, not Murphy.46 Eisenhower’s personal initiative on the Algerian cease-fire terms precipitated a vote-of-no-confidence in the French Chamber of Deputies which destroyed the government and ultimately the Fourth Republic. The British Foreign Office was dismayed by American policy. Beeley felt that pressure on France would be a ‘grave error’47 as the approach would constitute an unpalatable threat with incalculable reactions in Paris. The Foreign Office feared the French would then adopt a neutralist attitude that would wreck NATO.48 In the context of the Cold War there would be no point in saving North Africa for the West if France were lost.49 The British, unwilling to be associated with the Americans proposals,50 attempted to moderate them,51

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suggesting that it would be better to wait until the French ran out of gold or dollars and became more amenable52 otherwise there would be an explosion of anti-‘Anglo-Saxon’ sentiment.53 Britain was in the usual dilemma of ‘not wanting to part company’ with the US,54 but needing to avert a Franco–American row which could rebound on Britain and prejudice the FTA negotiations.55 What seemed more viable were British proposals urging the French to get on with the loi cadre and triptych,56 suggesting interlocateurs valables to negotiate Algeria’s future status, then holding discussions on the first steps towards a Western Mediterranean conference as a forum for British and American ‘good offices’.57 Nevertheless, British Foreign Secretary Selwyn Lloyd feared France would have to accept some loss of sovereignty in Algeria.58 During April and May 1958 the Fourth Republic was involved in a series of political crises rooted in the Algerian problem and the government’s inability to resolve it. Demonstrations, strikes and riots in Algiers against perceived government willingness to negotiate with the Algerian rebels were not effectively suppressed by the Army in Algeria, which sympathised with the protesters. Threats that the unrest would spread to metropolitan France precipitated a series of government crises, the fall of the Fourth Republic and the recall to power of General de Gaulle – the man the Army would back.59

De Gaulle’s return to power Soon after de Gaulle’s return to power it was thought the initiative in Algeria had passed to him. To the FLN was posed the threat that France, reunited and invigorated by de Gaulle, would prosecute the war with greater determination and efficiency.60 De Gaulle’s plans for Algeria centred on a referendum, followed by elections to choose legitimate Algerian representatives with whom he could discuss the future. He recognised that Algeria’s problems could not be solved by military force alone.61 Both Britain and the US considered de Gaulle must be supported for fear he would be swept from power by a right-wing coup, which the Macmillan Administration felt would be disastrous for the FTA negotiations.62 When the planned referendum was announced for October, they decided to await the outcome.63 Britain had ‘no wish to butt in’ but was concerned that ‘if we support a policy which fails we shall alienate our Arab friends’. Therefore it was necessary to maintain good relations also with Tunisia and Morocco, who wanted an Algerian solution that would preserve close links between France and North Africa. If Tunisia and Morocco could be won over to de Gaulle’s policy, the British believed they might influence the FLN. This hope was somewhat naive – since the Tangier Conference the FLN, bolstered by increased popular support, was holding out for independence.64

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Why de Gaulle needed a fast end to the Algerian War General de Gaulle had pressing reasons for seeking a speedy end to the Algerian war. It was too expensive and lack of resources would undermine his plans to develop the nuclear capacity he believed essential to underpin an independent French foreign policy. Additionally, he wanted to leave NATO, but large numbers of the French military were pinned down in Algeria so French security depended on NATO forces. The British and the Americans refused to share with France the nuclear technology that would speed development of the French force de frappe. De Gaulle had learned from Alphand, French Ambassador in Washington, that the US Congress was deeply suspicious of French internal security tightness. They did not want responsibility for the emergence of a fourth atomic power,65 and would not agree to amend the McMahon Act to let France join Britain in sharing nuclear technology and research and development (R&D) collaboration with the Americans.66 Dulles confirmed this when he visited de Gaulle on 5 July 1958.67 De Gaulle did have the option of sharing R&D costs with the Italians and Germans in FIG (France–Italy–Germany signifying discussions on collaboration in the development and production of weapons, including atomic weapons).68 But, convinced that French nuclear capacity should be a wholly national asset,69 de Gaulle informed German Defence Minister Strauss on 8 July 1958 that France was pulling out of FIG because he did not want to share atomic weapons with Germany.70 Consequently R&D would have to be funded solely from the French national exchequer. But, the French economy was in dire straits. General Ely, Chief of the French General Staff, believed that France could not maintain the war effort beyond the end of 1958,71 and Finance Minister Pinay warned that the 1958 budget deficit would run to FF 1,200 million; the trade balance receipts were barely 75 per cent of outgoings. On 1 June France had no more than US$630 million of gold and foreign currency (the equivalent of five weeks’ imports) and nothing was left of the US$500 million granted to Jean Monnet by the International Monetary Fund (IMF) and American banks.72 In addition the Algerian war was costing FF 1 billion (£1 million) per day.73 To avert financial ruin de Gaulle and Pinay floated a national loan, to run from 13 June to 12 July 1958. It raised FF 324,000 million, including FF 293,000 million ‘fresh money’ plus 150 tons of gold.74 Even so, de Gaulle had either to end the Algerian war soon by his own efforts or adopt the Fourth Republic’s proposal to internationalise it. Equally obviously, as the second idea was deeply repugnant to him, he had to arrive at a solution himself. In the early days of his return, this seemed possible, there being a general perception that he could arrive at a ‘just’ settlement. De Gaulle spent the first hours of every day on Algeria.75 He visited Algeria almost monthly, to wide acclaim, especially after his ‘Je vous ai

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compris’ speech of 4 June. He swept away the loi cadre, launched new efforts to win the war militarily and planned electoral reforms designed to win Muslim confidence and support. De Gaulle wanted to end the old and discredited ‘two college’ system and institute a single electoral college, extend the vote to women and call ‘free elections’.76 To emphasise their legitimacy, these would be overseen by Hoppenot, the former French Ambassador to the UN, at the head of an Electoral Control Commission.77 A referendum would be held to decide whether Algeria should remain linked to France, but not offering independence or self-determination. This was planned for October, then amended to 28 September, and was to be followed by elections for representatives with whom to confer on Algeria’s political future.78 These not unreasonable schemes dismayed the FLN. There had been rumours in April of plans for a provisional government – the Governement Provisoire de la République Algérienne (GPRA).79 To circumvent this de Gaulle sought to negotiate with the moderates through Farès, President of the defunct Algerian Assembly, who had links with Ferhat Abbas, the President of the Committee that was to become the GPRA.80 Fearing de Gaulle might arrive at a generally acceptable settlement short of full independence81 the FLN began a new terrorist bombing campaign in Algeria on 20 June.82 It was extended to metropolitan France on 24 August, causing death and destruction where it would be most telling.83 On 9 September the GPRA was formed in Cairo.84 This is the key to de Gaulle’s September memorandum. Thus, on 11 September de Gaulle redrafted his Memorandum85 and sent it to the Quai d’Orsay for finalising.86 On 17 September the General wrote to Marshal Juin ordering the transfer of General Challe to Algeria87 to mount a crushing military offensive, the success of which would give de Gaulle carte blanche to settle Algeria to the benefit of France.88 But, French military casualties in Algeria were running at one thousand per month.89 To cope with this manpower attrition the Army would need more conscripts but there was a shortage due largely to low birth-rates during the Second World War.90 De Gaulle and Salan sought ways to utilise better the resources available in Algeria91 but the FLN were also attacking the flow of Saharan oil, declaring that ‘not one truck shall get through’.92 Oil supply routes thus needed guarding, further depleting available military manpower forces. How could the offensive be mounted with insufficient forces? Potentially de Gaulle contemplated seeking assistance in emulation of the governments of Lebanon and Jordan.93 Alternatively, he could seek to represent the GPRA as a foreign government whose agents, the FLN, were committing terrorist activities in Algeria, a ‘region’ of France and thus covered by NATO. He would then be able to claim that GPRA and FLN activities constituted a casus foederis under the terms of Article 6 of the North Atlantic Treaty. As such, France would be eligible for collective help under the terms

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of Article 5. This idea had been explored by the Foreign Office in connection with Pineau’s intention to raise Algeria at the Copenhagen NATO Council meeting in May 1958, but then dismissed because FLN activities on their own were not a casus foederis.94 With the GPRA in place, they could be so represented. On 13 September the General had sought to ‘sanitise’ the war by tackling the issue of torture in Algeria – after more than three months in power.95 A desire to court NATO assistance potentially explains the belated change of heart on human rights. If de Gaulle were contemplating aid for Algeria along the lines of the British and American interventions in Jordan and Lebanon, he would also need to ‘clean up his act’ for American consumption by proposing free elections. He had also to palliate the Algerian war’s international reputation for being a murderous internecine conflict. However, de Gaulle had one more problem to overcome: he was chary of internationalising the Algerian war for fear of losing control. He needed to persuade Britain and the US, the senior partners in NATO who were operating what he regarded as a ‘bipartite directorate’,96 to accept a ‘tripartite directorate’ by including France in their consultations. If he succeeded, he might invoke Articles 5 and 6 and safely seek ‘Anglo-Saxon’ aid to pacify Algeria by ‘regulating’ their participation. He could not, of course, reveal his hand until the principle of a tripartite directorate had been accepted.

De Gaulle’s memorandum of 17 September 195897 The memorandum, criticising the scope and nature of NATO,98 challenged the British and Americans to admit France to tripartite consultations in order to reach common decisions on world security. It also outlined organisational changes to NATO in terms strong enough to threaten French withdrawal if these were not heeded. The aspect of the memorandum which caused most consternation was the General’s assertion that at the world wide level, a political and strategic organisation should be instituted comprising the United States, Great Britain and France … to take common decisions in political questions affecting world security, and … to establish and … to apply strategic plans for action, with particular reference to the use of nuclear weapons.99 It was this section that was interpreted by all as presaging the introduction of a ‘tripartite directorate’ and the possibility of a French ‘veto’ on Anglo–American use of nuclear weapons, though neither term is actually used in the memorandum. These assumptions were implicit and common currency among NATO delegates, arising from the General’s frequent disclosure of his ideas. It was known that de Gaulle resented ‘American

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hegemony’, under which ‘Washington controlled the defence, the foreign policy and even the territory of its allies’.100 He particularly disliked America’s dominant role in NATO, considering it an ‘organisation imposed on the Atlantic Alliance which amounted to the military and political subordination of Western Europe to the USA’.101 He viewed Britain as America’s cats-paw in Europe: ‘she had to be denied a continental role until she had shed her American baggage and given up any claims and pretensions to power that might jeopardise the pre-eminence of France in Western Europe’.102 A less controversial aspect of the memorandum was de Gaulle’s dissatisfaction with the geographical limits of NATO, which he felt should include the Sahara and extend to the Middle East.103 This was in line with discussions at the 12 December 1957 NATO Ministers’ meeting when the idea was vented that ‘our alliance cannot … be concerned only with the North Atlantic area and only with military defence’ because ‘the activities of the Soviet Union are world-wide and … the free world must organise its resources and be ready to deploy them whatever the situation demands’.104 Macmillan agreed that NATO’s strategic concepts were out of date.105 Moreover, the Report of the ‘Committee of Three on Non-Military Cooperation in NATO’ published on 7 January 1957,106 colloquially known as ‘The Three Wise Men’ Report, suggested, inter alia, increased consultation on matters of central interest to NATO and also on items affecting Cold War interests beyond the North Atlantic area.107 While de Gaulle may have misinterpreted the Committee’s intentions, he had a firm grasp of the issues under discussion. De Gaulle believed that possession of a wholly French independent nuclear weapons system was the key to modification of bipolar alignments. However, by excluding France from the benefits of nuclear informationsharing, America and Britain would delay French acquisition of this essential tool of realpolitik. Nevertheless, the General sought to consolidate his right to inclusion in a tripartite directorate by a premature claim in the memorandum of nuclear parity. He elucidated his ideas in Memoirs of Hope as follows: because western monopoly of atomic weapons would very soon cease to belong exclusively to the ‘Anglo Saxons’ now that we were about to acquire them, I … proposed that the Alliance … be placed under a triple rather than a dual direction.108 But the General was palpably ‘jumping the gun’ and his claim would have had greater force had he waited. With events in Algeria moving fast he could not do so. The memorandum was apparently prepared in haste and his Foreign Minister, Couve de Murville, was not consulted.109 Though typed on

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17 September,110 it was not delivered until 25 September, after the official announcement of the establishment of the GPRA on the 19th.111 Meanwhile, on the 17th de Gaulle launched a last-ditch attempt to negotiate with the FLN. Pompidou, via Farès, offered safe passage for an FLN delegation to come to Paris to discuss cease-fire conditions. It was also suggested that the FLN should not oppose the referendum. This offer was refused.112 As a corollary, before 23 September de Gaulle had news of a proposed FLN attack on the Algerian–Tunisian border to coincide with the referendum.113 The memorandum was delivered on 25 September so that the referendum could have the maximum impact on the memorandum’s recipients. In this respect, de Gaulle was in a ‘no lose’ situation: if the FLN interfered with the referendum, he could point to prevention of legitimate elections; if he obtained a clear mandate, he could point to obstruction of Algerian wishes. It would seem then that de Gaulle needed a tripartite directorate to control any military assistance that might be forthcoming in Algeria. He prematurely claimed nuclear capacity to justify inclusion in a directorate and he sent the memorandum in September after the formation of the GPRA. In his meeting with Dulles on 5 July de Gaulle had made clear his views on France’s world position to the effect that, while formalisation of the relationship was not necessary, France must participate in world strategy.114 It appears that between then and mid-September de Gaulle was persuaded formally to propose such an organisation suggesting that, by then, he had a particular and urgent reason to need a tripartite directorate.

Reactions to the memorandum On receipt of the memorandum Dulles and Lloyd conferred in New York. Dulles felt de Gaulle’s proposals were very far-reaching, ‘requiring most careful consideration between us’. He suggested the topic ‘should be played slowly’ and ‘the General would need most careful handling’.115 They both appear to have taken the memorandum seriously and literally. Neither the British nor the Americans conceived the possibility of a hidden agenda in addition to the ideas frequently and freely adumbrated by the General. Selwyn Lloyd perceived the problem as being ‘how to handle the French rather than how to re-organise NATO’: the task was to convince de Gaulle that something more informal and less far-reaching might satisfy the requirements he had in mind, but ‘we don’t want to rebuff him’.116 The British thought the proposal for a ‘three-powered directorate, empowered to take decisions on all political matters affecting world security’ would be unacceptable to all NATO members because first, ‘neither we nor the US nor any other country will agree to the ultimate right of taking decisions in defence of foreign policy being subjected to the veto of another country’,

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and secondly, ‘no other member of the western alliance, whether a member of NATO or not, would tolerate the constitution of such a tripartite “political standing group”.’117 If the memorandum dropped like a stone into the Anglo–American pool, ripples were soon apparent around NATO. The few who initially were privy to its contents were greatly disturbed by what was described as a ‘disastrous document – calculated to give maximum offence, not only to NATO members, but also to Africans and Asians’.118 Sir Frank Roberts, UK delegate to NATO, reported that the German delegate, Herbert Blankenhorn, thought it clear de Gaulle wanted France to speak for Europe in a selfappointed ‘three-power directorate’. This was deemed entirely unacceptable and, if not so serious, ridiculous.119 Couve de Murville revealed that he had been in New York when the memorandum was drafted, otherwise de Gaulle would not have put forward his ideas in such a rigid and logical manner. Couve agreed that, on the face of it, de Gaulle was advocating the constitution of a body whose decisions would be taken unanimously. (It should be noted that unanimity would be absolutely essential for de Gaulle’s purpose if a tripartite body, destined to take decisions on Algeria, was to be prevented from out-voting or out-manoeuvring him.) Couve also agreed that he thought the proposal really amounted to the construction of some machinery for tripartite consultation outside NATO, that is, less a reform than an extension of the NATO brief, which was concerned with only a small part of the world. Couve refuted Blankenhorn’s belief that de Gaulle was seeking for France to represent Europe in ‘some sort of super world directorate’. The question of reorganising NATO seemed to be something the General was less keen on than ‘some kind of tripartite consultation’ (suggesting that a tripartite directorate was what he really wanted). When Sir Gladwyn Jebb, UK Ambassador in Paris, pointed out that the General’s paper seemed to be based on a reorganisation of NATO, Couve reiterated that, if he had been there (in Paris), the whole thing would probably have been represented in quite another light.120 Delivery of the memorandum in the absence of Couve’s diplomatic know-how suggests that events in Algeria induced the General to act in haste. Replies from Macmillan and Eisenhower were sent on 20 October 1958.121 Both conceded willingness to discuss matters outside NATO but avoided the possibility of formalising a consultative procedure. Jebb, reporting on delivery of Macmillan’s reply, surmised that the General had hinted that Algeria might be discussed in a more restricted forum.122 While Jebb might have been on the mark with respect to Algeria, Britain’s and America’s negative replies had moved the General on to another tack with his ‘Paix des Braves’ initiative of 23 October. Intended as an offer of a soldiers’ truce – using a white flag – it was interpreted by the FLN as the white flag of surrender and therefore unacceptable.123

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After the success of the Algerian Referendum, the tripartite directorate issue remained in the minds of the British and the Americans, and eventually tripartite discussions of issues outside the competence of NATO were initiated.

Conclusion Constrained to pacify Algeria with inadequate resources, de Gaulle contemplated Anglo–American intervention.124 To avoid being out-voted and outmanoeuvred he sent his memorandum. There is no indication that either Britain or the US saw in the memorandum the shadow of a solution to the General’s Algerian problems. What was perceived was the ‘shadow of a tripartite directorate’. The Americans were not keen to widen their collaboration and/or consultation with Britain to include France in policy formulation and nuclear R&D. They preferred to keep such cooperation a secret. Britain did not want France to intrude on her privileged relationship with the US. Britain was very jealous of her ‘seat at the top table’, and of her consultation and collaboration with the US in nuclear R&D and in policy planning sub-committees under the terms of the Washington Agreements of October 1957.125 Therefore, it would seem that, even while engaged in Cold War strategies, self-interest prevailed. The US condemned an ally in the UN, which pleased the Arabs and the non-aligned group. De Gaulle made unacceptable demands on his allies in pursuit of his personal quest to increase the status of France. Britain supported France in the UN General Assembly, which was potentially out of line with US policy but could be presented as a point of principle, provided it did not endanger Anglo–American cooperation. But then Britain supported the US against French participation in a tripartite directorate, although potentially this could jeopardise the FTA negotiations with France. Even so, in the final analysis, Anglo–American collaboration and consultation was nearer the heart of British foreign and defence policies.

13 A Transfer of Power? Britain, the Anglo–American Relationship and the Cold War in the Middle East, 1957–1962 Stephen J. Blackwell

This chapter seeks to examine British attitudes to the Anglo–American ‘special relationship’ and Cold War strategy in the Middle East in the aftermath of the Suez Crisis. The restoration of transatlantic cooperation between 1957 and 1962 was arguably more a product of similar threat perceptions in the region than any other factor. Rather than constituting a ‘transfer of power’, the special relationship in this case saw a sharing of responsibilities, a product of more effective American management of the alliance that ensured the continuation of a substantial British commitment to the Gulf in the 1960s. The Suez Crisis in 1956 and its outcome is generally perceived as marking both the ‘end of Empire’ for Britain and an intensification of Cold War rivalries between the United States and the Soviet Union in the Middle East. Suez is also seen as the greatest single test of the Anglo–American alliance in this period and the major event that led to Britain’s transfer of her responsibility for protecting Western interests in the region to her more powerful ally. Given the rapidity with which transatlantic relations were repaired in 1957, the significance of Suez has been questioned and some have instead suggested that the Anglo–American interventions in Jordan and Lebanon in 1958 were more significant in terms of a change of relative power in the region. This view is nonetheless based on an interpretation that emphasises the skillful diplomatic management of the ‘special relationship’ to ensure that the United States smoothly took on a dominant role in the Middle East.1 This chapter questions the view that the post-Suez transatlantic relationship in the Middle East constituted a ‘transfer of power’ facilitated by harmonious relations between elite actors in London and Washington and based on a realistic assumption of each country’s relative capabilities. The aim here is to provide a case study of how Britain and the United States utilised the alliance within the context of the Cold War and whether the 168

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‘special relationship’ constituted a ‘tool of diplomacy’ manipulated by London to disguise Britain’s decline or was motivated by common strategic interests.2 On the one hand, it will show that although personalities were of vital importance to the operation of the Anglo–American alliance, strategic concerns were the main imperative behind the rapid repair of relations in 1957 and 1958. It will also be demonstrated that despite the evidently convivial relations between Harold Macmillan and his counterparts in the White House, decisions made at summits did not necessarily lead to effective cooperation between officials on each side of the Atlantic. The result was that, although London sought to utilise the special relationship to cut down its commitments in the region, the American management of the alliance ensured that Britain still retained significant defence responsibilities in the Gulf in the early 1960s.

Macmillan, the Eisenhower Doctrine and the Bermuda Conference, January–March 1957 ‘We are the Greeks of the Hellenistic age: the power has passed from us to Rome’s equivalent, the United States of America, and we can at most aspire to civilise and occasionally to influence them.’3 Macmillan’s often-quoted analogy was acutely relevant to the situation that resulted from the failure of Suez. Though aware of the need for friendly relations with Washington, he later recalled that he was in no hurry to make the first move after he became Prime Minister in January 1957.4 The lofty tone of Macmillan’s memoirs in fact makes no reference to his frequent, secret contacts with Washington in the weeks immediately after Suez and the support he had received from President Eisenhower. He also sought to exploit the good relationship he had previously built with John Foster Dulles, the American Secretary of State, while Foreign Secretary in 1955. A few days after he succeeded Anthony Eden as Prime Minister on 9 January, Macmillan, in a conversation with the United States Ambassador in London, ‘expressed …with real feeling his appreciation of messages he has received from President and Secretary’.5 Though it is notable that these contacts took place while he was still Chancellor and uncertainty surrounded the future of Eden, Macmillan was confident that as well as restoring transatlantic relations he could restore British prestige after the failure to topple Nasser. Eden himself was unhappy with Macmillan’s argument in early January 1957 that Suez had been a ‘tactical defeat’. In an evocation of past glories the Chancellor argued that it was ‘our task to ensure that, like the retreats from Mons and Dunkirk, it should prove the prelude to a strategic victory’.6 As the recasting of the Anglo–American relationship was vital to the cause of national renaissance, it was essential that the leaders in London and Washington could work with and trust one another. The outcome of Suez conspiracy left many Foreign Office officials pessimistic both about

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the prospects for the Middle East and the state of Anglo–American relations. In December 1956 Paul Gore-Booth, an Under-Secretary at the Foreign Office responsible for economic affairs, had doubted ‘whether we would ever get it right with the present Dramatis Personae on either side’.7 While Eisenhower himself was seen in London as indolent and reliant on rhetoric, British mistrust of Dulles and the equivocal role he played during Suez also ran deep. On a visit to Washington in late January Macmillan’s new Minister of Defence, Duncan Sandys, bluntly told the Secretary of State that the British felt they were ‘led up the garden path’ over Suez.8 British cynicism remained apparent even after the President’s announcement on 5 January 1957 of the ‘Eisenhower Doctrine’, a measure designed to provide military assistance to Middle Eastern countries ‘against armed aggression from any nation controlled by international communism’. In response to this initial effort to combat an expansion of Soviet influence, Macmillan sardonically noted in his diary that ‘this gallant effort to shut the stable door after the horse had bolted was welcome to us, for it at least marked a return to the world of reality’.9 The Prime Minister was, however, to receive word on 22 January 1957 that Eisenhower was anxious to meet the British and a conference at Bermuda was quickly arranged. Fortuitously for Macmillan, the Americans adopted an understanding attitude towards their ally’s damaged prestige and secret briefing papers prepared by both sides for the Bermuda meeting were marked by a convergence of official thought. The State Department argued that the disputes over Suez were less important than the need to place the Anglo–American relationship on a ‘firmer basis of understanding’.10 With regard to the Middle East, Eisenhower and Dulles did not in early 1957 differ to any great extent from the British conviction that Nasser and his particular brand of Arab nationalism were anathema to Western interests and that Egypt’s defiance over Suez could not be tolerated in the future. On the question of Nasser the Secretary of State was blunt; ‘Nasser must go. How to get him out is quite a problem, thus far unsolved.’ The Secretary was prepared to risk a ‘more troublesome’ successor regime in Cairo provided that ‘Nasser[‘s] symbolism of successful defiance of the West is removed from the Arab world’.11 Though Dulles took the ‘globalist’ view that the Egyptian President was a stooge of the Soviets, officials in Washington did not generally share this perspective. Many Middle East experts within the State Department and CIA were ‘regionalists’ in that they saw Nasser as, potentially, an anti-communist nationalist leader. These latter views, however, were not readily ventured under the autocratic Dulles regime within the State Department.12 A specific British aim for the forthcoming talks was to persuade the Americans of the importance of the oil-producing Gulf Sheikhdoms to the economic health of the NATO alliance and the Western Cold War effort in general. In London the Foreign Office predicted in early February that,

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given the oil factor, Washington’s approach was ‘likely, in general, to coincide with our interests’.13 At the official level British Middle East policy was largely put on hold in early 1957 while London waited for a firm American lead. It is, however, possible to discern a split between official and ministerial opinion over Nasser and Arab nationalism that reflected Dulles’s differences with his State Department staff. Despair at the outcome of Suez pervaded the diplomatic service both at home and abroad. Roger Stevens, the British Ambassador in Tehran, ‘cheered’ when he heard of Eden’s resignation and noted that the Suez policy had led to the ‘worst of all possible worlds’.14 In spite of this the Foreign Office was basically in agreement with the new Prime Minister’s emphasis on the Anglo–American relationship and the dangers posed by the situation in the Middle East. A working group of officials set up to prepare the British position at Bermuda reported on 11 February that as there was ‘a real danger that NATO’s flank would be turned’ it was important to ‘get the Americans to face up squarely to long-term Middle East problems’.15 The British stress on the objectives of a restored Anglo–American partnership in the Middle East was less to do with a transfer of power than with a sharing of responsibilities. In the event, though the Bermuda Conference of March 1957 saw a symbolic reconciliation between the two allies, little was resolved on the Middle East except an agreement to study the best means of protecting Gulf oil supplies. Eisenhower and Dulles pointed out to Macmillan that his government could not maintain its hostility towards the Egyptian Government while the question of the Suez Canal remained unresolved.16 While Macmillan continued to hope in private that Anglo–American policy would work towards Nasser’s downfall, the American approach to countering Nasser differed significantly from that of the British. Eisenhower and Dulles stressed that the King of Saudi Arabia, as guardian of the Muslim ‘Holy Places’ of Mecca and Medina, should be built up as a pro-Western Arab counterpoint to the regime in Cairo. American pressure for a compromise solution to the dispute between the Saudis and the British-backed Sultan of Oman over the Buraimi Oasis met with firm objections. Selwyn Lloyd stressed that a ‘betrayal’ of the Sultan would have a detrimental effect on the attitude of the pro-British governments elsewhere in the region, and Macmillan remained suspicious of anti-colonialist attitudes in the State Department.17

The Middle East crises and the Washington Conference, June–November 1957 This revived, if incomplete, Anglo–American understanding on the Middle East was soon tested in June 1957 by the outbreak of a minor rebellion in Muscat and Oman. By this time London was inclined to perceive its mixed bag of treaties and defence arrangements with the Sheikhdoms and

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Protectorates of the Gulf and southern Arabia as being susceptible to a localised ‘domino effect’. Macmillan himself was fearful of instability in Oman spreading to the crucial oil-producing areas of the Gulf.18 After the situation in the interior of Oman deteriorated in July, the Sultan of Muscat, with whom the British had a defence treaty, urgently requested assistance to quell Saudi-backed rebels. Air and ground forces were subsequently despatched but only after Macmillan took careful steps to reassure Washington.19 Though only a very minor counter-insurgency operation, the Oman affair was destined to drag on, owing to difficult terrain, until early 1959. Attention in Washington and elsewhere was soon distracted by an issue that threatened to develop into a major international crisis. On 12 August the Syrian Government expelled three members of the United States Embassy in Damascus following an abortive CIA coup attempt, the planning and execution of which was not shared with British intelligence agencies.20 The seriousness attached by Washington to the situation, in particular the indications that Soviet influence in Damascus was increasing, led Dulles to seek direct intervention by Syria’s neighbouring states. It was subsequently made clear to Iraq and Turkey that their military intervention in Syria, under the right circumstances, would receive the backing of the United States.21 While the State Department concentrated on the situation in Damascus, the British Government remained concerned about the broader regional picture. Though Macmillan told a Cabinet meeting in London on 27 August that there was ‘little doubt that the Soviet Government had substantially increased their hold over Syria’, the vulnerability of oil pipelines through the country remained a cause for concern.22 Though the Cabinet discussed the issue on several further occasions, transatlantic cooperation on Syria was restricted to a highly secret correspondence between Macmillan and Dulles. The strident American attitude towards the crisis, in particular the ‘robust attitude’ and the ‘realism’ shown by Washington, was praised by Macmillan at this point: he later noted in his diary that ‘Dulles (on whom the mantle of Anthony Eden seems to have fallen) is especially anxious to do something.’ In the event, the plan to provoke Syria’s neighbours into intervention was scuppered by Iraqi nervousness and Moscow’s warnings to the Turks to refrain from interfering.23 Washington’s hope that King Saud could successfully play the role of regional mediator over Syria was rudely shaken by Nasser’s decision to land Egyptian troops on the Syrian coast on 13 October. This practical demonstration of support, and a statement from Nikita Khrushchev at the end of October that played down Soviet aspirations in the Middle East, effectively marked the end of the crisis.24 Though both London and Washington were disappointed by the eventual outcome, the crisis did lead to a real meeting of minds that had been notably absent earlier in the year. By late 1957 the image of Dulles held

