The Washington Embassy: British Ambassadors to the United States, 1939-77

The Washington Embassy

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The Washington Embassy British Ambassadors to the United States, 1939–77 Edited by

Michael F. Hopkins Lecturer in History, University of Liverpool

Saul Kelly Reader in Defence Studies, JSCSC, King’s College London

John W. Young Professor of International History, University of Nottingham

Editorial matter, selection and introduction © Michael F. Hopkins, Saul Kelly and John W. Young 2009 All remaining chapters © their respective authors 2009 All rights reserved. No reproduction, copy or transmission of this publication may be made without written permission. No portion 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, Saffron House, 6-10 Kirby Street, London EC1N 8TS. Any person who does any unauthorized 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 2009 by PALGRAVE MACMILLAN Palgrave Macmillan in the UK is an imprint of Macmillan Publishers Limited, registered in England, company number 785998, of Houndmills, Basingstoke, Hampshire RG21 6XS. Palgrave Macmillan in the US is a division of St Martin’s Press LLC, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010. Palgrave Macmillan is the global academic imprint of the above companies and has companies and representatives throughout the world. Palgrave® and Macmillan® are registered trademarks in the United States, the United Kingdom, Europe and other countries ISBN-13: 978–0–230–52216–9 hardback ISBN-10: 0–230–52216–5 hardback This book is printed on paper suitable for recycling and made from fully managed and sustained forest sources. Logging, pulping and manufacturing processes are expected to conform to the environmental regulations of the country of origin. A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library. A catalog record for this book is available from the Library of Congress. 10 18

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Printed and bound in Great Britain by CPI Antony Rowe, Chippenham and Eastbourne

Contents

List of Contributors

vii

Introduction Michael F. Hopkins, Saul Kelly and John W. Young

1

1 Lord Lothian, 1939–40 J. Simon Rofe

14

2 Lord Halifax, 1941–46 Nicholas J. Cull

33

3 Lord Inverchapel, 1946–48 Martin Folly

52

4 Oliver Franks, 1948–52 Michael F. Hopkins

71

5 Roger Makins, 1953–56 Saul Kelly

91

6 Harold Caccia, 1956–61 James Ellison

110

7 David Ormsby Gore, Lord Harlech, 1961–65 Michael F. Hopkins

130

8 Patrick Dean, 1965–69 Jonathan Colman

150

9 John Freeman, 1969–71 John W. Young

169

10 Lord Cromer, 1971–74 Alexander Spelling

189

11 Peter Ramsbotham, 1974–77 Raj Roy

209

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Contents

Conclusion G.R. Berridge and John W. Young

229

Select Bibliography

235

Index

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List of Contributors

G.R. Berridge is Emeritus Professor of Politics at the University of Leicester and the author of Diplomacy: theory and practice (third edition, Basingstoke, 2005). Jonathan Colman is Lecturer in Contemporary Politics and History at the University of Salford and the author of A ‘Special Relationship’? Harold Wilson, Lyndon B. Johnson and Anglo-American relations ‘at the summit’, 1964–68 (Manchester, 2005). Nicholas J. Cull is Professor of Public Diplomacy at the University of Southern California, Annenberg, and the author of The Cold War and the United States Information Agency: American propaganda and public diplomacy, 1945–89 (Cambridge, 2008). James Ellison is Senior Lecturer in Modern and Contemporary History at Queen Mary, University of London and the author of The United States, Britain and the Transatlantic Crisis: rising to the Gaullist challenge, 1963–68 (Basingstoke, 2007). Martin Folly is Senior Lecturer in American and International History at Brunel University and the author of The United States in World War II: the awakening giant (Edinburgh, 2002). Michael F. Hopkins is Lecturer in History at the University of Liverpool and the author of Oliver Franks and the Truman Administration: AngloAmerican Relations 1948–52 (London, 2003). Saul Kelly is Reader in the Defence Studies Department of King’s College London and the author of The Hunt for Zerzura: the lost oasis and the desert war (London, 2002). J. Simon Rofe is Lecturer in Politics at the University of Leicester and the author of Franklin Roosevelt’s Foreign Policy and the Welles Mission (Basingstoke, 2007). vii

viii List of Contributors

Raj Roy completed his PhD, on the political economy of Anglo-American relations, at the London School of Economics, has written articles in the journals History and Cold War History and now works as a lawyer. Alexander Spelling recently completed his PhD thesis, on AngloAmerican relations in the Nixon years, 1969–74, at the University of Nottingham. John W. Young is Professor of International History at the University of Nottingham and the author of Twentieth Century Diplomacy: a study in British practice, 1963–76 (Oxford, 2008).

Introduction Michael F. Hopkins, Saul Kelly and John W. Young

The Anglo-American ‘special relationship’ first emerged during the Second World War and, ever since, British governments have sought to maintain a close partnership with the United States. This collection provides a comprehensive series of chapters on the role of British Ambassadors to Washington from the start of the Second World War to the late 1970s which, as well as coinciding with the advent of the Carter administration in the United States, marks the current limit of the availability of British government documents under the so-called ‘thirty year rule’. Each chapter says something about an ambassador’s previous career and experience, and discusses why he was selected for Washington, before setting out the controversies and issues that faced him and drawing general conclusions about the success – or otherwise – of his embassy. This fills something of a lacuna in the existing literature. Many general works on the subject have been written with only a passing mention for the individuals who are the subject of this book. Most general academic studies treat ambassadors as incidental to the real story, which tends to focus on Presidents and Prime Ministers, from Franklin Roosevelt and Winston Churchill onwards. Even specialist studies of Anglo-American relations or of British foreign policy devote scant attention to the contributions of the envoys.1 However, as studies of diplomatic practice show, permanent embassies continue to fulfil an important role in bilateral relationships through the promotion of friendly ties, the negotiation of agreements, lobbying, clarifying intentions and promoting trade, as well as propagandising, political reporting and providing policy advice to their government.2 The ambassadorial terms of Lord Lothian and his ten successors offer valuable insights into change and continuity in British diplomatic practice from the eve of the Second World War to the early years of membership of 1

2

Introduction

the European Community. The chapters show how the balance of attention devoted to ambassadorial tasks varied according to the pressure of circumstances, the current priorities of the government in London and the preferences of individual ambassadors. But they also confirm the pivotal role played by the Washington Embassy in maintaining a healthy bilateral relationship. Surprisingly perhaps, there are real difficulties in studying the broad work of the embassy. There are rather sparse internal embassy files available for the 1940s and 1950s, a handful for 1965–67 but none at all for the 1970s. But at ambassadorial level, the sources are better. Although only two ambassadors since 1939 have written books related to their time at the Washington Embassy and both of these were in the post after 1977,3 there is abundant correspondence to and from ambassadors to be found in the files of the Foreign Office. These can be supplemented by Cabinet records, Ministry of Defence and Treasury papers, as well as by American government materials and reports on ambassadorial activities in the media. While the conclusion will reflect on what the chapters have to say about diplomatic practice, this introduction now briefly provides the broad historical background to the ‘special relationship’ in order to put the chapters that follow into context.4 Lord Lothian’s appointment marked the beginning of the British search for a closer relationship with Washington. The relationship thereafter has probably always been of more importance to Britain’s international policy than it has to America’s. In 1940, when Britain still possessed the largest Empire and navy in the world, the two countries might have had a similar standing; but it was the British who needed to win US aid to ensure national survival, especially after the fall of France. Once America entered the war in December 1941 the two fought side-by-side, with joint military operations in North Africa, Europe and the Far East, and the very fact that they were brought together at such a desperate moment, helped to forge a close relationship whose durability was further strengthened by a common language, cultural heritage and commitment to an ‘open’ global trading system, a strong combination therefore of shared attitudes and interests. Yet, however close Britain and America have often seemed, they have always preserved individual interests that have sometimes served to drive them apart, and sometimes rancour in one area has rested alongside co-operation in others. Certainly the wartime relationship was fraught with tension. For example the Americans, with their own origins as opponents of colonial rule, were unsympathetic to British imperialism. There were particularly difficult arguments about the future of Southeast Asia and the survival of the French Empire. Other disagreements surrounded

Michael F. Hopkins, Saul Kelly and John W. Young 3

the military strategy to pursue against Germany, with Churchill favouring Mediterranean involvements ahead of an invasion of northern Europe. By the end of the war there was no longer an equal partnership. America alone had possession of the atomic bomb, it was now the foremost naval power and it was the world’s greatest creditor. Alliance in war involved a myriad of activities from co-ordination of food supplies to allocation of munitions, from scientific collaboration to intelligence co-operation, from devising grand strategy to post-war political and economic planning. A new larger more active Washington Embassy emerged to handle these tasks. The embassy had five main branches: the service attachés; the Commercial section; the Chancery, which dealt with general political, Commonwealth and specialist areas, as well as the activities of the labour attaché and the scientific attaché; the Treasury and Supply section; fifthly, Administration which covered the library, buildings, accounts and so on. Much of the wartime activities took place in semi-autonomous organisations created for the purpose. May 1940 saw the establishment of British Security Co-ordination (absorbed into the embassy in 1945) to provide liaison on intelligence. The Joint Staff Mission established in 1941, renamed the Joint Services Mission in 1948 and now known as the British Defence Staff, maintained military contacts between Britain and the United States. It encompassed the Combined Chiefs of Staff Committee that was set up in 1942 to co-ordinate AngloAmerican grand strategy, and which survived in 1945 and was eventually merged into the NATO machinery. The embassy was at the centre of a countrywide system of consulates. In addition there were the offices of the British Information Services (BIS) in Washington DC, Los Angeles and New York. BIS monitored American opinion, cultivated contacts and disseminated British publicity. Its officials, consequently, worked closely with the embassy sending it reports from tours of the country and advising about the publicity angles to particular issues. During the war the ambassador’s role was less important than the personal link between Churchill and Roosevelt. The coming of peace saw the disappearance of many of the wartime committees and arrangements but the scale of the embassy was irrevocably altered. Despite the advent of Clement Attlee’s Labour government in 1945 with its supposed ‘socialist’ programme, and the initial American desire for disengagement in Europe, the immediate post-war years proved that the relationship had resilience, mainly because London and Washington shared an interest in creating a liberal-democratic world order. When the Soviet Union seemed to threaten this vision, the ‘Anglo-Saxon’ powers became close allies in the Cold War. In an era when leaders travelled less often – Harry Truman

4

Introduction

never visited Britain during his presidency and Attlee only went to the US twice – the Washington Embassy played an important role in AngloAmerican dialogue. Attlee’s Foreign Secretary, Ernest Bevin, played a leading role in welcoming the Marshall Plan, the US financial package that helped Western Europe’s economic recovery, and in 1949 he backed the North Atlantic Treaty, the US guarantee of the continent’s military security. Britain and America also worked to create a West German state in 1949 and even came to support German rearmament in 1950. True, Bevin began a British policy of scepticism towards European integration, even though Washington backed this as the way to create a self-reliant, antiCommunist bloc within which German power could be controlled. But he also began a tradition of ‘Atlanticism’, which meant that Britain could generally be relied upon to act as Washington’s most loyal lieutenant. The Attlee government portrayed itself not only as a European ally but also as a significant global ally for Washington, not least in monetary terms, with close consultations over the devaluation of Sterling in 1949 and US support for the Pound as a major trading currency. There was even something of a unity of minds over the future of the British Empire. It was clear, especially after the independence of India, that the days of colonialism were numbered, which could only please American popular opinion. But imperial retreat, when combined with economic weakness and cuts to British armed forces, meant that the United States was forced to take responsibility for areas that its transatlantic ally once defended, especially when these seemed menaced by Communism. The most celebrated case was in the eastern Mediterranean in 1947, when Washington was told that London could no longer subsidise Greece and Turkey; the response was the Truman Doctrine, which inaugurated the US policy of ‘containing’ Soviet Communism. A similar pattern would later be seen elsewhere, in the Middle East for example, where British humiliation in the 1956 Suez crisis was quickly followed by increased US involvement under the Eisenhower Doctrine, and in the Persian Gulf in the 1970s, when British retreat led President Richard Nixon to build up the Shah of Iran as a local strongman (with difficult consequences after his regime collapsed in 1978). In the contest with the Soviet Union, then, America did not want to see British imperial positions collapse precipitately. Besides, British possessions could provide military bases, such as that on Diego Garcia in the Indian Ocean, developed in the 1970s, and intelligence posts such as Hong Kong, valuable for gathering information on China. Through the vicissitudes of the political ‘special relationship’, it seems there has been rather greater consistency of friendship on the levels of

Michael F. Hopkins, Saul Kelly and John W. Young 5

defence and intelligence, even if many events in those fields remain largely ‘unseen’ to the public. The intelligence relationship might have been strained by a series of British embarrassments, from the Klaus Fuchs case of 1946 to the Profumo scandal of 1963. But if one is looking for tangible reasons why the special relationship has survived numerous crises and Britain’s relative decline in world affairs, then the mutual benefits of an intelligence and defence axis should be rated highly. Beginning with the BRUSA agreement of 1943, followed by the 1948 UK–USA Agreement and collaboration between Britain’s Government Communications Headquarters and America’s National Security Agency, the British and Americans developed a very high level of intelligence co-operation. The special relationship went through one of its most difficult points at the end of the Attlee period thanks to tensions that arose over the Korean War. Here the American military contingent dwarfed that of the British Commonwealth and Washington’s bellicosity led the British to fear that world war might break out, especially after Communist China entered the conflict in November 1950. A further sign of Britain’s declining importance in the whole Asia-Pacific region came when Australia and New Zealand, two of the original members of the British Commonwealth, now looked to America to guarantee their security through the 1952 ANZUS Pact. The Korean conflict established something of a pattern for Anglo-American relations in the Far East in the 1950s and 1960s. The British were quite ready to defend their own interests in the region, especially in Malaya, the centre of an antiCommunist campaign in 1948–60 and a military confrontation with Indonesia in 1963–66. In both operations Britain committed a substantial number of troops. London, however, did not feel that defence of these interests justified fighting a general war, so generally tried to restrain US bellicosity. In 1954, for example, Foreign Secretary Anthony Eden acted as co-chair, with Andrei Gromyko for the Soviet Union, of the Geneva Conference that created a Communist regime in North Vietnam, while Harold Macmillan’s government supported a peaceful resolution of internal differences in Laos in 1961–62. The British often showed a preference for limiting Communist advances, not through toughness, but through a readiness to ‘neutralise’ certain countries as a barrier between the Western and Eastern blocs. The tendency was reinforced by the local power of Communist China and the exposed position of Hong Kong, Britain’s key colonial remnant in the region once Malaya became independent in 1957. In the Middle East, where British interests were more widespread and their armed forces more numerous, the situation was different.

6

Introduction

The Americans tended to be critical of British decision-making in the region. After Indian independence the Middle East became of central importance to Britain’s world role. While Aden was the only actual British colony in the area, London had a series of treaty relationships with states from the Persian Gulf to Libya, with Egypt at the centre. The region was also oil-rich, of immense strategic significance (at the crossroads between Europe, Asia and Africa) and, thanks to the Suez Canal, of central importance to world trade. In the immediate postwar years there were Anglo-American tensions over British restrictions on Jewish immigration into Palestine, on schemes to create separate Palestinian and Jewish states, and over US recognition of the new state of Israel in 1948. Britain’s position in the region depended, to an extent, on good relations with the Arabs, but there was an inevitable tendency to back the ‘right’ kind of local representatives, especially traditional monarchies and sheikhdoms that were increasingly threatened by radical forms of nationalism. The Americans were suspicious of radical groups too, but Washington often feared that British imperialist methods were only encouraging resistance and driving reformers into the hands of Communism. When the government of Mohammed Mossadeq nationalised British oil interests in Iran, in 1951, the Americans opposed tough action at first, though they were eventually won round to a coup against him. Carried out in 1953 in a joint intelligence operation, the coup brought back to power a monarchical regime under the Shah. At the same time, American oil companies increased their share over the Iranian oil industry, which had been a virtual British monopoly before 1951; a reminder that, even when Britain and America did work closely together, the element of competition based on national interests still survived. It was particularly over Egypt, the most populous Arab state, that the United States feared Britain’s imperialist tendencies could throw the whole non-aligned world into the arms of the Soviet bloc. In the early 1950s the United States was unenthusiastic about British attempts to push Egypt into a pro-Western regional defence structure but also concerned over the radicalism of the military-dominated regime that overthrew the Egyptian monarchy in 1952. When the Egyptian leader Gamal Abdul Nasser nationalised the Suez Canal in 1956 the Americans were partly to blame: dismayed by his purchase of weapons from the Soviet bloc, the administration of Dwight Eisenhower had cut funding for his pet project, the Aswan dam. Once the British, as the main shareholders in the canal, became involved in a rancorous dispute with Nasser the Secretary of State, John Foster Dulles, supported a diplomatic solution.

Michael F. Hopkins, Saul Kelly and John W. Young 7

Then, when Britain, in league with France and Israel, launched a military operation against Egypt the Americans condemned it and brought financial pressures to bear in order to force a British retreat. The Suez crisis, often seen as a turning point for Britain’s world role, tended if anything to re-state the importance of preserving the special relationship, not least in the Middle East itself. Thereafter, London tended to act in the Middle East only in close co-operation with Washington. Britain and America acted jointly to stabilise Jordan and the Lebanon in 1958, for example, in the wake of the overthrow of the pro-British monarchy in Iraq; and there was an airlift of British forces to Kuwait in 1961, when an Iraqi invasion first seemed likely. After 1966 the British seemed to be set on a retreat from the region, with the traditionalist elements in the Arab world also destined for oblivion. Aden was abandoned to a Marxist regime in 1967; Libya, home to US and British bases, fell under the control of Colonel Muammar Gadaffi in 1969 with barely a protest; and in 1971 the planned retreat was completed with Britain’s departure from the Persian Gulf, which led America to build up the Shah as a local policeman. However, once it was clear that certain monarchs and sheikhs could survive in the Middle East, that radicals like Gadaffi were unwilling to co-operate and that Western economic interests were too precious to leave to the mercy of local political trends, there was a remarkable revival of Anglo-American co-operation in the region that almost suggested that Britain’s value to Washington as a global partner had never actually ended. True, the United States might be better disposed than Britain to the Zionist case in the Arab–Israeli dispute, but the only serious rift over this was a short-lived difference during the Yom Kippur War of 1973, when Britain – more vulnerable than America to Arabs’ use of oil supplies as a weapon – was critical of Washington’s proIsraeli stance and apparent readiness, at one point, to threaten to enter the conflict. In the wake of the Suez crisis, it might have been expected that the British would feel betrayed by American policy. Most ministers, however, were still determined to maintain a global outlook in foreign and defence policy, working in close co-operation with Washington, whose importance to Britain’s security and economic well-being had just been so cruelly underlined. Within days Eden had been succeeded by Harold Macmillan who made it his first priority to rebuild links with America, beginning with a summit meeting with Eisenhower in March 1957. Like Churchill before him, Macmillan could sometimes offend the Americans with his enthusiasm for

8

Introduction

playing the mediator in East–West contacts and his urging of summit meetings with Soviet leaders. But he was more reliable than Eden or, for that matter, France’s Charles de Gaulle, who came to power in 1958 and there were no crises equivalent to Korea or Suez during Macmillan’s six years in office. Realising the inequality in the special relationship, he was keen to develop a situation of ‘interdependence’ through which the United States would find it difficult to make decisions without reference to Britain. Military ties were reinforced by the proposed purchase of an American-made missile, Skybolt, to carry Britain’s supposedly ‘independent’ nuclear deterrent. Washington propped up the value of the Pound for the sake of global economic stability. And, after years of urging by US officials, London became more open to an application to join the EEC. What was most surprising about Macmillan’s period, perhaps, was that he had just as good a relationship with John F. Kennedy in 1961–63 as with Eisenhower. Despite considerable differences of age and temperament JFK and ‘Supermac’ got on warmly. They shared a similar, cautious, though firmly anti-Communist approach to problems like Laos, Berlin, even the Cuban Missile Crisis, during which some American writers have sensed a real influence for Macmillan in the White House. And when British plans to buy Skybolt were threatened by the cancellation of the project, Kennedy proved ready to sell Macmillan an alternative system, the submarine-based Polaris, when they met at Nassau in December 1962. The President did so despite opposition from some of his advisers who wanted to reduce the number of nuclear powers in the world. The possession of a nuclear arsenal was vital to British status at a time of imperial retreat, especially since France was developing its own system. The Polaris deal added a significant new dimension to the special relationship in defence, providing another long-term link between London and Washington that included not only the US provision of a missile system, but also joint policies on targeting and the testing of warheads. The Kennedy–Macmillan years ended in failure in that the Polaris deal furnished de Gaulle with the perfect excuse to veto Britain’s application to the EEC, which in turn contributed to Macmillan’s fall from power later in the year. The assassination of Kennedy soon afterwards showed the danger of basing the relationship too much on personalities. But again there was much more to Anglo-American co-operation than friendship at the highest level and, in a sense, the genuine durability of the alliance was best revealed during the difficulties of the following years, when relations between Presidents and Prime Ministers sometimes seemed very poor indeed. Most studies, even specialist works,

Michael F. Hopkins, Saul Kelly and John W. Young 9

underestimate these regular continuing activities in defence, intelligence and nuclear matters, as well as over general diplomatic questions. There is consensus in the literature that, during the years 1964–68, Harold Wilson’s relations with Lyndon Johnson were much less good than the Prime Minister believed them to be and this period can seem in stark contrast to the Macmillan–Kennedy era. The decline seems to have been due to the President rather than the Prime Minister. Johnson, while he respected Britain’s stand in 1940, had no personal knowledge of the country. The British still had well-placed friends in Washington, but the President had no favourites when it came to foreign leaders and judged them by what they could do to help America. He was less secure in foreign affairs than he was at home and offended some visiting leaders, even cancelling visits by the Pakistani and Indian premiers at short notice. Where Anglo-American relations were concerned, it is significant that relations at the highest level had already been in trouble before Wilson took office: Johnson considered Macmillan’s immediate successor, Alec Douglas-Home to be stuffy and the only summit between them, in February 1964, saw a rift about British trade with Castro’s Cuba. The President vainly tried to persuade the Prime Minister to reverse a decision to sell buses to the regime; then, Douglas-Home, despite his great experience of foreign affairs, told the Press outside the White House that there would be no change of policy. Johnson was not one to forgive or forget such an affront. By the mid-1960s, whether it be on defence, international economics or East–West relations, it hardly seemed possible for London to act without reference to Washington. In the early years of the Lyndon Johnson presidency in particular, the United States actively tried to shape Britain’s economic and defence policies, so as to keep the country involved East of Suez and maintain the value of the Pound as a ‘first line of defence’ for the Dollar. Johnson and some of his officials hoped to embroil the British in Vietnam. The British were well aware of their dependence on America for military security and financial support but the fact that Harold Wilson was able to avoid sending troops to Vietnam, even if he did feel obliged to provide diplomatic support for ‘LBJ’s War’, showed that Washington was unable to ‘dictate’ policy to London. Washington had also opposed devaluation of Sterling and British withdrawal from military involvement East of Suez, yet Wilson announced devaluation in November 1967 and retreat from East of Suez in January 1968. By the mid-1960s, however, Britain was becoming merely one ally among many, far less powerful than its transAtlantic partner. Other countries, such as West Germany and Israel,

10

Introduction

could claim a ‘special’ relationship of sorts with Washington because of their value in key areas of the world and, from the US perspective, British talk of a privileged position could be embarrassing in dealings with other countries. Another factor was the questioning of the special relationship at a popular level in Britain. Anti-Americanism was not new in Britain, indeed it could be traced back to the war years when there was some popular resentment at the presence of US forces. But, in common with other West European countries, it reached a new intensity in the mid-1960s thanks to the Vietnam War, with several large demonstrations outside the US Embassy in Grosvenor Square, some of them violent. Many authors see a marked decline in the relationship in 1966–68 owing to the British refusal to fight in Vietnam, their retreat from East of Suez and the devaluation of the Pound. It is a point supposedly symbolised by the singing of ‘I’ve got Plenty of Nothing’ and ‘The Road to Mandalay’, when Wilson visited the White House in February 1968, soon after announcing the end of the military presence in Singapore and the Persian Gulf. But Alan Dobson has drawn an important distinction between the declining importance of the relationship, as Britain became less significant in world affairs, and its quality, which could still be considered good thanks to the willingness of individual officials to continue working closely together. It is an idea echoed in Johnson’s remark to the journalist Henry Brandon in February 1968 that Britain and America ‘will always remain friends. But, of course, when our common interests shrink, the flow of communications and common business shrinks too.’5 Whatever the truth about the relationship of the two men, their countries continued to co-operate well enough on the pressing issues of the day, such as the Arab–Israeli Six Day War of June 1967, the Soviet invasion of Czechoslovakia and the Nigerian Civil War. On African issues, like Nigeria and Rhodesia, Washington seems to have been happy to leave London to take a lead showing that, even as the withdrawal from East of Suez got underway, Britain could still help limit the international burdens of the United States. One believer in the alliance was Henry Kissinger, the President’s National Security Adviser (1969–75) and Secretary of State (1973–77). He found that ‘the special relationship with Britain was peculiarly impervious to abstract theory’, or to particular crises, and advised the new President, Richard Nixon, in February 1969, that ‘we do not suffer from such an excess of friends that we should discourage those who feel that they have a special friendship for us’.6 There is general agreement that the short-lived Wilson–Nixon relationship of 1969–70, was quite

Michael F. Hopkins, Saul Kelly and John W. Young 11

good and probably better than that between Johnson and Wilson. There was no great warmth between Nixon and Wilson, but none of Johnson’s contempt either. The Prime Minister did all he could to get the new relationship off to a good start, even inviting Nixon to a meeting with ministers in the Cabinet room, as well as one-to-one talks at Chequers, when the President first visited in February 1969. In the 1970 election Nixon was evidently pleased with the Conservative victory under Edward Heath but, ironically, the Heath–Nixon years are often seen as one of the most barren periods for the special relationship. On the surface the two leaders had many similarities, personally aloof and rather lonely individuals, conservative and firmly anti-Communist in political outlook. Their personal loyalty to the Atlantic alliance can hardly be doubted and Heath was always ready to support Nixon on Vietnam. But the Prime Minister’s priority overseas was to secure admission to the EEC after the French vetoes in 1963 and 1967 and he was well aware that one reason for those vetoes was Charles de Gaulle’s belief that Britain would become a ‘Trojan Horse’ for American influence in Europe. Heath therefore toned down his Atlanticism, avoided all use of the term ‘special relationship’ in preference to talk of a ‘natural relationship’. The problems were not one-sided, however. Nixon’s priorities abroad were to extricate America from Vietnam and try to balance Soviet power while running less risk of military conflict, especially since a position of ‘mutual assured destruction’ now existed. Nixon also had to deal with the relative decline of American economic power, with balance of payments problems and a weak Dollar. These priorities led to a certain neglect of the Atlantic alliance, with decisions being taken without reference to major allies, even Britain. The tendency towards sudden fait accomplis was particularly evident in the two ‘Nixon shocks’ of July–August 1971, when the US ‘opening to China’ was announced and when Washington introduced import restrictions. The latter decision in particular had a profound effect on British policy, deepening the sense of global currency instability and threatening to harm trade. The Americans did still show some ‘special’ treatment to Britain: Kissinger kept London at least partially informed of talks with the Soviets on strategic arms limitation. But in 1973, with Britain now in the EEC, the two countries appeared to drift further apart. It did not help that, having supported a strong integrated Europe since the late 1940s, Washington now began to see the EEC more as a potential trade rival. When Kissinger tried to improve transatlantic relationships by announcing a ‘Year of Europe’ in April, West Europeans were unenthusiastic. In any

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Introduction

case, the sudden outbreak of war in the Middle East in October provoked more transatlantic differences. The Americans could be forgiven for welcoming Wilson back into office in February 1974. He and his successor as Prime Minister in 1976, James Callaghan, remained convinced ‘Atlanticists’ despite left-wing Labour criticism of the Americans. Callaghan had a warm personal relationship with both Kissinger and the victor of America’s 1976 Presidential election, Jimmy Carter. At the same time however these years saw a continuing decline in British fortunes, notably in the economic crisis of 1976 that forced Britain to adopt spending restraint as the price of a substantial rescue package from the International Monetary Fund. The 1976 crisis was a reminder of Britain’s decline as an economic and political force since 1939, when it could still claim to be the world’s greatest power. But, even with the Empire gone, its armed forces shrunken and its economy in the doldrums, Britain still retained some importance for Washington. No other country was supplied with strategic nuclear missiles by the United States, intelligence co-operation was extensive and, with its US air force bases, Britain remained America’s ‘unsinkable aircraft carrier’. Indeed, co-operation in these fields eventually outlived the Cold War, as did a common commitment to liberal values, both political and economic. Differences between them on Atlantic defence had usually been overcome without grave divisions and, over a wide area, it was simply ‘natural’ for them to consult one another. Certainly there were some grave differences over the years on the Middle East and East Asia, and some commentators argued that the ‘special relationship’ was mere fiction. The balance, however, was towards preserving quite close relations thanks to common broad interests – in the form of shared liberal values, anti-Communism and an interest in stable international economic conditions – and continuing co-operation on specific issues – especially in monetary, defence and intelligence matters – as well as more intangible factors – linguistic, historical and cultural. The Washington Embassy was at the heart of these matters in projecting the image of a like-minded power with similar interests and with a readiness to act with the United States in ways few others were willing to do. The relationship sometimes appeared to be in terminal decline, as in 1956 and 1973. But those involved in the front line of diplomacy knew better. As a February 1968 State Department memorandum said, ‘The special relationship has been pronounced dead as often as Martin Bormann has been reported alive . . . . Indeed, perhaps the best evidence that it is still alive is the fact that its detractors feel obliged to re-announce its death every few months.’7

Michael F. Hopkins, Saul Kelly and John W. Young 13

Notes 1. See, for example, Alan Bullock, Ernest Bevin: Foreign Secretary, 1945–1951 (London, 1983), which gives some space to Franks; and Ritchie Ovendale, The English-Speaking Alliance: Britain, the United States, the Dominions and the Cold War 1945-1951 (London, 1985). 2. Embassies also have a more mundane consular role but, since this did not often intrude on the time of the ambassadors, it does not feature in the chapters. On the role of the embassy, see especially G.R. Berridge, Diplomacy: theory and practice (Basingstoke, 2005), chapter 7. 3. Robin Renwick wrote a general study, Fighting with Allies: America and Britain in peace and war (Basingstoke, 1996). The only proper memoir of the Washington post by an ambassador is Christopher Mayer’s DC Confidential (London, 2005). 4. The introduction will deliberately avoid providing extensive footnotes to the relevant literature. Instead a bibliography of major works on the special relationship is provided at the end of the book. 5. Alan Dobson, Anglo-American Relations in the Twentieth Century (1995), 138; Henry Brandon, Special Relationships (New York, 1988), 231. 6. Henry Kissinger, The White House Years (London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson, 1989), 90–91. 7. Harry S. Truman, Library, Independence, Missouri, Philip Kaiser Papers, box 8, research memorandum (7 February 1968).

1 Lord Lothian, 1939–40 J. Simon Rofe

Philip Kerr, 11th Marquess of Lothian, arrived in Washington in August 1939, on the eve of the Second World War and held the post of Ambassador until his premature death in December 1940.1 Although that makes it the shortest Ambassadorship covered by this book, Lothian set the trend for those who followed by making the embassy a central institution in relations between the United States and Great Britain. He had long believed in a close understanding between the two countries: his Atlanticism could be traced back to his part in Lord Milner’s ‘Kindergarten’ of junior officials working in South Africa early in the century. It implied a deliberate understanding between the English-speaking peoples that would facilitate American material aid and psychological support for Britain, while securing both countries’ interests on the world stage. Throughout his time in Washington the United States adhered to a neutral position in the war. The administration’s interpretation of neutrality changed markedly, from the revision of the Neutrality Laws in November 1939, through the ‘destroyers-forbases’ deal of September 1940, to the groundwork for the Lend–Lease programme, all of which allowed greater material support to the Allies. Lothian played a significant role in this process, because of his focus on winning Americans over to an understanding of Britain’s predicament and needs. This was a delicate task in an era when ‘propagandising’ was actively avoided for fear of offending American sensibilities.2 The necessary counterpart to fulfil Lothian’s strategy was the need to convince London of the value of influencing American opinion in order to achieve British ends. As Lothian explained to the Foreign Secretary, Lord Halifax, in March 1940, they had ‘to talk at the same time to two democratic audiences 3000 miles away from one another and each with entirely different backgrounds’.3 Yet, despite his success in playing to 14

J. Simon Rofe 15

these audiences and the pivotal position he achieved in bilateral relations, Lothian’s appointment had initially been unwelcome to professional diplomats and his performance in the role was sometimes highly unconventional.

Lothian’s appointment Almost as soon as Halifax began to contemplate the appointment in the spring of 1938, his suggestion of Lothian as Ambassador drew criticisms from the Foreign Office led by Alexander Cadogan, the Permanent UnderSecretary who ‘did not want the post to go to an outsider’.4 Questions were raised about Lothian’s earlier enthusiasm for a deal with Nazi Germany5 and his association with Nancy Astor’s ‘Cliveden Set’, which was believed in the United States to have a ‘pro-Fascist influence on His Majesty’s Government’.6 However, there was much in Lothian’s background that told in his favour. Following his time in South Africa in 1905–10, the young Philip Kerr became editor of the journal Round Table which sought to promote transatlantic understanding as part of its commitment to strengthening the British Empire. He became David Lloyd George’s private secretary in 1916 and accompanied the Prime Minister to the Paris Peace Conference three years later, meeting many influential Americans including the young Assistant Secretary of the Navy, Franklin Roosevelt. Resigning from Lloyd George’s staff in 1921, Kerr wrote for a number of newspapers including The Times and The Observer, often from America, before taking the post of Secretary of the Rhodes Trust in 1925. This was a post he held until 1939, his principal role being to administer the scholarship programme, which again involved close ties with America. Meanwhile, he had inherited his aristocratic title in 1930 and briefly served as a Liberal member of the National government, as Chancellor of the Duchy of Lancaster and Under-Secretary of State for India. Indeed one might think that his political, administrative and journalistic experiences, allied to his strong Atlanticism, made him a natural candidate for the Washington appointment. Yet even some of his friends were concerned that ‘he had never held a position of independent responsibility’ and ‘had never been tried in any such post before’.7 The ire of those in the Foreign Office over Lothian’s appointment may have been exacerbated by their appreciation of the incumbent Ambassador, Ronald Lindsay, a distinguished career diplomat, who had been in Washington since 1930. He calmly handled relations with the administration away from the public gaze and could be trusted to stick to convention, avoiding controversy – all rather different from Lothian’s

16

Lord Lothian, 1939–40

approach. Lindsay had done little to promote British interests beyond the diplomatic coterie in Washington. He did not even give a press conference until the eve of the Royal visit in the summer of 1939.8 Doubts have been expressed about the extent to which Lothian spoke to the American public, his focus tending to be on key opinion formers on the East Coast, but the shift towards a higher public profile was clear enough.9 Crucially Lothian, through his travels to North America, was able to observe his predecessor’s lengthy stint in Washington and this provided him with the opportunity to redefine the parameters of the Ambassadorship. From the outset he sought to be more proactive than Lindsay. Yet, it is interesting that Lindsay himself endorsed Lothian’s appointment precisely because of the latter’s public relations abilities. The outgoing Ambassador told Halifax that the appointee ‘has the knack of moving about a great deal in an unobtrusive (not a secret or surreptitious) manner . . . this is a valuable quality for a British Ambassador in America, whose power to influence the United States Government will be impaired if he is presented by the press to the public as an influential man. He has antenna and understands this.’10 These gracious words were borne out by what followed. Questions were again raised about Lothian’s appointment when, on one of his American visits in January 1939, he received something of a dressing down from Roosevelt. At a time when Lothian had accepted the Ambassadorship but the President did not know of this, the pair clashed – not for the last time – over Lothian’s pleas for American assistance. Roosevelt was eager to deflate any expectations that he could ever send American forces into war and wanted the British to stand up on their own.11 The fracas soon blew over. Lothian was able to describe the President as ‘very much with Britain’, in conversation with Canadian Prime Minister Mackenzie King shortly afterwards.12 And when Lindsay formally raised the possibility of Lothian becoming Ambassador, Roosevelt declared, ‘Look here, there can be no possible difficulty about his agrément or anything of that sort.’13 Halifax wrote to Lothian in April to confirm that the appointment had been made.14

Shaping American opinion The need to influence American public opinion was apparent in Lothian’s first meeting with the President as Ambassador on 1 September 1939. Roosevelt told him that, despite his ‘every fibre’ sympathising with Britain and France, he was duty bound to follow the Neutrality Laws and avoid any charge of involving the United States in a European conflict,

J. Simon Rofe 17

even though this would prevent purchases of war materials by Britain. The President said ‘that the best way of getting the Act repealed was to bring home to public opinion what its enforcement meant in denying needed supplies to Britain and France’.15 Unsurprisingly, a revision of the Neutrality Laws, to allow for ‘cash and carry’ purchases, became an immediate priority for Lothian and he began to establish himself, within and without Washington, as a plain speaking representative of the British position. He would not plead for assistance or seek to suggest courses of action for the United States, nor would he directly address revision of the Neutrality Laws in any substance. Rather, he would promote British interests through a series of speeches approximately every four to six weeks. These served related public and private purposes. First, they provided the opportunity to spread his message through the syndicated press to the American people, beyond the immediate audience which was often small. That Lothian’s speeches were read, rather than heard, was helpful to Britain’s cause as Godfrey Haggard, then Consul-General in New York, recalled after the Ambassador’s death: ‘His addresses read much better than they sounded, as his delivery tended to be uninspired and professorial. Extempore or in conversation he was more at his ease.’16 Lothian wrote to Sir Abe Bailey, a South African financier and statesman, in January 1940 that he was ‘glad to say’ that a speech to the Chicago Council on Foreign Relations at the beginning of the year ‘got very wide publicity and also had an excellent reception from the press’.17 A related and more private purpose was to stimulate debate in influential circles. To do this he sent copies of his speeches to leading journalists, opinion formers and members of the administration in Washington as well as to colleagues in other countries. The Anglophobe Assistant Secretary of State, Adolf Berle, for example, received a copy of a speech Lothian made in St Louis in Spring 1940 and replied to Lothian that he had ‘read the press accounts of it [the speech] with a great deal of pleasure: and I should like nothing better than to have a chance to chat with you about it’.18 Examples of other individuals to whom Lothian sent copies of his speeches are James Witherow, a Minnesota attorney, and Percival Witherby of the Canadian Bank of Commerce.19 Formal speeches, which the press would cover, could also be supplemented by more intimate events. When asked to speak at a luncheon by J.P. Morgan banker, Thomas Lamont, Lothian explained that he was ‘quite clear that the number of public speeches a British Ambassador should make should be strictly limited, but informal talks “off the record” are a different matter’.20 In order to collect information to use with his American audience, Lothian also expended considerable effort in writing to friends and

18

Lord Lothian, 1939–40

associates in London, pleading with them for first-hand accounts of Britain’s situation. Writing to the Minister for Co-ordination of Defence, Lord Chatfield, only three weeks into the Ambassadorship, Lothian requested ‘any facts and figures which I can use to bring home the real issues and the real facts to Roosevelt and other leaders here’. He added, ‘Believe me there is nothing more important you can do than to equip me with the facts and the arguments which will bring home to the United States the real situation which confronts us.’21 His speech to the American branch of the Pilgrims Society on 25 October 1939, the first of his principal addresses after taking up his post, is typical of Lothian’s approach. It was framed in language familiar to Americans. ‘As a fellow democracy, therefore, we feel we have the right, indeed the duty, to tell you our story, to explain to you and all other democracies what we are doing and why we are doing it. But having done that we feel that it is for you and you alone to form your own judgement about ourselves and about the war. That, of course, is your inalienable right.’ Lothian continued in the same candid fashion: ‘We want to tell you the facts as we know them, and our point of view about them, from London. But having done so, by our own democratic principles we are bound to leave you perfectly free to form your own judgements.’22 This point was crucial to Lothian’s conception of the role the Ambassador should play, not driving events along but making sure that the British case was plainly presented. Writing to Halifax only days into the job, Lothian realised it would take ‘a long time to re-educate 130 million people into a truer perspective’, whilst recognising that ‘such re-education can only be done by the Americans themselves’. He went on, presciently, to say that, ‘with the pace of modern events it will not be re-education at all but the sudden realisation that their own vital interests are in danger which will drive American public opinion to action’.23 Such a clear assessment of events would be a hallmark of the Ambassadorship. One historian concludes that Lothian ‘reached out to the American people in a way that no regular diplomat could have done’.24 But it is important to recognise that Lothian’s work in establishing friendly relations with Americans was not simply an end in itself. It was also a means to engender meaningful and practical understanding in Washington, which proved especially valuable when Britain found itself in dire straits in 1940. Lothian’s execution of his public relations campaign was not without risk. In particular, once his words were in the public domain there was little scope for clarifying them to the American people. This was clearly a concern for those in London. Halifax wrote in January 1940 with, in the Ambassador’s words, ‘very mild criticism’ over his speech in Chicago to the highly influential Council on Foreign Relations, where he argued that

J. Simon Rofe 19

the defeat of Britain would put US security in jeopardy and put the Monroe Doctrine into doubt. The Ambassador’s response was to point to the success of his speeches amongst the American people which ‘have been a success here precisely because I have felt that I knew the American mind well enough to be quite frank and to deal frankly with controversial issues’. He added, ‘I can imagine what my speeches would have been like if they had first been minuted by all veterans of the Foreign Office at home!’25 Time magazine seemed to agree with the Ambassador, writing that the Chicago ‘speech was one of the most effective, skilful briefs yet delivered for the Allied cause. It was the sort of talk which earns Britain a reputation for fair dealing and open-minded thinking.’26 The Ambassador gave another frank account of the importance of the Royal Navy to American security on 19 June at Yale University, telling his audience: ‘The outcome of the grim struggle will affect you almost as much as it will affect us. For if Hitler gets our fleet, or destroys it, the whole foundation on which the security of both our countries has rested for 120 years will have disappeared.’27 But Lothian understood the deep concern in the administration that the Royal Navy should not be handed over to Germany if Hitler prevailed in Europe. When questioned about this in early June, the Ambassador had said that ‘Churchill’s position did not remotely contemplate Germany getting the British fleet so far as his Government was concerned’.28 Lothian’s remarks at Yale, brought on by a realisation of the ramifications of France’s capitulation, posed questions to the administration and Americans more widely as to their ability to remain aloof from the conflict and, once the initial shock passed, assisted in heightening appreciation of Britain’s predicament. The net effect was to bring American opinion around and provide impetus for Roosevelt to act. Time wrote some three weeks afterwards that ‘US public opinion, which last year was unwilling to face the savage reality of war, last week was prepared to admit that it had a decisive, selfish, personal interest in what happened to the British Fleet.’29 So, even when Lothian appeared at first to injure the British cause, his instincts – even if in this case they were traumatised by the fall of France – proved sound enough. His candid views again brought realities home to Americans.

Crisis management Lothian was not long into his Ambassadorship before differences in bilateral relations threatened to destabilise his efforts at winning over Americans to the Allied cause.30 The spectre of crisis first rose in January 1940 with disagreements over neutral rights. From the start of the war

20

Lord Lothian, 1939–40

the Royal Navy adopted a policy of blockade against Germany, posing restrictions and delays on US shipments to Europe. The Secretary of State, Cordell Hull, admonished Lothian in late January 1940, declaring that there was ‘a steadily increasing feeling in this country that American commercial and other interests are being severely injured by discriminations and unnecessary restrictions’.31 The Chief of the Division of European Affairs at the State Department, Jay Pierrepont Moffat, added in conversation with Lothian that ‘there was a general feeling that the United States had been particularly friendly to Great Britain, had even gone out of its way to give special forms of help, but that Great Britain had taken this friendship so much for granted’.32 Worse for Lothian, the Department’s alarm was made public when the New York Times published a Departmental aide mémoire stating its ‘serious concern’ over British conduct.33 His ability to protect British interests while mollifying the State Department now provided a test for his approach to the Ambassadorship. He intensified his efforts to make himself known within the Roosevelt administration. After a second meeting with Hull, the Ambassador sought out other prominent State Department officials like Moffat and Assistant Secretary of State Breckinridge Long. Lothian listened patiently as he heard how British conduct in the Atlantic offended American opinion. Long told him that ‘the sooner the British realise the effect their actions were having on the American people the sooner they could expect better relations with the American Government and better support from the American people’.34 Lothian next drew upon Presidential sounding board and experienced diplomat, Norman Davis, for help. The latter complied with Lothian’s request spending ‘the better part of the day on the telephone urging an easing off of the pressure on the British’. Moffat learnt this when he was a recipient of a call from Davis that afternoon, which indicated Lothian was ‘very much worried’. When Moffat met Lothian the next day the latter ‘said that he wanted to be of help’ and pledged that he would ‘keep in close touch with the [State] Department’. He ‘hoped that we would feel free to call on him whenever desired’, while also suggesting that his staff at the embassy ‘make a practice of dropping down from time to time to talk things over informally with members of the Department, rather than of waiting until a specific case had arisen’.35 In the wake of these disturbing events, Lothian increased his efforts at explaining to London the state of affairs in the United States, believing it ‘of the utmost importance that we should in the next few weeks do everything we can to meet the State Department’s view’.36 He wrote to Halifax that ‘we have to prove to the USA, which includes public

J. Simon Rofe 21

opinion as well as the administration, that any action we take affecting them is really necessary for the winning of the war’.37 To illustrate the significance of the link between British actions, the administration and the American people Lothian wrote a lengthy paper on ‘US Foreign Policy and Public opinion’ and sent it to the Foreign Secretary. This explained the state of American opinion and why it was important for the British to take notice of it. In language akin to that which Lothian used in his public speeches he wrote, ‘The one fatal thing is for us to offer the United States advice as to what she ought to do. We have never listened to the advice of foreigners. Nor will the Americans.’ He went on to explain the public’s appetite for information and the dangers of propaganda: ‘She is glad of information. She is quite ready to listen – indeed is anxious to listen – to our views, provided they are expressed as our own opinions and do not include any expression of opinion as to what the United States should do. But just because the British have a power of emotional appeal, due to common ancestry, common language, common ideals, anything which looks like British propaganda designed to influence American policy creates a cold fury in the American mind.’38 After reading Lothian’s paper, Halifax redpenned it as ‘A very good despatch’ and told the Ambassador that he had ‘read [it] with great interest . . . You have succeeded in giving me [a] clear a picture of the state of feeling in America . . .’.39 The arrival of the Ministry of Economic Warfare’s Frank Ashton-Gwatkin in Washington in February, charged with paying ‘particular emphasis [to] the possibility of meeting the various protests and complaints which have recently been received from the State Department’, indicates that a once sceptical Foreign Office was warming to Lothian’s mantra.40 As the fracas over neutral rights faded away, another issue arose that illustrated how the Ambassador facilitated good Anglo-American relations. On 1 February, in a meeting with Roosevelt, Lothian learnt of the President’s intention to send his Under-Secretary of State, Sumner Welles, to Europe. Over the following week Lothian was able not only to present the British position but also to influence the shape of the mission. He immediately realised the potential uproar in London and reported his conversation with Roosevelt in terms designed to soothe any unrest. Welles was being sent ‘solely to advise the President and the Secretary of State whether there was any possibility of ending the war in the near future’. The President’s ‘ideas about peace [are] practically the same as ours’; Roosevelt’s vision of peace included the ‘restoration of freedom to Czechoslovakia and [the] Poles in some real form and guarantees that there would be no renewal of aggression during any of our

22

Lord Lothian, 1939–40

life-times’.41 Opinion in Whitehall about the mission was nonetheless scathing. Cadogan called it an ‘awful, half-baked idea’ and foresaw Welles arriving ‘over here with a flourish of trumpets to collect data on which Roosevelt is to proclaim [the] basis of peace!’42 The Prime Minister, Neville Chamberlain, sent Lothian a four-page, 17-point refutation of the President’s proposal.43 The Ambassador’s approach was to play on the intimacy of his relationship with Roosevelt and share British concerns with him. He saw the President on 6 and 8 February, explained Chamberlain’s concerns and won assurances that there would be no use of the term ‘peace mission’.44 The objections from London did not stop the Welles mission therefore but, alongside arguments from Hull, they helped to make it less dramatic than might have been the case. On 9 February, Roosevelt announced that Welles was going to Europe ‘solely for the purpose of advising the President and the Secretary of State as to present conditions in Europe’. The incident passed off without lasting harm to Anglo-American relations. US opinion remained very much pro-Allied.45

Destroyers-for-bases Assessments of the Washington Embassy in the following months cannot avoid being seen in the light of the cataclysmic changes to Europe’s geopolitical landscape. Writing to Halifax in late April, after the Nazi invasion of Denmark and Norway, Lothian acknowledged that, ‘The state of opinion in the United States of America is difficult to crystallise in a despatch because things are so fluid here and so constantly changing.’ In Lothian’s estimation the changing situation in Europe had not permeated the American populace to the point of instilling a change in the administration, but it was having an effect. ‘The United States is still dominated by fear of involvement and incapable of positive action. On the other hand the war is steadily drifting nearer to them and they know it.’46 The ‘phoney war’ was now over and two events on 10 May impacted fundamentally on Lothian’s Ambassadorship: the opening of the German blitzkrieg against the Low Countries and the accession to the premiership of Winston Churchill, who valued close relations with Washington to a far greater degree than Chamberlain ever did. Lothian had aired his views on Churchill to Moffat several months before. ‘He [Lothian] said that nine days out of ten Churchill was magnificent’, the American recorded, ‘but the tenth day during a crisis he was apt to lose his head, close his ears, and refuse to listen to reason. Despite this weakness, Lothian felt he had the exuberance, drive and leadership which

J. Simon Rofe 23

England craved.’47 The Ambassador and Prime Minister had known each other for decades, but tension had arisen between them in late 1939 when Churchill, as First Lord of the Admiralty, began his own correspondence with Roosevelt, the content of which was not revealed to Lothian.48 This had threatened to undermine his position as the preeminent conduit in bilateral relations and he fought hard against it. In January 1940, Halifax mediated a solution to the problem, by which Churchill agreed to send copies of the letters to the Ambassador. This kept Lothian ‘fully informed’, Halifax explained, ‘while giving the President the feeling that he has a special line of information’.49 The Ambassador proved his continuing importance to the transatlantic relationship, despite Churchill’s advent to power and the continuing correspondence with Roosevelt, during the negotiation of the so-called ‘destroyers-for-bases’ deal between the two countries. The essence of the deal was the transfer of 50 ageing American destroyers to the United Kingdom at the same time as 99-year leases were arranged for American naval bases in British possessions in the Western Hemisphere. By any yardstick it was a remarkable international agreement, but the relative positions of the two nations – a neutral but extremely powerful nation, the United States, and a belligerent country, standing alone, Great Britain – make it even more noteworthy. While the testing, detailed negotiations involved the wider embassy, with the Legal Advisor John Foster particularly prominent, they were facilitated by the groundwork with the administration and the American people undertaken by Lothian. The Ambassador approached the prospect of transferring bases to Washington with his customary Atlanticist frame of mind. If British and American sovereignty was conjoined in defending territory in the Western Hemisphere then it would signal the close alignment of interests between the two nations. To achieve this Lothian recommended, soon after Churchill took office, that the United Kingdom ‘should spontaneously offer the United States facilities for defence in British West Indian Islands’.50 His wish for generosity from both sides was apparent throughout the talks. In late August, just a week before the final agreement was reached, Lothian was urging Roosevelt ‘that there should not be cold commercial bargaining but a friendly sentimental interest between the two Governments, which would offer a basis for gifts back and forth, but which would be voluntary and apparently without definite understanding in advance’.51 In London, however, the situation was seen differently. Over summer, many in Whitehall were more concerned with the tangible benefits that could be obtained from the Americans. Churchill himself gave voice to

24

Lord Lothian, 1939–40

this feeling, explaining in one conversation that, ‘It doesn’t do to give way like this to the Americans. One must strike a balance with them’, before recommending that ‘you are ready to meet reasonable requests from them’. This did not mean that the Prime Minister wished to harm relations in any way. Rather he believed that a give-and-take approach would ensure mutual respect; it would have the important ancillary effect of illustrating ‘you are alive and in fighting form’.52 It was this last element that Lothian was prepared to overlook in favour of the potential benefits of Anglo-American understanding. With American audiences he continued to emphasise the shared interest of the two countries. He explained to the journalist Drew Pearson, in an interview for the Washington Merry-Go-Round in July, that the ‘resolution of our people is very high’ before outlining the twin elements underpinning the eventual deal. Lothian said of Britain’s West Indian possessions that ‘she would make some arrangement with the United States regarding them if there was danger of their falling into enemy hands’, while adding that it is ‘far easier to defend the United States and Canada by controlling the mouth of the Straits of Gibraltar, the English Channel, and Cape Town’. ‘If these exits are held by a hostile force’, Lothian warned, ‘they can raid you anywhere.’53 This statement, alongside his Yale speech of the previous month, had the effect of again presenting the British position in terms of America’s own strategic interests, with special emphasis on naval security. The destroyers-for-bases deal, which was finally signed on 2 September 1940, and on which much of Lothian’s Ambassadorship must be judged, can be criticised as a poor one from Britain’s point of view. At the cost of giving the US Navy access to bases in the British Empire, London got far less than it had originally wanted. The destroyers that were obtained, while extremely valuable for dealing with the threat from German U-boats, were of older classes and took varying amounts of time to be made serviceable. They were ships that the United States could afford to transfer, especially if this meant that America avoided being dragged directly into the conflict. But, aside from destroyers, the initial British request had also included requests for 20 torpedo boats, Flying Fortress bombers, flying boats and 250,000 rifles. These were all overlooked in the final conclusion of the deal. Lothian can be blamed for making his own eagerness to conclude a deal – partly for its symbolic benefit – a priority over the tangible payback in the form of military hardware. Of course, he was not alone to blame for any deficiencies. Responsibility can also be laid at the administration’s door, given Roosevelt’s capacity for opaqueness when it came to details, and the changing point of contact in the

J. Simon Rofe 25

State Department between Welles and Hull. On the British side, too, many others were involved and Rhodri Jeffreys-Jones has even asserted that, ‘The vitally important Destroyers-Bases deal cannot be said to have been chiefly Lothian’s work, even if he did contribute to it.’54 It must also be said that compromises are made on both sides in any negotiation and that Britain was not in a position to make demands on Washington in the summer of 1940, with the Battle of Britain raging, American public opinion in such a delicate state and Roosevelt facing a Presidential election in November. Insofar as Lothian did have a role in making the deal, it is vital to understand the anxiety that shrouded his thinking at this time, brought on by the possibility of British defeat. His desperation not only reflected the possibility of a German invasion of Britain but also the fear that defeat would jeopardise his whole Atlanticist conception of the world. It also has to be borne in mind that, around the time the deal was made, he was already showing signs of the sleeplessness, and symptoms of an underlying illness, that were evident to friends when he made a rare visit home to London in October–November.55 In the light of these facts, his tendency to overlook details in preference for emphasising Anglo-American co-operation as an important principle in itself can perhaps be explained, if not excused. In any case, it has been argued that, ‘Although somewhat careless in finalising the diplomatic negotiations, Lothian played an invaluable part during August in helping “sell” the deal to the American public.’56 The most significant point may be that the destroyers-for-bases deal was successfully presented to the American people as assisting hemispheric defence, with Roosevelt’s message to Congress calling it an ‘epochal and far-reaching act of preparation for continental defense in the face of grave danger’.57 In this sense it was another vital step in preparing Americans psychologically for the possibility of war. It was Lothian who had helped to create an amenable environment for the diplomatic negotiation and he who had stimulated debate among the American people that such a step became acceptable. At a critical time for Britain, whatever its imperfections, the destroyers-for-bases deal symbolised an increasing alignment of British and American interests.

‘It’s your money we want’ In the weeks before his death, Lothian sought once more to bring Britain’s plight before the American people and the Roosevelt administration, but now the Ambassador’s focus was Britain’s financial predicament.