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in London, seen as devious and obstructive during Suez, had undergone a profound transformation and led to a rethink about the real source of power behind the Administration’s foreign policy. On his return to London in September 1957 Freddie Bishop wrote that he had been ‘immensely struck … by the authority which seemed to reside in Mr. Dulles, and really in Mr. Dulles alone’. Bishop went on to suggest that the Prime Minister should downgrade his personal correspondence with Eisenhower in favour of maintaining close cooperation with Dulles. Macmillan himself would come to note the ‘mesmeric power’ that the Secretary of State appeared to wield over his President. 25 These comments may have been based on a common misapprehension engendered by Eisenhower’s laid-back style, but it is worth noting the comments of C. D. Jackson, the President’s occasional special adviser on foreign affairs, that Dulles was the ‘dominating personality’ in the making of American policy towards the Middle East. Eisenhower, while able to ‘become momentarily fascinated by individual pieces of the international jigsaw puzzle’, did ‘not seem to be able to see what the picture would look like when all the pieces were put together’.26 The Syrian crisis, allied to American shock at the Soviet Sputnik launch, led to an intensification of joint discussions between the two allies on the nature of the threat to the Middle East and how it was best countered. The Anglo–American talks in Washington from 23–25 October saw, in many senses, a more genuine reconciliation than that seen at Bermuda. In a series of highly productive meetings both sides agreed with Macmillan’s view that they should operate ‘almost as a unit’ in combating the Soviet threat. Dulles, who praised the ‘excellent personal relations’ between the two governments, was concerned that this ‘personal intimacy’ might not outlast Macmillan’s and Eisenhower’s tenure of office. 27 As well as the American repeal of the McMahon Act prohibiting the sharing of atomic secrets, the Washington Conference led to a ‘Declaration of Common Purpose’ that committed both countries to jointly explore ways to counter Soviet ‘aggression or infiltration in the Middle East’. However, and despite the warm words exchanged at Washington, subsequent joint talks between officials on the best way to support the more vulnerable pro-Western regimes in the region against Nasser ran up against the caution of officials in the State Department and the Pentagon. Though the Americans had strongly reaffirmed the basis of the transatlantic alliance, Macmillan’s lingering hopes that Nasser could be toppled were increasingly questioned in private by the Administration.28 Though the Washington summit had authorised joint planning for possible Anglo–American military interventions in Lebanon and Jordan from Nasserist subversion, American uncertainty over the long-term viability of King Hussein’s regime ensured that the process had virtually ground to a halt by the end of 1957.29

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Nasser, the creation of the UAR and the Anglo–American response, 1958–1959 The immediate prospects for some form of rapprochement with Cairo receded in February 1958 when the creation of the United Arab Republic (UAR), the union of Egypt and Syria, saw Nasser’s aim of pan-Arab unity begin to take a tangible form. Following a botched Saudi assassination attempt on the Egyptian leader, Washington’s increased disillusionment with King Saud created a sense of drift in the Administration’s overall policy towards the region.30 The crisis that developed in Lebanon in early May 1958, blamed by Beirut on UAR propaganda and the infiltration of armed bands from Syria, met with intense concern in Washington and London. Macmillan, who saw the upheaval as the latest stage in Nasser’s Hitlerite ambitions to unite the Arab world, immediately sought to cooperate with the United States in bolstering the Chamoun regime in Beirut.31 Though renewed talks on military intervention began, both sides soon disagreed over the extent of joint military coordination required. Selwyn Lloyd complained to the American Ambassador in London that, though Dulles felt that the British sought to ‘crowd’ the United States into intervention, a joint operation ‘would be better than surrender’.32 The Lebanese problems soon died down, and Macmillan’s visit to the United States in early June gave him another chance to assess the regional aims of the Eisenhower Administration. Though on a personal level the summit was marked by the conviviality apparent in the previous year, little concrete on the Middle East was achieved apart from increased Anglo–American financial aid to the pro-Western regimes in Iraq and Jordan.33 In contrast to the Lebanese disturbances the military coup in Baghdad on 14 July 1958 struck directly at Western interests in the region. The Cabinet in London, which saw ‘an increasing threat to our interests and prestige’, agreed that Britain should immediately seek to decide with the United States whether to consent to or oppose the expansion of radical Arab Nationalism in the Middle East. American political and military cooperation was needed in order to stabilise the situation.34 London soon received a request from King Hussein of Jordan for military assistance against pro-Nasser radicals threatening to overturn his regime. While the British debated the merits of intervention to save the government in Amman, the Washington Administration had given the go-ahead to military landings in the Lebanon on the basis that a failure to act might lead to the collapse of the remaining pro-Western regimes in the region.35 The Administration’s readiness to apply the Eisenhower Doctrine in the Lebanon worried Macmillan; while it was quite safe for the Americans to prop up Chamoun’s regime the British stood to lose a great deal in material and economic terms if an operation in Beirut provoked a regional nationalist backlash. Despite these concerns the State Department was

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anxious to ensure that the Lebanon intervention remained a purely American operation.36 The Americans, who remained doubtful about Hussein’s long-term future, were sceptical about the prospects of a British move into Jordan. Eisenhower himself felt that any Western attempt to save the country would ultimately be a ‘beau geste’.37 Macmillan had to be content with an American promise that material support would be forthcoming only if actual fighting broke out in Amman. Nevertheless, the risks that existed from the military point of view, chiefly the exposed position of any force that would be sent to Jordan, gave sufficient reason to pause before assenting to the operation. A five-hour Cabinet meeting in the evening of 16 July discussed King Hussein’s request for assistance. Macmillan frequently consulted Dulles by telephone during the meeting in order to gain reassurances that American political and logistical support would be available if needed. With these crucial factors resolved, the Cabinet and the Chiefs of Staff gave their unanimous assent to military intervention.38 On the following day Operation ‘Fortitude’ was activated and by the evening of 17 July the British parachute brigade was securely entrenched around Amman airfield. Washington was instrumental in persuading the Israeli Government to allow the overflight of British troops over her territory en route from Cyprus to Amman.39 After the troops had moved into Amman, plans for further interventions to secure the Gulf were quietly dropped in the face of American caution and the assurances over oil supplies given by the new government in Iraq.40 The situation in Beirut and Amman remained calm and on 21 August the UN General Assembly adopted a resolution that sanctioned UN involvement in maintaining the internal stability of Lebanon and Jordan after the early withdrawal of the Anglo–American forces. The Americans left Beirut in October 1958 and were followed by a British withdrawal from Amman in November. The interventions could best be described as parallel rather than joint operations from a purely military point of view. On 17 July, as the British paratroops were in the process of being airlifted to Jordan, Macmillan had told Eisenhower that ‘we ought ideally to have had a proper joint longterm plan before embarking on any operations’.41 This was a subconscious indictment of the lack of progress in the discussions authorised at the Washington Conference in the previous year. The apparent success of the interventions in Lebanon and Jordan nevertheless led Macmillan to portray the operations as a confirmation of the strength of the transatlantic alliance.42 The British Government was always aware of the political benefits that could be gained from a successful Anglo–American military operation. Chief among these was the need to restore British prestige in the Arab world after the events of 1956. In private the Prime Minister, with Suez in mind, felt that the American landings in Lebanon were an ‘act of penitence–unparalleled in history’.43 Shortly before the July crisis Selwyn

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Lloyd told Dag Hammarskjöld, the UN General Secretary, that Britain sought an Anglo–American operation in the Middle East to prove that London had been ‘right about Suez and the United States wrong’. These remarks, subsequently denied by Lloyd after causing consternation in the State Department, give a key insight into British motives.44 Washington’s reluctance to embark on a wide-ranging regional operation in 1958 reflected the looming difficulty of ensuring the continued survival of pro-Western regimes after the intervening forces had left.45 Both Nasser and the unstable nature of the new government in Iraq, led by Brigadier Abdul Karim Qasim, provided fresh sources of Anglo–American disagreement at the end of 1958. Though he was originally perceived as a nationalist, Qasim’s political flirtations with Iraqi communists raised the danger of a fresh opportunity for Moscow to expand its influence in the Middle East.46 In Washington the prospect of a communist takeover in Baghdad resulted in a pronounced tilt towards Nasser. The State Department hoped that by absorbing Iraq into the UAR the Cairo regime could check the growth of pro-Soviet elements as it had done in Syria.47 In contrast to this the Foreign Office in London, more sceptical about the extent of communist influence in Baghdad, warned that the prospect of Iraq as part of the UAR was ‘hardly less menacing’ to the West than the establishment of a communist regime. The importance of British oil interests in Iraq and the Gulf meant that Qasim’s independent line had to be supported.48 This attitude was strengthened by a reassessment of British regional policy in early 1959. At a special ministerial meeting on the Middle East in January, Macmillan acknowledged that the 1958 interventions had made it clear that, even with United States help, circumstances in which forces could be used to secure oil supplies were ‘very limited’. British regional policy had to concentrate on defending the ‘key points’ of Aden and the Gulf States.49 Although, in London’s view, the United States Administration was too alarmist about the possibility of Iraq joining the Soviet Bloc, these attitudes were to a great extent reversed over the potential danger to Kuwait posed by the maverick Qasim regime. At a summit meeting in Washington in March 1959 Macmillan gained Eisenhower’s approval for further talks on joint military planning for Iraq and the Gulf.50 Subsequent events, however, again contrived to frustrate British aims. Though the British specifically sought an American military involvement in the Gulf, Dulles’s resignation as Secretary of State due to ill-health in May 1959 had deprived London of Washington’s firmest advocate of an interventionist approach to the Middle East. Henceforth the State Department under Christian Herter would be dominated by the ‘regionalists’ who favoured reconciliation with Cairo. As the Americans wished to keep their political options open in the Middle East, a policy of cultivating at least the cooperation of Nasser would not be served by becoming bogged down in a commitment to police the Gulf.51 After Qasim cracked down on the indigenous communists in Iraq in July

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1959 the American Joint Chiefs also lost interest in joint contingency measures. In the absence of American cooperation the British Chiefs of Staff sought to refine their own plans for a rapid pre-emptive intervention in Kuwait if Iraq threatened an attack.52

The British intervention in Kuwait, 1961 By early 1960 the Eisenhower Administration, increasingly convinced that Nasser was its best bet to combat the spread of Soviet influence in the Middle East, was torn between the wish to stay in step with the British while deferring to nationalist opinion in areas such as the Gulf. An official on the National Security Council noted at the beginning of June that ‘time (and perhaps several transfers from Washington) have helped to mellow the going appraisal of Gamal Abdel Nasser’.53 Despite increasing doubts about the existing commitment to use force in conjunction with Britain to guarantee oil supplies from the Gulf, a National Security Council policy review in June ultimately reaffirmed the military option if all else failed. This was essentially a bureaucratic compromise in the face of growing scepticism about the utility of direct interventions in the region. The Joint Chiefs in Washington were quite content to let the British shoulder the burden of military protection of Gulf oil, and informed their counterparts in London that Aden in particular was a ‘high priority’ base facility in the Indian Ocean area.54 The 1960 policy review in Washington established parameters that were maintained after John F. Kennedy succeeded Eisenhower as President in January 1961. Kennedy and his advisers sought to cultivate nationalist leaders, especially Nasser, and pursue an evenhanded approach towards the Arab–Israeli conflict as the main source of tension in the Middle East.55 American unwillingness to participate in joint planning for the Gulf continued to worry Macmillan. In early 1961 the Prime Minister, aware that the British did not have the capacity to take on the Iraqis alone if they occupied Kuwait, sanctioned a renewed approach to Washington.56 Before the request for further joint talks could bear results Qasim announced on 25 June 1961 that Kuwait formed an integral part of the Iraqi republic. The Cabinet decided, on the basis of inconclusive intelligence reports about Iraqi troop movements, to authorise military intervention on 30 June after a request from the Kuwaiti Ruler.57 Within twenty-four hours of the decision the commando carrier HMS Bulwark disembarked a Royal Marine Commando Battalion and a tank squadron in Kuwait. Substantial reinforcements followed over the next few days. As well as the success of the military operation the extent of Anglo–American cooperation over the crisis was also encouraging: the Kennedy Administration pledged its ‘full political and logistical support’, if needed, over Kuwait. Dean Rusk also offered the services of a small American naval

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force if the British required logistical assistance, though State Department officials remained unenthusiastic about any actual military participation. In the event American military assistance was not required, though Alec Douglas-Home thanked Rusk for the offer of help.58 Thereafter the intervention progressed smoothly with the main Arab states, fearful of each other’s designs on the Gulf, reluctantly acquiescing in the British action. As in the case of Jordan in 1958, however, Macmillan was fearful of the possible aftermath of withdrawal despite his later claim that he was ‘only too anxious’ to accept an Arab League proposal for a multilateral force to defend Kuwait. Though the Chiefs of Staff in particular were sceptical about the military value of an Arab League force, the State Department’s preference for this solution was instrumental in securing a reluctant British acceptance.59 The last British forces left Kuwait on 10 October. In London the success of the operation gave rise to a tendency to play down the potential future political difficulties. In November 1961 William Luce, the British Political Resident in the Gulf, noted that the Kuwait intervention had reminded the Gulf Sheikhdoms of the ‘value of the Pax Britannica’ and that Britain could continue to ‘hold the door open for our allies should Russia make a determined probe towards the area’. Much of the optimistic thinking behind the 1962 British Defence White Paper, which with its increased emphasis on limited operations outside Europe comprised the genesis of the ‘East of Suez’ strategy, was attributable to the intervention.60 However, the unilateral British move into Kuwait had again exposed the limitations of the Anglo–American relationship in the region. The Kennedy Administration, both aware of the value of the oil reserves and anxious to avoid inflaming Arab nationalist opinion, remained ambivalent about London’s Gulf policy. David Ormsby Gore, Harold Caccia’s successor as British Ambassador in Washington, reported in January 1962 that the State Department was ‘quite content’ with the existing situation and had ‘recently appeared somewhat nervous lest we should be thinking of cutting down the military force which we bring to bear there’. Unwilling to consider joint military planning, Washington nevertheless wished to see a more ‘progressive’ approach towards political and social development in the Gulf Sheikhdoms.61

Conclusion The supreme irony of Anglo–American relations over the Gulf by 1962 was the fact that Washington had persuaded the Macmillan Government to pursue a policy that some in London already suspected would be both politically and economically untenable in the long term.62 Thus the Kennedy Administration manipulated the alliance to serve the American national interest in a way that was far more successful than Macmillan’s attempts to achieve the reverse outcome in 1957–58. The key issue for the

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Americans was avoiding tying themselves too closely to their ally over issues such as intervention in Kuwait: the British bases and capability to intervene in the Gulf were of great strategic value and could serve Washington’s interests without incurring the onerous political consequences. Though Macmillan and Eisenhower made firm commitments both in October 1957 and March 1959 to step up joint military planning for the Middle East these efforts ran into the doubts of (mainly American) officials. On the British side the level of transatlantic cooperation achieved during this period, though short of the desired results, created a ‘dependency culture’ in Whitehall with officials being inclined to cling to the Anglo–American gains made after Suez. Patrick Dean, the chairman of a Future Policy Working Group created in 1959, felt that ‘we should not lightly consider throwing away the bird in the hand of the Anglo–US interdependence and special relationship’ in favour of closer association with the embryonic European Economic Community.63 An assessment of Anglo–American cooperation over the Cold War in the Middle East from 1957 to 1962 would suggest that, while personalities remained important, agreements between the alliance leaders did not necessarily work in practice when they were dealt with by bureaucracies. The transatlantic relationship in the Middle East during this period did not represent a simple transfer of power and the concept of ‘interdependence’ in this instance can most definitely be seen as a two-way street. This was as much down to the intricacies of alliance politics as regional strategy: officials in London felt that Britain’s dominance of the Gulf not only guaranteed oil supplies but also allowed London to influence American policy in the Middle East as a whole.64 Washington was to make it abundantly clear during the early 1960s that Britain’s military presence East of Suez was the most vital contribution she could make to the Western Cold War effort. Shortly after the election of Harold Wilson’s Labour Government in 1964, officials in Washington told Denis Healey, the new Minister of Defence, that British forces were ‘much more useful to the alliance outside Europe than in Germany’.65 It was not until the hurried withdrawal from Aden in 1968 and the Gulf three years afterwards that political and economic realities overtook a British policy that was fundamentally a product of Cold War alliance politics and Washington’s skillful handling of the ‘special relationship’.

14 The Origins of Konfrontasi: Britain, the Cold War and the Creation of Malaysia, 1960–1963 Peter Busch

When Lord Selkirk, the last British Commissioner-General for South East Asia, sat down in his Singapore residence and reflected on a ‘Greater Malaysia’, he usually came to the conclusion that this scheme was a marvellous idea. Malaysia was designed to bring together Malaya, the former British colony which had become independent in 1957, and the remaining British dependencies in South East Asia, namely the State of Singapore, the oil-rich Sultanate of Brunei, and the Crown Colonies of Sarawak and North Borneo. In 1960, Lord Selkirk impressed on Foreign Secretary Selwyn Lloyd that Malaysia was ‘the only evolution which can give stability to the area’.1 In a personal letter to Prime Minister Harold Macmillan Selkirk insisted that the new federation was ‘of first importance for the orderly development of [South East Asia]’.2 Lord Selkirk equated stability with the containment of communism. His longing for this stability appears more than understandable. As if the proximity of the People’s Republic of China (PRC) and the memories of the Korean War were not unsettling enough, the British Commissioner-General saw crises and conflicts that endangered anti-communist or neutral governments in South East Asia wherever he turned. The pro-Western regime in South Vietnam faced an armed insurgency which was apparently directed by the communist regime in Hanoi. The Laos Crisis of 1960–61 brought the South East Asia Treaty Organisation (SEATO), and therefore the Americans and British, to the verge of military intervention. Between 1948 and 1960, Malaya itself had experienced the ‘emergency’, the British and Malayan battle against communist guerrillas.3 Moreover, Indonesia’s decision to buy substantial quantities of arms from the Soviet Union under loans offered by Nikita Khrushchev during his visit in 1960 placed the dispute between Indonesia and the Netherlands over West Irian in the wider context of the Cold War in Asia. As Indonesia’s President Sukarno based his power on balancing the Indonesian Communist party (PKI) – the largest communist party outside the communist bloc – and the army, any increase in Soviet influence in the non-aligned country alarmed Western politicians.4 180

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Malaysia was formed on 16 September 1963 and comprised all former British dependencies in South East Asia except for Brunei. However, Lord Selkirk’s dream of more stability did not come true. The formation of the new federation provoked neighbouring Indonesia to such an extent that President Sukarno stated his will to ‘crush’ Malaysia by confrontation.5 From 1963 to 1966 this confrontation provided a scenario which saw the last major involvement of British military forces in South East Asia. At the height of konfrontasi, the Indonesian expression for confrontation, Britain committed over 50,000 troops and a third of her entire surface fleet to the defence of the new Federation.6 In public, Indonesia opposed the new state because she claimed that the project was imposed by the British and was a neo-colonialist plot.7 However, Indonesia’s own motives behind the confrontation were certainly not altruistic. Even those American officials who were inclined to show understanding for Indonesia’s policy charged that at the heart of the policy of confrontation was Jakarta’s own dream of a Greater Indonesia.8 This chapter will not investigate whether a ‘Greater Indonesia’ was indeed Sukarno’s reason for embarking on the confrontation. Instead, the chapter concentrates on British policy, arguing that, while Malaysia was not imposed by the British, there was some justification in Jakarta’s claim that it was neo-colonialist. Within the context of the Cold War in Asia it will be demonstrated that anti-communism was one important element in Western support for the Malaysia scheme. With regard to Indonesia’s opposition from 1963, however, Britain’s belief that only firmness could make Sukarno change his policy was not shared by the USA and Australia. Throughout 1963 Washington and Canberra sought to prevent an escalation of the confrontation in order to avoid pushing Sukarno closer to the communist bloc. Therefore, they were willing to support negotiations in an attempt to accommodate some of Indonesia’s concern.

The Tunku’s initiative On 27 May 1961 the Malayan Prime Minister, Tunku Abdul Rahman, made his first public proposal for the creation of Malaysia in a speech at the Foreign Correspondents’ Association in Singapore. Barely three months later, the Tunku reached an agreement in principle on the Malaysia concept with Singapore’s Prime Minister Lee Kuan Yew.9 Officially, Kuala Lumpur insisted on the inclusion of the British territories in Borneo not out of a keen desire to acquire the territories per se, but only so that they would maintain the Malays’ numerical superiority within the new federation.10 But there is evidence suggesting that the Tunku had other aims on his agenda besides just the maintenance of a racial composition favourable to the Malays. As early as June 1960, the Tunku revealed his plans for a greater federation to Lord Perth, Minister of State for Colonial Affairs. The

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Tunku proposed a merger between just Malaya, Brunei and possibly Sarawak. ‘From all that’, Lord Perth concluded after the talk, ‘it seems clear to me that [the Tunku] is really quite keen on getting something more to add to the Federation.’11 Even after the Tunku had proposed a Malaysia including Singapore, it became clear that he would not mind excluding Singapore: in summer 1961 Kuala Lumpur demanded that Malaya should take over the British Borneo territories before any merger with Singapore.12 When the negotiations on Malaysia between Malaya and Singapore reached a deadlock in May/June 1963, the Malayan Government repeatedly suggested to the British that Malaysia should be created without Singapore.13 The Tunku clearly did not see the Borneo territories merely as a means to preserve the Malays’ numerical supremacy. Hence, his Malaysia concept may be understood as a plan for territorial expansion, contrary to his official statements. The fear of being dominated by the Chinese was the main reason why Kuala Lumpur had never seriously considered a merger with Singapore before 1961. After all, ethnic Chinese had led the communist guerrillas during the Malayan Emergency. Consequently, the idea that Singapore should gain ‘independence through merger’ with Malaya, which Lee Kuan Yew’s People’s Action party (PAP) had been advocating since 1955, had not been very popular in Malaya.14 As much as the Tunku feared the communist threat from Singapore, however, he also believed that the inclusion of Singapore was essential to any Malaysia plan winning Britain’s support. The Foreign Office indeed pointed out that Malaysia would be an ‘excellent solution for Singapore’ 15 and that the Tunku ‘must not be allowed to pick up all the plums [Borneo] leaving HMG to deal with the thistles [Singapore]’.16 Yet the attempt to prevent Singapore from ‘going communist’ was also the sincere desire of Malaya, and the timing of the Tunku’s Malaysia proposal of May 1961 can be more appropriately understood in the light of the rise of the radical left wing in the city-state. Singapore had been granted internal self-government in 1959. The constitution of the new city-state was due to be reviewed in 1963, and, as it was widely believed that Singapore would then become independent, Lee convinced the Tunku, in a series of meetings in early 1961, that ‘Greater Malaysia’ was the only longterm solution to the communist problem in Singapore.17 Lee and the Tunku had to act quickly if Malaysia was to be achieved. Although the PAP won the elections in 1959, it lost a by-election in April 1961, an indication of Lee’s eroding position.18 Fearing that ‘Greater Malaysia’ would not come to fruition once Lee was out of power, the Tunku promptly seized the initiative in May 1961. There was a strong pro-communist wing even within the PAP. Until 1961 the leftists could not threaten the position of the moderate Lee. In June 1961, however, they challenged Lee’s leadership by refusing to support him

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at yet another by-election.19 Again, the PAP was defeated, showing that there was no time to lose. Following on the heels of yet another PAP byelection loss, the Tunku and Lee met in August and agreed to the Malaysia plan, committing themselves to bringing Malaysia into being as quickly as possible. Having agreed with Lee in principle, the Tunku could only hope that Lee would stay in power. Towards late 1961, the struggle between the moderates and pro-communists in the PAP reached its climax. The price Lee had to pay to remain PAP leader and Prime Minister was the splitting up of his party, when the radical Chinese and pro-communists broke off to form the Barisan Sosialis. Eight members of the Singapore Parliament left the PAP and joined the breakaway party, leaving Lee with the precarious majority of a single vote.20

Britain’s response to the Tunku’s initiative Although the idea of a federation of the British possessions in South East Asia was not new,21 London was just working for closer cooperation between the Borneo territories in 1960. Malaysia was regarded as something that could be achieved only in the distant future.22 After the Tunku’s talk with Perth the British decided to adopt an attitude of ‘benevolent neutrality’ towards the Tunku’s ideas.23 Although the British Secretary of State for Commonwealth Relations, Duncan Sandys, told the Tunku in January 1961 that Malaysia was desirable, the overall attitude of the British Government was more cautious.24 When the Tunku informed Lord Selkirk on 26 May that he would make a public proposal, the British Commissioner-General already had the feeling that the Tunku was ‘perhaps moving faster ahead than we are prepared to go’.25 Indeed, Prime Minister Macmillan expressed doubts as to whether the plan of a federation of the former British colonies would work.26 In April 1961 the Colonial Policy Committee had just given a general and very tentative blessing to the Malaysia idea.27 Consequently, it took Macmillan six weeks to answer the Tunku’s letter in which he asked for the British view of ‘Greater Malaysia’. Lord Selkirk complained in a personal letter to Macmillan that the British had hinted that Malaysia was desirable but now appeared ‘lethargic and indifferent’, much to the Tunku’s confusion.28 London had two reasons to proceed cautiously. First, the development of democratic institutions in the British Crown colonies of North Borneo and Sarawak was still retarded. Political parties hardly existed, and free elections had never been held. There was a feeling in London and the colonies that in the new federation the Malays would just take over the British role in Borneo. In the opinion of the last British Governor of Sarawak, the ‘project seemed hopelessly ill-founded and unreal’.29 Second, Whitehall was considering the future British defence strategy in the area, discussing whether the

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new airborne strategy would make up for the necessary reductions in manpower East of Suez.30 In this context concerns about the future of Britain’s military facilities in Singapore after the possible merger with Malaya were voiced.31 Partly because of its strategic assets, Singapore had always been governed separately, and was included in neither the ill-fated Malayan Union scheme of 1945 nor the Malayan federation of 1948.32 Singapore was Britain’s premier base East of Suez and contained the Far East headquarters of the Royal Navy, the Army and the Royal Air Force.33 The base was essential for British participation in SEATO operations against communist aggression. Yet British forces in the Far East had not only the task of deterring communist expansion, they also had to fulfil colonial and Commonwealth obligations. Since 1949 the British had been coordinating with the Australians and New Zealanders their military planning in the ANZAM area (standing for Australia, New Zealand and Malaya). In this context, the three countries had formed a Commonwealth Brigade in 1955 as a strategic reserve, which was stationed in Malaya.34 In addition to SEATO and ANZAM, the Anglo–Malayan Defence Agreement (AMDA) of 1957 committed the United Kingdom to assist Malaya against external aggression. Britain had to secure the unlimited use of the Singapore base to fulfil these treaty obligations and demonstrate her enduring status as a world power.35 The British were reassured when the Tunku went to London in November 1961 to discuss the Malaysia plan. At the heart of the negotiations was the extension of the AMDA, with which Australia and New Zealand had associated themselves in 1959. The talks were speedily concluded as the Malays readily accepted the British formula on the future defence agreements: renegotiating AMDA was avoided and an annex merely extended the agreement to apply to all territories of the Federation of Malaysia. Having secured the unhampered use of the Singapore base, the British stated publicly that the creation of Malaysia was desirable.36 Whereas Malaysia was certainly not imposed by the British, the situation changed after the Anglo–Malayan agreement of November 1961, at least with regard to the Borneo Territories. From the Singapore angle, Malaysia had to be brought into being as quickly as possible because of Lee’s shaky government. From the Borneo angle, the opposite was true. The British were aware that it was not in the Borneo territories’ interest to be rushed into a federation.37 Ultimately, however, Britain decided that the wishes of the Borneo peoples were secondary to her own interests. At an ad hoc committee meeting on Malaysia chaired by the Prime Minister it was pointed out that the British ‘might have to press North Borneo and Sarawak into [Malaysia] more urgently than we should ideally want. For this reason it was important to retain flexibility in our position with relation to the views of the local peoples and the proposed commission [to survey the views of the peoples of Sarawak and North Borneo on Malaysia] should not be unduly formal in its constitution.’38

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This commission was formed in January 1962 and headed by Lord Cobbold, the former Governor of the Bank of England. Its report of June 1962 concluded that the majority of the population in Borneo was in favour of Malaysia if certain safeguards were made for the indigenous peoples.39 However, in a personal letter to Macmillan, Lord Cobbold made crystal clear that his ‘yes’ to Malaysia was conditional on Singapore joining in. It was his firm conviction that a federation just between Malaya and the Borneo territories had ‘few attractions’.40 In the light of the report Malaya and Britain agreed on 1 August 1962 that Malaysia should be brought into being on 31 August 1963.41

Indonesian konfrontasi Initially, the Malaysia scheme evoked little opposition from Indonesia.42 Jakarta was preoccupied with the West Irian conflict in 1961, and wanted to prove that expansionism was not behind Jakarta’s claim to the Dutch colony.43 Nevertheless, in December 1961 the future Indonesian policy of confrontation was foreshadowed by a resolution of the Central Committee of the PKI, which denounced Malaysia as a form of neo-colonialism.44 The first hostile reaction to the Malaysia proposal on an international level did not come from Indonesia but from the Philippines. President Diosdano Macapagal put forward a claim to North Borneo in June 1962. It was based on Manila’s view that the Sultan of Sulu had merely leased, not ceded, this territory to the British in 1888, giving the Filipino Government, as the Sultan’s successor, rights over the disposition of North Borneo.45 The British Foreign Office, however, was far more concerned with Indonesia, warning that Jakarta posed ‘by far the most serious potential challenge to Malaysia’ because Indonesian politicians would not welcome the new federation. Yet it was considered unlikely that Jakarta would interfere because of its weak ‘internal position’.46 As events were to prove, the British analysis of Indonesia’s weak domestic position, as well as the limits it placed on Jakarta’s willingness to intervene in Malaysia, failed to foresee that Sukarno would seize upon an external conflict to cure those very domestic ills. Besides appealing to Indonesian nationalism and bolstering Sukarno’s ideology of anti-imperialism, such a conflict would constitute a timely and welcome diversion from the country’s economic problems. Indeed, the Brunei revolt of late 1962 provided the Indonesian Government with an opportunity too good to be missed. On 8 December 1962 the military arm of Sheikh Ahmad Azahari’s Partai Rakyat attacked police stations and seized British-owned oil refineries in Brunei, technically a UK protectorate. 47 The Sultan requested the help of British forces. Gurkha units subdued the rebels, and Britain announced an end to the revolt on 16 December. Three thousand rebels were apprehended. The Sultan banned the Partai Rakyat,