26

Lord Lothian, 1939–40

Arguably, it was on this issue that the legacy of Lothian’s Ambassadorship was most keenly felt, because he paved the way for the negotiation of the March 1941 Lend–Lease agreement, which brought large-scale US assistance to Britain. Once again, Lothian needed to balance the challenges of revealing British weaknesses, while securing assistance from the administration and once again he had to make clear to Americans the link between Britain’s situation and their own interests. ‘Lothian’s appreciation of the techniques of publicity and the importance of information’, it has been said, ‘were to be displayed most outstandingly in his handling of Britain’s dollar crisis in the final month of his life.’58 Beginning in the summer of 1940, with the outcome of the Battle of Britain still uncertain and the destroyers-for-bases deal far from made, Lothian was charged with presenting to Washington an account of the British position. On 5 July he met Cordell Hull to discuss an aide mémoire on the subject. Its forecast was gloomy. After stating the urgent requirement for war materials the document went on to say that, ‘So long as gold and other foreign assets at their disposal permit, His Majesty’s Government will of course continue to pay cash for essential armaments, raw materials and food stuffs. They feel however that they should in all frankness inform the United States Government that it will be utterly impossible for them to continue to do this for any indefinite period in view of the scale on which they will need to obtain such resources from the United States.’59 While the prospect of invasion existed the issue was subsumed, but once the danger had passed Lothian again took up Britain’s financial situation. He used the opportunity of his visit home to probe those in London for information he could use to outline the British case. In midNovember he spent two days at Ditchley with Churchill, who found the Ambassador uncharacteristically earnest and grim in the face of Britain’s economic position. He helped the Prime Minister to begin a long letter to Roosevelt, starkly setting out Britain’s inability to carry on even with ‘cash and carry’ purchases. Churchill saw the letter, which was eventually sent in December, as the message that led to Lend–Lease.60 But meanwhile Lothian had made his own dramatic contribution to events. His sense of desperation over Britain’s position, married to tiredness and gathering illness, may explain why, upon returning by sea to New York, he made some impromptu remarks to the pressmen who had gathered on the dockside. Their reporting of his remarks caused a considerable storm sending a shock through transatlantic relations, because they had him saying, in a colloquial tone, ‘Well boys, Britain’s broke; it’s your money we want.’61 There must be doubts as to whether these were Lothian’s precise words or merely, as seems more likely, a simplification

J. Simon Rofe 27

of them. But the ramifications of such an off-hand declaration were immediately clear. The initial reaction in the American press, which ran the story en masse, was one of shock at the candid admission. Neither was the administration impressed. Henry Morgenthau, the Secretary to the Treasury, let Mackenzie King know that since Lothian’s ‘remark about British financial resources being well nigh exhausted, he . . . had had a very difficult time dealing with the situation’.62 Yet it may be that the Ambassador, tired and ill as he may have been, was taking a calculated risk with the Americans in his desire to stimulate debate about British finance. Richard Casey, the Australian Minister in Washington, who conversed with Lothian on an almost daily basis, recorded a week after his unusual outburst that the Ambassador had been ‘mildly reproved by [the Foreign Office], for having spoken publicly about financial needs on arrival in [New York]’. But the Australian went on to suggest that the overall outcome could have been beneficial because the issue was at least being discussed: ‘Lothian’s “gaffe” may well be a blessing in disguise’.63 David Reynolds agrees, writing that, ‘Roosevelt was beginning to face up to this problem but Lothian’s remarks, or rather the press reports of them, sparked off a major press and political debate which obliged him to act.’64 As with Lothian’s Yale speech in June, his remarks about Britain’s grave financial plight exposed the risks of inducing discussion amongst the American people about the way the war was going. There was always the danger that, rather than leading to greater US aid to Britain, such statements would lead Americans to ask whether Britain was in a position to be worth helping. Clearly these questions worried the administration during the summer, as assurances were sought about the future British fleet in the event of a German victory, and they continued as the year war on.65 But, while Lothian’s comments on both occasions were blunt instruments, he probably used them fully cognisant of their likely impact. Given his previous posture, many in London and elsewhere appreciated this. Mackenzie King felt Lothian’s statement in New York to be ‘indiscreet’ only ‘in the manner in which it was expressed’.66 The basic message was true enough. And, once the initial outrage died down, the impact was a beneficial one for Britain and his own hopes for a transatlantic partnership.

Conclusion When Lothian arrived in Washington, Britain was embarking on a war that would stretch every sinew of its national being. He was conscious of the gravity of his times, writing to a correspondent in the fall of 1940, ‘In

28

Lord Lothian, 1939–40

many ways we are living in the greatest period in human history, when the choice lies before us between a disastrous regression and a great new advance.’67 By the time of his death he had become a key figure in rising to the challenge, making himself a respected medium for promulgating the British position to Americans, while also earning the respect of the Foreign Office through his furtherance of British interests. He had a significant role in laying the foundations for the intimate, ‘special’ relationship that grew once the United States entered the war and which helped to secure victory over the Axis. Given Britain’s predicament in 1940, the importance of Lothian’s role in delivering the destroyers-for-bases deal and beginning moves towards Lend–Lease should never be underestimated. That he was able to exert influence as the preferred channel of communication between the two capitals, even if his position was threatened by Churchill’s direct communications with Roosevelt, reflected the groundwork he put in during the opening months of the Ambassadorship, presenting himself as the public face of the mission in Washington. While wary of being seen to indulge in ‘propaganda’, Lothian explained Britain’s predicament without suggesting how America should act.68 He succeeded with both the administration and the population in general. Before the conclusion of the destroyers-for-bases deal Time wrote, ‘Last week even professional Anglophobes were compelled to admit that if the US had not understood the British case – and its meaning to the US – it had not been because Lord Lothian had fallen down as an Ambassador.’69 In the State Department, there is evidence that Lothian’s views on bilateral issues were more respected even than those of the US Ambassador to London, Joseph Kennedy: ‘[i]f Kennedy says something is black and Lothian says it is white, we believe Lord Lothian’, said Jay Moffat.70 Alongside his work in Washington, Lothian convinced a sceptical audience in London of the value of understanding American opinion in order to achieve British ends. It was not an easy task. Cadogan remained the most sceptical of those in the Foreign Office. After reading a Lothian despatch explaining American opinion in the aftermath of the Neutrality revision, he thought the Ambassador a ‘phrase-monger’ and had composed a ‘meaningless letter’.71 But this opinion soon changed and Lothian’s approach became the accepted view in London. He was seen to have a firm grasp of American public opinion and its vagaries. He spoke with ‘increasing authority’ and his American audience received his utterances ‘much less critically than they usually do’.72 The final words of this chapter are those prepared by Lothian for a speech in Baltimore on 11 December 1940, given in his absence by

J. Simon Rofe 29

Nevile Butler, the embassy’s Counsellor, because by then the Ambassador was too ill. He again resorted to a blunt statement of the precarious British position and, perhaps mindful of his mortality, told the American people: I have endeavoured to give you some idea of our present position, of the dangers and problems of 1941, of our hopes for the future. It is for you to decide whether you share our hopes and what support you will give us in realising them. We are, I believe, doing all we can. Since May there is no challenge we have evaded, no challenge refused. If you back us you won’t be backing a quitter. The issue now depends largely on what you decide to do. Nobody can share that responsibility with you. It is the great strength of democracy that it brings responsibility down squarely to every citizen and every nation. And before the Judgement Seat of God each must answer for his own actions.73 Lothian passed away only hours after the speech was delivered and was buried in the National Cemetery at Arlington.

Notes 1. J.R.M. Butler wrote an authorised biography, Lord Lothian (London, 1960), but did not have complete access to Lothian’s papers. It has been surpassed by David P. Billington, Lothian: Philip Kerr and the quest for World Order (London, 2006). David Reynolds, ‘Lord Lothian and Anglo-American relations, 1939–40’, Transactions of the American Philosophical Society, Vol. 73, Part 2 (1983), 1–65 provides a sympathetic account of the embassy. More critical are the two essays by Rhodri Jeffreys-Jones, ‘The Inestimable advantage of not being English: Lord Lothian’s American ambassadorship, 1939–1940’, The Scottish Historical Review, Vol. LXIII, No. 175 (1984), 105–110; and ‘Lord Lothian and American Democracy: An illusion in pursuit of an illusion’, Canadian Review of American Studies, Vol. 17, No. 4 (1986), 411–422. Other significant essays are Andrea Bosco, ‘Lord Lothian and Appeasement’, in Andrea Bosco and Alex May (eds), The Round Table, The Empire-Commonwealth, and British Foreign Policy (London, 1997), 473–510; Priscilla Roberts, ‘Lord Lothian and the Atlantic World’, The Historian, Vol. 66, No. 1 (2004), 97–127; and J. Simon Rofe, ‘Prescription and Remedy: Lothian’s influence upon Anglo-American relations during the Phoney War’, The Round Table – The Commonwealth Journal of International Affairs, Vol. 96, No. 389 (2007), 151–171. 2. As a Foreign Office official explained, with reference to Lothian’s predecessor, ‘the reason we do not attempt propaganda in the USA is the firm and invincible opposition of the embassy’. The rule continued to hold good under Lothian. The National Archives (TNA), Kew, FO371/22827/45, minute by Ronald (16 February) attached to Mallet to Scott (26 January 1939).

30 Lord Lothian, 1939–40 3. Churchill Archive Centre, Cambridge, Winston Churchill papers, CHAR 20/15, Lothian to Halifax (11 March 1940). Elsewhere I have called this Lothian’s ‘prescription for Anglo-American understanding’: Rofe, ‘Prescription and Remedy’, 158. 4. David Dilks (ed.), The Diaries of Sir Alexander Cadogan, 1938–1945 (London, 1971), 82–83. 5. In the mid-1930s Lothian was ready to see changes to the Treaty of Versailles to satisfy Germany, but after Munich he became convinced that the Nazis posed a threat to peace and even a critical author concludes that ‘there can be no doubt about the intensity of his ultimate opposition to Hitler’. Jeffreys-Jones, ‘Lord Lothian and American Democracy’, 418. 6. FO371/22832/45, Annual Report on the United States for 1938 (17 February 1939); FO794/18, Scott minute (7 March 1939). Lothian’s association with Astor rested on a shared spirituality centred on Christian Science, but it has been described as a ‘politically maladroit loyalty’: Jeffreys-Jones, ‘Lord Lothian and American Democracy’, 418. 7. Edward Grigg, in the introduction to Lord Lothian, The American Speeches of Lord Lothian (London, 1941), xxxii. 8. Reynolds, ‘Lord Lothian’, 2. 9. Jeffreys-Jones, ‘Inestimable Advantage’, 416. 10. TNA, FO800/324, Lindsay to Halifax (10 March 1939). 11. This episode is covered in David Reynolds, ‘FDR on the British: A postscript’, Massachusetts Historical Society Proceedings, 90 (1978). 12. National Archives of Canada, Ottawa, Mackenzie King diary (30 January 1939). 13. TNA, FO794/18, Lindsay to Foreign Office (29 March 1939). 14. National Archives of Scotland, Edinburgh, Lothian papers, GD40/17/379/91, Halifax to Lothian (19 April 1939). 15. FO 800/324, Lothian to Halifax (5 September 1939). 16. Lothian Papers, GD40/17/514/37, comments by Godfrey Haggard. 17. Ibid., GD40/17/398/462, Lothian to Bailey (17 January 1940). 18. Ibid., GD40/17/399/28–32, Berle to Lothian (26 April 1940). 19. Ibid., GD40/17/406/276–360, correspondence with Witherow, and GD40/17/ 406/361–406, correspondence with Witherby. 20. Ibid., GD40/17/402/195, Lothian to Lamont (27 November 1939). 21. National Maritime Museum, Greenwich, Lord Chatfield Papers, CHT/6/2, Lothian to Chatfield (15 September 1939). 22. The speech is reproduced in Lothian, American Speeches, 1–19, followed by his other key addresses. 23. FO800/324, Lothian to Halifax (5 September 1939). 24. Billington, Lothian, 141. 25. Lothian, American Speeches, 47–63 (quotation at 61); Churchill Papers, CHAR20/15, Lothian to Halifax (11 March 1940). 26. ‘The Noblest of Englishmen’, Time, 15 January 1940. 27. Lothian, American Speeches, 104–109 (quotation at 105). 28. Foreign Relations of the United States (FRUS), 1940, III (Washington DC, 1958), 36–37. 29. ‘Lord Lothian’s Job’, Time, 8 July 1940. 30. The substantive issues of this section are dealt with in greater depth in Rofe ‘Prescription and Remedy’.

J. Simon Rofe 31 31. Library of Congress, Washington DC, Manuscripts Division, Cordell Hull Papers, memorandum of conversation between Hull and Lothian (22 January 1940). 32. Houghton Library, Harvard University, Jay Pierrepont Moffat Papers, Volume 44, entry in Diplomatic Diary following conversation with Lothian (25 January 1940). 33. New York Times, 23 January 1940. 34. Fred L. Israel (ed.), The War Diary of Breckinridge Long: Selections from the Years 1939–44 (Lincoln, Nebraska, 1966), 59. 35. Moffat Papers, Volume 44, entry in Diplomatic Diary following conversation with Lothian (25 January 1940). 36. FO371/24248/45, Washington to Foreign Office (21 January 1940). 37. FO800/324, Lothian to Halifax (27 January 1940). 38. Ibid., Lothian to Halifax (1 February 1940). The case against propaganda was made to Lothian on a number of occasions. One American told him that ‘if some of your compatriots get up a propaganda machine, the workings of which are always only too manifest, the effect would greatly prejudice the British cause in this country’. Lothian Papers, GD 40/17/402/198, Thomas Lamont to Lothian (15 December 1939). 39. FO800/324, Halifax to Lothian (29 February 1940). 40. FO371/25137/49, Foreign Office minute (9 February 1940). 41. FO800/324, Lothian to Halifax (1 February 1940). 42. Dilks, Cadogan, 253. 43. FO800/324, Chamberlain to Lothian (3 February 1940) and see Lothian to Chamberlain (6 February), saying ‘that in any published instructions to Welles [Roosevelt] would probably avoid use of the word “peace” and simply send him on a tour of enquiry...’. 44. Llewellyn Woodward, British Foreign Policy in the Second World War, 5 vols (London, 1970), I, 166–167. 45. Franklin D. Roosevelt, Library, Hyde Park, New York, Roosevelt Papers, President’s Secretary File, Box 76, transcript of White House Press Release (9 February 1940). On the mission, see J. Simon Rofe, Franklin D. Roosevelt’s Foreign Policy and the Welles mission (Basingstoke, 2007). 46. FO800/324, Lothian to Halifax (29 April 1940). 47. Moffat Papers, Volume 44, entry in Diplomatic Diary following conversation with Lothian (26 September 1939). 48. See Warren F. Kimball (ed.), Churchill & Roosevelt, the Complete Correspondence: Volume I, Alliance Emerging, October 1933–November 1942 (Princeton, 1984). 49. TNA, ADM199/1928, Halifax to Churchill (19 January 1940); but see Woodward, Second World War, I, 334–335, footnote, on continuing problems with Churchill’s correspondence. 50. FO800/433 (Balfour Papers), draft memorandum on ‘The Bases for Destroyers Negotiations’ (undated). 51. Hull Papers, memorandum of conversation with Roosevelt and Lothian (25 August 1940). 52. FO800/433 (Balfour Papers), draft memorandum on ‘The Bases for Destroyers Negotiations’ (undated). 53. Lothian Papers, GD 40/17/406/81 transcript of interview by Pearson with Lothian (22 July 1940).

32 Lord Lothian, 1939–40 54. 55. 56. 57. 58. 59. 60. 61. 62. 63. 64. 65. 66. 67. 68. 69. 70. 71. 72. 73.

Jeffreys-Jones, ‘Lord Lothian and American Democracy’, 419. Grigg, introduction to American Speeches, xxxiii. Reynolds, ‘Lord Lothian’, 31. Congressional Record, 1940, Vol. 86, message to the Congress by President Roosevelt (3 September 1940). Reynolds, ‘Lord Lothian’, 34. Hull Papers, memorandum of conversation with Lord Lothian (5 July 1940). Winston Churchill, The Second World War, Volume II: Their Finest Hour (London, 1949), 490–503. Butler, Lothian, 307. Mackenzie King diary (5 December 1940). Lothian Papers, GD 40/17/517, diary of Richard Casey (30 November 1940). Reynolds, ‘Lord Lothian’, 56. See, for example, FRUS, 1940, Vol. III, 47. Mackenzie King diary (12 December 1940). Lothian Papers, GD40/17/402/234, Lothian to Latham (9 October 1940). He would no doubt have welcomed Time’s assessment that he had ‘not been criticized as a propagandist’. ‘Lord Lothian’s Job’, Time, 8 July 1940. Ibid. Nancy Harvison Hooker (ed.), The Moffat Papers – Selections from the Diplomatic Journals of Jay Pierrepont Moffat 1919–1943 (Cambridge, Mass, 1956), 5. Dilks, Cadogan, 324. Lothian Papers, GD40/17/514/37, comments by Godfrey Haggard. Lothian, American Speeches, 132–144 (quote from 144).

2 Lord Halifax, 1941–46 Nicholas J. Cull

On the morning of Friday, 24 January 1941 the newest, largest and fastest battleship in the Royal Navy, the 35,000-ton King George V steamed unannounced into Chesapeake Bay at the end of a transatlantic dash. The purpose of this voyage was to deliver an important cargo: the new British Ambassador to the United States, Lord Halifax. He came reluctantly to a country which still clung to its neutrality, but whose resources offered the only route for Britain’s survival. President Roosevelt underlined the importance of his arrival by waiving diplomatic precedent and sailing out on his yacht, Potomac, to personally greet the Ambassador. He proceeded to entertain Halifax and his wife, Dorothy, to tea on board. This was the dramatic beginning of a legendary tenure on Massachusetts Avenue, which would earn Halifax an Earldom at mid-term and the Order of Merit on his return. Halifax successfully presided over the expansion of the British mission to the United States into what amounted to a Whitehall in miniature. He oversaw relations with Britain’s indispensable ally from the delicate days of their neutrality through the transition, first to war and then to a new kind of peace in which that ally assumed a global leadership role. Finally, and most against his own aloof and formal nature, he learned to play a public role, reaching out to an American public which was often fickle in its affections for Britain. Halifax’s success was by no means a foregone conclusion. The story that emerges from the archive, the diaries of Halifax and his closest advisers, and from the recollections of his staff is of – as the Duke of Wellington said of the Battle of Waterloo – ‘the nearest run thing you ever saw in your life.’1 Part of the value of the reexamining Halifax’s tenure in the United States is to see the process by which he survived 33

34

Lord Halifax, 1941–46

early missteps to become a diplomatic asset for the Crown. That story throws light on Britain’s delicate approach to the United States in the months before Pearl Harbor. More than this, it also speaks to the wider learning process by which British diplomats came to understand that diplomacy had to be more than contact between one government and another, and in the emerging democratic era would rest on what would eventually be called Public Diplomacy: the advancement of policy through the engagement between governments and the people of a foreign country.2

The reluctant envoy Edward Frederick Lindley Wood, Third Viscount and First Earl of Halifax, was born on 16 April 1881 into an aristocratic Yorkshire family with a tradition of public service. His great-grandfather, Earl Grey, authored the Reform Bill and his grandfather, Charles Wood (the First Viscount Halifax), had served as Chancellor of the Exchequer and Secretary of State for India. Edward Wood entered public life himself in 1910 as MP for Ripon. In the early 1920s he served in a range of government offices – Under-Secretary of State for the Colonies, President of the Board of Education, British representative to the League of Nations Council, and Minister of Agriculture – until, in 1925, Prime Minister Stanley Baldwin elevated him to the peerage and appointed him Viceroy of India. As Viceroy he successfully negotiated an accommodation with nationalist leader Mahatma Gandhi in the 1931 Delhi Pact and developed the concept of India’s Dominion status. Back in Britain he succeeded to the family title and served as Baldwin’s Secretary of State for War and Lord Privy Seal, and as Lord President of the Council in the Chamberlain government. In this capacity Halifax travelled to Germany in 1937 to begin talks with Hitler.3 In the spring of 1938 Halifax succeeded Anthony Eden as Foreign Secretary and played a prominent role in the decision to appease Germany over the question of Czechoslovakia. The Munich Conference cast a long shadow over Halifax’s later career. By 1941 he had made his own peace with the decision, recording in his diary: The more I reflect on Munich the more certain I am feel that a war then would have meant for Czechoslovakia at the best an additional six months of martyrdom and at worst a martyrdom with no resurrection, for we should have been defeated by a better-prepared Germany.4

Nicholas J. Cull 35

Others were less ready to accept appeasement as a necessary evil. Halifax became a prime target for political recrimination and was pilloried in the left-wing press as one of the ‘Guilty Men.’ His well-publicised twin devotions to the ‘high’ Anglican Church and the fox hunt merely served to mark him as a man of the past.5 In May 1940 Chamberlain resigned from the premiership. Halifax found himself heir apparent within the Conservative Party, but deferred to Winston Churchill as a more appropriate war leader. While Halifax remained Foreign Secretary throughout the summer and autumn, the press and Labour party and even some Conservatives became increasingly uncomfortable with his presence and pushed for a purge of those most tainted by appeasement.6 On 1 October 1940 Churchill made a first pass at moving Halifax out of the Foreign Office, but Halifax dodged the blow and remained in place.7 As the autumn wore on, rumours circulated within Whitehall that Halifax’s appeasing days were not wholly behind him, and that he planned accommodation with Vichy France and Fascist Spain.8 The press blamed him (unfairly) for the failure of negotiations with the Soviet Union and the closure of the Burma Road.9 Then, following the death of Chamberlain, Halifax inherited the mantle of chief appeaser. By December the censorship reports arriving at Downing Street bore weekly testimony that Halifax had become a liability. When, on 12 December, news broke of the sudden death of Lord Lothian and the consequent vacancy at the helm of the Washington Embassy, Churchill saw an ideal opportunity to clean house at home while nevertheless deploying a successor to Lothian worthy of the challenge that lay ahead. Churchill’s first thought was to send David Lloyd George, the former Prime Minister, which suggests that he sought an Ambassador for prestige value rather than for any diplomatic ‘heavy lifting.’ FDR endorsed the idea of Lloyd George but the ‘Welsh Wizard’ himself, then a month shy of 78-years old and out of office for two decades, declined. The idea of Halifax as a substitute surfaced in a number of quarters including a telegram from the Australian Prime Minister, Robert Menzies.10 Some immediately remembered Churchill’s habit of using embassies as political dustbins for his more troublesome colleagues: Samuel Hoare found himself in Madrid, Ronald Cross in Canberra, Malcolm MacDonald in Ottawa, Reginald Dorman-Smith in Rangoon and Lord Harlech in South Africa.11 On 17 December Halifax learned of the proposal from the press baron Max Beaverbrook, who – ever the conspirator – greased the wheels of the Foreign Secretary’s departure by shamelessly exaggerating Halifax’s interest in the position in a memorandum to the Prime Minister.12

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Lord Halifax, 1941–46

Halifax was appalled by Churchill’s decision to send him to Washington and tried to change his mind. Lady Halifax also joined the fray, appealing directly to Churchill on the grounds that Britain might appear too desperate to woo the Americans if the Foreign Secretary himself were sent as Ambassador, and that the Prime Minister might need Halifax’s help at home if public opinion ever swung against him.13 But Churchill countered that Anglo-American relations would benefit from an envoy who was familiar with the highest levels of British government. The Prime Minister underlined this by allowing Halifax to retain his place in the War Cabinet.14 Unconvinced, on 23 December 1940 Halifax confided to his diary, ‘I still cannot help thinking that Winston has made a mistake.’ Plenty of other observers also failed to see the wisdom in Churchill’s choice. Halifax was the incarnation of the England that Americans found hardest to deal with and he was arriving at the most delicate of moments. The frosty, fox-hunting aristocrat identified with appeasement was the worst possible person to represent the nation which had lately begun to win round American opinion with talk of a people’s war and the spectacle of collective resistance during the Blitz. Britain needed to continue to charm America away from its neutrality and into some form of material aid. Halifax seemed especially inappropriate when compared to Lord Lothian who had worn his title lightly and impressed the Americans with his informal and easy-going approach.15 Halifax’s sudden arrival on the King George V successfully captured the public’s imagination, but drama could only achieve so much.16 He had now to engage the American people and their government. On the morning of 25 January Halifax stood awkwardly in front of American newsreel cameras and delivered a short speech written on the voyage: We have assuredly a rough, difficult and perhaps very difficult road before us; but the British people are united as never before in their history and I have no doubt that with your help we can win through and so save causes on which your civilization and ours depends.17 His personal road became rough and difficult almost immediately.

Early missteps Though Halifax had visited the United States briefly as a young man in transit from Canada, he was thoroughly disoriented by his arrival in Washington. His diary is full of references to his quest to find reminders of home in the American landscape and the jolt of being suddenly

Nicholas J. Cull 37

extracted from a world of blackouts, austerity and sudden death by air raid. In March he wrote to Sir John Simon, another ex-Foreign Secretary: ‘One feels a terribly long way off here and under the influence of light by night and lots of butter by day, one has a strange demoralizing sense that is troubling.’18 In April he wrote to Sir Alexander Cadogan, Permanent Under-Secretary of the Foreign Office, about his yearning to be back in London, ‘even in my room at the Dorchester with the naval gun going outside.’19 He was confused by the American system of government, telling Simon: The disjointed and discordant character of their government seems to me quite baffling. I suppose it is really like a disorderly line of beaters out shooting. They do put the rabbits out of the bracken, but they don’t come out where you’d expect.20 He was appalled by the informality of Americans, loathing their insistence on using first names and resented their readiness to offer Britain ‘soft words and fine thoughts’ rather than concrete ‘action.’ His early verdict on the American establishment was that it was ‘very crude and semi-educated.’21 In his discomfort he came to rely heavily on an aide he had brought with him from London, Charles Peake, former Head of the Foreign Office News Department. The two men had a close bond based not only on their weathering of appeasement and the Phoney War but on their shared churchmanship. Peake called him by the pet name ‘father.’ While Peake helped some aspects of Halifax’s life in America, swiftly finding a congenial place of worship for them both, he knew nothing of the United States and hence gave the Ambassador some monumentally bad advice in his early months.22 By the end of his first week in the United States the press and radio were settling into generally sympathetic coverage of Halifax. The British Press Service in New York termed it ‘friendly reserve.’ This was before Halifax began to show an active interest in the passage of the Lend Lease Bill, lately introduced by Roosevelt as the core of his plan to aid Britain. With rumours rife of an isolationist filibuster to kill the bill, Halifax foolishly decided to visit key legislators on Capitol Hill and check on its progress. On 31 January he called on Walter F. George, Democratic chairman of the Senate Committee on Foreign Relations, and told the waiting press corps on his departure that they had ‘discussed the timetable of the bill.’ The unsympathetic sections of the press fell on the story like wolves on a carcass. The Chicago Tribune under a banner headline of ‘HALIFAX STEERS FDR BILL’ bluntly accused him of meddling in the

38

Lord Halifax, 1941–46

American political process. Undaunted Halifax proceeded to visit the Chairman of the House Committee on Foreign Affairs, Sol Bloom, and posed for photographs. The image of the gaunt 6’5” British aristocrat looming over the diminutive bespectacled American was too much for isolationists in the media and the legislature. Hostile cartoons, editorials and letters to the press abounded. Typical was the letter from ‘an Old Line American’ published by the Chicago Tribune on 3 February: ‘It burns one to see Lord Halifax, a member of the British cabinet, sitting in our Capitol and issuing orders to the government of America. Do not permit the American eagle to be transformed into a fat old Goose.’ His positive press had evaporated.23 Shell-shocked, Halifax noted, ‘They seem to be as afraid of us as they are of the Germans.’ He reluctantly abandoned his plans to cultivate other members of Congress and to sit in on the debates around the bill and withdrew into political ‘purdah’ until the bill had been signed into law in early March.24 Halifax’s early contacts with the executive branch of the US government were hardly more successful. His early meetings with the President were infrequent and brief. The Prime Minister had claimed the lion’s share of contact with the White House through his own direct correspondence with Franklin Roosevelt. Halifax seemed rather redundant and, to make matters worse, had no idea what Churchill said to the President. Frustrated, Halifax begged the Foreign Secretary, Anthony Eden, to allow him to see copies and meanwhile made do with copies provided by Roosevelt himself.25 Other relationships were also slow to flower. The Secretary of State, Cordell Hull, was unimpressed by Halifax’s high-handed hostility towards the Soviet Union and his declaration that American trade with Russia was allowing Stalin to trade with Hitler. This brought Hull under further fire from the US press.26 In March 1941 Halifax again embarrassed the State Department by briefing the press ‘off the record’ that a German submarine was operating in American waters. A journalist broke confidence and the story tumbled out from there.27 Faux pas followed faux pas. Halifax appalled the Secretary of the Treasury, Henry Morgenthau, during his rearguard action to keep the textile company Viscose in British hands, by warning that the British Treasury representative, Sir Edward Peacock, had friends in ‘high places.’ He also shocked Under-Secretary of State Sumner Welles by remarking during a discussion about Baltic policy that ‘he did not think that the Baltic peoples were peoples who demanded very much consideration.’ Welles expected more from a country whose cause hinged on the ‘innate strength of her moral position.’28 The administration expected more tact from a diplomat.

Nicholas J. Cull 39

Halifax’s first approach to the American public was equally ill-starred. Liberal East Coast opinion was underwhelmed by his bland inaugural speech to the Pilgrims in New York City in March, which had none of the expected clarification of British war aims.29 His greatest error was to take part in a fox hunt in Virginia. The image of Halifax riding to hounds on the same weekend that Germany blitzed its way into Yugoslavia appalled America.30 The classic critique came from poet Carl Sandburg in the pages of The Nation in which he contrasted the democratic Lord Lothian travelling by public Pullman car with the private car of Lord Halifax, and the disjuncture of Halifax at play on horseback while American munitions workers toiled through the night to produce arms for Britain.31 The coda to these misadventures came in May when Halifax visited the isolationist heartland of Chicago. Errors included the accidental issue to the press of an annotated list of dinner guests which included a note of Roosevelt administration plans to appoint one of the guests – Chicago Times publisher S.E. Thompson – Ambassador to Mexico.32 Lady Halifax attracted positive comment, but then Lord Halifax visited Comiskey Park to watch a Chicago White Sox baseball game. The Ambassador was heard asking officials such monumentally naïve questions as ‘Do they throw the ball to hit the runner?’ and made negative comparisons to cricket. He capped off the day by leaving a hot dog uneaten on his seat. ‘Baseball and hot dogs mystify Lord Halifax,’ proclaimed the Chicago Daily News. He had slighted two American institutions in one day.33

The breakthrough Halifax’s recovery from his hapless beginning stemmed from two factors: the first was his recognition that he needed help and second was its availability. People on both sides of the Anglo-American relationship understood the need for the Ambassador to function properly and the journey back was helped both by British staff rallying round and by Americans turning a blind eye to the slips like the press leak in Chicago. First, the tepid relationship between Halifax and Cordell Hull was taken in hand by Assistant Secretary of State, Dean Acheson, who conspired with the Australian Ambassador, Richard Casey, to overcome the mutual suspicions of the two men with a stage-managed dinner party.34 A warm working relationship developed. Ironically one of the chief bonds between the two men seems to have been symmetry of humiliation at the hands of their respective bosses. Both Churchill and Roosevelt routinely cut the two men out of key discussions in preference for such favourites as Beaverbrook on the British side or Sumner Welles on

40

Lord Halifax, 1941–46

the American. Neither Halifax nor Hull was invited to the Arcadia Conference off the coast of Canada in August 1941.35 Halifax and Peake worked to reverse the Ambassador’s fortunes further afield by bringing a new face onto his inner staff: his cousin and contemporary at Eton school, Angus McDonnell. McDonnell was the younger son of Lord Antrim and had served as a Conservative member of parliament in the 1920s, but more importantly he knew America well. A larger-than-life Falstaffian figure, he had lived in the United States for many years working in the railroad business. Halifax noted with delight that he ‘seems to know everybody, and who he doesn’t know he turns into a firm friend after five minutes conversation.’36 He became the jester at Halifax’s court, but a jester with a purpose. On 31 March McDonnell recorded in his diary: Edward and Peake explained what they wanted me to do, which is to be a sort of personal intelligence scout for Edward . . . if he is going anywhere to make a speech; to go ahead as a sort of advance agent, find out what local thought is and the local people of influence, and perhaps most important of all, who to thank after he goes away. Peake is very anxious for me to do this as he feels it is important to keep everyone here thinking that Edward and consequently England are her goods . . . he also says it was very hard to find anyone who had really first hand knowledge of the country . . . and at the same time knew Edward well enough to say exactly what he thought.37 McDonnell liked to refer to his job as ‘de-icing Edward’ but American society through which he steered his cousin dubbed him ‘John the Baptist’ because he ‘prepared the way of the Lord.38 Early changes included prevailing on Halifax to stay away from hunts, horse races and private railroad cars, but McDonnell sought to do more. He felt strongly that the only way to counter the image of arrogance and stuffiness which still clung to Halifax and to Britain as a whole was to maximise Halifax’s contact with ordinary people. Internationalist Republican Wendell Willkie seconded such a plan, informing Halifax and his wife that ‘the more the public saw of them the more they would realize that the top notch Britishers were...“folks” and not some picture paper variety of summer resort swells,’39 McDonnell began work on planning a punishing schedule of tours for Halifax. His modus operandi included always holding a warmup press conference before the Ambassador visited a new place, to explain his idiosyncrasies and urge his audience to keep an open mind.40

Nicholas J. Cull 41

McDonnell identified the writing of ‘Thank You’ letters as an essential part of the Ambassador’s tours, more especially as McDonnell noted that such politeness was considered unusual from high-born English visitors. He stood over Lord and Lady Halifax like a British mother in the week after Christmas insisting that the necessary letters be penned.41 The theme of saying thank you extended to Halifax’s destinations which soon targeted regions associated with munitions production. In the summer of 1941 he toured the aircraft factories of Southern California and Hollywood studios, where pro-British film production was now in full swing. Halifax swiftly learned that the easiest way to impress his audiences was to be as belligerent as possible, and take on the mantle of Churchill including his ‘Victory V’ hand gesture. His trip to California was a triumph, motivating workers in factories where labour relations had become shaky and burying his identification with appeasement in the rhetoric of defiance and thanks ‘for the tools to finish the job.’42 McDonnell paid no less attention to Halifax’s weak initial showing among Washington’s political establishment and journalists. He acquired a set of out-of-town rooms in a converted studio in Virginia where he organised a round of parties for the capital’s society. The general plan was for McDonnell to begin the party and then have Halifax drop by as if by accident so he could be seen informally and in the small group setting in which he came across best. McDonnell’s dictum was that ‘there is no country in the world where so much can be done by personal contact’ and – as he learnt while building the Canadian Pacific railroad – that in politics as in railroads as much could be achieved through the strategic use of cigars and whisky as through hard labour.43 As a result, Halifax’s American network flourished. It included such luminaries as Chief Justice Felix Frankfurter, Secretary of War Henry Stimson and the man who did much to organise the US war effort, General George C. Marshall. Senator Arthur Vandenberg was especially grateful for his connection to Halifax, recording in his diary: ‘I learned far more from him about our own Far Eastern policies than I have learnt from our own secretive government circles.’44 In the late summer of 1941 Halifax returned to London for consultation. It would have been an obvious moment for a transition, and some American papers speculated that he would not return.45 But Halifax had done enough to retain his job, even if the speculation over his future continued for some months. On his return in October he immediately resumed the task of reaching out to the American public, venturing into the heartland of isolationism with a trip to Detroit aimed at cultivating organised labour away from its prejudice that Britain was synonymous

42

Lord Halifax, 1941–46

with class strife.46 That visit included a visit to the Catholic Archbishop, Edward Mooney, on 4 November. At the Archbishop’s door a knot of angry isolationist women protestors greeted the Ambassador with placards reading ‘To Hell with Halifax’ and a volley of eggs and rotten fruit. Struck on the leg, Halifax remarked to his body guards ‘don’t hurry boys, let them have a good time for their money.’ The story was released by the British Press Service in New York with an additional invented comment that Halifax had, when asked how he felt, commented: ‘My feeling is one of envy that people have eggs and tomatoes to throw about. In England these are scarce.’ The American press erupted in apologies and hand wringing that a visitor could have been treated in such a way. Time magazine noted, ‘Lord Halifax has a fine set of those British virtues which the US least understands.’ The women responsible were variously denounced as un-American, anti-Semitic and cowardly. From this point on in his tour Halifax was cheered at every turn. That evening he was given an ovation when making an impromptu speech to a congress of 3000 realestate agents. The following day the citizens of Cleveland, Ohio, lined the streets to fête the Ambassador and his wife. Astonished by the adulation, Halifax confided in his diary: ‘This is the most extraordinary mixture of Viceroy and political candidate that I have ever encountered.’47 His performance on the road won him the admiration of American colleagues. In May 1942 Cordell Hull quipped, ‘Mr. Ambassador, you’ve made such a hit wandering around this country, they’ll be trying to run you for office here soon.’48 The circumstances of war only deepened American respect for Halifax and his wife. In October 1942 their second son, Peter, died in action in North Africa. The American media and Washington society alike were much impressed by the stoicism with which the Halifaxes bore both this tragedy and the severe wounding of their youngest son, Richard, just a few weeks later. General Marshall made them the centre piece of a US Army leaflet designed to counter anti-British feeling in the ranks.49 Halifax’s religiosity also helped win friends in the United States. By the end of his first year the volume of specifically religious fan mail was such that he was obliged to add a clergyman to his staff to help answer it all.50

The White House There was one final nut to crack: the relationship between Halifax and Roosevelt himself. The Ambassador had initially counted on Presidential confidante Harry Hopkins, whom he had met in London, to serve as his

Nicholas J. Cull 43

link to the White House. Hopkins proved his worth in the spring of 1941, advising the embassy to refrain from frequent appeals to Roosevelt for help convoying supplies across the Atlantic, and to allow the President to respond to the self-evident crisis at sea in his own time, which he did. However, it soon became apparent that Hopkins’ failing health and punishing travel schedule placed severe limits on his value to the embassy. Beyond this the Foreign Office thought him a security risk.51 The main link for Halifax then became the President’s Private Secretary and military aide, General Edwin ‘Pa’ Watson: the closest Roosevelt had to a modern White House Chief of Staff. Watson had been an asset in Lothian’s day when the Ambassadors had regularly telephoned for the ‘low down’ of White House affairs but, though Watson had been part of the group which met Halifax on the President’s yacht, the Ambassador had initially allowed the link to grow cold.52 It was then that Angus McDonnell worked his magic. On 24 May he met Watson’s wife and she arranged a meeting with her husband for the following day. The two men hit it off immediately. McDonnell recorded in his diary: ‘He is . . . fatter than me and comes from Virginia’ (McDonnell’s adopted home state), ‘so it did not take us long to get on Pa-Angus terms.’ McDonnell became a regular guest at the Watson’s house.53 The next step was to introduce the Ambassador into the mix. The breakthrough came when McDonnell prevailed on Halifax to use Watson’s nickname in a telephone call. The gesture, which Watson understood to have been a challenge for the formality bound old aristocrat, unlocked a flood of good feeling.54 Watson’s first service for the embassy was a channel to scotch a clutch of rumours around Halifax’s future which proliferated in the early summer.55 On Halifax’s return from his summer visit to the United Kingdom, Watson provided positive feedback on FDR’s thinking about Halifax. McDonnell recorded, Pa enlarged upon how much the President liked Edward and further said that if Edward would call him (Pa) up at any time he would arrange for the President to see Edward no matter how busy he was, as the President would be much flattered if Edward would treat him as a pal and whenever he wanted to ask him (the President) his opinion on plans.56 FDR was as good as his word. During October 1941 alone Halifax saw the President as many times as during his entire embassy to that point.57 The President and Halifax fell into a comfortable routine of

44

Lord Halifax, 1941–46

long conversations and working lunches amid the knickknacks on his Oval Office desk. On 6 December Roosevelt cut through Halifax’s reserve and set the seal on the relationship by asking if he might call him Edward or by some nickname. Halifax proclaimed himself greatly flattered and acceded to his first name being used. He confided in his diary that he had a mischievous desire to follow up by asking if he might call the President ‘Frankie,’ but refrained.58 Halifax’s diaries suggest that from that point and for the rest of the war Roosevelt used him as a sounding board for ideas and as a counterweight to the picture of Britain and its intentions that he gained from his personal correspondence with Churchill. It was a relationship which Roosevelt was prepared to defend from the machinations of Halifax’s colleagues in London. In the spring of 1942 Lord Beaverbrook began a series of manoeuvers to have Halifax removed and see himself appointed to the embassy. Churchill was sympathetic to the idea and the Foreign Secretary sounded out the US Ambassador to London, John Winant, about Roosevelt’s likely response to such a move. But Winant was unequivocal, as a senior Foreign Office official recorded, ‘Roosevelt had recently asked that Halifax should remain because he felt that Halifax was absolutely honest, and he knew where he was with him.’59

The provost presides The Ambassador’s excellent relationship with the people and government of the United States was not entirely his own achievement of course. Halifax presided over a massive expansion of the British Embassy. On the outbreak of war in 1939 it managed with just 45 members of staff. Halifax inherited a staff of 200 and by the end of his first year this had doubled to 400, including outlying departments of economic warfare and information. By the end of his mission the total number of staff under his jurisdiction in the embassy, military and civil missions to the United States totalled over 12,000.60 Ever the Viceroy, Halifax was undaunted by the challenge of coordinating this effort and wrote to Eden in February 1941 that ‘I am confident that it will be possible to get an improvement in the working of this show.’61 The Ambassador operated with a certain aloof detachment. It occurred to Isaiah Berlin (then working in the Ministry of Information contingent) that his style was that of a public school provost rather than a head master.62 But he delegated well, trusting the burden of administration to the head of chancery, ‘Derick’ Hoyer Millar. Halifax also laboured to ‘keep himself au fait’ with the work of the ballooning British civil and military missions

Nicholas J. Cull 45

to the United States, instituting fortnightly meetings for mission heads.63 He was acutely aware of his own learning process and took steps to share the experience with the wider embassy. In the autumn of 1941 he launched a series of lectures for his burgeoning staff on American sensibilities to warn them away from some of the snares he had fallen into earlier that year.64 Halifax was still not wholly immune to faux pas, though the audiences offended now tended to be further afield, as in the autumn of 1942 when his public identification of the allied cause with Christianity caused some offence in Turkey (a remarkable lapse in view of his attempts, as Foreign Secretary, to win Turkey to the allied side in the war).65 He had learned the hard way and was not shy of reminding Churchill himself of the need to be mindful of American sensibilities as when, in early 1942, the Prime Minister bragged in a radio broadcast that he had ‘worked for’ American entry into the war.66 Halifax served on the Pacific War Council and did much to smooth the path of Anglo-American cooperation in that theatre.67 He played a particular role in urging London towards concessions on the matter of Empire, pressing Churchill to end the controversial system of Imperial preference in trade and seeking to counterbalance the Prime Minister’s steadfast refusal to compromise on this lest he ‘preside over the breakup of the British Empire.’68 Halifax played a special role in overseeing the triangular relationship between Britain, the United States and India. He remained mindful that, as he wrote to the India Office in February 1943, India’s ‘historical and constitutional position needs constant explanation’ in the United States.69 On occasion he did more. During the Washington Conference of December 1941 he successfully championed the view that India accede to the Joint Declaration as an ally in its own right.70 He boosted the cause of the Indian Agent General in Washington, Sir Giraj Bajpai, successfully pressing for him to be promoted to the rank of full Minister.71 In the autumn of 1942, as civil disturbance swept India, Halifax cabled the Viceroy, Lord Linlithgow, gently suggesting talks with the radical camp. Washington learnt from Bajpai that Halifax’s approach had been angrily rebuffed by Linlithgow as India had ‘radically changed’ since Halifax’s tenure as Viceroy. As Giraj reported it, Linlithgow suggested that Halifax, ‘instead of resting on the defensive in America on the Indian question, should pass sharply to the offensive and defend the policy of the British Government and the Government India.’ Halifax responded by urging in London that the Viceroy’s executive council be entirely ‘Indianized.’72 He hoped that the British Empire and Commonwealth might somehow remain a collective building block of post-war stability, a fourth great power along side the United States, Russia and China; but

46

Lord Halifax, 1941–46

remarks along these lines in Toronto in January 1944 caused considerable uproar in Canada.73 Halifax understood the importance of inter-personal relationships in facilitating the Grand Alliance, and was careful to protect these when he saw them flourishing. He both promoted and protected the relationship between General Marshall and his British liaison, Field Marshall Sir John Dill. In May 1942, for example, he had to write to King George VI to prevent Beaverbrook ‘getting his knife into Dill.’74 His own relationships also proved their worth as Halifax was called on to handle such delicate subjects as how to settle claims for damages arising out of the actions of GIs stationed in Britain.75 The Ambassador also led the British representation on the Combined Policy Committee, the Anglo-American-Canadian forum which oversaw discussion of atomic weapons and nuclear power.76 And, in the wake of the Second World War, he was an invaluable presence at the side of John Maynard Keynes in the protracted negotiations which resulted in the American loan to Britain in 1945. These talks produced the oft-quoted couplets on the asymmetries of Anglo-American relations: In Washington Lord Halifax Once whispered to J.M. Keynes, It’s true they have the money bags, But we have all the brains!77 The little poem was correct to the extent that Halifax certainly presided over a remarkable assembly of talent within the embassy. The brightest and best of the diplomatic service and British academia served in the United Kingdom’s mission to the United States, including five fellows of All Souls, Oxford and five future Ambassadors – one was Roger Makins a future Ambassador to Washington – and such highflyers as Noel Hall, Arthur Salter, Frederick Phillips and Robert Brand. Great things were expected from Donald Maclean but he failed to deliver in the manner expected.78 Halifax was personally committed to a revival of international organisation at the war’s end, speaking about this during a widely reported visit to Springfield, Illinois, in early 1942.79 To facilitate this end he supported negotiations with the USSR. In November 1942 when UnderSecretary of State Welles made a speech calling for three-way agreements on the principles of the peace between the United States, Britain and the USSR, Halifax passed on his personal congratulations, noting that the Prime Minister was not quite ready to think in such terms.80 By the same

Nicholas J. Cull 47

token Halifax was significantly less ready than Churchill to cast aside the wartime relationship with Josef Stalin in 1946. One of his final dispatches as Ambassador cautioned the former Prime Minister over his Iron Curtain speech in Fulton, Missouri.81

Conclusion Looking back on Halifax’s tenure as Ambassador, Isaiah Berlin explained his success as stemming from a straightforward learning process. Halifax, he recalled, was like a man who knew horses who found himself suddenly in the land of giraffes. At first he was utterly confused, but in time he learned that the techniques that won favour with horses – a lump of sugar here, a friendly pat on the flanks there – worked just as well on giraffes.82 Others saw less flattering continuities. Berlin also well recalled a post-war lunch at All Souls College, Oxford, during which Churchill had mused expansively on Halifax’s record: Edward is a man compounded of charm. He is no coward. No gentleman is. But there is something that runs through him like a yellow streak. Grovel, grovel, grovel. Grovel to the Indians. Grovel to the Germans. Grovel to the Americans. Grovel to the Italians. Grovel, grovel, grovel.83 There was something in Halifax’s alarm at the time of Churchill’s Iron Curtain speech to suggest that the Russians too could have been added to this litany. Yet, in the case of his approach to the United States – grovelling or not – Halifax hit the right note for that era. In the critical period of American neutrality, Anglo-American relations were balanced on a knife edge and needed very delicate treatment. If Britain had done any less to cement aid from America that might have come too late to make a difference, but if Britain had done any more it could have boosted the isolationist backlash and undercut aid with similarly disastrous results. Following on the earlier successes of Lord Lothian, and after some initial hiccups, Halifax’s embassy was especially successful in its approach to the American public. Throughout the war, Britain’s fate was peculiarly bound to the tides of American public opinion. The British Embassy learnt to live with, predict and arguably direct these tides through what was then termed ‘information work’ (for fear of America’s reaction to the word ‘propaganda’) and today is termed ‘public diplomacy.’ Halifax became an adept practitioner of this art not only in the way in which he adapted his own behaviour and lobbied

48 Lord Halifax, 1941–46

Americans individually and en masse but in the way in which he allowed the sensibilities of this work to become part of the structure of British diplomacy in America. When diplomats approach the world of public diplomacy their first instinct is to speak. Halifax – like Lothian – was also mindful of the need to listen. Both men supported the operation of the British Press Services in New York with its running survey of the American media. The Halifax Embassy had Isaiah Berlin drafting weekly cables on the ebb and flow of American politics.84 Thus equipped, Halifax was an essential element in Britain’s successful crossing of the pre-Pearl Harbor tightrope, as he was central to post-Pearl Harbor Atlantic relations. However little he had wanted the job, and whatever his early mistakes, he would be a tough act to follow.

Notes 1. This chapter is based on three principal manuscript sources: the diaries and correspondence of Lord Halifax, and the diaries of his aide Charles Peake and Honorary Attaché, Angus McDonnell. It draws on correspondence and interviews conducted by the author in the 1980s with key members of the wartime British Embassy, the Head of Chancery, Derek Hoyer Millar (Lord Inchyra) and political adviser Isaiah Berlin. Others consulted were Thomas W. Childs, Jock Colville, Colin Crowe, David Daiches, Gordon Etherington-Smythe, William Hayter, Denis Hennessy, Viscount Muirshiel, Lord Perth, Edward Playfair and Lord Sherfield. A further source is the reports compiled by the Ministry of Information’s British Press Service in New York on Halifax’s performance, provided by the late H.G. Nicholas. The papers, bound in a volume of Xeroxes entitled ‘The British Press Service movements of opinion in the USA September 1940 to February 1942,’ were deposited by the author with the H.G. Nicholas Papers at New College, Oxford. This research material was originally gathered into a BA thesis for the University of Leeds (1986), presented as a paper at the Institute of Contemporary British History conference of July 1989, and in that form generously cited by Andrew Roberts in his excellent ‘The Holy Fox’: A Biography of Lord Halifax (London, 1991), 321, footnote 1. Some acknowledgements from the original research need repeating here, including thanks to Lord Halifax, Hector McDonnell and Lady Peake for access to the diaries of their respective father, uncle and husband; thanks to David Dilks, who supervised the original project; to Scott Lucas and David Armitage, who gave valuable feedback on earlier versions and to the author’s father, Tony Cull, who typed up the original draft in the pre-word processing era of a quarter century ago. 2. The full story of Britain’s successful learning to approach American opinion is the subject of Nicholas J. Cull, Selling War: British Propaganda and American Neutrality in the Second World War (Oxford, 1995). 3. The standard sources on Halifax are his authorised biography by Lord Birkenhead, Halifax (London, 1965) and Roberts, Holy Fox. Halifax wrote a slim volume of memoirs, The Fulness of Days (London, 1957) and there was an early biography Alan Campbell Johnson, Viscount Halifax (London, 1941).

Nicholas J. Cull 49 4. Borthwick Institute, York, Earl of Halifax diary, 18 November 1941. 5. The classic iteration is ‘Cato,’ Guilty Men (London, 1940). 6. Winston S. Churchill, The Second World War, Vol. II, Their Finest Hour (London, 1953), 9; Cecil King, With Malice Towards None (London, 1970), 56. 7. John Colville, The Fringes of Power: 10 Downing Street Diaries, 1939–55 (London, 1985), 254–255. 8. British Library, London, Oliver Harvey Papers, entry for 10 October 1940. 9. Birkenhead, Halifax, 464. 10. Richard Casey, Personal Experience (London, 1962), 47. 11. Colville, Diaries, 431. For comment, see Roberts, Holy Fox, 272. 12. Kenneth Young, Beaverbrook and Churchill: a study in friendship and politics (London, 1966), 171. 13. Halifax diary, 20 December 1940. 14. Colville, Diaries, 320–321. 15. For comment to this effect, see John Wheeler-Bennett, Special Relationship (London, 1975), 118. The British Press Service in New York found criticism of the appointment based on Halifax’s appeasement record in PM, New Republic, New York Post, St. Louis Post Dispatch, Daily Worker and a handful of other city newspapers. They found the general tone to be positive. H.G. Nicholas Papers, British Press Service Report (BPSR), No. 25 (11 January 1941). 16. Nicholas Papers, BPSR, No. 68 (27 January 1941) and No. 82 (1 February 1941). 17. Peake diary, 25 January 1941; The National Archives (TNA), Kew, FO115/3453, Halifax speech (25 January 1941). 18. Borthwick Institute, York, Hickleton Papers, A4-410-4-14, Halifax to Sir John Simon (21 March 1941). 19. Hickleton Papers, A4-410-4-16, Halifax to Sir Alexander Cadogan (10 April 1941). 20. Hickleton Papers, A4-410-4-14, Halifax to Sir John Simon (21 March 1941). 21. Halifax diary, 7 March 1941, quoted at length in Christopher Thorne, Allies of a Kind (London, 1978), 78. 22. Peake eventually adapted to the American scene and his recall in late 1941 was regretted by staff (see, for example, Angus McDonnell diary, 30 November 1941). He went on to distinguish himself in negotiations with de Gaulle and as Ambassador to Yugoslavia and then Greece. 23. See, for example, Chicago Tribune, 1, 2 and 3 February 1941; Nicholas Papers, BPSR No. 115 (17 February 1941). 24. Hickleton papers, A4-410-4-15, Halifax to Eden (4 February 1941) and A4-4104-16, Halifax to Eden (1 March 1941). 25. TNA, FO954/29, Halifax to Eden (19 April 1941). When Halifax attempted to do more outreach to FDR, Churchill rapped his knuckles. ‘Do not discourage the President from posing his questions direct to him. My personal relations with him are of importance and it would be a pity if they were superseded by ordinary staff routine.’ FO954/29, Churchill to Halifax (28 April 1941). 26. Foreign Relations of the United States (FRUS), 1941, I: General (Washington DC, 1958), 156–159; Cordell Hull, The Memoirs of Cordell Hull (New York, 1948), 949–953. 27. Halifax diary, 17 March 1941. 28. FRUS, 1941, I, 760. 29. See, for example, New Republic, 31 March 1941; Nicholas Papers, BPSR, No. 218 (2 April 1941).

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30. See, for example, Washington Evening Star, Washington Post, New York Times and Los Angeles Times, for 30 March 1941 and Time, 7 April 1941. 31. Carl Sandburg, ‘Lord Halifax on a horse,’ The Nation, 26 April 1941, 499. For comment, see Nicholas Papers, BPSR, No. 280 (29 April 1941). 32. This story ran as George Tagge, ‘An English list hints of a new envoy to Mexico,’ Chicago Tribune, 11 May 1941, 5. 33. For sample coverage, see Time, 19 May 1941; Nicholas Papers, BPSR, No. 329 (21 May 1941) and No. 404 (23 June 1941). 34. Casey, Personal Experience, 63–64. 35. For discussion of Hull’s displacement, see Library of Congress, Manuscript Division, Breckenridge Long diary, 15 and 31 August 1941. 36. Halifax diary, 18 April 1941. 37. McDonnell diary, 31 March 1941. 38. Ibid., 7 February 1942. 39. Ibid., 1 and 26 May 1941. 40. Ibid., 1 and 2 November 1941. 41. Ibid., 30 July 1941. 42. Ibid., 17, 21, 22 and 24 July 1941; Time, 4 August 1941; Nicholas Papers, BPSR, No. 547 (26 August 1941) notes that only the Hearst press struck a sour note in reporting the Ambassador’s visit. 43. McDonnell diary, 7 October 1941, etc. 44. Arthur Vandenberg, The Private Papers of Senator Vandenberg (London, 1953), 21–23. 45. Nicholas Papers, BPSR, No. 642 (29 September 1941) and No. 714 (28 October 1941). 46. McDonnell diary, 26 October 1941. 47. Ibid., 4 November 1941; Halifax diary, 4 November 1941; Chicago Tribune, 5 November 1941; Time, 17 November 1941; Nicholas Papers, BPSR, No. 776 (19 November 1941) and No. 840 (16 December 1941). 48. McDonnell diary, 11 May 1942. 49. Forrest C. Pogue, George C. Marshall Organizer of Victory: 1943–1945 (New York, 1973), 128. 50. McDonnell diary, 1 December 1941. 51. On the Halifax–Hopkins relationship, see Halifax, Fulness of Days, 257–260 and Birkenhead, Halifax, 504. On Hopkins and security, see Hickleton Papers, A4-410-4-15, Eden to Halifax (30 October 1941). 52. McDonnell diary, 6 June 1941. 53. Ibid., 24 and 25 May, 4 June, 7 December 1941. 54. Birkenhead, Halifax, 501. 55. McDonnell diary, 5 June 1941. These rumours ranged from predictions of the Ambassadors imminent recall to claims that he was plotting for peace with Germany and/or Catholic world domination. For Foreign Office correspondence around the various rumours, see FO371/26144, passim. 56. McDonnell diary, 6 October 1941. 57. Halifax diary, 2, 10, 22 and 26 October 1941. 58. Ibid., 6 December 1941. 59. Harvey Papers, diary for 15 and 18 May 1942. 60. For comment, see William Hayter, A Double Life (London, 1974), 69; Birkenhead, Halifax, 480.

Nicholas J. Cull 51 61. 62. 63. 64. 65. 66. 67. 68. 69.

70. 71. 72. 73. 74. 75. 76. 77. 78.

79. 80. 81. 82. 83. 84.

Hickleton Papers, A4-410-4-15, Halifax to Eden (4 February 1941). Birkenhead, Halifax, 482. Halifax diary, 17 October 1941. Ibid., 24 November 1941. FRUS, 1942 I, General, the British Commonwealth and Far East (Washington DC, 1960), 60. FO954/29, Halifax to Eden, 24 February 1942; PREM 4/27/9, p. 682. Robert Sherwood, Roosevelt and Hopkins, an intimate history (New York, 1948), 516. FRUS, 1941, III, The British Commonwealth, the Near East and Africa (Washington DC, 1959), 113–124. FO371/30659, Halifax to India Office (19 February 1943), 1–2, as cited in Sarah E. Graham, ‘The “Delicate Question” and the Evangels of Liberty: The AngloAmerican Alliance and US Propaganda in India during the Second World War,’ unpublished paper, 2008. For a full account, see Hull, Memoirs, chapter 80. FRUS, 1945, VI, The British Commonwealth and the Far East (Washington DC, 1969), 257. FRUS, 1942, Vol. I, 741. Roberts, Holy Fox, 294–295. Halifax, Fulness of Days, 259; Hickleton Papers 4-410-4-8, Halifax to King George VI (9 May 1942). FRUS, 1944, III, The British Commonwealth and Europe (Washington DC, 1965), 127 et seq. For sample minutes, see FRUS, 1946, I, General (Washington DC, 1972), 1213. Roberts, Holy Fox, 297. The Ambassadors were Jock Balfour (Argentina and Spain), Neville Butler (Brazil and Holland), Ronald Campbell (Belgrade – before – and Cairo – after), Roger Makins (USA), Derek Hoyer Millar (NATO and West Germany). Nicholas Papers, BPSR, no. 63, 1942. FRUS, 1943, I, General (Washington DC, 1963), 1. For Halifax’s account of this, see Fulness of Days, 294–295; also Roberts, Holy Fox, 295. Author’s interview with Isaiah Berlin, 11 November 1985; and for a compilation of tributes at the end of Halifax’s tenure, see Hickleton Papers A4-410-4-24. Author’s interview with Isaiah Berlin, 11 November 1985. These telegrams are anthologised as H.G. Nicholas (ed.), Washington Dispatches: 1941–1945 (London, 1981).