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which opposed the Malaysia concept, and arrested hundreds of its supporters.48 The British were convinced that Indonesia was involved in the rebellion. A week before the revolt, the British had received intelligence information that the Partai Rakyat was planning an insurrection. The British Governor in Sarawak reported that there was evidence of dumping of arms near the Indonesian border.49 In Sukarno’s view the rebellion proved that there was substantial opposition to the Malaysia concept, and that the whole idea was a neocolonialist plot, thought out and imposed by the British.50 Foreign minister Subandrio announced on 20 January 1963 that Indonesia would ‘henceforth pursue a policy of confrontation [against Malaya which] has lent itself to become tools of colonialism and imperialism’.51 Britain’s response was that firm, frank and friendly approaches were all that could be done on the diplomatic level for the time being. Consultations with the Americans and Australians were sought to discuss whether other forms of pressure might be put on Jakarta.52 The aim was to build a common front against Indonesia’s confrontation policy. Therefore the secret quadripartite meeting of Britain, the United States, Australia and New Zealand on 11/12 February 1963 assumed tremendous importance. Frederick Warner, the head of the Foreign Office’s South East Asia Department, looked with optimism on the meeting with Britain’s allies. Yet he expected differences to arise over ‘how beastly’ the West should be to Indonesia.53 Shortly before the quadripartite talks began, W. Averell Harriman, US Assistant Secretary of State for Political Affairs, informed Warner about his doubts as to whether the British were really determined enough to prevent an Indonesian takeover of northern Borneo after Malaysia was established. Malaysia would be too weak to resist the Indonesians alone, and Harriman feared that in the end it would be up to the Americans to intervene, creating a second Vietnam for Washington.54 Paul Nitze, Assistant Secretary of Defense for International Security Affairs, thought along the same lines and doubted if the British were really prepared to undertake a commitment ‘which may grow heavier and heavier as the months go by’.55 On 11 February the British made the crucial decision to inform the Americans that they were committed to bearing that burden: sufficient British troops along with forces of the Commonwealth Strategic Reserve would remain in the region even after Malaysia Day. Moreover, extensive Indonesian subversive activities in Malaysia would be grounds for bringing into effect Britain’s obligations under the AMDA.56 At the quadripartite meeting Britain’s allies approved of the Malaysia concept. The United States agreed to intervene if there was open aggression against Malaysia, but would not assist in the fight against subversive infiltration. In Washington’s view, it was up to the Commonwealth countries to shoulder that burden in Malaysia, while the US concentrated on Vietnam. Australia and New Zealand did not exclude their participation in

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the defence of Malaysia, but at the same time would not give any guarantee of such assistance. Instead, Britain’s allies stressed the need to preserve good relations with Indonesia. The Tunku should be asked to restrain his language, and he should consider making ‘statesmanlike gestures’ such as meetings with Sukarno and Macapagal.57 ‘The general impression left by the two days’ discussion is that our allies are fearful of impending trouble’, David Ormsby Gore, the British Ambassador in Washington, concluded.58 At least US President John F. Kennedy stated shortly after the quadripartite meeting that Malaysia was ‘the best hope of security for that very part of the world’.59 This public gesture, however, certainly did nothing to restrain Sukarno. The Americans had not committed themselves publicly in any way to the defence of Malaysia and the US Ambassador in Jakarta, who was very critical of the British position, found ways to convey this to the Indonesians. Unknown to the British and without instructions from Washington, the American Embassy in Jakarta reassured the Indonesians that Kennedy’s statement simply reiterated American policy and that the US had no intention of getting directly involved.60 While the State Department basically agreed with this position, it was furious that the US Embassy had conveyed it to the Indonesians and spelled out that, without specific instructions, the Embassy should not ‘water down US positions to suit Indonesian feelings’.61 At the Washington quadripartite meeting Britain had accepted the heavy burden of defending Malaysia, getting very little in return. The Kennedy Administration continued its economic aid programme for Indonesia as well as its support of the Indonesian army in an attempt to maintain some influence in Jakarta. Not even the Australians were won over at this stage. They did not approve of the British way of handling confrontation. In their view London was ‘pushing ahead’ with the formation of Malaysia without regard for the concerns of Indonesia and the Philippines.62 Indeed, although the US Administration and the Australian Government were willing to support the Malaysia plan, their policy towards Indonesia was fundamentally different from the British approach. In late 1962 the Foreign Office had reached the conclusion that Indonesia posed a potential threat because the Soviet Union continued to supply it with weapons, yet only a communist government in Indonesia would be likely to lay claim to the Borneo territories.63 The British therefore seemed inclined to believe that Sukarno’s confrontation policy was essentially communist in character, and consequently his attempts at undermining the Malaysia concept had to be firmly resisted. Neither the Americans nor the Australians were prepared to support this view. In discussions with the US, the British tried to put confrontation into the larger context of the West’s struggle against the spread of communism. The Americans were told that the overriding British motivation to push Malaysia through was the need to preserve the Singapore base, which was vital for the defence of the area and essential to

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assure ‘free world control’. There was no advantage in making concessions to the Indonesians, and little reason to base British policy on the hope that an essentially unpredictable Indonesian Government would become friendlier to the West.64 Similarly, the Malayan Minister of Defence, Tun Razak, played on the communist threat from Indonesia when he visited Washington in April 1963. He stressed the PKI’s influence in Indonesia, made the communists responsible for Jakarta’s confrontation policy and drew the Americans’ attention to the fact that the PRC had joined Indonesia in opposing the Malaysia concept.65 Neither the British nor the Malayan representations had any impact on Washington’s position – the US administration still believed that Indonesia’s claims could be accommodated and that she was not yet lost to the communist bloc.66 The Australian Foreign Minister, Sir Garfield Barwick, also argued against the British assessment of Indonesia’s policy when he was in London in April 1963. By charging that Malaysia was neo-colonialist, the British pointed out to him, Indonesia was using ‘communist language’ to put forward ‘communist arguments’. Barwick disagreed and stressed that General Nasution, who was clearly anti-communist, was a leading critic of the Malaysia concept. He thought that the Indonesians were genuinely afraid that Malaysia would take action against Sumatra or the Indonesian part of Borneo.67 Although Sir Robert Menzies, the Australian Prime Minister, was inclined to back the firm British policy, Barwick’s more cautious approach prevailed in Canberra in early 1963.68 Barwick encouraged the Indonesians and Filipinos to consider tripartite talks on Malaysia in late March. The Filipinos, who had introduced the idea of tripartite talks, favoured his suggestion; the Indonesians, too, were willing to embark on talks. In fact, Barwick managed to elicit a non-binding concession from Subandrio that Indonesia might accept Malaysia.69 The Americans and New Zealanders immediately endorsed the Australian initiative.70 The British still preferred a firm policy towards Indonesia, believing that Sukarno could not be ‘appeased’. However, they were keen on preserving their allies’ support and therefore did not oppose negotiations. The Foreign Office informed Macmillan that ‘we are not trying to convert the Indonesians, but to justify ourselves in the eyes of our friends’.71 The British Ambassador in Jakarta, who was adamantly opposed to ‘appeasing’ Indonesia, was told that ‘we do not mind annoying the Indonesians, but we do want to avoid appearing provocative to our friends’.72 In London, only Sir Burke Trend, the Cabinet Secretary, questioned the government’s approach. In a minute to Macmillan he asked: ‘Should we not be devoting as much attention to the political problem of neutralising Indonesia … as to the military problem of defending Malaysia?’ He went on to express his ‘uneasy feeling’ that Britain might find herself

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committed – perhaps against better judgement and certainly to her financial disadvantage – to carrying, single-handed, a greater burden than the British Government had contemplated before. 73 Macmillan agreed to send a minute voicing Trend’s misgivings to all ministers concerned. The memorandum in answer to this minute by the Foreign Office, the Commonwealth Relations Office and the Ministry of Defence demonstrated that Trend was alone with his doubts. The British Government saw no alternative to its policy of firm support of Malaysia, was committed to the defence of the new federation and was certain that, ultimately, the US could not escape involvement.74 Negotiations between Indonesia, the Philippines and Malaya went ahead, and after a series of preliminary meetings it was agreed to hold a summit in Manila in August. The Tunku, Indonesia’s President Sukarno and President Macapagal of the Philippines attended the summit. The British, pessimistic about the likelihood of an agreement, were prepared for the conference to break down.75 Averell Harriman told the British Embassy in Washington that London should refrain from interfering with the Tunku during the negotiations as that would look ‘very much like a colonial effort’.76 The Americans were in favour of a postponement of Malaysia Day. President Kennedy wrote to Macmillan suggesting that this would be necessary to give Sukarno a ‘fig leaf’.77 But Macmillan replied to Kennedy that he did not believe Sukarno could be bought off that easily. He added: ‘There is an old French saying – what is postponed is lost.’78 When the British heard of the Tunku’s inclination to postpone Malaysia Day, the Cabinet agreed that the British ‘should impress on the Tunku the importance of adhering to 31 August as the date for the formation of Malaysia and the dangers implicit in any further delay’.79 The Tunku reassured the British and cabled: ‘I realize too well that any postponement would be tantamount to a surrender … You can rest assured that Malaysia will be announced on 31 August as scheduled.’80 The outcome of the summit, the Manila Agreement, showed that the Tunku had either misled the British or, in fact, surrendered. It was agreed that U Thant, the Secretary General of the United Nations, should ascertain, prior to the establishment of the Federation of Malaysia, the wishes of the peoples of North Borneo and Sarawak.81 U Thant made it clear to all parties that he would not be able to finish his mission before 31 August, and thus a short delay in proclaiming Malaysia of up to two weeks would be necessary.82 After the Manila summit British policy hardened, and Whitehall was not prepared to continue to sit back and leave the diplomatic arena to the Malays. The top priority was to bring Malaysia into existence as soon as possible. Duncan Sandys insisted that the Tunku should promise to go ahead with Malaysia on whatever later date.83 The Tunku readily agreed and informed London that he would like to form Malaysia on

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16 September ‘irrespective of the nature of the Secretary-General’s report’.84 On 29 August Kuala Lumpur announced that Malaysia was to be created on 16 September. The Philippines and Indonesia were informed of the new date shortly before it was made public.85 Although initially calm, both governments later sent a formal note of protest.86 In announcing the firm date, Malaya gave the Indonesians and Filipinos ammunition for challenging the UN inquiry and rejecting it.87 Roger Hilsman, at the time Director of the Bureau of Intelligence and Research in the US State Department, later called the announcement a ‘blatant insult’ – a move which could not have passed unnoticed by Manila and Jakarta. In Hilsman’s view, Duncan Sandys was the villain who had pressured the Tunku into making the announcement.88 U Thant’s report concluded that the local elections in North Borneo and Sarawak of 1963 had been free and fair, and that Malaysia had been the dominant issue. His only criticism was of the ‘premature’ Malayan announcement of a new date for Malaysia, an unnecessary action which, he argued, had led to misunderstanding and even resentment in Indonesia and the Philippines.89 Indonesia and the Philippines refused to accept U Thant’s findings. Implicitly criticising Britain, they informed U Thant that ‘if the Malayans had been left alone an accommodation … would have been easily reached’.90

Conclusion Britain’s continued military presence in South East Asia was aimed at demonstrating her status as a world power and placing the British Government in a position to influence American policy in the area.91 This military presence hinged upon the Singapore military base. Sir Geoffrey Tory, the British High Commissioner in Kuala Lumpur, believed that the ‘preservation of our residual interests in Southeast Asia depends on the achievement of Malaysia and … is [in] our own enlightened self-interest’.92 Indeed, the Malaysia plan, which the Tunku had put on the agenda in May 1961, offered a range of opportunities for Britain. First and most importantly, the new Federation of Malaysia would not infringe British rights to the use of the Singapore base for the UK’s defence purposes in the area. Second, possible political disturbances in Singapore with its mainly Chinese population and well-organised trade unions were considered more unlikely as Malaysia would remove the possibility of exploiting anticolonial feelings in the city. Even if disturbances were to break out, it would not be up to the British to deal with them. Third, because Britain would cease to be responsible for the internal security of her former colonies, British forces in the area could be substantially reduced. Fourth, granting independence to the remaining British colonies would improve London’s standing in the eyes of neutralist countries in South East Asia.

Peter Busch 191

Although not imposed by the British, the Malaysia scheme betrayed the Tunku’s expansionist desires. The British admitted that it was too early to grant self-government to the Borneo peoples. The Malays would just take over the British position in the Borneo territories, and thereby the position of a colonial power. In this respect, and also with regard to the British motivation of maintaining her ‘imperialist’ base in Singapore, Indonesia’s charge that Malaysia was ‘neo-colonialist’ was not completely unfounded. Throughout 1963, the United States remained critical of Britain’s uncompromising stance towards Indonesia’s confrontation policy. London’s hopes that Washington would avoid ‘ambiguity’ were in vain.93 The American Embassy in Jakarta especially doubted the wisdom of the Malaysia idea and showed understanding for Indonesia’s claims. 94 Although the State Department was reluctant to support this position, it intended to adopt an attitude that would give the Americans ‘maximum flexibility’ in dealing with the conflict. 95 The overriding US concern, shared by the Australian Ministry of External Affairs, was to keep Indonesia out of the communist bloc. This is why the Kennedy Administration refused to threaten Sukarno with cancelling US aid for Indonesia. American deliveries of weapons and ammunition were only halted after mobs had burnt down the British Embassy in Jakarta on 18 September 1963. To the UK’s annoyance, US economic aid continued to flow because the Americans hoped that this would keep channels to the Indonesian Government open and give Washington some influence in Jakarta.96 Whereas Washington and Canberra thought that negotiating with Jakarta could resolve the dispute, the British were convinced that firm opposition to Sukarno’s policy, which demonstrated his increasingly pro-communist policy, was the only answer that would deter the Indonesian President from his expansionist policy. As we have seen, only Sir Burke Trend seemed to be willing even to contemplate US and Australian arguments. The government as a whole adopted a ‘Malaysiafirst-attitude’. As late as December 1963, when Sukarno’s ‘crush Malaysia’ policy was well under way, the new British Prime Minister, DouglasHome, pointed to the possible negative consequences of Britain’s policy of firmness: I am not sure that we have got our policy towards Indonesia in proper balance. I think the military, but negative aspect is right: that we defend Malaysia, hitting the Indonesians hard if they attack. But our policy seems to lack a positive, political aspect. We must defend Malaysia of course; but it will help neither Malaysia nor ourselves, nor the Western cause in general, if in the course of defending Malaysia we drive Indonesia into the arms of Communist Russia or China.97

192 The Origins of Konfrontasi

It was, however, too late. The British found that they could not substantially soften their policy. The gulf that had developed in the months before and after the formation of Malaysia turned out to be impossible to bridge. Robert Kennedy’s attempt at mediating between Britain and Indonesia in early 1964 failed, Sukarno turned to the PRC for support and the new US administration under Lyndon B. Johnson increasingly came round to the British view that Sukarno had to be met with firm Western opposition.

Notes Introduction 1 Quoted in David Reynolds, ‘The Origins of the Cold War: The European Dimension, 1944–1951’, Historical Journal, 28 (1985), p. 499. 2 D.C. Watt, ‘Rethinking the Cold War: Letter to a British Historian’, Political Quarterly, 48 (1978). 3 Anne Deighton (ed.), Britain and the First Cold War (London: Macmillan – now Palgrave Macmillan, 1990) contains an admirable summary of the first raft of work. 4 Geoffrey Warner, ‘The Study of Cold War Origins’, Diplomacy & Statecraft 1 (1990), pp. 17–18. 5 Public Record Office, Kew (henceforth PRO), CAB 134/1929, ‘Future Policy Study 1960–70, Part III, The Main Objectives of the United Kingdom’s Overseas and Strategic Policy’, February 1960. 6 Quoted by Ronald Hyam, ‘Winds of Change: The Empire and Commonwealth’ in Wolfram Kaiser and Gillian Staerck (eds), British Foreign Policy 1955–64: Contracting Options (London: Palgrave – now Palgrave Macmillan, 2000). 7 See, for example, Susan L. Carruthers, Winning Hearts and Minds: British Governments, the Media and Colonial Counter-Insurgency, 1944–1960 (Leicester: Leicester University Press, 1995). 8 See Harriet Jones and Michael David Kandiah (eds), Myth of Consensus: New Views of British History, 1945–64 (London: Macmillan – now Palgrave Macmillan, 1996), who, while rejecting the thesis that a broad political consensus existed in the UK in the early post-war years, have suggested that if there was any sort of real consensus among the governing political elites it concerned the Cold War struggle to preserve democracy and domestic and international capitalism. 9 See Michael Dockrill, British Defence Since 1945 (Oxford: Blackwell, 1988), pp. 151–2 for figures on British defence spending.

1 Britain and the Origins of the Cold War 1 Quoted in Kenneth Bourne, Palmerston: The Early Years, 1784–1841 (London: Allen Lane, 1982), p. 361, Palmerston to Melbourne, 1835. 2 Papers of Lord Ponsonby of Shulbrede, MS.Eng.hst.c.669, Bodleian Library, Oxford, O’Malley to Ponsonby (FO), 14 Aug. 1924. 3 Randolph Churchill (ed.), Into Battle: Speeches of the Right Hon. Winston S. Churchill (London: Cassell, 1941), Broadcast of 1 Oct. 1939, p. 131. 4 Papers of Lord Howard of Penrith, Cumbria Record Office, Carlisle: DHW5/97, Herbert to Howard, 6 May 1922. 5 J.H. Gleason, The Genesis of Russophobia in Great Britain (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1950). 6 John Vincent (ed.), A Selection from the Diaries of Edward Henry Stanley, 15th Earl of Derby (1826–93) between September 1869 and March 1878, Camden 5th Series, vol. 4 (London: Royal Historical Society, 1994), p. 333. 193

194 Notes 7 M.S. Anderson, The Eastern Question, 1774–1923: A Study in International Relations (London: Macmillan – now Palgrave Macmillan, 1966), p. 91. 8 Quoted in J.B. Conacher, The Aberdeen Coalition, 1852–1855: A Study in Midnineteenth Century Party Politics (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1968), p. 182. 9 Palmerston in 1853, quoted in J.A.R. Marriott, Anglo-Russian Relations, 1689–1943 (London: Methuen, 1944), p. 140. 10 Lord Beaconsfield (Disraeli) to Queen Victoria, 22 July 1877, in George Buckle, The Life of Benjamin Disraeli: Earl of Beaconsfield, vol. VI, 1876–1881 (London: J. Murray, 1920), p. 155. 11 PRO, FO371/14352/f13/PC13, R.W.A. Leeper, ‘Memorandum on Russia’, 14 Nov. 1918. 12 PRO, CAB23/4, War Cabinet 294, minute 13, 7 Dec. 1917. 13 Martin Gilbert, Winston S. Churchill, companion vol. IV, part I, January 1917–November 1922 (London: Heinemann, 1977), pp. 585–6. 14 Birkenhead was speaking at a Conservative Party gathering, Loughborough, The Times, 29 June 1925, p. 9, col. 1. 15 Speech, 25 March 1949, Winston Churchill, In the Balance: Speeches 1949 and 1950, ed. Randolph Churchill (London: Cassell, 1951), p. 37. 16 PRO, CAB23/42, Imperial War Cabinet 45, 23 Dec. 1918. 17 Ibid. Milner at the time did not yet include Siberia as lying within the Bolshevik sphere. 18 Stephen White, Britain and the Bolshevik Revolution (New York: Holmes & Meier, 1980). 19 Total British casualties in the Intervention killed in action numbered 329. Martin Gilbert, Winston S. Churchill, vol. IV, 1916–1922 (London: Heinemann, 1975), p. 383. 20 PRO, CAB23/42, Imperial War Cabinet 45, 31 Dec. 1918. 21 House of Commons Debates, 5th series, vol. 125, col. 43, 10 Feb. 1920. 22 Ibid., col. 46. 23 M.V. Glenny, ‘The Anglo–Soviet Trade Agreement, March 1921’, Journal of Contemporary History vol. 5, no. 2 (1970), pp. 63–82. 24 See Andrew Williams, ‘The Genoa Conference of 1922: Lloyd George and the Politics of Recognition’ in Carole Fink, Axel Frohn and Jürgen Heideking (eds), Genoa, Rapallo and European Reconstruction in 1922 (Washington and Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991). 25 For a detailed analysis see Stephen White, Origins of Detente: The Genoa Conference and Soviet Western Relations, 1921–22 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1985) , esp. pp. 203–8. 26 G.N. Curzon, Russia in Central Asia and the Anglo–Russian Question (London: Longman’s, 1889). 27 Earl of Ronaldshay, The Life of Lord Curzon (London: Benn, 1928), vol. II, p. 114. 28 PRO, CAB23/32/Cabinet 64(22), annex iv, Statement to the Cabinet by the Foreign Secretary (Lord Curzon), 1 Nov. 1922. 29 Ibid. 30 Ibid. 31 PRO, CAB32/46, 26 Oct. 1926. 32 See White, Britain and the Bolshevik Revolution, chap.VI. 33 PRO, FO371/9365/N3334, Minute, 15 Apr. 1923. 34 Keith Middlemas (ed.), Thomas Jones Diary, Whitehall Diary, vol. I, 1916–1925 (London: Oxford University Press, 1969), entry for 28 May 1923.

Notes 195 35 The Times, 9 Jan. 1924, p. 12, c. 4. 36 Gabriel Gorodetsky, The Precarious Truce: Anglo–Soviet Relations, 1924–27 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1977), pp. 1–13. 37 The immediate cause was when the Attorney-General decided to drop charges against J.R. Campbell, a temporary editor of the communist Worker’s Weekly. 38 PRO, CAB23/48 C49(24); PRO, CAB23/49 C59, C60. 39 Hansard, House of Commons Debates, 5th series, vol. 125, col. 679, 15 Nov. 1924. 40 PRO, FO371/11064/W1252/9/98; Minute by A. Chamberlain, 21 Feb. 1925. 41 PRO, FO371/11065/W2035/9/98, Nicolson, ‘Present Condition in Europe’, 23 Jan.1925. 42 PRO, FO371/11066/W6497/9/98, Minute by Tyrrell, 14 July 1925. 43 Memorandum by A. Chamberlain, 10 June 1925, in W.N. Medlicott and D. Dakin, Documents on British Foreign Policy, 1919–39, 4th series, vol. 25 (London: HMSO, 1984), p. 4, p. 677 (doc.317). 44 PRO, CAB23/50 C36(25). 45 Erik Goldstein, ‘The Evolution of British Diplomatic Strategy for the Locarno Pact, 1924–1925’ in Michael Dockrill and Brian McKercher (eds), Diplomacy and World Power: Studies in British Foreign Policy, 1890–1950 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996). 46 Tyrrell to Lloyd, 2 Mar. 1927. GLLD 13/5. Lord Lloyd Papers, Churchill College, Cambridge. 47 Bevin speaking off the record to reporters on 1 Jan. 1946, quoted in Alan Bullock, Ernest Bevin: Foreign Secretary, 1945–1951 (New York: W.W. Norton & Company, 1983), p. 214.

2 Herbert Morrison, the Cold War and Anglo–American Relations, 1945–1951 1 Herbert Morrison, An Autobiography (London: Odhams, 1960), p. 255. 2 The fullest and most impressive study is Alan Bullock, Ernest Bevin: Foreign Secretary, 1945–51 (London: Heinemann, 1983). But see also Francis Williams, Ernest Bevin: Portrait of a Great Englishman (London: Hutchinson, 1952) and Peter Weiler, Ernest Bevin (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1993). 3 For a critical verdict, see Avi Shlaim, Keith Sainsbury and Peter Jones, British Foreign Secretaries Since 1945 (London: David Charles, 1977). The only major study so far is Bernard Donoughue and G.W. Jones, Herbert Morrison: Portrait of a Politician (London: Weidenfeld & Nicolson, 1973). It offers a sympathetic treatment. 4 Donoughue and Jones, Herbert Morrison, p. 385. 5 Leslie Hunter, The Road to Brighton Pier (London: Arthur Barker, 1959), p. 28. 6 Kenneth O. Morgan, Labour in Power 1945–1951 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1984), pp. 50–51. 7 Raymond Daniell, ‘Herbert Morrison: After Six Months’, New York Times Magazine, 2 September 1951, p. 10. 8 Williams, Ernest Bevin, pp. 231, 240, 241. 9 Hunter, Road to Brighton Pier, p. 26. 10 Trevor Burridge, Clement Attlee: A Political Biography (London: Jonathan Cape, 1985), p. 188. 11 Williams, Ernest Bevin, pp. 238–9; Donoughue and Jones, Herbert Morrison, pp. 340–4.

196 Notes 12 Quotation from Williams, Ernest Bevin, p. 240. See also Donoughue and Jones, Herbert Morrison, pp. 414–19. 13 Shlaim et al., British Foreign Secretaries Since 1945, p. 74. 14 Kenneth Younger Diary, 22 July 1951. 15 Weiler, Ernest Bevin, p. 74. 16 Morrison, An Autobiography, p. 120. 17 Williams, Ernest Bevin, pp. 186–7. 18 Ibid., p. 187. 19 Ibid., p. 228. 20 Francis Williams, quoted in Henry Pelling, The Labour Governments, 1945–1951 (London: Macmillan – now Palgrave Macmillan, 1984), p. 43. 21 Woodrow Wyatt, quoted in Pelling, The Labour Governments, 1945–1951, p. 75. 22 Hugh Dalton; quoted in Pelling, The Labour Governments, 1945–1951, p. 44; FO 800/491, Bevin, in a note on Carol Johnson to Bevin, 11 December 1945, described the group as ‘very near communist’. 23 Morrison, An Autobiography, pp. 253, 254. 24 Ibid., pp. 253, 254–5. 25 Stefan Berger, ‘Labour in Comparative Perspective’, in Duncan Tanner, Pat Thane and Nick Tiratsoo (eds), Labour’s First Century (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000), p. 321. 26 Ian Mikardo, Back-Bencher (London: Weidenfeld & Nicolson, 1988), p. 90. 27 Ibid., pp. 95–7, 100. 28 Parliamentary Debates (House of Commons), Fifth Series, vol. 430, col. 526 (18 November 1946). 29 Parl. Debs (House of Commons), Fifth Series, vol. 430, col. 578 (18 November 1946). 30 Parl. Debs (House of Commons), Fifth Series, vol. 430, col. 591–592 (18 November 1946); Bullock, Bevin, p. 329. 31 Mikardo, Back-Bencher, pp. 107, 109–10. 32 Stephen Howe, ‘Labour and International Affairs’, in Tanner et al. (eds), Labour’s First Century, p. 130. 33 Stefan Berger, ‘Labour in Comparative Perspective’, p. 321. 34 Morgan, Labour in Power, pp. 63–5. 35 Mikardo, Back-Bencher, p. 117. 36 Peter Weiler, British Labour and the Cold War (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1988), pp. 9, 12. 37 Donoughue and Jones, Herbert Morrison, pp. 433–4. 38 Ibid., pp. 249, 252, 377–9. 39 Documents on British Policy Overseas (hereafter DBPO, 1st, IV), First Series, vol. IV, ed. Roger Bullen and M.E. Pelly (London: HMSO, 1987), pp. 186–90, 217–23, 227–31, 285–8; Morrison, An Autobiography, pp. 255–6; Pelling, The Labour Governments, 1945–1951, pp. 67–9; Donoughue and Jones, Herbert Morrison, pp. 380–3. 40 DBPO, 1st, IV, no. 98, Halifax to Bevin, 13 May 1946, pp. 300–301. The remark about arranging for Attlee to address a college was a jocular reference to Churchill’s March 1946 ‘iron curtain’, speech to Westminster College, Fulton, Missouri. 41 Ibid., no. 100, ‘Report by Mr Morrison on his Mission to the U. S. and Canada’, 22 May 1946, pp. 309–14. 42 Donald Gillies, Radical Diplomat: The Life of Archibald Clark Kerr, Lord Inverchapel 1882–1951 (London: I.B. Tauris, 1999), p. 192.

Notes 197 43 PRO, FO 800/513, US/46/73 contains Dixon to Inverchapel, 27 June 1946; Herbert Morrison, ‘Notes on Some Overseas Economic and Publicity Problems’, June 1946; and Bevin’s undated minute. 44 PRO, FO 800/277, Mis/46/1, Dixon to Sargent, 13 May 1946. 45 PRO, FO 800/513, US/46/65, Bevin to Prime Minister, 10 June 1946. 46 See Donoughue and Jones, Morrison, pp. 485–91; Morgan, Labour in Power, pp. 444–55 47 Christopher Mayhew, Time To Explain: An Autobiography (London: Hutchinson, 1987), p. 96 (extract from diary, 4 October 1946). 48 Kenneth Younger Diary, 28 March 1951. 49 PRO, FO 371/90931, AU 1054/11, Record of a Talk by Sir P. Dixon, 20 March 1951. 50 PRO, FO 371/90936, AU1058/7, Franks to Morrison, 26 May 1951. 51 Morrison, An Autobiography, p. 275. 52 Bodleian Library, Oxford, Ms. Eng. c4518, Gore-Booth papers, Paul Gore-Booth to Nigel (?Gaydon), 17 July 1951. 53 PRO, FO 800/653, Pe/51/57, FO to Washington, Tel. No. 4804, 6 October 1951. 54 Dean Acheson, Present at the Creation (London: Hamish Hamilton, 1970), p. 569. 55 Shlaim et al., British Foreign Secretaries Since 1945, p. 75–76. 56 Evelyn Shuckburgh, Descent to Suez: Diaries 1951–56 (London: Weidenfeld & Nicolson, 1986), pp. 10–11. 57 Lord Gladwyn, The Memoirs of Lord Gladwyn (London: Weidenfeld & Nicolson, 1972), p. 251. 58 Denis Greenhill, More By Accident (York: Wilton, 1992), p. 70. 59 Kenneth O. Morgan, Labour People: Leaders and Lieutenants, Hardie to Kinnock (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1992), p. 185. 60 For a typical verdict, see T.E.B. Howarth, Prospect and Reality: Great Britain, 1945–1955 (London: Collins, 1985), p. 160: ‘During his seven months as Foreign Secretary Morrison gave the impression of floundering from crisis to crisis.’ 61 On the Middle East see William Roger Louis, The British Empire in the Middle East, 1945–1951: Arab Nationalism, the United States and Postwar Imperialism (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1984). 62 On Iran see Mary Ann Heiss, Empire and Nationhood: The United States, Great Britain and Iranian Oil, 1950–1954 (New York: Columbia University Press, 1997); and J.A. Bill and W.R. Louis (eds.), Iranian Nationalism and Oil (London: I.B. Tauris, 1988). 63 On Japan see Peter Lowe, Containing the Cold War in East Asia: British Policies Towards Japan, China and Korea, 1948–54 (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1997), pp. 11–81; and Roger Buckley, Occupation Diplomacy: Britain, the United States and Japan 1945–1952 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1982). 64 For a fuller treatment of Anglo–American relations on Iran and Japan see Michael F. Hopkins, Oliver Franks and the Truman Administration: Anglo–American Relations, 1948–1952 (London: Frank Cass, forthcoming 2002), chap. 11. 65 PRO, FO 371/124968, ZP24/1G, Pierson Dixon, Record of a Conversation, 14 July 1951. 66 John W. Young, Britain, France and the Unity of Europe 1945–1951 (Leicester: Leicester University Press, 1984), p. 177. 67 Ibid., pp. 178–9.

198 Notes

3 The Conservative Party and the Early Cold War: The Construction of ‘New Conservatism’ 1 Peter Hennessy, The Secret State: Whitehall and the Cold War (London: Allen Lane, 2002). 2 Dianne Kirby, Church, State and Propaganda: The Archbishop of York and International Relations: A Political Study of Cyril Foster Garbett, 1942–55 (Hull: Hull University Press, 1999) and ‘Harry S. Truman’s International Religious AntiCommunist Front, the Archbishop of Canterbury and the 1948 Inaugural Assembly of the World Council of Churches’, Contemporary British History, 15: 4 (Winter 2001). 3 See the special issue of Contemporary British History, 15: 3 (2001). 4 ICBH sponsored conference, Britain and the Culture of the Cold War, to be held in Sept. 2003. 5 See David Marquand, Ramsay MacDonald (London: Rowman & Littlefield, 1977). 6 There is an extensive literature on the Zinoviev Letter which discusses its provenance and possible authorship. See Christopher Andrew, ‘The British Secret Service and Anglo–Soviet Relations in the 1920s. Part I: From the Trade Negotiations to the Zinoviev Letter’, The Historical Journal, 20 (Sept. 1977), pp. 673–706. John Ferris, and Uri Bar-Joseph. ‘Getting Marlowe to Hold His Tongue: The Conservative Party, the Intelligence Services and the Zinoviev Letter’, Intelligence and National Security, 8: 4 (Oct. 1993), pp. 100–37. Uri BarJoseph, Intelligence Intervention in the Politics of Democratic States: The United States, Israel, and Britain (University Park, PA: Penn State Press, 1995). Gill Bennett, ‘A Most Extraordinary and Mysterious Business’: The Zinoviev Letter of 1924 (London: FCO Publications, 1998). 7 British Gazette, 5 May 1926. 8 PRO, MEPO/38/70 and MEPO/38/71. Also see Harriette Flory, ‘The Arcos Raid and the Rupture of Anglo–Soviet Relations, 1927’, Journal of Contemporary History, 12 (1977). 9 However, the UK was not entirely immune. See ICBH witness seminar, ‘Battle of Cable Street, 1936’, Contemporary Record, 8: 1 (1994). 10 R.I. McKibbin, ‘Class and Conventional Politics: The Conservative Party and the “Public” in Inter-war Britain’, in Ideologies of Class (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1991). 11 Stuart Ball (ed.), Parliament and Politics in the Age of Churchill and Attlee: The Headlam Diaries, 1935–1951 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999), p. 136. 12 This view was forcefully brought home to Churchill and others with regard to Stalin’s installation of a pro-Soviet Lublin regime in Poland in 1944–5, ignoring the claims of Mikolajczyk’s London-based government in exile. Caroline Kennedy-Pipe, Stalin’s Cold War: Soviet Strategies in Europe, 1943–56 (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1995), pp. 44–5 and 80. 13 Michael Balfour, Propaganda and War, 1939–1945: Organisations, Policies and Public in Britain and Germany (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1979), p. 230. 14 Richard Cockett, Thinking The Unthinkable: Think-Tanks and the Economic CounterRevolution, 1931–1983 (London: Fontana, 1995), p. 94. 15 David Cannadine (ed.), The Speeches of Winston Churchill (London: Penguin, 1989), p. 305. 16 John A. Ramsden, The Age of Churchill and Eden, 1940–1957 (London: Longman, 1995), p. 152.

Notes 199 17 18 19 20 21 22

23

24

25 26 27

28 29 30 31

32 33 34 35

36

See Martin Longden’s chapter in this volume. Headlam Diaries, Diary entry, 24 Feb. 1948, p. 545. Ibid., Diary entry, 5 Mar. 1948, p. 546. Ibid., Diary entry, July 1948, p. 563. Also see Robert Rhodes James (ed.), Chips, The Diaries of Sir Henry Channon (London: Weidenfeld & Nicolson, 1967), p. 431. Michael D. Kandiah, ‘The Conservative Party and the 1945 General Election’, Contemporary Record, 9: 1 (1995). See John A. Ramsden, The Making of Conservative Party Policy (London: Longman, 1980), pp. 97–100, and see the Ball Memorandum in Conservative Party Archives, Bodleian Library, Oxford [henceforward CPA], WHP1 and CCO 500/1/18. An early draft was leaked to the Press on 11 May 1947 and was published later that month. The rest were published at regular intervals over the next two years. J.D. Hoffman, The Conservative Party in Opposition, 1945–1951 (London: MacGibbon & Kee, 1964), p. 148. Andrew Taylor, ‘The Party and the Trade Unions’, in Anthony Seldon and Stuart Ball (eds.), Conservative Century: The Conservative Party Since 1900 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1994), p. 514. Alan Booth, ‘Britain in the 1930s: A Managed Economy?’, Economic History Review, 40: 3 (1987). John A. Ramsden, The Age of Churchill and Eden, 1940–1957 (London: Longman, 1995), p. 152. Harriet Jones, ‘New Conservatism?’, The Industrial Charter, Modernity and the Reconstruction of British Conservatism after the War’, in Becky Conekin, Frank Mort and Chris Waters (eds), Moments of Modernity: Reconstructing Britain, 1945–1964 (London: Rivers Oram Press, 1999), pp. 171–88. Evening Standard, 8 Mar. 1948. R.A. Butler, The Art of the Possible. The Memoirs of Lord Butler (London: Hamish Hamilton, 1971), pp. 146–7. Hansard, House of Commons Debates (HC Debs), 5th series, vol. 458, cols 218–19, and 227–8. CPA CCO 4/3/202. In letters to various firms the Party Chairman assured them that the Conservative Party would not support schemes to nationalise water (6 Dec. 1949), insurance (12 Aug. and 25 Oct. 1949) and cement. CPA, CCO 3/1/65. Alfred Hall-Davies, Director of Massey’s Burnley Brewery Ltd, to Woolton, 29 Nov. 1948. The Third Earl of Woolton’s Private Collection. Draft, Woolton to DouglasHome, 10 Sept. 1964. See Papers of the First Earl of Woolton, Bodleian Library Oxford, MS Woolton 21, passim. The National Liberals or Liberal Nationals (they changed their name to the former in 1948) were a splinter of the Liberal Party under the leadership of John Simon. They were that faction of the Liberal Party that continued to cooperate with the National Government after Liberal ministers had resigned from the Cabinet in Sept. 1932 and eventually moved into opposition in Nov. 1933. After the break-up of the Wartime Coalition Government, they continued to support Churchill’s caretaker administration. Chris Cook, A Short History of the Liberal Party, 1900–1984 (London: Macmillan (2nd edn) – now Palgrave Macmillan 1984), pp. 118–19. The Times, 10 May 1947.

200 Notes 37 Anthony Eden, Days for Decision, Selected Speeches (London: Faber, 1949), p. 126. 38 CPA, CCO 500/24/3817. Tactical Committee Minutes, Feb. 1950, para. 208. 39 See H.G. Nicholas, ‘La grande presse et les élections de 1951’, Revue Française de Science Politique, vol. 2 (1952), pp. 278–9. 40 David Butler, The British General Election of 1951 (London: Macmillan – now Palgrave Macmillan, 1952), p. 119. For similar examples, see Alan Sked and Chris Cook, Post-War Britain: A Political History (London: Penguin, 1979), pp. 111–12. 41 Daily Telegraph and Morning Post, 20 Oct. 1951. 42 Butler, General Election of 1951, pp. 110–12. 43 Daily Mirror, 23 to 25 Oct. 1951. Churchill sued the newspaper for libel but settled out of court later when he obtained a full apology and substantial damages. See Martin Gilbert, ‘Never Despair’, Winston Churchill, 1945–1965 (London: Heinemann, 1988), p. 648. 44 CPA, CCO 500/24/86. See passim Office Committee Minutes. 45 F.W.S. Craig (ed.), British General Election Manifestos 1900–1974 (London: Macmillan – now Palgrave Macmillan, 1975), pp. 196–73. 46 See, for instance, Paul Addison, The Road to 1945, British Politics and the Second World War (London: Quartet Books, 1977); Peter Hennessy and Anthony Seldon (eds), Ruling Performance: British Governments from Attlee to Thatcher (London: Blackwell, 1987); Dennis Kavanagh and Peter Morris, Consensus Politics from Attlee to Thatcher (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1989); T.F. Lindsay and Michael Harrington, The Conservative Party, 1918–1979 (London: Macmillan (2nd edn) – now Palgrave Macmillan, 1979); Peter Kellner, ‘Adapting to the Postwar Consensus’, Contemporary Record, 3 (1989). 47 Ina Zweiniger-Bargielowska, ‘Rationing, Austerity and the Conservative Party Recovery After 1945’, Historical Journal, 37: 1 (1994), pp. 70–84 and Austerity in Britain: Rationing, Controls and Consumption, 1939–1955 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000).

4 Waging the Economic Cold War: Britain and CoCom, 1948–1954 NB. Because of replication within the files of documents of a similar nature, sub-file numbers have been omitted as superfluous. 1 Examples of studies which deal with Anglo–American relations in CoCom include Frank M. Cain, ‘Exporting the Cold War: Britain’s response to the USA’s establishment of CoCom, 1947–51’, Journal of Contemporary History, 29 (1994), pp. 501–22; Alan P. Dobson, The Politics of the Anglo–American Economic Special Relationship, 1940–87 (Brighton: Wheatsheaf, 1988), pp. 125–36 and pp. 155–61; Tor Egil Forland, ‘Cold Economic Warfare: The Creation and Prime of CoCom, 1948–54’ (unpublished DPhil. thesis: University of Oslo, 1991); Vibeke Sorensen, ‘Economic Recovery versus Containment: The Anglo–American Controversy over East–West Trade, 1947–51’, Co-operation and Conflict, XXIV (1989), pp. 69–97; Yoko Yasuhara, ‘Myth of Free Trade: The Origins of COCOM and CHINCOM,1945–52’ (unpublished Ph.D dissertation: University of Wisconsin-Madison, 1984); and John W. Young, ‘Winston Churchill’s Peacetime Administration and the Relaxation of East–West Trade Controls, 1953–54’, Diplomacy and Statecraft, 7: 1 (March, 1996), pp. 125–40.

Notes 201 2 Foreign Relations of the United States [henceforward FRUS], 1948, IV, p. 512, ‘Control of Exports to the USSR and Eastern Europe’, paper approved by the NSC on 17 Dec. 1947. 3 FRUS, 1948, IV, pp. 489–97, ‘US Exports to the USSR and Satellite States’, paper prepared by the Policy Planning Staff, State Department, 26 Nov. 1948. See also Philip J. Funigiello, American–Soviet Trade in the Cold War (Chapel Hill, NC: University of North Carolina Press, 1988), pp. 25–49. 4 FRUS, 1948, IV, pp. 564–8, telegram from Marshall and Hoffman, ECA, to Harriman, 27 Aug. 1948. 5 PRO, FO371/71933, telegram from FO to British Embassy, Washington DC, 2 Sept. 1948. 6 PRO, FO371/71884, memorandum containing points to be made to the ECA administrator by P.H. Gore-Booth, 23 April 1948. 7 The effect of the dollar gap crisis on the British economy during 1945–51 is examined comprehensively in Alec Cairncross, Years of Recovery: British Economic Policy, 1945–51 (London: Methuen, 1985), pp. 61–83. 8 PRO, CAB134 (216), memorandum of meeting of the Economic Policy Committee (EPC) on the UK position to be adopted with respect to US proposals, 23 Nov. 1948. 9 PRO, FO371/71926/UR7793, report of EPC meeting, 20 Nov. 1948; PRO, CAB134(216)40, minutes of cabinet meeting, 14 Dec. 1948. 10 PRO, FO371/77789, telegram from UK delegation to OEEC, Paris, to FO, 17 Jan. 1949. 11 PRO, FO371/77790/UR820, telegram from UK delegation, Paris, to FO, 29 Jan. 1949. 12 PRO, FO371/77790, telegram from UK delegation, Paris, to FO, 3 Feb. 1949. 13 PRO, FO371/77791, minutes of OEEC meeting to discuss Anglo–French List sent by UK delegation Paris, to FO, 14 Feb. 1949; PRO, FO371/77791, telegram from UK delegation, Paris to FO, 14 Feb. 1949. 14 PRO, FO371/77797, report of the Working Group of the Ministry of Defence, 25 May 1949; PRO, FO371/77797, report of the London Committee by C.B. Duke, FO, 1 June 1949. 15 PRO, FO371/77797, report of the Economic Intelligence Department, FO, 8 June 1949. 16 PRO, FO371/77808, telegram from UK delegation, Paris, to FO, 26 Sept. 1949; PRO, FO371/77808, telegram from UK delegation, Paris, to FO, 30 Sept. 1949. 17 PRO, FO371/77815, report by UK delegation on meetings in Paris of 14–21 and 29 Nov. 1949. 18 FRUS, 1949, IV, pp. 177–8, telegram from Acheson to Harriman, 7 Dec. 1949. 19 NARA, RG59 460.509/4–2150, office memo prepared in State Department, 21 Apr. 1950. 20 NARA, RG59 460.509/5–450, paper on economic situation for May foreign ministers’ meeting prepared by State Department, 20 Apr. 1950. 21 FRUS, 1950, IV, pp. 128–30, telegram from Bruce to Webb, 17 May 1950. 22 Michael Mastanduno, Economic Containment: CoCom and the Politics of East–West Trade (New York: Cornell University Press, 1992), pp. 86–91. 23 Vibeke Sorensen, ‘Defence without Tears: US Embargo Policy and Economic Security in Western Europe, 1947–51’ in Francis H. Heller and John R. Gillingham (eds), NATO: The Founding of the Atlantic Alliance and the Integration of Europe (New York: St Martin’s Press, 1992), pp. 263–6.

202 Notes 24 PRO, FO371/87197, HMG aide memoire on the extension of the 1-B List, 1 Aug. 1950. 25 PRO, FO371/87203, memorandum by Mutual Aid Department, FO, on UK trade with Soviet bloc, 23 Nov. 1950. 26 FRUS, 1950, IV, p. 240, agreed report on the London tripartite conversations on security export control, 17 October to 20 Nov., 20 Nov. 1950; FRUS, 1951, I, p. 1012, editorial note. 27 PRO, FO371/94310, telegram from Franks to FO, 23 July 1951. 28 PRO, FO371/100214, notes for opening remarks of speech by leader of UK delegation in CoCom, undated. 29 PRO, FO371/105864, copy of Truman’s letter to six congressional committees on UK exceptions to Battle Act, 31 Dec. 1952. 30 Alan P. Dobson, ‘Informally Special? The Churchill–Truman talks of Jan. 1952 and the state of Anglo–American relations’, Review of International Studies, 23 (1997), p. 37. 31 See Tor Egil Forland, ‘ “Selling Firearms to the Indians”: Eisenhower’s Export Control Policy, 1953–54’, Diplomatic History, 15 (Spring, 1991), pp. 221–44 and Robert Mark Spaulding, ‘ “A Gradual and Moderate Relaxation”: Eisenhower and the Revision of American Export Control Policy, 1953–55’, Diplomatic History, 17 (Spring, 1993), pp. 223–49. 32 NARA, RG59 460.509/10–653, aide memoire from US Government to British Embassy, Washington DC, 6 Oct. 1953. 33 PRO, CAB134/887, ES(53), note by secretary of ESC, 25 Aug. 1953; PRO, CAB134/848 EA(53)113, report by Mutual Aid Committee on East–West trade, 2 Oct. 1953. 34 FRUS, 1952–54, I, pp. 1040–3, report of pre-bilateral meetings of 3–6 Nov., 10 Nov. 1953. 35 FRUS, 1952–54, I, pp. 1132–3, letter from Churchill to Eisenhower printed in telegram from Dulles to Aldrich, London, 27 Mar. 1954. 36 NARA, RG59 460.509/3–1954, letter from Eisenhower to Churchill, 19 Mar. 1954. 37 PRO, FO371/111304, record of first plenary meeting of Anglo/US/French talks on East–West trade, 29 Mar. 1954. 38 NARA, RG59 460.509/3-3154, telegram from Stassen to Dulles, 31 Mar. 1954; NARA, RG59 460.519/5–1354, report by Brown, London, to State Department on economic developments, 13 May 1954. 39 NARA, RG59 46.509/7–2454, telegram from Hughes, Paris, to Dulles, 24 July 1954; NARA, RG59 460.509/8–2454, advance press release by Foreign Operations administrator, 26 Aug. 1954.

5 Fight Against Peace? Britain and the Partisans of Peace, 1948–1951 1 Guiliano Procacci (ed.), The Cominform: Minutes of the Three Conferences, 1947–1948/1949 (Milan: Fondazione Giangiacomo, 1984), p. 651; David Holloway, Stalin and the Bomb: The Soviet Union and Atomic Energy (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1994), pp. 288–90; Wittner, One World or None, pp. 180–2; Marshall Shulman, Stalin’s Foreign Policy Reappraised (Boulder, CO: Westview Press, 1985), pp. 80–103.

Notes 203 2 PRO, CAB130/65/GEN341/1, Ministerial Meeting on World Peace Congress, 30 Oct. 1950; FRUS, 1950, vol. IV, International Information Programme, ‘Information Policy Guidance Paper: The Betrayal of Peace’, 27 July 1950, pp. 320–8. 3 For US attitudes see Robbie Liberman, ‘“Does That Make Peace a Bad Word?” American Responses to the Communist Peace Offensive, 1949–1950’, Peace & Change, 17: 2 (1992). 4 PRO, CAB130/65/GEN341/1 (PM/50/65), Bevin to Attlee, 25 Oct. 1950. See also, PRO, FO371/86758/NS1052/85, Summary of Indications Regarding Soviet Foreign Policy (RC127/50), No. 62. 25 Aug. 1950. 5 Lawrence Wittner, The Struggle Against the Bomb, Volume One: One World or None, A History of the World Nuclear Disarmament Movement Through 1953 (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1993), pp. 319–20. 6 Vera Brittain, Testament of a Generation: The Journalism of Vera Brittain and Winifred Holtby (London: Virago, 1985), p. 261. 7 Wittner, One World or None, pp. 319–23. 8 Martin Ceadel, ‘The First Communist “Peace Society”: The British Anti-War Movement, 1932–1935,’ Twentieth Century British History, 1: 1 (1990). 9 Willie Thompson. The Good Old Cause: British Communism, 1920–1991 (London: Pluto Press, 1992), pp. 68–70. 10 Ritchie Calder, News Chronicle, 25 Aug. 1948. 11 PRO, FO1110/112/PR1221/760/G, Working Party on Subversive Movements; Briefing of British Delegates to International Non-Governmental Congresses. Note by Joint Secretaries, 13 Jan. 1948, and CAB130/17/GEN168/4th Meeting, Briefing of British Delegates to International Non-Governmental Conferences, 30 Jan. 1949. 12 PRO, FO1110/108/PR693/693, Cloake minute, 14 Oct. 1948. 13 MGA, R/T19, Taylor to Wadsworth, 19 Aug. 1948. For Taylor’s reaction, see ‘Intellectuals at Wroclaw: A Strange Congress’, A.J.P. Taylor, Manchester Guardian, 2 Sept. 1948; and A.J.P. Taylor, A Personal History (London: Hamish Hamilton, 1983), pp. 192–3. 14 PRO, FO1110/108/PR693/693. For examples of coverage, see ‘A Man Named Taylor Raps the World Intellectuals’, Daily Express, 27 Aug. 1948; and ‘Loud Blow the Dons’, Evening Standard, 31 Aug. 1948. 15 PRO, FO1110/271/PR749/92/G, Hankey minute, 18 Mar. 1949; PRO, FO1110/114/PR785/785. Murray note, 18 Sept. 1948. 16 Papers of Ivor Montagu, Communist Party of Great Britain Archives, National Museum of Labour History, Manchester: 5/2, Draft Minute: Reunion of Signatories to the Main Wroclaw Resolution held 8 Nov., 1948 at Society for Visiting Scientists. 17 Procacci, The Cominform, p. 651. 18 Marshall Shulman, Stalin’s Foreign Policy Reappraised (Boulder, CO: Westview Press, 1985), p. 89. 19 Peter Coleman. The Liberal Conspiracy: The Congress for Cultural Freedom and the Struggle for the Mind of Postwar Europe (New York: Free Press, 1989), pp. 5–6. 20 PRO, FO1110/271/PR749/92/G, Hankey minute, 18 Mar. 1949. 21 PRO, FO1110/271/PR749/92/G, Mayhew minute, 22 Mar. 1949. 22 PRO, FO1110/112/PR760/760, Circular, 23 Sept. 1948; FO1110/117/PR815/815, Notes on Recent Tactics Experienced by United Kingdom Representatives or Individuals at Certain International Conferences, n.d.

204 Notes 23 ‘Czechs Protest to France,’ Manchester Guardian, 19 April 1949. 24 British Broadcasting Corporation, Written Archives Centre, Caversham Park, Berkshire [henceforward BBC/WAC]: Transcript, Home Service News Bulletin, 22 April 1949. 25 ‘Reds Say it With a Picasso Pigeon’, Daily Mail, 22 April 1949. See also ‘Led Cheers for Nanking’s Fall’, Observer, 24 April 1949. 26 Michael Cockerell, Peter Hennessy and David Walker, Sources Close to the Prime Minister: Inside the Hidden World of the News Manipulators (London: Macmillan – now Palgrave Macmillan, 1984); John Black, Organising the Propaganda Instrument: The British Experience (The Hague: Martinus Nijhoff, 1975). 27 The PRO began releasing IRD files in 1995. They can be found in the FO1110 classification. 28 The sociology of journalism is best represented by Jeremy Tunstall, Journalists at Work: Specialist Correspondents: Their News Organisations, News Sources and Competitor Colleagues (London: Constable, 1971). 29 See Helen Mercer, ‘Industrial Organisation and Ownership, and a New Definition of the Postwar “Consensus”’ in Harriet Jones and Michael David Kandiah, The Myth of Consensus: New Views of British History (London: Macmillan – now Palgrave Macmillan, 1996). 30 Paul Lashmar and James Oliver, Britain’s Secret Propaganda War (Stroud: Sutton Publishing, 1998). 31 PRO, FO1110/277/PR2919/112/G, Warner memorandum, 26 Sept. 1949. 32 ‘Archbishop on the Peace Petition’, The Times, 29 July 1950; PRO, FO1110/353/PR104/1, Sheridan to Ridsdale n.d. For a discussion about how the Church of England was drawn into Cold War battles see Dianne Kirby, Church State and Propaganda: The Archbishop of York and International Relations (Hull: Hull University Press, 1999). 33 PRO, FO1110/10/PR442/1/G, Mayhew to Warner, 6 May 1948. 34 PRO, FO1110/258/PR1217/69, Mayhew to Bevin, 7 May 1949. 35 PRO, FO1110/202/PR2960/17/G, Foreign Office Report to the Colonial Information Policy Committee, 3 Oct. 1949. 36 For representative IRD briefing papers, see PRO, FO975/33, ‘The Communist “Peace offensive,”’ 30 Aug. 1949; FO975/49, ‘The Soviet Peace Campaign,’ [1950]; and FO975/68, ‘“Congress of the Peoples for Peace”: An Examination of Communist Tactics,’ [1953]. 37 See Trade Unionists Stand Firm for Peace ([London]: TUC Pamphlet [1950]), p. 15; Labour Party Archives, National Museum of Labour History, Manchester [henceforward LPA]: International Department, Peace and Propaganda 1950, ‘End the Veto on Peace’ (Labour Party leaflet). 38 BBC/WAC: Transcript of Home Service News Bulletin, 9 Nov. 1950. 39 Time and Tide, 25 Nov. 1950, p. 1177. 40 Manchester Guardian, 24 Mar. 1953; News Chronicle, 15 Dec. 1952. 41 ‘Pocket Cartoon by Osbert Lancaster,’ Daily Express, 13 Nov. 1950. 42 ‘Reds at Schools Inquiry Opens’, Daily Mail, 25 July 1950. 43 ‘London Girl Ran Red Peace Plea at School’, Sunday Chronicle, 23 July 1950. 44 ‘A House Divided – By the Reds’, Daily Express, 25 July 1950. ‘Mother Blames the Reds, Brenda Blames the Press’, Daily Mail, 31 July 1950. 45 ‘Petition Joke by School Boys’, Daily Telegraph, 25 July 1950. 46 Daily Express, 31 July 1950.

Notes 205 47 LPA: International Department, Peace and Propaganda, 1950, Stockholm Peace Petition. 48 FRUS, 1950, vol. IV, International Information Program, Information Policy Guidance Paper: The Betrayal of Peace, pp. 320–8. 49 PRO, FO1110/346, PR87/34, Warner Note, 18 May 1950; Undated, Unsigned Note of Bevin’s Conversation. 50 ‘An Important Issue’, One World, Aug.–Sept. 1949; ‘NPC Notes and News’, One World, June–July 1952; ‘Red Letter Boys’, Daily Worker, 26 July 1950. See also Wittner, One World or None, p. 320. 51 PRO, FO371/86758/NS1052/85, Summary of Indications Regarding Soviet Foreign Policy (RC127/50), no. 62. 25 Aug. 1950. 52 PRO, FO953/639/P1013/120, Ashley-Clarke to Hoyer Millar, 11 Sept. 1950. 53 For example, see the Daily Telegraph, 6 Dec. 1950, and the Daily Herald, 30 Nov. 1950. 54 ‘Bevan Asks Stalin: “Are You Faithful?”’, Observer, 23 July 1950. 55 Conservative Party Archives, Bodleian Library , Oxford: CCO, 3/2/66. British Peace Committee, Scott-Atkinson to Mann, 31 Oct. 1950; and Maxse to Mann, 3 Nov. 1950. 56 National Executive Committee: Minutes of the Labour Representation Committee, 1900–06, and the Labour Party Since 1906 (microfiche) (Hassocks: Harvester Press), Card 391, ‘Report on International Socialist Conference, Copenhagen,’ June 1–3, 1950. 57 PRO, FO1110/346, PR87/28, Watson note, ‘Action to Counteract the Communist Peace Offensive’, 18 Mar. 1950. 58 PRO, FO1110/346, PR87/244, Shinwell to Attlee, 12 Oct. 1950. 59 ‘Among the Organisations’, One World, Aug.–Sept.1950. Also, Papers of the 1st Baron Noel-Baker, Churchill Archives Centre, Cambridge: 4/121, Notes on Communism, Noel-Baker to Paul Cadbury, 8 Nov. 1950, and Bailey to Paul Cadbury, 2 Nov. 1950. 60 PRO, FO371/86762/NS1053/26/G, Russia Committee minutes, 12 Sept. 1950; PRO, FO1110/348/PR87/234/G, D.P. Reilly minute, 11 Oct. 1950. 61 NARA, RG 59, Decimal File 740.5/9–2850 (Box 3429), Memorandum of Conversation (Bevin and Acheson), 28 Sept. 1950. The Americans believed that the emergence of a “London Peace Appeal” while the West was rearming would cause ‘incalculable harm’. See, FRUS, 1950, vol. IV, International Information Program, Perkins to Acheson, 22 Sept. 1950 and Holmes to Acheson, 28 Sept. 1950, pp. 328–31. 62 PRO, CAB128/18, CM 56(50)3, 6 Sept. 1950. 63 Ilya Ehrenburg, Post-War Years, 1945–54 (London: MacGibbon & Kee, 1966), p. 224. 64 Communist Party of Great Britain Archives, National Museum of Labour History, Manchester: [henceforward CPGBA], CENT/EC/01/01. Report to Oct.1950 Executive Committee Meeting. 65 PRO, CAB130/65/GEN344/1(P.M./50/65), Bevin to Attlee, 25 Oct. 1950. 66 PRO, CAB130/65/GEN341/1, Ministerial Meeting. 30 Oct. 1950. 67 ‘Bogus Peace Congress/Prime Minister Warns’, The Times, 2 Nov. 1950. 68 Papers of the 1st Earl Attlee, Bodleian Library, Oxford: Box 111, Jordan to Attlee, 27 Oct. 1950. 69 PRO, PREM8/1150, Attlee to Morrison, 17 Oct. 1950. 70 PRO, CAB128/18/CM72(50)/8, 9 Nov. 1950.