3 Lord Inverchapel, 1946–48 Martin Folly

Lord Inverchapel’s relatively short tenancy of the Washington Embassy, from May 1946 to May 1948, is something of an enigma. At a time of highly significant developments in Anglo-American relations, as the Cold War began and the administration of President Harry Truman committed America to the ‘containment’ of communism, the British Ambassador appears a rather anonymous character, barely figuring in most historical accounts of ‘the special relationship’ in the period. Time magazine, indeed, described him as ‘the invisible ambassador’1 and those who have made a judgement on his Ambassadorship tend to see it as a failure. Even Inverchapel’s friends, Harold Nicolson and Bob Boothby, rated him a disappointment in Washington. Nicolson declined to write a biography of Inverchapel after the latter’s death partly because of the problems of handling ‘the collapse of Washington’; while Boothby bluntly dismissed the Ambassadorship as a ‘great failure’, adding that ‘a glittering career ended in anti-climax’, partly because Inverchapel ‘was no good with the press’ and knew little about economics, both of which were vital for the American post.2 Donald Gillies, his biographer, also feels that ‘Inverchapel’s spell in Washington was not all it could have been . . .’. He ‘very soon became disillusioned and bored with Washington society’, while his dislike of the telephone and preference for writing with a quill were only two of the eccentricities that led him to seem an anachronism in post-war America.3 This chapter, however, will argue that, while certainly not one of the great British Ambassadors to Washington, Inverchapel’s brief spell was a turning point in AngloAmerican relations and some of the credit for this should rest with him and his embassy staff. 52

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Inverchapel’s appointment The Washington Embassy was the pinnacle of a long diplomatic career that had had its controversial moments, but which had culminated in two postings, in China (1938–42) and the Soviet Union (1942–45), where the then Sir Archibald Clark Kerr had distinguished himself and moved to the top of the diplomatic service. Clark Kerr, however, was by no means a conventional civil servant in his personal tastes and habits, or indeed in his politics, which were of a distinctly intellectual, moderately left-wing bent.4 It was, however, the distinctiveness of his personality, often dismissed as ‘eccentric’, that probably contributed to his success in those two challenging posts in Chungking and Moscow. While proudly identifying himself as a Scot, he was actually born in New South Wales in 1882, where his maternal grandfather had several times served as Premier. Clark Kerr was posted to Berlin and Buenos Aires before going to Washington for the first time in 1911–13. He was the third secretary under James Bryce, whose liberal politics and personal eccentricities were an influence on his own attitudes. The Foreign Office (FO) refused permission for him to enlist when the First World War broke out, posting him instead to Teheran. He was finally able to join the Scots Guards in April 1918 as a Private, but did not make it to France. In 1919 he was back at the FO, in the Eastern Department, where he became interested in the Zionist Movement and was a friend of Chaim Weizmann. Next, he was posted to Tangiers in Morocco, where he developed a strong sympathy for the plight of the native peoples. Clark Kerr first found himself close to the heart of imperial policy when moved to Cairo at the start of 1922. Too close, indeed: his connection to controversies surrounding the assassination of Sir Lee Stack, the Sirdar, and the resignation of Lord Allenby, the High Commissioner, gave him a black mark at the FO. His activities in Egypt did, however, earn him the admiration of some politicians, most especially Ramsay MacDonald, the Labour leader, and Winston Churchill. Churchill had supported his efforts to get to the front during the war and now saw him as robustly defending British imperial interests – though ironically the left-leaning Clark Kerr despised Churchill’s politics and imperialistic attitudes. There followed posts in Latin America, which he regarded as a kind of punishment. He disliked American informal imperialism in Central America, though he developed good relations with American diplomats on the ground. It was here that he married a Chilean woman, Maria Teresa, known as ‘Tita’, some 29 years his junior, with whom he had a tempestuous relationship. In 1931 he took charge of the legation

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in Stockholm, but it was not a challenging post and he appears to have been bored much of the time. He was, however, judged a political success: he was knighted in 1935, and was appointed as Ambassador to Iraq. By then he was already indicating that he had his sights on the Ambassadorship to the United States, which he saw as the summit of any diplomatic career.5 What he got was China. It was actually an ideal posting for a man of his character – eager to be involved, sympathetic to people of colour, and physically courageous. The previous Ambassador had been injured in an attack on his car by the Japanese, and Clark Kerr showed public courage in the face of danger at this time. His display of support for the beleaguered Nationalist government of Chiang Kai-shek did much to offset the negative impact of appeasement and keep some standing for Britain in China. He proved skilful in cultivating good relations with the Chinese leader, combining a sense of sympathy with a robust defence of British points of view. His personal quirks, such as his love of sunbathing, were an asset in such a context, undermining stereotypes of stuffy and over-formal British diplomacy. He was now highly regarded in London, and his connections with Churchill, now Prime Minister, and Anthony Eden, the Foreign Secretary, were reflected in his appointment as Ambassador to the Soviet Union in 1942. Clark Kerr, from his first meeting with Stalin – they had a long rambling discussion about smoking and women in the Kremlin air-raid shelter – seems to have managed to connect with the Soviets. His good personal relations with them carried him through the local obstructionism and the difficult political issues. Chungking and Moscow were posts well-suited to Clark Kerr’s talents. His personal idiosyncrasies served as no impediment, with no prurient press to use them to scandalize their readers; indeed they may have been an asset in putting his interlocutors off their step. He was an unconventional representative of a very traditionalist service. His earthiness (he was much given to sexual innuendo) probably endeared him to Stalin, a man also with a crude sense of humour, while Clark Kerr’s sympathies for both the Chinese and the Soviets in their struggles were transparently genuine. In China, however, he retained a sense of detached judgement, voicing the opinion to some that he thought the ultimate victors in China would be the Communists. In the Soviet Union, he provided the FO and Churchill with a sustained and incisive interpretation of internal Soviet developments and an interpretation of the possibilities of future Anglo-Soviet cooperation that was markedly optimistic. He could, however, temper this with caution and a recommendation for firmness.

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These attitudes were not out of step with those of the government, even after the advent of Clement Attlee’s Labour administration in July 1945, and Clark Kerr was able to demonstrate his experience and insight to the new Foreign Secretary, Ernest Bevin, at Potsdam and during the first Conference of Foreign Ministers. He was Bevin’s own choice as Ambassador to Washington, and this is sometimes explained by quoting the Foreign Secretary’s remark to Clark Kerr that he was getting the post because he was a ‘member of the union’.6 This has been taken to show that he was appointed on seniority as a professional diplomat, not merit. Bevin, however, explained the appointment to Halifax in rather different terms: he ‘felt it important for the future to have someone in Washington who had a good knowledge of Russia and the East as well as Europe’.7 In April 1946, before departing for Washington, Clark Kerr was created First Baron Inverchapel, after the Argyllshire estate which his family had farmed for centuries.

Selling Britain’s case In spite of Bevin’s hopes, Inverchapel’s experiences and the methods he had brought to his previous two key postings were hardly relevant to the Washington job. There, the Ambassador’s role was a very public one. In addition to maintaining close relations with the administration, which meant dealing with an extensive bureaucracy rather than the few key players of the Soviet system, there were Congressmen (many of them retaining residual isolationist, anti-colonialist or anti-British attitudes), an intrusive news media and American public opinion that had to be influenced. Inverchapel was at a disadvantage here. He was not an accomplished or natural public speaker: indeed this was not a talent required of many diplomatists in his day and it had not been required at the posts where he had been successful. He made an unfortunate gaffe when he first landed in North America and told pressmen that cricket was ‘the dullest game ever invented’: some British journalists felt this signalled a readiness to abase himself before the Americans; most US journalists were merely bemused by it.8 But Inverchapel had in mind from the beginning that one of his major tasks in Washington was to ‘sell’ Britain outside the capital by influencing both opinion formers and community leaders.9 The Head of the British Information Service, Bill Edwards, worked with the Ambassador’s private secretary, Walter Bell, in composing the Ambassador’s many public addresses.10 The main themes – which Inverchapel could put across with sincerity as they coincided with his personal views – were the resilience of the

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British, their sacrifices in the War, their determination to recover their position through their own efforts (though welcoming and deserving help), the limited nature of the nationalization programme (most of the British economy was to be left in private hands) and the sincerity of British moves towards decolonization. Inverchapel cut a gauche figure in Washington society and showed little liking for hosting parties. Dean Acheson, the Under-Secretary of State, recalled that while he was ‘unquestionably eccentric, he liked to appear even more eccentric than he was, producing an ultimate impression odd enough to be puzzling’. But Acheson acknowledged Inverchapel as a good friend.11 And the Ambassador worked hard, albeit relying on his senior staff, to cultivate good relations with members of the administration, the Press and, most significantly, legislators on Capitol Hill. He told Bevin that ‘my first and supreme duty here must be to do my utmost to nobble the members of the Senate and the House’.12 This was not easy since, through most of his incumbency, Congress was dominated by a working partnership of Republicans and conservative Democrats. The consequent tendencies towards isolationism, hostility to government spending and suspicion of Britain, either for its socialism or for its imperialism, and often for both, all created dangers for the embassy. Given the prediction that a Republican was likely to win the presidential election in 1948, it behooved the embassy to build good connections with Congressmen and particularly to get close to those Republicans most likely to be sympathetic, such as the recent convert to internationalism, Senator Arthur Vandenberg, Chairman of the Senate Foreign Relations Committee. The embassy under Inverchapel was conscious of the need to improve attitudes to Britain in Congress. In the main this task fell to the capable hands of Inverchapel’s number two, ‘Jock’ Balfour. He oversaw the gathering of intelligence on US politics and the reporting of it to London in weekly summaries. Usefully, he was friendly with George Kennan, a figure of rising importance in the State Department (where he headed the Policy Planning Staff), and had good relations with Acheson.13 One problem for Inverchapel was that the embassy faced a complex challenge with a diminishing staff (though it still amounted to nearly 500) in the wake of the War. There was a loss of much accumulated experience as people were withdrawn either for reasons of economy or because they had had enough after their wartime service. Shortly after arriving in Washington he complained to Bevin that ‘our representation here has been ripped apart in recent months’.14 The Ambassador was particularly concerned that Roger Makins, who had a vital role in

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dealing with both economic and atomic issues with the Americans, was recalled to the FO, being one of the few professional British diplomats with a sound grasp of statistics and science.15 The embassy managed to hang on to Makins until January 1947, but after he left, his atomic work was taken over by Donald Maclean, who had not the experience or talent to match his predecessor, quite apart from the issue of the personal strains he created and his divided loyalties (being exposed some years later as a Soviet spy).16 Then again, Maclean apart, Inverchapel seems to have been left with a strong senior team, including Balfour, Edwards, John Magowan, who replaced Makins’ in his economic role, and the talented Gordon Munro, the Treasury representative. Central tenets of Inverchapel’s thinking about his task as Ambassador were revealed in a letter to Clement Attlee, while Bevin was at the Foreign Ministers Conference in Moscow in early 1947. The American Chiefs of Staff, the Ambassador felt, were afraid that Great Britain and the rest of Western Europe would be unable to resist Soviet pressure. Moreover, caution about trusting Britain with atomic secrets, which the US government did not wish to fall into Soviet hands, was indicative of a broad trend in American opinion. He noted that there had been apprehension at the time of the general election in 1945 that a ‘socialist’ British government would align itself with the Soviet Union. This had died down when it became evident that there was continuity in foreign policy from the Churchill government. More recently, though, left-wing criticism of the Attlee government had revived fears that Labour would appease rather than resist Soviet encroachment. A grave fear, Inverchapel asserted, had emerged about Britain’s ability, as opposed to will, to sustain her share of world leadership: The traditional propensity of Americans to overdramatize any situation has caused them indiscriminately to relate the policies of His Majesty’s Government’s withdrawal in India, Burma, Egypt, Palestine and Greece to our domestic difficulties and to foreshadow the bankruptcy of the United Kingdom and the imminent disintegration of the British Empire. Inverchapel then made suggestions about how to influence American opinion, setting out what were essentially the priorities that he had followed in his public addresses. Britain’s recent announcement that it could not provide further support to the governments of Greece and Turkey was seen as abandoning a ‘strategic commitment which we have hitherto strenuously upheld in the face of all domestic and foreign criticism’. If this

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was not to be seen as the prelude to further yielding to the Soviets, ‘we must seek suitable opportunities to show that we that have a clear conception of the commitments which are vital to our security and that we are confident of our ability to maintain the status of a great power’. He went on, ‘I have...been doing what I can by making a number of speeches on the theme of the contribution which an evolving Commonwealth has to offer a world in search of peace and prosperity.’17 This long letter does not suggest a passive Ambassador, ignorant of his surroundings. It shows the complexity of his task as Inverchapel saw it: to present Britain as a going concern and a dependable partner for the United States in any confrontation with the Soviet Union, putting a positive spin for an American audience on Labour’s domestic reforms, while acknowledging Britain’s economic problems for which she still needed American aid. The key was to convey the desperate situation without appearing desperate. Inverchapel was to use a highly effective phrase in December that year in one of his speeches: Britain had emerged from Bleak House and now had Great Expectations.18 Attlee’s brief reply showed that Inverchapel was in line with thinking at home, but perspectives in London were very different from those in America. The Prime Minister wrote that, ‘There is rather a feeling here that the Americans, while quite willing to shelter themselves behind us and expect us to pull chestnuts out of the fire for them, are unwilling to give us real assistance.’19 Bevin interjected from Moscow a long diatribe, expanding on Attlee’s complaint. There was ‘a growing feeling in England . . . that our people are being kept on rations and going through difficult times as a result of . . . an ungenerous attitude when it gets to business and not talk’. He asked Inverchapel to mention these matters ‘when you are talking in your own way’, and ended in typically bullish style, ‘I am not yielding to any pressure, if I may say so from anybody. But whatever happens we are going to get through.’ Bevin’s anger partly reflected the bitter feelings he had after his first interactions with the new Secretary of State, George Marshall. This was only five days after the Truman Doctrine speech, which inaugurated a more forthright American foreign policy, one based around the ‘containment’ of the Soviet challenge.20 Inverchapel had been closely involved with the steps that led to the Truman Doctrine, having delivered to the State Department news of Britain’s inability to provide support for Greece and Turkey, which led the Americans to conclude that they must take on such burdens. After Truman’s speech, Inverchapel conducted what he called a ‘discreet talking campaign’ to influence Congressional opinion in its favour.21 At this time the British Embassy seems to have

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carried weight in Washington and to have read the shifts in American opinion accurately.22 But the next major step in US policy would see serious questions raised about the embassy’s reliability.

The Marshall Plan Having appointed him as the leading professional diplomat, there are signs that Bevin had soon found Inverchapel’s style uncongenial. The Foreign Secretary reacted badly, for example, to Inverchapel’s early recommendation that he come to the United States to win over American opinion.23 He also became involved in public controversy over a servant, Yevgeni Yost, who Inverchapel had brought with him as a ‘gift’ from Stalin. Bevin had to answer questions in Parliament on the subject in October 1946 and, while Inverchapel wrote that he did not wish to cause Bevin any embarrassment by retaining the man in Washington, he was exceedingly dilatory in arranging for his departure, showing a remarkably casual attitude to both the security implications and the bad publicity.24 But the most damning criticism of Inverchapel’s embassy came in connection with Marshall’s Harvard speech of 5 June 1947, offering to provide aid for European economic recovery, if the Europeans themselves would work together in devising a plan. This speech has come to be seen as a watershed in post-war US foreign policy, perhaps even greater than the Truman Doctrine speech, and the British Embassy has been condemned for a failure to alert the FO to its significance. It has been argued that it was only because Bevin happened to catch Leonard Miall’s report on the BBC on the evening of 5 June that he was able to make the speedy response that seized the initiative and led directly to Marshall Aid. According to this account, Bevin stormed into the FO the following morning, demanding to see the telegram from the embassy about the speech. There was none, and the FO had to rely on inaccurate British press reports for its information on what Marshall had proposed. John Balfour is accused of having sent a report on the speech via the slow route of a diplomatic bag because the content was merely ‘routine’.25 In his biography of Inverchapel, Donald Gillies excuses the Ambassador on the grounds that he was on a speaking tour of America in the weeks before the Marshall Plan. Gillies notes that the FO felt itself poorly informed by the embassy at this key point and concedes, ‘It may well be that not enough stress was laid on what was transpiring in US policy . . . .’ However, the record indicates that in fact the embassy did report on the speech in advance and had already identified the trend in US policy.26

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FO evidence certainly bears out Jock Balfour’s claim, in his memoirs, that the embassy had reported to London what was developing within the administration.27 While following instructions to be economical with the sending of telegrams, the embassy fed the Office’s North American and Economic Departments with information concerning developing views in the administration regarding aid to Europe, drawing attention in particular to the key catchphrases: the repeated assertion by favourably inclined Congressmen and officials that there must be no more dealing with problems ‘piecemeal’ and the equally strong assertion that the Europeans must take a lead in the matter.28 The embassy had correctly picked up the hints in Acheson’s speech in Cleveland, Mississippi, on 8 May about US readiness to back European recovery, and Balfour had taken the opportunity of an informal luncheon with Acheson on 22 May to get a clear indication from the Under-Secretary of State that help might be forthcoming in the event of the Europeans organizing themselves in a programme of self-help.29 A detailed exposition of the direction of US policy was provided by Balfour in a despatch of 3 June, which arrived on the day of Marshall’s speech.30 On that day Inverchapel, despite having just returned early from his speaking tour, sent a telegram to the FO informing them what Marshall had said, which undermines the claim that Bevin found the FO the following day ignorant of the speech beyond what had been reported in Reuters.31 Internal Foreign Office minutes confirm that they knew about the speech on the day it was given, and had materials from Washington supplying elucidation and background.32 Miall himself recalled that his attention was initially drawn to Marshall’s Harvard speech by Philip Jordan, the Press Secretary at the embassy, which again indicates that there was a sense of the importance of the speech before it was delivered.33 The embassy used its informal contacts to gain more insights into what the Truman administration actually had in mind; after all, whatever their later status, Marshall’s words alone were not a concrete proposal and the unheralded nature of his speech suggested it might be no more than a trial balloon.34 Balfour even spent the weekend after the speech on George Kennan’s farm, and was able to confirm the embassy’s existing view that the administration wanted to be able to frame their initiative as a response to a European attempt to organize their own recovery.35 There were complaints early the following week in the FO regarding lack of information regarding responses of leading congressional Republicans to Marshall’s speech, but again it is possible to defend the embassy: the lowkey launch of the Marshall Plan meant that it took a while to make an impression and to bring reactions from Vandenberg and others.36 When

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information became available, the embassy supplied plenty of material on domestic political attitudes to the proposal, and provided advice on what kind of European decisions the Americans would respond to favourably. This influenced the approach followed by Bevin when the British began talks with other European powers in Paris.37 Inverchapel’s embassy can, therefore, be exonerated from the most serious charge levelled against it, negligence with regard to Marshall Aid. But this does not mean that there was satisfaction in Whitehall with the way matters were being handled in Washington and an intervention by Bevin later in the summer hints that he was impatient with the embassy’s performance. While this new incident could not be directly ascribed to Inverchapel, who was back in Britain for most of July and August, getting re-married to ‘Tita’ (after divorcing her only two years before), it did not redound to his credit. The incident arose after Balfour sent a letter sharply criticizing the British way of handling policy with the Americans. Since before Inverchapel’s arrival, the embassy’s prime, if not sole, concern was the image of Britain in the American mind.38 Balfour’s letter reflected deep frustration that their efforts were being undermined by Whitehall policies, most notably the tendency to make sudden announcements of withdrawals and retrenchments, especially recent announcements that British troops were to be withdrawn from Greece and Trieste.39 For the embassy this revived the notion held by many in Congress that they had been devoting so much effort to refuting – that is, that Britain was finished as a world player and was not worth backing. Taken together with left-wing attacks on Bevin’s policy, which received considerable press attention in the United States, this was seen by some Americans as evidence that Britain would opt out of any tough policy towards the USSR. Balfour particularly attacked what the American newspapers called ‘deadlinitis’ (whereby Britain would announce major policy decisions very shortly before they were to be implemented, leading Americans to conclude that they were trying to stampede the US government into a rapid response, designed to serve British, but not necessarily American, interests). Balfour implied strongly that the embassy itself accepted this description of British policy. Bevin was furious when he read Balfour’s despatch, and denied vigorously that he had used such ‘shock tactics’. The Foreign Secretary’s reaction indicated a belief that the embassy was out of touch with thinking in Whitehall. He described Balfour as ‘out of focus’ and directed that a corrective be issued to Washington, though in the end he contented himself with speaking on the matter to the Ambassador personally when they met at the FO, prior to Inverchapel’s making a premature return to the United States.40

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Inverchapel replaced It was a renewed economic crisis that prompted Inverchapel to cut short his honeymoon. An attempt to make the Pound convertible had proven financially costly and had to be abandoned after a matter of weeks. The loan that the Americans had provided to Britain after the War was now exhausted and the problem was to convince the Americans that Britain deserved an immediate aid package, separate from Marshall Aid. Given the drum that the embassy had been banging on for over a year about British resilience, this was more of a challenge than anyone in London realized. But in Whitehall there was a suspicion that any problems arose because the embassy was not doing its job properly. There was also a continuing tendency to send special envoys out from London to conduct economic talks, as when Oliver Franks, Chairman of the Committee on European Economic Co-operation, came over to discuss progress on the Marshall Plan in October–November. Such missions left the embassy with the supporting roles of political reporting, hosting parties and following up on decisions once the visitors had left, all of which was frustrating for the Washington staff. Thanks to the Franks mission, Inverchapel believed that the Americans had a ‘sympathetic and reasonably accurate view of our overall difficulties and plans’ and that any further missions at this point would be counterproductive. After all, American officials were very busy.41 But in late October the Chancellor of the Exchequer, Stafford Cripps, suggested that it needed a government minister rather than officials to explain the true state of the British economy, and the thinking of a social democratic government, in Washington.42 Bevin, jealously defending his turf, rejected Cripps’ suggestion. But at the same time Edmund Hall-Patch, Deputy Under-Secretary at the FO, argued that for months there had been concern that the full facts about Britain’s difficulties had not been appreciated by the Americans.43 Bevin seemed initially to back the Ambassador: he accepted Inverchapel’s objections to sending another special mission and decided instead to put the British case to the US Ambassador to London, Lew Douglas, who was due to return to Washington to assist in putting the case for Marshall Aid to Congress.44 But on 30 October the Foreign Secretary also wrote to Inverchapel that: Things are getting pretty tough here and I want you to know how much my colleagues and I are relying on you to put things across in Washington to the utmost of your ability. Is there any material or guidance I could give you which would help? You are already

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doing a fine job with your speeches, but what I am thinking of now is how we can help you to influence the minds of the people in the administration. I want you to be fully in the picture of all our difficulties and plans here and of our determination to win through. Then you can go in with a fighting spirit and push our various requirements with maximum effort.45 Inverchapel sensed implied criticism in this and defended his embassy’s ability to influence policy-makers. ‘We never stop hammering away’, he told Bevin; the embassy was in ‘very close, personal and friendly touch’ with members of the administration at every level. He made a few suggestions regarding areas where their efforts could be helped, most notably a plea to be kept supplied with ammunition for his predominant theme that Britain was determined to win through. He also pressed Bevin publicly to reiterate his hostility to communism and to refrain from remarks that ‘a super vigilant and sometimes preposterous press’ could exploit.46 To reply to Bevin with a reiteration of the embassy’s frustrations about Whitehall was no doubt satisfying, but probably unwise. While the details are not entirely clear, it is evident that Bevin decided during November that Inverchapel should be replaced. Press rumours to this effect had begun to circulate in October, when speculation on the point was also underway in Whitehall and Franks was seen as a desirable alternative. Indeed, it may be that the positive attributes of Franks were the key factor at work: he was more than 20 years younger than Inverchapel, energetic, expert in economic matters, respected by both Bevin and the Americans.47 But it is not difficult to see other reasons for replacing Inverchapel. He was already, at 66, beyond retirement age and had never been a success on the Washington social scene. More important in Gillies’ eyes in leading to FO concern about his performance was ‘his lack of familiarity with economic theory and his evident uneasiness with financial facts and figures . . .’ at a time when the Marshall Plan and Britain’s economic predicament were of central importance.48 Even the economic point can be taken too far, however. It is clear from correspondence over these months that Inverchapel was deeply involved in the economic matters concerning interim aid and tariff adjustment, that he proffered advice on tactics with the Americans that was welcomed and adopted, and that he did not feel the need for an additional economic expert on his staff.49 More important perhaps was the growing sense of dissonance between Whitehall and the Embassy. The repeated criticisms from London of the embassy’s supposed failure to influence American

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decision-making showed little understanding of the complexities of the Washington political situation, which were the real reasons why the Americans did not always respond in the way Whitehall would have liked. Nor did Whitehall seem to recognize the difficulty the embassy faced in having to project an image of Britain in distress when it had long been axiomatic (in the embassy and in the FO’s North American Department) that the Americans could best be induced to help Britain if the country projected an image of resilience. Hall-Patch’s minute of 29 October,50 taken alongside a renewed attack on Whitehall ‘deadlinitis’ from Edwards on 5 November, indicated that the divergence of opinion between Whitehall and the Embassy needed to be addressed.51 The fact is that, as Bevin had written on 30 October, politicians and officials were feeling the strain of a desperate situation as British credit evaporated, and their frustration with the slowness of the Americans was misdirected at the embassy. It is not surprising under these circumstances, and no doubt knowing that Inverchapel was not a social success in Washington, that the Foreign Secretary should have considered a change at the top. It had been evident for some time that Bevin felt the embassy was too ready to endorse American views rather than contest them. We can only speculate on Bevin’s personal view of Inverchapel and how it would have been affected by Inverchapel’s support for Zionism, the Yost affair and the embassy’s criticism of British policy. It has been suggested that Bevin was influenced by Gladwyn Jebb, one of his Under-Secretaries and someone who disliked Inverchapel. But there is no direct evidence of any input by Jebb on the issue at this time.52 Late in the year, after he had returned from his mission to Washington, Franks was invited to meet Attlee and offered the post, which he immediately accepted. This may have been before Inverchapel was informed that he was to be removed (though the events evidently occurred close together), so it is conceivable that he was moved specifically in order to put Franks in.53 Bevin put the issue to Inverchapel in a way that does not undermine this interpretation: he argued that once the European Recovery Program had been passed by Congress – and Inverchapel was to see that through – a new era would begin; there would be ‘another four years or so of strenuous work on the economic side’.54 Having served at Washington for two years already, he would not be in post for that length of time so it made sense to replace him now, at the clear end of an era. However we interpret the matter, Inverchapel greeted his dismissal with some relief in his response to Bevin – though there is some evidence that he was actually angry about it.55

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In fact, Inverchapel still had five busy months, during which he was at the centre of things as much as ever. The main issues in this phase became less economic and more focused on political and security questions where Inverchapel was experienced and adept. Right to the end his views of the American scene, when he expressed them, carried weight, and Bevin was full of praise for his reading of the American political situation at the time of his departure in May 1948. Before then Inverchapel, helped by the communist coup in Czechoslovakia, played an instrumental role in pressing Marshall and his new Under-Secretary of State, Robert Lovett, to join in Bevin’s plans for the organization of Western security.56 The Ambassador was a participant in the first of the March 1948 Pentagon talks between US and British officials, handing over to Jebb for the detailed sub-committee work that followed. Subsequently, Inverchapel reported accurately the divergent viewpoints within the administration that his staff picked up from their contacts with State Department officials John Hickerson, Theodore Achilles and George Kennan, and complained to Lovett about the frustration that was being felt in London at the American delay in following up the agreement in those talks to start work on a North Atlantic Pact. This was a matter still in progress at the time he left the United States.57

Conclusion How are we finally to characterize Inverchapel’s Ambassadorship and the performance of the embassy during these years? Was his mission the ‘great failure’ that his friend Robert Boothby wrote about? The verdict on Inverchapel should rather be a mixed one. On the one hand, he failed to make a big impression on the American scene. His personal eccentricities, professional unorthodoxy and dislike of the social whirl were negative assets in the Washington of the 1940s. He became quite obviously weary of the job and it was easy to see him as a ‘flop’.58 His moderately leftwing views were out of step with prevailing political currents there. Inverchapel’s diplomatic skills previously had been most in evidence in conducting small group negotiations, in taking bold initiatives and in speaking frankly behind closed doors to powerful rulers like Chiang Kai-shek and Stalin. His scope for exercising these skills in Washington was limited and they were not readily transferable to the key job of wooing journalists and Congressmen. He was a rather perplexing figure to American eyes, as he did not fall recognizably into any of the British character-types with which they were familiar. Despite his title, he did not have the air of an old-world aristocrat. He was not a natural public speaker.

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On the other hand, Inverchapel quite effectively projected an image of Britain that combined a pride in the country’s resilience with an emphasis on its shared values with the United States. He and Balfour sincerely believed in the line that they had to peddle: they were not uneasy in their defence of the British form of socialism under Labour; and the Ambassador’s well-known progressive views on Empire meant that he spoke sincerely about the independence of India. His Zionist sympathies, and particularly his friendship with Weizmann, although out of step with Bevin, may also have been an advantage in certain Washington circles. Thus, Inverchapel had tangible assets when taking his positive message about Britain to the American people, and he performed the job with energy if not enthusiasm. The FO was happy with his public speeches and speaking tours; he received plenty of positive feedback from Americans, and his work in projecting Britain, though its impact is hard to assess in any quantifiable way, surely prepared the ground for the improvement in attitudes that was evident in Congress by the time he left Washington. The embassy’s work may have been underappreciated in parts of Whitehall, and was subject to criticism from Bevin, but it was an important element in making possible US support for Britain and Europe through the Economic Recovery Plan (as the Marshall Plan became) and the North Atlantic Treaty. On what became the main issue in 1947–48, relations with the Soviet Union, the embassy recognized the fundamental fact that American attitudes would be deeply influenced by Britain’s response to the Soviet challenge. Inverchapel and his staff therefore worked to project an image of Britain as America’s ‘sure friend’, while countering the negative impression of attacks on Bevin’s policy from the left-wing of the Labour Party.59 Despite claims that Inverchapel was a failure in Washington, the fact stands that he was in charge at a crucial time in Anglo-American relations, when their close post-war alliance began to be formed. By May 1948 the two countries had come through a difficult period and were entering an era of close cooperation on the basis of American economic aid and a shared opposition to the Soviet Union. The Ambassador observed how Anglophobia was replaced by anti-communism as the great Washington bugbear, and noted how strange it was to read in the traditionally anti-colonialist newspapers that the British were moving too fast in withdrawing from Empire.60 It may well be that the Soviets were Britain’s best help in this, through their provocative policies. But it is hard to rate the Ambassador himself as a failure when the objectives of his Ambassadorship were so definitely achieved. In as much as American opinion did swing behind Britain and accept the image of

Martin Folly 67

Britain that Inverchapel and his staff were purveying, it is possible to claim that his Ambassadorship was a quiet, unspectacular success, not the anti-climatic end to his career that even he interpreted it as being. The greatest disappointment for him about Washington, it should be noted, only came in 1951 with the defection of Donald Maclean to Moscow. The ex-Ambassador could hardly be blamed for failing to spot a traitor who deceived so many other senior figures over the course of his career, but is quite possible that the shock of the revelation contributed to Inverchapel’s death not long afterwards. The Maclean case also led to absurd later claims that Inverchapel, who after all had once worked with Stalin, was himself a Soviet agent.61 Inverchapel’s achievements are difficult to measure because they are largely intangibles. He scored no great coups in negotiations, but he was not called upon to do so, as the wartime practice was continued whereby important discussions were led by special envoys from London. In previous posts, he had made weighty interpretive contributions to the policy debate inside the British government. There is less evidence of his doing so from Washington: far fewer weighty despatches were sent in his name and this may reflect his own view of his role as a public Ambassador.62 Nonetheless, the political reporting produced by his subordinates, sometimes sent out with Inverchapel’s gloss but (by contrast with his practice in Moscow) more often not, was of considerable value in shaping British policy-making, especially when it came to handling the United States. This was so even in the area about which the embassy has most been criticized, the Marshall speech of 5 June 1947. When subjected to critical analysis the idea that the Ambassadorship was a failure comes down to the assertion that he did not make a good impression in Washington society, that he did not cultivate good relations with influential figures in Congress or the administration, and he was not an expert on economic matters. The last charge may certainly have been true, but given the availability of experts in the embassy to handle this work, it may not have mattered greatly. The assertions about social connections are harder to verify. Inverchapel certainly was not to everyone’s taste, and he was undoubtedly bored by the public duties of the Ambassador. He was not accustomed to managing such a large embassy and his style of management was rather ‘hands-off’. Lobbying Republican Congressmen was a delicate task and was perhaps done too subtly. But there are no strong grounds for asserting that the embassy as a whole failed to cultivate important officials at this time; and if Marshall himself proved aloof, that was as much a result of the Secretary’s own character as of Inverchapel’s. With Acheson and Lovett,

68 Lord Inverchapel, 1946–48

with Kennan and other lesser officials, contacts were close and even intimate. Perhaps the best judgement is that of Nicholas Henderson, who served in the embassy under Inverchapel. His view was that Inverchapel was not a failure ‘or anything like it’, and he wrote that for a year or two he managed to ‘get something for nothing out of Washington’: although not a public figure, he was a ‘very important private one in Washington in those early years after the war, and succeeded in winning the affection and confidence of many of the key men in the US administration’.63

Notes 1. Time, 23 February 1948. 2. Robert Rhodes James, Bob Boothby (London, 1991), 42 (quoting letter by Nicolson); Robert Boothby, Recollections of a Rebel (London, 1978), 29. 3. But Gillies does argue that Inverchapel left bilateral relations in a good state. Donald Gillies, Radical Diplomat: the Life of Archibald Clark Kerr, Lord Inverchapel, 1882–1951 (London, 1999), 216–218. 4. Ibid., 95. The details below on Inverchapel’s career are also based on Gillies. 5. Gavin Maxwell, Raven, Seek Thy Brother (London, 1986), 102–103. 6. Alan Bullock, Ernest Bevin, Foreign Secretary, 1945–1951 (Oxford, 1985), 100. 7. The National Archives (TNA), Kew, FO800/513, Bevin to Halifax (11 January 1946). 8. Gillies, Radical Ambassador, 188–189. 9. TNA, FO371/51731/AN2173, Inverchapel to Bevin (15 July 1946). 10. TNA, FO366/1689, Butler minute (13 March 1946) and Bevin to Cripps (18 March 1946) FO366/1689. See also the interview with Edwards, Harry Truman Library, oral history collection, at www.trumanlibrary.org/oralhist/ edwardwn.htm. 11. Acheson also judged Inverchapel to be ‘an agreeable companion, but unsatisfactory as a diplomatic colleague’, partly because his pro-Zionist views were at such odds with Bevin that it was hard to know whose views he was representing. Dean Acheson, Present at the Creation (London, 1969), 178 and 217. 12. FO800/513, Inverchapel to Bevin (17 July 1946). 13. See John T. McNay, Acheson and Empire. The British Accent in American Foreign Policy (Columbia, Missouri, 2001), 41–43. 14. TNA, FO115/4274, Inverchapel to Bevin (19 June 1946). 15. FO366/1707, Inverchapel to Scott (6 June 1946). 16. Inverchapel wanted to keep Makins for discussions on atomic matters in January, but the FO needed him in London because the economic side of the Office was ‘close to breakdown’; FO366/1707, Hall-Patch minute (13 December 1946). 17. TNA, PREM8/703, Inverchapel to Attlee (10 March 1947). 18. Bodleian Library, Oxford, Inverchapel Papers, speech in Detroit (22 December 1947). 19. PREM8/703, Attlee to Inverchapel (23 March 1947).

Martin Folly 69 20. PREM8/703, Bevin to Inverchapel (17 March 1947). For Bevin’s reaction to Truman’s speech see Bullock, Ernest Bevin, 379. 21. FO371/62420/UE2050, Inverchapel to Bevin (18 March 1947). 22. FO115/4317, Inverchapel to FO (4 March 1947). 23. FO800/513, Bevin to Inverchapel (25 July 1946). 24. See FO366/1630, passim, and Frank Giles’ article in the Sunday Times, 6 January 1980. 25. John Dickie, ‘Special’ No More. Anglo-American relations: rhetoric and reality (London, 1994), 53–54. 26. Gillies, Radical Diplomat, 205–206. 27. John Balfour, Not Too Correct An Aureole: the recollections of a diplomat (Salisbury, 1983), 118–119. 28. FO371/61028/AN1853, Washington to FO North American Department (23 May 1947). 29. FO371/61027/AN1657, Inverchapel to FO (8 May 1947), Rundall minute (13 May 1947); FO371/61027/AN1976, Balfour despatch to Butler (29 May 1947). 30. FO371/62425/UE4314, Balfour to Hall-Patch (3 June 1947). 31. FO371/761028/AN1987, Inverchapel to FO (5 June 1947). 32. FO371/61028/AN1976, Gandy minute (5 June 1947); FO371/61028/AN1987, Rundall minute (5 June 1947). 33. Marshall Foundation interview with Miall 12 September 1977 at www.marshallfoundation.org/library/oral_histories_miall_interview.html. 34. FO371/61028/AN1976, Dixon to Inverchapel (7 June 1947); FO371/62400/ UE4863, Makins minute (21 June 1947). 35. FO371/62399/UE4668, Balfour to Butler (10 June 1947, received 16 June). 36. FO371/61028/AN1987, Wilson-Young minute (10 June 1947); FO371/62398/ UE4614, McNeil to Bevin (11 June 1947). 37. FO371/62398/UE4641, Inverchapel to FO (12 June 1947); FO371/62399/ UE4698, Inverchapel to FO (13 June 1947). 38. See, for example, FO366/1689, Halifax to Bevin (19 February 1946). 39. Elisabeth Barker, The British Between the Superpowers, 1945–50 (London, 1983), 82–84. 40. FO371/61003/AN2922, Balfour to Wright (8 August 1947), Sargent to Balfour (6 August 1947) and Henniker to Sargent (19 August 1947); John Baylis, Anglo-American Relations since 1939 (Manchester, 1997), 45–49. 41. FO371/62362/UE10294, Inverchapel to Bevin (27 October 1947). 42. FO800/514, Cripps to Bevin (29 October 1947). 43. FO371/62362/UE10294, Hall-Patch minute (29 October 1947). 44. FO371/62362/UE10294, Hall-Patch minute noting Bevin’s view (30 October 1947); and see FO371/62364/UE10759, Bevin to Inverchapel (4 November 1947). 45. FO800/514, Bevin to Inverchapel (30 October 1947). 46. FO800/514, Inverchapel to Bevin (4 November 1947). 47. Michael F. Hopkins, Oliver Franks and the Truman Administration (London, 2003), 50–52. 48. Gillies, Radical Ambassador, 208–209. 49. Inverchapel told the FO he had no need for another economist after consulting with none other than his eventual successor, Oliver Franks: FO271/62674/

70

50. 51.

52.

53. 54. 55.

56.

57.

58. 59.

60. 61. 62.

63.

Lord Inverchapel, 1946–48 UE10301, Inverchapel to Makins (27 October 1947). On the other points, see FO371/62671/UE9172, Inverchapel to FO (1 October 1947) and FO800/514, Inverchapel to FO (10 October 1947). Note 42 above. FO371/61004/AN4001, Edwards memorandum (5 November 1947). There is other evidence of the dissonance between the Embassy and Whitehall. Magowan had earlier complained of being kept in the dark as to expectations in London: FO371/62671/UE9193, Magowan to Hall-Patch (22 September 1947). In November the FO complained that Inverchapel and Magowan, but also Franks, were ‘badly out of date’: FO371/62683/UE10839, Clarke minute on Inverchapel to FO (7 November 1947). Gillies, Radical Ambassador, 210. Jebb had not been in favour of Inverchapel going to Washington in December 1940, ostensibly because of his foreign wife Ben Pimlott (ed.), The Second World War Diary of Hugh Dalton, 1940–1945 (London, 1986), 121 and see 569–570 on Cynthia Jebb’s criticisms in 1943. Hopkins, Oliver Franks, 50 and 52. Inverchapel Papers, personal telegram from Bevin to Inverchapel (undated). FO800/514, Inverchapel to Bevin (22 December 1947); and see Kenneth Young (ed.), The Diaries of Sir Robert Bruce Lockhart 1939–1965 (London, 1980), 649–650. FO371/68068A/AN1547, Inverchapel to FO (10 April 1948); FO371/68068A/ AN1664, Inverchapel to Bevin (16 April 1948); and Inverchapel Papers, Bevin to Inverchapel (27 May 1948). FO371/68068A/AN1674, Inverchapel to FO (20 April 1948); Don Cook, Forging the Alliance. NATO 1945 to 1950 (London, 1989), 168–169; Nicholas Henderson, The Birth of NATO (London, 1982), 7–8, 10 and 24–25. Young, Diaries of Bruce Lockhart, 650. See Caroline Anstey, ‘The Projection of British Socialism: Foreign Office publicity and American opinion, 1945–50’, Journal of Contemporary History, Vol. 19, No. 3 (April 1984), 436. Terry Anderson, The United States, Britain and the Cold War, 1944–47 (Columbia, Missouri, 1981), 143 and 183. These claims are dealt with in Gillies, Radical Ambassador, 217–218. Inverchapel himself made little of his personal friendships in his reporting. Even so, his relationship with some key players was strong, and not all were put off by his aversion to diplomatic pomp; Lovett wrote to him in September that, since he had left, ‘the fun has gone out’ of the diplomatic business: Inverchapel Papers, Lovett to Inverchapel (21 September 1948). Nicholas Henderson, The Private Office (London, 1986), 49; Gillies, Radical Ambassador, 215.

4 Oliver Franks, 1948–52 Michael F. Hopkins

Oliver Franks is perhaps the most celebrated British Ambassador to Washington. While others receive limited scrutiny, he has already been the subject of two books.1 His four years in Washington coincided with a seminal period in post-war history. They witnessed the implementation of the Marshall Plan, the creation of the North Atlantic Treaty and the Korean War. Britain still wielded significant power in world affairs and was treated as the principal ally of the United States, giving British policymakers the opportunity to influence both American policy and international developments. The Washington Embassy, and the Ambassador in particular, had the potential to play an important role but the performance of Inverchapel demonstrated that Anglo-American agreement on the key issues was not enough. Genuinely productive collaboration required closer understanding between individuals. Franks brought to his post the very ingredients that seemed lacking in Inverchapel – an enthusiasm for his duties and the tasks ahead and a respect for Truman and his senior officials.

Appointment Born in Birmingham on 16 February 1904, the eldest child of a Congregationalist minister, Franks was unusual among senior Ambassadors for having spent most of his career as an academic. After attending Bristol Grammar School, he won a classical scholarship to The Queen’s College, Oxford, obtained a ‘congratulatory’ first class degree in 1927 and was appointed a Fellow of the college. He held this post until 1937, when he was appointed as Professor of Moral Philosophy at Glasgow University. But in 1939 he was given leave of absence to become a civil servant at the Ministry of Supply and his 71

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abilities were such that, by the end of the war, he had become Permanent Secretary. In April 1946 he assumed the post of Provost of Queen’s College, Oxford, but in July 1947 he returned to government service as chairman of first the British, and then the European, committee that responded to George Marshall’s proposed aid programme to Europe. Before these responsibilities were over, he was asked to become Ambassador to Washington. There are no records pointing to the thinking behind Franks’s appointment, though certain deductions can be made. The decision to replace Inverchapel only 18 months after he had assumed his post suggests that London recognised the need to find someone more likely to make a mark in Washington. Although capable, unstuffy and charming, Inverchapel was considered flippant in his handling of serious issues and he seemed ill at ease with the Washington scene. Moreover, he possessed a limited grasp of economics when such matters were of vital importance.2 The Prime Minister, Clement Attlee, and Foreign Secretary, Ernest Bevin, had worked with Franks during the war and regarded him highly. Furthermore, he had made a most favourable impression on the Americans in co-ordinating the European response to the incipient European Recovery Program (ERP), the official name of the Marshall Plan. When the question of a security pact with Washington arose in early 1948, Bevin turned to Franks, saying ‘he regarded this as probably the most important task of your Ambassadorship’, wanting him ‘to push this through with the same resolution and speed as you showed over E.R.P.’.3 The new Ambassador enjoyed a rare combination of assets. A tall man with an impressive bearing and calm demeanour, he brought an unassuming confidence and keen sense of duty to his work. He applied a first-class analytical brain to the tasks of diplomacy. Yet, unlike many academics, he possessed a sharp sense of the practical: he had a gift for accomplishing the assignments he was given. Unlike many clever people, he knew how to hold back his own views and listen to others, preferring to seek clarifications, to voice doubts and advance gentle suggestions. He never lost sight of the end result. He used his acute intellect to dissect the issues and ‘[s]everal moves ahead of his colleagues he would decide what ought to be done, and quietly use all his power of argument and moral authority to persuade; he very rarely failed’.4 Wartime service had expanded his experience beyond university, bringing an understanding of the ways of bureaucracies and to dealings with business and military leaders. Even before the war, he had extended his geographical horizons. After graduation he enjoyed a year visiting France, Germany, Italy and Switzerland. In 1935 he spent six months in the United States, teaching at the University of Chicago and touring several states.5 He acquired a

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knowledge of regional differences in America and drew interesting lessons about the characters and habits of mind of those he met. At Oxford he had met people from the East Coast but during his European tour he encountered mid-Westerners, noting their optimism and youthfulness. In 1935 he observed that students ‘talk more than at Oxford but with less point, and are terribly prone to think that everything is settled by the use of labels’, adding ‘they do not think enough’. In another letter he remarked that his ‘greatest difficulty here is to make people think as opposed to merely absorbing someone’s views. They often look quite hurt if you suggest or hint that they have not thought out and accepted or rejected the various consequences of a view they have embraced.’6

The embassy and Acheson The embassy that Franks inherited still showed signs of the rapid increase in the British presence in the United States brought by the Second World War. With a staff of about a thousand representing many parts of Whitehall beyond the Foreign Office, it was not possible to apply close control of the daily activities of the mission. Indeed, Franks was content to allow the machine to proceed in its regular business, only interjecting occasional general guidance. He took a closer interest in the key issues as and when they required his attention. So in 1948 he was initially concerned with the bilateral agreement on Marshall Aid to Britain and then on the negotiations for a North Atlantic Pact. In late 1949 and early 1950 the issue of recognition of Communist China became a central preoccupation, while in 1950 the Korean War dominated his attention. His work was greatly assisted by a number of very able individuals holding the two most important posts in the embassy, the Political Minister and the senior Counsellor. After his arrival he benefited briefly from the assistance of the hugely impressive John Balfour, who was Minister from April 1945 to July 1948.7 By the time of his departure the US diplomat Charles Bohlen could speak of ‘the extraordinary place in the confidence of the State Department and of Congress that Jock Balfour has enjoyed’.8 His successor, Frederick Hoyer Millar, was another able individual with considerable wartime experience of the United States. He served as Minister until October 1950, when he was succeeded by Christopher Steel. Steel’s arrival was particularly opportune because he had served as Foreign Office representative in Germany and brought firsthand knowledge to the Anglo-American talks on German rearmament that coincided with his arrival. Two men served as senior Counsellor during Franks’s embassy: Denis Allen, in the post until December 1949, was said by Anthony Eden to have ‘a perfect command of his facts on all occasions and [to be]

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immensely resourceful’9; while Bernard Burrows, who succeeded him, displayed the manner of a ‘gentle proconsul’ and brought a lively spirit to the Washington scene.10 Anglo-American relations were in harmony on many issues, in particular in their response to Soviet policy, but there were difficulties as the British withdrew from Palestine and Washington recognised the new state of Israel. Even on the Marshall Plan, where there was general agreement, there were difficult negotiations to produce a bilateral agreement. If progress was to be made, it was important that Franks established good relations with key American figures, especially the Secretary of State. In the first six months of his embassy, he established an effective working relationship with George Marshall: Roy Jenkins suggests that both men possessed ‘calm authoritative incisiveness’.11 Then, in January 1949 Dean Acheson replaced Marshall and soon established an excellent, indeed extraordinary, relationship with the British Ambassador. It was on this foundation that much was achieved during Franks’s embassy. At Acheson’s suggestion, they began to have regular confidential talks about a range of issues. As Acheson later observed, We met alone, usually at his residence or mine, at the end of the day before or after dinner. No one was informed even of the fact of the meeting. We discussed situations already emerging or likely to do so, the attitudes that various people in both countries would be likely to take, what courses of action were possible and their merits, the chief problems that could arise. If either thought that his department should be alerted to the other’s apprehension and thoughts, we would work out an acceptable text setting out the problem and suggested approaches.12 Acheson held more talks with Franks than with all the other Ambassadors combined.13 Their discussions ranged across the globe from Marshall Aid and Berlin to the North Atlantic Treaty, from the Communist victory in China and the Korean War to Middle East oil and security. It was on European questions, however, that their relationship proved most productive.

Europe: responding to the Soviet Union On 8 June 1948, within a few days of his arrival, Franks set the tone for his Ambassadorship in a speech to the National Press Club, where he adopted an unassuming attitude and a readiness to listen. On the question of the

Michael F. Hopkins 75

new state of Israel, which had produced much heated criticism of the British, he urged that they work together in a spirit of co-operation: I do not ask that there should not be criticism. There should be criticism where the proposals that one country or the other has in mind do not seem sensible to the other or the one, but surely no-one is helped – neither country is helped – if bad faith is imputed. More important was his response to a question about whether Britain supported the United States in its ‘cold war scrap’. He declared, ‘we were with you on this issue . . . . I do not wish to be understood . . . that the whole of the rest of our attitude . . . would be exactly the same as yours part for part but on the big issue the answer all the way down the line is “Yes” ’.14 Three issues dominated the early months of Franks’s term. Each concerned an aspect of the growing tensions with the Soviet Union. First was the tough but eventually successful negotiation for a bilateral agreement on the provision of Marshall Plan for Britain. Secondly, there was the Soviet blockade of West Berlin, lasting from June 1948 until May 1949, where the embassy did not play a major role. (Bevin suggested and Marshall accepted the idea that London should be the centre for discussions between the Allied Ambassadors, thereby avoiding ‘the circuitous method of communicating directly with the British Embassy in Washington which in turn communicates with US’.15) The third issue, the negotiation of a North Atlantic security agreement, formed Franks’s main task until Spring 1949. The communist seizure of power in Czechoslovakia and the Berlin blockade contributed to a growing desire by West Europeans for security that went beyond economic aid. Since January 1948 the British had been pressing for some arrangement with the Americans. On 17 March 1948, Britain, France, Belgium, the Netherlands and Luxembourg signed the Brussels Treaty of SelfDefence, demonstrating the West Europeans’ commitment to collective security. Initial secret talks were held about transatlantic security in March between the Americans, British and Canadians. When Franks arrived in Washington he sought to persuade the Americans to begin serious conversations about a North Atlantic security pact. Although under pressure from London to secure a swift beginning to negotiations, he wisely waited until he could see Marshall. At their meeting on 14 June the Secretary of State gave his approval. Four days of talks began on 6 July. The Washington Exploratory Talks, or Ambassadors’ Committee, brought Franks together with Henri Bonnet

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for France, Eelco Van Kleffens for Holland, Baron von Silvercruys for Belgium and Luxembourg, and Hume Wrong for Canada. Robert Lovett, Marshall’s Under-Secretary of State, was the senior US representative, and he acted as Chairman, but he allowed the British and Canadians to take the lead. The Ambassadors accepted Franks’s suggestion that the Foreign Office oversee the distribution of confidential documents, which were drafted by him.16 He also proposed that the ‘whole agenda should be considered from the point of view of the community of interest on both sides of the North Atlantic’.17 He thereby established a collaborative tone that characterised the conversations for most of the time up to the signature of the Pact, though the French did strain the arrangements at times. In the Ambassadors’ Committee he gently pressed the Americans. In addition, he persuaded his fellow Ambassadors to devolve the detailed work to a working party of second-rank representatives operating in a spirit of co-operation and feeling less restricted by national concerns. Theodore Achilles, an American representative on the Group, summarised their approach: The NATO spirit was born in that Working Group. Derick Hoyer Millar started it. One day he made a proposal which was obviously nonsense. Several of us told him so in no uncertain terms and a much better formulation emerged from the discussion. Derick said: ‘Those were my instructions. All right. I’ll tell the Foreign Office I made my pitch and was shot down and try to get them changed.’ He did. From then on we all followed the same system.18 By 10 September the Ambassadors had agreed a draft paper, which was sent to the governments of the seven negotiating powers.19 This was achieved largely as a result of Franks’s urging. Further progress had to await the outcome of the Presidential election of 2 November, but after his victory Truman sanctioned further talks on a pact. On 26 November the Brussels Treaty’s Permanent Commission agreed the text of a draft treaty.20 When the Ambassadors met again in December, Franks once more pressed his colleagues forward. By 24 December they had agreed a draft treaty.21 More than anyone else, Franks deserved credit for the progress. He shaped the environment for discussion. With his authoritative presence and deft chairmanship he set the tone and guided business. An American official, Paul Nitze described Franks’s contribution: he would summarise the discussion in a way which was so much clearer than anyone else had said that we were all entranced with the

Michael F. Hopkins 77

lucidity of the analysis . . . so that we rather looked at Oliver as being the preceptor, the professor of the class. So that everybody valued Oliver. He was much more than . . . he wasn’t [sic] representing his country; he was, in effect, doing that but he did it in a way in which he became a US leader.22 Franks, however, warned the British government that neither Congress nor the American military had yet been effectively consulted. Britain should be circumspect in comment until the reactions of the Senators and Congressmen were known.23 The appointment of Acheson as Secretary of State in January necessitated some further delays but, once in post, he quickly recognised that Congressional consultation was now essential. When Acheson met Senators Tom Connally and Arthur Vandenberg on 3 and 5 February and showed them the draft treaty, they objected to the obligation clause, article 5, regarding it as virtually an automatic American commitment to go to war. Connally wanted the removal of ‘forthwith’, ‘military’ action and ‘as may be necessary’.24 Bevin telegraphed from London, expressing concern at changes that would detract from the value of the pact, but said he had no objection to the omission of ‘forthwith’ which Franks was authorised to propose if he wished.25 But the Ambassador was too shrewd a diplomat to volunteer a concession, unless it was needed to break the deadlock.26 He now played a crucial role. He told Acheson and Bohlen on 16 February that they needed to include the phrase ‘military or other measures’, because to omit it would have an unfortunate effect on public opinion in Europe where it was now known that it had originally been intended to include these words. When Acheson saw the President on 17 February he produced a draft that spoke of ‘action including the use of armed force’ to replace ‘military and other action’. The President said he would recommend it to Senator Connally.27 Neither the British nor the American records reveal who devised the phrase ‘including use of armed force’. It could well have been Franks at his meeting with Acheson, for throughout his time working on the Marshall Plan and as Ambassador he was called upon to find the right form of words to convey an agreed outlook. What is certain is that this formulation expressed the burden of his representation to Acheson and Bohlen on the 16th. Moreover, it provided the breakthrough. On 18 February Acheson secured the acceptance of the full Senate Foreign Relations Committee. The Ambassadors’ Committee on 25 February approved the new version of article 5.28 The formal signature of the North Atlantic Treaty took place in Washington on 4 April.