206 Notes 71 72 73 74

75 76 77 78

79 80 81

82

83

84 85 86

87

88

89 90 91 92 93

94

The Times, 15 Nov. 1950. ‘“Peacemakers” Call it a Day at Sheffield’, News of the World, 12 Nov. 1950. ‘An “Iron Curtain” at Sheffield’, Manchester Guardian, 14 Nov. 1950. ‘The Peace Men Crash Into Reverse’, William Connor, Daily Mirror, 15 Nov. 1950; and ‘Red Congress Switch Brings Fog and Confusion’, William Connor, Daily Mirror, 13 Nov. 1950. WPA Film Library, Orland Park, IL, Pathé Newsreel, Cannister 50/92, 16 Nov. 1950. Hansard, House of Commons Debates, 5th Series, vol. 480, cols. 1561–2, 16 Nov. 1950. Ibid., cols. 1559–70, and 1648–92. ‘The Illiberal Mr Ede’, Manchester Guardian, Nov. 13, 1950, p. 4; and the Papers of the 1st Baron Beaverbrook, House of Lords Record Library, London:H/141, Christiansen to Beaverbrook, 17 Nov. 1950. PRO, FO1110/349, PR87/446, Peck minute, 1 Dec. 1950. Papers of Sir Walter Layton, Trinity College Library, Cambridge [henceforward MS Layton]: Box 9, Gordon-Walker to Layton, 20 Dec. 1950. The Partisans claimed some 500 million signatures, most from the Communist bloc. However, 14 million signed in France, 17 million in Italy and 2.5 million in the USA. For signature totals, see Wittner, One World or None, p. 183. ‘No Champion for Peace Petition’, Manchester Guardian, 8 Dec. 1950; ‘Petition Presented to Commons’, Daily Worker, 13 Dec. 1950. Also House of Commons Debates, vol. 482, cols. 951–2, 12 Dec. 1950. See, ‘High-Powered Propaganda of Hate at “Peace” Congress’, Hugh Chevins, Daily Telegraph, 29 Nov. 1950; and ‘Warsaw Orgy of Propaganda’, Sunday Times, 19 Nov. 1950. ‘I Might Have Been the Dean Himself!…’, Sefton Delmer, Daily Express, 20 Nov. 1950. Ibid. BBC/WAC, Transcript, Home Service News Bulletin, 19 Nov. 1950. Also, see ‘“Peace” Congress in Warsaw,’ The Times, 20 Nov. 1950; and ‘Reds Boo as Rogge Scores Cominform’, New York Times, 20 Nov. 1950. NARA, RG59, Miscellaneous Records of the Bureau of Public Affairs, Lot 61 D 53 (Box 72), John O. Rogge file, Memorandum of Conversation (Rogge and MacKnight), 1 Nov. 1950, and MacKnight to Rogge, 3 Nov. 1950. Papers of J.D. Bernal, British Library of Political and Economic Science, London: Box 3, Report to the Bureau of the World Peace Congress Meeting in Geneva, 10–11 Jan. 1951. CPGBA, CENT/EC/02/03, Minutes of Enlarged (CPGB) Executive Committee, 14–15 Oct. 1951. Papers of William Clark, Bodleian Library, Oxford: Box 93, Clark to Martin, 13 Jan. 1951. MS Layton, Box 88, George Cadbury to Laurence Cadbury, 22 Feb. 1951, and Laurence Cadbury to George Cadbury, 1 Mar. 1951. PRO, CAB 129/50/C(52) 85, World Peace Movement, 26 Mar. 1952; and CAB128/24/CM(52)35(8). James Oliver, ‘Britain and the Covert War of Words: The Information Research Department and Sponsored Publishing’, unpublished MA thesis, University of Kent at Canterbury, 1995. W.N. Ewer, Communists on Peace (London: Batchworth Press, 1953).

Notes 207 95 The original quotations in question can be found in PRO, FO975/33 and FO975/68. 96 News Chronicle, 15 Dec. 1952; Manchester Guardian, 24 Mar. 1953; Wittner, One World Or None, pp. 328–9. 97 Lawrence Wittner, The Struggle Against the Bomb, Vol. Two: Resisting the Bomb: A History of the World Nuclear Disarmament Movement, 1954–1970 (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1997), pp. 121–4; and Thompson, The Good Old Cause, p. 116.

6 ‘Our Staunchest Friends and Allies in Europe’ Britains’s Special Relationship with Scandinavia, 1945–1953 1 A good introduction to the general Scandinavian perspective is Helge Pharo, ‘Scandinavia’, David Reynolds (ed. ), The Origins of the Cold War in Europe: International Perspectives (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1994), pp. 194–222. Other central works in English are: Geir Lundestad, America, Scandinavia, and the Cold War 1945–1949 (New York: Columbia University Press, 1980); Rolf Tamnes, The United States and the Cold War in the High North (Aldershot: Dartmouth, 1991); Magne Skodvin, Nordic or North Atlantic Alliance? The Post-war Scandinavian Security Debate (Oslo: Institute for Defence Studies, 1990); Charles Silva, Keep Them Strong, Keep Them Friendly: Swedish–American Relations and the Pax Americana, 1948–1952 (Stockholm: Akademitryck AB, 1999). 2 Skodvin, Nordic or North Atlantic Alliance?, Carsten Holbraad, Danish Neutrality: A Study in the Foreign Policy of a Small State (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1991), pp. 86–114; Knut E. Eriksen and Magne Skodvin, ‘Storbritannia, NATO og et skandinavisk forbund’, Internasjonal Politikk, 39: 3 (1981), pp. 437–511. 3 On Swedish threat scenarios in particular, see the studies in Kent Zetterberg (ed.), Hotet från öster. Svensk säkerhetspolitik, krigsplanering och strategi 1945–1958 (Stockholm: Försvarshögskolan, 1997). 4 PRO, FO371/56959/N14836, Hankey minute, 22 Nov. 1946. 5 PRO, FO371/77403/N1387/G, Bevin minute, 4 Feb. 1949. 6 Alex Danchev has set up ten criteria for a ‘special relationship’: (1) Transparency; (2) Informality; (3) Generality; (4) Reciprocity; (5) Exclusivity; (6) Clandestinity; (7) Reliability; (8) Durability; (9) Potentiality; (10) Mythicality. Alex Danchev, ‘On Specialness’, International Affairs, 72: 4 (1996), p. 743. 7 Phrase by Colonel J.H. Magill (Allied Control Commission, Helsinki), PRO, FO371/47450/N15473, Magill’s note 30 Oct. 1945. 8 On the ‘grand design’, PRO, FO371/49069/Z9595, Hoyer Millar minute, 13 Aug. 1945; John W. Young, Britain and European Unity, 1945–1992 (London: Macmillan – now Palgrave Macmillan, 1993), p. 1. On British foreign policy towards Scandinavia after the war see: Juhana Aunesluoma, ‘Britain, Sweden and the Cold War, 1945–54’ (unpublished DPhil. thesis, University of Oxford, 1998); Eriksen and Skodvin, ‘Storbritannia, NATO og et skandinavisk forbund’; Nikolaj Petersen, Britain, the United States and Scandinavian Defence 1945–1949 (Aarhus: Institute of Political Science, University of Aarhus, 1980); Nikolaj Petersen, ‘Britain, Scandinavia and the North Atlantic Treaty 1948–49’, Review of International Studies, vol. 8, no. 4 (1982), pp. 251–68; Mats Berdal, British Naval Policy and Norwegian Security. Maritime Power in Transition, 1951–60 (Oslo: Institute for Defence Studies, 1992); Knut Einar Eriksen, Storbritannia og

208 Notes

9 10 11

12

13 14 15 16

17 18

19 20 21

22 23 24

25 26 27 28 29 30

Baseproblematikken i Norden 1945–1947 (Oslo: Forsvarhistorisk Forskningssenter, 1981); Clive Archer, Uncertain Trust: The British–Norwegian Defence Relationship (Oslo: Institute for Defence Studies, 1989). Aunesluoma, ‘Britain, Sweden and the Cold War’, pp. 209–30. The argument put forward here is developed in full in Aunesluoma, ‘Britain, Sweden and the Cold War’. Riksarkivet (Swedish State Archive), Stockholm [henceforward RA]: Utrikesdepartement (Foreign Ministry), Hp 1 Ba, Hägglöf to N. Quensel, 19 Feb. 1949. ‘The Position of the United States with Respect to Scandinavia and Finland’, a report to the National Security Council, NSC 121, 8 Jan. 1952, Om kriget kommit … Förberedelser för mottagande av militärt bistånd 1949–1969. Betänkande av Neutralitetspolitikkommissionen. Bilagor (Stockholm: SOU, 1994: 11), pp. 111–16. Archer, Uncertain Trust, pp. 7–11. Lundestad, America, Scandinavia, and the Cold War, pp. 43–4. Ibid., pp. 52–3, 57–8, 63. Olav Riste, ‘London-Regjeringa’: Norge i krigsalliansen 1940–1945, vol. 1, 1940–1942: Prøvetid (Oslo: Det Norske Samlaget, 1973); vol. 2, 1942–1945: Vegen heim (Oslo: Det Norske Samlaget, 1979); Peter Ludlow, ‘Britain and Northern Europe, 1940–1945’, Scandinavian Journal of History, 4 (1979), pp. 123–62. Alan Bullock, Ernest Bevin: Foreign Secretary, 1945–51 (London: Heinemann, 1983), p. 192. An observation by the Finnish political representative in London. Ulkoministeriön Arkisto (Archives of the Finnish Ministry of Foreign Affairs), Helsinki: Microfilm 5 C, Eero A. Wuori to Foreign Minister Carl Enckell, 23 Nov. 1945; Bullock, Ernest Bevin, p. 192. PRO, FO371/48042/N7460, Sir Victor Mallet to Eden, 17 June 1945. Papers of Sir Stafford Cripps, Nuffield College, Oxford [henceforward MS Cripps], File 420, Cripps’s speech at a lunch with Myrdal, undated (1946). Cripps’s speech, undated (spring 1946), MS Cripps File 420; Papers of Clement Attlee, Bodleian Library, Oxford [henceforward MS Attlee]: vol. 69, Attlee’s election speech, undated (summer 1945); vol. 102, Attlee’s speech in the House of Commons, 23 Jan. 1948. PRO, FO371/94986/NW11994/39, Morrison to Lambert, 6 Sept. 1951 (Record of Conversations with the King and Prime Minister of Sweden). See further, Aunesluoma, ‘Britain, Sweden and the Cold War’, chapters 6 and 7. PRO, FO371/100946/NW1194/29G, Hohler minute, 22 July 1952, Strang minutes, 25 and 29 July 1952, Makins minute, 28 July 1952, Mason to Stevens, 5 Aug. 1952; PRO, FO371/106636/NW1194/29G, Hohler minute, 11 Sept. 1953. A.H. Halsey, Foreword to Malcolm B. Hamilton, Democratic Socialism in Britain and Sweden (London: Macmillan – now Palgrave Macmillan, 1989), p. ix. Denis Healey, The Time of My Life (London: Michael Joseph, 1989), p. 95. PRO, FO371/86907/NW1011/1, ‘Sweden: Annual Review for 1949’, Lambert to McNeil, 31 Jan. 1950. Kaj Björk, Kallt Krig. Männsikor och idéer (Stockholm: Tidens Förlag, 1990), pp. 103–4. Alan S. Milward, The Reconstruction of Western Europe 1945–51 (London: Routledge, 1992), p. 316. PRO, CAB129/23, CP(48)8, Bevin memorandum ‘Future Foreign Publicity Policy’, 4 Jan. 1948.

Notes 209 31 32 33 34

35 36

37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61

62

Ibid. PRO, FO371/77727/N8928, P. Mennell minute, 6 Oct. 1949. PRO, FO371/77399/N4187, Bevin to Crowe (Oslo), 6 May 1949. Hansard, House of Commons Debates, 5th Series, vol. 446, cols. 561–9, 23 Jan. 1948; MS Attlee, vol. 102, Attlee’s speech in the House of Commons, 23 Jan. 1948. Ibid. RA, HP 1 Ba, vol. HP 248, Hägglöf to Undén, 27 Oct. 1951; PRO, FO371/86142/N1017, Anthony Lambert to Geoffrey Harrison, 1 Mar. 1950; PRO, FO371/99082/UES1281/142, Sir Michael Wright (Oslo) to Anthony Eden, 18 June 1952. PRO, FO371/86142/N1017, Anthony Lambert to Geoffrey Harrison, 1 Mar. 1950. PRO, FO371/86909/NW1016/4, Lambert to McNeil, 1 Mar. 1950. Ibid. RA, HP 1 Ba, vol. 248, Hägglöf to Hammarskjöld, 5 Dec. 1951. PRO, FO371/100946/NW1194/13G, C(52)65, Eden memorandum, ‘Swedish Defence’, 6 Mar. 1952. Gunnar Hägglöf, Engelska År, 1950–1960 (Stockholm: P.A. Norstedt & Söners Förlag, 1974), pp. 215–16. PRO, FO371/94968/NW1011/1, ‘Sweden: Annual review for 1950’, Harold Farquhar, 17 Feb. 1951. PRO, FO371/77710/N3506, Farquhar memorandum, untitled, 13 April 1949. Lord Gladwyn, Memoirs of Lord Gladwyn (London: Weidenfeld & Nicolson, 1971), pp. 256–7. PRO, FO371/99082/UES1281/142, Wright to Eden, 18 June 1952. PRO, FO371/78136/UR11040, J.P.E.C. Henniker minute, 1 Nov. 1949. PRO, FO371/78136/UR11569, C.A. Duke minute, 15 Nov. 1949. PRO, FO371/78137/UR12265, Henniker memorandum, ‘Closer Economic Association between Scandinavia and the Sterling Area’, 30 Nov. 1949. PRO, FO371/94444/N1052/5, Makins’s memorandum, ‘Impressions of Scandinavia’, 28 June 1951. Ibid. Ibid. PRO, FO371/94444/N1052/5, Strang minute, 28 June 1951. Aunesluoma, Britain, Sweden and the Cold War, pp. 152–202. PRO, T236/2606, Playfair to Makins, 21 Oct. 1949. Ingemar Hägglöf, Drömmen om Europa (Värnamo: Norstedts, 1987), p. 56; Birger Steckzén, Svenskt och Brittiskt: Sex essayer (Uppsala: Gebers, 1959). PRO, FO371/94444/N1052/5, Makins’s memorandum, ‘Impressions of Scandinavia’, 28 June 1951. PRO, FO371/111337/N1052/1, ‘British policy towards Scandinavia’, FO memorandum, 4 May 1954. Ibid. PRO, FO371/106109/N1891/16G, Minutes of the Meeting of the British Ambassadors to Scandinavia, 17–18 June 1953. PRO, FO371/94968/NW1011/1, ‘Sweden: Annual Review for 1950’, Farquhar to Bevin, 15 Feb. 1951; Bengt Nilson, ‘No Coal without Iron Ore: Anglo–Swedish Trade Relations in the Shadow of the Korean War’, Scandinavian Journal of History, 16: 1 (1991), pp. 45–72. PRO, FO371/94981/NW1151/25, ‘Sweden’, a brief to Lord Lucas, 15 Mar. 1951.

210 Notes 63 PRO, FO371/106109/N1891/16G, Minutes of the Meeting of the British Ambassadors to Scandinavia, 17–18 June 1953. 64 PRO, FO371/116861/NW1011/1, ‘Sweden: Annual Review for 1954’, Hankey to Eden, 31 Dec. 1954. 65 PRO, FO371/111337/N1051/1, ‘British Policy towards Scandinavia’, FO memorandum, 4 May 1954. 66 Ibid. 67 Danchev, ‘On Specialness’, p. 740. 68 PRO, FO371/77394/N1151, Bevin minute, undated. 69 Phrase used in Dean Acheson’s speech in 1952, quoted in Danchev, ‘On Specialness’, p. 739.

7 Revisiting Rapallo: Britain, Germany and the Cold War, 1945–1955 1 PRO, FO371/109571/CW1052/17 Kirkpatrick minute, 29 May 1954 in Roberts to Kirkpatrick, 28 May 1954. 2 Zara Steiner, The Foreign Office and Foreign Policy 1898–1914 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1969) pp. 55–76; Paul Kennedy, The Rise of Anglo–German Antagonism 1860–1914 (London: The Ashfield Press, 1980) p. 253. 3 Quoted in Anne Deighton, ‘The Frozen Front: The Labour Government, The Division of Germany and the Origins of the Cold War 1945–7’, International Affairs, vol. 63 (1987), p. 458. 4 Ben Pimlott, Hugh Dalton (London: Jonathan Cape, 1985), p. 568. 5 Hansard, House of Commons Debates, 5th series, vol. 473, col. 323. 6 Alec Cairncross, The Price of War (Oxford: Blackwell, 1986), p. 151. 7 PRO, CAB128/1, CM(45)31st mtg., minute 5, 13 Sept. 1945; CAB 129/2, CP(45)160, 10 Sept. 1945. 8 Roger Bullen and M.E. Pelly (eds), Documents on British Policy Overseas: Conferences and Conversations: London, Washington and Moscow, series I, vol. II, (London: HMSO, 1985). Memorandum by Clark Kerr, 1 Oct. 1945, p. 447, Memorandum by Dixon, 1 Oct. 1945, pp. 448–9, Record by Clark Kerr of conversation at the Soviet Embassy, 1 Oct. 1945, pp. 449–55. 9 Geoffrey Warner, ‘Ernest Bevin and British Foreign Policy’, The Diplomats 1939–1979 (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1994), pp. 107–8. 10 Brian White, Britain, Détente and Changing East–West Relations (London: Routledge 1992), chapter 3. 11 Victor Rothwell, Britain and the Cold War (London: Jonathan Cape, 1982), p. 57. 12 Alan Bullock, Ernest Bevin: Foreign Secretary, vol. 3 (London: Heinemann, 1983), p. 358. 13 Sean Greenwood, ‘Bevin, the Ruhr and the Division of Germany’, Historical Journal, vol. 29 (1986), pp. 204–6. 14 Bullock, op. cit., pp. 662–664. 15 PRO, FO371/85058/W6201, ‘The Problem of Germany’ (PUSC(62)Final), Nov. 1949. 16 Quoted in Barbara Schwepke, ‘The British High Commissioners in Germany’ (Unpublished PhD thesis, University of London, 1991), p. 75. 17 PRO, FO371/85058, C18165/27/18, Aide–Memoire from Paris, 18 Dec. 1950. 18 Bullen and Pelly, Document on British Policy Overseas: German Rearmament Series II, vol. III, (London: HMSO, 1989), Brief by Dixon for Bevin, 17 Dec. 1950, pp. 376–380, Note by Dixon, 21 Dec. 1950, p. 396.

Notes 211 19 PRO, FO371/94842/NS1053/2, Draft telegram to Washington, 2 Jan. 1951, NS 1053/4, Minutes of Russia Committee Meeting, 3 Jan. 1951. 20 Kenneth Younger Diaries (in private possession), entry for 9 Jan. 1951. I would like to thank Professor Geoffrey Warner for access to the Younger papers and Lady Younger for permission to quote them. 21 PRO, PREM11/1857, Hoyer Millar’s valedictory despatch, 23 Jan. 1957. 22 PRO, FO371/97760, C1017/458, FO Brief on Alternative Policies on Germany, 9 Aug. 1952. 23 PRO, FO371/109576, C10723/3, Hoyer Millar to FO, 21 June 1954 with Kirkpatrick, Hancock and Roberts minutes, 23 June 1954. 24 PRO, PREM11/666, Colville to Brooke, 16 June 1954. 25 PRO, T225/413, Roberts to Brownjohn, 30 June 1954. 26 FRUS 1952–4, vol. V, memoranda of two conversations between Eisenhower, Churchill, Dulles and Eden, 27 June 1954, pp. 984–5. 27 FRUS 1955–7, vol. 5, Telegram from Ambassador in the Soviet Union (Bohlen) to the State Department, p. 583. 28 PRO, FO371/118181/WG10338/108, Moscow (Hayter) to FO, 14 Sept. 1955, PRO, FO371/118181/WG10338/120, Johnston memo, 14 Sept. 1955; FO371/118182, Wright minute 21 Sept. 1955; FO371/118183/WG 10338/151, Harrison minute, 22 Sept. 1955. 29 Spencer Mawby, ‘Détente Deferred: German Rearmament and Anglo–Soviet Rapprochement’, Contemporary British History, vol. 12 no. 2, 1998. 30 PRO, FO371/97757/C1017/386, Roberts to Strang, 21 June 1952. 31 John Lewis Gaddis, We Now Know (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1997) p. 127. 32 PRO, FO371/109271, C1071/89, Nutting to Eden, 30 Dec. 1953. 33 PRO, FO371/102030/WU1197/17, Harrison memorandum, 2 Jan. 1953. 34 PRO, DEFE4/76/COS(55)28th mtg., minute 1, 22 Apr. 1955. 35 PRO, FO1008/346, Allen and Hoyer Millar minutes, 13 Apr. 1955. 36 PRO, FO371/118204/W61071/278, FO to Washington, 26 Mar. 1955.

8 Defence or Deterrence: The Royal Navy and the Cold War, 1945–1955 1 For a fuller examination of these issues see Ian Speller, The Role of Amphibious Warfare in British Defence Policy, 1945–1956 (London: Palgrave – now Palgrave Macmillan, 2001). 2 The analysis, opinions and conclusions expressed or implied in this chapter are those of the author and do not necessarily represent the views of the JSCSC, the UK Ministry of Defence or any other government agency. 3 For example see, G. Douhet, The Command of the Air (London: Faber & Faber, 1943) and J.C. Slessor, The Central Blue (London: Cassell, 1956). 4 A. Cecil Hampshire, The Royal Navy Since 1945: Its transition to the Nuclear Age (London: William Kimber, 1975), p. 14. 5 According to current Maritime Doctrine, maritime power projection can be defined as ‘The use of seaborne military forces to influence events on the land directly’. 6 PRO, DEFE2/1709. Also see PRO, WO216/202, PRO, DEFE2/1727 and PRO, DEFE2/1608.

212 Notes 7 Bryan Ranft and Geoffrey Till, The Sea in Soviet Strategy (Annapolis: Naval Institute Press, 1989), chap. 5; Norman Polmar and Jurrien Noot, Submarines of the Russian and Soviet Navies, 1718–1990 (Annapolis: Naval Institute Press, 1991). 8 The distinction between offensive and defensive forces is somewhat artificial. I define ‘offensive’, forces as those designed to actively carry the fight to the enemy ashore. 9 Andrew D. Lambert, The Crimean War: British Grand Strategy, 1853–56 (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1990). 10 Stephen Roskill, Naval Policy Between the Wars – Vol. 1 (London: Collins, 1968), p. 150. 11 PRO, ADM239/242, PRO, DEFE2/764, PRO, DEFE2/1799. 12 PRO, CAB80/44, COS(44)166. 13 Ibid. 14 Ibid. 15 PRO, DEFE11/276, Folio 534. 16 Capable of embarking 6,000 troops and 750 vehicles. PRO, CAB79/44, COS(46)18 mtg. 17 PRO, DEFE 5/29, COS (51)146. 18 Combined Operations [Later Amphibious Warfare] Headquarters. 19. PRO, DEFE5/4, COS(47)129(O). PRO, DEFE5/5, COS(47)157(O). 20 PRO, DEFE5/34, COS(51)601. PRO, DEFE6/20, JP(52)1. PRO, DEFE4/53, COS(52)45 mtg. 21 Speller, Role of Amphibious Warfare, pp. 110–11. 22 Julian Thompson, The Royal Marines: From Sea Soldiers to a Special Force (London: Sidgwick & Jackson, 2000), part 5. 23 Corelli Barnett, Engage the Enemy More Closely: The Royal Navy in the Second World War (London: Hodder & Stoughton, 1991), p. 879. 24 Hampshire, Royal Navy Since 1945, p. 1. 25 Norman Friedman, British Carrier Aviation: The Evolution of the Ships and Their Aircraft (London: Conway Maritime Press, 1988), chaps 12 and 14. 26 Conway’s All the World’s Fighting Ships (London: Conway’s Maritime Press, 1983), pp. 144–5. 27 Eric Grove, Vanguard to Trident: British Naval Policy Since World War II (London: Bodley Head, 1987), p. 37. The navy usually had three or four operational carriers. These were often small Colossus class light fleet carriers. These ships were preferred to larger fleet carriers as, despite a much smaller manpower requirement, they could deploy much the same-size air group owing to their large lifts and hangars. 28 Plus a Commonwealth contribution of 2 light fleet carriers, 5 cruisers, 16 destroyers and 16 escorts. 29 Grove, Vanguard to Trident, p. 7. 30 PRO, DEFE2/1438, COS(47)173(O). 31 PRO, DEFE5/5, COS(47)166(O). 32 Grove, Vanguard to Trident, pp. 32–3. 33 William James Crowe, The Policy Roots of the Modern Royal Navy, 1946–1963 (Ann Arbor, MI: University Microfilms Inc., 1965), pp. 116–19. 34 N. Polmar, Soviet Naval Power: Challenge for the 1970s (New York: Crane, Russak & Co. Ltd, 1974), p. 26. 35 Polmar and Noot, Submarines of Russian and Soviet Navies, chaps 12 and 13. 36 Ranft and Till, The Sea in Soviet Strategy, p. 99 and pp. 123–4.

Notes 213 37 Crowe, Policy Roots of Modern Royal Navy, pp. 77–9. 38 In 1950 the Reserve Fleet consisted of a total of 296 vessels, including 4 battleships, 10 cruisers, 61 destroyers and 123 frigates. Brassey’s Annual: The Armed Forces Year-Book, 1950 (London: William Clowes & Sons, 1950). 39 Grove, Vanguard to Trident, pp. 136–50. 40 Peter Thomas, 41 Independent Commando RM: Korea 1950–52 (Southsea Royal Marines Historical Society, 1990). 41 See James Cable, Intervention at Abadan: Plan Buccaneer (London: Macmillan – now Palgrave Macmillan, 1990). 42 PRO, DEFE5/59, COS(55)176. 43 Cmnd 1629, Explanatory Statement on the Navy Estimates 1962–1963 (London: HMSO, 1962). 44 PRO, DEFE4/71, COS(54)82 mtg. 45 Desmond Wettern, The Decline of British Seapower (London: Jane’s, 1982), p. 398. 46 British forces were not in any position to undertake an opposed landing until September 1956 at the earliest. PRO, ADM202/455. PRO, ADM116/6209. 47 PRO, CAB79/54, COS(46)173 mtg. The 1947/8 New Construction Programme included one Landing Ship, Dock at an estimated cost of £690,000. The ship was cancelled for a mixture of financial and operational reasons. PRO, ADM167/129, Board of Admiralty Memorandum B616. 48 Cmnd 6743, Statement Relating to Defence, Feb. 1946 (London: HMSO, 1946). 49 Wettern, The Decline of British Seapower, p. 43. 50 Speller, Role of Amphibious Warfare, pp. 201–11. 51 PRO, DEFE2/1438, COS(47)173(O).

9 From ‘Hot War’ to ‘Cold War’, Western Europe in British Grand Strategy, 1945–1948 1 The opinions expressed in this article are the author’s own and are not to be taken as those of Her Majesty’s Government. 2 Peter Weiler, Ernest Bevin (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1993), p. 184; Elisabeth Barker, The British Among the Superpowers, 1945–50 (London: Macmillan – now Palgrave Macmillan, 1983), p. 127; John Baylis, ‘Britain and the Dunkirk Treaty: The Origins of NATO’, Journal of Strategic Studies, 5: 2 (1982), p. 236; John Young, Britain, France and the Unity of Europe, 1945–51 (Leicester: Leicester University Press, 1984), p. 107. 3 Documents on British Policy Overseas [DBPO], Series I, vol. I, no.119, annex 1A, 12 July 1945, pp. 234–51. 4 PRO, FO371/49068/U5419, Minute by Reconstruction Department, 10 July 1945. 5 See Francois Kersaudy, Churchill and de Gaulle (London: Collins, 1981). 6 Cited in John Baylis, The Diplomacy of Pragmatism, Britain and the Foundation of NATO, 1942–49 (London: Macmillan – now Palgrave Macmillan, 1993), p. 50. See also DBPO, Series I, vol. V, no.4, pp. 19–21. 7 PRO, FO371/59911/Z18754, ‘Record of Meeting’, [n.d. Jan. 1946]. 8 DBPO, Series I, vol. II, no. 308, 19 Dec. 1945, pp. 779–84. 9 See John Young, France, the Cold War and the Western Alliance: French Foreign Policy and Post-War Europe, 1944–49 (Leicester: Leicester University Press, 1990). 10 Cited in Sean Greenwood, ‘Return to Dunkirk: The Origins of the Anglo–French Treaty of Mar. 1947’, Journal of Strategic Studies, 6: 4 (1983), p. 50.