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East Asia: China and Korea If 1949 witnessed Franks playing a pivotal role in the successful completion of the North Atlantic talks, it also saw major developments in Asia that put Truman and Acheson in particular under pressure from Congress and the American public. The Communist victory in China in October was used as a powerful weapon by the Republicans to attack the administration. The British concluded that they should face facts and extend de facto recognition to the new Communist government. Acheson seemed inclined, at first, to consider this as a possible way forward. Events were to overwhelm this hope. When Britain decided on 15 December to recognise the new government, Acheson’s response was to show understanding. By January, however, the Americans were visibly uneasy. Franks blamed the failure of the Truman administration to secure a bipartisan understanding on Asia. Instead it faced pressure from the China lobby, which blamed Truman and Acheson for ‘losing’ China to the Communists.29 Dean Rusk, the Deputy Under-Secretary of State, claimed in his memoirs that he and the Ambassador ‘speculated privately that our policies would come together, depending upon the behaviour of Peking. If China entered the world community and acted reasonably in foreign affairs, American policy would move toward Britain’s. But if China acted aggressively, Britain might move toward the United States and break with China.’30 Optimism, however, proved short-lived. On 13 January the Chinese Communist government seized all foreign barracks, which had been granted by a 1901 protocol to each of the nations who had suppressed the Boxer rebellion. Despite American protests that their barracks only contained consular offices, the Communists insisted on ending this symbol of China’s degradation. Acheson regarded this as a humiliation. On the 14th he ordered the withdrawal of all US official representatives from China.31 Clearly, no US recognition was likely in the foreseeable future. Having removed their diplomats, the Americans could only return them if Beijing made a significant gesture. The aggrieved quality of US opinion and the forthcoming elections in November added to the obstacles. Franks’s outlook was shared by Hume Wrong, the Canadian Ambassador in Washington: Recognition of Communist China is a dead issue at the moment in the United States. A month ago one might have been justified in predicting that public opinion could have been conditioned to accept recognition within a period of three to six months.32

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In retrospect, Franks, Acheson and Wrong might have been over-optimistic about the prospects of shifting US opinion before the barracks incident. After years of support for the Nationalists of Chiang Kai-shek, it was improbable that the American public would readily extend recognition to their conquerors, especially when they were so vociferously communist and anti-American. Indeed, opinion polls at this time gave two to one margin against recognition, an outlook no doubt cultivated by Time and Life who regularly criticised the administration for having ‘lost’ China. Anglo-American differences on China were soon overtaken by a much more serious problem. The North Korean attack on South Korea on 25 June 1950 produced a major crisis for both Britain and the United States. Yet, it also witnessed the two countries as allies in war once more. Neither London nor Washington had regarded Korea as a strategically vital area. However, both powers recognised the danger of failing to respond to such aggression by a state that received advice and military equipment from the Soviet Union. From the very beginning of the crisis Franks and Acheson agreed on the need for a forthright response to what they both saw as probably a Soviet probe. But they did not entirely agree on a number of matters. The Americans drafted a UN resolution saying that the attack ‘makes amply clear centrally directed Communist Imperialism has passed beyond subversion in seeking to conquer independent nations’. The British Cabinet agreed to support the American resolution but they wanted to omit the reference to ‘centrally directed Communist Imperialism’. Franks succeeded in persuading the Americans to remove the phrase: the resolution now asked only for the assistance of UN members in repelling the armed attack.33 There then arose the larger question of the nature of military aid to South Korea. As the military situation deteriorated, the American commitment grew. On 30 June, Truman committed US troops.34 Washington then looked to Britain. The Royal Navy’s forces in Japanese waters were made available but the defence committee was reluctant to sanction the despatch of ground forces, since such action might weaken the Hong Kong garrison, a view the Cabinet endorsed.35 The Americans, however, continued to urge Britain to contribute troops. It was probably on this issue that Franks made his major contribution in the handling of the Korean War. In a series of communications he noted the importance of troops in American eyes. On 15 July he sent a handwritten letter to Attlee, while Bevin was convalescing. He estimated that the Americans would, to some extent, ‘test the quality of the partnership by our attitude to the notion of a token ground force’. Moreover, he thought that,

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if it was decided to send troops, it should be done quickly. Too often in the past the British had taken their time before acting and seemed to respond only under pressure. Consequently they received neither credit nor approval for their response. Finally, he maintained that the Americans saw their action as being on behalf of the United Nations. They ‘inevitably look to see what their partner can offer’.36 In advocating this commitment, Franks observed afterwards, he was conscious of ‘a weight of responsibility because I knew that I was dealing with other men’s lives’.37 Further messages eventually succeeded in persuading the Defence Committee and the Cabinet to approve the sending of British ground forces. The Prime Minister told Ministers that Franks had argued very strongly for the benefits of the despatch to Anglo-American solidarity.38 In September and October 1950 the tide of battle turned in favour of the American-led UN forces as they crossed the 38th parallel that divided North and South Korea. The steady advance towards the Yalu River frontier with China raised concerns among British commanders but neither Acheson nor Truman seemed daunted, preferring to trust in the confident statements of the UN Commander, General Douglas MacArthur. The massive incursion of Chinese forces in late November completely halted the UN advance and turned it into a headlong retreat. Washington was in tumult. At a press conference on 30 November Truman declared that nuclear weapons remained an option.39 This produced uproar in Parliament and led to a visit to Washington by Attlee in December, as the British public anxiously contemplated the possible escalation of the Korean War into a world war involving China and its ally the Soviet Union. Franks’s skills as Ambassador proved of considerable importance in promoting an atmosphere of calm and co-operation. Truman and Acheson spoke reassuringly about nuclear weapons. Attlee told the Cabinet on 12 December that ‘Truman had entirely satisfied him about the use of [it] . . . The President . . . had never had any intention of using the atomic bomb in Korea.’ The Prime Minister added that Truman regarded it as ‘in a sense a joint possession of the United States, United Kingdom and Canada’, and would not authorise its use ‘without prior consultation’ with these two governments except in ‘an extreme emergency’.40 The Americans also said they did not want to let Korea divert attention from Europe. But Attlee had to make concessions. He agreed to an increase in British defence spending to £4700 million. In addition, the British would give way in January 1951 to the American wish to secure a condemnatory resolution against China at the United Nations – though not before coming close to a major rift on the issue.

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The atmosphere of crisis began to lift in early 1951 as the military situation was stabilised under the leadership of General Matthew B. Ridgway, who became commander of the eighth Army in December 1950 and Supreme Commander in April 1951 (following the dismissal of MacArthur for publicly challenging Truman’s policies). It now became possible to explore a ceasefire. Talks began in July 1951 and continued in tortuous fashion for the next two years, constantly thwarted by deadlock over whether prisoners of war should be forcibly repatriated to the North. The British made efforts to find a way round this deadlock by using India and its contacts with China. At the close of the Truman administration and only a few days before Franks’s departure, the issue produced a heated outburst by Acheson against the British. The Ambassador wisely commented, ‘Dean Acheson’s state of mind was largely occasioned by the intolerable situation of being and having to act as Secretary of State when he has no real power and position.’41

The Middle East: Iran If Spring 1951 marked a respite in Korea as a prelude to armistice negotiations, it also saw the beginning of new phase in Franks’s embassy. Bevin resigned as Foreign Secretary through ill health. Franks never enjoyed the same close relationship with his successor, Herbert Morrison. In any event, these were the last months of an increasingly tired government. In October 1951 the Conservatives won the general election. Winston Churchill became Prime Minister and Anthony Eden served as Foreign Secretary. Relations were good with both men but they lacked the closeness of the Attlee–Bevin era. Churchill was less willing to take counsel on ties with Washington, for which he felt he possessed special expertise. Eden seemed less committed to special co-operation. Moreover, for all his considerable foreign policy knowledge, his tendency to irritability did not make working with him an easy experience. The final year of Franks’s embassy unfolded in a less favourable climate of relations with the government in London. In June Anglo-American relations suffered a blow when two British officials, Guy Burgess and Donald Maclean, who had previously served in the Washington Embassy, defected to the Soviet Union. It generated a suspicion of Britain among the American public and some US government officials. More serious was the emergence of a major problem in the Middle East, a region where the Americans had allowed the British to enjoy a dominant role. The Anglo-Iranian Oil Company (AIOC) provided valuable energy to the British economy and important dollar earnings. Between 1949 and

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early 1951, amid rising nationalist pressure, there were failed attempts at a revised agreement between AIOC and the Iranian government. On 7 March the Iranian Prime Minister was assassinated. His successor, Dr Mohammed Mossadeq, was the pre-eminent nationalist and opponent of British influence. On 2 May he nationalised AIOC. This developed from being a British crisis into a problem for Anglo-American relations because the two countries proposed different solutions to the matter. The British response largely reflected the view of the Ambassador in Tehran, Francis Shepherd: ‘I think we should fight for [the] retention by the Anglo-Iranian Oil Company, as far as possible, of the control of the industry they have built up . . . . The disappearance of the AIOC and its replacement by [an] international consortium would be a considerable blow to our prestige in this country.’42 The Americans felt that Britain would have to accept equal profit-sharing. Acheson recognised that, since Saudi Arabia had secured a fifty-fifty split of profits with the American oil company, Aramco, nothing less would be accepted by other Middle Eastern countries. Franks therefore had the difficult task of ensuring American sympathy for the British position when Acheson and his leading officials were critical of the British approach. He was emollient in his dealings with American officials, aiming to narrow the differences while faithfully representing the opinions of each country to the other. But from the very beginning the Ambassador had reservations about his instructions from London: ‘I must record that I see little chance, within my present instructions, of finding a solution, however it may be presented, which will induce the Americans to lend us their active support in any negotiations with the Persians.’43 There would be no American commitment to co-operation until the British provided some definite proposals for a settlement which were reasonable in the light of the present situation in Iran.44 He telephoned London and asked for ‘as much imaginative latitude as possible in the instructions he was expecting to receive’. He felt ‘we should make a bow in the direction of nationalisation’.45 He was critical of AIOC who ‘have not got far enough past the stage of Victorian paternalism’.46 When he met Acheson he sought to balance his personal preferences with the need to press the British case and spoke of the irritation felt in Britain over American statements. Nevertheless, the Ambassador accepted that the ‘Kipling type of technique’ was not appropriate to the current Middle East, and that he would indicate to his government the serious view taken of developments in Iran by the United States.47

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The Americans also favoured economic and technical assistance to the Iranians. In response, London asked Franks to say that the offer of aid might stiffen Iranian resistance to a reasonable settlement of the oil question.48 The Ambassador, however, did not pass on this message. Instead, once again, he sought to soften the British position. The embassy were apprehensive that ‘if we conveyed to the State Department the gist of your telegram . . . they would feel we were trying to persuade them not to help Persia in order to put more pressure on the Persians to make a satisfactory settlement of the oil dispute with us’. Franks felt that this might have lost the British the ground which they seemed to have gained with the State Department over the affairs of AIOC. The Foreign Office appeared pleased by the Ambassador’s decision, minuting that the ‘Ambassador has happily avoided loss of ground with the State Department.’49 Meanwhile the British Cabinet considered possible military intervention.50 Acheson and the Assistant Secretary of State, George McGhee, told Franks of their ‘grave misgivings with respect to the use of force’, unless there was danger to British citizens requiring their evacuation or Soviet intervention or communist seizure of power. As regards the principle of nationalisation, the Ambassador once more conducted his delicate balancing act. He told the United States that, although his government had not accepted this, the climate of thinking in London was along such lines. When Franks reported to London, he did not include this comment. Instead, he urged ‘most serious consideration’ be given to the possibility of negotiating with the Iranians on the basis of nationalisation. He felt that ‘at last we have the real opportunity to get American and British attitudes to these problems harmonised in strong co-operation after they had been divergent in some measure for too long’. For their part, the Americans said they were willing to advise the Iranians that American companies would not be willing to operate AIOC properties. The State Department was sensitive to the suggestion that part of the reason for lack of American support for the British on this issue lay in the competition between British and American oil companies.51 Franks’s efforts resulted in the Foreign Office declaring that they were ‘ready to negotiate a settlement involving some form of nationalisation’.52 If differences over nationalisation were belatedly settled, the question of the use of force remained. American worries about military action were renewed when British paratroops were put on alert. Acheson made clear to Franks that the United States would not sanction armed conflict between British troops and the present Iranian administration. 53 When the AIOC manager at Abadan, A.E.C. Drake, and his British workers

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were given a week to choose whether to work for the new National Iranian Oil Company or leave, the Cabinet considered military and naval action at Abadan, while AIOC threatened to close down its refinery because of a new Iranian anti-sabotage law. HMS Mauritius was moved to the waters near Abadan.54 In August Richard Stokes, the Lord Privy Seal, visited Iran in search of a settlement but made no progress and in September matters came to a head. On the 25th the Iranian government declared that British employees at Abadan would be given a week’s warning to leave the country. Two days later the Cabinet met with the option of a military seizure of the refinery under consideration. Morrison maintained that the government should not allow the expulsion of the British workers. But Attlee pointed out the United States’ consistent opposition to the use of force. The Cabinet agreed that they could not afford to break with the Americans over Iran. On 4 October the British staff left Abadan.55 The position reached at that time was to remain the same in its essentials for the remainder of Franks’s time as Ambassador. While Britain favoured a policy of mounting pressure on Mossadeq, believing that the nationalist support for him was superficial, the Americans felt that the nationalist feeling was real and substantial, Mossadeq could not be easily deposed, and so some new initiative was needed.56 The Americans wanted to safeguard British interests but they distinguished sharply between the interests of Britain and those of AIOC.57 Franks summarised the outlook: ‘the Americans are convinced that we ought to show ourselves ready to negotiate with [Mossadeq] as long as he is there, realising that on all grounds a settlement must be reached fairly soon and that this settlement must include the complete disappearance of AIOC in any shape or form from Persia itself’.58

Public diplomacy Franks’s time at the embassy involved more than just tackling the major issues of the day. He was concerned with the general relationship. Moreover, on the eve of his departure he was urged to act as an envoy to the American people and not just to the US government. The aim was to keep in touch with opinion and feelings in politics generally and among the American public. Journalists were of particular importance. In his speech in June 1948 he made a favourable impression on them and continued to work well with them throughout his embassy. Franks understood the natural tension between the reporter’s desire for a good story and the diplomat’s aim to present official policy in a favourable

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light. Journalists would always publish, if they obtained a scoop. So, there was trust of them up to a point. He held regular talks with James Reston and Arthur Krock, both of the New York Times. Franks often dined with journalists, State Department officials and some politicians, and participated in free-flowing discussion with them. Franks accepted this as part of the Ambassador’s job in the United States. Inverchapel did not take to these conversations. As they only happened in America, traditional diplomats did not care for them. Franks asked Aubrey Morgan, wartime head of BIS, to advise him on this.59 Franks not only spoke to journalists. He wrote articles for journals and magazines, spoke on the radio and made appearances on television. At times of deepest concern articles were written under Franks’s name – such as in Look in May 1951 and in Saturday Review of Literature in October 1951. Sometimes the British inspired articles. Paul Bareau, the respected financial journalist, was persuaded by the Foreign Office, on prompting from Paul Gore-Booth of BIS, to write a column in the New York World Telegraph defending British trade with China and the Soviet Union.60 During the hearings in May 1951 on his dismissal as UN Commander in Korea, General MacArthur criticised British trade with the Soviet Union and China.61 Britain, in response, halted sales of rubber to China through Hong Kong. In addition, Franks sought to reassure the American public in a radio talk. He emphasised British efforts to resist communism in the Far East and to minimise the differences that were alleged to exist between the British and the Americans.62 He also appeared on television. On 1 February 1952 he was interviewed on CBS television, when he spoke about various general issues.63 On 3 June 1951 he joined ‘Battle Report: Washington’, broadcast by NBC television. This was a weekly series that sought to advance the public diplomacy of the Truman administration. It ran for 86 episodes from August 1950 to April 1952 under the guidance of the President’s White House aides, John R. Steelman and Charles W. Jackson.64 Franks sought to meet people outside Washington too, hoping to promote Anglo-American harmony and reduce doubts. By the end of his term he had achieved his goal of visiting all 48 states. This could involve a demanding schedule. He told his parents in 1949: ‘It was very pleasant, except that yesterday we were not alone from 9.30 to 8.30 for a moment but always talking to, or being talked to, by people.’ 65 In one week in May 1950 he visited five cities, delivered nine speeches, toured various municipal buildings and gave two press conferences.66 The purpose of all this was to ensure a healthy and vibrant and close association between the two powers. In a speech in 1950, Franks encapsulated

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his approach: the relationship could not be taken for granted; it had to be continually made afresh; they had to argue their sides.67 This was a recurrent theme throughout his embassy: recognition of differences was allied to optimism about the prospects of solving them, if approached with sincerity.

Conclusion Oliver Franks served as Ambassador to Washington in a period of major events and when Britain remained a significant global power. His embassy saw a felicitous combination of individual and institution and witnessed excellent relations between the Ambassador and both home and host governments. He was at his most effective in 1948–51. The departure of Bevin and his replacement by Morrison in 1951 marked the close of this phase, though the general relationship remained sound and there were diplomatic successes such as the signature of the Japanese Peace Treaty in September 1951. Within months of the election of the Conservatives in October 1951 it was clear that his time was coming to an end. He agreed to stay on for a further six months when his four-year term ended in May 1952. A letter to his parents observed that the ‘extra six months will soon float past’.68 The extraordinary relationship he enjoyed with Dean Acheson was an essential foundation for many of his achievements. Perhaps Franks’s most significant contribution as Ambassador lay in his role in negotiations for the North Atlantic Treaty. He managed to help his fellow Ambassadors work with the Americans to translate Britain’s rather general proposals into a workable agreement that would overcome the huge obstacle of the resistance of much of the US public to an ‘entangling alliance’. He helped set the tone of co-operation, was adept at finding ways of solving problems and had a natural talent for carrying the process forward. A second major contribution was the forging of another Anglo-American alliance in war, when the British backed Washington on Korea. Franks took the lead in urging strong British support at the United Nations but persuaded the Americans to omit references to communist direction in their resolution. He also played a probably decisive role in convincing the initially reluctant Attlee and the British military to despatch ground forces to Korea. Critics have questioned whether this was a wise decision by Britain. Franks’s justification for the commitment went to the heart of London’s view of its place in the world. All governments and senior officials in this era believed that

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Britain remained a great power with a stake in international developments. So a central task was to play a major role which could only be accomplished in collaboration with the Americans. The price of partnership with the United States was concessions, ranging from an increased rearmament programme to support for condemnatory resolutions against China in the United Nations to a military commitment in Korea. Franks could not prevent the Americans from setting the framework for much discussion. Yet there were numerous instances of difficulty, irritation and downright disagreement. Tensions surfaced over Iran. Obstacles emerged in the talks on the Japanese Peace Treaty. Perhaps the period of most acute problems came over the Korean War from November 1950 to January 1951 and the British fear that there might be an escalation to war with China. His last year as Ambassador also saw sharp exchanges on Korean POWs. Yet, in all of these cases Franks helped to ameliorate differences. A despatch in 1949 captured his approach as Ambassador: an absolutely consistent endeavour should be made to raise questions between us to the level of reasonable discussion. I do not think this will be easy, but we shall have all the assistance here that our friends like Acheson can give.69 Franks also favoured a positive attitude in discussions, believing ‘a constructive approach consistently and patiently advocated would yield dividends’.70 Moreover, as Adam Watson, a junior member of the embassy, observed, ‘He steered discussion and found a formula that met the needs of all parties. He was mindful that a successful Anglo-American partnership required that the Americans should get what they wanted.’71 Such an approach made him, for a while, an important figure in Anglo-American relations. He had a voice in the counsels of government in London and Washington. For a time he was the quintessential envoy who is invaluable to both parties.

Notes 1. Alex Danchev, Oliver Franks: Founding Father (Oxford, 1993); Michael F. Hopkins, Oliver Franks and the Truman Administration (London, 2003); and see also Peter Boyle, ‘Oliver Franks and the Washington Embassy, 1948–52’, in John Zametica (ed.), British Officials and British Foreign Policy, 1945–50 (Leicester, 1990), 189–211. This chapter is a revised, shortened version of my monograph. 2. Nicholas Henderson, Old Friends and Modern Instances (London, 2001), 76–7.

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3. The National Archives (TNA), Kew, FO800/454, Kirkpatrick to Franks (29 November 1948). 4. ‘Academicus’, ‘Britain Sends a New Kind of Ambassador’, New York Times Magazine, 2 May 1948, 12. 5. Worcester College, Oxford, Oliver Franks Papers, Franks to parents (23 December 1934, 6 January, 12 February, 7, 10, 21 March and 5 April 1935). 6. Franks Papers, Franks to mother (21 December 1927), Franks to parents (6 January and 12 February 1935). 7. See John Balfour, Not Too Correct an Aureole: The Recollections of a Diplomat (Salisbury, 1983). 8. TNA, FO371/73074/6238, Russell minute (28 July 1948). 9. Anthony Eden, Full Circle (London, 1960), 118. 10. Denis Healey, The Time of My Life (London, 1989), 320; Evelyn Shuckburgh, Descent to Suez (ed. John Charmley) (London, 1986), 33. 11. Interview with Franks, 24 May 1990; Roy Jenkins, Truman (London, 1986), 98. 12. Dean Acheson, Present at the Creation (New York, 1969), 323. 13. Gaddis Smith, Dean Acheson (New York, 1972), 194–5. 14. FO371/68045G/2275, Allen to Wright (8 June 1948) enclosing text of speech. 15. Foreign Relations of the United States (hereinafter FRUS), 1948, II (Washington DC, 1973), 921–8. 16. TNA, FO115/4380, G118/2/48, Ambassadors’ Committee, 6 July 1948; FRUS, 1948, III (Washington DC, 1974), l52. 17. FRUS, 1948, III, 153. 18. Quoted in Escott Reid, Time of Fear and Hope (Toronto, 1977), 57. Franks noted that ‘This way of proceeding has speeded things up a lot’: FO115/4429, G1/1/49, Franks to Bevin (29 December 1948). 19. See FRUS, 1948, III, 148–250, for records of the meetings. 20. FO371/73081/9295, FO to Washington (26 November 1948) and McNeil to Franks (29 November 1948). 21. FRUS, 1948, III, 310–14, 319–20 and 324–43. 22. Quoted in Peter Hennessy and Caroline Anstey, Moneybags and Brains (Glasgow, 1990), 34. 23. FO115/442G, Gl/1/49, Franks to Bevin, 29 December 1948. 24. National Archives and Record Administration (NARA), College Park, Maryland, RG 59, State Department Decimal Files, 1945–49, 840.20/2-349 and 840.20/2549, box 5661, memoranda of conversation (3 and 5 February 1949). 25. FO371/79224/1055 (7 February 1949). 26. FO371/79225/1416, Franks to FO (15 February 1949). 27. FRUS, 1949, IV (Washington DC, 1975), 117. 28. FO800/455, Minutes of 13th meeting of Washington Exploratory talks (25 February 1949). 29. FO371/83279/26, Washington to FO (3 January 1950). 30. Dean Rusk, As I Saw It (New York, 1991), 158. 31. Ronald McGlothlen, Controlling the Waves: Dean Acheson and US foreign policy in Asia (New York, 1993), 154. 32. Greg Donachy (ed.), Documents on Canadian External Relations, Volume 16: 1950 (Ottawa, 1996), 1176, Wrong to Acting Secretary of State (4 February 1950).

Michael F. Hopkins 89 33. FRUS, 1950, VII (Washington DC, 1976), 187 and 207; TNA, CAB128/17, CM 39(50), 27 June 1950; FO371/84057/40, FO to Washington, three telegrams (27 June 1950); TNA, PREM8/1405, Franks to FO (27 June 1950). 34. FRUS, 1950, VII, 255n; Harry Truman, Memoirs, Volume II: Years of Trial and Hope, 1946–53 (New York, 1965), 343. 35. PREM8/1405, DO(50) 12th Meeting (6 July 1950); CAB128/17, CM 43(50), 6 July 1950. 36. PREM8/1405, Franks to Attlee (15 July 1950). 37. Hennessy and Anstey, Moneybags, 5. 38. CAB128/18, CM 46(50), 25 July 1950. 39. FRUS, 1950, VII, 1261–62. 40. CAB128/18, CM 85(50), 12 December 1950. 41. Churchill College, Cambridge, Selwyn Lloyd Papers, SELO4/28, Diary, 13 and 19 November 1952; Shuckburgh, Descent, 53–4; Henry Pelling, Churchill’s Peacetime Ministry, 1951–55 (London, 1997), 49–50; D.R. Thorpe, Selwyn Lloyd (London, 1989), 167. 42. Quoted in W.R. Louis, The British Empire in the Middle East, 1945–1951 (Oxford, 1984), 654. 43. FO371/91470/18, Franks to FO (10 April 1951). 44. FO371/91471/6, Franks to FO (27 March 1951). 45. FO371/91471/32, Makins minute (12 April 1951). 46. FO371/91529/241, Franks to Strang (21 April 1951). 47. Harry S. Truman Library, Independence, Missouri (HSTL), Acheson Papers, Box 66, Memorandum of Conversation, 27 April 1951. 48. FO371/91493/7, FO to Washington (28 April 1951); FRUS, 1952–1954, X (Washington DC, 1989), 35–7. 49. FO 371/91493/10, Franks to FO (8 May 1951). 50. See Morgan, Labour in Power, 467. 51. FRUS, 1952-1954, X, 51–54, Acheson to Tehran (11 May 1951); FO371/91533/ 308, Franks to FO (12 May 1951). 52. FO371/91533/308, FO to Franks (14 May 1951). 53. FRUS, 1952–1954, X, 54, Gifford to State Department (16 May 1951); FO371/ 91535/354, Franks to FO (17 May 1951). 54. Morgan, Labour in Power, 468–69; Acheson, Present, 506–7. 55. FRUS, 1952-1954, X, l30; Acheson, Present, 509–10; Louis, British Empire, 686–9; CAB128/20, CM 60(51), 27 September 1951. 56. FO 371/91591/1630, Franks to FO (26 September 1951). 57. FO371/91592/1661, Franks to FO (28 September 1951). 58. FO371/915961/1770, Franks to FO (5 October 1951). 59. Franks Interview (24 May 1990). 60. FO371/90955/1, Gore-Booth to Hamilton (21 February 1950); New York World Telegraph, 6 March 1950. 61. FO371/90903/20, Washington to FO (5 May 1951). 62. Liddell Hart Centre, King’s College, London, Elliot Papers, 3/3/2, Broadcast by the British Ambassador (18 May 1951). 63. NARA, RG200, record 200LW50, 1 February 1952 programme. 64. See HSTL, Charles W. Jackson Papers, containers 18–21. 65. Franks Papers, Franks to parents (7 May 1949).

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66. Franks Papers, Franks to parents (6 May 1950). 67. HSTL, Truman Papers, Official File 48, Box 215, Franks’s remarks (1 November 1950). 68. Franks Papers, Franks to parents (1 May 1952). 69. FO371/82937/lG, Franks to Strang (31 December 1949). 70. FO371/84120/207, Franks to FO (30 November 1950). 71. Adam Watson in Times Literary Supplement, 24 December 1993, 22.

5 Roger Makins, 1953–56 Saul Kelly

Roger Makins’ embassy has tended to be overshadowed by that of his predecessor, Oliver Franks. Accounts of the latter’s embassy have emphasised how his sterling qualities and extraordinary personal relationship with the Secretary of State, Dean Acheson, gave him an unusual amount of influence for an Ambassador in Washington. By contrast, these accounts have implied that Makins had only a formal relationship with Acheson’s successor, John Foster Dulles, and therefore not the same degree of influence as Franks.1 Yet if this were so, it is unlikely that Dulles would have regarded Makins’ recall to London during the Suez Crisis as a personal betrayal by the Prime Minister, Anthony Eden. On the contrary, it would seem to indicate the high esteem in which the Secretary of State held the British Ambassador.2 This chapter assesses the nature of Makins’ relationship with Dulles and the role the Ambassador played during the first Eisenhower administration of 1953–56, which spanned what he called ‘four exceptionally troubled years’ in Anglo-American relations, from the end of the Korean War to the Suez Crisis.3 Makins’ tenure of the embassy is of interest, not only because it provides evidence of a resident mission having to cope with a series of international crises which put tremendous strain on bilateral relations, but also because it provides examples of the effect which increased direct international contacts, the growth of the media and the emphasis attached to force and propaganda during a critical period of the Cold War had on the functioning of a key embassy. As such Makins’ mission foreshadows later developments. An analysis of the responses of Makins and his staff to these pressures improves our understanding of how the resident mission in Washington has adapted and survived in the post-war period, an age of rapid communications, summitry and multilateral diplomacy.4 This 91

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chapter will also look at the question of whether Makins’ embassy represented, as both he and his successor, Harold Caccia, believed at the time, ‘the end of an era’ in Anglo-American relations.5

‘The Makins Arms’ Winston Churchill had, since his experience as Prime Minister in the Second World War, believed that the representation of British interests in the United States was best conducted by ministers and officials in direct contact with their American opposite numbers. This also led him to prefer the appointment of a prominent Briton of at least Cabinet rank, such as Lord Halifax, to the Washington Embassy. When Oliver Franks intimated in the spring of 1952 that he wished to return to the United Kingdom by the end of the year, Churchill, who was again Prime Minister, at first wanted to see him replaced by The Earl of Mountbatten. After three political appointments (Lothian, Halifax and Franks) and the ‘unfortunate’ Inverchapel performance, however, Churchill was persuaded by the Foreign Secretary, Anthony Eden, to appoint a competent professional diplomat, Roger Makins.6 Eden and Makins had known each other since Geneva days. As an assistant League of Nations Advisor in the Foreign Office, Makins had worked closely and harmoniously with Eden from 1934 to 1938, when the latter was first Minister for League Affairs and then Foreign Secretary. Makins had been Eden’s man in the Mediterranean from 1942 to 1944, first at Allied headquarters at Algiers and then at Caserta in Italy, where Churchill became aware of the high calibre of his work as the principal assistant to Harold Macmillan. When Eden returned to the Foreign Office in late 1951, Makins was an influential Deputy Under-Secretary who had been dealing with all the major issues in Anglo-American relations for the previous four years. In particular, Makins had been familiar since 1945, first as Joint Secretary of the Combined Policy Committee in Washington and then as Chairman of the Official Committee on Atomic Energy in London, with the vexed question of atomic energy and had demonstrated his commitment to the revival of cooperation. The press on both sides of the Atlantic were to dub him ‘Britain’s Atomic Ambassador’, and ‘Mr Atom’, a sobriquet which he always disliked.7 Certainly, Makins had more experience of the United States than the other candidates for the job – Pierson Dixon, Gladwyn Jebb and Ralph Stevenson – having worked in the American Department of the Foreign Office from 1928 to 1931, and being posted to Washington for two spells, in 1931–34 and 1945–47. Moreover, his American wife, Alice,

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was an obvious asset on the social side. As the daughter of Dwight Davis, the former Secretary of State in the Coolidge administration and then Governor-General of the Philippines, as well as the founder of the David Cup tennis tournament, she provided the Ambassador with an entrée into American political and social circles and gave him an insight into American life which the other candidates lacked.8 He was quite simply the best qualified professional diplomat for the post at the time. Moreover, his appointment was overdue. If he had not incurred the wrath of Clement Attlee during the war, he might well have become Ambassador to Washington in 1947, instead of Franks.9 Like Franks, he was a confirmed Atlanticist, convinced of the need for close cooperation between Britain and the United States in order to protect British interests and guarantee world peace. Moreover, his ‘rapier-like brain’ combined with an ‘almost monastic devotion to duty’, and a forceful and determined personality, made him a formidable, even pro-consular, figure when it came to maintaining the Anglo-American ‘alliance’.10 But how well did Makins carry out his task of representing Britain in Washington? Certainly, he ensured, by initiating the building of a new if rather non-descript Chancery alongside the original Lutyens residence, that the embassy would continue as a permanent reminder of Britain’s importance as a major power and its commitment to a close relationship with America. The plans for the physical extension of the embassy, and the installation of air-conditioning, made it easier for Makins and his successors to provide the necessary support at ‘The Makins Arms’, as it came to be called, for the constant stream of ministers and officials who came to Washington on representative duties.11 Far from resenting his role as ‘innkeeper’, Makins was always a strong advocate of the benefits of personal and informal contacts between British and American ministers and officials, regarding it, like Churchill, as enhancing the representative function of diplomacy. An example of this was Makins’ encouragement of the visit by Eden and Churchill to Washington in June 1954, which did much to restore confidence between them and Eisenhower and Dulles. Makins had urged the importance for British interests of the Prime Minister and the Foreign Secretary being seen by the US public to agree action with the Americans on the Middle East, Europe and particularly the Far East (where the Americans were likely to be forced into a settlement in Indo-China which they would find unacceptable). The purpose of Makins’ advice was to try to reverse ‘the incipient trend’ which he had detected in the United States against intervention in the Far East, or involvement in Europe and the Middle East, and towards a stronger nationalistic, anti-colonial, hemispheric, though not isolationist, stance.

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Makins advised Eden to expend some effort on Dulles, that ‘old buster with pachydermatous tendencies’, who was in ‘a pet’ at being outshone by Eden at the Geneva Conference but who was, deep down, in favour of close cooperation with Britain.12 Both Makins and Churchill tried during the Washington Conference to blunt the differences between Dulles and Eden. Agreement was indeed reached on a range of issues, including the terms of a negotiated settlement for Indo-China to be presented to the French.13 Makins also represented Britain at ceremonial occasions, such as President Eisenhower’s inauguration and his annual State of the Union Address, and to the American people, not only during his visits to US cities and regions but through ‘At Home’ days in Washington. Makins was fully aware that ‘the handling of visitors, of whatever stripe, is more important for the public reputation of an embassy than any number of successful negotiations at the government level’.14 Moreover, in contrast to Oliver Franks, he did it with considerable aplomb and joie de vivre, entertaining his many guests on an impressive scale, with parties and dinners. His upholding of British prestige in American eyes was of especial importance during a period of declining British power. An important part of the embassy’s representational role was to promote friendly relations with the governing elite. Makins drew a distinction between the cultivation of friendly relations on a personal level and their promotion on a policy level. It did not follow that warm personal relations led to agreements on policy, but it did mean that differences could be dealt with in a friendly atmosphere without strain.15 The Ambassador set a good example at the top by renewing his relationship, dating from the Second World War, with Eisenhower and winning the confidence of Dulles. Makins wrote in his memoirs that he found Dulles: accessible and easy to work with, he thought for himself and expressed his thought at some length. He also developed it over time, and this gave him a reputation for inconsistency with some of my colleagues who did not see him as often as I did. He was certainly ponderous and rather clumsy, and he was badly advised by his Press Secretary, McCardle. Out of office, he was friendly and genial and a good companion who took his bourbon with the best of them. My main problem was that he travelled a great deal and I never quite knew what has passed in his dealings with Anthony Eden, Selwyn Lloyd, and others in London, Geneva and elsewhere. Reports were sent, of course, but it is only on the spot that it is possible to know what winks or nods

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have been exchanged. One thing I quickly learned was that Dulles never took an important step or replied to representations on major issues, without first consulting the President. It was an advantage too that Foster’s brother Allen, the head of the C.I.A. and his wife Clover were old friends and, in addition, sister Eleanor in the German Section of the State Department. The Dulles trio was an important element to have on one’s side. This testimony is confirmed by the contemporary documents and shows that Makins early on established a close working relationship with Dulles and his siblings, and that he was under no illusions as to the nature of the relationship between the President and his Secretary of State. Makins was greatly helped in establishing close contacts with the Republican administration by the fact that the Under-Secretary of State was General Walter Bedell Smith, whom Makins had known well in Algiers in 1942–43. This was the key relationship, until Bedell Smith retired in October 1954, in clearing up the frequent misunderstandings between Eden and Dulles. Makins had many old friends in the State Department and was soon persona grata there. He never had any trouble communicating with them, except on occasion with the right-wing Assistant Under-Secretary for the Far East, Walter Robertson (who inadvertently sported an Old Etonian tie) and more frequently with the deaf, stubborn and anti-British Herbert Hoover, Jr, who succeeded Bedell Smith. Makins’ inability to establish a rapport with Hoover meant that there was no longer an effective channel for clearing up the differences between Eden and Dulles, which had serious consequences for Anglo-American relations during the Suez Crisis.16 The fragmented nature of the US foreign policy-making process meant that Makins had to cultivate contacts in the Treasury and the Pentagon, in the Congress and the media. He was aided in this task not only by his embassy staff but by the British consular network in the United States, the British Permanent Mission to the United Nations, the British Information Services (BIS), the Joint Staff Mission (BJSM) and the Treasury delegation. All major British ministries with American interests were represented in the Washington Embassy. Makins later reflected that: One of the difficulties for foreign representatives in Washington is to know where power lies at any particular moment and, therefore, on whose door to knock. But, having identified this, great care is needed in order not to upset the State Department, who have good reason to

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consider themselves the proper channel of approach to the U.S. Government. In my case it was not too difficult. As the Embassy was a microcosm of Whitehall, there were members of it who were in touch with almost all the departments and agencies of the U.S. Government. Also, we met socially most of the Cabinet and high officials of the Administration.17 Makins seems to have left liaison with the Pentagon on military matters to the BJSM, led first by Air Marshall William Elliot, who ‘was a hit with the Americans’, and then ‘a rather stuffy junior Admiral’, Sir Charles Hughes-Hallet.18 Since Makins was looking for economies in the running of the embassy he scrapped the three Service attachés and left it to the BJSM to detail an appropriate officer to accompany the Ambassador on official occasions. Despite his friendship with CIA Director Allen Dulles, Makins does not appear to have involved himself with the murky world of intelligence, later disclaiming any knowledge of the secret transactions between the British Secret Intelligence Service and the CIA in Washington. Given his financial and economic background at the Foreign Office, it is not surprising that Makins was more interested in the activities of the Economic Minister at the embassy, first Denis Rickett and then Lord Harcourt, who were both personal friends and who maintained close contact with the US Treasury, under George Humphrey. Makins became close friends with the latter, and had known the Under-Secretary, Randolph Burgess, for some years. The Ambassador was able to make effective use of these contacts when he returned to London in the autumn of 1956 and found himself, in his new job as Joint Permanent Under-Secretary at the Treasury, having to deal with the financial fallout from the Suez Crisis.19 He solved the problem of keeping in touch with Congressional opinion by attending monthly informal dinners for selected Senators and Congressmen at the embassy arranged by his First Secretary, Alan Judson, of BIS. As the only foreign elected member of the exclusive Burning Tree Golf Club, Makins was also able to obtain privileged access to key powerbrokers, even meeting: the most isolationist Senators in the changing rooms, often in a state of nature. I played golf from time to time with the Vice-President, Richard Nixon. The Senators were all very good, playing off single figures. I have always been a bad golfer . . . Dick Nixon was equally bad. We formed a bond of misery, and a friendship developed which endured until he was driven from the White House.

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As for the press, Makins was well aware from his previous postings in Washington that it regarded itself as the ‘Fourth Estate’, and he regarded himself ‘as fortunate’ that he knew many of the leading journalists of the day, the Alsop brothers, Joe and Stewart, James ‘Scotty’ Reston, Walter Lippman, Joe Harsch, Al Friendly and Arthur Krock.20 Makins was to make full use of the Press, and television and radio, to put forward the British case to the American public and he was also fully aware of the proclivity of administration officials to pursue their internecine foreign policy feuds through calculated leaks to the media. He also made sure that British representatives observed local customs, marked US public holidays, engaged in extensive social contacts and attended official and non-official functions. His success in promoting friendly relations on a personal level both inside and outside Washington was to help create a friendly atmosphere for the discussion of Anglo-American differences and cooperation on the policy side.

‘Four exceptionally troubled years’ Since 1941, which can be said to mark the beginning of the so-called ‘Special Relationship’ – a term which the Americans and Makins were loathe to use at this time – negotiations on the most important bilateral business had been conducted by British ministers and senior officials in direct contact with their American opposite numbers. The role of the British Embassy in Washington was to support such negotiations, not only at the time, but in following them up after ministers and officials returned to London. One can see this on all the major matters which arose during Makins’ embassy. Makins’ diplomatic background in atomic energy and international finance allowed him to play a prominent role in the negotiation of the Anglo-American atomic agreement of 15 June 1955 and talks on financing the Aswan High Dam.21 The embassy was also engaged in more humdrum matters in AngloAmerican relations and in lobbying the Congress on legislation which affected British interests. The latter activity was conducted in a more discreet manner than it is today. Makins regarded it as counter-productive to engage in open lobbying on Capitol Hill on such matters as the lowering of trade tariffs, or the amendment of the McMahon Act which severely restricted the sharing of US atomic secrets. As we have seen, he preferred the more private method of getting to know the Congressmen and Senators concerned.22 When a resident mission engages in negotiation it tries to clarify the host government’s intentions and put these to its own government. In

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his pro-consular manner, Makins was given to doing this in a direct fashion. A typical example was in March 1955 when he peremptorily informed the Official Committee on Atomic Energy in London, of which he had earlier been Chairman, that they faced the choice of an agreement on the lines of an American–Canadian draft (the Canadians being the other party to atomic cooperation) or no agreement at all. The Official Committee seems to have followed Makins’ advice and the Ambassador hammered out an agreement which gave the British a great deal, if not all, of what they wanted.23 The Head of mission might also try to prevent certain issues provoking differences between the host country and his own. Examples of this included Churchill’s hopes for a summit meeting with the Soviet Union following Stalin’s death in 1953–54, when the Prime Minister used the embassy to deliver personal messages to Eisenhower on the subject, and Eden’s similar use of Makins to deliver messages to the President during the Suez Crisis. Although Makins did not see his respective premiers’ letters to the President, he divined enough of their content from other sources to try to counter what he saw as Churchill’s ill-advised summitry and Eden’s desire to use force against Egypt, neither of which were in line with US policy.24

‘Window on the world’ A vital function of all resident missions is gathering information on the local scene. Makins’ mission was practically co-terminous with Eisenhower’s first administration. In his despatches on US politics, Makins analysed the progressive increase in Eisenhower’s authority as President, his failure to unite and invigorate the Republican Party, his relations with Congress and the reorganisation of the government. On the economic side the Ambassador reported on America’s relatively harmonious labour relations, the improved performance of the United States as an international creditor, its recovery from the negative impact of the Korean War and Eisenhower’s modest success in pursuing a liberal foreign trade policy in the face of strong protectionist influences within the country. US foreign policy during these ‘four exceptionally troubled years’ was marked by growing Congressional disenchantment with foreign aid, especially of the military variety, and lack of understanding or liking for the Commonwealth and the Sterling Area, none of which was good news in London.25 Makins felt that the state of Anglo-American relations varied only within normal limits during his mission, which ended before the rift caused by the Suez ‘collusion’. But strains developed at various times over Egypt, the Indo-China armistice

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and policy towards China,26 while the misunderstanding of Dulles by large sections of British public opinion was an important adverse factor in bilateral relations. When Dulles’s handling of the Korean armistice negotiations was criticised in the House of Commons and the British press, Makins warned that ‘it will in the long run sour even the most long-suffering man to be told that yesterday was “Anti-Dulles Day” in London.’27 The Ambassador believed that the key to the relationship lay not in Washington, but in London, where he noted the recent growth of a marked inferiority complex towards the United States. Makins and his staff were ideally situated, with their ‘Window on the World’28, to provide the British government not only with reports on US domestic and foreign policies, but also Commonwealth affairs and East–West relations. Makins valued highly his monthly meetings with his four Commonwealth colleagues, from Canada, Australia, New Zealand and India, when they discussed matters of common interest such as the Korean War, problems in Indo-China and the South-East Asian Treaty Organisation. Although Makins pointedly refrained from discussing the Australian-New Zealand-US alliance (ANZUS), from which Britain was excluded, he certainly monitored the state of that alliance.29 The Washington Embassy was better placed to perform this informative role than the British Permanent Mission to the United Nations in New York. An example of this occurred during the Guatemalan Crisis in 1954, when the Americans, not entirely unfairly, thought that the British Permanent Representative, Pierson Dixon, was obstructing US efforts to indulge in regime change in Central America. Makins informed London that Dulles had told him, rather dramatically, ‘that this matter might well be a touchstone of the Anglo-American alliance’.30 Despite the qualms of Dixon, Eden and the Foreign Office, though not Churchill, the Americans deposed the radical regime of Jacobo Arbenz and installed their own man, Castillo Armas, in Guatemala. Makins later reflected that the Americans felt that they did not get the backing from us over Guatemala which they had a right to expect in the region. I warned Ivone Kirkpatrick in early August that this might lead them to be less than wholehearted in their support for us in a parallel case, over Cyprus, which we badly needed. In particular, the Americans were resentful of the fact that we had not said anything in public about the considerable degree of Communist influence in Guatemala, even though we knew about it from the U.S. and British intelligence reports. In order to curb American resentment, I urged Kirk to ensure that the proposed

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White Paper on Guatemala should contain such evidence in order to balance the communications from the Arbenz government. In the event, when the White Paper was published in October, it contained a long report from the new British Consul-General in Guatemala City, Richard Allen, detailing Communist subversion in the country. The rest of the document was innocuous and did not offend the State Department. But the damage had been done, since the previous month the Americans had abstained, rather than voted against, the successful Greek attempt to put Cyprus on the U.N.’s agenda.31 The embassy also provided insights into American thinking for visiting ministers and officials. At a White House dinner during the March 1953 visit of Eden and the Chancellor of the Exchequer, R.A. Butler, the latter was puzzled that he could not ‘elicit a single constructive comment’ from Eisenhower about closer Anglo-American economic cooperation. It fell to Makins to enlighten him: Ike’s silence can be explained by the fact that, though he was committed to free trade, he found it difficult to act because of opposition from the protectionist and nationalist elements in his own Cabinet and the Republican Party in the Congress. It must also be said that the President shared the reservations of the State Department and the Treasury about the possible damaging effect which greater sterling convertibility would have upon the operation of the European Payments Union (E.P.U.) and the movement towards West European Unity, which they wanted to encourage.32 Foreign correspondents often pride themselves on their ability ‘to read’ foreign leaders. Yet they can get it spectacularly wrong. According to the veteran Sunday Times journalist Henry Brandon, Makins had to keep notes of his conversations with Dulles because the latter was so tricky that he often ‘brazenly denied having said something . . .’.33 Apart from the fact that it is normal diplomatic practice to record such conversations, and even Franks conveyed the gist of his famous off-the-record talks with Acheson to London, this is to misunderstand the way that Dulles developed his thinking on a subject. As Makins later pointed out, the Secretary of State ‘developed it over time, and this gave him a reputation for inconsistency with some of my colleagues who did not see him as often as I did’.34 Yet the simple misreading of manner by a widely read journalist gives a misleading impression of a foreign statesman, and his motives to press, public and politicians in another

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country, reinforcing prejudice, with potentially serious consequences for bi-lateral relations. One can detect the warping effects of ‘antiDulles’ feeling on British opinion in the progressive souring of AngloAmerican relations during the first Eisenhower administration. To counter this, Makins was good at keeping London informed of US thinking during negotiations on such important issues as the future of Iran and Egypt, the Aswan Dam project, the creation of the Baghdad Pact and the 1955 Geneva Summit. He proved particularly valuable with his reports on American thinking during the crises over Indochina, the Chinese offshore islands, the collapse of the European Defence Community and the build-up to Suez.35 He was one of the earliest practitioners of the ‘in-car briefing’ of ministers on the latest developments in US policy as he escorted them from Washington Airport to the White House.36 Even if Makins’ advice was rejected, as happened during the crisis over the Indochina crisis in 1954, it was at least taken seriously. At that time he advocated support for US proposals of ‘united action’ to save Indochina from communism and for the commencement of talks on South-East Asian security before the Geneva Conference met to discuss East Asian questions. He was slapped down by Eden, who refused to contemplate such actions on the grounds that they would not save the French position in Indochina, they would be opposed by the British public and Commonwealth countries in the region, they would prejudice the chances of reaching a peaceful resolution to the problem at Geneva, and they might even provoke a global war. The British refusal to support ‘united action’ put Anglo-American relations under strain which, as Makins predicted, did not bode well for the Geneva Conference. He did not participate in this conference and could only observe from afar the Anglo-American disagreements over Indochina in the presence of the Soviets and Chinese. He warned Eden that the Americans were moving towards a historic acceptance of far-reaching commitments on the mainland of Asia, and that Britain’s refusal to open negotiations on a security organisation before any agreement was reached at Geneva might endanger Anglo-American relations. These arguments had little impact, but the visit of the Foreign Secretary and Prime Minister to Washington in June 1954 allowed Makins and Churchill the opportunity to blunt the differences between Eden and Dulles, permitting agreement on the terms of an Indochina settlement to be presented to the French.37 Makins’ habit of not only offering policy advice, but trying to ensure its implementation, was reinforced by the respect which the Foreign

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Office had for his views, based as they were on his long experience of the United States. He usually offered his advice to London on pressing matters by telegrams and letters which he, rather than his private secretary or other staff, had drafted. Makins was, in the opinion of his private secretary, Peter Marshall, ‘an administrative athlete’.38 He also used the telephone and face-to-face meetings with ministers, either during their visits to Washington or on his yearly trips to London, to make his views clear. He had no hesitation in voicing his opinions on broader questions of policy which affected British interests in the Far East, the Middle East and Europe and constantly reiterated the need for Britain to keep in step with the United States on such issues. He feared that otherwise Britain might lose the vital support for what Americans called ‘the British complex’ of interests in the world. He admitted that this was ‘an old bug-bear’ of his that ran like a leitmotif through his term as Ambassador in Washington.39 Eden and the Foreign Office realised the desirability of this goal but could not quite bring themselves, in their state of nervous inferiority, to make the necessary tactical concessions to ensure it, as was revealed with startling clarity during successive crises in the Far and Middle East in 1955–56. Makins’ position during the first Chinese Offshore Islands crisis was consistent with the line he had taken over the Korean War and Indochina. He did not want it to cause a rift in Anglo-American relations, which would prejudice more important British interests elsewhere in the world. He believed the only way that the British government could exert any influence on US policy would be if it acted with Washington, particularly since it was obvious that the Americans would not force the Chinese Nationalist leader, Chiang Kai-Shek, to evacuate the islands in the face of armed threats from the Communists on the mainland. But he could not overcome the distrust which Eden and the Foreign Office had of Dulles’ intentions in the Far East.40 In the event, the independent line which Eden took only succeeded in irritating Dulles and Eisenhower. Fortunately, the situation was defused by the Communist desire to negotiate. As has been pointed out: ‘Had the Americans pushed further on the offshore islands issue, a breach might well have come in Anglo-American relations – but it would not have been over an issue where vital British interests were concerned.’41 This was Makins’ particular concern throughout the crisis. On the Middle East the Ambassador denied, in a submission to the Cabinet in February 1954, that the Americans were trying to oust Britain from the area. He had already pointed out that any desire by the State Department to interfere over much in the region was kept in check by

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the US military and Congress, who were against assuming major commitments in the region. The question of whether Britain remained in the Middle East would depend largely on its own efforts and how London adjusted to the American presence as a new factor in regional politics. Makins thought, rather optimistically as it turned out, that as long as a proper understanding existed between London and Washington disruptive US diplomats in the region could be restrained. He was correct in thinking that the conclusion of agreements with Egypt and Iran in October 1954, for which he had pressed, would at least temporarily increase British freedom of action in the Middle East and lead to greater American respect for the British position (though it was limited by the failure to reach an agreement over the Buraimi Oasis dispute between Saudi Arabia and British-protected Trucial Oman). Certainly, it encouraged Washington to enlist British support in the top-secret Operation Alpha to broker a settlement between Egypt and Israel. Makins was always aware of the potential that policy differences over the Middle East had to disrupt Anglo-American relations and he realised that Britain would have to contend with certain innate American prejudices against the British presence in the Middle East, which stemmed from anti-colonialism and economic rivalry. But he thought that with luck and perseverance, ‘we had a good chance of building up American confidence in us and their desire to cooperate with us’.42 Makins’ attempts to keep the Eisenhower administration and the new Eden Government together were to be tested to the limit by events surrounding Egypt. During the negotiations in late 1955 on the financing of the Aswan High Dam, it took considerable effort by the Ambassador to convince Eden that if the British wanted ‘to get into the poker game it had to put up the ante’.43 In other words, the British government had to agree to contribute 20 per cent (or $15 million) of the first-stage grant of $70 million to help cover the foreign exchange costs, as well as conceding competitive bidding, in order to secure American participation in the dam project. Makins also had to work hard to get Hoover and Humphrey to change their minds and back US funding of the dam. Hoover and Makins then put the deal to the Egyptians in Washington, which was followed by the World Bank offer that the Egyptians considered. This was a good example of Makins’ ability to overcome entrenched attitudes and differences of approach in order to secure agreement on a particular issue. But his efforts could only succeed if the principal players had common overriding objectives, in this case their mutual desire to prevent the Soviets from following up a recent arms deal with Egypt by themselves financing the Aswan High Dam.44

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In July 1956 the Anglo-American offer to finance the dam was withdrawn as part of the long-term Omega Plan to undermine the Egyptian leader, Colonel Gamal Abdul Nasser, who seemed to be drawing closer to the Soviet bloc. In retaliation Nasser nationalised the Suez Canal, of which Britain was the major shareholder. During the crisis that followed Makins drew heavily, not only on his considerable reserves of strength – he rated stamina as the most useful attribute of a diplomat – but on his personal friendships with the principal players on both sides of the Atlantic, in order to reduce the tensions in Anglo-American exchanges about how to proceed. More significantly his warnings to London, throughout the summer and early autumn, against the use of force, coupled with similar messages from Eisenhower and Dulles, were part of the pressures that delayed matters long enough for other factors to come into play (such as the caution of the Foreign Office and the need to revise military timetables because of the onset of winter) which almost allowed an early, peaceful resolution of the crisis. But Makins’ warnings were seen by Eden as evidence that his Ambassador to Washington had ‘gone native’. This led the Prime Minister to discount Makins’ advice in the decision-making process which led to ‘collusion’ with France and Israel, and eventually to war with Egypt.45 Not only that, but he was recalled to London on 11 October, to take up the post of Joint Permanent Secretary of the Treasury. Over the following weeks the Anglo-American ‘alliance’, which Makins had managed to keep intact, was torn apart by the Anglo-French intervention in Egypt but he played an important behind-the scenes role, through his extensive transatlantic contacts, in restoring it. He did not believe that Suez was an important enough issue for Britain and the United States to differ over so dramatically. It is intriguing to speculate whether AngloAmerican relations would have been ruptured so badly, or would have been restored any quicker, if he had remained in Washington.46

Trade, travel and propaganda Before drawing some conclusions as to Makins’ time in America, it is worth looking at some other aspects of his role. One point is that the Ambassador read consular reports and was fully aware of the importance of this aspect of diplomatic work, carried out through the embassy and consulates in major US cities. Consular responsibilities have grown in importance in America since 1945, especially because of two developments: the growing number of British tourists and the increasing involvement of the British government in export promotion. Tourism had not yet taken off in the mid-1950s. Since US dollars were hard to obtain, only

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wealthy Britons could afford to visit the United States. Makins regretted this since it served to perpetuate among many Britons stereotypical and erroneous images of America and its people derived from Hollywood movies. This served to reinforce Britain’s inferiority complex towards the United States. Makins tried his best to counter the harmful effects of the dollar shortage by meeting British nationals studying at American universities or training with the US armed forces, but it proved more difficult, with his tight schedule, to meet the large communities of British residents in states like California. The importance of trade promotion was noticeable during Makins’ mission to Washington and, with his economic and financial background, he kept track of efforts in this field. During his tenure the United States overtook Australia as Britain’s biggest export market. But the detailed work of trade promotion was left to the experienced Charles Empson and the Commercial Secretaries.47 As Ambassador, Makins was well-placed to carry out propaganda work with the intention of influencing US foreign policy, so that it took account of British interests, and promoting a greater understanding of the British way of life. In the absence of visiting Cabinet ministers and members of the Royal Family, he was the most accessible spokesman for Britain in America. Because of this he was in constant demand as an interviewee by the media and numerous US organisations. Although he regarded himself as a poor public speaker, especially in comparison to Franks, Makins seems to have given competent interviews and addresses. Before he took up his post he received coaching from the BBC in the art of speaking on television, a relatively new public relations tool for diplomats at this time. However, his first appearance on American television left much to be desired. As he later related, Ed Murrow, then with N.B.C., was one of the leading commentators and presenters. He and his wife Janet were Anglophiles, and he offered to interview Alice and me in a nationwide hook-up quite soon after our arrival. He was in New York, while we were in the Embassy, where we were ‘discovered’ sitting in the drawing room. There was a black box in the corner from which suddenly came Ed’s first question which was directed at Alice. She was so startled that she gave a squawk like a frightened parrot before responding. We showed Ed around the Embassy and finally I was photographed walking down the great corridor trailing a cable behind me. It looked exactly like the rear view of a clumsy gorilla. After that, I did very poorly in a political interview in my office. When Alice . . . and I saw the film in the following year because the B.B.C. wanted to screen it, we firmly said, after we had recovered from paroxysms of laughter,

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that it must never be shown anywhere ever again. But in spite of the poor quality, it was invaluable publicity, and for months afterwards when we were on tour, people would come to me and say: ‘Oh, I know you. I met you on television.’ This may have been partly due to the novelty of T.V., and the limited range of programmes. Ed Murrow had done a couple of novices a very good turn.48 Makins, like some of his successors (such as Nicholas Henderson at the time of the Falklands War), made extensive use of both television and radio during his tour in Washington, as well as non-broadcast speeches to influential audiences. Unlike Franks, Makins and his advisors adopted the American habit of handing out advance copies of speeches to the Press, who did not always send reporters to cover a speech, to ensure maximum coverage. The effect of all this was to make him a well-known figure in the United States, as he subsequently learnt when American contacts in Washington began to report that their friends around the country ‘had met’ the Ambassador (i.e., they had seen him on television, heard him on the radio or read about him in the papers). Makins dubbed this ‘the ping-pong effect’.49 In contrast to other diplomats of his generation (such as Humphrey Trevelyan), he regarded his and the embassy’s information role as an integral part of their job. Whatever his selfdoubts about his performance, he deserves to be remembered as one of the first diplomats to understand and make use of television to put across the British case to an American audience.50

‘The end of an era’? Makins’ departure from Washington in October 1956 occurred at a time when it was widely believed that the worst of the Suez Crisis was over and that a solution acceptable to the West could be reached by negotiation. The Canadian Ambassador wrote to Makins and his wife that their departure signalled ‘the end of an era’. At the time Makins thought his Canadian colleague ‘was guilty of affectionate hyperbole’.51 But, in the light of Britain’s military intervention against Egypt on 29 October, without US approval, and the subsequent rift in Anglo-American relations both Makins and his successor, Harold Caccia, thought ‘they were words of prophecy’. Caccia believed that ‘three things’ had ended: ‘first, the sentimental attachment, in the administration, created by our wartime experience as crusaders in arms; second, the innate trust in our longer experience of international affairs and our reputation for dependability; third, our largely unquestioned right to a special position’. He predicted

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that ‘the new era’ would be ‘one of more strictly business relationships, with much sentiment cut out and our special position temporarily, at least, impaired, but not totally dissipated’.52 In fact, as will become evident in the next chapter, Eisenhower and Harold Macmillan, who became Prime Minister following Eden’s resignation in January 1957, building on their wartime friendship and the convergence of Anglo-American strategic interests, managed to restore warmth and trust to ‘the special relationship’ remarkably swiftly. There was no doubt, however, that Britain, in the words of the official postmortem by the Cabinet Office, ‘could never again resort to military action outside British territories, without at least American acquiescence’.53 Britain’s strategic dependence on the United States was now plain for all the world to see and this fact determined the overall political context in which the Washington Embassy had to operate after 1956. In this sense, Makins’ ambassadorship does indeed mark ‘the end of an era’. But in his performance of the main diplomatic functions, from political reporting and crisis management to propaganda work and trade promotion, Makins made an important contribution to the development of the mission’s post-war role and its continued survival as a lynchpin of AngloAmerican relations, even in an age in which diplomacy was increasingly dominated by direct contacts between political leaders.

Notes 1. Peter Boyle, ‘ “The Special Relationship” with Washington’, in John W. Young (ed.), The Foreign Policy of Churchill’s Peacetime Administration, 1951–1955 (Leicester, 1988), 32; Alex Danchev, Oliver Franks – Founding Father (Oxford, 1993), 109–35; Steve Marsh, Anglo-American Relations and Cold War Oil (Basingstoke, 2003), 143. The exception to the rule is Michael F. Hopkins in Oliver Franks and the Truman Administration. Anglo-American Relations, 1948–52 (London, 2003), 252–7. 2. This chapter is an updated version of my earlier study, ‘A Very Considerable and Largely Unsung Success: Sir Roger Makins’ Washington Embassy, 1953–56’, in Jonathan Hollowell (ed.), Twentieth Century Anglo-American Relations (Basingstoke, Palgrave, 2001), 124–42. It draws on recent interviews with Makins’ former staff in Washington, including Richard Parsons and Peter Marshall. I am grateful to Virginia Makins for according me unrestricted access to relevant material in the Sherfield Papers, now deposited in the Bodleian Library, Oxford. 3. Bodleian Library, Oxford, Lord Sherfield Papers, MS Memoirs, Washington Embassy, 33. 4. See G.R. Berridge, Diplomacy: Theory and Practice (Basingstoke, 3rd edition, 2005), 119–35. 5. The National Archives (TNA), Kew, PREM11/2189, Caccia to Lloyd (1 January 1957).

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6. Sherfield, Washington Embassy, 3; Evelyn Shuckburgh remarks, in Descent to Suez. Diaries 1951–56 (London, 1986) 30, that Churchill mistook him for Makins. On hearing this, the latter joked that the Prime Minister probably knew the name of only one civil servant: author’s interview with Peter Marshall (21 November 2007). 7. Sherfield Papers, MS Memoirs, chapters on Geneva, Foreign Office, North Africa and Italy (and Washington Embassy, 1–5); Saul Kelly, ‘No Ordinary Foreign Office Official: Sir Roger Makins and Anglo-American Atomic Relations, 1945–55’, Contemporary British History, Vol. 14, No. 4 (Winter, 2000), 107–19; Jill Edwards, ‘Roger Makins: “Mr Atom” ’, in John Zametica (ed.), British Officials and British Foreign Policy, 1945–50 (Leicester, 1990), 8; author’s interview with Lord Sherfield (May 1994). 8. Sherfield Papers, MS Memoirs, The Foreign Office: 1928–31, Washington: April 1931–April 1934, Washington: 1945–47. 9. Hopkins, Franks, 51. 10. Harold Macmillan, War Diaries, The Mediterranean, 1943–1945 (Basingstoke, 1984), 537; Richard Parsons, ‘Roger Makins in Washington’, unpublished paper, June 2006; author’s interview with Richard Parsons (15 June 2006). 11. Sherfield, Washington Embassy, 38. 12. Ibid., 107–13; PREM11/666, Makins to FO (16 June 1954); PREM11/667, Makins to FO, telegrams 1257–9 (24 June 1954); PREM11/683, Makins to FO, telegram 1260 (24 June 1954); TNA, FO800/842, Makins to Eden (18 and 21 June 1954). 13. Sherfield, Washington Embassy, 113–20; TNA, FO371/108933/99, Makins to Kirkpatrick (4 August 1954); Foreign Relations of the United States (FRUS), 1952–1954, VI, Part 1, Western Europe and Canada (Washington DC, 1987), 1079–96, 1100, 1104–7, 1112–25; FRUS, 1952–1954, VIII, Eastern Europe, Soviet Union, Eastern Mediterranean (Washington DC, 1988), 709–48. 14. Sherfield, Washington Embassy, 26. 15. Ibid., 37. 16. Ibid., 22–3; and see Saul Kelly, ‘Transatlantic Diplomat: Sir Roger Makins, Ambassador to Washington and Joint Permanent Secretary to the Treasury’, in Saul Kelly and Anthony Gorst (eds), Whitehall and the Suez Crisis (London, 2000). 17. Sherfield, Washington Embassy, 32. 18. Ibid., 25. 19. Ibid., 32–3; Kelly, ‘Transatlantic Diplomat’, 170–3. 20. Sherfield, Washington Embassy, 33. 21. See Kelly, ‘Very Considerable’, passim. 22. Sherfield, Washington Embassy, 32–3. 23. Kelly, ‘No Ordinary Official’, 121. 24. Sherfield, Washington Embassy, 51–3, 122–3; Sherfield Papers, MS Memoirs, The Suez Crisis, 28, 31–2; PREM11/422, Makins to FO (6 and 15 June 1953), PREM11/1101, Makins to FO, telegrams, 1845–7 (9 September 1956); John Young, Winston Churchill’s Last Campaign: Britain and the Cold War, 1951–1955 (Oxford, 1996), 135–69, 267–80; Peter G. Boyle, The Churchill-Eisenhower Correspondence (Chapel Hill, 1990), 30–51, 56–9. 25. Sherfield, Washington Embassy, 18, 43–5, 59–62, 67–8, 89, 133–6; FO371/ 109102/3, Makins to FO (7 January 1954); Stephen Ambrose, Eisenhower: Volume 2 (New York, 1984), 157–8.

Saul Kelly 109 26. FO371/120318/118, Makins to Kirkpatrick (27 November 1956), enclosing his ‘valedictory despatch’ to Lloyd (dated 30 November). 27. Sherfield, Washington Embassy, 50–4. 28. Sherfield Papers, Green Box 41, broadcast speech of 8 October 1956. 29. Sherfield, Washington Embassy, 70. 30. Ibid., 112–13. 31. Ibid., 112–18. 32. Ibid., 40. 33. Henry Brandon, Special Relationship (London, 1988), 93. 34. Sherfield, Washington Embassy, 22–3. 35. See Kelly, ‘Very Considerable’ and ‘Transatlantic Diplomat’, passim. 36. Sherfield, Washington Embassy, p. 113. 37. Ibid., 99–113; Makins to FO telegrams in PREM11/645, 649, 666, 667 and 683; FO800/842, Makins to FO (4 June 1954) and Makins to Eden (18 and 21 June 1954). 38. Author’s interview with Peter Marshall (21 November 2007). 39. Sherfield, Washington Embassy, 136–9; Birmingham University Library, Avon Papers, AP20/17/30, Makins to Eden (2 December 1954). 40. See correspondence in PREM11/867 and 879; and FO371/110237, 110239, 110240, 115031, 115035, 115049 and 115054. 41 John Charmley, Churchill’s Grand Alliance: The Anglo-American Special Relationship, 1940–57 (London, 1995), 302. 42. Sherfield, Washington Embassy, 92–5; TNA, CAB129/66, C(54)58 (15 February 1954); FRUS, 1952–1954, IX, Part 1 (Washington DC, 1986), 1683–4; W.S. Lucas, Divided We Stand (London, 1991), 32–4. 43 Sherfield Papers, MS Memoirs, Suez Crisis, 10; FO371/113738/253, Makins to FO, telegrams 2885–7 (27 November); FO371/113739/270, Makins to Eden (29 November 1955). 44. Sherfield Papers, MS Memoirs, Suez Crisis, 7–11; FO371/113742/270, Makins to FO (29 December 1955); FRUS, 1955–1957, XIV, The Arab-Israeli Dispute (Washington DC, 1989), 849–51, 860–5, 868–70. 45. Private information. 46. Kelly, ‘Transatlantic Diplomat’, 169–73. 47. Sherfield, Washington Embassy, 73–4, 84; FO371/120318/118, Makins to Kirkpatrick (27 November 1956), enclosing his ‘valedictory despatch’ to Lloyd (dated 30 November). 48. Ibid., 34–5. 49. Ibid., 34–5, 71–4, 78–82 (‘ping-pong’ quotation from 74). The more subtle cultural propaganda was purveyed by such agencies as the British Information Services and the English Speaking Union. 50. Ibid., 79, 81–2. 51. FO371/120318/118, Makins to Kirkpatrick (27 November), enclosing his ‘valedictory despatch’ to Lloyd (dated 30 November 1956). 52. PREM11/2189, Caccia to Lloyd (1 January 1957). 53. CAB21/3314, Millard, ‘Memorandum on Relations between the United Kingdom, the United States and France in the months following the Nationalisation of the Suez Canal Company in 1956’ (August 1957), 40.

6 Harold Caccia, 1956–61 James Ellison

Harold Caccia’s mission as Ambassador to Washington began in the most unpropitious circumstances. On 9 November 1956 he presented his credentials in the Oval Office only three days after President Dwight Eisenhower had forced Britain’s Prime Minister, Anthony Eden – a friend of Caccia’s since the 1930s – to announce a ceasefire in the Suez Canal zone. So began Eden’s public ‘Suezide’ as Caccia was faced with representing his country in the United States at the worst moment in the special relationship since it was forged during the Second World War.1 The tide was against him in more ways than one, as Caccia’s arrival in Washington by sea nearly a month after Roger Makins’ departure had left Britain’s embassy without an Ambassador during the final descent to Suez. Whether this had been a deliberate decision (as Caccia and Makins later supposed) or whether the protracted journey was Caccia’s preference, ‘to which Eden had agreed to his subsequent regret’, is uncertain.2 In any case, the interregnum evoked a breakdown in Anglo-American communications and contributed to what Makins described as the ‘frosty reception’ that Caccia received as he began his attempt to rebuild relations.3 He spent five years in pursuit of this aim but his ambassadorship has not received particular acclaim despite Time magazine’s remark on his departure that he was ‘largely responsible for smoothing over Anglo-U.S. differences after Suez’.4 No doubt this has been due in part to the Camelot associations of his successor, David Ormsby Gore, and the intimate role he played during the purportedly ‘golden days of Mac and Jack’.5 Yet Ormsby Gore was the second of Britain’s Ambassadors to the Kennedy administration and it was Caccia who fostered the JFK–Macmillan relationship for the first nine months with the same high levels of professionalism that distinguish his postSuez diplomacy. 110

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Caccia’s career Caccia’s appointment to the ambassadorship in Washington was a continuation of the high achievement that had marked his diplomatic career. He had always been an outstanding individual. As a boy at Eton College he earned academic, social and sporting plaudits and acquired a reputation as an all-rounder, a characteristic which further exhibited itself during his undergraduate studies in philosophy, politics and economics at Trinity College, Oxford. On 11 October 1929, aged 24, he joined the Diplomatic Service with the support of the college president who wrote that, ‘I have no doubt at all that he is the kind of man who would be useful in the Diplomatic Service, as, besides being popular, intelligent and painstaking, he has great charm of manner, and real strength of moral character.’6 Twenty-seven years later, on the announcement that Caccia was Ambassador-designate to Washington, a CBS reporter in London broadcast a biographical snapshot which underlined Caccia’s professional achievements and also the charm identified at Oxford: ‘Sir Harold . . . is one of the most informal, easy-going and sociable diplomats in British history.’7 Indeed, this demeanour seems to have remained effective throughout his career, so much that it was noted in his entry in the Dictionary of National Biography written by his friend and colleague Makins in 1990: ‘. . . he retained throughout his life a cheerful and light-hearted, almost boyish, manner, which concealed a serious and thoughtful disposition.’8 These more cerebral qualities, in partnership with his background and personality, help explain why he was identified so early in his Foreign Office career as a rising star. After three years in Beijing, Caccia returned to the Foreign Office and in 1936 became Assistant Private Secretary to the Foreign Secretary, Anthony Eden. This post was ‘the first hint’ that he was ‘above the average in ability’.9 His career began to flourish as he worked with the first of a number of senior politicians who would feature significantly during his diplomatic life and beyond. It was of course a formative period to be in close proximity to the making of British foreign policy and it was perhaps during the two years with Eden that Caccia began to gain the experience which led Nicholas Henderson to describe him as ‘ever practical, and swift as a pike to understand politicians’ minds’.10 Caccia earned Eden’s respect, not least because he supported his anti-appeasement stance which led to his resignation in 1938.11 This pre-war personal bond between two old Etonians was such that Caccia was thereafter ‘identified as a loyal Eden man’.12

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At the outbreak of the Second World War Caccia found himself at the British legation in Athens where he was promoted to Chargé d’Affaires in 1940. After a dangerous escape as the Nazis invaded, Caccia returned to the Foreign Office. In 1943 he joined the staff of Harold Macmillan, Minister Resident at Allied Forces Headquarters (AFHQ) in North West Africa. There they began a lifelong professional relationship and personal friendship. Caccia became one of a number of figures associated with Macmillan during the war who would work for him in the 1950s and 1960s.13 They included Anthony Rumbold, Kit Steel and John Wyndham but it was Roger Makins, Macmillan’s chief adviser in 1943–44, with whom Caccia formed a particularly close rapport, one which would be critical in his succeeding Makins in Washington.14 North Africa saw Caccia not only encounter the man who would be Prime Minister during his Washington ambassadorship but also one of the two men who would be President, because he was also a member of General Dwight D. Eisenhower’s staff at AFHQ. According to CBS in 1956, he and Macmillan ‘were among the first British leaders to become personal friends of the American commander’, making Caccia one of the ‘original Eisenhower boys’.15 These wartime acquaintances would be invaluable as Caccia attempted to convince the Eisenhower administration of the value of Anglo-American ties after November 1956. Under Macmillan, Caccia served as vice-president of the UK-US Allied Control Commission in Italy from November 1943 and returned to Athens as Minister in 1944. There he ‘was in his element in a military environment’ as he ‘played an important role in the difficult post-liberation period in Greece’.16 In 1946, his skills were called upon by the Labour Foreign Secretary, Ernest Bevin, whose ‘urgent personal request’ brought Caccia back to the Foreign Office as Chief Clerk to implement the reforms announced by Eden in 1943. Twenty years on, another Labour Foreign Secretary, Michael Stewart, told Caccia that the ‘Service as a whole over the past 20 years owes you a debt of gratitude for the solid foundation you laid’.17 Caccia had become a man noted for his administrative, as well as his diplomatic, prowess and was expected to use both as he represented Britain in the tense Cold War atmosphere of Vienna in 1950–54. His success here was partly explained by the fact that he was ‘persona grata to the allied military commanders and popular with the Austrian authorities’ but it was control of the Foreign Office, rather than a further ambassadorial post, that was his ambition as he became Deputy Under-Secretary of State in 1954.18 Indeed, he fully expected that his professional reputation and his personal relations with FO colleagues, Conservative ministers (not least Eden when he became Prime Minister) and figures in the US government

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would qualify him to be Ivone Kirkpatrick’s successor as Permanent UnderSecretary (PUS) when the latter reached retirement in 1957. This was neither a vainglorious nor unrealistic ambition and Caccia was confident enough to buy an expensive London home where he, his wife Nancy, and their three children would live.19 Yet it was at this point that Caccia’s career took an unexpected and not entirely welcome turn.

Appointment to Washington As the previous chapter has explained, Roger Makins’ ambassadorship to the United States was foreshortened in 1956 when he was recalled to London to become Joint Permanent Secretary of the Treasury. Makins told the Secretary of State, John Foster Dulles, ‘how truly sorry’ he would be to leave Washington, a sentiment which no doubt derived in part from what Makins believed to be ‘the failure of both Eden and . . . Sir Ivone Kirkpatrick, to understand the American perspective as the direct result of their never having served in any capacity in the United States’.20 Caccia’s career had not taken him to the United States either but, as Makins knew well, he had experience of working with Eisenhower and the Americans during the war and had cooperated with them in Vienna in the early 1950s. Since then, he had accompanied Eden to the Geneva Conference and Churchill to Washington in 1954. The following year, he had attended the four-power Geneva Summit (where he was ‘ubiquitous’ as American and British officials ‘worked well together’) and in January 1956, he travelled to Washington once more with Eden and Lloyd.21 This was enough for Makins to plead that Caccia should succeed him.22 There is no reason to presume that Eden did not share Makins’ high esteem for Caccia, but we do know that his imperative was to replace the Ambassador in Washington, ‘whom he felt had gone “native” after four years exposure to Eastern-seaboard liberal internationalism’.23 Eden’s Middle Eastern myopia compounded this criticism and it must have influenced his agreement to Caccia’s appointment. Quite how is hard to say but perhaps two of Caccia’s attributes were significant. First, in his previous ambassadorial post in Vienna he had maintained good relations with American colleagues and encouraged his staff to do the same. However, he also ‘occasionally took action without prior United States notification when the interests of his government made this seem expedient’.24 Secondly, Caccia had gained a reputation in recent years as ‘a trouble shooter’ who, while ‘affable, polished and charming with a fine agile mind’, could be ‘a firm, tough negotiator’ when the occasion demanded.25 Eden knew that such an occasion was looming and thus

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Caccia’s career path, which had been heading to the PUS’s office, now led to Washington. The Ambassador-designate was not instinctively enthusiastic about his new appointment and did not hide the fact. In a personal letter to assuage Caccia’s frustration, Kirkpatrick hoped that he was ‘not too disappointed at being earmarked for Washington’ as the embassy was ‘more important’ than being PUS as it could ‘make a difference who is in Washington’.26 But Caccia questioned whether he was the right man. He used a characteristic sporting metaphor to tell Makins that ‘Nancy and I have all that sensation of being asked to open an innings at Lords, when we really are not bats at all’. As Washington sounded ‘intimidating’, Caccia asked for advice, adding that ‘[a]fter all it’s really your doing!’27 Such advice as Makins gave focused on the practical aspects of running an embassy but he also reported that, in the US press, Caccia had been ‘almost exclusively and perhaps excessively billed as “an old friend of Ike” ’ and as ‘an indefatigable dancer’.28 While Makins prepared for his departure and Caccia (perhaps ruefully) became Acting PUS in Kirkpatrick’s absence, the two men exchanged further letters about the state of the embassy silver, including whether the 1954 loan of 24 silver dinner plates to Pierson Dixon (Britain’s Permanent Representative at the United Nations) should be called in.29 They expedited such matters as they were both involved in international pre-crisis Suez diplomacy and it was as such efforts failed that Caccia arrived at the White House to present his credentials to the president.

Restoring the Anglo-American relationship There were no expectations of genial greetings from Eisenhower to Caccia on the morning of 9 November 1956. Eden’s actions over Suez undermined the reference in the Ambassador’s draft address to shared Anglo-American responsibilities, particularly in Europe and the Middle East, ‘for the maintenance not only of the security of the Western world, but also for the high principles which are common to us both’.30 Instead, Caccia simply affirmed that the need for bilateral cooperation was ‘as great as it ever has been throughout the world’.31 Although in retrospect Makins suggested that in ‘spite of his earlier relationship with the US president, Caccia received a frosty reception’, the Ambassador’s own telegram to London indicates that Eisenhower ‘could not personally have been more friendly or indeed more forgiving’. In fact, the President asked Caccia ‘to convey to the Prime Minister the warmest message of personal friendship’ and to assure him that ‘his views about the vital need for an

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Anglo-United States alliance’ were unchanged.32 In his memoirs, Eden referred specifically to the ‘friendly interview’ given by Eisenhower to Caccia but the painful reality was that between ‘the second week of November and his final resignation the following January the British premier was effectively ostracized by the American government’ as leading figures in Washington seethed at British actions.33 Such was the environment in which Caccia began his term as Ambassador. During the fraught months of November and December the Eisenhower administration used financial pressures to secure British agreement to an unconditional withdrawal from Egypt. Caccia’s ability to work ‘quietly and effectively behind [the] scenes’ was thus immediately called upon as he managed a relationship in crisis.34 Whether the Ambassador’s job was made more difficult by American doubts about his association with Eden and Britain’s Middle Eastern policies remains an open question in the absence of evidence.35 So too must the proposition that Caccia was ‘largely in the dark about the extent to which his country had recently engaged in a dishonourable conspiracy’, although it is not implausible that he was unaware of collusion and Eden’s military plans given that Kirkpatrick had been ‘increasingly circumvented’ from mid-October and that Makins had also been sidelined.36 In any case, as the crisis reached its conclusion, Caccia was involved in two notable events. The first, on 17 November, was the visit he paid with Foreign Secretary Selwyn Lloyd to the hospital bed of Dulles, who famously asked, ‘Selwyn, why did you stop? Why didn’t you go through with it and get Nasser down?’37 The second was in comparison unambiguous but perhaps equally galling. On 28 November Eisenhower’s Treasury Secretary, George Humphrey, conveyed through Caccia word that the United States would not offer vital financial assistance to the United Kingdom because it had been ‘an armed burglar who had climbed in through the window while [Egyptian President] Nasser was the house-holder in his nightshirt appealing to the world for protection’.38 Facing bankruptcy, the British government capitulated as Eden recuperated in Jamaica and his succession was planned. It was Makins who described his departure from Washington as ‘the end of an era’ in Anglo-American relations in light of ‘after-events’ but it was Caccia who defined the nature of the new era.39 As Ambassador, Caccia became renowned in Whitehall for his ability to write lucid, insightful and prescient surveys of American affairs, skills first exposed by his 28 December 1956 assessment of ‘The Present State of AngloUnited States Relations’.40 Caccia felt that ‘three things’ had ‘ended’: ‘first, the sentimental attachment, in the Administration, created by our wartime experience as crusaders in arms; second, the innate trust in our

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longer experience of international affairs and our reputation for dependability; third, our largely unquestioned right to a special position’. Based on the assumption that Britain would wish to reinstate special relations with the United States, Caccia accurately predicted no ‘insuperable difficulties in attaining this objective’. In terms of tactics, he advised that ‘[w]e should not run after them’ and instead be patient, as ‘Mr Dulles has asked us to be’.41 Caccia also hoped that his government would ‘be plain spoken’ and indicate that it was dealing with its problems, especially financial, while asking for ‘no favours’. Furthermore, he requested that ministers leave the fence-mending to him and other officials and thus avoid ‘trying to do business by dramatic means, such as meetings at high levels’. Although this meant ‘hard pounding at lower levels’ it was appropriate because the quarrels that the Eden government had had were with the ‘old men’ of the Eisenhower administration who would ‘disappear before too long’. Furthermore, at ‘lower levels, feelings ha[d] been less ruffled, and habits of co-operation and trust have been fairly well implanted and . . . the Service and technical fields are now working just as before’. Combined with these encouraging signs was Caccia’s view that no other state could replace Britain as America’s ‘chosen ally’. He was confident that the new era in Anglo-American relations ‘should hold no terrors’.42 The Ambassador’s attempt to make the restoration of UK–US relations a project for officials, not least from his own embassy, obtained the support of Kirkpatrick who agreed with his ‘every word’.43 Losing no time Caccia wrote to Macmillan, the day after he succeeded Eden as Prime Minister, to dissuade him from an early visit to Washington. While Eisenhower’s ‘affection and esteem’ for his wartime colleague remained ‘entire’, and while Macmillan had ‘good friends in George Humphrey and Foster Dulles’, Caccia felt that if there was to be a summit it should follow a review of relations area by area. This should ‘start at the working level and lead up to . . . the top . . . Not the other way around’. Otherwise a meeting would ‘be a great risk and would almost certainly lead to tears later’.44 Such reluctance to see Macmillan in Washington stemmed from varied motives. After the worst AngloAmerican row since the war, it was best to allow the dust to settle and leave the clearing up to officials who could do the job behind closed doors where ties had been less strained. Macmillan could then bring his new broom to Washington after a dignified period and use it ceremoniously. Caccia’s advice to London was also influenced by the way the Eisenhower administration was treating him. The Americans were also eager to put Suez behind them but it had to be done carefully. Dulles

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had warned Caccia ‘not to visit the State department too often, but to come instead to see him at his home in Washington at weekends to avoid attracting attention’.45 ‘Softly, softly’ was the line to be followed and, after Macmillan agreed to it, the Ambassador sought Dulles’ view; he too ‘plumped at once for talks at the working level’.46 All looked to be going the diplomat’s way until 22 January 1957 when he learnt that the President was eager to meet the Prime Minister perhaps as early as March. Caccia expressed his reservations to the State Department’s Robert Murphy, a figure whom he had known since his AFHQ days and who worked closely with his embassy. The Ambassador wondered ‘what we were trying to achieve by such a visit’ but, when it became clear that there was now momentum behind the proposal, he urged ‘a later date than March’.47 In this he failed. It was agreed that the President and Prime Minister would begin their own public renovation of relations at Bermuda from 21 to 23 March. Forced to act more quickly than he would have liked, Caccia impressed two points on Macmillan and Whitehall which set the tone for the British approach to the meetings. First, the Bermuda communiqué ‘should be as concrete and specific as possible’ which meant careful preparation. Secondly, Bermuda was an opportunity ‘most unlikely to recur’ as Eisenhower’s powers would ‘not extend beyond this year’ given that he was ‘ageing and tends increasingly to deal in generalities’.48 This was a premature judgement on the President’s authority but it was one that Caccia pushed consistently as he urged his government to limit its objectives in the areas that mattered (Europe, the Middle East, the Far East and economics) and ‘above all . . . aim to restore our special position’.49 The Bermuda meetings did not settle all Anglo-American disputes, particularly over the sore spot of the Middle East, but Macmillan was able to ‘foster the impression . . . of an alliance restored’ with a willing Eisenhower.50 The contribution of Caccia and his embassy to this outcome was to deepen the official-level contacts established post-Suez with a State Department which sought to restore its working relationship with British opposite numbers. While it would take another Eisenhower–Macmillan meeting later in the year to institutionalise renewed cooperation, the process had now begun.51 Amid these events Caccia also began a public diplomacy effort which would continue throughout his mission and see him travel regularly across the United States. Eleven days of February were taken up visiting New York, Baltimore and New Mexico and, before the Bermuda preparations intervened, he had planned a 15 day tour of Louisiana and Texas.52 On such occasions Caccia used the fact that he was ‘[n]o

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stuffed shirt’ – he liked to shoot and play sport as well as attend the opera – to strengthen Britain’s standing as America’s first ally.53 Following his own guidance that the British ‘should not run after [the Americans]’, the Ambassador emphasised Britain’s friendly independence from the United States. In Chicago in June 1957, for example, he ‘served notice that Britain would be a “lively partner” . . . rather than a yes man’.54 This sentiment was close to Caccia’s own view, as he was proud of his country and found its declining status difficult to accept.55 He did, however, recognise that cooperation with the United States was critical to British interests and thus he embraced the opportunity provided by the unexpected launch of the Soviet’s first space satellite, Sputnik, on 4 October 1957 to enhance the reconciliation begun in the Caribbean in March. In the weeks before Sputnik, Caccia produced an upbeat review of the state of UK–US relations which nevertheless warned London that ‘we should not have excessive hopes of anything which requires the executive to put new legislation through the Congress’.56 Caccia was a sharp observer of the relationship between these two arms of the US government and his mistaken prediction underscores the jolt Sputnik gave the Americans. It was shock enough for Eisenhower to push the repeal of the 1946 McMahon Act through Congress in 1958 and thus recommence exclusive Anglo-American nuclear cooperation. He was moved to do so during the 23–25 October 1957 UK–US conference in Washington, convened by his administration in its Sputnik-inspired panic. The ground had been prepared to make Suez even more of a memory by Britain’s highest representative, Queen Elizabeth II. She had visited the United States earlier in October to mark the 350th anniversary of the founding of the colony of Virginia and according to Caccia, she had ‘a tremendous effect’.57 Although this ‘effect’ may have extended to Dulles, it is more realistic to assume that the extraordinary interest he showed in close Anglo-American ties from October 1957 stemmed from the Soviet satellite rather than the British sovereign. On 15 October he told Lloyd and Caccia of Eisenhower’s hopes for a meeting with Macmillan which, as he explained on the 18th, should ‘give birth to a new phase’ of UK–US relations ‘which might subsequently be extended to other countries of the free world’. The Secretary of State ‘concluded with a plea that the United Kingdom should produce concrete ideas’ for the meetings.58 Britain’s highest objective for the Washington Summit was improved collaboration in nuclear defence and Eisenhower’s commitment to repeal the McMahon Act was the ‘great prize’, as Macmillan put it.59

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Beyond that there was the agreement to develop Anglo-American interdependence and cultivate it through the establishment of a series of secret working groups on nuclear relations, Cold War regional issues and subjects such as psychological and economic warfare.60 This kind of official-level collaboration was what Caccia had urged from early 1957 and the efforts his embassy had made to renew links with the US government had laid solid foundations, not least through the Anglo-American Syrian working group of September 1957.61 Caccia had also personally won the Eisenhower administration’s respect and Macmillan thanked him and his embassy for their contribution to the conference, noting in his diary that the Ambassador was ‘a tremendous success’.62 This may have been due in part to the credence that Caccia’s earlier wartime role on Eisenhower’s Anglo-American staff had given him, the spirit of which Macmillan attempted to conjure up during the Washington Conference by suggesting that the new working-group machinery would generate a ‘sense of common purpose and effort such as that which had permeated AFHQ during the war’.63 These were high hopes, not least because the public ‘Declaration of Common Purpose’, which Eisenhower and Macmillan signed at the close of their meetings, had running through it the American desire to widen UK–US cooperation to the whole Western alliance.64 The Anglo-American working groups were warmly welcomed by the Macmillan government for the intimacy they represented yet their effectiveness did not match their symbolism. A review as early as March 1958 by Patrick Dean, Chairman of the Joint Intelligence Committee, saw value in them but emphasised that Embassy–State Department ‘contacts are often faster and more decisive’.65 The working groups continued to grind along into 1959 but by this stage, the heat put into American enthusiasm by Sputnik had cooled. In March 1959 the Foreign Office urged that the passing of the working groups should not be lamented. It also explained that their failure was due to a number of factors, not least a lack of interdepartmental co-ordination in the US government but also the success of Caccia’s embassy. With Embassy–State Department communications so effective, ‘one strong reason for attaching importance to the working groups – the fear that, without formal machinery, the wish of Mr Dulles and the President to increase Anglo-American consultation might not be fully reflected in the day-to-day relationships – ha[d] now disappeared’.66 Through his diplomacy, and the receptive audience he found for it in US foreign policy-making circles, Caccia had unwittingly contributed to the demise of the working-group experiment. The spirit of Eisenhower’s AFHQ had not been resuscitated but the failure was

120 Harold Caccia, 1956–61

much more to do with the fundamental difference of opinion between London and Washington over the definition of interdependence than actions by officials on either side. The sharp realities of post-Suez asymmetry had been temporarily blunted by Bermuda and Sputnik but divergences over the Lebanon and Jordan in 1958, Macmillan’s Moscow visit in 1959 and, ultimately, the disastrous May 1960 summit all pointed to a weakening, rather than a strengthening, of the AngloAmerican relationship.67 Yet Caccia’s reports to London did not depict Anglo-American relations on the wane. He did describe friction over certain issues, such as reconciling British interests in maintaining exclusive UK–US ties with American interests in protecting the nascent European Economic Community’s place within the Western alliance, but overall Embassy–State Department relations continued to function well.68 This perhaps accounts for the Ambassador’s generally positive outlook and also implies that one of the features of the Anglo-American relationship – that official ties endure despite political fluctuations – was already apparent in the late 1950s. Caccia carried out his duties with the same energy and professionalism that had embodied his mission so far by promoting relations with the US government and peoples, hosting dignitaries’ visits and offering policy advice to London. He also urged Macmillan on his re-election in 1959 to work with Eisenhower to carry interdependence to its next stage and judged on 1 January 1960 that the preceding year had been good for Anglo-American relations, perhaps even the best of Eisenhower’s seven years.69 At this stage, however, Caccia was already beginning to look to the presidential election of November 1960 and what it would mean.

The Kennedy administration Although the Kennedy–Macmillan era was not as golden as once thought, it is still accepted that one of the special elements of relations under their leadership was the role of Caccia’s successor, Ormsby Gore.70 As the next chapter shows, his friendship with the Kennedys gave his ambassadorship an extraordinary quality but it should be noted that his mission did not begin until October 1961. Until then, it was Caccia, with Ormsby Gore’s assistance as Minister of State at the FO, who oversaw the changeover between Presidents and encouraged the new administration to retain special relations with London. In doing so, he sought to remove the uncertainties voiced by Macmillan in a letter to Foreign Secretary Lord Home on 9 November 1960, the day after the presidential election: ‘With President Eisenhower we have a

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long comradeship covering nearly twenty years of war and peace. We therefore could appeal to memories. With this new and comparatively young President we have nothing of the kind to draw on.’ Macmillan’s answer was to ‘make our contacts in the realm of ideas’ but it was left to Caccia to make contacts on a practical level.71 The Ambassador’s task was potentially affected by the loss of his wartime ties with the President, but he had become well respected in Washington and already had experience of dealing successfully with change at the top in the US government. In April 1959 ill health had forced Dulles to resign and Caccia forged good relations with his successor, Christian Herter, who later wrote that ‘[o]ne of the real rewards’ of his post at the State Department ‘was the opportunity it gave me to get to know both you and Nancy’.72 Caccia’s senior staff had also developed strong ties with US agencies which would bridge 1960–61. In particular, Samuel Hood, Minister at the British Embassy from 1957 to 1962, was well regarded. An aristocratic old Etonian five years Caccia’s junior with many American family connections, Hood often deputised for his Ambassador, having the confidence of both the UK and the US governments.73 All this pointed towards a smooth transition at a working level between the embassy and the incoming administration. Even though he knew, from November 1959, that he would return to London to become PUS at last, Caccia lobbied the Foreign Office to keep him in Washington until late in 1961.74 ‘Any new Administration’, he said, ‘takes some months to get under way and to establish close working ties with it, time is necessary’.75 Moreover, familiarity with individuals in senior positions was required and Caccia reminded his superiors in London in the days before Kennedy’s election that ‘I have had to have a good deal to do during the last years with the names which are now being bandied about for Kennedy’s choices for the leading posts in his Administration . . . .’76 Macmillan and Home agreed and thus Caccia remained in Washington until autumn 1961.77 The first important role that Caccia played was to manage, in conjunction with Ormsby Gore and Whitehall, the Prime Minister’s opening contacts with the President-elect. This was not straightforward given Macmillan’s eagerness to begin a close personal relationship with Kennedy. In different circumstances, Caccia had advised against an early Macmillan–Eisenhower meeting in 1957 on the grounds that such events required careful preparation, and he took the same line in 1960 even if relations were comparatively calm.78 In this he had the support of Ormsby Gore who met Kennedy on 7 December and advised London that as his friend was still ‘far from well-informed’, it would be best to

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postpone a message from Macmillan and to set a later date for a meeting.79 Despite these combined efforts, Caccia and Ormsby Gore failed to dissuade the Prime Minister, who asked the Ambassador to negotiate an invitation from Kennedy and to offer advice on the contents of a message to him.80 During his talks with Ormsby Gore, Kennedy had emphasised how he ‘looked forward to maintaining the closest relations’ with the British, especially Macmillan, and this may explain why he told Caccia on 15 December that he would like to meet the Prime Minister in March 1961.81 Having failed to delay the opening Kennedy–Macmillan encounter, Caccia tried to influence the Prime Minister’s message. Much preparatory work had been put into various drafts in Whitehall and a formidably long list of subjects had been drawn up which Caccia thought inappropriate for a first communication. Instead, he suggested that Macmillan provide a ‘broad picture of the prospects for the West’ and mention three specific issues: the balance of payments; disarmament and the Soviet leader Nikita Khrushchev; and Africa.82 In this endeavour he was more successful as the letter closely followed Caccia’s prescription.83 With the date set for the Kennedy–Macmillan meeting at Key West, Florida Caccia began to gather information about the likely policies of the new administration and build ties with the State Department, particularly with the incoming Secretary of State, Dean Rusk. Private meetings in December 1960 continued at the State Department from January 1961, with Rusk ensuring that Caccia could come and go ‘without being seen by the press’. The pair got on well and gained a good understanding of their respective government’s attitudes on world issues.84 They were also directed by Kennedy to prepare the agenda for Key West and hold preliminary meetings.85 These contacts and Kennedy’s famous inaugural address did not lead Caccia to revise his original prediction that ‘[w]e may have some uncomfortable moments’ but that ‘uncertainties everywhere will enable us to start with the new Administration as the most reliable of America’s allies’.86 This was an accurate assessment. There were ‘uncomfortable moments’ at Key West, especially over American proposals for military intervention in Laos, but Kennedy showed himself eager to make Macmillan his premier ally.87 This blend of specific differences and an overall sense of close cooperation characterised the Kennedy–Macmillan era as it did Caccia’s relations with Americans during his last nine months as Ambassador. Not all encounters with the State Department were affable. Caccia’s 2 May 1961 exchange on European policies with George Ball, the Under-Secretary for Economic Affairs and well-known sceptic of the special relationship, saw

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blunt language.88 But this proved an isolated incident. In his review of the first six months of Kennedy’s administration, Caccia noted that the President’s touch in foreign affairs had been ‘much less sure’ than in domestic affairs, not least over the Bay of Pigs fiasco in April and the Vienna Summit with Khrushchev in June. Nevertheless, British interests had not ‘suffered any serious harm’ as ‘close Anglo-American cooperation has continued under [Kennedy’s] administration at all levels just as before’. While the President may not have entered the White House with ‘a conscious conviction about the special nature of Anglo-American relations’ he had done ‘nothing which suggests he does not fully realise its value’.89 It was Kennedy’s desire to foster his administration’s relationship with the British that led to his ‘emphatic’ request at Key West that Macmillan appoint Ormsby Gore as Caccia’s successor.90 The result was an exceptionally intimate ambassadorship but it was the first Ambassador to the Kennedy administration, Caccia, who had safeguarded Anglo-American relations as they entered a new era, just as he had done in 1956–57.

Conclusion On Caccia’s retirement from the Diplomatic Service in July 1965, it fell to the then Foreign Secretary, Michael Stewart, Caccia’s 15th diplomatic master, to pass on the Queen’s gratitude ‘for the great services’ he had ‘rendered to the Crown’ during a ‘long and distinguished career’.91 In describing Caccia’s many achievements, Stewart concentrated in particular on his ‘successful tenure at the Washington Embassy’. There he had ‘at first to struggle against the suspicion and disapproval which followed events at Suez’ and later he was ‘able to start the slow process of restoration during the closing stages of Eisenhower’s administration, and to complete it, still more successfully, in the first year of President Kennedy’s term of office’. This was a period, Stewart imagined, upon which Caccia ‘must look back with particular satisfaction’. That he did, perhaps ironically given that he had not wanted to become Ambassador to Washington in 1956.92 Then, his sights were set on being PUS at the Foreign Office, the pinnacle of any career diplomat’s professional life. Yet, when he was eventually assigned to that post, he did his best to remain in Washington for as long as possible. This did not derive from arrogance, a trait never associated with Caccia, but instead because he was ‘devoted to his career’, as he had been in 1956, and felt that there was an important role to be carried out for his country and that he was qualified to do it.93

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In assessing Caccia’s accomplishments from 1956 to 1961, it is clear that his character, diplomatic talents and past experience contributed to his personal authority and prestige. The unquantifiable advantage given by personal friendships also played its part. This was certainly the case with Macmillan who had first come across Caccia’s skills in North Africa in 1943 and continued to utilise them in Washington where he remained a dependable colleague with no hint of the dissatisfaction that has been attributed to Eden’s view of Makins.94 Such was the bond between Macmillan and Caccia that, in retirement, the former Prime Minister was a regular visitor at Eton College where Caccia was Provost from 1965 to 1977.95 Wartime ties also had their effect on the Ambassador’s influence with the first of the two US Presidents he dealt with. On the occasion of a farewell dinner for Caccia in 1961, Eisenhower sent a fulsome cable which began by noting that for ‘a long time it has been my good fortune to know Sir Harold Caccia’ and commended the ‘great distinction’ with which he had represented his country ‘in the best tradition at the same time winning more and more friends in every echelon of government’.96 While no equivalent message from Eisenhower’s successor survives, in 1966 Kennedy’s former National Security Adviser, McGeorge Bundy, thanked Caccia for his note marking Bundy’s departure from office. ‘It has been a fascinating five years’, Bundy wrote, ‘and one of the best things about it has been the chance to work closely with so many outstanding representatives of the Queen – starting with yourself, right from January, 1961’. Looking back, Bundy added that there had been ‘a lot of talk in those days about the effectiveness of the transition within the United States Government. A lot of the credit belongs to the outstanding friends of this country in Washington who worked so closely with both Administrations, and you were right at the top of that list.’97 Such testimonials speak to Caccia’s influence in the United States over two administrations after the great schism in Anglo-American relations. His place in the history of the special relationship, which he worked consistently to re-establish and then sustain, has not received the attention awarded to his predecessor and successor. This is partly because Makins’ ambassadorship was marked by controversy over Suez and because Ormsby Gore’s was elevated by personal association with one of America’s most iconic Presidents. It is also due to the fact that Caccia was the diplomat’s diplomat and, notwithstanding his frequent travels across the United States, a ‘passionate adherent to the Foreign Office’s “cult of anonymity” ’ as Time magazine put it on the announcement of his retirement from Washington.98 Over a decade later in July 1974, in his own retirement from government office, Dean Rusk spent a day with

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Caccia at Eton College and as a result was moved to write to him in very warm terms. ‘I have often reflected upon the chapter on “The Ideal Diplomatist” in Sir Harold Nicolson’s small volume on Diplomacy’, Rusk wrote. ‘The longer I live, the more I am convinced that the qualities of wisdom, patience, clarity and integrity are supreme – and Harold Caccia has exemplified those as much as anyone I have known.’99 From a former US Secretary of State not given to hyperbole or to a romantic sense of the Anglo-American, this was quite a compliment.

Acknowledgements I would like to thank Clarissa Pryce-Jones for the information she gave me about her father, Lord Caccia. I am also grateful to Michael Meredith, Curator of Modern Collections, Eton College Library and Archives, and to Peter Hennessy and Sir Peter Ramsbotham.

Notes 1. David Reynolds, ‘Eden the Diplomatist: Suezide of a Statesman?’ History, Vol. 74 (1989), 64–84. 2. Saul Kelly, ‘Transatlantic Diplomat: Sir Roger Makins, Ambassador to Washington and Joint Permanent Secretary to the Treasury’, in Saul Kelly and Anthony Gorst (eds), Whitehall and the Suez Crisis (London, 2000), 157–77, quotation from 170; Robert Rhodes James, Anthony Eden (London, 1986), 544. There is evidence that Eden and Lloyd were ‘concerned about the length of [the] gap’ between Makins’ departure and Caccia’s arrival in light of a possible crisis over the Middle East: Bodleian Library, Oxford, Lord Sherfield Papers (hereinafter SP), MS.Sherfield.529, Kirkpatrick to Makins (4 September 1956). 3. Sherfield, ‘Caccia, Harold Anthony’, in Oxford Dictionary of National Biography Online (hereinafter DNB, Caccia), http://www.oxforddnb.com/view/article/ 39889. 4. Time, 9 June 1961. 5. The ‘golden days of Mac and Jack’ phrase is from John Dickie, ‘Special’ No More: Anglo-American Relations: Rhetoric and Reality (London, 1994), 105. 6. The National Archives, Kew (TNA), CSC11/41, Blakiston reference (31 May 1929). 7. Eton College Library and Archives, Windsor, Caccia Papers, ‘Letters, Papers on Washington’, CBS Broadcast (25 July 1956). 8. DNB, Caccia. 9. Caccia Papers, Letters, ‘Appointment as PUS’, Stewart to Caccia (15 July 1965). 10. Nicholas Henderson, Inside the Private Office: Memoirs of the Secretary to British Foreign Ministers (Chicago, 1987), 72. 11. Rhodes James, Eden, 554. Caccia’s friendship with Eden led to the latter’s first wife becoming god-mother to Caccia’s daughter Clarissa, born in 1939: information from Clarissa Pryce-Jones.

126 Harold Caccia, 1956–61 12. Caccia Papers, ‘Letters, Papers on Washington’, CBS Broadcast (25 July 1956). 13. Denis Greenhill, who served under Caccia in Washington, later wrote that he was ‘admired’ by Macmillan ‘and indeed by all’. Denis Greenhill, More by Accident (York, 1992), 96. 14. Harold Macmillan, The Blast of War 1939–45 (London, 1967), 358, 524. The Caccia and Makins families remain close: information from Clarissa Pryce-Jones. 15. Caccia Papers, ‘Letters, Papers on Washington’, CBS Broadcast (25 July 1956). See also, US National Archives and Records Administration (NARA), Maryland, Record Group 59, State Department Central Decimal Files, 1955–59, Box 2304, Parsons to Elbrick (6 November 1956). 16. DNB, Caccia; State Department Decimal files, Box 2304, Parsons to Elbrick (6 November 1956). 17. Caccia Papers, Letters, ‘Appointment as PUS’, Stewart to Caccia (15 July 1965). 18. DNB, Caccia. 19. Information from Clarissa Pryce-Jones. 20. State Department Decimal files, Box 2305, Makins to Dulles (19 July 1956); Kelly, ‘Transatlantic Diplomat’, 159. 21. Sherfield Papers, MS.Sherfield.525, Caccia to Makins (23 December 1954) and 527, Kirkpatrick to Makins (8 August 1955). 22. Information from Clarissa Pryce-Jones. 23. D.R. Thorpe, Eden (London, 2003), 496. 24. State Department Decimal files, Box 2304, Elbrick to Acting Secretary (6 November 1956). 25. State Department Decimal files, Box 3193, London to State Department (25 July 1956). 26. Caccia Papers, Letters, ‘Papers on Washington’, Kirkpatrick to Caccia (12 July 1956). 27. Sherfield Papers, MS.Sherfield.457, Caccia to Makins (16 July 1956). 28. Caccia Papers, Letters, ‘Papers on Washington’, Makins to Caccia (30 July 1956). 29. Ibid., Letters, ‘Papers on Washington’, Makins to Caccia (7 August 1956) and Caccia to Makins (13 August 1956). 30. TNA, FO371/120380/1, FO to Washington (24 October 1956); FO371/120380/2, Hankey to Coulson (1 November 1956). 31. State Department Decimal files, Box 2304, Simmons to Shanley (8 November 1956). 32. DNB, Caccia; TNA, PREM11/2189, Caccia to FO (9 November 1956). 33. Anthony Eden, Full Circle: The Memoirs of the Rt. Hon. Sir Anthony Eden (London, 1960), 569; David Dutton, Anthony Eden: A Life and Reputation (London, 1997), 445. 34. Time, 19 November 1956. 35. Caccia had been a senior FO official on Middle Eastern affairs in 1955–6: Rhodes James, Eden, 446. 36. David Carlton, Britain and the Suez Crisis (Oxford, 1988), 91; Ann Lane, ‘The Past as Matrix: Sir Ivone Kirkpatrick, Permanent Under-Secretary for Foreign Affairs’, in Kelly and Gorst (eds), Suez Crisis, 199–220, 211; and Kelly, ‘Transatlantic Diplomat’, 169–70. The notion that Caccia was ignorant of Eden’s plans is reinforced by Sir Peter Ramsbotham’s view that the new

James Ellison 127

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.

ambassador arrived in the United States ‘without having received from Eden any instructions or information about the pending military action’. Letter to author, 1 December 2007. Selwyn Lloyd, Suez 1956: A Personal Account (London, 1979), 219. Quoted by Carlton, Britain, 90. PREM11/2189, Makins to Lloyd (27 November 1956). PREM11/2189, Caccia to Lloyd (28 December 1956). See Dulles’ comments to Caccia (24 December 19560 in Foreign Relations of the United States (FRUS), 1955–57, XXVII, Western Europe and Canada (Washington DC, 1992), 678–81. FO371/126682/2G, Caccia to FO (1, 2 and 3 January 1957). Caccia Papers, Letters, ‘Correspondence with PUS’, Kirkpatrick to Caccia (31 December 1956). FO371/126682/16G, Caccia to Kirkpatrick (11 January 1957). The same file shows that Kirkpatrick urged Lloyd to accept Caccia’s suggestion: Kirkpatrick to Lloyd (14 January 1957). David Dimbleby and David Reynolds, An Ocean Apart: the Relationship between Britain and America in the Twentieth Century (London, 1988), 222. FO371/126683/25G, Caccia to Kirkpatrick (17 January 1957). PREM11/1835, Caccia to Kirkpatrick (22 January 1957). Murphy was Deputy Under-Secretary for Political Affairs. PREM11/1835, Caccia to Macmillan (1 February 1957) and Norman Brook to Macmillan (6 February 1957). PREM11/1835, Caccia to FO 309 and 310 (11 February 1957) and Caccia to FO (15 February 1957). Nigel Ashton, ‘ “A Rear Guard Action”: Harold Macmillan and the Making of British Foreign Policy, 1957–63’, in T.G. Otte (ed.), The Makers of British Foreign Policy: from Pitt to Thatcher (Basingstoke, 2002), 238–60. Also, Michael Dockrill, ‘Restoring the “Special Relationship”: The Bermuda and Washington Conferences, 1957’, in Dick Richardson and Glyn Stone (eds), Decisions and Diplomacy: Essays in Twentieth-Century International History (London, 1995), 205–23. FRUS, 1955–57, XXVII, 704–67. FO371/126669/AU10411, Caccia to Hood (18 January 1957). Time, 19 November 1956. Caccia Papers, 1957–58, Scrap Book, Chicago Sunday Times, 30 June 1957. Information from Clarissa Pryce-Jones. PREM11/2329, Caccia to FO (14 September 1957); FO371/126684/66, Caccia to FO (14 September 1957). Harold Macmillan, Riding the Storm 1956–1959 (London, 1971), 319. PREM11/2461, Caccia to FO (15 October 1957) and PREM11/2329, Caccia to FO (18 October 1957). Bodleian Library, Oxford, Harold Macmillan Papers, MS Macmillan dep.d.30*, diary for 24 October 1957. Matthew Jones, ‘Anglo-American Relations after Suez, the Rise and Decline of the Working Group Experiment, and the French Challenge to NATO, 1957–59’, Diplomacy & Statecraft, Vol. 14, No. 1 (March 2003), 49–79, 57–9. PREM11/2329, Caccia to FO (14 September 1957); Ashton, ‘Rear Guard’, 246.

128 Harold Caccia, 1956–61 62. PREM11/2461, Macmillan to Caccia (29 October 1957); Macmillan Papers, MS Macmillan dep.d.30*, diary for 23 October 1957. 63. PREM11/2329, P.M.(W)(57)1st meeting (23 October 1957). 64. The Declaration is reprinted in Macmillan, Riding, 756–9. 65. Jones, ‘Anglo-American Relations’, 59–60. 66. TNA, CAB130/137, GEN.617/4 (10 March 1959); Jones, ‘Anglo-American Relations’, 71. 67. Ashton, ‘Rear Guard’, 248–51. 68. For example, PREM11/2689, Caccia to Lloyd (3 June 1958). 69. PREM11/2986, Caccia to Macmillan (14 October 1959); FO371/148576/1, Caccia to Lloyd (1 January 1960). 70. Nigel Ashton, Kennedy, Macmillan and the Cold War (Basingstoke, 2002). 71. Harold Macmillan, Pointing the Way 1959–1961 (London, 1972), 307–8. 72. Caccia Papers, Letters, ‘Papers on Washington’, Herter to Caccia (20 February 1961). 73. Lyndon Baines Johnson Library, Austin, Texas, National Security File, Country File, UK, Box 216, Hood Biography (October 1965). 74. Caccia Papers, Letters, ‘Appointment as PUS’, Hoyer Millar to Caccia (23 November 1959). 75. Ibid., Caccia to Hoyer Millar (27 July 1960). 76. Ibid., Caccia to Hoyer Millar (5 November 1960). 77. Ibid., Home to Macmillan (10 November 1960) and Caccia to Hoyer Millar (13 November 1960). 78. FO371/152107/36G, Caccia to Home (15 November 1960). 79. FO371/152108/68, Dean to FO (7 December 1960); FO371/152108/66G, Ormsby Gore to Home (9 December 1960). See also FO371/152108/64A, Dean to FO (2 December 1960). 80. FO371/152108/68, Macmillan to Caccia (8 December 1960); Macmillan, Pointing, 308–9. 81. FO371/152108/68, Dean to FO (7 December); FO371/152108/57G, Caccia to Macmillan (15 December 1960) and FO371/152108/58G, Caccia to Macmillan (15 December 1960). 82. FO371/152108/59G, Shuckburgh to Caccia (13 December 1960); FO371/ 152108/62G, Caccia to FO (16 December 1960). 83. Macmillan, Pointing, 309–12. 84. For example, FO371/152108/69, Caccia to Home (20 December 1960); PREM11/3326, Caccia to Hoyer Millar (30 December 1960); FO371/159671/2, Hoyer Millar to Home, enclosing Caccia correspondence (2 January 1961); FO371/159671/9G, Caccia to FO (10 January 1961). 85. FO371/159671/12G, Kennedy to Macmillan (15 January 1961). On the Key West preparations, see, for example, FO371/159675/75G, Caccia to FO (4 March 1960) and FO371/159675/76G, Ramsbotham minute (13 March 1961). 86. FO371/156435/1, Caccia to Home (1 January 1961). And on Kennedy’s inaugural address, see FO371/156347/16, Caccia to Home (25 January 1961). 87. On Key West, see Ashton, Kennedy, 1–4. 88. FRUS, 1961–63, XIII, West Europe and Canada (Washington DC, 1994), 9–12. 89. FO371/156439/59, Caccia to Home (14 July 1961). 90. Macmillan, Pointing, 338–9. 91. Caccia Papers, ‘Letters, Appointment as PUS’, Stewart to Caccia (15 July 1965).

James Ellison 129 92. 93. 94. 95. 96.

Information from Clarissa Pryce-Jones. State Department Decimal files, Box 3193, London to State (25 July 1956). Thorpe, Eden, 496. Information from Michael Meredith. Caccia Papers, ‘Letters, Papers on Washington’, Eisenhower cable (20 September 1961). 97. Ibid., Bundy to Caccia (4 January 1966). 98. Time, 9 June 1961. 99. Caccia Papers, ‘Letters, Papers on Washington’, Rusk to Caccia (16 July 1974).

7 David Ormsby Gore, Lord Harlech, 1961–65 Michael F. Hopkins

David Ormsby Gore, who became Lord Harlech after the death of his father in February 1964, served as Ambassador to Washington during the Conservative governments of Harold Macmillan and Alec Douglas-Home and the Labour administration of Harold Wilson. His embassy began with anxieties about Berlin and ended on the eve of the American decision to send combat troops to Vietnam. These were significant years for the Anglo-American relationship. Facing financial problems, the British re-assessed their role in the world and sought membership of the European Economic Community. Although he was Ambassador to the Johnson administration in its first 15 months, it was during the Kennedy administration of 1961–63 that Ormsby Gore made his most significant contribution, building on a unique intimacy with the President. Three issues dominated his embassy: the Cuban missile crisis; the Skybolt problem; and the Nuclear Test Ban Treaty.