214 Notes 11 PRO, FO371/59911/Z2410, Ronald to Roberts, 9 Dec. 1946. 12 Sean Greenwood, The Alternative Alliance: Anglo–French Relations Before The Coming of NATO, 1944–48 (London: Minerva, 1996). 13 PRO, FO371/67670/Z723, FO to Paris, 23 Jan. 1947. 14 PRO, CAB 129/17, CP(47)64, 26 Feb.1947. 15 PRO, FO371/67670/Z723, Minute by Harvey, 13 Feb. 1947; /Z1215, Harvey to Duff Cooper, 3 Feb.1947. 16 PRO, FO371/67571/Z1662, Waterfield to Harvey, 10 Feb. 1947. 17 PRO, FO371/67670/Z225, Sargent to Bevin, 21 Dec. 1946. 18 PRO, DEFE4/1, JP(47)14, 7 Feb. 1947. The text of the Treaty is reproduced in Appendix I of Baylis, The Diplomacy of Pragmatism. 19 PRO, FO371/49135/Z13379, British Military Mission to France, Monthly Report no. 8, 2 Dec. 1945; /59950/Z7104, Monthly Report no. 12, 1 July 1946. 20 PRO, FO371/59950/Z10543, British Military Mission to France, Monthly Report no. 16, 1 Dec. 1946. 21 Cited in Julian Lewis, Changing Direction: British Military Planning for Post-war Strategic Defence, 1942–1947 (London: Sherwood Press, 1988), p. 312. 22 PRO, DEFE4/4/JP(47)55, 7 May 1947. 23 PRO, FO371/67674/Z9882, Harvey to Sargent, 11 Nov. 1947. 24 PRO, FO371/67663/10, Minute by Hoyer Millar, 17 Mar. 1947. 25 PRO, FO371/67674/Z9883, Salisbury Jones to DMI, 15 Oct. 1947. 26 PRO, FO371/67673/Z9054, Minute by Sargent, 13 Oct. 1947. 27 PRO, FO800/465, ‘Visit to London of Secretary-General …’, 20 Oct. 1947. 28 PRO, FO371/67674/Z10271, Bevin to Duff Cooper, 28 Nov. 1947. 29 PRO, FO371/67674/Z11010, ‘Anglo–French Conversations’, 17 Dec. 1947. 30 PRO, DEFE4/9/COS(47)156th, 13 Dec. 1947. 31 PRO, DEFE4/9COS(47)158th, 16 Dec. 1947. 32 See Paul Cornish, British Military Planning for the Defence of Germany, 1945–50 (London: Macmillan – now Palgrave Macmillan, 1996), pp. 102–3. 33 PRO, DEFE4/9COS(47)162nd, 23 Dec. 1947; COS1547/24/12/7, Letter from Secretary of the COs Committee to FO, 24 Dec. 1947. 34 PRO, FO371/72979/Z212, Memo by Kirkpatrick, 5 Jan.1948. 35 PRO, DEFE4/10COS(48)3rd, 7 Jan. 1948. 36 PRO, FO371/73045/Z323, Implementation of the Secretary of State’s Cabinet Paper on ‘Foreign Policy’, 9 Jan. 1948. 37 PRO, FO371/73045/Z354, Memo by Bevin, 12 Jan. 1948. 38 PRO, FO371/73045/Z273, FO to Washington, 13 Jan. 1948. 39 PRO, FO371/73045/Z809, Minute by Sargent, 19 Jan. 1948. 40 PRO, FO371/73045/Z353, Minute by Kirkpatrick, 16 Jan. 1948. 41 PRO, FO371/73045/Z323, Jebb to Sargent, 21 Jan. 1948. 42 PRO, FO371/73045/Z561, FO to Washington, 26 Jan. 1948. 43 PRO, FO800/452, Paper enclosed in Montgomery to Bevin, 26 Jan. 1948. 44 PRO, DEFE4/10, JP(48)16, 27 Jan. 1948. 45 Cited in Montgomery, The Memoirs of Field Marshal the Viscount Montgomery (London: Collins, 1958), p. 447. 46 PRO, DEFE4/10COS(48)16th, 2 Feb. 1948. 47 PRO, DEFE4/10COS(48)18th, 4 Feb. 1948. 48 PRO, FO371/73046/Z896, Washington to FO, 2 Feb. 1948. 49 PRO, FO371/73046/Z937, FO to Washington, 5 Feb. 1948. 50 PRO, FO371/73046/Z1060, FO to Washington, 10 Feb. 1948.

Notes 215 51 PRO, FO371/73046/Z894, Rendel to FO, 3 Feb. 1948. 52 PRO, FO371/73050/Z1779, Kirkpatrick to Berkeley Gage, 27 Feb. 1948; /73048/Z1318, FO to Paris, 16 Feb. 1948. 53 PRO, FO371/73069/Z2642, ‘Record of a Conversation with the US Ambassador’, 26 Feb. 1948. 54 PRO, FO371/73050/Z1178, Minute by Crosthwaite, 4 Mar. 1948. 55 PRO, FO371/73050/Z1865, Memo by Jebb, 3 Mar. 1948. 56 PRO, FO371/73050/Z1864, Minute by Jebb, 1 Mar. 1948. 57 PRO, DEFE4/11COS(48)35th, 9 Mar. 1948. 58 Cornish, p. 129. 59 PRO, FO800/465, ‘Record of a conversation …’, 18 Mar. 1948. 60 PRO, FO371/73053/Z2557, ‘Record of a Private Conversation …’, 17 Mar. 1948. 61 PRO, DEFE4/11COS(48)39th, 17 Mar. 1948. 62 PRO, DEFE4/11COS(48)42nd, 19 Mar. 1948. 63 Ibid.

10 Whatever Happened to the Fourth British Empire? The Cold War, Empire Defence and the USA, 1943–1957 1 Peter Hounam and Steve McQuillan, The Mini-Nuke Conspiracy: Mandela’s Nuclear Nightmare (London: Faber & Faber, 1995), p. 43. 2 The classic work is Margaret Gowing’s Independence and Deterrence: Britain and Atomic Energy 1945–1952 (London: HMSO, 1974). See also Ian Clark and Nicholas Wheeler, The Origins of Nuclear Strategy, 1945–1955 (Oxford: Clarendon, 1989); Ian Clark, Nuclear Diplomacy and the Special Relationship: Britain’s Deterrent and America, 1957–62 (Oxford: Clarendon, 1994). 3 Peter Hennessey, Never Again: Britain, 1945–1951 (London: Vintage, 1993). 4 David Holloway, Stalin and the Bomb (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1994), p. 197. 5 FRUS, 1955–57, vol. XIX (Washington DC: USGPO, 1986), p. 174, Report by ODM, 20 Dec. 1955. 6 Papers of David Lilienthal Papers, Princeton, NJ, Box 106, Amery to Heindel, n.d. [1944]. 7 C. John Kent, British Imperial Strategy and the Origins of the Cold War, 1944–49 (Leicester: Leicester University Press, 1993), pp. 8, 100, 148. 8 PRO, CAB127/38, APW(44)17, ‘Post–War Defence Organisation’, 9 May 1944. There were far-reaching plans for air communication. In 1946 modern air communications promised to open Africa to Empire as never before. R. McCormack, ‘Imperialism, Air Transport and Colonial Development: Kenya, 1920–46’, Journal of Imperial and Commonwealth History, 62: 3 (1989), p. 389. 9 PRO, DO(46) 22nd meeting, 19 July 1946. 10 A mission from Britain to Australia prior to the 1946 Commonwealth Conference had launched significant initiatives here. Australian Archives, Canberra [henceforward AA]: A5954/1, 1662/1. 11 AA, A5954/1, 1634/6. 12 PRO, PREM 8, 753, Attlee to Tizard, 3 May 1946. 13 Tizard chaired the scientific committee that recommended in July 1945 that Britain should undertake large-scale development of atomic energy and delivery systems. Humphrey Wynn, RAF Nuclear Deterrent Forces (London: HMSO, 1994) pp. 1–2.

216 Notes 14 PRO, DO35/1759/ICCDS, 1st meeting, 3 June 1946. 15 PRO, POWE14/HTC(47)14, ‘Civil Defence: Electricity: Underground Hydroelectric Power Stations, 1947–50’, 7 Oct. 1947. 16 PRO, CAB131/5, ‘Civil Defence Policy’, DO(47) 24th meeting, 14 Nov. 1947. 17 National Archives of South Africa, Pretoria: BTS, 46/10; Wayne Reynolds, ‘Atomic War, Empire Strategic Dispersal and the Origins of the Snowy Mountains Scheme’, War and Society, 14: 1 (1996). 18 PRO, DO35, 5704. 19 AA, A4231, Australian High Commission, Pretoria, 14 June 1947. 20 PRO, DO35, Alexander to Addison, 9 July 1947, and 249, File Note by Richard Wood, 16 July 1947. 21 PRO, CAB124/552, DSIR to Inverchappel, 24 Nov. 1947. 22 PRO, DEFE4/19/JP(48)122 (Final) 7 Jan. 1949. 23 PRO, DEFE4/21/COS(49)55th meeting, 13 April 1949 and JP(49)18(Final [Revise]), 22 April 1949; Ritchie Ovendale, The English Speaking Alliance: Britain, the United States, the Dominions and the Cold War, 1945–51 (London: Allen & Unwin, 1985), p. 255. 24 Ken Buckley, Barbara Dale and Wayne Reynolds, Doc Evatt: Patriot, Internationalist, Fighter and Scholar (Melbourne: Longman Cheshire, 1994), Parts 3 and 4. 25 AA, A5954/1, 1662/4. 26 Papers of Sir John Cockcroft, Churchill College, Cambridge [henceforward MS Cockcroft]: Box 2/5, CHAD1, Atomic Energy Technical Committee, 3rd meeting, 25 June 1947. 27 Alice Cawte, Atomic Australia, 1944–1990 (Kensington: NSW University Press, 1992), p. 3. 28 MS Cockcroft, Box 19/3, CHAD 1, Oliphant to Chadwick, 10 Mar. 1943. 29 Sydney Morning Herald, 17 Oct. 1945. 30 PRO, PREM 8, 112, Gen 75/7, Evatt to Attlee, 14 Oct. 1945. 31 AA, A2618/1. The report had been prepared by the Snowy River Committee which had been set up after the Commonwealth Prime Ministers’ Conference and at the same time as the Defence Science Conference, in June 1946. 32 The Snowy Mountain scheme was among a small number of pioneers in this respect. In 1964 Guthrie Brown published his weighty account of Hydro-Electric Engineering Practice (London: Blackie & Son, 1964) and concluded then that such practices were the exception. They were, however, ‘bomb-proof’ and allowed the possibility of developing much larger plants. 33 Australia, Commonwealth Parliamentary Debates [henceforward CPD], 202 (1949), p. 247. 34 Senator Murray from Tasmania drew this argument out in debate later when he argued that ‘dispersal amongst inaccessible mountains will offset, to a considerable degree, the efficacy of the rocket propelled missile’. CPD, 202 (1949), p. 1769. 35 Reynolds, ‘Atomic War’, pp. 142–3. 36 PRO, DO35/5704. 37 AA, A2700, Submission 12/1946’, Future Management of Aircraft Production in Australia’, 14 Jan. 1946. 38 PRO, AIR 20/3825, ‘RAF Target Force for 31 Dec. 1946 – Plan D’, Air Ministry to RAFLIA, Melbourne; ‘Post-War RAAF’. 39 John Baylis, Ambiguity and Deterrence: British Nuclear Strategy, 1945–1964 (Oxford: Clarendon, 1995), p. 114.

Notes 217 40 Peter Edwards, Crises and Commitments: The Politics and Diplomacy of Australia’s Involvement in Southeast Asian Conflicts, 1948–1965 (North Sydney: Allen & Unwin, 1992), p. 16. 41 PRO, DEFE4/8/COS(47)134th meeting, 31 Oct. 1947. 42 PRO, DEFE 11/324, COS(50)91st meeting, 19 June 1950; JP(50)80(Final) 30 June 1950; MISC/M(50) 34. 43 Leonard Beaton and John Maddox, The Spread of Nuclear Weapons (London: Institute for Strategic Studies, 1962), p. 26. 44 PRO, AIR 20/6502, Hardman to DD Pol(AS)1, 15 Nov. 1948. 45 Brian Cathcart, Test of Greatness: Britain’s Struggle for the Atom Bomb (London: John Murray, 1994), p. 263. 46 Peter Dennis and Jeffrey Grey, Emergency and Confrontation: Australian Military Operations in Malaya and Borneo 1950–1966 (Canberra: Allen and Unwin, 1996), p. 35. 47 Humphrey Wynn, RAF Nuclear Deterrent Forces: Their Origins, Roles and Deployment 1946–1969 (London: HMSO, 1994), ch. 7. 48 Lorna Arnold, A Very Special Relationship: British Atomic Weapons Trials in Australia (London: HMSO, 1987), p. 178. 49 Wayne Reynolds, ‘Menzies and the Proposal for Nuclear Weapons’, in Frank Cain (ed. ), Menzies in War and Peace (Canberra: Allen & Unwin, 1997), p. 125. 50 PRO, EG1/119, How to Cherwell, 25 Nov. 1953. 51 PRO, DO35/2542. 52 PRO, CAB129/66/C(54)52, 11 Feb. 1954. 53 PRO, EG1/64, Overseas Trade Memorandum 9/56, 10 Feb. 1956. 54 PRO, EG1/64,’Advisory Council on Overseas Construction’, 1 July 1955. 55 AA, A4906/XM1, Submission 117, 20 Sept. 1954. 56 PRO, CAB129/66, Schonland to Cockcroft, 28 Dec. 1953, EG1/126; C(54)52, 11 Feb. 1954. 57 PRO, EG1/126, Snelling (Capetown) to Protchard, 5 Mar. 1954. 58 PRO, EG1/126, CRO to British High Commission, Pretoria, 2 June 1954. 59 PRO, EG1/126, Snelling to CRO, 15 Sept. 1954. 60 PRO, CAB128/30/CM(56)37th conclusions, 17 April 1956. 61 PRO, EG1/115, ‘Advisory Council on Overseas Construction’, 27 June 1956. 62 PRO, CAB128/30, Part 2, CM(56)47th conclusions, 5 July 1956. 63 Kenneth Condit, History of the Joint Chiefs of Staff: The Joint Chiefs of Staff and National Security Policy, vol. 6 (Washington: Historical Division, JCS, 1992), p. 11; S.J. Ball, ‘Military Nuclear Relations Between the United States and Great Britain under the Terms of the McMahon Act, 1946–1958’, The Historical Journal, 38: 3 (1995), pp. 439–54. 64 Robert Bothwell, Eldorado: Canada’s National Uranium Company (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1994), p. 398; PRO, EG 1/117, ’Briefs for Bermuda Conference’. 65 PRO, CAB128/31/Part 2/CC(57)/46th conclusions, 24 June 1957; C(57)143, 146 and 151. 66 NARA, RG59, Box 3199, US Embassy, London, to Department of State, 24 May 1957. 67 FRUS, vol. XIX, 1955–57, pp. 403, 474, 479, 499, NSC Meetings, 309(11 Jan. 1957); 319(11 April 1957); 325(27 May 1957). 68 NARA, RG59, Box2504, ‘Presidential Directives on National Security’, National Security Archive; ‘Development of a Defense Production Base in Australia; Range of Possible Programs’, [1957].

218 Notes 69 CPD, 26, 2 May 1957, p. 985; Jeffrey T. Richelson and Desmond Ball, The Ties that Bind (Boston: Unwin Hyman, 1990), p. 47. 70 PRO, EG1/152, Press release, 12 July 1957; Cawte, Atomic Australia, p. 108. 71 New York Times, 20 Sept. 1957; CPD, 16, 19 Sept. 1957, p. 798. 72 Pringle and Spigleman, The Nuclear Barons, p. 247. 73 Cawte, Atomic Australia, p. 109. 74 AA, A1209/79, Report by Technical Committee on the Use of Blue Streak, 2 Sept. 1960, 61/20. 75 Phillip Darby, British Defence Policy East of Suez, 1947–1968 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1973), p. 207.

11 Coal and the Origins of the Cold War: The British Dilemma over Coal Supplies from the Ruhr, 1946 1 See Sean Greenwood, The Alternative Alliance: Anglo–French Relations Before the Coming of NATO 1944–48 (London: Minerva, 1996). 2 PRO, FO371/59959/Z2875/21/17, dispatch from Duff Cooper, 23 Mar. 1946. 3 John W. Young, France, the Cold War and the Western Alliance 1944–49 (Leicester: Leicester University Press, 1990), p. 18; J. Gillingham, Coal, Steel and the Rebirth of Europe, 1945–1955: The Germans and the French from Ruhr Conflict to Economic Community (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991), pp. 141–2. 4 PRO, CAB65(48); WM(44)149, 13 Nov. 1944. Visiting Washington in Aug. 1945, de Gaulle and Bidault had both impressed upon the Americans France’s need for Ruhr coal. FRUS, 1945, IV, pp. 707 and 714. 5 PRO, FO371/49114/Z13208/103/17, dispatch from Duff Cooper, 30 Nov. 1945. 6 FRUS, 1945, The Conference of Berlin,1, pp. 614–21. 7 PRO, FO37/49114/Z13208/103/17, Rumbold minute, 5 Dec. 1945. 8 PRO, FO371/51493/UR4182/3244/852, FO to Strang, 9 Nov. 1945. 9 PRO, FO371/49114/Z13422/103/17, Hoyer Millar minute, 8 Dec. 1945. 10 PRO, FO371/46724/C7401/22/18, conversation between Bevin and Montgomery, 24 Oct. 1945. 11 PRO, FO371/51493/UR4164/3244/851, Warner minute, 9 Nov. 1945. 12 PRO, FO371/51493/UR4183/3244/851, minute by Strang, 11 Nov. 1945. 13 PRO, FO371/58179/UR5561/17/851, memorandum by Hasler on ‘The Economic and Political Alignment of Europe’, 27 Mar. 1946. 14 PRO, FO371/58400/UR3771/3034/851, conference report. The conference met 12–14 April. The British delegation included Hynd, Ronald, Turner and Warner. French representatives included Marcel Paul, Minister of Industrial Production, and Alphand. 15 PRO, FO371/58400/UR4084/3034/851, Fraser minute, 4 May 1946. 16 PRO, FO371/58410/UR8249/3034/851, conversation between Massigli and Strang, 3 Oct. 1946. 17 PRO, FO371/58400/UR4084/3034/851, Fraser minute, 4 May 1946. 18 PRO, FO371/59962/Z5515/21/17, dispatch from Duff Cooper, 8 June 1946. 19 Sean Greenwood, ‘Return to Dunkirk: The Origins of the Anglo–French Treaty of March 1947’, The Journal of Strategic Studies, 6: 4 (1983), pp. 49–50. 20 PRO, FO371/59962/Z5515/21/17, dispatch from Duff Cooper, 8 June 1946. 21 PRO, FO800 (274) , vol. 3 , Fr/46/1, letter from F. Savery, in France, to Sargent, 20 Sept. 1946.

Notes 219 22 23 24 25 26 27 28

29

30

31 32 33 34

35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43

44

45 46 47 48

PRO, FO371/59975/Z4055/65/17, Hoyer Millar minute, 14 May 1946. PRO, FO371/59951/Z2780/20/17, memorandum by Rumbold, 29 Mar. 1946. PRO, FO371/58399/UR3034/3034/851, Harvey minute, 3 April 1946. Ibid. , Warner minute, 2 April 1946; Hasler minute, 2 April 1946. PRO, FO371/58179/UR5561/17/851, memorandum by Hasler, 27 Mar. 1946. PRO, FO371/55587/C5181/131/18, Attlee to Bevin, 7 May 1946. Ibid. ; also, PRO, FO371/58400/UR4326/3034/851, Warner minute, 17 May 1946; PRO, FO371/58401/UR4443/3034/851 Turner minute, 15 May 1946; PRO, FO371/58401/UR4409/3034/851 Bevin to Hynd, 23 May 1946. PRO, FO371/58402/UR4841/3034/851, Byrnes to Bevin, 28 May 1946. For American apprehensions see FRUS, 1946, vol. V, Caffery to Byrnes, 4 April 1946, pp. 421–2; Caffery to Byrnes, 8 April 1946, p. 423; Caffery to Byrnes, 2 May 1946, p. 434. Warner put this argument most forcefully but it was accepted even by Harvey who wished to see the French obtain a generous increase. PRO, FO371/58401/UR4409/3034/851, Warner minute, 18 May 1946; ibid., Harvey minute, 20 May 1946. PRO, FO371/58402/UR5010/3034/851, 31 May 1946. PRO, FO371/58402/UR5008/3034/851, conversation between Duff Cooper and Alphand, 3 June 1946. Ibid. , dispatch from Duff Cooper, 3 June 1946; Warner minute, 4 June 1946. PRO, FO371/58401/UR4443/3034/851, conversation between Bevin and Robertson 15 May 1946. For a critical appraisal of British organisation of Ruhr coal production see J. Gillingham, Coal, Steel and the Rebirth of Europe, pp. 179–182. PRO, FO371/58402/UR5058/3034/851. PRO, FO371/58402/UR5008/3034/851, FO to British Element in Berlin, 5 June 1946. PRO, FO371/58402/UR5058/3034/851, Warner minute, 7 June 1946. PRO, FO371/58403/UR5419/3034/851, FO brief for Attlee dated 20 June 1946. PRO, FO371/58403/UR5382/3034/851, Bevin to FO, 18 June 1946. PRO, FO371/58403/UR5382 5383/5383/3034/851, Bevin to FO, 18 June 1946. PRO, FO371/58403/UR5371/3034/851, statement by Fraser of the Commercial Department of the British Embassy in Paris, 13 June 1946. See PRO, FO371/58403/UR5408/3034/851, dispatch from Duff Cooper, 19 June 1946. PRO, FO371/58403/UR5805/3034/851, Warner minute 28 May 1946; also ibid. , Stevens minute, 6 June 1946; Alan S. Milward, The Reconstruction of Western Europe 1945–51 (London: Methuen, 1984), p. 137. PRO, FO371/58403/UR5437/3034/851, Turner to Galbraith of the State Department, 11 June 1946. The ORC agreed on 21 June that Britain should refuse any suggestion of French technicians being employed in the Ruhr mines, PRO, CAB134 , 595, ORC(46)9. PRO, FO371/58403/UR5600/3034/851, Hall-Patch to Harvey, 22 June 1946. PRO, FO371/58405/UR6000/3034/851, record of Anglo–Franco–American talks on coal 8 July 1946; ibid. , James minute, 12 July 1946. PRO, FO371/58403/UR5419/3034/851, FO brief for Attlee for the ORC meeting of 21 June 1946. PRO, FO371/58403/UR5408/3034/851, Hoyer Millar minute, 24 June 1946; PRO, FO371/58403/UR5656/3034/851, Warner minute, 18 June 1946; PRO, FO371/58403/UR5382/3034/851, Warner minute, 18 June 1946.

220 Notes 49 50 51 52 53 54

55 56

57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65 66 67 68 69 70

PRO, FO371/58403/UR5382/3034/851, Troutbeck to Harvey, 19 June 1946. PRO, FO371/58403/UR5542/3034/851, Harvey to Alphand, 21 June 1946. PRO, FO371/58403/UR5586/3034/851, Harvey to FO, 25 June 1946. PRO, FO371/55589/C8643/131/18; 58405,UR6243/3034/851 Hall–Patch minute, 5 July 1946. PRO, FO371/58405/UR6170/3034/851. PRO, FO371/58406/UR6529/3034/851, FO to Berlin, 29 July 1946. It was suspected that the Russians would try to make ‘political capital out of social conditions in the Ruhr’, FRUS, 1946, vol. V, Murphy to Byrnes, 28 July 1946, p. 78. PRO, FO371/58408/UR7721/3034/851, British delegation in Paris to the FO, 12 Sept. 1946. By now it was clear that the French experts had joined forces with the Russians in criticising the ‘inadmissible backwardness’ of the Ruhr areas, FRUS, 1946, vol. V, Murphy to Byrnes, 10 Sept. 1946, p. 791. PRO, FO371/58408/UR7867/3034/851, conversation between Alphand and HallPatch, 18 Sept. 1946. PRO, FO371/58409/UR7954/3034/151, Strang minute, 21 Sept. 1946. Ibid. PRO, FO371/58410/UR8116/3034/851, conversation between Bevin and Bidault, 25 Sept. 1946. PRO, FO371/58411/UR8423/3034/851, letter from Bidault to Bevin, 12 Oct. 1946. Ibid., Hall-Patch minute 17 Oct. 1946. The minute was signed by Bevin. PRO, FO371/58411/UR8414/3034/851, record of a meeting held on 11 Oct. 1946 in Paris. PRO, FO371/58412/UR8800/3034/851, conversation between Hall-Patch and Alphand, 22 Oct. 1946. PRO, FO371/58411/UR8423/3034/851, Fraser to Warner, 22 Oct. 1946. PRO, CAB 128(6)/CM(46)104, 10 Dec. 1946. PRO, FO371/58415/UR10057/3034/851, Bevin to Hynd, 10 Dec. 1946. PRO, FO371/59978/Z7116/65/17. PRO, FO371/59980/Z9082/65/17. For an outline of Bevin’s European schemes see, Sean Greenwood, Britain and European Co-operation Since the Second World War (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1996), pp. 14–29.

12 The Algerian War, De Gaulle and Anglo–American Relations, 1958 1 Alistair Horne, A Savage War of Peace (London: Macmillan – now Palgrave Macmillan, 1977), pp. 242–247; and Maurice Vaïsse, ‘La Guerre Perdue à l’ONU?’ in La Guerre d’Algérie et les Français, ed. Jean-Paul Rioux (Paris: Fayard, 1991), p. 452. 2 For a full examination of the Anglo–American relationship in the late 1950s see ‘Reliable Allies: Anglo–American Relations’ by Michael David Kandiah and Gillian Staerck in Wolfram Kaiser and Gillian Staerck (eds), British Foreign Policy, 1955–64: Contracting Options (London: Macmillan – now Palgrave Macmillan, 1999). 3 De Gaulle understood very well that the geographic position of France ensured protection by the NATO defence umbrella which could scarcely be withdrawn

Notes 221

4

5

6

7 8

9

10 11 12 13 14

15 16

17 18 19 20 21 22 23

24

without making a nonsense of Western defence strategies. Consequently he could make ‘unreasonable’ demands of NATO allies while seeking an important global role for France to re-establish ‘grandeur’. PRO, FO371/137821/WUN10719/60, Roberts to FO, 14 Oct. 1958, Tel. 345. De Gaulle had instructed the French High Command to prepare four plans to take the Algerian war to NATO. PRO, CAB21/3257, record of meeting between Eisenhower and Macmillan, 9 June 1958. Eisenhower said, ‘It might even be expedient that in public there should on occasion appear to be some difference in the respective approach of our two governments to some problems’ as it was ‘important that the processes of consultation should continue to be kept secret, although he was anxious that co-operation between the two governments should in practice be as close as it could be made.’ French prestige had been damaged by the Second World War and the loss of Indo-China after the fall of Dien Bien Phu in 1954. Algeria’s importance to the French economy was more debatable. Alfred Grosser, The Western Alliance: European–American Relations since 1945 (London: Macmillan – now Palgrave Macmillan, 1980), p. 149. A detailed account of the May 1958 events can be found in A Savage War of Peace, chap. 13, pp. 273–98. There is also a discussion of the situation and ‘Gaullism in action’ in Jean Lacouture, De Gaulle: The Ruler 1945–70 (English translation London: Harvill, 1992) chapter 14, pp. 166–181. US National Archives (hereafter USNA) RG59 State Department Central Files, 651s.61/2–13556, Department of State secret instruction No.CA-6127 of 13 Feb. 1956. Pierre Melandri, ‘La France et le “Jeu Double” des États-Unis’ in La Guerre d’Algérie et les Français, ed. Rioux, p. 431. Horne, Savage War, p. 317. USNA, RG59 State Department Central Files, 611.51/9–557, memorandum of conversation of 5 Sept. 1957 between Alphand, Lucet and Elbrick. Macmillan, Riding the Storm, p. 748. PRO, FO371/131678/JR1051/1, Malcolm to FO, 8 Feb. 1958, Tel. 12. See also PRO, FO371/131703, in which the JR2291 series of jackets cover British support for France in the UN. USNA, RG59 State Department Central Files, 651s.72/8–2158, Tunis to Dulles, 2 Aug. 1958, No. 252. Macmillan, Riding the Storm, p. 748 – although the diary entry in question was written in August 1959, the FO Briefing in CAB130/166/GEN. 695/2 of 20 Aug. 1959 states that British policy ‘should be following more or less the same course as last year’. PRO, FO371/131685/JR1193/15, Brown Minute 27 Oct. 1958. PRO, FO371/131678/JR1051/2 Brief for Lloyd, 11 Feb. 1958. PRO, FO371/131679/JR1071/32, Jebb to Ross, 6 May 1958. Macmillan, Riding the Storm, p. 331. Ibid., p. 442. Kandiah and Staerck, ‘Reliable Allies’. Access to oil supplies was a key British and American foreign policy goal. De Gaulle would always listen to rumours that US oil companies wanted to get their hands on Saharan oil, Melandri, ‘La France et le “Jeu Double”’, p. 430. Ibid., p. 434.

222 Notes 25 Ibid., p. 432. 26 USNA, RG59 State Department Central Files, 651–72/4–1158, Dulles to Merchant, 11 April 1958. 27 PRO, FO371/131679/J1071/4, Manila to FO, 11 Mar. 1958, Tel. 104. 28 Following French disengagement from Indo–China the Americans sent military advisers to assist the South Vietnamese struggle against North Vietnamese insurgents. In 1958 their number incurred accusations that the Americans were involved in a colonialist war in Vietnam. 29 Melandri, ‘La France et le “Jeu Double”’, p. 443. 30 Ibid., p. 441. 31 Royal Institute of International Affairs, Survey of International Affairs, 1956–7, p. 475. 32 Melandri, ‘La France et le “Jeu Double”’, p. 429. 33 USNA, RG59 State Department Central Files, 611.51/12–957, memorandum of conversation of 9 Dec. 1957 between Herter, Devinat and Dillon. 34 PRO, FO371/143690/ZP13/1 Steering Committee Paper SC(59)4 Revise, 2 Feb. 1959. 35 John Newhouse, De Gaulle and the Anglo-Saxons (New York: Viking Press, 1970) p. 27. 36 Horne, Savage War, pp. 249–50. 37 USNA, RG59 State Department Central Files, 651s.2–958, Elbrick to Dulles, 9 Feb. 1958 gives a full account of the Sakhiet incident. 38 Frédéric Bozo and Pierre Melandri, ‘La France devant l’opinion américaine: le rétour de Gaulle début 1958 – printemps 1959’, Rélations Internationales, vol. no. 58, été 1989, pp. 195–215. 39 Melandri, ‘La France et le “Jeu Double”’, p. 439. 40 Lacouture, De Gaulle, p. 163, The Gaillard Government was overturned when the Gaullist Soustelle ‘denounced French government involvement in the “Good Offices” mission which could lead to internationalisation of the Algerian affair’. 41 Macmillan and Murphy became friends in North Africa during the Second World War. 42 Melandri, ‘La France et le “Jeu Double”’, p. 439. 43 PRO, FO371/131679/JR1071/20, Jebb to Lloyd, 22 Apr. 1958. 44 PRO, FO371/131679/JR1071/18, Costar to Cumming Bruce, 23 Apr. 1958. 45 PRO, FO371/131679/JR1071/5, Malcolm to FO, 13 Mar. 1958, Tel. 125. 46 PRO, FO371/131679//JR1071/6, Jebb to FO, 13 Mar. 1958, Tel. 111. 47 PRO, FO371/131679/JR1071/20, Beeley Minute, 24 Apr. 1958. 48 PRO, FO371/131679/JR1071/18, Costar to Cumming Bruce, 23 Apr. 1958. 49 PRO, FO371/131679/JR1071/5, Malcolm to FO, 12 Mar. 1958, Tel. 125. 50 PRO, FO371/131679/JR1071/5, FO to Tunis, 13 Mar. 1958, Tel. 254. 51 PRO, FO371/131679/JR1071/11G, Jebb to Hoyer Millar, 24 Apr. 1958. 52 PRO, FO371/131679/JR1071/20, Jebb to Lloyd, 22 Apr. 1958. 53 PRO, FO371/131679/JR1071/21, Jebb to FO, 24 Apr. 1958. 54 PRO, FO371/131679/JR1071/5, Jebb to FO, 13 Mar. 1958, Tel. 111. 55 PRO, FO371/131679/JR1071/6, FO to Paris, 24 Mar. 1958, Tel. 498. 56 PRO, FO371/131679/JR1071/20A, Lloyd to Jebb, 30 Apr. 1958. 57 PRO, FO371/131679/JR1071/21, FO to Jebb, 30 Apr. 1958. 58 PRO, FO371/131679/JR1071/22, Lloyd conversation with Smith, 2 May 1958. 59 For a lucid account of the plots and counter-plots which immediately preceded the Fourth Republic’s demise see Lacouture, de Gaulle, chap. 14, pp. 164–81.

Notes 223 60 61 62 63 64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71 72 73 74 75 76 77 78 79 80 81 82 83 84 85 86 87 88 89 90 91 92 93

94

95 96

Horne, Savage War, p. 315. Ibid., p. 304. PRO, FO371/137259/WF1053/3, Rumbold Minute, 6 June 1958. PRO, FO371/137276/JR1071/38, CRO to FO 3 July 1958. PRO, FO371/131680/JR1071/38, Briefing VI for Lloyd, 26 June 1958. PRO, FO371/137259/WF1023/2G, Caccia to FO, 9 June 1958, Tel. 1396. Wilfred L. Kohl, French Nuclear Diplomacy (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1971), p. 63. PRO, FO 371/137266/WF10345/7, Jebb to FO, 7 July 1958, Tel. 264. PRO, FO371/137258/WF1022/3, Roberts to FO, 31 Dec. 1957, Tel. 933. Kohl, French Nuclear Diplomacy, p. 64. Ibid., pp. 54–61. PRO, FO 371/131679/JR1071/27, Gore-Booth minute, 30 April 1958. Charles de Gaulle, Memoirs of Hope: Renewal, 1958–62 (London: Weidenfeld & Nicolson, 1971), p. 137. Horne, Savage War, p. 232. De Gaulle, Lettres, Notes et Carnets (Paris: Plon, 1988), p. 456. PRO, FO371/137272/WF1051/62, Lloyd to Jebb, 20 Oct. 1958. Horne, Savage War, p. 304. De Gaulle, Lettres, p. 76. Horne, Savage War, p. 304. PRO, FO 371/131679/JR1071/20a, Lloyd to Jebb, 13 Apr. 1958. Horne, Savage War, p. 319. Ibid., p. 315. Ibid., p. 317. Ibid., p. 318. Ibid., p. 315. A July 1958 draft of the memorandum was found in the French Marine archives by this chapter’s author. De Gaulle, Lettres, p. 83 footnote. Ibid., p. 85. Horne, Savage War, p. 331. PRO, FO371/131685/JR1193/1, Sarell to Watson, 5 Mar. 1958. Horne, Savage War, pp. 330–31. French birth rates had been low since 1900. De Gaulle, Lettres, pp. 30–33. Jacques Soustelle, ‘The Wealth of the Sahara’, Foreign Affairs, 37: 4, July 1959, p. 635. In June 1958 Lebanese President Chamoun asked America for military assistance because Syrian insurgents were infiltrating, and seeking to destabilise, the Lebanon, allegedly at the instigation of Egyptian President Nasser, believed by the Americans to be a Soviet cats-paw in the Middle East. At the same time King Hussain of Jordan requested British military assistance. PRO, FO371/125955/JR1193/1 Roberts to Ross, 1 Oct. 1957, which also discusses the nature and effect of Soviet destabilising initiatives in North Africa. See also PRO, FO371/131679/JR1071/12 and 13, Lloyd Briefing, 20 Mar. 1958 and FO371/131679/JR1071/20a, Cheetham to Hancock, 25 Mar. 1958. De Gaulle, Lettres, pp. 77–8. PRO, FO 371/137259/WF1053 Caccia to FO, 13 June 1958, Tel. 1362: Dulles was certain that de Gaulle would dislike the relationship existing between Britain and America ‘which they most certainly would not give up, especially as

224 Notes it was not achieved without difficulty’. De Gaulle was convinced that this relationship constituted a ‘bipartite directorate’; see also Kandiah and Staerck, ‘Reliable Allies’. 97 PRO, PREM11/3002, de Gaulle to Macmillan, 17 Sept. 1958, T. 503A/58. 98 See Frédéric Bozo, Deux Stratégies pour l’Europe: De Gaulle, les États-Unis et l’Alliance Atlantique, 1958–69 (Paris: Plon et Fondation Charles de Gaulle, 1996), chap. 1, for an exposition of de Gaulle’s dissatisfactions with NATO. 99 PRO, PREM11/3002, de Gaulle to Macmillan, 17 Sept. 1958. 100 De Gaulle, Memoirs, p. 200. 101 Ibid., p. 166. 102 Newhouse, De Gaulle and the Anglo-Saxons, p. 32. 103 PRO, FO371/137266/WF10345/8, Dulles conversation with de Gaulle, 5 July 1958. 104 PRO, FO371/131679/JR1071/13, Cheetham to Hancock, 25 Mar. 1958. 105 PRO, FO371/137269/WF1051/32, Macmillan conversation with Chauvel, 15 June 1958. 106 FRUS, 1955–57, vol. IV, pp. 137–8. 107 Ibid., p. 139. 108 De Gaulle, Memoirs, p. 202. 109 PRO, PREM11/3002, Jebb to FO, 2 Oct. 1958, Tel. 451. 110 De Gaulle, Lettres, pp. 82–3. 111 Horne, Savage War, p. 316. 112 Ibid., p. 319. 113 De Gaulle, Lettres, p. 91. 114 PRO, FO371/137266/WF10345/8, Dulles meeting with de Gaulle, 5 July 1958. 115 PRO, PREM11/3002, Lloyd and Dulles conversation, 26 Sept. 1958. 116 PRO, PREM11/3002, FO to Paris, 2 Oct. 1958, Tel. 2167. 117 PRO, PREM11/3002, FO to Rome, 3 Oct. 1958, Tel. 1334. 118 PRO, PREM11/3002, Caccia to FO 17 Oct. 1958, Tel. 2797. 119 PRO, PREM11/3002, Roberts to FO, 1 Oct. 1958, Tel. 269. 120 PRO, PREM11/3002, Jebb to FO, 2 Oct. 1958, Tel. 451. 121 PRO, PREM11/3002, Macmillan to de Gaulle, 20 Oct. 1958 and Eisenhower to de Gaulle, 20 Oct. 1958. 122 PRO, PREM11/3002, Jebb to FO, 21 Oct. 1958, Tel. 485. 123 Horne, Savage War, p. 305. 124 PRO, FO371/137821/WUN10719/60 Roberts to FO, 14 Oct. 1958, Tel. 345, reporting that, under de Gaulle’s instructions, his Chiefs of Staff were preparing four plans to cover NATO involvement in the Algerian war. 125 Kandiah and Staerck, ‘Reliable Allies’.

13 The Transfer of Power? Britain, the Anglo–American Relationship and the Cold War in the Middle East, 1957–1962 1 Ritchie Ovendale, Britain, the United States and the Transfer of Power in the Middle East, 1945–1962 (London: Leicester University Press, 1996); William Roger Louis and Ronald Robinson, ‘The Imperialism of Decolonization’, Journal of Imperial and Commonwealth History, 22: 3 (Sept. 1994), pp. 462–511. See also Tore Tingvold Petersen, ‘Review Article: Transfer of Power in the Middle East’, International History Review, XIX: 4 (Nov. 1997), pp. 852–65. For a sceptical view

Notes 225

2

3 4 5

6 7

8

9

10 11 12

13 14

15 16 17

18

19 20

that emphasises American realpolitik in its relations with Britain during the Suez Crisis see Steven Z. Freiberger, Dawn Over Suez: The Rise of American Power in the Middle East (Chicago: Ivan Dee, 1992). David Reynolds, ‘A ‘Special Relationship’? America, Britain and the International Order Since the Second World War’, International Affairs, 62: 1 (winter 1985–6), pp. 1–20. Cited from Alex Danchev, ‘On Specialness’, International Affairs, 72: 4 (autumn 1996), p. 710. Harold Macmillan, Memoirs, 1956–59: Riding the Storm (London: Macmillan – now Palgrave Macmillan, 1971), p. 240. Dwight D. Eisenhower Library, Abilene, Kansas (henceforth cited as DDEL), Aldrich to Eisenhower and Dulles, 14 Jan. 1957, Whitman File, Administration Series, Box 2. PRO, CAB129/84, C(57)4, ‘The State of the Economy’, Memorandum by Macmillan, 3 Jan. 1957; PRO, CAB 128/30, CC(57)2, 8 Jan. 1957. Gore-Booth Papers, Western Manuscripts Department, Bodleian Library, Oxford, MSS.Eng.C.4599, Letter from Paul Gore-Booth to Mrs Evelyn Gore-Booth, 9 Dec. 1956. Alistair Horne, Macmillan 1957–1986: The Official Biography, Volume Two (London: Macmillan – now Palgrave Macmillan, 1989), p. 21; PRO:PREM11/1835, no.309, Caccia to Lloyd, 12 Feb. 1957. Public Papers of the Presidents of the United States: Dwight D. Eisenhower, 1957 (Washington DC: US Government, 1958), pp. 6–16; Macmillan, Riding the Storm, p. 213. DDEL, State Department Summary Briefing Papers, [undated] Mar. 1957, White House Central Files, Confidential Series, Box 9. DDEL, C.D. Jackson Log, 24 Jan. 1957, Jackson Papers, Box 69. Andrew Rathmell, Secret War in the Middle East: The Covert Struggle for Syria, 1949–1961 (London: I.B. Tauris, 1995), p. 147; Wilbur Eveland, Ropes of Sand: America’s Failure in the Middle East (London: W.W. Norton, 1980), pp. 231–46. PRO, CAB 134/2338, OME(57)3rd Meeting, 1 Feb. 1957. Victor H. Feske, ‘The Road to Suez: The British Foreign Office and the Quai d’Orsay, 1951–57’, from Gordon A. Craig and Francis L. Loewenheim (eds.), The Diplomats 1939–1979 (New Jersey: Princeton University Press, 1994), pp. 186–93; Roger Stevens Papers, Churchill College Archive Centre, Cambridge, Stevens letters to parents, 10 & 19 Jan. 1957, File 1/36. PRO, CAB130/122, GEN572/1st Meeting, Note on a Ministerial Meeting, 11 Feb. 1957. Horne, Macmillan 1957–1986, p. 24. PRO, PREM11/1838, BC(P)2, Minutes of the Second Plenary meeting held at the Mid-Ocean Club, Bermuda, 21 Mar. 1957; Papers of the 1st Earl of Avon, Birmingham University Library, AP 23/48/3, Macmillan to Eden, 28 April 1957. Papers of the 1st Earl of Stockton, Bodleian Library, Oxford, Harold Macmillan Diary (henceforth cited as HMD) MSS.Macmillan.dep.d.29, 18 July 1957; PRO, CAB134/2340, OME(57)71, ‘Muscat and Oman: Future Policy’, Note by the Foreign Office, 6 Dec. 1957. Macmillan, Riding the Storm, p. 271. PRO, CAB158/29/JIC(57)86(Revise), ‘The Situation in Syria’, Report by the JIC, 22 Aug. 1957.

226 Notes 21 David Lesch, Syria and the United States: Eisenhower’s Cold War in the Middle East (Boulder, CO: Westview, 1992), pp. 138–72. 22 PRO, CAB128/31/CC(57)63, 27 Aug. 1957. 23 PRO, PREM11/2116, Macmillan to the Prime Ministers of Canada, Australia and New Zealand, 13 Sept. 1957; HMD.MSS.Macmillan, dep.d.30, 22 Sept. 1957; Stephen Blackwell, ‘Britain, the United States and the Syrian Crisis, 1957’, Diplomacy & Statecraft, 11: 3 (Nov. 2000), pp. 145–51. 24 David W. Lesch, ‘Gamal Abd al-Nasser and an Example of Diplomatic Acumen’, Middle Eastern Studies, 31: 2 (April 1995), pp. 362–74. 25 PRO, PREM11/2329, Bishop to Caccia, 18 Sept. 1957; HMD.MSS.Macmillan, dep.d.35, 20 Mar. 1959. 26 DDEL, C.D. Jackson Papers, Jackson Log, ‘Near East Crisis’, 24 July to 13 Aug. 1958, p. 9. 27 FRUS, 1955–57, vol.XXVII, no. 320, Memorandum of a Conversation, 24 Oct. 1957, pp. 816–21. 28 DDEL, Eisenhower to Dulles, 13 Nov. 1957, Dulles-Herter Series, Box 9. 29 FRUS, 1958–60, vol.XI, no. 6, Irwin to Murphy, 6 Feb. 1958, pp. 9–10. 30 FRUS, 1958–60, vol.XII, no. 311, Memorandum from Rountree to Dulles, 14 Mar. 1958, p. 719. 31 Macmillan, Riding the Storm, p. 506. 32 PRO, PREM11/2689, Record of a Conversation between Lloyd and Whitney, 28 May 1958. 33 PRO, PREM11/2403, No. 1469, Macmillan to Lloyd and Heathcoat-Amory, 10 June 1958. 34 PRO, CAB128/32, CC(58)55, 14 July 1958. 35 Dwight D. Eisenhower, Waging Peace: The White House Years 1956–61 (London: Heinemann, 1965), p. 270. 36 Macmillan, Riding the Storm, pp. 511–12; PRO, FO371/134158/VL1092/1, No. 1891, Hood to Lloyd, 14 July 1958. 37 FRUS, 1958–60, vol. XII, no. 26, Memorandum of Conference with President, 20 July 1958, pp. 81–87. 38 PRO, CAB128/32, CC(58)59, 16 July 1958; Macmillan, Riding the Storm, pp. 516–9. 39 FRUS, 1958–60, vol. XIII, no. 35, Memorandum of Conversation, 3 Aug. 1958, pp. 82–3. 40 PRO, PREM11/2368, no. 4795, Macmillan to Lloyd, 18 July 1958. 41 PRO, PREM11/2380, no. 4723, Macmillan to Eisenhower, 17 July 1958. 42 Macmillan, Riding the Storm, p. 534. 43 Horne, Macmillan 1957–86, pp. 93. 44 Richard Lamb, The Macmillan Years 1957–1963: The Emerging Truth (London: John Murray, 1995), pp. 34–5. 45 FRUS, 1958–60, vol. XI, no. 196, Memorandum of Telephone Conversation between Eisenhower and Dulles, 19 July 1958, p. 332. 46 FRUS, 1958–60, vol. XII, no. 138, Gallman to Dulles, 14 October 1958, pp. 344–6. 47 FRUS, 1958–60, vol. XII, no. 51, ‘US Policy toward the Near East (NSC 5820/1)’, 4 Nov. 1958, pp. 187–99. 48 PRO, PREM11/2735, no. 8516, Lloyd to Caccia, 30 Nov. 1958. 49 PRO, CAB134/2230, ME(M)(59)1st Meeting, 16 Jan. 1959. 50 DDEL, Ann Whitman File, International Series, Box 24, ‘Anglo–American Talks: Mar. 1959’, Agreed Minute.

Notes 227 51 FRUS, 1958–60, vol. XII, no. 356, Rountree and Smith to Dillon, 30 June 1959, pp. 788–9. 52 PRO, DEFE4/123/COS(59)76, 10 Dec. 1959. 53 DDEL, ‘US Policy Towards the Near East’, NSC Planning Board, 1 June 1960, White House Office Series, Office of the Special Assistant for NSC Affairs, NSC Series (Briefing Notes), Box 13. 54 FRUS, 1958–60, vol. XII, no. 89, NSC Report no. 6011, ‘U.S. Policy Toward the Near East’, 19 July 1960, pp. 262–73; Papers of the 1st Earl Mountbatten of Burma, Hartley Library, University of Southampton, MB1/J453, Twining to Mountbatten, 7 Sept. 1960. 55 Douglas Little, ‘The New Frontier on the Nile: JFK, Nasser, and Arab Nationalism’, Journal of American History, 75 (Sept. 1988), pp. 501–27. 56 PRO, CAB131/24, D(60)48, ‘Military Strategy for Circumstances Short of Global War’, Macmillan to Watkinson, 10 Oct. 1960; PRO, PREM11/3427, ‘Intervention in Kuwait’, Geraghty to Macmillan, 26 April 1961. 57 Mustafa M. Alani, Operation Vantage: British Military Intervention in Kuwait, 1961 (Surbiton: LAAM, 1990), pp. 93–118 and 133; Nigel J. Ashton, ‘A Microcosm of Decline: British Loss of Nerve and Military Intervention in Jordan and Kuwait, 1958 and 1961’, The Historical Journal, 40: 4 (1997), pp. 1075–9. 58 PRO, PREM11/3428, No. 4424, Rusk to Home, 1 July 1961; PRO, PREM11/3428 No. 1606, Caccia to Home, 1 July 1961; PRO, PREM11/3428 No.4483, Home to Caccia, 3 July 1961. 59 Harold Macmillan, Pointing the Way: Memoirs, 1959–1961 (London: Macmillan – now Palgrave Macmillan, 1972), p. 386; PRO:PREM11/3429, Caccia to Home, 25 July 1961; PRO, DEFE5/115/COS(61)244, ‘Security of Kuwait’, Note by the COS Secretary, Top Secret Annex, 27 July 1961. 60 PRO, FO371/156670/B1019/2, Luce to Home, 21 Nov. 1961; Philip Darby, British Defence Policy East of Suez 1947–1968 (Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press, 1971), pp. 223–7. 61 PRO, FO371/162812/B1195/1, Ormsby Gore to Stevens, 2 Jan. 1962; PRO, FO371/162812/B1195/2, Walmsley to Bushell, 2 Mar. 1962. 62 PRO, CAB131/27/DC(62)1st Meeting, 12 Jan. 1962. 63 PRO, FO371/143705/ZP19/58, Minute by Dean, 15 Aug. 1959. 64 PRO, CO968/545/JIC(58) 15 (Final) (Revise), ‘Likely Developments in the Arabian Peninsula over the Next Five Years’, Report by the JIC, 11 Feb. 1958. 65 R.H.S. Crossman, Diaries of a Cabinet Minister: Volume 1 (London: Hamish Hamilton & Jonathan Cape, 1975), p. 95.

14 The origins of Konfrontasi: Britain, the Cold War and the

Creation of Malaysia, 1960–1963 1 PRO, FO371/152141/D1022/16, Selkirk to Lloyd, 17 June 1960. 2 PRO, PREM11/3737, Selkirk to Macmillan, 12 Sept. 1961. 3 At the peak of the 1951 emergency more than 1200 people were killed in over 6,000 incidents. See: Peter Lowe, Britain and the Far East (London: Longman, 1981), p. 216. Anthony Short, The Communist Insurrection in Malaya, 1948–1960 (London: Muller, 1975), p. 507. 4 PRO, FO371/152124/ZP16/3/G, SC(59)25/2nd Revise, 19 May 1960. See also: James A.C. Mackie, Konfrontasi (Kuala Lumpur: Oxford University Press, 1974), p. 95.

228 Notes 5 Merle C. Ricklefs, A History of Modern Indonesia: c. 1300 to the present (London: Macmillan – now Palgrave Macmillan, 1981), p. 261. 6 PRO, PREM13/392, Record of 3.45am telephone conversation between Harold Wilson and Lyndon Johnson on 11 Feb. 1965; David Reynolds, Britannia Overruled (London: Longman, 1991), p. 228. 7 Peter Boyce, Malaysia and Singapore in International Diplomacy: Documents and Commentaries (Sydney: Sydney University Press, 1968), p. 70; Roger Hilsman, To Move a Nation (New York: Doubleday, 1967), p. 384, supported this Indonesian accusation. 8 USNA, RG59, State Department Central Files, POL3 MALAYSIA, Jones to Secretary of State, 12 Feb. 1963. 9 Boyce, Malaysia and Singapore, p. 8; James Ongkili, Nation–building in Malaysia (Singapore and Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1985), p. 152. 10 PRO, PREM11/3422, Selkirk to Macmillan, 3 Oct. 1961. Most scholars support this view. See: Chin Kin Wah, The Defence of Malaysia and Singapore (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1983), p. 50; Michael Leifer, Indonesia’s Foreign Policy (London: Allen & Unwin, 1983), p. 76; and Mackie, Konfrontasi, p. 37. For a contemporary account see: Gordon Means, ‘Malaysia – A New Federation in Southeast Asia’, Pacific Affairs, vol. 36, no. 2 (1963), p. 139. 11 PRO, FO371/152141/D1022/16, Lord Perth’s report of conversation with the Tunku, 10 June 1960. See also: Mohamed N. Sopiee, From Malayan Union to Singapore Separation (Kuala Lumpur: Penerbit Universiti Malaya, 1974), p. 125. After interviewing members of the Malayan cabinet of 1961 Sopiee concluded that the Tunku was pursuing expansionist aims. 12 PRO, PREM11/3418, Colonial Office (CO) memorandum for Macmillan, 6 July 1961. 13 PRO, PREM11/4188, Macmillan to Selkirk, 5 Aug. 1963. 14 Mackie, Konfrontasi, p. 37. 15 PRO, FO371/152141/D1022/24, Blue Foreign Office (FO) Minute by Warner, 26 July 1960. 16 PRO, FO371/152141/D1022/21, Wilford to Lloyd, 4 July 1960. 17 PRO, DO169/25, Selkirk to Macleod, 4 May 1961; PRO, PREM11/3418, Selkirk to Macleod, 27 June 1961. 18 Ernest C.T. Chew and Edwin Lee, A History of Singapore (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1991), p. 140. 19 Ibid., p. 141. 20 Mackie, Konfrontasi, p. 40. 21 In 1887 Lord Brassey of the North Borneo Chartered Company proposed the merger of British Malaya with British territories in Borneo. Ongkili, Nation-building, p. 151. British Commissioner-General Malcolm MacDonald had called, unsuccessfully, for a Greater Malaysia in 1951. PRO, CAB134/1560/CPC(61)9, 17 April 1961. 22 Papers of Sir William Goode, Rhodes House Library, Oxford [henceforward MS Goode]: box 5, file 5, Goode to Schönenberger, 20 Feb. 1978. Sopiee, p. 132. 23 PRO, PREM11/3418, Brooke to Macmillan, 27 June and 6 July 1960. 24 PRO, PREM11/3418, Selkirk to Macleod, 27 June 1961. 25 PRO, PREM11/3418, Selkirk to Commonwealth Relations Office (CRO), 26 May 1961. 26 Harold Macmillan, At the End of the Day (London: Macmillan, 1973), p. 249. 27 PRO, CAB134/1560, CPC(61)9, 17 April 1961. 28 PRO, PREM11/3422, Selkirk to Macmillan, 3 Oct. 1961. 29 MS Goode: box 5, file 5, Goode to Sheppard, 2 Oct. 1984.

Notes 229 30 Phillip Darby, British Defence Policy East of Suez, 1947–1968 (London: Oxford University Press, 1973), pp. 235–7. 31 PRO, PREM11/3418, CO memorandum for Macmillan, 6 July 1961. 32 Albert Lau, The Malayan Union Controversy (Singapore and Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1991), pp. 279–84. 33 Darwin, p. 289. 34 On ANZAM and the strategic reserve in Malaya see: Peter Edwards, Crises and Commitments: The Politics and Diplomacy of Australia’s Involvement in Southeast Asian Conflicts, 1948–1965 (Sydney: Allen & Unwin, 1992), pp. 60f. and 162ff. 35 PRO, PREM11/3422, Macmillan to Menzies and Holyoake, 20 Oct. 1961. 36 Chin, Defence of Malaysia and Singapore, p. 55. 37 PRO, CO1030/977, memorandum by Macleod, 17 July 1960. 38 PRO, CAB130/179/GEN754/2nd meeting, 15 Nov. 1961. 39 Boyce, Malaysia and Singapore in International Diplomacy, p. 13. 40 PRO, PREM11/3867, Cobbold to Macmillan, 21 June 1962. 41 Lord Selkirk saw the only remaining problem as that of keeping Lee Kuan Yew in power for another 13 months. PRO, PREM11/4146, Selkirk to Macmillan, 30 July 1962. 42 Mackie, Konfrontasi, p. 103. 43 Leifer, Indonesia’s Foreign Policy, p. 76. 44 Mackie, Konfrontasi, p. 104. 45 Ibid., p. 145. 46 PRO, CAB134/1951, FO memorandum for Committee on Greater Malaysia, 5 July 1962. 47 Leifer, Indonesia’s Foreign Policy, p. 78. 48 Mackie, Konfrontasi, p. 115. 49 PRO, PREM11/3869, High Commission Kuala Lumpur to CRO, 1 Dec. 1963. 50 USNA, RG59, Central Files, POL INDON–MALAYSIA, Jones to Secretary of State, 27 Feb. 1963. 51 Boyce, Malaysia and Singapore in International Diplomacy, p. 70. ‘Confrontation diplomacy’ had been successfully pursued against the Dutch in the West Irian conflict. 52 PRO, FO371/169690/D1061/2/G, FO brief for Lord Home, 18 Jan. 1963. 53 USNA, RG59, State Department Central Files, POL INDON, Jones to Secretary of State, 5 Feb. 1963. 54 PRO, FO371/169694/D1071/18, Warner to FO, 9 Feb. 1963. 55 PRO, FO371/169695/D1071/25/G, Warner to Peck, 11 Feb. 1963. 56 PRO, FO371/169694/D1071/18, FO to Washington, 11 Feb. 1963. 57 PRO, FO371/169695/D1071/21, Ormsby Gore to FO, 11 Feb. 1963; PRO, FO371/67670/D1071/23, Ormsby Gore to FO, 12 Feb. 1963. 58 PRO, PREM11/4182, Ormsby Gore to FO, 12 Feb. 1963. 59 Kennedy interview of 14 Feb. 1963. Quoted from: Harold W. Chase and Allen H. Lerman (eds), Kennedy and the Press: The News Conferences (New York: Crowell, 1965), p. 389. 60 USNA, RG 59, State Department Central Files, POL3 MALAYSIA, US Embassy Djakarta to Secretary of State, 18 Feb. 1963. 61 Ibid., Rusk to US Embassy Djakarta, 26 Feb. 1963. 62 PRO, FO371/169695/D1071/23, Ormsby Gore to FO, 12 Feb. 1963. 63 PRO, DO169/67, FO memorandum for Joint Intelligence Committee report on Indonesia, not dated; PRO, FO371/166354/D1015/34, FO memorandum on talks with Japanese minister Ikeda, 11 Nov. 1962.