Appointment William David Ormsby Gore, a great-grandson of the Victorian Prime Minister Lord Salisbury, was born in London on 20 May 1918 and educated at Eton and New College, Oxford. He served in the army during the Second World War, reaching the rank of Major. In 1950 he was elected Conservative MP for Oswestry in Shropshire, holding the seat until 1961. In 1940 he married Sylvia, daughter of Hugh Lloyd Thomas, a diplomat and courtier. He was successively Parliamentary Under-Secretary (1956–57) and Minister of State for Foreign Affairs (1957–61) under Macmillan, being concerned principally with issues of disarmament and spending a good deal of time at the United Nations (UN). While his aristocratic background gave him the self-confidence 130

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of his class, he did not display the arrogance of many of its members. He was polite and reserved but could become animated in discussion and was always energetic in executing his responsibilities. Despite a poor academic record – he graduated with a third class in History – he was highly intelligent with a nimble, quick mind. John Fitzgerald Kennedy was born the year before Ormsby Gore and they established friendly relations from their first meeting in 1938, when Kennedy’s father was American Ambassador in London and JFK was studying at the London School of Economics. They quickly developed a rapport, having a taste for both the social scene and politics. According to Barbara Leaming, ‘Their repartee was swift and sharp; no sooner had one participant uttered a few words, the other shot back a deflating reply’.1 Thus they began what Ormsby Gore later called their ‘twenty-five year conversation’.2 After wartime naval service, Kennedy returned to London in 1945 and they renewed their association, which was deepened by family ties: in May 1944 Kennedy’s sister, Kathleen, married Ormsby Gore’s cousin, the Marquess of Hartington. (Tragically, Hartington was killed in action only four months later, while Kathleen died in a plane crash in 1948.) Kennedy visited Britain again in 1951, by which time both men were active in politics, Kennedy having been elected to Congress in 1946. Ormsby Gore only visited the United States for the first time in 1954, as part of the British delegation to the UN, when he spent the weekend at Hyannisport with Kennedy, his new wife Jacqueline and his family. Thereafter Ormsby Gore and his wife travelled to America each year and were guests of the Kennedys at Palm Beach or Hyannisport. He thereby became part of the Kennedy ‘clan’.3 According to Theodore Sorensen, Kennedy’s biographer, ‘When he was not working, he and Jacqueline liked having people around who were cheerful, amusing, energetic, informed and informal’. Such people were ‘sources and sounding boards for independent ideas and information . . . [they] sought, with rare exception, no influence or favors, and they were all as candid and casual with the Commander in Chief as they had been when he was a Congressman’.4 Their relations were not merely social. They had similar views on politics and took a particular interest in foreign affairs. JFK had immense respect for Ormsby Gore and his views.5 Arthur Schlesinger, another insider chronicler of his presidency, recalls that JFK ‘told friends that, next to David Ormsby Gore, [McGeorge] Bundy [National Security Advisor] was the brightest man he had ever known’.6 When the Englishman came to New York for the UN General Assembly debate on disarmament in 1959, he and Kennedy discussed the topic in depth. Ormsby Gore felt that there was a real chance

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of reaching a nuclear test ban agreement with the Soviet Union but he was concerned about what he saw as the ill-considered American negotiating position. This influenced Kennedy to take the issue up in speeches and make it a theme in his campaign for the Presidency.7 After his victory, Kennedy lunched with Ormsby Gore, who was back for meetings at the UN, and said he wanted him to come to Washington as British Ambassador. The message was reinforced by the Presidentelect’s brother, Robert, in conversation with the British journalist, Henry Brandon: ‘I hope you know we want David Ormsby-Gore as British ambassador here. You’d better tell your prime minister and your readers’. Ormsby Gore was a friend of Brandon, who admired his performance at the UN, noting ‘his meticulous understanding of complex arms control problems’ and ‘his political savvy and his sensitivity to American problems, marrying them skillfully [sic] to British interests’. Brandon contacted Macmillan8 and the appointment was agreed at the first summit between Kennedy and Macmillan at Key West in April 1961. Macmillan later explained his readiness to accede to Kennedy’s suggestion: You see, the President had three lives; he had a smart life, dancing with people not in the political world at all, smart people, until four in the morning; then he had his highbrow life, which meant going to some great pundit (like Professor Ayer), and discussing his philosophy; and then he had his political life. And David belonged to all three . . . that was unusual in an Ambassador (well, what is diplomacy?)9 The appointment was not universally welcomed. As Ormsby Gore told Brandon: the Beaverbrook press have mounted a rather ludicrous contrived campaign against my appointment. Nepotism is of course the charge. The next is that the professionals in the FO will view it with jaundiced eye. In fact the reverse is true and the most senior officials have been strongly supporting my candidature. Finally, it is suggested that the powers that be in Washington, including the President, might prefer a professional diplomat to a politician. It is here that I thought you might be able to help . . . it might be valuable for Anglo-American relations in the future if some authoritative voice was heard indicating that my appointment would not be all that unwelcome to the Kennedy administration . . . the fractious critics would be considerably disheartened if they knew that the decision would meet with a happy

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response where it mattered most. This is particularly true at a time when Kennedy is regarded as almost infallible.10 Brandon then ‘made a point of reporting that he was Kennedy’s own favorite, even though David had suggested that I should not bring the president himself into the controversy’.11 Indeed, Brandon recorded in his diary that Ormsby Gore would be better than Caccia, who had favoured Richard Nixon in the presidential election.12

Arrival The Kennedy–Macmillan years have a reputation for being among the most successful in the history of the ‘special relationship’, with a particularly good understanding between President and Prime Minister. Sorensen noted that ‘A fondness developed between them which went beyond the necessities of alliance’,13 while Schlesinger called it ‘Kennedy’s closest relationship with a foreign leader’.14 But these of course are retrospective judgements; at the time such a friendly relationship seemed unlikely, not least because of the age difference between the two men. When Kennedy was elected President in November 1960, Macmillan had already been British premier for four years. A State Department biography noted that ‘Underneath his Edwardian dandyism and relaxed manner, Macmillan hides an aggressive and determined politician’. He was an ‘astute politician and able parliamentarian’.15 David Bruce, who became Kennedy’s Ambassador to London, described the Prime Minister as a ‘political animal, shrewd, subtle in maneuver, undisputed master in his cabinet house’. He might affect a ‘Victorian languor’ but it ‘would be a mistake to infer . . . that he is lacking in force or decisiveness’.16 Macmillan had established good relations with President Eisenhower, whom he had known since the war, but he was anxious about working with the younger Kennedy who might think ‘he was a funny old man who belonged to the distant past and couldn’t understand the problems of the day’.17 The appointment of a close friend of Kennedy as Ambassador was one way of ensuring that the relationship remained ‘special’. Over the next two years President and Ambassador developed a remarkable partnership. Ormsby Gore’s formal remarks on presenting his credentials in October 1961 demonstrated that he would be no ordinary envoy: ‘It is a very real pleasure for me, Mr President, to see you again . . . I look forward to renewing old friendships and associations, to making new ones and to seeing more of your great country’.18 Nigel Ashton suggests that his

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arrival completed JFK’s inner circle of advisers.19 Two individuals close to Kennedy endorse this historical judgement on the character of the President’s relationship with the Ambassador. Sorensen says that ‘They saw each other frequently, on a both personal and an official basis. Indeed, the President often consulted with or confided in the British Ambassador as he would a member of his own staff. “I trust David as I would trust my own cabinet”, he said.’20 And Robert Kennedy remarked, ‘he’d rather have his judgment, his ideas, his suggestions and recommendations than even anybody in our own government’.21 A British observer, Roy Jenkins, who served as a minister under Harold Wilson, concluded that ‘It was a wholly exceptional position for any ambassador to be in. It made him almost as much an unofficial adviser to the president as an envoy of the British government.’22 The Ormsby Gores immediately became frequent visitors to Cape Cod, Camp David and Palm Beach and regular guests at the small dinner parties Kennedy favoured. Indeed, according to Jenkins, they probably dined with the President more often than did anyone else.23 British Embassy staff, who had to be able to contact the Ambassador in any emergency, calculated that, excluding the President’s overseas trips, there were only three or four weekends when the Ormsby Gores were not with the Kennedys.24 Schlesinger concluded that their relaxed confidential talks gave Kennedy ‘probably his best opportunity to clarify his own purposes in world affairs’,25 for the Ambassador offered a different perspective on international developments. Here was a close friend, someone the President could trust and whose advice extended to domestic politics and US economic policy. So, for example, Kennedy asked his friend’s opinion of a proposed statement on dollar and gold reserves.26 Ormsby Gore offered both intellectual and political benefits to Kennedy, not least in understanding British policy. He ‘knew both the President and the Prime Minister so well that he was ideally equipped to interpret or even predict each one’s reactions to the other’s proposals’.27 For Jenkins ‘there was never any suggestion that British interests were not firmly represented in Washington during these years’.28 David Nunnerley, however, is not quite so categorical, noting that ‘There were times when the British Government’s position and the Ambassador’s position were not always identical.’ A White House aide declared: ‘we knew David well enough to know when they were not identical’.29 Certain of his comments were all too obviously not the product of FO instructions. In May 1962, he even told the President that Macmillan was taking an ‘ostrich position’ on the Congo and described the British negotiator Lord Dundee as a ‘fool’.30

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Ormsby Gore’s advantage was heightened by JFK’s lesser confidence in Wilhelm Grewe of West Germany and Hervé Aphand of France, neither of whom had anything like the access of Ormsby Gore.31 Kennedy respected their abilities as diplomats but realised that Ormsby Gore was ‘more likely to know the thinking of his principal and far less likely to spill secrets and complaints to favored newsmen’.32 Inevitably the other Ambassadors in Washington were perturbed by this, but Ormsby Gore was always careful to do his best to lessen any grievances. Bundy observed, ‘he was modest, careful and discreet. I never had the feeling that this gave any pain in the Department, which is often quite sensitive about direct communication, partly because David was greatly respected and assiduous in his ambassadorial duties’. He tried to avoid being listed in the newspapers as a weekend guest.33 Ormsby Gore appreciated the importance of good relationships beyond the White House. A good understanding with key individuals was essential in the decision-making process in America. He established good relations with the Secretary of Defense, Robert McNamara, National Security Adviser McGeorge Bundy and Special Assistant Arthur Schlesinger. But Alistair Horne, Macmillan’s biographer, suggests that Ormsby Gore’s privileged access to the President drew some resentment from the Secretary of State, Dean Rusk, who ‘occasionally felt he was being bypassed in the channels of communication between Kennedy and Macmillan’.34 Ormsby Gore used his considerable charm to ameliorate any resentment. For Nunnerley his ‘charm, courtesy and unassuming manner made him a very personable individual who could make his way around the State Department with great ease. And his obvious diplomatic ability was quickly recognised’. One American official remarked that he ‘had a knack of getting in the British views at the early stages so we took them into account before we came to a conclusion’. Ormsby Gore ‘knew what matters were of sufficient importance to bring to the attention of the President, and what not to bother him with’.35 The Ambassador’s working relations with senior British politicians and officials were equally good. He wrote regular despatches to successive Foreign Secretaries, Lord Home and R.A. Butler, and to Caccia, in his new role as Permanent Under-Secretary (PUS), adeptly summarising complex issues and advancing ‘trenchant views, often amusingly expressed’.36 Ormsby Gore’s relations with his embassy staff were good. He had a talented team. When he arrived the Political Minister was Lord Hood who, since his appointment in 1957, had developed very good relations with American officials and had regularly deputised for Caccia, the Economic Minister was Lord Cromer, later to be Ambassador, and

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the Counsellor was Thomas Brimelow, an expert on Soviet affairs and future PUS. Another future PUS, Denis Greenhill, was the Head of Chancery and, after Hood left in 1962, became the Political Minister. He later wrote of Ormsby Gore that ‘In some ways it was dispiriting to work for him as it was almost impossible to surprise him with information that he had not already received from the President or his brother Robert.’37 Ormsby Gore arrived amid some transatlantic difficulties. His predecessor, Caccia felt that Britain was having a bad press in America, partly the result of stories about nuclear unilateralists, the decline in British reserves and the end of conscription. The British Permanent Representative at the UN, Patrick Dean, agreed, ‘at present the British reputation in this country is at a very low ebb’. He believed this was caused by suspicions about Macmillan’s compromising attitude towards the Soviets on Berlin and British dithering over joining the European Economic Community (EEC).38 Soon after presenting his credentials Ormsby Gore made two speeches aimed at allaying such misgivings. On 14 November he spoke to the Pilgrims, stressing that significant co-operation between states was only possible with the active support of their peoples. They should never let the reservoir of goodwill between the two countries run low, because they would need to draw on this in times of crisis. He spoke of their ‘indispensable partnership’ and explained that Britain had decided to join the EEC. In a talk to the National Press Club on 30 November he expanded on such themes. Britain had made the historic decision to apply to join the EEC and a major reason for doing so was the desire to avoid the disunity in Western Europe that had brought about two World Wars. He was sensitive to American concerns about the EEC’s tariff barriers, saying that there would need to be adjustments, and he skilfully played on concerns about communism by arguing the need to disprove Marxist claims that capitalism would be destroyed by its own irreconcilable differences.39 In December 1961 Kennedy held another summit with Macmillan in Bermuda. For Ormsby Gore this was the first occasion when ‘they really sized each other up and decided that they very much liked each other’s company’. Sharing a similar sense of humour, they felt they possessed ‘the same kind of philosophy of life, the same objectives in their government policies’.40 Brandon similarly observed that ‘Where Macmillan expected an obstreperous Irishman, he found instead rationality, mastery of facts, and above all, an unexpected appreciation of the value of AngloAmerican relations. Both had their own characteristic charm, dry and wry humor, self-assurance, inborn dignity and a devotion to history.’41

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Thereafter the Kennedy–Macmillan relationship, Ormsby Gore felt, ‘was almost like a family discussion when we met’.42 Undoubtedly the Ambassador had helped cultivate a better atmosphere than that at the summit at Key West in April, which went well though the leaders did not get on so easily, and the June meeting in Washington, which was overshadowed by British concerns over US policy on Berlin. Certainly Bundy did not feel that Macmillan and Kennedy got on so well at first.43 Yet, after only a few months in his post Ormsby Gore could confidently report, ‘The President is firmly in the saddle, popular, and supported by a first-class team’, while ‘For Britain we have the advantage of a sympathetic ear in the White House.’44

Cuba Since Fidel Castro had seized power in 1959, Britain and America had adopted different responses to Cuba. Washington imposed a trade embargo while London continued trading with Havana. In October 1962, however, the discovery of nuclear missile sites on the island united the two countries in common opposition to Soviet action. Aerial reconnaissance revealed the sites on 14 October but the British were not informed immediately, perhaps because of Macmillan’s robustly independent approach to trade. ‘Had London supported Washington’s policy toward Cuba before October 1962, Kennedy might have sought British views on the new situation.’ It would appear that the British first learned of the crisis through a CIA briefing on 19 October.45 Nevertheless, Ormsby Gore enjoyed singular access to American discussions in the second dramatic week of the crisis. On Sunday 21 October Kennedy telephoned him, inviting him to the White House for the first of four meetings that week, which were supplemented by a number of telephone conversations. The Ambassador arrived at lunch time with ‘a pretty good idea of what was happening’ because of ‘various indications of it from the CIA’. They had a long discussion about the scale and the possible repercussions of the situation. Kennedy had already held talks with his key advisers and had decided to apply a blockade. However, he presented to Ormsby Gore the two alternatives of an air attack or a blockade, asking which he preferred. The Ambassador said he favoured a blockade, at which the President revealed that this was his decision. Their talks continued at a dinner together that night. Kennedy later telephoned Macmillan and they maintained regular contact throughout the following week.46 Ormsby Gore understood the stakes involved. In December 1961 Kennedy had told him that the press and radio had

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created such total distrust of the Soviets among Americans that ‘if he cared to tell them that it was useless to negotiate they would probably agree with him’ and risk going ‘to the brink of nuclear war’.47 On Monday 22 October Kennedy broadcast to the American nation on the situation. The next day, he dined with the Ormsby Gores and other guests and, despite frequent interruptions for telephone calls, managed to maintain the lighter tone of a party. ‘His calmness . . . [and] unfailing good humor’, reported the Ambassador, were ‘extraordinary to behold [and] kept everybody else calm and in a good mood’.48 After the meal, Ormsby Gore talked with the President alone, then Bobby Kennedy joined them. They began by discussing the adverse reaction in Europe to the speech on Monday and how the Europeans could be persuaded of the truth of the American claims. Even the British Parliament and press questioned the existence of the missiles, speculating whether this was another intrigue against Castro. ‘At that moment most of the photographs of the missile sites were not being released, they had been shown to some of the press in America but were not available to the press in London or Paris or anywhere else and I urged him very strongly that these should be immediately released.’ They then looked at the photographs and considered which were the most appropriate to release. Another issue was where to apply the blockade. Ormsby Gore argued that Soviet vessels ‘ought to be allowed to come pretty close into Cuba as this would give the Russians a little more time to consider the situation’ and the Americans duly reduced the blockade line from 800 to 500 miles. The President also insisted, despite the doubts of the US Navy, that the Soviet leader, Nikita Khrushchev, be given all possible time to make and communicate an uncomfortable decision to his ships. Ormsby Gore’s advice might not have determined these key decisions but he evidently contributed to the climate of careful deliberation and reinforced important choices.49 As these decisions were being made the crisis reached its high point. The ‘period of most acute tension’, Ormsby Gore reflected afterwards, ‘was during Tuesday night and Wednesday morning when the President assumed contact would shortly be made between Soviet and American ships’.50 With tensions high, Khrushchev sent a rambling letter to Kennedy on Friday 26 October, saying he would dismantle the missile sites, if the Americans ended the blockade and promised not to invade Cuba. Later, however, a more aggressive message arrived insisting that the United States must also remove its own missiles from Turkey, which bordered the USSR. Nevertheless, Kennedy decided to act positively: he ignored the second note and suggested a deal along the lines of the first.

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When Robert Kennedy handed the message to the Soviet Ambassador, he informally included a readiness to remove missiles from Turkey, something Ormsby Gore had hinted at when he told London that Kennedy felt such an arrangement ‘had considerable merit’.51 The crisis, which now drew to a close, had been shaped by American decisions but Britain gained unparalleled consultation in Washington. No other leader had the regular and confidential conversations that Macmillan enjoyed with Kennedy. Ormsby Gore was at the heart of the British contribution, operating as one of the President’s closest advisors. However, as Nigel Ashton has argued, his role was more personal than governmental. Indeed, he sometimes appeared independent of the Prime Minister. At one point he undermined Macmillan’s proposals for a summit: when he spoke to Bundy about this he suggested that the President should reply by making ‘very plain’ to the Prime Minister that ‘this was not an acceptable position’.52 And when the Ambassador learned that the Soviet ships had stopped, he told Greenhill, ‘Thank God, they’ve turned back, just before the Prime Minister gave way.’53

Skybolt The next major issue for Anglo-American relations was not easily foreseen, even by Ormsby Gore. In 1960 Eisenhower had promised to supply Britain with Skybolt, a ballistic missile launched from bombers but, faced by rising costs and poor progress, the Kennedy administration had doubts about the system and, by the end of the missile crisis, Robert McNamara opted to terminate the programme. He formally recommended this to the President on 7 November. When McNamara told Ormsby Gore the next day, the Ambassador was startled, describing it as ‘political dynamite’. One American described him as being in shock. He reported to the Defence Secretary, Peter Thorneycroft, that Skybolt was in peril but did not say that it was being abandoned, which was accurate, for McNamara could only confirm cancellation when the President formally approved it on 23 November. But, perhaps still in shock, he did not give enough to stress the imminence of termination, which might explain why, in a telephone conversation with McNamara, Thorneycroft responded to the news rather calmly. The Defence Secretary was far less happy when he discovered the truth, but London was slow to give any constructive thought about how to move forward. JFK was puzzled by the British response. He had expected them to initiate action to find a solution but, instead, they did nothing. It appeared that each side was waiting for the other to make suggestions.54 But the

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problem had arisen just as British sensitivities about their global status were intensified, thanks to remarks by Dean Acheson, the former US Secretary of State, on 5 December 1962: Great Britain has lost an Empire and has not yet found a role. The attempt to play a separate power role – that is, a role apart from Europe, a role based on a ‘special relationship’ with the United States, a role based on being head of a ‘Commonwealth’ . . . is about to be played out. His speech provoked outrage among many in Britain, who had failed to grasp the full impact of changes in their country’s position since 1945. Ormsby Gore persuaded Macmillan not to react in any official way, arguing Acheson’s relations with the President were not close and he had not spoken officially. Indeed, Kennedy was upset over the matter. But there can be no doubt the Prime Minister was offended: in a letter to a colleague he declared that Acheson had fallen into the same error as Philip of Spain, Louis XIV, the Kaiser and Hitler in underestimating Britain.55 As the British fretted about their position, the Americans debated among themselves what to do about the Skybolt cancellation. Europeanists in the State Department saw an opportunity to end the British nuclear deterrent and feared that supplying Polaris could lead West Germany to seek a nuclear capability. McNamara, however, favoured offering an alternative, submarine-based system, Polaris, to Britain, provided it was put under the command of NATO. Rusk too was against ending Britain’s independent deterrent. ‘We have to have somebody to talk to in the world’, he said.56 Ormsby Gore seems to have been without guidance from London about what to do. The issue came to dominate the Anglo-American summit already scheduled for 19–21 December in Nassau, Bahamas. Brandon even reported in The Sunday Times that the ‘Kennedy-Macmillan talks in Nassau next week have suddenly developed into a crisis meeting’. In a colloquium in Washington in 1983, Bundy remembered that ‘the British arrived in Nassau in the angriest frame of mind of any delegation at an Anglo-American summit since the war’.57 The President and Ambassador took the plane to Nassau together and had a long conversation about Skybolt. Kennedy appears to have been aware of the potential dangers but thought they were being tackled by his aides. Ormsby Gore had reported to the Foreign Office on 18 November that Kennedy recognised the political importance of Skybolt;

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and he told the Foreign Secretary, Lord Home, on 8 December that the President was acutely aware of the political implications. For once he had misread Kennedy’s thinking. Only on the plane did the President properly turn his attention to the issue and discover the scale of British disquiet. And Ormsby Gore was able to make up for his earlier errors by making clear that there would be a surge of anti-Americanism in Britain if the people felt the United States was letting them down.58 The Ambassador knew that the immobility of British policy-makers was not all it seemed. They had come to terms with the Skybolt cancellation and accepted the Polaris option as early as 11 December, when Macmillan’s Private Secretary had telegraphed Ormsby Gore suggesting the Prime Minister was likely to pursue such a deal. Nigel Ashton has convincingly argued that the British believed that best way of securing Polaris was not to reveal this change of position ahead of the summit. The Ambassador was quite willing to play a part in this strategy, if it paved the way for an eventual agreement. On the plane journey he and Kennedy even discussed a scheme whereby the Americans would divide the costs of developing Polaris with the British. Both men had reasons for exploring this doomed offer. Kennedy could demonstrate a willingness to reach a settlement, while Ormsby Gore summed up his own motivation in 1971: it was meant to be ‘a holding operation designed to spike the guns of those in the British party who were suspicious of American motives, rather than as a formula which would prove acceptable’. There were two days of tough negotiations at Nassau before, as Ormsby Gore later put it, they ‘hammered out’ an agreement that gave Britain Polaris missiles, which were to be assigned to NATO but which might also be withdrawn in an emergency (thereby meeting Thorneycroft’s desire for an ‘independent’ deterrent). Kennedy described Nassau as ‘the most intense negotiations he had experienced’. Ormsby Gore had not, perhaps, been able to shape British policy on the crisis in the early stages but he had helped bring about a settlement which simultaneously protected the ‘special relationship’ and preserved Britain’s role as a world power.59

The test ban Having confronted possible nuclear confrontation during the missile crisis, Kennedy and Macmillan attached greater importance than ever to seeking nuclear disarmament. By early March 1963, however, the UN Disarmament Conference in Geneva was deadlocked and Macmillan sought a new initiative: he drafted a letter to Kennedy and asked

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Ormsby Gore for comments. The document sent to the President on 16 March bore the heavy imprint of the Ambassador’s suggestions, including the idea of sending ‘some emissary such as Averell [Harriman], or even your brother, Bobby’, who might demonstrate the seriousness of Western intent, remove any misunderstandings and discover Khrushchev’s intentions.60 Kennedy told Ormsby Gore on 21 March that he wished to pursue the idea but was dubious about the prospects, because Khrushchev probably had too many other problems to give serious attention to a test ban. But the Ambassador urged Macmillan to persist, suggesting that he focus on the President’s sense of duty. The best way to discover Khrushchev’s intentions, he added, would be a joint message asking him ‘in a serious manner and, above all, privately’.61 After a series of telephone conversations with Macmillan in April, Kennedy agreed to this. On 15 April Kennedy and Macmillan sent a letter to Khrushchev proposing that they should send ‘very senior representatives who would be empowered to speak for us and talk in Moscow directly to you’.62 Khrushchev’s reply on 8 May was blunt but not negative: he was ‘happy to receive in Moscow the high-level representatives of the United States and Great Britain’.63 In response Macmillan recalled Ormsby Gore for three days of meetings at Chequers on 17–19 May, the Ambassador having persuaded JFK not to reply just yet.64 He returned with a draft letter from Macmillan. In the meantime, the State Department produced their own draft, described by Schlesinger as ‘a debater’s screed, dealing seriatim with Khrushchev’s points’. This was pushed aside, as Kennedy told his officials to make ‘as few changes as possible’ to Macmillan’s draft. An agreed letter was sent to Khrushchev on 30 May focusing on the idea of American and British emissaries going to Moscow in late June or early July.65 Soon after, Kennedy delivered a speech outlining his commitment to a settlement and, as a token of his intent, announced that the United States would halt nuclear tests in the atmosphere. An indication of a favourable Soviet response came when the text was printed in Izvestia, but it took until 15 July for conversations to begin. For all his experience of, and sympathy for, nuclear arms control, Ormsby Gore knew he could not act as the British representative, for he was too closely associated with the President. So he advised Macmillan to choose a cabinet minister. Lord Hailsham, Lord President of the Council and Minister of Science, who possessed a good legal brain though not the temperament of a diplomat, represented Britain. The Americans chose Averell Harriman, a former Ambassador to Moscow. Prior to the talks, Kennedy and Macmillan met in late June to

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coordinate strategy. By this time both the British and the Americans had concluded that a comprehensive ban, to include underground tests, could not be achieved and they opted, instead, for a partial ban.66 It proved an astute decision. On 15 July talks began in Moscow. An agreement was initialled on 25 July and signed on 5 August.67 The success owed a good deal to Macmillan’s endeavours. As Oliver notes, ‘the persistence with which he demanded American commitment to a new initiative and the moral force with which he expressed that demand stand as his most decisive contributions to the negotiating process’.68 Yet, Macmillan benefited greatly from the work of Ormsby Gore, who brought a similar, long-standing commitment to the issue and had pressed his views on Kennedy even before he became President. The Ambassador encouraged Macmillan to pursue the issue and offered valuable guidance on tactics. His work on both sides of the Atlantic was a vital ingredient in the successful Anglo-American strategy. It stands as his single most important achievement as Ambassador. Within a few months, however, Kennedy was assassinated and Ormsby Gore’s special ties to the White House were severed.

The Johnson administration The new President was a very different individual from Kennedy. Lyndon Johnson was a ruthless political operator who adeptly mixed flattery, moral pressure and outright intimidation to achieve results. His interests lay in domestic social reforms. Ormsby Gore’s freewheeling conversations with Kennedy could probably never have been repeated with another President. But Johnson did not seem inclined to discuss any issues with the British Ambassador. When Ormsby Gore made his first visit to the new President, Johnson expressed concern at the prospect of a steady flow of envoys. Even when Bundy assured him that they could keep the meeting off the record, Johnson did not change his mind.69 As a result, Ormsby Gore and Johnson did not develop any rapport or sympathetic understanding. The Ambassador found the President to be egotistical, with no feeling for foreign affairs.70 Ormsby Gore had already had to adjust to a new Prime Minister, when Alec Douglas-Home (formerly Lord Home) succeeded Macmillan in October 1963. However, he had excellent relations with Douglas-Home, for whom he had worked before going to Washington and with whom he had maintained regular contact since becoming Ambassador. He also worked very effectively with the new Foreign Secretary, R.A. Butler, advising him that Johnson lacked JFK’s ‘grasp of

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detail in Foreign Affairs’ and that it would be best ‘to confine ourselves to dealing on a broad basis with a few highly important matters’.71 The new premier believed in close Anglo-American co-operation but his relations with Johnson were also far from easy. In a telephone conversation in January 1964, Johnson berated him for selling Leyland buses to Cuba. The Prime Minister was unbending, saying that he thought it unlikely that a double-decker bus would challenge US nuclear defences. This hardly provided an auspicious prelude to Home’s visit in February, when the issue was again raised by the President. The two leaders did, however, agree a joint statement that saw British support for American Vietnam policy.72 Within a year Douglas-Home was replaced by Harold Wilson, whose Labour Party won a narrow majority in the October 1964 general election. Ormsby Gore, now Lord Harlech, found himself without close relations on either side of the Atlantic. Although he was initially asked to remain as Ambassador, in January 1965 his replacement was announced.73 These were also uncertain months in Anglo-American relations. US decision-makers recognised Wilson’s talents, a CIA biography noting his ‘intelligence, good political instincts, phenomenal memory, skill and wit in debate’.74 Yet Rusk observed that he ‘does not inspire a feeling of trust’75 and Wilson failed to achieve the close relationship with Johnson for which he hoped. By the time they met for their first summit in December 1964 the President had been elected President in his own right by a landslide and he was hard-headed in the talks, expecting British backing for America in Vietnam. Wilson offered only verbal support and some technical assistance, refusing to commit any British troops to the conflict.76 Harlech’s role in the talks was insignificant and the essentials of a good working relationship between Ambassador and Prime Minister seemed to be lacking. The Ambassador noted that he had seen a ‘rather formidable list of those intending to descend on Washington’ and was ‘not quite sure what they will all do’. As he had told Caccia before the visit of Home and Butler in February, ‘the more restricted and intimate these talks . . . the more useful they will be’.77 Neither leader seemed inclined to utilise him. An off-the-record meeting was held between Johnson and Wilson on 7 December but without the presence of the Ambassador, an unlikely occurrence in the Kennedy years.78 At the White House the Ambassador now spoke mainly to Bundy and it was through him that the President sought to make his position on working with Wilson clear: ‘I shall tell Lord Harlech that the President has shown great restraint in these days because of his concern to avoid any appearance of running a power

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play against a weak opponent. But if his generosity is misunderstood, I doubt if it is likely to last.’79 Vietnam lay at the heart of difficulties between Wilson and Johnson. No Ambassador could have removed the basic difference but an episode just before his departure revealed Harlech’s limited impact. On 7 February 1965 the Viet Cong attacked a barracks near Pleiku, killing eight Americans. Fearing a disproportionate response, Wilson wanted to go to Washington to discuss the issue. He was persuaded to consult Harlech, who then spoke to Bundy and reported that ‘the feeling at the White House was very strongly against a visit by the Prime Minister: it would smack too much of desperation’. He added that the ‘intended action in South Vietnam would be moderate, measured and strictly relevant to the provocation’. He concluded by advising Wilson that ‘he should certainly not propose going to the United States unless he had beforehand made personal contact with the President: by personal contact Lord Harlech meant a telephone call’.80 Wilson duly called Johnson at about 3.30 a.m. It was not a success. LBJ did not ‘see what was to be gained by flapping around the Atlantic with our coattails out’. On Wilson’s right to raise Vietnam LBJ was brutal: ‘Why don’t you run Malaysia and let me run Vietnam?’81 Yet, as Harlech’s astute despatches reveal, he could still provide valuable insights. In January 1965 he had already noted the imminence of a ‘hard decision’ on Vietnam. He said Anglo-American relations remained cordial but cautioned: ‘we shall be treated on our merits and shall be regarded not so much for who we are as for how we perform. Above all our influence will depend upon our ability to solve our own economic problems and to bring an end to what seems to the Americans to be a position of chronic insolvency.’82 In his valedictory despatch in March he maintained that Britain would have to work hard to retain the ‘special relationship’. The close personal links of the Second World War, which were still an important factor under Eisenhower and Macmillan, were a diminishing asset.83

Conclusion Harlech left Washington in a melancholy mood. Henry Brandon observed that ‘He looked drawn, his eyes tired and sad. The high point in his life had come to an abrupt and deeply wounding end. It was for him like walking in the sunset with the sun already gone.’84 From October 1961 to November 1963 he had enjoyed the most intimate relationship ever established between a British Ambassador and an American President. He had worked effectively with the President’s

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brother, Robert, and with other senior members in the administration, including the key figures of Bundy, McNamara and Rusk. These relationships were matched by very personal links to Macmillan and Home and senior FO officials. The combination of excellent understandings with Washington and London ensured that Ormsby Gore could act with authority. When added to his considerable personal talents, he was able to make significant contributions at important points. During the Cuban missile crisis he acted as one of Kennedy’s most important advisers, ensuring that there was a British perspective at the heart of decision-making. But, contrary to earlier writers such as Nunnerley, he did not shape key decisions. Rather, he reinforced the President’s firm yet positive approach that brought a frightening situation to a successful outcome. The Ambassador’s role was also significant in resolving the Skybolt crisis. Although often criticised for not conveying the scale of British concern, it is likely that his restraint was at least partly tactical – creating the right environment for agreement. The signature of the Test Ban Treaty marked his most significant achievement. At key moments he offered encouragement and advice about tactics to both Macmillan and Kennedy as they pursued a first step towards nuclear arms control. Yet, for all his reputation as a highly effective and influential figure in Washington, his time as Ambassador to the Johnson administration could not match these achievements and exposed the extent to which his earlier successes relied on one particular friendship. Without the framework of understanding with the President and, after October 1964, with the Prime Minister, his usefulness became limited.

Acknowledgement I am grateful to the Scouloudi Foundation for funding part of the research for this chapter.

Notes 1. Barbara Leaming, Jack Kennedy: The Making of a President (London, 2006), 41. 2. Henry Brandon, ‘Envoy Extraordinary’, Sunday Times, 28 March 1965. 3. David Nunnerley, President Kennedy and Britain (London, 1972), 41; Roy Jenkins, ‘(William) David Ormsby Gore, Fifth Baron Harlech (1918–1985)’, in Robert Blake (ed.), Dictionary of National Biography, 1981–1985 (Oxford, 1990), 305. 4. Theodore Sorensen, Kennedy (London, 1965), 378. 5. Nunnerley, Kennedy and Britain, 41. 6. Arthur Schlesinger, A Thousand Days (New York, 1971), 196.

Michael F. Hopkins 147 7. John F. Kennedy Library (JFKL), Oral History, Lord Harlech (1964), 1–2; Robert Kennedy, Robert Kennedy in His Own Words (New York, 1988), 336; Sorensen, Kennedy, 65–66; John F. Kennedy, The Strategy of Peace (London, 1960), 19–25. 8. Schlesinger, Thousand Days, 393; Henry Brandon, Special Relationships (London, 1989), 156–7; Harold Macmillan, Pointing the Way, 1959–61 (London, 1972), 339. 9. Alistair Horne, Macmillan, Volume 2: 1957–1986 (London, 1989), 307. 10. Brandon, Special Relationships, 157. I have been unable to locate this correspondence in the Brandon Papers. 11. Ibid. 12. Library of Congress, Henry Brandon Papers, box 5, Diary January–July 1961 folder, 26 June 1961 entry. 13. Sorensen, Kennedy, 558. 14. Schlesinger, Thousand Days, 350. 15. National Archives and Records Administration (NARA), College Park, Maryland, RG59, State Department Central Files, Alpha-Numeric Files, United Kingdom, 1949–62, Box 3, Travel from UK folder, biographies, Harold Macmillan, June 1958. 16. Foreign Relations of the United States (FRUS), 1961–1963, XIII (Washington DC, 1994), 1045. 17. JFKL, Oral History, Harlech, 28. 18. The National Archives (TNA), Kew, FO371/15610/1, Ormsby Gore to Home (27 October 1961). 19. Nigel Ashton, Kennedy, Macmillan and the Cold War (London, 2002), 20. 20. Sorensen, Kennedy, 559. 21. Kennedy, Robert Kennedy in His Own Words, 30. 22. Jenkins, ‘Harlech’, 305. 23. Ibid. 24. John Dickie, ‘Special’ No More: Anglo-American Relations, Rhetoric and Reality (London, 1994), 110–11. 25. Schlesinger, Thousand Days, 393. 26. For example, JFKL, JFK Papers, President’s Office Files (POF), Countries File, Box 127, United Kingdom general, 7/62–12/62 folder, Ormsby Gore to Kennedy (24 July 1962). 27. Sorensen, Kennedy, 559. 28. Jenkins, ‘Harlech’, 305. 29. Nunnerley, Kennedy and Britain, 43–4. 30. Michael Beschloss, The Crisis Years: Kennedy and Khrushchev, 1960–1963 (New York, 1991), 493; David Dimbleby and David Reynolds, An Ocean Apart: The Relationship Between Britain and America in the Twentieth Century (London, 1988), 231. 31. Dickie, ‘Special’ No More, 110–11. 32. Sorensen, Kennedy, 559. 33. JFKL, Oral History, McGeorge Bundy (1970), 2; Nunnerley, Kennedy and Britain, 44. 34. Horne, Macmillan 1957–1986, 307–8. 35. Nunnerley, Kennedy and Britain, 46–7. 36. D.R. Thorpe, Alec Douglas-Home (London, 1996), 227.

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37. Denis Greenhill, More By Accident (York, 1992), 102. 38. FO371/156453/9A, Caccia to FO (2 July 1961) and Dean to Hoyer Millar (17 July 1961). 39. JFKL, JFK Papers, POF, Countries File, Box 127, United Kingdom, General, 6/61–12/61 folder, speech to Pilgrims of the United States (14 November 1961) and speech to the National Press Club (30 November 1961). 40. JFKL, Oral History, Lord Harlech, 35. 41. Brandon, Special Relationships, 159. 42. Schlesinger, Thousand Days, 453. 43. JFKL, Oral History, Harlech, 29–30; JFKL, Oral History, McGeorge Bundy, 2. 44. FO371/168405/1, Ormsby Gore to FO, Annual Review for 1961 (1 January 1962). 45. Len Scott, Macmillan, Kennedy and the Cuban Missile Crisis (Basingstoke, 1999), 40, 182; JFKL, Oral History, Harlech, 15. 46. TNA, PREM11/3689, Ormsby Gore to Macmillan (21, 22 and 23 October 1962); Harold Macmillan, The End of the Day, 1961–1963 (London, 1973), 182, 190–4; JFKL, Oral History, Harlech 12–15, 50; Scott, Cuban Missile Crisis, 40–7. 47. PREM11/4166, Ormsby Gore to Home (4 December 1961). 48. Sorenson, Kennedy, 704–5. 49. JFKL, Oral History, Harlech, 16; Scott, Cuban Missile Crisis, 116–20; Sorenson, Kennedy, 710. 50. FO371/162401/526, Ormsby Gore to Home (9 November 1962). 51. FRUS, 1961–1963, VI (Washington, 1996), 176, 181–2; FO371/162382/146, Ormsby Gore to FO (27 October 1962). 52. Robin Renwick, Fighting With Allies (London, 1996), 181. 53. Ashton, Kennedy, Macmillan and Cold War, 88; Greenhill, More By Accident, 103. 54. FRUS, 1961–1963, XIII, 1085–6; Richard Neustadt, Report to JFK: The Skybolt Crisis in Perspective (Ithaca, New York, 1999), 37–8, 125; PREM11/3716, Ormsby Gore to Caccia (8 November 1962); Donette Murray, Kennedy, Macmillan and Nuclear Weapons (Basingstoke, 2000), 65. 55. Dean Acheson speech at West Point, 5 December 1962, in Ian McDonald, Anglo-American Relations Since the Second World War (London, 1974), 181–2; PREM11/4057, Ormsby Gore to FO (7 December 1962) and Macmillan to Spears (7 December 1962). 56. Brandon, Special Relationships, 163–4. 57. Ibid., 164; and see FRUS, 1961–1963, XIII, 1088–114 for records of the talks. 58. Neustadt, Report to JFK, 130. 59. Ashton, Kennedy, Macmillan and Cold War, 172, 175; Lord Harlech, ‘Suez SNAFU, Skybolt SABU’, Foreign Policy, No. 2 (Spring 1971), 47, 49. On Nassau, see also Jan Melissen, ‘Pre-Summit Diplomacy: Britain, the United States and the Nassau Conference, December 1962’, Diplomacy & Statecraft 7 (November 1996), 652–87. 60. FO371/171235, Macmillan to Ormsby Gore (12 March 1963) and Ormsby Gore to Macmillan (14 March 1963), cited in Kendrick Oliver, Kennedy, Macmillan and the Nuclear Test-Ban Debate (Basingstoke, 1998), 164, 167. See Macmillan, End of the Day, 456–64 for the 16 March letter.

Michael F. Hopkins 149 61. FO371/171216, Ormsby Gore to FO (21 March 1963) and Ormsby Gore to Macmillan (28 March 1963); Oliver, Kennedy, Macmillan and Test-Ban, 170–2. 62. FO371/171216, telephone conversations: Ormsby Gore–Macmillan (11 April 1963), Macmillan–Kennedy (15 April 1963) and Macmillan–Ormsby Gore (15 April 1963); FRUS, 1961–1963, VI, 268–70. 63. FRUS, 1961–1963, VI, 279–86; Oliver, Kennedy, Macmillan and Test-Ban, 177–8. 64. FO371/173293, Ormsby Gore report at Chequers (18 May 1963); Leaming, Kennedy, 382; Macmillan, End of the Day, 469. 65. PREM11/4593, Macmillan to Kennedy (20 May 1963); Leaming, Kennedy, 383. Schlesinger, Thousand Days, 821; FO371/173293, Ormsby Gore to Macmillan (22 May 1963); Oliver, Kennedy, Macmillan and Test-Ban, 182; FRUS, 1961–1963, VI, 290–2. 66. Dickie, ‘Special’ No More, 127–9; Horne, Macmillan, 1957–1986, 511. 67. Oliver, Kennedy, Macmillan and Test-Ban, 188–9, 195–206; Dickie, ‘Special’ No More, 128–9. 68. Oliver, Kennedy, Macmillan and Test-Ban, 206. 69. Ashton, Kennedy, Macmillan and Cold War, 20. 70. FO371/179558/18, Ormsby Gore to FO (11 March 1965). 71. FO1109/528, Ormsby Gore to Butler (4 February 1964). 72. PREM11/4408, Ormsby Gore to Home (2 December 1963); Dickie, ‘Special’ No More, 134; New York Times, 14 February 1964. 73. New York Times, 3 January 1965. 74. NARA, RG 59, State Department Central Files, Subject-Numeric Files 1962, box 4079, POL 7 UK Visits, meetings folder, Briefing Paper, ‘The President’s Talk with Harold Wilson’ (22 March 1963); CIA biography, ‘Wilson (James) Harold’ (March 1963). 75. Quoted in Philip Ziegler, Wilson (London, 1995), 221. 76. FRUS, 1964–1968, XII (Washington DC, 1996) 233–4; FRUS, 1964–1968, XIII, 137–58; Harold Wilson, The Labour Government, 1964–1970 (London, 1974), 76–81. 77. PREM13/103, Lord Harlech to Harold Wilson (16 November 1964), quoted in Jonathan Colman, A ‘Special Relationship’? Lyndon B Johnson and AngloAmerican Relations ‘At the Summit’, 1964–68 (Manchester, 2004), 38. FO1109/528, Ormsby Gore to Caccia (16 January 1964). 78. FRUS, 1964–1968, XII, 480–83. 79. FRUS, 1964–1968, XIII, 156–8. 80. Colman, ‘Special Relationship’?, 55. 81. FRUS, 1964–68, II (Washington DC, 1996) 229–32. See also Wilson, Labour Government, 115–16. 82. FO371/179557/1, Harlech, Annual Review for 1964 (1 January 1965). 83. FO371/179558/18, Harlech to Stewart, Valedictory Despatch (11 March 1965). 84. Henry Brandon, Special Relationships, 199.

8 Patrick Dean, 1965–69 Jonathan Colman

In April 1965, when presenting his credentials at the White House the new British Ambassador, Patrick Dean, was not granted the customary exclusive audience. Instead Lyndon Johnson received him alongside the Ambassadors for Chile and Denmark. Johnson spent no time alone with Dean, yet that same day the journalists Scotty Reston and Alistair Cooke secured a three-hour interview with the President.1 It has been suggested that after this apparent snub the Ambassador made little further impression on the administration. Raj Roy, for example, has argued that Dean had very little ‘cachet’ in the White House, while the British Cabinet minister Tony Benn wrote that the relationship between Dean and the White House was ‘almost nonexistent in the latter part of LBJ’s presidency because Britain was deep in economic difficulties, our attitude to the Vietnam War had made us unpopular there . . . and generally speaking it was the final phase of the burial of the “special relationship”’.2 Dean’s role in Washington has been difficult for historians to investigate not least because, as one writer has noted, he ‘wrote no memoirs, gave few interviews and . . . left no private papers for others to consult. Because he did not have [a] temperamental personality . . . he did not provoke many recollections from former colleagues’.3 After looking at Dean’s background and his relationship with Johnson, this chapter focuses on the Ambassador’s involvement in two key areas: the diplomatic crisis in summer 1966 over the partial British dissociation from American policy in Vietnam; and the linked questions of British economic problems and defence cuts in the Middle and Far East (known as ‘East of Suez’).4 150

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Dean and Johnson By most accounts Dean was pleasant and approachable but not especially outgoing or self-confident.5 Nonetheless, before he became Ambassador to Washington he had been Head of the Foreign Office’s German department, Minister at the embassy in Rome and held senior appointments in the Foreign Office 1952–60, including being Chair of the Joint Intelligence Committee (JIC). He was Britain’s Permanent Representative at the United Nations in 1960–64. When he left that post it was thought he would succeed Harold Caccia as Permanent Under-Secretary of the Foreign Office. However, the Wilson government may have been suspicious of Dean’s connections with the security services and his involvement in the Suez debacle of 1956,6 chose Paul Gore-Booth, who had expressed his disapproval of the operation at the time. Dean’s contribution in the Suez affair consisted, as Scott Lucas has pointed out, of ‘accompan[ying] Donald Logan, the Private Secretary to Selwyn Lloyd, to the second Sèvres meeting with French and Israeli officials on 24 October 1956’. Here, Britain, France and Israel conspired to attack Egypt. More generally, Dean’s role was: [A]s an essential liaison. Sometimes he fulfilled his nominal duties as Superintending Under-Secretary of the Permanent Under-Secretary’s Department and Chairman of the JIC to link the Foreign Office, the military and MI6; sometimes official channels were bypassed as Dean passed ad hoc communications between Prime Minister Anthony Eden and the intelligence services. During the crisis Dean was given a ‘double promotion from Assistant Under-Secretary to Deputy Under-Secretary. The meteoric rise owed less to Dean’s merits than it did to his sensitive position between the Prime Minister, the Foreign Office and MI6.’7 It has been argued that Gore-Booth was ‘ideally qualified both by temperament and experience’ for the Washington Ambassadorship, whereas Dean, ‘with his quieter disposition’, would have excelled ‘as permanent head of the Foreign Office’.8 There may be some truth in this assessment, but at least outwardly Dean was suited to the Ambassadorship. While working at the UN he had learned first-hand about American politics and society, and he was certainly a fervent advocate of close Anglo-American relations. In October 1966 he commented that Britain’s connections with the United States were ‘something that neither we nor the Americans have created artificially but something organic arising from the facts of

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“life itself” ’, although the material asymmetry between the two states meant that the relationship was ‘lop-sided . . . we are expendable from the American point of view’.9 He well understood that if the partnership with the United States was to thrive then Britain had to remain a major force in international affairs. Harold Wilson, Labour Prime Minister in 1964–70, believed that visibly close and constructive bonds with Washington would help Britain to retain its international pre-eminence and enhance his own profile as a statesman.10 In May 1964 Tony Benn noted that if Wilson became Prime Minister (as happened in October) as well as wanting to ’telephone and fly over’ to Washington frequently, he wished for an Ambassador ‘who is in and out of the administration’s meetings all the time’.11 But the advent of the Johnson presidency had already confounded Wilson’s aspirations; suddenly the ’personal connection’ between the White House and the British Ambassador was less important than it had been between Kennedy and Ormsby Gore.12 Johnson, a parochial Texan who had made his name in the Senate in the 1950s, had scant feeling for Britain. As Dean commented in 1967, under Johnson there was little chance ’of any important line of policy being decided upon in Washington simply out of love for the British and what they mean in the world . . . when there is nothing in it for the United States’.13 In the light of the Vietnam debacle, most writers about Johnson depict him as limited and uncertain in his conduct of foreign policy.14 Recently, revisionist authors have presented a more favourable picture of his handling of foreign affairs by examining issues beyond Vietnam.15 But it remains certain that the President had limited aptitude and little enthusiasm for dealings with foreign representatives. A 1965 article by Henry Brandon in the Sunday Times explained that ‘Mr Johnson basically feels there is little to be learned, even from informal personal contact, that cannot be learned from reading diplomatic cables or the newspapers’. If a ’foreign statesman comes to see him for only an hour or two, the President has to prepare himself . . . for several hours in advance, because he does not wish to appear uninformed or unresponsive’. Consequently, he tended ’to grumble about any unnecessary visitor, comparing his presence with a visit from his mother-in-law just as he was trying to get to the ball game’, and wanted to ’stem the flow of foreign dignitaries’.16 In fact Johnson gained some success in fulfilling this negative goal – Dean noted that except for formal occasions foreign Ambassadors were rarely, if ever, asked to visit the White House.17 Johnson had little affection for any American allies. Dean once explained to a colleague that the President’s outlook could be compared

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to ’a Fahrenheit scale where the British might come in at about 33⬚ in the President’s estimation’. ’Loyal Latin Americans’ would ’rate between 32⬚ and 33⬚’, with the rest at ’a long way below zero’. There was ’much criticism and disquiet among . . . foreign representatives’ in Washington because of Johnson’s indifference to consulting or informing them about developments in American policy. It did not follow, though, that Britain should try to distance itself from the United States, as to do so would confirm the President ’in his view that all foreigners are useless anyway and should be disregarded, and the conduct of policy here would become all the more Johnsonian and arbitrary than it is at present’. British diplomats stood ’to gain quite a lot by putting up, so far as we possibly can, with the President and his pretty outrageous behaviour’. To further British influence in the White House, Dean would ensure that his despatches avoided ‘words which will increase the very natural resentment at the present state of affairs’. Secondly, it was ’possible that an opportunity might occur, perhaps with [Secretary of State] Dean Rusk, to point out that even the Americans need allies and there is nothing to be gained in the short or long run by treating those who are trying to help and those who are not with equal contempt’. Thirdly, Dean would ’try and get as near as possible’ to the small group of officials who were close to the President.18 In fact, he saw key White House foreign policy staff such as Rusk, Under-Secretary George Ball, Defense Secretary Robert McNamara and Johnson’s successive National Security Advisers, McGeorge Bundy and Walt Rostow, quite regularly.19 As seen above, by the time Dean met Johnson to present his credentials in April 1965, the White House had adopted the dubious expedient, when feasible, of receiving new Ambassadors in groups for this formal event. On this occasion the President began by keeping Dean and the envoys from Denmark and Chile waiting for 20 minutes while he made telephone calls. Eventually, Johnson entered the room where the Ambassadors were waiting. He then made a few remarks ‘to our Danish and Chilean colleagues’, only to disregard these representatives and speak to Dean ’about British affairs and policy’. The President launched a monologue praising the Labour government’s recent, tight budget, then switched abruptly to the topic of Vietnam and ’in front of the assembled company’ began defending US policy there. He dismissed recent complaints in Parliament about the American use of gas: it was ’not poisonous’ gas and the British had used it ’just as frequently’ in the past. His ’friends and allies should certainly state their views’, he said, ‘but they should not stab him in the back or slap him on the face’. Extraordinarily, Johnson then ’slapped his own face quite vigorously’ to underscore his point.20 During this meeting

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Dean was little more than a convenient outlet for the President’s ire, but he did not register any aspect of the encounter as a snub. He rarely expressed a direct, personal view about Johnson, but did feel that the administration was ’in many respects harsh, unapproachable and even at times repellent...from the top down’.21 Dislike of the President was welldeveloped among some British officials. Nicholas Henderson, for example, once wrote Dean ’a very personal letter about the general feeling here about LBJ’s methods’. The letter was so forthright that Dean decided to burn it without making a copy!22 Yet it was telling that he did not challenge Henderson’s arguments.