230 Notes 64 USNA, RG59, State Department Central Files, POL 3 MALAYSIA, Jones to Secretary of State, 7 Feb. 1963. 65 USNA, RG59, State Department Central Files, POL 3 MALAYSIA, memorandum of conversation between Tun Razak and Rusk, 23 April 1962; and memorandum of conversation between Tun Razak and Harriman, 23 April 1963. 66 USNA, RG59, State Department Central Files, POL 7 MALAYSIA, supplementary talking paper for Kennedy’s meeting with Tun Razak, 23 April 1963. 67 PRO, PREM11/3868, record of conversation between Thomas and Barwick, 4 April 1963. 68 Gregory Pemberton, All the Way: Australia’s Road to Vietnam (Sidney: Allen & Unwin, 1987), p. 168. 69 PRO, FO371/169697/D1071/76, Barwick to Sandys, 18 Mar. 1963. 70 PRO, FO371/169697/D1071/76, Ormsby Gore to Caccia, 19 Mar. 1963. 71 PRO, PREM11/4347, Bridges to de Zulueta, 26 April 1963. 72 PRO, FO371/169709/D1073/6, Warner to Gilchrist, 25 April 1963. 73 PRO, PREM11/4189, Trend to Macmillan, 2 April 1963. 74 PRO, PREM11/4189, joint memorandum for Macmillan by the FO, CRO and Ministry of Defence, 16 April 1963. 75 PRO, FO371/169723/D1075/5, draft of CRO telegram to Tunku Abdul Rahman, 25 July 1963. 76 USNA, RG59, State Department Central Files, POL 3 MALAYSIA, Rusk to US Embassy London, 1 Aug. 1963. 77 FRUS, 1961–63, vol. XXIII, Southeast Asia, p. 725, Kennedy to Macmillan, 4 Aug. 1963. 78 PRO, PREM11/4593, Macmillan to Kennedy, 4 Aug. 1963. 79 PRO, CAB128/37, CC(63)51, 1 Aug. 1963. 80 PRO, FO371/169724/D1075/25, Tunku Abdul Rahman to Sandys, 3 Aug. 1963. 81 Article 4 of Manila Agreement. Quoted from: Rajinah Hussain, ‘Malaysia and the United Nations’ (unpublished Ph.D thesis, University of London, 1988), p. 101. 82 PRO, PREM11/4349, Dean to FO, 8 Aug. 1963. 83 PRO, PREM11/4349, Sandys to High Commission Kuala Lumpur, 8 Aug. 1963. 84 PRO, PREM11/4349, High Commission Kuala Lumpur to CRO, 9 Aug. 1963. The Tunku confirmed this position again on the following day. Ibid., High Commission Kuala Lumpur to CRO, 10 Aug. 1963. 85 PRO, PREM11/4349, UK High Commission Kuala Lumpur to CRO, 29 Aug. 1963. 86 Mackie, Konfrontasi, p. 174. 87 Hussain, ‘Malaysia and the United Nations’, p. 103. 88 Hilsman, To Move a Nation, pp. 403–404. 89 Boyce, Malaysia and Singapore, p. 74. 90 PRO, PREM11/4350, Dean to FO, 13 Sept. 1963. 91 PRO, CAB134/246, memorandum on the strategic nuclear deterrent against China for Anglo–American talks in Washington, 17 April 1962. 92 PRO, PREM11/4189, Tory to CRO, 4 July 1962. 93 USNA, RG59, State Department Central Files, POL 3 MALAYSIA, US Embassy London to Secretary of State, 7 Feb. 1963. 94 USNA, RG59, State Department Central Files, POL 3 MALAYSIA, Jones to Secretary of State, 5 Feb. 1963. 95 USNA, RG59, State Department Central Files, POL 3 MALAYSIA, Department of State to US Embassy Kuala Lumpur, 21 Feb. 1963. 96 PRO, DO169/70, Rusk to Butler, 13 Dec. 1963. 97 PRO, PREM11/4905, Douglas-Home to Butler, 19 Dec. 1963.

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234 Select Bibliography Greenwood, Sean. Britain and European Co-operation Since the Second World War. Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1996. Greenwood, Sean. The Alternative Alliance: Anglo–French Relations Before the Coming of NATO, 1944–48. London: Minerva, 1996. Grosser, Alfred. The Western Alliance: European–American Relations Since 1945. London: Macmillan – now Palgrave Macmillan, 1980. Grove, Eric. Vanguard to Trident: British Naval Policy Since World War II. London: Bodley Head, 1987 Hägglöf, Gunnar. Engelska År, 1950–1960. Stockholm: P.A. Norstedt & Söners Förlag, 1974. Hägglöf, Ingemar. Drömmen om Europa. Värnamo: Norstedts, 1987. Hamilton, Malcolm B. Democratic Socialism in Britain and Sweden. London: Macmillan – now Palgrave Macmillan, 1989. Hampshire, A.Cecil. The Royal Navy Since 1945: Its Transition to the Nuclear Age. London: William Kimber, 1975. Healey, Denis. The Time of My Life. London: Michael Joseph, 1989. Heiss, Mary Ann, Empire and Nationhood: The United States, Great Britain and Iranian Oil, 1950–1954. New York: Columbia University Press, 1997. Heller, Francis H. and John R. Gillingham (eds), NATO: The Founding of the Atlantic Alliance and the Integration of Europe. New York: St Martin’s Press, 1992. Hennessey, Peter. Never Again: Britain, 1945–1951. London: Vintage, 1993. Hilsman, Roger. To Move a Nation. New York: Doubleday, 1967. Holbraad, Carsten. Danish Neutrality: A Study in the Foreign Policy of a Small State. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1991. Holloway, David. Stalin and the Bomb: The Soviet Union and Atomic Energy. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1994. Hopkins, Michael F. Oliver Franks and the Truman Administration: Anglo–American Relations, 1948-1952 (London: Frank Cass, 2002). Horne, Alistair. A Savage War of Peace. London: Macmillan – now Palgrave Macmillan, 1977. Horne, Alistair. Macmillan 1957-1986: The Official Biography, vol.II. London: Macmillan – now Palgrave Macmillan, 1989. Hounam, Peter and Steve McQuillan. The Mini-Nuke Conspiracy: Mandela’s Nuclear Nightmare. London: Faber & Faber, 1995. Howarth, T.E.B. Prospect and Reality: Great Britain, 1945–1955. London: Collins, 1985. Hunter, Leslie. The Road to Brighton Pier. London: Arthur Barker, 1959. Jones, Harriet, and Michael David Kandiah. The Myth of Consensus: New Views of British History. London: Macmillan – now Palgrave Macmillan, 1996. Kaiser, Wolfram, and Gillian Staerck (eds). British Foreign Policy, 1955–64: Contracting Options. London: Macmillan – now Palgrave Macmillan, 1999. Kennedy, Paul. The Rise of Anglo–German Antagonism 1860–1914. London: The Ashfield Press, 1980. Kent, C. John. British Imperial Strategy and the Origins of the Cold War, 1944–49. Leicester: Leicester University Press, 1993. Kersaudy, Francois. Churchill and de Gaulle. London: Collins, 1981. Kirby, Dianne. Church State and Propaganda: The Archbishop of York and International Relations. Hull: Hull University Press, 1999. Kohl, Wilfred L. French Nuclear Diplomacy. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1971. Lacouture, Jean. De Gaulle: The Ruler 1945–70. London: Harvill, 1992.

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236 Select Bibliography Ongkili, James. Nation-building in Malaysia. Singapore and Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1985. Ovendale, Ritchie. The English – Speaking Alliance: Britain, the United States, the Dominions and the Cold War, 1945–51. London: Allen & Unwin, 1985. Ovendale, Ritchie. Britain, the United States and the Transfer of Power in the Middle East, 1945–1962. London: Leicester University Press, 1996. Parliamentary Debates (House of Commons), Fifth Series, vol. 430. Pelling, Henry. The Labour Governments, 1945–1951. London: Macmillan – now Palgrave Macmillan, 1984. Pemberton, Gregory. All the Way: Australia’s Road to Vietnam. Sidney: Allen & Unwin, 1987. Petersen, Nikolaj. Britain, the United States and Scandinavian Defence 1945–1949. Aarhus: Institute of Political Science, University of Aarhus, 1980. Pimlott, Ben. Hugh Dalton. London: Jonathan Cape, 1985. Polmar, Norman and Jurrien Noot. Submarines of the Russian and Soviet Navies, 1718–1990. Annapolis: Naval Institute Press, 1991. Polmar, Norman. Soviet Naval Power. Challenge for the 1970s. New York: Crane, Russak and Co. Ltd, 1974. Procacci, Guiliano (ed.). The Cominform: Minutes of the Three Conferences, 1947–1948/1949. Milan: Fondazione Giangiacomo, 1984. Ranft, Bryan and Geoffrey Till. The Sea in Soviet Strategy. Annapolis: Naval Institute Press, 1989. Rathmell, Andrew. Secret War in the Middle East: The Covert Struggle for Syria, 1949–1961. London: I.B. Tauris, 1995. Reynolds, David (ed.). The Origins of the Cold War in Europe: International Perspectives. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1994. Richelson, Jeffrey T. and Desmond Ball. The Ties that Bind. Boston: Unwin Hyman, 1990. Ricklefs, Merle C. A History of Modern Indonesia: c.1300 to the Present. London: Macmillan – now Palgrave Macmillan, 1981. Rioux, Jean-Paul (ed.). La Guerre d’Algérie et les Français. Paris: Fayard, 1991. Riste, Olav. Vegen heim. Oslo: Det Norske Samlaget, 1979. Ronaldshay, Earl of. The Life of Lord Curzon, vol.II. London: Benn, 1928. Roskill, Stephen. Naval Policy Between the Wars, vol.1. London: Collins, 1968. Rothwell, Victor. Britain and the Cold War. London: Jonathan Cape, 1982. Shlaim, Avi, Keith Sainsbury and Peter Jones. British Foreign Secretaries Since 1945. London: David Charles, 1977. Short, Anthony. The Communist Insurrection in Malaya, 1948–1960. London: Muller, 1975. Shuckburgh, Evelyn. Descent to Suez: Diaries 1951–56. London: Weidenfeld & Nicolson, 1986. Shulman, Marshall. Stalin’s Foreign Policy Reappraised. Boulder, CO: Westview Press, 1985. Silva, Charles. Keep Them Strong, Keep Them Friendly: Swedish–American Relations and the Pax Americana, 1948–1952. Stockholm: Akademitryck AB, 1999. Skodvin, Magne. Nordic or North Atlantic Alliance? The Post-war Scandinavian Security Debate. Oslo: Institute for Defence Studies, 1990. Slessor, J.C. The Central Blue. London: Cassell, 1956. Sopiee, Mohamed N. From Malayan Union to Singapore Separation. Kuala Lumpur: Penerbit Universiti Malaya, 1974.

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Index Abadan crisis see Anglo-Iranian Oil Company crisis Abbas, Ferhat 162 Acheson, Dean 24, 27, 47, 63, 86–7 Aden 176 Adenauer, Konrad 90–2 Admiralty 100–1, 103–5, 109 Africa 106, 118, 133 Africa, Central African Federation 134, 140 Air Ministry 134 Aircraft carriers 100 Alexander, A.V. 104, 122 Algeria 157, 160–3, 165–7 Algerian War 155, 156, 166 Algiers 160 Allen, Roger 94 Allied Control Office 148, 152, 154 Alphand, Hervé 150–3, 161 Amery, Leo 129 Amman 175 Anglo-American relations 17–29 passim, 128, 140, 155, 168 Bermuda Meeting 127, 138–40, 171 military cooperation 105, 113, 115, 121 nuclear cooperation 127 Anglo-French relations 113, 114, 115, 146, 147–8, 152 Anglo-Iranian Oil Company (AIOC) crisis 27–8, 29, 102, 106, 108 Anglo-Malayan Agreement 1971 184 Anglo-Malayan Defence Agreement (AMDA) 184, 186 Anglo-Saxons 144, 158, 160, 164 Anglo-Scandinavian Economic Committee (Uniscan) 73, 76 Anglo-Soviet Treaty (1942) 114 Anderson, Clinton 24 ANZAM (Australia, New Zealand and Malaya) 135, 136, 184 Arab League 178 Archangel 99

Asia 106, 135 Atomic Energy Commission 140 Attlee, Clement 17, 18–19, 20, 25, 28, 37, 41, 43–8 passim, 52, 54, 62, 63, 72, 73, 85, 87–8, 106, 118, 122, 129, 148 Australia 128–40, 181, 184, 186–8, 191 Australian forces 134, 135–6 Austria 92, 145 Baghdad 174, 176 Baltic 99, 108 Baldwin, Stanley 12, 14 Barwick, Sir Garfield 188 Batchworth Press 66 Battle Act (1951) 48–50 Baxter, Philip 140 BBC 58, 74 Beale, Howard, 138 Beirut 174–5 Belgium 70, 124 Benelux (Belgium, Netherlands, Luxembourg) 49, 67, 118, 124 Berlin 83, 93, 94, 149, 152–3 Berlin blockade 22, 89 Bertie, Francis 83 Bevan, Aneurin 26, 37, 62–3 Bevin Ernest 14, 17, 18–19, 20, 21, 24, 25, 26, 47, 61, 63, 68–74, 79, 83–91, 111–13, 116–18, 120–5, 140, 144, 149–54 Bidault, Georges 119, 152 Birkenhead, Lord 11–12, 13 Bishop, Freddie 173 Bjork, Kaj 72 Blackpool 71 Blanc, General 115 Blankenhorn, Herbert 165–6 Bohlen, Charles (Chip) 92 Bolshevik revolution 10, 31, 38, 99 Bonar Law, Andrew 12, 14 Bonn 94 Bourguiba, President of Tunisia 158

238

Index 239 Britain and Americans 62, 68–69, 71, 76, 78, 98, 105 and Danes 70, and France 143, 146 and French 85, 99 and Norwegians 69–70, 76 and Scandinavians 71, 74, 76, 78–9 and Soviets 70, 81, 84–5 and Swedes 71, 76 see also Anglo-American relations Britain and nuclear weapons 98, 128, 136–8, 140 Britain and military forces 106 Amphibious Warfare Squadron (AW Squadron) 101–2 Army 99, 115, 118, 184, 185 Fleet Air Arm 103 Joint Planning Staff 131–2 Royal Air Force 98, 101, 109, 116, 118, 136, 138, 184 Royal Marines 101–2, 105, 106, 107, 177 Royal Navy 98–103, 104, 105–9, 116, 118, 184 British Commissioner-General for South East Asia 180 British Commonwealth 127, 129, 133–5, 140, 157, 184, 186 nuclear facilities 127, 132, 135–6, 137, 140 British Crown Colonies of Sarawak and North Borneo 180, 182–4, 186, 188–91 British Embassy in Washington see Washington Embassy British Home Defence Committee 130 Brittain, Vera 56 Brunei 182 Brussels 123–4 Brussels Treaty 111, 117, 119, 124, 126 Bulganin, Marshal 83, 92 Bulgaria 86 Buraimi Oasis 171 Butler, R.A. 35 Byrnes, James 86, 116 Byrnes Treaty (1946) 114, 116–17 Caccia, Sir Harold 178 Cairo 162, 170, 174, 176

Calder, Ritchie 56 Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament (CND) 66 Canada 129, 139 Canberra 135–6, 181, 188, 191 Canning, George 8 Canterbury, Archbishop of 58 Central Office of Information 58 Challe, General 162 Chalmers, Geraldine 60–1 Chamberlain, Austen 12–13 Chamberlain, Joseph 83 Chief of the Imperial General Staff (CIGS) 115 Chiefs of Staff (COS) 62, 106–112, 114–20, 122, 124–5, 129, 135, 175, 178 Chiefs of Staff Committee 118, 120 China (People’s Republic of) 50, 53, 65, 89, 135, 156, 180, 188, 191–2 Churchill, Winston S. 13, 33, 35, 37, 41, 49–54 passim, 64, 68, 70, 74, 78–9, 85, 93, 122, 144 Clark Kerr, Archibald (Lord Inverchapel) 25 Clay, General Lucius D. 149 Cobbold, Lord 185 Cockcroft, Sir John 131, 137 Committee of International Socialism Conference (COMISCO) 62 Communism 120 Communists 30, 31, 32, 56, 71 Connor, William 64 Conservative Party 30–8 passim, 112 Conservatives 62, 66, 74, 76, 78 Cooper, Sri Alfred Duff 86, 114, 144, 147 Council of Europe 78, 88 Council of Foreign Ministers 67, 83, 85, 87, 147, 149, 151–2 Couve de Murville, Maurice 164, 166 Cranborne, Lord 83 Crete 99 Crimean War 7, 9 Cripps, Sir Stafford 70, 71, 73 Crossman, Richard 21–2, 73 Cunningham, Admiral Sir John 98, 115, 119, 121–2, 124 Curtin, John 128, 133

240 Index Curzon, Lord 11–12 Cyprus 102, 175 Czechoslovakia 32–3, 123, 158 Prague coup (1948) 89, 123–5 Daily Express, The 60, 64–5 Daily Mail, The 60 Daily Mirror, The 64 Dalton, Hugh 37, 71, 84–5 Damascus 172 De Gaulle, Charles 112–13, 144, 147, 155, 159–62, 164–7 De Klerk, F.W. 127 Dean, Sir Patrick 179 ‘Declaration of Common Purpose’ 173 Defence, Ministry of 62, 114, 189 Delmer, Sefton 65 Denmark 67–71, 79 Derby, Lord 7 Dickson, Sir William 118 Disraeli, Benjamin 7, 9 Dixon, Pierson 25, 28, 89 Douglas, Sholto 149 Douglas-Home, Sir Alec 191 Douhet, Giulio 98 Driberg, Tom 21–2 Dulles, John Foster 86, 91, 157–9, 161, 165, 169–73, 175–8 Dunkirk 99 Dunkirk Treaty 111, 114–16, 119 East of Suez 134, 140, 178–9, 184 Eden, Anthony 74, 78, 91, 93, 106, 169, 172 Egypt 102, 107, 174 Eisenhower, Dwight D. 50, 52, 53, 54, 87, 89, 91, 127, 138, 157, 159, 166, 169–71, 173, 175, 177, 179 Eisenhower Doctrine 170, 174 Ely, General 161 Erasmus, F.C. 135 Erlander, Tage 71–3 European Coal and Steel Community (ECSC) 28, 29 European Defence Community (EDC) 91, 93 European Economic Community (EEC) 179 European Free Trade Area (EFTA) 53

European Recovery Plan (ERP) 42, 43, 49, 87–8, 120, 137 Evatt, H.V. 133

22, 28,

Finland 89 Foreign Office 59, 62, 69, 75, 77–8, 83–5, 88–94, 113–15, 119, 121, 124, 145, 147–50, 152, 159, 170–1, 176, 182, 189 Economic Intelligence Department 46 Information Research Department 56–9, 62, 64, 66 Planning Staff 1–2 South East Asia Department 186 Supply and Relief Department 145 Western Department 112 Foreign Press Association 63 France, 42, 44–9 passim, 52–4 passim, 72, 82, 84, 86–7, 91 102, 111–13, 117, 119, 124, 144–5, 147–8, 150, 152–5, 157–60, 161–3, 166–7 French Chamber of Deputies 159 French Communists 113–14 Franks, Sir Oliver 26, 27, 49 Free Trade Area (FTA) 155, 157, 160 Front de la Libération Nationale (FLN) 156, 159–60, 152, 165–6 Gasperi, Alcide de 62 Geneva 83, 93 Genoa International Conference 82–3 Germany 32, 34, 45, 66, 72, 76–7, 81–94, 104, 110, 115–17, 143–7, 149, 153, 179 Federal Republic (West Germany) 52, 113, 145, 149, 152–4 Gifford, Walter 27 ‘Good Offices’ mission 159–60 Gordon Walker, Patrick 64 Gore-Booth, Paul 27, 170 Gorton, John 140 Gouin, Felix 148–9 Gouvernement Provisoire de la République Algérienne (GPRA) 162, 165 Greece 120 Greenhill, Denis 27 Grey, Sir Edward 83 Gromyko, Andrei 28 Guy, The 168, 170, 172, 175, 176, 177, 178, 179

Index 241 Hagglof, Gunnar 69 Hammarskjöld, Dag 75, 176 Hanoi 180 Hardinge, Charles 90 Harriman, W. Averell 42, 186, 189 Harvey, Oliver 113, 116, 123, 147–8 Harwell 131, 133 Hayter, William 92 Headlam, Cuthbert 32, 33–4 Healey, Denis 62, 71–2, 179 Hilsman, Roger 190 Hitler, Adolf 84, 86, 88 Holland 70 see also Benelux Hong Kong 102 Hoppenot 162 Hoyer Millar, Frederick 90–1, 94 Hungary 145 Hynd, John 85 India 137 Indo-China 53, 82, 92 Indonesia 180–92 Indonesian Communist Party (PKI) 180, 185, 188 International Monetary Fund (IMF) 161 Iraq 172, 176–7 Italy 72, 102 Jackson, C.D. 173 Jakarta 181, 185, 188, 190 Japan 66, 100 Japanese Peace Treaty (1951) 28, 29 Jebb, Sir Gladwyn 75, 121, 123, 159, 166 Johnson, Lyndon B. 192 Johnston, Charles 92 Jones, Salisbury 117 Jordan 162, 168, 178 see also King Hussein Karachi 64 Kariba Scheme 130–1, 134, 138 ‘Keep Left’ group 22, 26 Kelly, David 89 Kennedy, John F. 177–8, 187, 189, 191 Kennedy, Robert 192 Kenya 129, 135, 140 Khrushchev, Nikita 83, 92, 172, 180

King Hussein 173–5 see also Jordan Kipling, Rudyard 8 Kirkpatrick, Ivone, 82, 84, 88–91, 93, 119 Konfrontasi 180–1, 185 Korea 59, 64, 92, 103, 109, 135 Korean War 48, 52, 59, 61, 65, 89, 102, 106, 136, 180 Kronstadt 99 Krupp family 146 Kuala Lumpur 181–2, 190 Kuwait 176–9 Labour Party 17–29 passim, 30, 55, 58–60, 62, 64–5, 71, 73–4, 78–9, 84 Laos crisis 1960–1 180 Lebanon 162, 168, 173–5 Lemmon, Nelson 134 Lend-Lease 23 Lenin, V.I. 66 Liddell Hart, Basil 129 Lie, Trygvie 75 Lloyd, Selwyn 160, 165, 171, 174–6, 180 Lloyd George, David 10, 14, 81 Luce, William 178 MacDonald, Ramsey 12, 14, 31, 32 Macapagal, Diosdano 185, 187, 189 Macmillan, Harold 2, 127, 138–9, 155, 157, 164, 166, 169–76, 178–80, 183, 185, 188–9 ‘Winds of Change’ speech 140 Makins, Sir Roger 27, 75–6 Malaya 102, 106, 135, 182, 184–6, 188, 190 Malayan Emergency 136, 180 Malaysia 140, 181–92 Mallet, Sir Victor 70 Manchester Guardian, The 58, 64 Manhattan Project 134 Manila 185, 189, 190 Marshall Plan see European Recovery Plan Marshall, George 86 Martin, Kingsley 57 Martin, Leslie 140 Marx, Karl 71 Marxism-Leninism 81 Massigli, René 117

242 Index Maud Committee 128, 132 Mayhew, Christopher 59 McMahon Act (1946) 4, 130, 137, 173 McNeil, Hector 69 Menzies, Sir Robert 2, 139–40, 188 Middle East 28, 29, 71, 116, 119, 124, 132, 135, 158, 164 Mikardo, Ian 21–2 Milner, Lord 11 Milward, Alan 72 Molotov V.M. 57, 86 Molotov–Ribbentrop Pact (1939) 83, 92 Monnet, Jean 161 Montgomery, Field Marshal Bernard 115–16, 118–19, 121–2, 124, 144–5 Morocco 159–60 Morrison, Herbert 2, 3, 17–29 passim, 71 Mountbatten, Lord 107, 119, 121–2 Murphy, Robert 159 Muscat and Oman 171 Mutual Assistance Programme (MDAP) 159 Myrdal, Gunnar 70, 73, 75

Oliphant, Sir Lancelot 132–3 O’Malley, Sir Owen 8 Oman 172 Ormsby Gore, David 178, 187 Ottoman Empire 9 Ould, Herman 57

Nasser, Gamal Abdel 170–4, 176–7 Nasution, General 188 National Peace Council 61–2, 65 NATO see North Atlantic Treaty Organisation New Statesman and Nation, The 57, 65 New Zealand 72, 129, 132, 135, 137, 139, 184, 186, 188 News Chronicle, The 56, 66 Nitze, Paul 186 Normandy 100–1, 105, 107 North Africa 117, 155n. North Atlantic Treaty Organisation (NATO) 55, 63, 67–8, 73, 87, 89, 91, 93, 103, 135, 137, 155–6, 159, 161–2, 164–6, 170 North Atlantic Treaty 67, 69, 73, 77, 87, 111, 162, 164 Norway 67–9, 75, 77–9

Rahman, Tunku Abdul 181–4, 187, 189–91 Rapallo 81–2, 91–2 Rathenau 82 Razak, Tun 188 Reuters news agency 64 Rhodesia 140 Roberts, Sir Frank 113, 166 Rogge, John 65 Roland, Sir Nigel 114 Romania 86 Ruhr 86, 88, 143 Rusk, Dean 178 Russia 7–10

Observer, The 66 OEEC (Organisation for European Economic Cooperation) 44, 45, 46, 69, 78

Palmerston, Lord 7, 8 Paris 86, 91–3, 117, 124, 144, 159, 165–6 British Embassy 149 British Military Mission 115 Peace Partisans 55–6, 58–60, 61–5 Perth, Lord 181–3 Philippines 185, 187, 189–90 Picasso, Pablo 60 Pinay, Antoine 161 Pineau, Christian 159 Polaris missile 140 Pompidou, Georges 165 Pretoria 127, 138 Qasim, Abdul Karim 176–7 Quai d’Orsay 150–1, 162 Quebec Conference 1943 128

Sahara 129, 162, 164 Sakhiet (Tunisia) 159 Salan, General 156, 162 Salisbury, Marquis of 74 Sandys, Duncan 139, 170, 183, 189–90 Sargent, Sir Orme 25, 114, 117, 120 Scandinavia 67n, 99 Schonland, Brigadier 131, 138 Schuman, Robert 47

Index 243 Schuman Plan see European Coal and Steel Community SEATO see South East Asia Treaty Organisation Second World War 55, 69, 75, 79, 97, 107, 110, 127–8, 135, 140, 162 Selkirk, Lord 180–1, 183 Silverman, Sidney 65 Singapore 180–2, 184–5, 187, 190 Smuts, Jan 131, 133 Snowy Mountains Scheme 130–1, 133–4 social democracy 73 Social Democratic Party 72 South Africa 127, 138 South East Asia 180–1, 183, 190 South East Asia Treaty Organisation (SEATO) 140, 180, 184 South Vietnam 180 Southern Arabia 172 Southern Rhodesia 131 Soviet Union 10–14, 21–2, 23, 29, 31–4, 41–54 passim, 55–7, 59, 65, 67–8, 71, 73, 79, 98–9, 82–6, 88–9, 91–4, 98–9, 104–6, 108–10, 112–13, 116–17, 118, 121, 123, 124, 125, 128, 134–6, 138, 143–7, 149, 151–4, 156, 158, 168, 170, 173, 176–80, 191 Kremlin 59, 113 Soviet military forces 70, 98, 109, 118 Soviet nuclear capacity 128, 137 Stalin, Josef 57, 62, 66, 93, 104, 113 Stockholm 61, 70, 73–4 Stockholm Peace Petition 60–1, 65 Strang, Sir William 76, 88, 90 Suez 169–71, 173, 176, 179 Suez crisis 102, 106, 108, 110, 168 Sukarno, President 180–1, 185, 187–9, 191–2 Sultan of Oman 171 Sultan of Sulu 185 Sultanate of Brunei 180 Sunday Chronicle, The 60 Sweden 67n. Syria 156, 172–4 Syrian crisis 172–3

Tehran 171 Tennessee Valley project 128 Third World War 110 Thorium 133 Tizard, Sir Henry 129, 136 Tory, Sir Geoffrey 190 Trades Union Congress (TUC) 58–9 Trend, Sir Burke 188–9, 191 Troutbeck, John 86 Truman, Harry S. 23, 24–5, 41, 43, 45, 47–51 passim, 54, 82, 89, 121 Truman Doctrine 120 Tunisia 158–60 Turkey 120, 172

Tangier Conference 160 Taylor, A.J.P. 57 Tedder, Air Chief Marshal 121–2, 124

Vansittart, Robert 83 Versailles, Treaty of 84–5 Vietnam 186 Vietnam war 135

116, 119,

United Kingdom Atomic Energy Authority (UKAEA) 137 United Nations 75, 89, 104, 106, 108, 127, 158 General Assembly 155, 157, 167, 175 United Nations Relief and Rehabilitation Administration (UNRRA) 145 United Arab Republic (UAR) 174, 176 United States of America 55, 61, 63, 65, 67, 69, 74, 79, 84–6, 89–90, 92–3, 97–100, 102–3, 113, 116, 121, 124–5, 127–8, 132, 139–40, 143, 148–9, 151–6, 158–9, 161, 163–9, 171–2, 174–6, 181, 186, 188–9, 191 Central Intelligence Agency (CIA) 170, 172 Congress 124, 159 and France 159–60 Joint Chiefs of Staff 177 military 98, 109, 100, 173 National Security Council (NSC) 139, 177 State Department 62, 122, 159, 170–4, 176, 178, 190–1 see also Anglo-American relations Uranium 137–9 U Thant (United Nations Secretary General) 189–90

244 Index Wallace, Henry 70 Warner, Frederick 186 Warsaw 63–5 Washington Agreements (1957) 167, 173 Washington, Embassy 24, 25, 26, 27, 51, 131, 189 Way Ahead Committee, The 107 Wentworth, W.C. 140 West Irian 185 Western Union 72 Wilson, Henry 122, 179 Wittner, Lawrence 56

Woolton, Lord 35, 36 World Peace Council (WPC) 55, 65–6 World’s Congress of Intellectuals 56 Wroclaw 56–7 Yew, Lee Kuan 181–4 York, Archbishop of 60 Young Communist League 61 Younger Kenneth 26, 28, 89 Zilliacus, Konni 21, 22 Zinoviev letter 12, 14, 31–2