Vietnam Dean once noted that the Johnson administration spent ’much more time than most people even imagine . . . on Vietnam and very little indeed on anything else’.23 A 1965 Foreign Office analysis noted that Britain’s ’direct involvement’ in the conflict was ’insignificant. Our major interest in the situation in Indochina is to see that it does not escalate into a global or regional war in which we might be involved.’ But Britain’s ’interests as a non-communist power would be impaired if the United States Government were defeated in the field, or defaulted on its commitments’.24 Dean once told his wife that Rusk had ’asked him to make strong representations to HM Government asking them to provide military assistance’.25 The Ambassador believed that it would not be in British interests to participate in the fighting, nor would it further American interests much, but Britain should provide wholehearted moral support, and even lend practical help in the forms of, say, policetraining, medical aid and refugee assistance.26 The British did provide some help along these lines, although this did not influence the administration’s view that there should be more substantial support.27 Dean argued that there was no point antagonising the Americans over relatively minor issues such as ’the alleged carriage of both strategic and other materials to North Vietnam by ships flying the flags of America’s allies’. British ’material interest in the continuance of the trade’ was ’small’ but ’the damage which a handful of chartered tramp ships can do to Anglo-American relations in wider fields’ was real.28 Officially the Labour government supported US policy in Vietnam, but Wilson needed to consider the hostile attitudes of many of his compatriots. In March 1965 the US Ambassador to London, David Bruce, explained to the State Department that Wilson was ’hotly accused by many British, including a formidable number of moderate Labour

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Parliamentarians, of being a mere satellite of the US, and of subscribing blindly and completely to policies about which he has not been consulted in advance’.29 Wilson therefore found himself in the position of ’a responsible world statesman, patiently seeking the resolution of disputes while remaining loyal to his chief ally’.30 The Prime Minister was responsible for a number of unsuccessful peacemaking initiatives in which Dean played little part. The Ambassador often worried about the impact of the Vietnam conflict on Anglo-American relations. And summer 1966 was a time of particular concern for him. Wilson had told Johnson that if the United States extended its bombing campaign to include the North Vietnamese cities of Hanoi or Haiphong, where important oil facilities were located, London would be ’forced publicly to dissociate from that action’.31 If the measure, which was now under consideration in the administration, claimed civilian casualties, it would antagonise the Labour left with negative repercussions on Wilson’s leadership and party unity. Dean, however, was conscious of a mounting American impatience with unsupportive allies, and warned Michael Stewart that as American casualty levels mounted, ’and the effects of the Vietnam war on the budget become apparent, Americans are likely to ask more and more insistently what their allies are contributing, militarily and economically, to the defence of the free world against aggression’.32 Dean advised Michael Palliser, Wilson’s Private Secretary, that if the bombing of Hanoi and Haiphong did take place and was ‘successful in hitting the oil installations only and killing very few civilians’ the Prime Minister should either refrain from making ’a public dissociation statement’ or should say only ‘the absolute minimum’.33 But even if the bombings were ‘successful’, Labour and British public opinion were such that Wilson would still need to ’dissociate’. In these circumstances he was anxious to visit the President to help maintain Anglo-American understanding, a measure that David Bruce supported.34 Dean opposed this idea emphatically, believing that it might look as though Wilson had been hauled across the Atlantic for a Presidential rebuke or, alternatively, that the Prime Minister was giving the President orders. The Ambassador therefore suggested to London that the visit should not take place, and complained that he had not been asked about the proposal for a summit ’before the Prime Minister put it to the President through David Bruce’. Bruce was wrong to encourage Wilson to think that Johnson ’would welcome a visit’ and ‘suggesting that advice and pressure about Vietnam would be appropriate’.35 The Ambassador’s reservations about a visit seemed reasonable, given the bitterness in the White House over the prospect of dissociation. On 17 June, Walt

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Rostow informed the President that it was ‘our task to make it bloody clear to the British Embassy in Washington and the British Government in London’ that Wilson ‘should not come here unless what he says . . . reinforces your position on Vietnam’.36 Anthony Howard has suggested that at times such as this Rostow and other US officials aired their views so vigorously that they practically ’bullied’ the self-effacing Dean.37 This is probably an overstatement, but the Presidential advisers did feel few qualms about expressing themselves unequivocally. On 22 June, after hearing from Rusk and Rostow, Dean wrote that although Johnson ’had now accepted the Prime Minister’s suggestion for a visit and was ready to receive him towards the end of July’, his ’first reaction to the suggestion’ had been hostile. The President was ’under great domestic pressure’ and was, because of Vietnam, having to sit by as ’his overwhelming political power fragmented’. He wanted practical help, not empty advice. Johnson considered that by failing to provide troops to help defend South Vietnam the British were failing their obligations under the South-East Asian Treaty Organisation and the Geneva Conference of 1954.38 Dean might have doubted the veracity of these legal arguments, but his immediate concern was the state of Anglo-American relations. On 29 June, 10 Downing Street issued the statement of dissociation from the bombings, which had occurred the night before. In conversation with Rostow, Dean had to defend the announcement, stressing that ’two-thirds of it had been devoted to confirming that US basic policy as regards Vietnam still had the support of the British government’.39 Fortunately the mood soon lifted within the administration and the White House consented to a visit from the Prime Minister. On 22 July, Dean learned from White House officials that ’the Prime Minister’s announcement of the new economic measures has created a new situation and a much better climate here’.40 The Labour budget of two days earlier had included £500 million worth of reduced spending and increased taxes, a wage-price freeze and cuts in direct overseas spending, but without any attacks on the basic principle of Britain’s world power role.41 These economic measures had ’removed previous doubts about the purpose and value of the Prime Minister’s visit’ and had ’defined fairly clearly the main issues for discussion with the President’, notably how ’domestic economic and financial policies’ related to ’our overseas commitments’.42 Dean visited London to speak directly to Wilson and his advisers about the best approach to the summit,43 and the Prime Minister did accept his advice about how best to deal with the Americans in the wake

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of dissociation. Upon meeting President Johnson on 29 July, Wilson wasted no time in affirming his loyalty to the United States, in part by stressing his strong support for US policy in Vietnam: ‘disagreement on particular actions did not mean any weakening of support for general policy’.44 Johnson was so impressed by these declarations that, as Dean noted, he ’discarded his original speech for the lunch and had it considerably strengthened during the period between the end of the private talk and lunch’.45 Johnson’s revised toast stated among other things that Wilson was a ’man of mettle’ and an outstanding leader,46 but despite exaggerating almost to the point of sarcasm the address did mark an improvement in high-level Anglo-American relations. A few days later a still-delighted Ambassador suggested a number of reasons for Johnson’s effusiveness. First, there was an American interest ‘in doing anything possible to reinforce international confidence in the Prime Minister and HMG, and, hence in sterling’, because the White House was concerned that difficulties for the Pound might affect the Dollar. Secondly, the President had been reflecting ‘upon the potential consequences of Britain drifting seriously out of line’, understanding that in terms of American standing with world opinion it was vital ‘that the leading socialist-governed country in the world should support their objectives in South-east Asia’. Thirdly, the administration might soon face ‘the need for fairly stringent economic measures to control the growing inflationary tendencies in the American economy’, so that Johnson saw a ‘vested interest in . . . endorsing HMG’s economic policies’ and praising ’the success of a programme of retrenchment which is going to hurt quite a large section of the British public’.47 Although the crisis over dissociation proved short-lived, Vietnam continued to strain the Anglo-American relationship, not least because the US government regarded British attempts at peace negotiations to be self-glorifying and unlikely to succeed since any negotiations were best held between the principals rather than through intermediaries.48 In February 1967 Wilson used the visit to London of the Soviet premier, Alexei Kosygin, to try to establish contacts with North Vietnam. But, the White House changed its negotiating stance at the eleventh hour, leaving the Prime Minister feeling that he had been mistreated.49 Once again, Dean had had little direct involvement in the Kosygin talks – a contrast to the substantial participation of Ambassador Bruce in London – but he was involved in the troubled aftermath.50 On 23 March, Palliser agreed with Wilson, who was still brooding about his treatment by the Americans the previous month, that Dean should help to ‘clear the air with LBJ’ about the abrupt American change in policy.51 Although he

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felt that a post-mortem could only do damage, on 10 April the Ambassador saw Johnson and Rostow. The latter conceded that ‘there had been a significant change’ of policy, which had been communicated too late. The affair should now be forgotten, Dean advised London.52 While Wilson doubted that his envoy had conveyed the true depths of his feelings, he decided to let the matter rest.53

Economics and East of Suez John Fretwell, the embassy’s First Secretary Commercial from 1967, noted that ‘commercial work was given great emphasis’ at this time.54 A newspaper article suggested that the Ambassador’s growing involvement in these matters stemmed from his ‘underemployment . . . brought about by the growth of the United States as a superpower and accelerated by President Johnson’s antipathy for Ambassadors, foreigners, and foreign affairs requiring some cooperation with the aforesaid foreigners’.55 The journalist Anthony Howard has remarked that for Dean, as a ‘traditional’ diplomat, commercial diplomacy was ‘not his bag’.56 However, Roger Beetham, who worked in the embassy’s Commercial Department, has stated that Dean regarded commercial work as of high importance, realising ‘that exports were vital’ to Britain’s economic health and its standing in the United States.57 In 1964 British exports there stood at $996 million (£356 million), with US exports to Britain at $1800 million (£643 million). The balance did improve for Britain, with the corresponding figures for 1969 of $2188 million (£912 million) and £2716 million (£1132 million).58 However, Beetham, for one, doubted that the embassy had much impact on the United Kingdom’s trading status other than at the intergovernmental level through negotiations on tariffs.59 Britain suffered chronic balance of payments difficulties – there was an £800 million deficit when Labour entered office in October 1964 – and frequent speculative attacks on Sterling, which required foreign support to avoid devaluation. The US Treasury, fearing that devaluation might undermine the Dollar, orchestrated several bailouts for the Pound during the Wilson–Johnson years. Economic debility had distinct implications for Britain’s international role. A 1964 Foreign Office report noted that £300 million was spent overseas each year on ’defence and related activities’, while overall defence spending was rising, from £1596 million in 1960–61 to an estimated £2141 million in 1965–66 and an estimated £2400 million in 1969–70.60 Dean recognised that the position of Ambassador for an impoverished government is an invidious one; he commented in May

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1966 that ‘unless we can bring our financial situation under control . . . we should be operating from a position of weakness which would necessarily have repercussions on our political influence in Washington’.61 Labour’s ongoing Defence Review generated particular uncertainty about how long Britain would retain its substantial military presence East of Suez. Dean vigorously opposed any major withdrawals from the region, because they would spell the end of Britain’s world role and undermine the country’s standing with the United States.62 He argued that, if Britain ever had to relinquish this role, the Americans should be encouraged to ‘assume some of our present commitments East of Suez’ or ‘assist us financially in meeting them’.63 But the débacle of Vietnam meant that the United States was unwilling to assume further military and financial burdens. So far as Britain’s international orientation was concerned, Dean supported the idea of joining the European Community (a goal which the Labour government began exploring in mid-1966, only to be rebuffed by France in December 1967), as he believed that membership would finally permit the British to ‘play to the full the key role in Western European affairs for which we are historically and geographically suited’. This move would also ‘be highly regarded in the United States’, helping to ‘strengthen our hand in dealing with the variety of problems’ – such as the future of NATO – ‘in which American assistance and cooperation is so necessary to us’.64 But he valued the East of Suez position most of all, largely because American policy-makers often told him how much they valued this role. In June 1965, for example, he noted McNamara’s explanation of why Britain should remain in force in Asia: ‘The United States had the military resources to take this part of the world on, but not the political strength either at home or abroad to do so alone and without allies. If, therefore, the British withdrew there would be a vacuum which somebody else would no doubt fill.’65 Wilson’s commitment to a continued global role for the United Kingdom meant that he too preferred that Britain should retain a substantial military presence East of Suez, but economic difficulties, along with Cabinet and Party opposition, weakened that commitment. Dean recorded that during his visit to Washington in July 1966 Wilson had convinced his interlocutors ‘that we mean to stay [East of Suez] and that we will do so not merely out of a sense of loyalty to our US and Commonwealth allies but because we perceive it to be in our national interest to remain closely associated with the future of South and South East Asia’. However, there was some scepticism about the value of these assurances: the Pentagon was especially ‘sober and cold-nosed . . . they

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will not allow hopes to become dupes’.66 The scepticism was justified. Early in 1967, discussions in London raised the possibility of cutting Britain’s strength in the Malaysia–Singapore area by half to around 40,000 by 1970–71 and withdrawing completely from mainland Asia, except Hong Kong, by the mid-1970s. Wilson recognised Washington’s hostility to major defence cuts, and rather than face Johnson himself, he sent Foreign Secretary George Brown to outline the plans. On 8 April, Dean, wanting to sugar the pill, advised Brown ‘about how we might handle these difficult questions’. The Americans would dislike ‘what we intend to do’, but ‘a great deal will depend on the manner in which we present our decisions to them’. Washington would ‘probably accept fairly easily that we shall be fully off the mainland of Asia by 1975 and halfway off by 1970’, but, given the uncertainty over South Vietnam’s future even in the event of an American victory, it should be underlined that ‘we also will have a capability of coming back into the area in circumstances in which we judge it to be our interest to support them’. Dean wanted the Cabinet to agree ‘that the terms and the timing of any announcement should not be settled’ until Brown had had ‘a thorough discussion on all aspects of the matter’ with Rusk.67 In the wake of Brown’s visit to Washington, David Bruce complained that Britain’s intention to make ‘a unilateral determination, and announcing it in July, eight years in advance of its being carried into effect’ was ‘more likely to cause bitter controversy between the US and UK Governments than any other issue between us during the last few years’.68 On 6 May, Dean, still hoping to shape policy in London, told Brown that for the sake of Anglo-American relations the announcement should be either ‘deferred’ or made ‘pretty vague’.69 In what may have been a coordinated embassy offensive, John Killick of the Chancery urged Jeffrey Kitchen of the State Department that Johnson should ‘knock the pants off’ Wilson on the East of Suez question when he visited Washington in a few weeks time. Killick recalled the embassy’s warnings to Brown about the administration’s feelings concerning a continued British presence in the Far East. However, Brown had reported that ‘the Americans hadn’t reacted too strongly’ to his announcement of British intentions. Killick concluded that ‘you have to hit these guys [politicians] smack between the eyes’.70 Wilson visited the White House on 2 June, but the arguments against the withdrawals had little effect. Soon it was announced that in 1970–71 forces deployed in Singapore and Malaysia would be reduced from 80,000 to 40,000.71 This proposal could scarcely be reversed, with the result

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that, as Dean noted, the administration finally ‘accepted defeat . . . with reasonably good grace’.72 Late 1967 saw a crisis of Sterling, with further implications for Britain’s international role. On 17 November, Wilson informed Johnson, through the embassy, that the Government had finally decided to devalue the Pound, from a parity of $2.80 to $2.40. He assured the President that ‘while we shall inevitably be making some reductions in defence expenditure, we shall nevertheless be able to maintain, both in Europe and East of Suez, the policies set out in the Defence White Paper’.73 No doubt concerned about British exports to the United States, Dean had felt it wrong to postpone the measure for so long, and in the days before the move he doubted the numerous assertions from ministers that devaluation was off the agenda.74 Yet, oddly enough, the devaluation of Sterling, a decisive indication of Britain’s economic and political decline, did not prove to be an especially unpleasant episode for the Ambassador. American policy-makers had seen the move coming and were relieved that the cut was, at just over 14 per cent, relatively modest. Wilson, eversensitive to the condition of Anglo-American bonds, was delighted with Dean’s conduct during the devaluation crisis, not least because his ‘handling of the President himself was a model of what I had hoped it would be’.75 On 20 November, Dean informed Palliser that although the Sterling crisis had meant ‘a pretty tiresome time’ for the embassy, the Anglo-American relationship had ‘come out of it well . . . our ties . . . can and should grow stronger’.76 But the bonds faced further threat, as devaluation added some £50,000,000 to the annual cost of defence.77 On 1 January 1968, Dean told the Foreign Office that despite Wilson’s pledges to the contrary in November, American policy-makers feared ‘that we shall dispose with dangerous haste of the unique political and strategic assets which they regard us as holding in trust for the West through our presence . . . in Europe, the Middle East, and in Asia’.78 As he had done under similar circumstances in July 1967, Wilson sent Brown to Washington to outline the latest British plans, this time to present the proposals to ‘accelerate the rundown in the Far East . . . there would be no bases on mainland Asia by 31 March 1971, instead of by the mid-70s’. British forces would also ‘leave the Persian Gulf by the same time’.79 Dean again tried to influence policy in London. On 14 January, after Brown’s visit, he sent him an anguished telegram urging that the Cabinet should think twice before making any further announcements of defence cuts lest irreparable damage occurred to the Anglo-American relationship. While the Americans supported ‘our efforts to set our economy on a sound

162 Patrick Dean, 1965–69

footing’, they regarded ‘irrevocable decisions to abandon our modest presence in the Persian Gulf and South-east Asia . . . as being both unnecessary and a most dangerously high price to pay in terms of world peace’. Ominously, Dean forecasted that ‘if we . . . walk [out] of the nonEuropean world in terms of our defence and commitment, we shall have crossed a watershed in our ability to influence world affairs and above all . . . Anglo-American relations’.80 Brown deployed Dean’s arguments in a ‘dramatic’ and ‘brilliant’ presentation to the Cabinet, but to no avail.81 Donald Maitland of the Foreign Office informed the Ambassador that his recent telegram was a valuable statement of ‘the implications for our relations with the Americans of the decisions which were then about to be taken’, but ‘neither the Foreign Secretary’s own warnings’ nor letters from Johnson to Wilson ‘succeeded in convincing the colleagues who seemed already determined on a course which would have changed the basis of the foreign policy we have followed since the war’.82 Edward Tomkins noted the feeling among many American officials that ‘they had been “double-crossed” by the British Government’ because of ‘the assurances given to them both in July and at the time of devaluation that the decisions then taken were not in conflict with basic foreign policy objectives’.83 January 1968 was undoubtedly the nadir for Patrick Dean’s Ambassadorship. The pessimistic mood was highlighted during an embassy press conference about Britain’s defence cuts, when a drunken journalist shouted, ‘Why don’t you tell the truth? The country’s bust! The country’s bust!’ A beleaguered Dean did not know what to say.84 His view that the planned withdrawals from Asia meant that US policymakers were less inclined to place much value on the alliance with Britain was certainly plausible. In June 1968 the new US Secretary of Defense, Clark Clifford, declared ‘the British . . . are no longer a powerful ally of ours because they cannot afford the cost of an adequate defence effort’.85 But this verdict was exaggerated. Dean noted in October 1967 that ‘the Americans have no intention of dispensing with us nor have any wish to do so’. He conceded that there was in Washington some: discontent or displeasure with certain aspects of our policies where we differ with the United States Government. Defence policy East of Suez has been the main cause of such expressions of view recently. But such things are a measure of the distress it causes the Americans when we, of whom this is expected so much less than of other countries, find ourselves out of line with them and leave out of account the very large and important positive factor of the many

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important areas in which we can and do still work with them on the basis of a very close identity of view. This cooperation was especially evident in the everyday ‘work of the Embassy with its American opposite numbers at all levels from my own down to desk officers’.86 Soon there was even a modest improvement in Britain’s standing in the United States. Dean reported in July 1968 that recent ‘problems of the dollar have given thinking Americans more sympathy for the vicissitudes of the pound and the British economy’, and that Britain’s ‘manifest support for NATO is a real encouragement’ when many Congressmen were clamouring for the withdrawal of US troops from Europe.87 Nonetheless, the East of Suez decisions had led many Americans to see Britain ‘as the sick man of Europe who lost his nerve and chickened out of his responsibilities’.88 For Dean, this was an appalling development, and one that he had fought hard to avoid. But after January 1968 the key Anglo-American issues that had so worried him were largely played out. It was later suggested that, during his last year in Washington, he was ‘a lame duck Ambassador. The announcement of a successor was made a year ahead of his actually taking up the post; to Dean’s friends in Washington it looked as if an attempt was being made to hustle him off the stage.’89 It is normal to announce the successor to any Ambassador well ahead of time, because the consent of the receiving state is required, but it does seem that there was a touch of insensitivity from the Labour government, which wanted to bring in the former Labour MP John Freeman.

Conclusion Dean considered the chief goal of any British Ambassador to the United States to get as close as possible to the ‘seat of power’,90 but he found achieving this objective a daunting challenge. In many ways his term of office may seem a failure, in which the value of bilateral relations underwent a marked decline. However, a number of points can be made in his defence. First, it is clear that the frequency and significance of the dealings between any particular president and the British Ambassador depend largely upon the personal inclinations of the former. And Dean was singularly unfortunate to have to deal with Lyndon Johnson, who had little affinity for face-to-face interactions with foreign representatives. While dealing with heads of government is obligatory for a US president, meeting Ambassadors is a far less pressing duty as seen in the initial snub to

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Dean, who presented his credentials as part of a group. Nor did Johnson feel any particular warmth towards Britain. Dean saw him on numerous occasions, during official or social visits to the White House, including visits with Harold Wilson and other ministers or officials, but never did their relationship advance beyond the merely formal. Aside from the misfortune of overlapping with Johnson, Dean also held the Ambassadorship during a particularly troubled period, arguably even worse than that experienced by Makins and Caccia in the mid-1950s. Dean found himself dealing with US policy-makers experiencing, as a result of Vietnam, the collapse of domestic foreign policy consensus, facing the limits of American power abroad and believing among other things that their main allies the British were not pulling their weight. The Johnson administration wanted wholehearted support in Vietnam, and was therefore especially hostile to the partial dissociation from American policy in June 1966. Dean tried his best to minimise the impact of dissociation and his interventions perhaps moderated some of the friction in the Anglo-American relations. But the deeper issue with which he had to deal was Britain’s shifting orientation in world affairs – specifically, the future of its military commitments East of Suez. The Americans, fearing the impact of withdrawal on their own foreign and defence policies, urged Dean and other embassy staff that British troops must not abandon the region. Once again, the Ambassador sympathised with these views but this led Tony Benn, for one, to conclude that the Ambassador was ‘pursuing his own policy’ in Washington.91 In resisting the cuts, Dean was at odds with Labour policy, more so on this matter than anything else. London acknowledged his concerns but it made no difference to policy decisions, perhaps because his views seemed anachronistic to Labour ministers looking more towards Europe for economic and political salvation. Another unfortunate coincidence was that Dean’s appointment came just as the importance of resident Ambassadors was being called into question, partly because of the growing institutionalisation of summit diplomacy, which was much more frequent than it had been even ten years before. This development partly derived from the greater ease and speed of jet air travel and from the publicity that could be milked from summit meetings. Harold Wilson met Johnson at six bilateral summits, as well as some multilateral occasions (such as the funerals of former German Chancellor Konrad Adenauer and Australian premier Harold Holt). Wilson felt that meetings between Prime Ministers and Presidents were ‘essential’ and should be both frequent and informal.92 There was also the recognition in this period that functions such as representation and negotiation, especially when technical experts are needed, could be

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carried out more effectively through direct contact than through intermediaries. The Duncan Report of 1969, undertaken in the wake of the East of Suez retrenchment, recognised that embassies no longer held their former importance and proposed a major reduction in Britain’s diplomatic representation abroad.93 Nonetheless, Dean’s Ambassadorship may serve to demonstrate that the resident embassy still had a vital role to play. For one thing, whatever the difficulties at the highest level, these years did see a continued and productive interchange between lower-ranking US and British diplomats. Christopher Everett, who worked at the embassy’s Middle Eastern Affairs desk, noted that at his ‘appropriately low level I was in and out of the White House, State Department, Pentagon, Congress and elsewhere’.94 Such evidence confirms C.J. Bartlett’s argument that despite the adverse impact of Vietnam and East of Suez, Anglo-American ‘cooperation continued to flourish between diplomats’ as well as between ‘members of the armed forces and between sections of the bureaucracies’.95 Just as important, Dean fulfilled his role of political reporting well and it can be argued that the Wilson government should have paid more attention to the warnings he gave about the views of the US government. His forecasts of a weakening of the high-level Anglo-American relationship were substantiated in 1968 by comments in the administration that Britain’s stock as an ally had fallen. This was especially unwelcome because, as a 1969 Foreign and Commonwealth Office report indicated, close relations with the Americans remained ‘of supreme importance’ to British interests.96

Notes 1. Drew Pearson, ‘LBJ snubs British ambassador’, The Washington Post (16 June 1965); Nick Clarke, Alistair Cooke: The Biography (London, 1999), 461. 2. Rajarishi Roy, ’The Battle of the Pound: The Political Economy of AngloAmerican Relations, 1964–68’ (PhD dissertation, London School of Economics, 2000), 189; Tony Benn, Office Without Power: Diaries 1968–72 (London, 1988), 264. 3. W. Scott Lucas, ‘The Missing Link? Patrick Dean, Chairman of the Joint Intelligence Committee’, in Saul Kelly and Anthony Gorst (eds), Whitehall and the Suez Crisis (London, 2000), 123. 4. On Vietnam and Anglo-American relations, see Sylvia Ellis, Britain, America and the Vietnam War (New York, 2004) and Jonathan Colman, A ’Special Relationship’? Harold Wilson, Lyndon B. Johnson and Anglo-American Relations ’At the Summit’, 1964–68 (Manchester, 2004). For British policy East of Suez, see Saki Dockrill, Britain’s Retreat from East of Suez: The Choice Between Europe and the World? (Basingstoke, 2002); Jeffrey Pickering, Britain’s Withdrawal from East of Suez: The Politics of Retrenchment (London, 1998); and John W.

166 Patrick Dean, 1965–69

5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10.

11. 12. 13. 14.

15.

16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27.

Young, The Labour Governments 1964–70, Volume 2: International Policy (Manchester, 2004), 31–62. Author’s telephone conversation with Anthony Howard (26 April 2004). Dean obituary, The Times, 8 November 1994; correspondence with author from Oliver Wright (25 April 2004). Lucas, ’Missing Link?’, 117 and 121. Dean obituary, The Times (8 November 1994). The National Archives (TNA), Kew, FCO7/771/12, Dean to Gore-Booth (25 October 1967). On Wilson’s dealings with Johnson, see Jonathan Colman, ‘Harold Wilson, Lyndon B. Johnson and Anglo-American “Summit Diplomacy”, 1964–68’, Journal of Transatlantic Studies, Vol. I, No. 2 (Autumn 2003), 131–51; Sylvia Ellis, ’Lyndon B. Johnson, Harold Wilson and the Vietnam war: a not-so special relationship?’, in Jonathan Hollowell (ed.), Twentieth Century AngloAmerican Relations (London, 2001), 180–204; Ben Pimlott, ’Courting the President: Wilson and Johnson in the 1960s’, in Antoine Capet and Aissatou Sy-Wonyu (eds), The ’Special Relationship’: La ’Relation Spéciale’ entre le Royaume-Uni et les Etats-Unis (Rouen, 2003), 185–91. Tony Benn, Out of the Wilderness: Diaries 1963–1967 (London, 1987), 108; Dockrill, Britain’s Retreat, 44. Churchill Archive Centre, Cambridge, British Diplomatic Oral History Project (BDOHP), Derek Day interview. FCO7/771/12, Dean to Gore-Booth (25 October 1967). For example: Philip Geyelin, Lyndon B. Johnson and the World (London, 1966); Waldo Heinrichs, ’Lyndon Johnson: Change and Continuity’, in Warren I. Cohen and Nancy Bernkopf Tucker (eds), Lyndon Johnson Confronts the World: American Foreign Policy 1963–1968 (Cambridge, 1994); Robert Dallek, Flawed Giant: Lyndon Johnson and His Times (Oxford, 1998). H.W. Brands, The Wages of Globalism: Lyndon B. Johnson and the Limits of American Power (Oxford, 1995); John Dumbrell, President Lyndon Johnson and Soviet Communism (Manchester, 2004); Thomas Schwartz, Lyndon Johnson and Europe: In the Shadow of Vietnam (Cambridge, Mass, 2003). Sunday Times, 25 April 1965. TNA, FO371/179566/32, Dean to Gore-Booth (September 1965). FCO73/4, Dean to Henderson (12 May 1965). Author’s telephone conversations with Anthony Howard (26 April 2004) and Edward Tompkins (6 May 2004). TNA, PREM13/694, record of Johnson-Dean meeting (13 April 1965). FO371/179559/44, memorandum on ’United States Foreign Affairs Policy’ (20 September 1965). FCO73/4, covering note from Henderson and Dean to Henderson (12 May 1965). FO800/978, Dean to Brown (6 May 1967). PREM 13/695, memorandum on ’Vietnam: Anglo-United States Relations’ (undated). Correspondence with the author from Lady Patricia Dean (11 September 2004). FO1095/19, Dean to Stewart (26 January 1966). Dumbrell, Special Relationship, 150–1.

Jonathan Colman 167 28. FO1095/19, Dean to Stewart (26 January 1966). 29. National Archives and Record Administration (NARA), College Park, Maryland, RG59, POL 27 Military Operations Viet S 2.1.65, Embassy to State (24 February 1965). On Bruce, see Jonathan Colman, ‘The London ambassadorship of David K.E. Bruce during the Wilson-Johnson years, 1964–68’, Diplomacy and Statecraft, Vol. 15 (2004), 327–52, and Nelson K. Lankford, The Last American Aristocrat: The Biography of David K.E. Bruce (New York, 1995), 326–41. 30. Lyndon B. Johnson Library (LBJL), Austin, Texas, National Security File (NSF), Country File, UK, Box 215, Wilson visit 12/17/65, memorandum on ’British Problems and Policies on the Eve of the Wilson visit’. 31. Harold Wilson, The Labour Government, 1964–1970 (London, 1971), 187. 32. FO1095/19, Dean to Stewart (26 January 1966). 33. FCO73/8, Dean to Palliser (23 June 1966). 34. PREM13/1274, Maclehose to Palliser (15 June 1966). 35. FCO73/8, Dean to Maclehose (23 June 1966). 36. LBJL, NSF, Memoranda to the President, Rostow Vol. 6, Box 8, Rostow to Johnson (17 June 1966). 37. Author’s telephone conversation with Anthony Howard (26 April 2003). 38. Foreign Relations of the United States (FRUS), 1964–1968, IV, Vietnam 1966 (Washington DC, 1998), 426–7. 39. PREM13/1083, Dean to Palliser (2 July 1966). 40. PREM13/1083, Dean to Gore-Booth (22 July 1966). 41. Wilson, Labour Government, 258–9. 42. PREM13/1262, Dean to Gore-Booth (22 July 1966). 43. PREM13/1262, record of meeting between Wilson, Dean and others (26 July 1966). 44. LBJL, NSF, Country File, UK, Box 216, Wilson Visit Briefing 7/29/66, Bator to Johnson (29 July 1966). 45. PREM13/1262, Dean to Maclehose (3 August 1966). 46. PREM13/1083, record of Wilson–Johnson meeting (29 July 1966). 47. PREM13/1262, Dean to Palliser (6 August 1966). 48. Alistair Hetherington, The Guardian Years (London, 1981), 235. 49. For details of the initiative, see John Dumbrell and Sylvia Ellis, ’British involvement in Vietnam peace initiatives, 1966–1967’, Diplomatic History, Vol. 27, No. 1 (January 2003), 113–49; and Geraint Hughes, ‘A “missed opportunity” ’ for peace? Harold Wilson, British diplomacy and the Sunflower initiative’, Diplomacy and Statecraft, Vol. 14, No. 3 (September 2003), 106–30. 50. Colman, ’Bruce’, 341–3. 51. PREM13/1919, Palliser to Wilson (23 March 1967). 52. PREM13/2458, Dean to Wilson (10 April 1967). 53. PREM13/2458, Palliser to Wilson (12 April 1967). 54. BDOHP, John Fretwell interview. 55. ’British Ambassador leads new sales drive in US’, The Times (9 June 1965). 56. Author’s telephone conversation with Anthony Howard (26 April 2003). 57. Author’s correspondence from Roger Campbell Beetham (7 May 2004). 58. Central Statistical Office, Annual Abstract of Statistics (London, 1975), table 305. 59. Author’s correspondence from Roger Campbell Beetham (7 May 2004). 60. PREM13/018, Trend to Wilson (19 November 1964). 61. FO371/185011/101G, Dean to Stewart (3 May 1966).

168 Patrick Dean, 1965–69 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.

Author’s interview with Michael Palliser (7 May 2004). PREM13/215, Dean to Gore-Booth (10 June 1965). FO371/185011/101G, Dean to Stewart (3 May 1966). PREM13/215, Dean to Gore-Booth (10 June 1965). PREM13/1262, Dean to Palliser (6 August 1966). PREM13/1384, Dean to Brown (8 April 1967). NARA, RG59, POL UK-US 1.1.67, Subject-Numeric 1967–9, Bruce to Rusk (6 May 1967). FO800/978, Dean to Brown (6 May 1967). NARA, RG59, State Department Subject-Numeric Files 1967–9, POL UK-US, 1.1.67, memorandum on ‘UK East of Suez – Forthcoming Wilson Visit’ (17 May 1967). Cmnd. 3357, Supplementary Statement on Defence Policy 1967 (London, 1967), 5. FCO7/741, Dean to Paul Gore-Booth (4 August 1967). PREM13/1447, Wilson to Johnson (17 November 1967). Author’s correspondence from Roger Campbell Beetham (7 May 2004). PREM13/1447, Wilson to Dean (18 November 1967). PREM13/1447, Dean to Palliser (20 November 1967). Pickering, Britain’s Withdrawal, 164. PREM13/3551, Dean to Foreign Office (1 January 1968). FRUS, 1964–1968, XII, Western Europe (Washington DC, 2001), 603–5. FO800/955, Dean to Brown (14 January 1968). Jeffrey Pickering, ’Politics and ’’Black Tuesday’’: shifting power in the Cabinet and the decision to withdraw from East of Suez, November 1967–January 1968’, Twentieth-Century British History, Vol. XIII, No. 2 (2002), 166. FO800/955, Maitland to Dean (16 January 1968). Palliser to Wilson, ’Anglo-American relations’, 17 January 1968, PREM 13/3016. Author’s telephone conversation with Anthony Howard (26 April 2003). FRUS, 1964–1968, XII, 619, 625. FCO7/771, Dean to Gore-Booth (25 October 1967). FCO7/742, Dean to Gore-Booth (1 July 1968). PREM 13/2158, brief for John Freeman (23 July 1968). Dean obituary, The Times, 8 November 1994. FCO73/4, Dean to Nicholas Henderson (12 May 1965). Benn, Diaries 1963–7, 500. Bodleian Library, Oxford, Harold Wilson Papers, C.1179, University of Texas speech, ’Anglo-American Relations: a Special Case?’ (30 April 1970). G.R. Berridge, Diplomacy: Theory and Practice (London, 2002), 116; John Dickie, The New Mandarins: How British Foreign Policy Works (London, 2004), 176–7; Keith Hamilton and Richard Langhorne, The Practice of Diplomacy: Its Evolution, Theory and Administration (London, 1995) 220. Author’s correspondence from Christopher Everett (28 June 2004). C.J. Bartlett, The Special Relationship (London, 1992), 123. In an (admittedly crude) attempt to prioritise Britain’s relations with different countries on the basis of various political, national security and military criteria, the report gave the United States by far the highest ranking at 152 points, compared to 52 points for West Germany and 40 for France: FCO 79/165, memorandum on ‘Priorities for British Interests Overseas: 1969’ (undated).

9 John Freeman, 1969–71 John W. Young

At less than two years duration, the ambassadorship of John Freeman was the second shortest covered by this book. It took place, too, in a singularly uneventful period in Anglo-American relations, between the dramas of 1967–68 – when the devaluation of Sterling and Britain’s decision to withdraw from East of Suez were swiftly followed by the Tet offensive – and the ‘Nixon shocks’ over Sino-American rapprochement and trade control in 1971. Yet it was a controversial ambassadorship, a political appointment by Labour premier Harold Wilson that was heavily criticised from the outset. Freeman was lucky even to arrive in Washington in March 1969. He had been selected for the post over a year earlier, when the incumbent Lyndon Johnson or, when he withdrew from the race, Vice-President Hubert Humphrey was expected to win the 1968 race for the Presidency. Few could have predicted that victory would in fact fall to the Republican Richard Nixon, who had lost the 1960 election and then failed to win the Governorship of his home state, California. After the California result, Freeman, then editor of the New Statesman, had written Nixon off as ‘a man of no principle whatsoever except a willingness to sacrifice everything in the cause of Dick Nixon’. According to Nixon’s National Security Adviser, Henry Kissinger, the new President ‘swore that he would have nothing to do with Freeman’, a view reinforced by the former President Dwight Eisenhower, who argued that the appointment was an insult to the Presidency itself.1 ‘Ike’ had just read an article in Newsweek that suggested Wilson’s very choice of Ambassador was designed to downgrade the ‘special relationship’ with Washington.2 Although Freeman did take up his post, George Brown, the Foreign Secretary under whom he was appointed, later declared the decision a ‘mistake’.3 Yet, despite such inauspicious beginnings, the evidence on Freeman’s time in Washington suggests a highly 169

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successful ambassadorship, in which contact with the White House was excellent and the Anglo-American relationship, if not as ‘special’ as it had once been, was in good health.

A controversial appointment Freeman might have been a political appointee to a key post. But he was not the first and he was not unique at the time. The same batch of new ambassadorial appointments saw a Conservative politician, Christopher Soames, sent to Paris where it was hoped his connections and status as the son-in-law of Winston Churchill would help smooth the way for British entry to the European Community (EC). Freeman and Soames replaced professional politicians, Patrick Dean in Washington and Patrick Reilly in Paris, who were felt to have wielded less influence than British policy demanded. Lord Chalfont, Minister of State in the Foreign Office, said as much to Alasdair Hetherington, editor of The Guardian. The criticism was harsh. Dean and Reilly were professional diplomats, highly competent at their jobs and, as Chalfont acknowledged, neither had been favoured by circumstances in their respective posts. While Reilly had been in Paris at the height of de Gaulle’s Presidency, Dean had had to deal with Lyndon Johnson, whose relationship with foreign officials was notoriously frosty.4 Although both outgoing Ambassadors were approaching retirement age, they resented the manner in which they were replaced. Dean was especially annoyed that the announcement was made nine months in advance.5 Actually, Brown had begun to consider future top-level appointments as early as September 1967, 18 months before Dean was due to leave Washington. It was essential to do some advance planning because so many retirements were due in 1968–69 and a decision on any one could have implications for others. The Chief of the Diplomatic Service Administration, Colin Crowe, suggested a professional diplomat, Denis Greenhill, as the best candidate for Washington but Brown had already pencilled in the latter to become Permanent Under-Secretary.6 Freeman was noted as ‘a possibility for Washington’ at a meeting on 14 September 1967 and, although Wilson and Brown only confirmed the appointment, alongside a string of other posts, in February 1968, it is clear that Freeman was long seen as a possible replacement for Dean. The newspaper editor Hugh Cudlipp had been told by Wilson in May 1967 that Freeman was likely to go to Washington or Moscow.7 While his background might be described as privileged – the son of a barrister, educated at Westminster School and Oxford – Freeman had

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joined Labour in 1933 and was elected an MP in 1945.8 As a politician he was best known as the minister who resigned alongside Wilson and Aneurin Bevan, the champion of the Left, in April 1951 over high defence spending, helping to precipitate the demise of the Labour government. Compared to the others he was still, despite his early promise, a minor player, a mere Parliamentary Secretary in the Ministry of Supply.9 Within weeks of this drama, however, his ambitions turned from parliament to journalism. He became the assistant to Kingsley Martin, editor of the left-wing New Statesman, and in 1955 left the House of Commons. When Martin finally retired in December 1960, Freeman took over the editorship.10 By then he had also become an able television performer, interviewing leading figures on the BBC series Face to Face, for which he won the title ‘Television Personality of the Year’ in 1960.11 He next took a leading role in the ground-breaking current affairs programme Panorama. David Frost acknowledged him to be ‘a role model and a seminal influence . . . he had an immensely imposing physical presence . . . as well as . . . awesome surgical skill with words . . .’.12 Throughout this time, however, he remained a supporter of Harold Wilson and, when the latter became party leader in 1963, wrote, ‘I should not be surprised if one day he is counted among the great.’13 In February 1965, thanks to Wilson’s favour, Freeman became High Commissioner to India, a large diplomatic mission in the world’s most populous democracy. He was aware in early 1967 that his success there might be followed by a still more prestigious post.14 In the second half of 1968 it became clear that Nixon could become President, casting doubt on Freeman’s ability to fulfil his principal objectives as Ambassador, which included maintaining friendly relations, encouraging an internationalist outlook by the United States and keeping the British government informed about American policies. But Wilson, though he was a convinced Atlanticist who always sought a close relationship with the White House, stuck doggedly by his choice. The British felt their relations with the prospective President were good enough to stand the strain.15 Besides, even some Americans recognised Freeman’s abilities. David Bruce, the US Ambassador to London under Kennedy and Johnson, met him at a lunch in July 1968 and was favourably impressed: ‘He is undoubtedly attractive, and reputed to be intellectually brilliant. Those who dislike him charge him with being arrogant and supercilious, but as a table companion today there was no trace of such defects.’16 In the weeks following Nixon’s triumph newspapers on both sides of the Atlantic raised questions about the appointment. ‘US call to drop Freeman’, read one headline.17 But Bruce

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remained one of Freeman’s defenders, writing disparagingly of the ‘foolish demands that he announce his intention of giving up the Washington post’.18 By early December the storm seemed to have passed and a dinner was given for the Ambassador-designate at The Savoy hotel, hosted by Lord Harlech, another former political appointee to Washington. A Cabinet Minister, Richard Crossman, who had also edited the New Statesman, proposed a witty, some said malicious, toast ranging over his colleague’s career. It argued that, whether as an MP, television personality or diplomat, Freeman always liked to face new challenges and meet success; with Nixon he could again start at ‘square one’.19 Malicious or not, Crossman was one of those who predicted success for Freeman, who always determined to master a situation and had already cultivated the habits of a diplomat: ‘He will do well because he is like an officer who stands erect under enemy fire.’20 In the New Year, a fresh problem presented itself when Nixon, instead of inviting Wilson to visit Washington as had been expected, proposed coming to London as part of a European tour. This would take place in February, before Freeman took up his post, but the British wanted him to be present at key functions, including a dinner at Downing Street. Those close to Nixon approached the occasion ‘with trepidation’. The National Security Adviser, Henry Kissinger, while believing Wilson had made an ‘extraordinary misjudgement’ in appointing Freeman so far ahead of the US election, was impressed by the Prime Minister’s courage in standing by the decision. Kissinger was keen to reassure Wilson that bilateral relations would remain close under Nixon’s tenure. But the President might yet decide ‘to make Freeman’s ambassadorial tenure as difficult and awkward as possible’.21 According to one Nixon biographer ‘one or two macho remarks’ by the President led ‘an over-zealous aide’ to inform London that Freeman must not attend the Prime Minister’s dinner. The aide has been variously identified as John Ehrlichman or Kissinger. If it were the latter, then subsequent events seem ironic, since he was to work closely with Freeman. Even a few days before the President flew in, David Bruce feared that a ‘petty’ snub was being planned that would mean trying to exclude the Ambassador-designate from events. The Secretary of State, William Rogers, was drafted in to persuade Nixon to prevent any such action.22 Nixon arrived in London on 24 February for two days and Wilson did everything to impress him, including a meeting with the Cabinet and a reception at Buckingham Palace. It was at the dinner on the 25th that, as Wilson later put it, the President made ‘an elegant and generous speech welcoming’ the Ambassador-designate to his new post and finally

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‘eliminated a lot of silly comment about [his] alleged unacceptability’.23 Bruce recalled that Nixon made: ‘a most felicitous short speech about Freeman, welcoming him as Ambassador...Freeman was almost reduced to tears, and a profound satisfaction was apparent throughout the room... I have never known anything more courteously or magnanimously done. The PM...fairly glowed with pleasure.’24 ‘After all’, Nixon said in brushing aside the Press furore, ‘he’s the new diplomat and I’m the new statesman.’ Kissinger’s account describes the impact of this as ‘electric’, confirms that the ‘usually imperturbable Freeman was close to tears’, and adds that Wilson scribbled a note to Nixon saying, ‘That was one of the kindest and most generous acts I have known in a quarter of a century in politics...You can’t guarantee being born a Lord. It is possible – you’ve shown it – to be born a gentleman.’25 During the dinner Michael Stewart, who had succeeded Brown as Foreign Secretary, took the opportunity to convince Rogers of Freeman’s suitability for his post, arguing that too much emphasis had been placed on his journalist days; he had broad experience, was intellectually gifted and highly professional. The Secretary of State needed no convincing. He was familiar with Freeman’s qualifications and predicted he might even start with an advantage in Washington in that, given tales of their past antagonism, Ambassador and Nixon would ‘lean over backwards to be friendly’ to one another.26 Sure enough, when the new Ambassador presented his credentials in mid-March, although there was no substantive business to discuss, Nixon chose it as the occasion to inaugurate a new practice. The ceremony took place not in the President’s office, as had previously been the case, but in the residential part of the White House. He thereby signalled that the United Kingdom was still a ‘special’ partner. In his formal remarks, Nixon also signalled that he planned to work closely with him: ‘Let me assure you that you are most welcome in Washington. Your impressively versatile career is well known to us. I was delighted to meet and talk with you in London and anticipate seeing you often in the future.’27

The embassy Freeman arrived in Washington just as a report was being drawn up, under the chairmanship of Sir Val Duncan, on the future of Britain’s overseas representation. This was carried out in light of both the need for spending restraint, following the devaluation of Sterling in November 1967, and the need to match diplomatic representation to a reduced world role, following the January 1968 decision to withdraw from bases ‘East of Suez’. Whatever the atmosphere of retrenchment in

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British diplomacy, the Washington Embassy was in a privileged position and the Duncan Report had little effect upon it. Although numbers in some sections were reduced, 3100 Massachusetts Avenue remained easily the largest British mission in the world. The total number of Diplomatic Service staff in the US was 182 at the end of 1968, and this did not include locally recruited employees or those from other ministries in Whitehall. This was a relatively large proportion of the 3000 UK Diplomatic Staff serving overseas: there were only 270 in all the rest of the Americas and 214 staff in the whole of Eastern Europe.28 The Diplomatic Service list for 1971, at the end of Freeman’s period, gives an idea of how work was shared around the embassy: apart from the Ambassador and his deputy, there were 23 political staff, six officials in the economic-financial section, seven in commerce, eight in consular work and two information officers (the British Information Services headquarters was in New York), plus 11 civilian attaches for such issues as civil aviation, shipping and petroleum. In addition to the Washington staff, there were about 20 consulates and trade offices scattered across America.29 There was also the British Defence Staff (BDS). In 1968–69, this was in the process of being reduced from 211 to 198 staff. These included 67 service personnel and 131 civilians. There were 99 defencerelated staff in the United States outside the BDS, stationed alongside American forces or handling equipment purchases, making a grand total of 297 in the defence field.30 Freeman seems to have had a limited role in the administrative side of the embassy. One point that did involve him, however, was the number of ministers and other eminent persons, including MPs, who wanted to visit Washington, often at short notice, expecting practical help from the embassy and likely to be disappointed if they could not meet some senior member of the administration. Such visits, Freeman argued, needed to be properly timetabled, given good notice and planned with a realistic view of what could be done.31 In this he was echoing long-standing complaints. Patrick Dean had also protested about over-frequent visits from ministers who often arrived with no clear objective in mind, expected to be entertained and accommodated, and had inflated expectations about media appearances and meetings with US officials.32 The creation of a ‘Ministerial Visits Committee’ in the Foreign and Commonwealth Office failed to tackle the problem. Washington was simply too tempting a destination for the ambitious minister.33 Despite his political background, Freeman’s staff respected him. John Boyd, who served in Washington for most of the ambassadorship, thought him ‘an admirable figure’, intelligent and approachable, who set ‘a good example...for the younger officers’.34

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Another junior diplomat, Andrew Wood, who had been in Washington since 1967 commented that, despite the controversy surrounding his appointment, ‘I don’t remember anyone feeling that John Freeman was not one of us...he settled in very quickly.’35 And David Burns, who arrived as a First Secretary in 1969, found him ‘a good man to work for’. Freeman once told him that being an Ambassador was like being an editor except you had to write more.36 Looking at his personal messages to London, as opposed to the routine telegrams that merely went out under his name, Freeman’s focus seems very much on fulfilling his main role of establishing close links with the Nixon administration, a task in which he was eminently successful.

Dealing with the Nixon administration When George Brown wrote of the ‘mistake’ in appointing Freeman, it was Henry Kissinger who sought to correct the impression, insisting that it was ‘one of the wisest decisions you made. Starting out his assignment under somewhat of a cloud, John has moved with great skill and charm to gain the admiration of all of us here.’37 There was no greater admirer than Kissinger himself who set up a close relationship with Freeman, similar to the better-known ‘back-channel’ to the Soviet Ambassador, Anatoly Dobrynin. In Freeman’s early months in Washington, Nixon told him more than once that it was important for them to keep in touch on all problems affecting world affairs and to ‘plan ahead together’.38 It also soon became clear that Kissinger was ‘thinking in terms of establishing a direct working relationship with the Ambassador’.39 This was significant. The British had quickly realised that the White House, rather than the State Department, would have primacy in foreign policy-making under Nixon. Before leaving Washington, Dean believed, ‘we have established excellent relations with Kissinger and his staff...we could therefore benefit considerably...’;40 and Freeman reported in August 1969 that, while ‘Kissinger is beginning to make enemies for himself in the administration and in the press, I have no doubt that his position is becoming stronger and that the President relies on him increasingly for advice on foreign policy matters.’41 By fitting in with the way the Nixon administration operated and, in particular, by seeing the primary importance of the National Security Adviser, Freeman was able to carry weight, ensure top-level relations were good and learn secrets the State Department did not know. Writing his Annual Review for 1969, a year that had started with those reports of the end of the ‘special relationship’, Freeman could only talk

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of ‘a pretty good year of Anglo-American relations’. Perhaps even more surprising, this was partly thanks to his connection with Nixon, who ‘has repeatedly made clear to me in terms I can no longer doubt that he regards his Administration as having (and needing) more intimate relations with Britain than with any other foreign country . . .’. Freeman added that, ‘in terms of close and candid consultation . . . we have been treated exceptionally – probably uniquely – well’.42 And the President seems to have been quite happy to leave issues in the hands of the National Security Adviser and Ambassador. In October 1970, when the dates for a summit were being discussed, Nixon told Kissinger, ‘Don’t bug me during the Goddam election. You and Freeman fix it.’43 The intimacy of the Kissinger–Freeman relationship can be traced through the documentary record. To give just a few examples: in June 1970, discussing Arab–Israeli tensions with Freeman, Kissinger criticised the State Department’s penchant for ‘playing word games’ at the UN and outlined the White House preference for a deal between the Superpowers that could then be pressed on the region;44 the following month Kissinger gave Freeman an outline of White House thinking on Vietnam peace talks;45 in September, at the height of the Jordan crisis, when Syria threatened to invade, he made a point of telephoning the Ambassador to inform him of a message from King Hussein before telephoning Downing Street with the same information46; and in October, after saying he regretted having to keep secrets from Britain, Kissinger provided Freeman with a detailed explanation of what had happened during the Cienfuegos crisis over Soviet submarines in Cuba.47 However, as revealed in an analysis at that time, it was not simply a case of focusing attention on one man. True, Nixon, who had a deep interest in international issues and was distrustful of the Washington bureaucracy, relied heavily on Kissinger. But this pair only concentrated on certain key issues, their attention shifting from time to time in a way that could seem baffling to outsiders. This meant that, for the embassy, ‘the huge bulk of our business’ was still with the State Department, on mundane issues that did not trouble the lofty minds in the White House. Freeman himself was determined to keep the State Department happy, not bypass it, and to limit dealings with Kissinger to selected points. The situation was ‘complicated, and admittedly not very satisfactory’, in that the White House kept secrets from the State Department and the two institutions said different things on the same question. London was sometimes at a loss to know which part of the US government to approach. But the Ambassador was adamantly opposed to the idea of complaining to Nixon about the confusion. The important point was to

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learn to live with realities within the administration and to expect the same in return: more than once, Freeman had had to tell Kissinger that there could be no ‘back-channel’ direct to Downing Street that bypassed the FCO.48 While quickly recognising that Rogers, the urbane Secretary of State, could end up as ‘an attractive dilettante’, Freeman was reluctant to write him off completely.49 He told Wilson, when they met in November 1969, that Rogers remained a close confidante of the President.50 And the Ambassador was careful to consult him over details of the Prime Minister’s January 1970 visit.51 Freeman always insisted on the need for the ‘strict protection of Kissinger’s confidence’ when reporting conversations with him to the FCO. But revelations about a particularly frank exchange caused a media stir when the record was released in July 2004. On 3 June 1970 the National Security Adviser, while praising the President himself to Freeman as ‘a good man’, described those around him as ‘a gang of selfseeking bastards’, adding, ‘I used to find the Kennedy group unattractively narcissistic, but they were idealists. These people are real heels.’ If nothing else this revealed just how trusted Freeman had become. Denis Greenhill, the Permanent Under-Secretary at the FCO, to whom Freeman personally addressed many of his most sensitive reports, considered it ‘a very considerable triumph to have got on such good terms with a man who appears, at least to me, somewhat less than attractive’. The same meeting revealed that the trust actually ran to Nixon himself: when Kissinger told Freeman that the President had been annoyed by Michael Stewart’s ‘patronising’ manner on a recent visit, the Ambassador promised to warn London; but then he received a personal call from Nixon who wanted to make clear that Stewart’s behaviour had done nothing to damage the Anglo-American relationship. The Ambassador was astonished to be contacted in this way.52

Ambassador under Wilson Despite the desire of Nixon and Wilson for a close relationship, Freeman did not always find it easy to keep relations between the pair on a positive basis. The United States was too powerful in the world and Britain, after the devaluation and East of Suez decision, too reduced in circumstances for Washington to deal with London in the way Churchill or Macmillan had known. But Wilson could be touchy about the way he was treated. In October 1969, for example, he was upset to discover that Britain had been asked by Washington to urge North Vietnam to take peace talks seriously, but only as one of a group of

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countries, some of whom had never supported the United States on the war. The Prime Minister remarked that this was worse treatment than he had received from LBJ! Freeman was at pains to defend the administration, however, and was able to demonstrate ‘special’ treatment for Britain when Kissinger handed over an advance copy of Nixon’s 3 November speech on foreign policy.53 Issues also inevitably arose that needed careful handling between the two sides. Freeman was especially anxious in conversation with Wilson in November 1969 to preserve the British government’s verbal support for the US war in Vietnam (when revelations of the My Lai massacre stirred up concern) and to explain British policy towards the EC (since Washington was currently reassessing its policy towards the Community).54 It did not help that, by this time, Wilson’s first visit to Washington was deferred several times. Nixon expressed the hope of a Washington Summit when Freeman presented his credentials, but it proved difficult to settle a date. The Prime Minister was unable to go to Washington in June because of pressing problems at home.55 In August, on his way back from Romania, Nixon made a brief stop at Mildenhall airport in Britain and met Wilson. This was the second time he had been in Britain in seven months and stood in stark contrast to Johnson, who had never ventured over at all. But for the British it was no substitute for a full summit.56 By November Wilson had, for some reason, come to sense a ‘lack of consideration’ in the Nixon administration. But he himself rejected the idea of a pre-Christmas summit, because a general election was looming and he did not want to seem to endorse the President’s Vietnam policy. At this point Freeman insisted that relations with Washington were perfectly good, that ‘there is no effective substitute for personal contacts’ at the top level and that Wilson ought to accept some new dates for a summit that the United States had offered. The Ambassador also stroked Wilson’s ego with a report that the President predicted a Labour victory in the general election that was widely expected in 1970.57 Freeman’s pressure succeeded and Wilson accepted the US proposal for a meeting in late January. The Ambassador and Kissinger planned it carefully, ensuring that their chiefs had plenty of time to get to know each other.58 The two-day visit proved a great success, mainly involving a review of world affairs on the political side but including, as a mark of honour, Wilson’s attendance, along with Stewart and Freeman, at an NSC meeting. Only Australia’s Harold Holt, who had troops fighting in Vietnam, had attended one before. Wilson came home declaring it ‘by far the best visit I have had to the US’.59 Reporting on the summit, Freeman noted that there had been no pressing issues to discuss and

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that it had confirmed Nixon’s view that he could deal with London on the basis of trust. However, the Ambassador did not obscure the fact that the American public now treated visits from a British premier as little different from those of any other European leader. In this instance, Wilson’s visit came after Germany’s Kurt Kiesinger, who had been over in August, and before France’s Georges Pompidou, who was due in February.60 Events a few months later confirmed that the British could not take their standing in Washington for granted. They received limited advanced warning of the US incursion into Cambodia in April 1970, Freeman remarking that he had ‘never seen Kissinger in such a sombre mood . . .’ when he told the Ambassador about the operation. The administration knew the decision would be unpopular with public opinion at home and abroad but wanted to shock Hanoi into talking. The timing could hardly have been worse from Wilson’s perspective: he was planning an election for June and the US action inevitably rekindled opposition to the Vietnam War in Parliament and the Cabinet. But, as always, Freeman hoped that London would support the invasion: ‘Our good relations with the Nixon administration stem largely from the President’s appreciation of the understanding he has received from HMG, often in difficult political circumstances.’61 Then came Stewart’s visit to Washington and the apparent difference with Nixon who, according to Kissinger, felt ‘patronised’. Freeman had requested a Presidential interview for Stewart when dining with Nixon on 11 May. The President had clearly been impressed with the Foreign Secretary’s readiness to defend the invasion of Cambodia in Parliament and agreed to meet him. But when Stewart arrived a few days later he struck, according to Freeman, a ‘schoolmasterly’ tone, telling Nixon he should reiterate his commitment to reduce US troop levels in Vietnam and allow NATO to pursue détente in Europe. Kissinger, who was present for most of the meeting, was clearly irritated and Freeman feared ‘that my welcome, the next time I have to go to the White House, may be cooler than usual’.62 The FCO itself had not been happy about the line Stewart planned to take with the President. Concocted in talks with Wilson, it seemed more calculated to help the Labour Party’s election fortunes than transatlantic relations.63 But on reflection Freeman felt that the problem lay less with Stewart and more with the ‘ungenerous’ Kissinger.64 Neither the Ambassador nor the Foreign Secretary had sensed any animosity from Nixon. Reflecting on the reports, Greenhill too was inclined to blame Kissinger for exaggeration, dismissing him as a ‘type of European-born guru who is absurdly jealous of other

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influences on his chief’.65 Certainly the episode did not put an end to Kissinger’s frank conversations with Freeman. Indeed, more than a year into his ambassadorship, he seemed to be doing surprisingly well. Tony Benn, making an official visit to Washington as Minister of Technology, found his host ‘still inscrutable, very smart . . . and hard to get through to’ but clearly ‘enjoying being Ambassador . . . immensely’. But, with a Conservative victory possible in the upcoming election, Freeman was already wondering what his next job should be. He did not expect his services to be retained by Edward Heath.66 A letter to Stewart suggested that he might even leave Washington if Labour were returned to power.67

Heath and Europe The Conservatives won the election in June and Freeman met the new Prime Minister for the first time a month later, when the main subject was planning for a summit. An early meeting in America was discussed, with Freeman suggesting that it might be held at Camp David or San Clemente where the pressures on Nixon were ‘less intense and he was more relaxed’.68 But, as under Wilson, timing proved difficult. The two sides eventually opted for a full, two-day summit in December, split between Washington and Camp David. However, it was the President’s brief visit to Britain in October 1970 that got their relationship as leaders off to what Freeman called ‘a good start’: Heath invited the President to Chequers and Nixon emphasised the value of personal encounters to the ‘special relationship’.69 At the more substantial, second summit in December 1970 Heath preferred to speak of a ‘natural relationship’, so as not to offend other countries with the idea of an exclusive Anglo-US alliance; but the talks were friendly enough, Nixon was grateful for Heath’s support on the Vietnam War and Freeman, about to be succeeded by Lord Cromer, considered it a great success.70 Heath, while he had put membership of the EC at the centre of his foreign policy, was clearly determined not to let this undermine relations with America. True, he did not want to rekindle suspicions in France about the ‘special relationship’. But he recognised the central significance of the United States to British security. One FCO memorandum argued that, ‘our European commitment must now have priority but so far as possible we should try to eat our cake and have it’ by maintaining the US link.71 This need to dovetail the American and European elements in British policy increasingly came to dominate Freeman’s time in Washington.

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Long before Heath took office in fact, Freeman had been aware of the need to tread carefully where British entry to the EC was concerned. He had raised the problem in June 1969, when there were indications that the new French President, Georges Pompidou, would be more open to enlarging the Community. It was important not to alienate the United States through schemes for European integration, especially in such delicate areas as nuclear co-operation or aircraft manufacture. It was also vital to maintain Nixon’s personal support for European integration, which went back to his experience as Vice-President in the Eisenhower administration, especially at a time when some parts of the US government, not least the Departments of Commerce and Agriculture, were becoming critical of EC policies. It was unlikely that Washington would suddenly turn completely against the integrated Europe it had done so much to foster. But even in the State Department the enthusiasm for the EC that had characterised earlier presidencies was waning, because the Community seemed, through its Common Agricultural Policy and its preferential trade agreements with less-developed countries, to be becoming a threat to the United States and the global system of liberal trade. Europe and America were becoming competitors rather than partners. There were calls in some quarters for cuts in US troop levels in NATO, and sectors of American industry were complaining about European practices, even though the US trade surplus with the EC burgeoned to more than $2 billion dollars in 1970.72 Potential differences over Europe were one reason Freeman had wanted a full summit between Wilson and Nixon. In the spring of 1970 there was a review of US policy towards Europe by the National Security Council that provoked some concern in London but, in May, Nixon publicly reaffirmed his support for the EC while Harlan Cleveland, Economics Minister at the US Embassy in London, told the FCO that he felt his role was ‘to keep us off your backs’. It was at that point that the Conservatives came to power and Freeman lost no time in drafting an analysis of the US attitude towards enlargement. His despatch of 20 June acknowledged signs that ‘the United States is weakening in its traditional support for closer European unity’, but noted that Nixon had always been consistent in his support for it, that the President had emphasised this to Congress when it began work on a new Trade Bill, and that the State Department ‘took every opportunity’ to make known its support for British entry. True, it did so in a low-key way, but that was because it did not want to inflame French suspicions of the ‘Anglo-Saxons’. As the talks on enlargement got underway, Freeman expected the American agricultural lobby and

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some elements in the administration to become more vocal in their criticism of the supposed restrictive trade practices in the EC. There was the possibility of counter-measures being included in the new Trade Bill and indications of a growing general fear ‘that in the long-term the EEC may develop into a gigantic trading area which will effectively discriminate against United States interests . . .’. But the Ambassador believed America’s strategic and political motives for backing the EC outweighed any economic fears and that any US action would be directed against specific European policies rather than against the existence of the Community itself. The British themselves could help reduce the dangers of a shift in US policy, by emphasising London’s support of the EC as a force for political (not just economic) co-operation, giving assurances that Britain would minimise the damage to US interests from Community policies and backing further efforts at global trade liberalisation.73 Freeman’s optimism on the European front was borne out as entry negotiations were pushed forward under Heath. In London in the second half of 1970 there was continuing concern about the likely contents of the US Trade Bill, worry about America’s reaction to preferential trade arrangements that the United Kingdom wanted for some less-developed Commonwealth countries and deep concern when, in October, a dispute blew up with Washington over Britain’s own system of agricultural import levies – a dispute not settled until March 1971, after Freeman left Washington. This combination helps to explain the alarm that struck in late December when a US Embassy official expressed objections to the FCO about the proposed association of Commonwealth countries with the EC. It led to a meeting on New Year’s Day between Harlan Cleveland and Con O’Neill, the official in charge of Britain’s EC negotiations. While O’Neill argued that Washington had known since 1961 about the United Kingdom’s intention of seeking special arrangements for Commonwealth countries, Cleveland pointed out that London was well aware of Washington’s dislike of such deals. Since he also said that there would be no US ‘campaign’ on the issue, and since Nixon had personally reassured Heath of US support for British entry only a few weeks before, the incident was unlikely to scupper the prospects for EC enlargement. But, when the Americans took up the point with the EC member governments, London decided ‘to rub in our first reaction even more strongly’ by having Freeman take the question up with William Rogers. The Ambassador did so during his farewell call on the Secretary of State, on 12 January 1971, finding that the US approach to EC members had

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been authorised at a low level, being intended as no more than a routine statement of known opinions. It is testament to the strength of the administration’s commitment to EC enlargement that this was the worst moment that US actions created during the successful entry negotiations.74 When Freeman left the Washington Embassy he was well aware of potential clouds on the horizon, with potential differences over trade protection, the Middle East and the future of the EC but he felt relations were ‘extremely good’. They had been healthy enough under Wilson, but Nixon had been delighted to have the Conservatives in office and told Freeman, in their farewell meeting of 5 January, that ‘he regarded London as his closest and most trusted ally’, not only because of historical ties and shared challenges but also because Britain ‘knew her way around’ in the world. To Freeman, in his valedictory telegram, this seemed to confirm Heath’s belief in a ‘natural relationship’ between the two countries, a relationship in which the two would consult closely about joint problems, ‘minimising the risks both of unnecessary friction at sensitive points and of catching one another by surprise in an unnecessarily exposed position’.75

Conclusion In a study of diplomacy published in 1960 Charles Thayer wrote, ‘Every political generation produces half a dozen or more individuals capable of making a distinguished contribution to diplomacy without going through the long and arduous training of the professional service. If they are familiar with government practices and particularly foreign problems and have demonstrated their political sense, their appointment to diplomatic posts not only puts their talents to valuable use but also serves to refresh, reinvigorate, and inspire the career personnel.’76 Freeman might have preferred to return to a career in the media, becoming Chairman of London Weekend Television from 1971 to 1984, but he fits Thayer’s description perfectly. He adapted to the world of diplomacy easily as High Commissioner to India, won the respect of professional diplomats and proved a success in Washington despite the worst possible start to his ambassadorship. He was an astute observer of the Washington scene and realistic about the influence London could wield there. His ambassadorship provides ample evidence of the way in which key officials could keep the ‘special relationship’ in a healthy state even when its overall significance was declining. In a basic brief prepared for Nixon’s October 1970 visit, the FCO acknowledged the deterioration in bilateral relations

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over the past five years. But this was due to Britain’s relative decline in world affairs, its poor economic performance, the withdrawal from East of Suez and the resurgence of other powers, particularly Germany, France and Japan. On a personal level, relations with the Nixon administration were excellent.77 When, within months of Freeman’s departure, bilateral relations underwent a marked deterioration, Denis Greenhill blamed this in large part on ‘the US Administration’s method of work (Kissinger et al)’, which was ‘worse than I ever remember’.78 But Freeman had mastered that ‘method of work’, manoeuvred carefully to maintain British influence and recognised that personal ties could have a real impact: ‘any clouding of the very cordial relations we have thus far enjoyed with the Nixon administration could have serious consequences for a whole range of important interests . . .’.79 Henry Brandon, the Washington correspondent of the Sunday Times, recognised that the key element in Freeman’s success was ‘the extraordinary intellectual relationship he had succeeded in establishing with Kissinger’, the most important figure in US foreign policy-making.80 Kissinger called him ‘one of the most effective ambassadors I ever dealt with’: Freeman might be ‘very formal’ when on official business, reluctant to turn his embassy into a glittering social centre and unwilling to stoop to flattery in his personal dealings; but ‘he was a man of superb intelligence and utter integrity’, with ‘a shrewd geopolitical mind’. Such judgements may have been influenced by the friendship that grew up between the pair, but Kissinger discussed issues with Freeman that were beyond the Ambassador’s official responsibilities, even showing him drafts of Presidential statements.81 Yet Freeman was not in awe of the National Security Adviser and, in messages to London, could express grave doubts about Kissinger’s judgement: after their June 1970 talk about the Arab–Israeli conflict, for example, the Ambassador declared, ‘I consider some of the views he expounded, though not completely irrational, both naïve and romantic.’82 Neither did Freeman cultivate the National Security Adviser to the detriment of other power centres in Washington. Instead he was careful to treat William Rogers with respect and include the State Department in consultations. He was also successful in building a friendly relationship with Nixon, who wrote to him at the time of his departure that the Anglo-American relationship ‘has prospered during your stay in no small measure due to your sharp perception of the American scene and your forthright presentation of British views’. By 1971 the President and Ambassador had developed a mutual respect that allowed a particular frankness to creep into

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Freeman’s farewell audience when, perhaps inevitably, memories of their past differences crept back into the limelight. Freeman, recalling the 1962 article that had so overshadowed his arrival in Washington, apologised. He did so ‘not for my manners but my judgment. I got you wrong’. Nixon, not to be wrong-footed, replied, ‘Well, you couldn’t have said that before without browning your nose.’83

Acknowledgement I am grateful to the Arts and Humanities Research Council for financing the study leave that allowed me to complete this chapter and to Andrew Holt of the University of Nottingham for gathering materials in the US National Archives.

Notes 1. Henry Kissinger, The White House Years (London, 1979), 95. 2. Stewart Alsop, ‘Death of an Alliance’, Newsweek, 6 January 1969; and see Bruce Geelhoed and Anthony Edmonds (eds), The Macmillan-Eisenhower Correspondence, 1957–69 (Basingstoke, 2005), 400 and 425–7. 3. George Brown, In My Way (London, 1971), 131. 4. British Library of Political and Economic Science, London, Hetherington papers, 14/11, record of meeting with Chalfont (14 February 1968). 5. Virginia Historical Society, Richmond, David Bruce diary, (13 June 1968). 6. The National Archives (TNA), Kew, FO800/984, Maitland to Crowe and reply (5–6 September 1967). 7. FO800/984, Maitland minute (14 September 1967) and letter to Brown (7 February 1968); Cecil King, The Cecil King Diary, 1965–70 (London, 1972), 125–6. 8. Stuart Thomson, John Freeman, at http://www.startthomson.co.uk/books/ biography/freeman/ 9. But Freeman might have been on the brink of promotion to the Cabinet: Ben Pimlott, The Political Diary of Hugh Dalton (London, 1986), 537. 10. C.H. Rolph, Kingsley: The Life, Letters and Diaries of Kingsley Martin (London, 1973), 310–11, 315–16 (quote from 316) and 333–42. 11. Rolph, Kingsley, 333–4. 12. David Frost, An Autobiography: Part One, From Congregations to Audiences (London, 1993), 264. 13. Ben Pimlott, Harold Wilson (London, 1992), 168 and (quoting News of the World, 17 February 1963) 261. 14. Frost, Autobiography, 258–65 (quote from 264–5). 15. TNA, PREM13/2158, brief on ‘United States’ (covering note 26 July 1968). 16. Bruce diary (3 July 1968). 17. Sunday Telegraph (11 November 1968). 18. Bruce diary (12 November 1968).

186 John Freeman, 1969–71 19. Bruce diary (2 December 1968); Richard Crossman, The Diaries of a Cabinet Minister, Volume III, 1968–70 (London, 1977), 280–1. 20. Henry Brandon, Special Relationships (London, 1988), 321. 21. Kissinger, White House, 95; National Archives and Record Administration (NARA), Nixon Presidential Materials Project (NPMP), National Security Files, box 763, Kissinger to Nixon (3 February 1969). 22. Jonathan Aitken, Nixon: A Life (London, 1993), 380–1; Bruce diary (22 February 1969). 23. Harold Wilson, The Labour Government, 1964–70 (London, 1971), 621. 24. Bruce diary (25 February 1969). See also Barbara Castle, The Castle Diaries, 1964–70 (London, 1984), 607. 25. Richard Nixon, RN: the memoirs of Richard Nixon (London, 1978), 371; Kissinger, White House, 95. 26. TNA, FCO73/39, ‘Michael’ to Maitland (25 February 1969). 27. FCO73/40, Freeman to Stewart (18 March 1969); NPMP, White House Central Files, box 79, briefing memorandum (undated) and ‘President’s Reply’ (17 March 1969). 28. Cmnd 4107, Report of the Review Committee on Overseas Representation, 1968–9 (London, 1969) [hereinafter Duncan Report], 173. 29. The Diplomatic Service List, 1971 (London, 1971), 98–104. 30. Duncan Report, 138–41. 31. FCO73/40, Freeman to Maitland (6 May) and to Graham (28 October 1969). 32. FCO73/10, Dean to Maclehose (22 June 1966). 33. FCO73/40, Graham to Freeman (11 November 1969). 34. Churchill Archive Centre, British Diplomatic Oral History Project (BDOHP), Cambridge, John Boyd interview. 35. Ibid., Andrew Wood interview. 36. Ibid., David Burns interview, 26–7. 37. Kissinger to Brown, (7 November 1970), reproduced in Brown, My Way, 280. 38. FCO73/40, Freeman to Stewart (26 June 1969). 39. To ensure Freeman’s centrality to Anglo-American relations, Wilson tempered his use of the ‘hot line’ teleprinter link to the White House: PREM13/3010, Tomkins to Palliser (14 March 1969, including quote), Palliser to Wilson (18 March), and Wilson’s handwritten minute (undated). 40. PREM13/3018, Dean to Greenhill (5 February) and Tomkins to Hunt (14 February 1969). 41. PREM13/2874, Washington to FCO (8 August 1969). 42. FCO7/1803, Freeman to Douglas-Home (20 January 1970). 43. Or so Kissinger told Freeman: FCO7/1807, Freeman to Greenhill (28 October 1970). 44. FCO73/131, Freeman to Greenhill (6 June 1970). 45. FCO73/132, Millard to Greenhill (20 July 1970). 46. Kissinger, White House, 623–4. 47. FCO73/144, Freeman to Greenhill (29 October 1970). 48. FCO7/1807, Greenhill to Freeman (15 October 1970) and reply (28 October). 49. FCO73/40, Freeman to Graham (12 September 1969). 50. PREM13/3022, Youde to Graham (24 November 1969). 51. FCO7/1430, Washington to FCO (11 December 1969).

John W. Young 187 52. FCO73/131, Freeman to Greenhill (5 June 1970); FCO 73/132, Greenhill to Freeman (9 June 1970); Jonathan Brown, ‘Kissinger said Nixon aides were “self-seeking bastards”,’ The Independent (23 July 2004). 53. PREM13/3030, note for the record (31 October) and Freeman to Greenhill (1 November 1969). 54. PREM13/3022, Youde to Graham (24 November); and see PREM 13/3552, Freeman to Greenhill (15 December 1969) on Vietnam. 55. PREM13/2874, Freeman to Stewart (18 March) and FCO to Washington (23 April 1969). 56. PREM13/2874, passim. 57. PREM13/3428, Wilson to Freeman (5 November) and reply (17 November 1969). 58. NPMP, Henry Kissinger telephone conversation transcripts, box 3, conversations of 6 and 21 January. 59. Castle, Diaries, 759. 60. It is clear that Wilson read Freeman’s report thoroughly, picking up on factual errors: PREM13/3546, records of meetings (27–28 January 1970), Freeman to Stewart (10 February) and Moon to Graham (3 March). 61. PREM13/3081 Washington to FCO (30 April 1970). 62. FCO73/131, Freeman to Greenhill (15 May 1970). 63. FCO73/132, Greenhill to Freeman (9 June 1970). 64. FCO 73/131, Freeman to Greenhill (5 June 1970). 65. FCO73/132, Greenhill to Freeman (19 May 1970). 66. Tony Benn, Office without Power: diaries, 1969–72 (London, 1988), 264 and 269–70. 67. The original letter has not been found in the TNA or the Stewart papers in Churchill Archive Centre, Cambridge, but is referred to in FCO73/132, Greenhill to Freeman (9 June 1970). 68. PREM15/161, record of meeting (23 July 1970). 69. PREM15/714, record of meeting (3 October 1970), and Freeman to Armstrong (8 October). 70. PREM15/161, records of meetings (17–18 December 1970); PREM 15/711, Freeman to Douglas-Home (8 January 1971). 71. PREM15/712, memorandum attached to Graham to Moon (5 November 1971); FCO 7/1839, memorandum on Anglo-American relations (23 September 1970); FCO 7/1840, Steering Brief (11 December 1970). 72. FO73/40, Freeman to Stewart (26 June 1969); and the official history by Con O’Neill, Britain’s Entry into the European Community: Report on the Negotiations of 1970–72 (London, 2000), 297–9. See also FCO7/1427, Cradock to Holland (14 November 1969) for a Planning Staff analysis of the implications of Community membership for Anglo-US relations. 73. FCO30/582, Washington to FCO (20 June 1970), reproduced in O’Neill, Britain’s Entry, 369–73, and see 299–300. 74. FCO to Washington (1 January 1970), reproduced in O’Neill, Britain’s Entry, 384–7, and see 300–1. 75. FCO82/42, Freeman to Douglas-Home (8 January 1971), doubling up as the 1970 annual review. 76. Charles Thayer, Diplomat (London, 1960), 252.

188 John Freeman, 1969–71 77. FCO7/1839, NV(70)C1 (23 September 1970). 78. FCO73/133, Graham to Greenhill (9 September) and Greenhill minute (15 September 1971). 79. FCO73/131, Freeman to Greenhill (8 May 1970). 80. Brandon, Special Relationships, 322. 81. Kissinger, White House, 95–6. 82. FCO73/131, Freeman to Greenhill (6 June 1970). 83. NPMP, White House Central Files, box 80, Nixon to Freeman (7 January 1971); Aitken, Nixon, 381, footnote, citing interview with Freeman.

10 Lord Cromer, 1971–74 Alexander Spelling

Lord Cromer was not a career diplomat but his credentials were very much those of the British establishment. Born in 1918, he was the grandson of Evelyn Baring, the long-serving imperial consul in Egypt for whom the Earldom of Cromer was created in 1901. George Rowland Stanley Baring, known to his friends as ‘Rowley’, became the Third Earl in 1953. Educated at Eton and Cambridge, he had served with the Grenadier Guards during the Second World War, attaining the rank of Lieutenant-Colonel, and was managing director of the family business, Barings Bank, for ten years after 1949. He first went to the Washington Embassy in 1959 as an Economic Minister, concurrently holding directorships at the International Monetary Fund, the International Bank for Reconstruction and Development and the International Finance Corporation. His impressive career continued as Governor of the Bank of England from 1961 to 1966, but in the last few years he clashed with Prime Minister, Harold Wilson, over government spending. As a result he did not seek a second term, but was made a member of the Privy Council. Charles Powell, who went to Washington as Cromer’s Private Secretary, believed that Wilson’s Conservative successor, Edward Heath, wanted his own man in such an important post; ‘somebody he could trust’, in contrast to Freeman who was a Labour loyalist. Cromer had been helpful during the 1970 election campaign when, under an alias, he authored powerful articles on the centre pages of The Times, pointing out the deficiencies of Labour’s economic policy and how the Conservatives might improve the situation. The Washington posting was his reward. But Powell feels Cromer would have preferred a government position and had doubts about going to Washington. He lacked great expertise in foreign 189

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affairs and needed practical help from Powell in writing speeches and preparing for meetings with the President and the National Security Advisor, Henry Kissinger.1 Comments in a lengthy April 1972 correspondence with the Foreign Secretary, Alec Douglas-Home, indicate that Cromer disliked being in the American capital, commenting that ‘Life in Washington is scarcely one that any European would choose’. His first Private Secretary, John Boyd, recalls that, in contrast to Freeman, Cromer ‘tended not to come to the office very early for whatever reason, and sometimes he didn’t shave either’.2 The US brief on Cromer stated that he was a close personal friend of Heath whose arrival reflected the Prime Minister’s concern about US–UK economic relations as European Economic Community (EEC) entry loomed. The new Ambassador was favourably disposed towards the United States, with a warm, relaxed personality although he could be outspoken and possessed a ‘banker’s conservative outlook’. Certainly Cromer’s economic grasp was a strong suit at a time of mounting monetary instability in the West. Powell recalls that Cromer ‘was able to play a big role in that [monetary field] with [Treasury Secretary] John Connally and others’. Shortly after his arrival Nixon invited him to meet all his economic and financial advisors in the White House.3 Nixon himself told Heath that Cromer’s ‘rich experience in economics and finance will be a great asset in future discussions of our economic policies and US-European economic relations’.4 Heath’s choice was also motivated by his desire that the link with the President should be as close as possible.5 This was important as Cromer’s three years in office were eventful and occasionally difficult ones for bilateral relations. The Heath–Nixon years have assumed a certain notoriety in the historiography as ones of strain, allegedly due to Heath’s desire for a more formal relationship in keeping with the priority he gave to entry to the EEC.6 Yet as John Young points out in the previous chapter, relations under Heath started off strongly. A study of US and British archives for the Cromer period reveals that this healthy trend continued, the exceptions being in the second half of 1971, thanks to the fallout from the Nixon ‘shocks’ and the Indo-Pakistan War, and much of 1973, thanks to the ‘Year of Europe’ initiative and the Middle East War. It is also clear that one of the most significant challenges to the smooth running of the relationship was not Heath’s supposed obsession with Europe, but the Nixon–Kissinger management of foreign relations. The significant point for this chapter is that all these developments raised the importance of the embassy in ensuring that bilateral relations weathered the temporary storms.

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Into the Cauldron Many of the Ambassador’s early challenges in Washington revolved around economics. Soon after arriving, in March 1971, he accompanied Britain’s chief EEC negotiator, Geoffrey Rippon, to a series of testing meetings with senior US officials, who wanted to know how membership would affect their economic interests. Afterwards, Cromer told Franco Malfatti, President of the European Commission, that he was cast in the role of defender of Community policy due to American fears of European commercial competition.7 The danger of offending the Americans on the European front led Cromer to advise against approaching Washington with a British proposal for nuclear collaboration with France.8 But in general the US government was supportive of Britain’s European policy. Following the successful Commons vote in October, Nixon told Heath that it was ‘a testimony to your personal leadership and the wisdom of your policy’.9 Another issue that demanded Cromer’s attention shortly after his arrival was the possible insolvency of Rolls Royce. Without a financial bailout they would be unable to complete an order for the RB211 engine for the US Company, Lockheed, which provoked concern in US commercial and political circles. Cromer came under pressure from parts of the Administration, especially in a number of tense meetings with John Connally, being warned that a Rolls Royce collapse would ensure a similar fate for Lockheed which was also experiencing financial problems. The Ambassador warned London of the dire consequences for Anglo-American relations should this occur.10 He continued to provide both a link to the heart of the administration and a cool head, until government funding was forthcoming on both sides of the Atlantic to ensure the survival of the companies. Cromer was confronted with two of the defining moments of the Nixon era in July and August 1971. The first Nixon ‘shock’ concerned the sudden announcement of the rapprochement with China, following months of clandestine negotiations by Kissinger. Although seeing this as a positive development, the British government was perturbed at the absence of consultation and the unilateral manner of the initiative’s unveiling. Britain had been pursuing its own policy to raise the level of diplomatic representation with China, keeping the Americans informed at each step.11 One month later and of greater seriousness for the relationship was Nixon’s suspension of the dollar–gold convertibility system and the imposition of a US import surcharge, calling into question the Bretton Woods monetary system. Again action was taken without any prior international consultation. There was anger among the US trading

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partners, particularly in London, due to Sterling’s role as a reserve currency and the large volume of US–UK trade. Cromer again remained calm however, advising that it would be a mistake to react too strongly to the lack of prior consultation. Tellingly, he wrote, The Americans no longer consider it necessary to consult with the UK as an imperial or world power. They consult us when it is useful to them and not because they have to. Secondly, it would appear that the old concept that the dollar and sterling should stand together as the two major world trading currencies is now obsolete.12 Another problem arose in November with the outbreak of the IndoPakistan War, when Britain’s neutral stance conflicted with the proPakistani policy of the White House, which felt India to be under Soviet influence. Tensions were raised when Britain refused to table or support a US ceasefire resolution in the UN unless it had unanimous support. Kissinger told Cromer with barely concealed annoyance that it would be helpful if ‘your people would let us know what your strategy is before we get it from the UN’.13 As part of the process of repairing the international monetary system and improving political relations with his allies, Nixon hosted individual summits with the French, British and German leaders in December 1971. After all the recent problems, Cromer could only hope that the Heath–Nixon meeting in Bermuda would help to smooth relations.14 He was anxious that the Prime Minister should express appreciation for the help Britain had consistently received from the Americans in many fields.15 The embassy’s brief for the summit stated that the UK–US relationship was ‘bound to change’ in future, particularly as the United States was more interested in immediate foreign policy preoccupations like Vietnam and the strategic arms limitation talks (SALT) with Moscow.16 The European commitment must have priority but Britain should ‘try to eat our cake and have it and maintain as much influence in Washington as we can’. Britain still had advantages in Washington over other countries and special links in the nuclear and intelligence fields needed to be maintained. London would have to be careful, balancing its US links with its European responsibilities whilst tempering exaggerated American expectations of what British influence could achieve in the EEC.17 At home, where tempers were cooling after the ‘shocks’, key ministers echoed the embassy’s arguments. Douglas-Home was keen to let Kissinger know that the ‘alleged bad state of US-UK relations’ was more

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apparent than real. Entry into Europe was the final break with Britain’s imperial past, but that did not mean ‘off with the old and on with the new’ in the case of Anglo-American relations.18 Heath believed that, while the Nixon–Kissinger of handling foreign relations had completely undermined confidence in the United States, the British were the only people, ‘who have any hope whatsoever of getting through to the Americans in their present mood’.19 Cromer accompanied the party to Bermuda, which passed off as well as he could have hoped. The State Department concluded, ‘We have fundamental agreement on policy with the British despite occasional tactical differences which might arise.’ There was an emphasis upon improved consultation, the importance of which Nixon reiterated to Heath in subsequent correspondence.20

The Kissinger syndrome The year 1972 proved a less troubled one for Anglo-American relations but Kissinger’s domination of the key issues in American foreign policy continued to provoke concern. Following the Bermuda Summit, where the National Security Adviser’s influence and machinations were directly revealed to British ministers, Hugh Overton of the FCO’s North American Department noted concern at the inadequacies in the Whitehall machine for dealing with US policy. Given Kissinger’s influence, relying on information from the State Department could be positively misleading. If not corrected, Britain would continue to be surprised at intervals and bilateral relations would suffer. FCO departments needed to beware of the Kissinger element and, if Cromer infused more of this element into the embassy’s reporting on the development of US policy, it would materially ease the task in London.21 Of course, the problem had been already been identified by Freeman but it was not easy to solve. Two months later Overton expressed disappointment at the lack of information received on Nixon’s China visit in February and the FCO pressed Cromer to obtain a detailed summary, even sending him a list of questions to present when he next saw Kissinger. The Ambassador thought there was little to be forthcoming about as it had been made clear briefings would be very restricted.22 But the FCO persisted and Cromer eventually produced a 16-page report on the evolution of America’s China policy.23 In contrast to the secrecy surrounding policy towards China, Kissinger, in strict confidence, supplied Cromer with an agenda of the forthcoming US–Soviet summit, due in Moscow in May.24 The Ambassador thought some of London’s ‘grumbling’ about inadequate reporting had been picked up by Kissinger, who told Cromer that he knew more than

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anyone else about the Chinese and Soviet visits, and wanted follow-up discussions with Heath, Home and FCO Permanent Under-Secretary Denis Greenhill later in the year.25 A full account of his preliminary talks in Moscow was sent to Heath shortly afterwards and the embassy passed on more information as it filtered down.26 Kissinger was also willing to divulge confidential information to Cromer on the Vietnam War, if sometimes after the event. This may have been influenced by the Heath government’s consistent support to Nixon on Vietnam, one of the positive factors in bilateral relations in these years. Thus, in April 1972 he informed the Ambassador that the scale of the renewed US bombing to contain the North Vietnamese Spring offensive was partly to test Moscow’s reaction. Nixon and Kissinger wanted to create a position of strength against which to negotiate during the US–Soviet summit.27 Cromer was also informed of further secret negotiations in Paris scheduled for June – information to which even the Secretary of State, William Rogers, was not privy. But, whatever preferential treatment he received, Cromer remained concerned, along with the rest of the diplomatic corps in Washington, at the manner in which the United States briefed on events in Vietnam. The whole arrangement seemed to be carried out with maximum discourtesy and inconvenience, leaving little time for Ambassadors to inform their capitals before events took place.28 Cromer described the underlying power situation in Washington as a twentieth-century Byzantium. Alexander Haig, Nixon’s Deputy Assistant for National Security, had been helpful but without the contacts that Powell and another of Cromer’s Private Secretaries, Jeffery Ling, had established in Kissinger’s office, ‘I might easily find myself in the same position as nearly all my cher colleagues’. The White House’s stonewall of non-reply was very highly developed. Powell had recently lunched with Coleman Hicks, Kissinger’s former Private Secretary, who said Kissinger’s office frequently fended off requests from Ambassadors, although there was never any doubt that a slot would be found for the British representative.29 In a revealing letter to Home in April 1972, Cromer set out some of his grievances. He described the dissatisfaction experienced in Washington by most Ambassadors as springing from professional frustration, Washington social life and the ‘oppressive smugness of American conventiality’. At a business level, seeing Nixon was a rare occurrence. Cromer had not seen him since September 1971, except at Bermuda. With Nixon working through Kissinger, there was probably a marginal advantage to the British Ambassador being a non-career diplomat, ‘Although I would have to admit that such special attention as I have received from Kissinger has not, when assessed all in all, brought

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a great deal of grist to our mill.’ Then again, Cromer reckoned that the only other Ambassador to share his access to Kissinger was the Soviet Union’s Anatoly Dobrynin, who was an essential ‘backchannel’ to the Kremlin. And not every difficulty lay on the American side: Cromer also complained that he had not been called upon by London to do as much as he might in the field of monetary reform.30 That relations at a personal level remained good was demonstrated when Cromer told Nixon in September of the great privilege that he felt at being among his guests at a ‘delightful’ dinner given for Home, who was on a visit.31 For all his complaints about the administration, Cromer considered Nixon’s November 1972 re-election a satisfactory outcome for Britain, partly because the Administration was good to work with and Nixon an agreeable and intelligent man.32 The embassy brief stated that the post-election landscape would be characterised by EEC enlargement and American economic difficulties, leading to a fresh look at US–EEC relations. The Administration still viewed the development of a political identity within the Community with scepticism. Britain faced a delicate problem in ensuring that the relationship with the enlarged Community started off on a basis of friendship rather than antagonism.33 Cromer was confident that the Administration would continue to regard the defence of Western Europe as vital to US interests and resist Congressional pressures for reductions in American forces there, but this would be counterbalanced by a reluctance to support allies who did not contribute a fair share.34 But, as if to confirm that old problems in dealing with the Nixon White House would persist, the embassy went through another ‘unsatisfactory patch’ at this point in keeping London abreast of American thinking. The problem was evidently caused by Kissinger’s absorption in resolving the Vietnam War. On several occasions Cromer tried other routes of entry to the White House, only to find that enquiries eventually ended up back on Kissinger’s desk; if Kissinger did not act, there was no answer. The State Department was helpful but Cromer was always doubtful as to the depth of their knowledge.35 Consultation was almost entirely absent when the United States controversially renewed its heavy bombing of North Vietnam in the December ‘Linebacker II’ raids. Greenhill informed Cromer that the silence of ministers was being criticised in the British press but that the government was in the dark as to precisely why Nixon adopted such drastic tactics. He wanted the Ambassador to speak to Kissinger and suggest ‘his friends’ were due some further explanation if sympathy and understanding were to be maintained.36 Kissinger subsequently asked if the British government

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could hold the line until early January and avoid any public statements, by which stage the US position would be clearer. He admitted he had been remiss in not keeping Britain fully informed but Cromer would receive a full briefing in due course.37 A week later Cromer once more telephoned for updates complaining that the embassy was ‘feeling a bit left out of things’. Kissinger, who was about to depart for peace talks in Paris, said he would instruct Haig to brief the British, adding that he was keeping French Foreign Secretary Maurice Schuman, ‘4 laps behind the real state of events’.38 At least there was a reward for patience in that British support at this juncture placed Heath’s standing in Washington at a career high, with glowing praise from Nixon. This was in stark contrast to his opinion of the other European nations who had criticised American policy. Kissinger was characteristically frank about developments at his next meeting with Cromer. He was unsure how long the Vietnam peace deal would last and complained that, if public opinion had not compelled a negotiated settlement, the Americans could have won the war in six months.39

The Year of Cromer Cromer’s final year in office proved his most challenging. Much of 1973 was dominated by the fallout from Kissinger’s April ‘Year of Europe’ speech which launched the so-called ‘Year of Europe’ initiative. Ostensibly this was to solidify the Atlantic Alliance in the changed realities of the détente era, renewing the transatlantic relationship, and with an accent on renegotiating monetary, trade and security relationships at a time when the EEC had been enlarged. The political and security relationship was especially important in light of arms control talks and a possible European Security Conference. In January, Cromer commented that the end of US involvement in Vietnam meant there would now be no escaping a focus on US–European relations. However, he felt American diplomacy was best suited to dealing with a partner of broadly equivalent power and ambitions, like the Soviet Union, across a range of issues that could be treated as a whole. Nixon and Kissinger thought multilateral allied negotiations were less likely to yield results.40 Consequently, they would exploit every advantage they had in order to get what they wanted: ‘in short to divide and rule wherever they can . . . . They will be ready to appeal to traditional relationships, notably with ourselves, so as to improve the climate for the demands they will be making . . .’. The United States would expect Europe to help

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rectify the American balance of payments deficit by trade concessions. A failure to reach what the Administration regarded as a satisfactory new basis for US–European relations during the next decade would increase the prospect of damaging American actions in trade and defence and the likelihood of dealing with the same subjects under successor Administrations in a less-promising climate. But NATO should also recognise that the present Administration was more likely than any successor to establish a stable commitment to defend Europe, and their objectives in negotiation with the Soviet Union were fully compatible with the interests of the Atlantic alliance. Thus the need for European coordination and integration could scarcely be more obvious.41 These considerations were part of the background to the next Heath–Nixon summit, in Washington in February. The Cabinet Secretary, Burke Trend, accompanied Cromer in talks with Kissinger as part of the planning process.42 However, Cromer found it ‘disappointing in so far as it confirmed our worst suspicions that they have not done the depth of thinking that we would have liked them to have done in preparation . . .’. Nevertheless, Vietnam meant Britain stood out for the time being as ‘blue eyed boys’ and perhaps as a reflection, Nixon accepted an invitation to lunch at the embassy during Heath’s stay. ‘As you will appreciate this is an exception to usual Washington protocol and is a signal mark of cordiality towards the UK.’43 The summit went well, building on the rapport between Nixon and Heath and both sides were pleased with the results. Afterwards Cromer told Nixon that he had filled the British party’s lives with much enjoyment and interest; it was an enormous pleasure to attend the lunch at the embassy.44 However, he had begun to notice an element of strain and emotion beneath Kissinger’s calm exterior: ‘with so many balls in the air one must come crashing down’. He also noted that his ‘astonishing intellectual arrogance . . . showed through most prominently’. It was noticeable that the only two bodies who escaped his strictures were the United Kingdom and China. And I always have an uneasy feeling that we may commit some error which will bring down the Headmaster’s censure because this is the nature of international affairs . . . . As always, we were struck by the astonishing anomaly of the most powerful nation in the world invoking the aid of a foreign government to do its drafting for it . . . . It is ludicrous, and sooner or later it must change.45 These were prescient words because the British were soon caught up in a complex web of interests spun by Kissinger, Heath’s determination to

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play a leading role in the EEC and Britain’s continuing close links to Washington. The links were so close in early 1973 that Kissinger used the FCO and embassy to draft ideas and principles to be used in the American ‘Year of Europe’ initiative. As part of this process, an FCO study paper, ‘A conceptual framework for East-West relations’, was given to the Americans in early April. This followed Nixon’s comments to Heath that ‘We must try to recreate the wartime habit of getting together for really intimate and deep discussions in a relaxed atmosphere . . . ranging over the whole field of problems . . .’.46 However as full members of the EEC, Cromer realised that this close, confidential relationship carried potential dangers for the British. They must always remember the devious nature of Kissinger’s intellectual make-up, knowing that behind his friendliness towards the United Kingdom might lie parochial motives of American self-interest.47 Kissinger visited the UK Embassy on 19 April, a week before his Year of Europe speech. He hoped the United Kingdom would make an immediate, positive response but having seen a copy Cromer thought it more of a challenge to Europe than Kissinger had led him to believe.48 Following the launch the United Kingdom did make positive noises about the Year of Europe, but coordinating a European response proved slow and difficult due to the EC’s cumbersome political machinery, procedural processes and most importantly, French reticence over what they saw as a new American attempt to dominate the Western alliance. As a new member, Britain was not well placed to push matters forward and Heath was reluctant to be seen as an American ‘Trojan Horse’. Cromer understood Kissinger’s frustrations as the situation unfolded: there were pressures to produce concrete results faster than the nature of multilateral negotiations and the dictates of European consultation made possible. But, having expected so much of his closest transatlantic ally, Kissinger’s anger was often vented at Britain whom he saw as ‘colluding’ with the French.49 Cromer himself bore the brunt of Kissinger’s frustration at the beginning of July. The National Security Adviser wanted some clear understanding about what Britain proposed to do and a concrete schedule of European plans: ‘Because we have a decision to make if this thing is going to turn into endless second rate talks.’ The Ambassador could only say that they were not quite ready yet; more work was required.50 The following day Kissinger returned ‘in a very sour and tetchy mood’ and repeated his complaints.51 This difficult situation continued for some time. Two months later the embassy reported, on the basis of information from Harvard professor Richard Neustadt, that Kissinger had been

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‘fulminating’ against the British government in general and Cromer in particular. He said he had had a number of conversations with the Ambassador and other members of the government but at no point had any representative explained to him the domestic constraints and difficulties which surrounded joint policy-making in the Community. He asked, rhetorically, when London would have the sense to send an Ambassador who could talk about these matters. This only confirmed the feeling that Kissinger went into the Year of Europe without knowing nearly enough about the Community.52 And sometimes Cromer was able to catch out the tempestuous American. At one point Kissinger telephoned the Ambassador to complain that Britain’s NATO representative had criticised the recent US–Soviet ‘Agreement on the Prevention of Nuclear War’ on the grounds that it decoupled the US nuclear guarantee from Europe. Cromer, better informed, was able to put Kissinger down ‘very firmly’ and he was ‘rather taken aback by this . . ., blaming inaccurate American reporting. There have been similar occasions in the past when Henry has chosen to play the prima donna, only to find he is singing from the wrong scene’.53 The year 1973 was also overshadowed by the damaging revelations of the Watergate break-in investigation that ultimately cost Nixon power. The embassy provided vital reports on the unfolding situation. In March, Cromer described matters as heading towards a major constitutional crisis, not involving Nixon but some of his closest aides.54 He had been ill-served by his staff and would pay a price for this. Nonetheless, the British government’s public response should be ‘business as usual’.55 Cromer predicted that Nixon would be bruised but survive and he thought that a personal message from Heath would be welcomed by the White House as a gesture of friendship.56 In London, however, there was greater caution over backing the President. Greenhill advised Heath to confine himself to an oral message of encouragement through Kissinger; a demarche which became public knowledge should be avoided.57 In July, Cromer still thought it unlikely Nixon would be implicated in illegality, but if he survived he might be weakened in relation to Congress and there would have to be some reconsideration about how the embassy could best promote British interests. Nixon’s grasp of the complexity of the international system was unusually detailed for a US politician and of extraordinary benefit to Britain and Europe as a whole. ‘Its loss would be grievous.’58 The deterioration of matters by October led Cromer to ask Kissinger if he felt he could rely on a domestic political base necessary for the implementation of foreign policy. Kissinger explained that Nixon’s judgement

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was ‘much as it always had been’ but Cromer sensed a ‘deeply troubled man’. It was impossible to exaggerate the vilification to which Nixon had been exposed and remarkable that he should be able to stand up to the incessant attacks. There still remained no other option for Britain than ‘business as usual’ but he was now less confident about Nixon’s ability to survive. Resignation was a ‘real possibility’.59 Whatever happened, ‘the implications for us are not pleasant’. He doubted whether Nixon would have the power or desire to see through policies in US–European relations. US foreign policy would be marked by outbursts of emotion, irrationality, and quick, eye-catching tricks. Hence the United Kingdom should press ahead with all speed along the path of European unification in case Europe was called upon suddenly to bear greater international responsibilities than it would willingly seek.60

Crisis management Coming on top of these dislocations, the October Middle East War and its aftermath saw US–UK relations hit the nadir of the Heath premiership, despite frequent consultations between Kissinger and Cromer. Temporary but deep cleavages in transatlantic relations were caused by the combination of a firm pro-Israeli policy from America and the neutral stance adopted by most European powers, including Britain. Particular ructions were caused by the unwillingness of European countries to let the United States use their airspace for its re-supply operation to Israel, an EEC statement calling for Israel to relinquish territory seized in 1967 and, late in the war, the US worldwide military alert which was taken without allied consultation. The situation was exacerbated by the partial cutbacks in oil production by the Arab OPEC members and the near trebling in the price of crude oil. Kissinger had become Secretary of State in September, while continuing as National Security Adviser. His personal power was at its apex, reinforced by Nixon’s absorption in Watergate. Problems in Anglo-American relations began with Kissinger’s idea for a UN resolution involving a ceasefire and return to the pre-war lines. He wanted British support in the Security Council but London would only support a resolution for a ceasefire in situ.61 Cromer said the UK position was motivated by its ethical correctness and to avoid offending the Arab world.62 Egypt would only be interested in terms that saw them regain territory seized in 1967. Kissinger thought this would be their formal position but Soviet Ambassador Dobrynin led him to believe they would accept the US proposal.63 Cromer advised London that Kissinger was anxious that they took a lead, sincere in believing there

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was a good chance of success and genuine in looking to them as America’s most intimate ally.64 However, much deliberation led to the conclusion that the time was not ripe. Only a full Israeli withdrawal would meet Arab demands, and Egypt’s President, Anwar Sadat, said he was prepared to invoke a Chinese veto. In a telephone call to Cromer, Kissinger was so unhappy that he accused the United Kingdom of negotiating with the Egyptians to secure a resolution that Sadat found acceptable. He then used the UN breakdown as a justification for the already-impending US airlift of military supplies to Israel.65 Cromer subsequently wrote that: ‘The more unpleasant side of Dr Kissinger’s character was never more to the fore than during this short and acrimonious conversation.’66 Later the same day Kissinger claimed that Nixon had said he could not recall ‘any crisis in the last three years when the British had been with the Americans when the chips were down . . . we just don’t seem able to get together’. But Cromer felt Kissinger spoke in terms of sorrow at the situation rather than anger and although hardhitting, their conversations were not unfriendly. If anything they helped to clear the air.67 The United States implemented a worldwide military alert (DefCon III) in the early hours of 25 October to deter a potential Soviet peacekeeping intervention in the Middle East. NATO allies were not informed of the actions until later that day. The exception was Cromer, who was contacted almost immediately. Kissinger saw this as a classic example that the ‘special relationship’ was working despite their temporary difficulties. He wanted British support in the North Atlantic Council and internationally.68 There is no archival evidence for the claim by CBS correspondents Marvin and Bernard Kalb in their 1974 book on Kissinger that Cromer’s response was, ‘Why tell us Henry? Tell your friends the Russians’. When this story broke in Time in June 1974, Kissinger was reported to be upset since it was quite untrue and Cromer wrote a public letter refuting the allegation. Privately, he thought it might be a distortion of a comment he had made weeks later in response to Kissinger’s criticisms of allies.69 But fresh misunderstanding arose when Kissinger heard that the British Permanent Representative at the UN, Donald Maitland, objected to the exclusion of permanent members from the UN Middle East peacekeeping force and threatened to veto the resolution. Kissinger called Cromer in ‘high dudgeon’. If they split on this issue there would be a ‘permanent change in our relationship’. Having checked twice with Maitland, Cromer was able to placate Kissinger. ‘It is extraordinary that what I now understand to have been a casual and speculative comment in the course

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of a relatively low-level exchange, should have so quickly reached the ears of the President of the US.’70 After another difficult conversation, Cromer advised they meet again soon, ‘because I think we are getting to a crossroads in time’. It was not quite as simple as the question of why allies might appear to have separated from the United States. ‘They will always put their interests first – as would you . . .’.71 The Ambassador said the United States had made a grave error in not doing more to brief its allies and public complaints about the Alliance’s role were unhelpful. Kissinger acknowledged this but ‘observed grumpily that it was the behaviour of the European allies rather than US statements which were placing the Alliance in jeopardy’: it was impossible to point to one constructive act by Europe in the context of US–European relations this year. Cromer replied tersely that there were real problems but ‘the US should try to understand these rather than simply carp at its allies’.72 Cromer’s next meeting with Kissinger came after the war ended and was ‘friendly throughout’, although ‘his sadness in the case of the British was that the special relationship was collapsing. Our entry into Europe should have raised Europe to the level of Britain. Instead it had reduced Britain to the level of Europe.’ The Ambassador remonstrated that this was an altogether too tragic a view of the situation, particularly in light of the EC’s inexperienced machinery, and the basic objective remained the maintenance of close ties with the United States. Kissinger said in light of Cromer’s remarks he would try to restrain himself from unhelpful public comment.73 But in fact Kissinger did not let up. He considered comments in the British press during November to be officially sanctioned personal attacks, ‘your people only gossip on instructions’. Cromer considered this ‘an almost unbelievable display of prima-donnish behaviour. Kissinger at his worst . . . . It is really quite intolerable that we should be exposed to it but it is a fact of life, and we must do the best we can . . .’.74 Yet, in exchanges with his own government, Cromer tried to show an understanding of Kissinger’s difficulties. The Ambassador told Home that the United States found it extremely difficult to comprehend the significance of total [European] dependence on Arab oil. Moreover: The fact that Dr Kissinger found it necessary to swallow his pride and embark on his mediation efforts without having first secured a relaxation of the oil embargo, does not apparently strike him as inconsistent with his own strictures that the Europeans should stand firm with the US and not dance to the Arab tune, regardless of the consequences.

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Cromer was in no doubt that the re-supply operation and military alert were difficult decisions. ‘They must, therefore, have particularly hoped for Allied support on both counts and have felt keenly disappointed when that support failed to materialise.’ But the personal factor in the Administration’s handling of the crisis made its own negative contribution.75 Unfortunately recent events provided the evidence they wanted that ‘our entry into the Community may have changed the nature of our ties . . .’. Therefore the next EEC summit must make a significant gesture towards restoring US–European relations before any further deterioration took place.76 Cromer also argued that the object of any bilateral discussion with Kissinger should be to convince him that Britain’s actual policy did not justify his fears.77 One area where Anglo-American co-operation was possible after the war was in tackling the energy crisis. Britain’s dependence on Middle Eastern oil, the financial implications of the price rise and an industrial dispute with the miners commensurately raised the importance of a swift solution for London. And Cromer was keen to see the government react positively to Kissinger’s wish for joint action by the Western powers. On 18 December the embassy noted comments from American officials that Britain’s initially warm welcome to proposals for an Energy Action Group of Western consumers had been followed by silence. Failure to follow it up swiftly might deprive the British of a useful opportunity. They had an excellent but temporary opportunity to impress their views.78 Thus when Kissinger announced the plan for an Energy Conference in Washington, Heath instructed officials to make confidential contact with the United States to discuss their strategy. Nixon and Kissinger were very receptive to this idea and the Cabinet Secretary, John Hunt, subsequently visited Washington to make plans for the meeting, which was held in the New Year. By then, however, Cromer was no longer Ambassador.79 He had submitted his Ambassadorial resignation in the Autumn of 1973. Heath told Nixon that the Ambassador had pressing commitments at home and the British government had felt obliged, ‘though with much regret’, to accept his decision. There was no political significance in his departure.80 In January, prior to leaving, Cromer called on Nixon. The President enquired with great interest and some persistence into the state of UK affairs. He realised there had been difficulties in the Year of Europe and that Kissinger had made some unfortunate remarks in the course of the Middle East crisis. Off the record he even said that, if he had been European, he would have acted in the same way. He appreciated the close, personal exchanges with Heath and Home, and hoped these would

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be maintained. Cromer thus closed his time in Washington with an ‘encouraging meeting’, commenting that there was a sense of occasion and an effort by Nixon to confirm his dedication to the Atlantic Alliance, underlining his particular interest in the United Kingdom. ‘At the same time it will not escape your attention that some of his remarks on the Year of Europe and Middle East were not entirely in line with what we have been led by Dr Kissinger to believe was his attitude.’81 In his valedictory despatch Cromer underlined the everyday work of the embassy in Anglo-American relations: over 12,000 telegrams had been sent to the Foreign Secretary, plus ‘countless’ letters at every level. Whilst Cromer had rarely seen Nixon, he had received nothing but ‘the greatest courtesy and evidence of friendship’ from the President and his Administration. Building on Freeman’s success, Cromer and Kissinger established a ‘ready communication on a common wavelength’ through ‘innumerable telephone conversations and many more conventional meetings’. But this privileged relationship posed serious problems, usually when Kissinger ‘strayed beyond the role of adviser into the execution of policy’. The insistence on secrecy in dealings caused ‘stumbling and bad temper’ on Kissinger’s part, hindering the most effective deployment of the embassy’s resources. ‘“Brinksmanship”’, even as between friends, had added ‘a spice to life which would better be foregone’. He had accepted the mission fully aware that the ‘special relationship’ had always been marked by a degree of myth. With Britain’s accession to the EEC, the situation was bound to change. It was a shock for Nixon and Kissinger to awake to the full implications of British membership when London’s long silence over the Year of Europe was broken by the collective reply provided by the EC Foreign Ministers [Danish] Chairman in July 1973. But the situation had its costs. It was only ‘realistic to accept that the Americans saw little remaining value to themselves in a privileged US-UK relationship’ and British influence in Europe was not yet sufficient to further American interests. Establishing a new transatlantic balance would depend on Europe integrating its immense resources and becoming a real world power.82

Conclusion As Ambassador, Cromer’s great experience in financial affairs was underused, partly due to Britain’s unclear objectives and its decline as a monetary power. He was unable to reverse the image of British decline, economic underperformance and industrial strife. The miners’ strike in Heath’s final months in office, combined with the financial implications

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of the energy crisis, reinforced this perception. Transition is perhaps the most apt term to describe US–UK affairs in the early 1970s. There were continuing adjustments related to Britain’s decline in military and financial status against a background of rapidly changing international political, economic and security structures – the opening to China, advances in détente, inflation and lower growth rates, and declining American self-confidence. But the established view on these years, that Heath’s preoccupation with the EEC made it an unhappy period for bilateral relations, is not entirely warranted. Certainly, the embassy had much to do in attempting to keep relations on an even keel. But archival evidence indicates that, for much of the time, including Cromer’s early months and the whole of 1972, the special relationship was in good shape. Certainly Cromer’s final year coincided with one of the most difficult periods ever in the relationship but this was as much a consequence of special economic circumstances and American decisions as anything Heath did on the European front, just as the problems of 1971 had largely been the result of the two ‘Nixon shocks’. The difficulties often originated from the partnership with Kissinger, with Cromer usually in the position of assuaging him. Kissinger’s idiosyncratic stewardship gave the embassy a position of importance, if not influence, in Washington. But the other side of the coin was being put in the firing line of bureaucratic struggles and having to cope with Kissinger’s tempestuous personality. Beyond the embassy the British were not without direct channels to Kissinger, who was much enamoured of the Cabinet Secretary, Burke Trend, and passed on confidences to him when they met in Washington and London. Nixon also encouraged Heath to contact him directly whenever the occasion called for it. However, the embassy remained central to bilateral communication, especially with Kissinger’s preference for ‘backchannel’ diplomacy and distrust of the State Department. For a post that he occupied with reservations, Cromer’s combination of fairness and firmness proved a valuable asset during a troubled period for the ‘special relationship’.

Notes 1. Churchill Archives Centre, British Diplomatic Oral History Programme (BDOHP), University of Cambridge, Charles Powell interview; The National Archives (TNA), Kew, FCO73/138, Cromer to Home (4 April 1972). 2. BDOHP, John Boyd interview. 3. National Archives and Records Administration (NARA), College Park, Maryland, Nixon Presidential Materials Project (NPMP), White House Central Files (WHCF), Subject Files, brief on Cromer (undated).

206

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4. TNA, PREM15/715, Nixon to Heath (22 January 1971). 5. PREM15/211, Heath to Nixon (undated). 6. See, for example: John Dumbrell, A Special Relationship: Anglo-American Relations in the Cold War and After (London, 2001), 73; Robin Renwick, Fighting With Allies: America and Britain in Peace and War (Basingstoke, 1996), 207; John Dickie, ‘Special’ No More: Anglo-American Relations – Rhetoric and Reality (London, 1994), 144; Alan Dobson, Anglo-American Relations in the Twentieth Century (London, 1995) 140. 7. PREM15/369, record of Rippon–Malfatti meeting (16 March 1971). 8. PREM15/370, record of Heath–Pompidou meeting (undated). 9. PREM15/715, Nixon to Heath (29 October 1971). 10. See Raj Roy, ‘The Politics of Planes and Engines: Anglo-American Relations During the Rolls-Royce Lockheed Crisis 1970–1971’, in Thomas Schwartz and Thomas Schulz (eds), Strained Alliance: US-European Relations in the 1970s, (Cambridge, forthcoming 2009). 11. Keith Hamilton, ‘A “Week that Changed the World”, Britain and Nixon’s China Visit of 21–28 February 1972’, 117–35, Diplomacy and Statecraft, Vol. 15, No. 1 (March 2004), 118–21. 12. PREM15/309, Cromer note (23 August 1971). 13. NARA, NPMP, National Security Council (NSC) Files, Henry A. Kissinger Telephone Conversations (HAK Telcons), Kissinger and Cromer (14 December 1971). 14. PREM15/712, Cromer to FCO (17 November 1971). 15. Ibid., ‘Background to talks’ (undated). 16. Ibid., Moon to FCO (26 October 1971). 17. Ibid., ‘Future relations with the US’ (November 1971). 18. Ibid., FCO to Washington (5 November 1971). 19. Ibid., Heath draft note (November 1971). 20. Matters were eased by a prior Franco-American agreement on convertibility and removal of the US surcharge. PREM 15/1268, Heath to Nixon (3 January 1972); State Department memorandum (11 January 1972) and Nixon to Heath (2 February 1972). 21. Ibid., Overton to Cromer (3 January 1972). 22. FCO21/983, Greenhill to Morgan (21 March 1972) and Cromer to Greenhill (16 March 1972). 23. Hamilton, ‘Week that Changed the World’, 135. 24. FCO28/2027, Greenhill to Brimelow (8 March 1972), Cromer to FCO (27 March) and Cromer to FCO (22 May). 25. FCO82/184, Cromer to Heath (28 April 1972). 26. FCO82/205, Heath to Nixon (2 May 1972); PREM15/1273, Mackintosh to FCO (15 September 1972). 27. PREM15/1281, Cromer to FCO (18 April 1972). 28. Ibid., Cromer to Greenhill (9 May and 28 June 1972). 29. PREM15/2231, Cromer to Greenhill (27 April 1972). 30. FCO73/138, Cromer to Home (4 April 1972). 31. NPP, WHCF, Subject Files, CO, Box 81, Cromer to Nixon (30 September 1972). The Ambassador’s relatively privileged status was demonstrated in mid-1973 when he was taken to the US Strategic Air Command for a top-secret assessment of the Soviet threat: PREM15/1373, Cromer to Heath (18 June 1973).

Alexander Spelling 207 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. 63. 64. 65. 66. 67. 68. 69.

70. 71. 72. 73.

FCO73/138, Cromer to Home (8 November 1972). TNA, CAB164/1232, Cromer to Home (15 November 1972). CAB164/1232, Cromer to FCO (23 November 1972). FCO82/180, Cromer to Greenhill (20 December 1972). PREM15/1281, Greenhill to Cromer (28 December 1972). NSC Files, HAK Telcons, Kissinger and Cromer (28 December 1972). NSC Files, HAK Telcons, Kissinger and Cromer (6 January 1973). PREM15/1976, note of Cromer–Kissinger conversation (16 January 1973). PREM15/1540, Cromer to Greenhill (19 January 1973). Ibid., Cromer to FCO (11 January 1973). PREM15/1976, note of Cromer–Kissinger conversation (16 January 1973). Ibid., Cromer to FCO (27 January 1973). WHCF, Subject Files, CO, Box 81, Cromer to Nixon (4 February 1973). FCO73/135, Cromer to Greenhill (7 March 1973). PREM15/1978, record of meeting (2 February 1973). Ibid., Cromer to Greenhill (7 March 1973). CAB164/1233, note of Cromer–Kissinger meeting (19 April 1973). Ibid., Cromer to Greenhill (11 June 1973). NSC Files, HAK Telcons, Box 20, Kissinger and Cromer (5 July 1973). PREM15/1542, Cromer to Trend (6 July 1973). Ibid., Armstrong to Heath (18 September 1973). CAB164/1234, Cromer to Trend (25 June 1973). PREM15/1992, Cromer to Greenhill (30 March 1973). Ibid., Cromer to Greenhill (24 April 1973). Ibid., Cromer to Heath (4 May 1973). Ibid., Elliott to Bridges (9 May 1973). PREM 15/1373, Cromer to Home (6 July 1973). Ibid., Cromer to Home (25 October 1973) and Cromer to Greenhill (1 November). Ibid., Cromer to Heath (5 November 1973). HAK Telcons, Kissinger and Cromer, and Kissinger and Haig (6 October 1973); Henry Kissinger, Years of Upheaval (London, 1982), 471. NSC Files, HAK Telcons, Kissinger and Cromer (7 October 1973). Ibid., Kissinger and Cromer (12 October 1973). PREM15/1765, Cromer to FCO (12 October 1973). HAK Telcons, Kissinger and Cromer (12 October 1973); Kissinger, Upheaval, 521. FCO82/432, Cromer to Home (9 January 1974). PREM15/1765, Cromer to FCO (13 October 1973); NSC Files, HAK Telcons, Kissinger and Cromer (13 October 1973). Kissinger, Upheaval, 588–90. NSC Files, HAK Telcons, Kissinger and Cromer (25 October 1973). http://www.time.com/time/magazine/article/0,9171,942876-6,00.html, accessed 15 April 2007; FCO82/434, Hankey note (26 June 1974); Kissinger, Upheaval, 593. Kissinger, Upheaval, 592–3, 596 and 713; NSC Files, HAK Telcons, Kissinger and Cromer (25 October 1973); FCO 82/432, Cromer to Home (9 January 1974). NSC Files, HAK Telcons, Kissinger and Cromer (25 October 1973). PREM15/1767, Cromer to FCO (31 October 1973). PREM15/2232, Cromer to FCO (28 November 1973).

208 Lord Cromer, 1971–74 74. PREM15/1989, Cromer to FCO (30 November and 1 December 1973); NSC Files, HAK Telcons, Kissinger and Cromer (30 November 1973). 75. FCO 82/432, Cromer to Home (9 January 1974). 76. PREM15/1767, Cromer to Home (15 November 1973). 77. PREM15/2232, Steering Brief for Kissinger visit (7 December 1973). 78. TNA, FCO55/1102, Washington to FCO (18 December 1973). 79. PREM15/2178, Hunt to Sykes (28 January1974) and Hunt to Rampton (30 January 1974). 80. PREM15/1981, Heath to Nixon (24 October 1973). 81. PREM15/2231, Cromer to Home (17 January 1974). 82. Documents on British Policy Overseas, Series III, Volume IV, The Year of Europe: America, Europe and the Energy Crisis, 1972–74, (London, 2006), document 506.

11 Peter Ramsbotham, 1974–77 Raj Roy

In May 1977, only months after coming to power, the Prime Minister Jim Callaghan faced a political storm after the recently appointed Foreign Secretary, David Owen, decided to recall Peter Ramsbotham, Britain’s Ambassador to Washington. Owen had caused the furore by replacing an experienced and distinguished diplomat with Peter Jay, economics editor of The Times, and more significantly, Callaghan’s son-inlaw. Three weeks earlier, Peter Ramsbotham had received a personal note from Michael Palliser, the Permanent Under-Secretary of the Foreign and Commonwealth Office (FCO), advising him of his recall to enable ‘a new relationship’ to be forged with the US government.1 Owen informed Cyrus Vance, the US Secretary of State, that the Ambassador was being replaced as part of a bid to address the negative perceptions of Britain that the Foreign Secretary ‘constantly’ encountered on his American visits.2 Owen’s private belief that the Ambassador did not enjoy the confidence of the Prime Minister, as well as a desire to establish his own personal link in Washington that would bypass FCO mandarins, had reinforced in his mind the need for a change in Britain’s representation.3 When Owen announced the decision to the diplomatic press corps on 11 May, the response was one of disbelief, giving way to derisory laughter.4 In a desperate bid to justify the decision, the Downing Street Press Secretary, Tom McCaffrey, intimated to journalists off-the-record that Ramsbotham’s diplomatic style was old-fashioned and inappropriate for a relationship with the new, youthful Democratic administration of Jimmy Carter, a message that was soon being pithily conveyed to the public under such sensational headlines as ‘Snob Envoy Had To Go.’5 For Ramsbotham, the consequences of this event were long-lasting. In spite of a telephone call from Callaghan conveying satisfaction with his work in Washington and a plethora of letters from his peers and 209

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former superiors paying testament to his abilities,6 the Ambassador left Washington in July 1977 haunted by the decision to recall him. Having been offered the Governorship of Bermuda by Palliser on Owen’s instruction7, Ramsbotham spent three years overseeing the fortunes of this Caribbean colony before retiring to Britain, where he would seek to forget the trauma of his recall. In analysing his ambassadorship and examining the criticisms levelled at him in 1977, this chapter focuses on Ramsbotham’s efforts to enhance relations at the highest level, his promotion of British economic interests and his role in reducing transatlantic differences over strategic issues. It will reveal that, whilst he may not have enjoyed the personal friendship with the Prime Minister of a Cromer or a Jay, he was one of the best-prepared British envoys to Washington in terms of intellect and experience. Moreover, his modest and understated approach to the conduct of diplomacy helped to preserve Britain’s unique relationship with the United States amid the politico-economic challenges of the 1970s and protected British interests in spite, rather than because, of the actions of his political masters.

Appointment to Washington Unlike his two predecessors and immediate successor, Ramsbotham was a career diplomat. The son of a Conservative Cabinet Minister, born in 1919, he attended Eton and then Oxford where he studied History, a subject that would become central to his diplomatic philosophy and approach. Determined throughout his career in the diplomatic service to encourage mutual understanding between nations, Ramsbotham would later explain that for a diplomat ‘a knowledge of the history of other countries is a great help towards a better understanding of what is happening and what are the significant influences.’8 Like many diplomats of his generation, his education was cut short by the Second World War, in which he served in the Intelligence Corps where he would encounter his first experience of transatlantic co-operation through his close collaboration with US officers. The end of the war found Ramsbotham involved in the reconstruction of Germany as a regional political and intelligence officer. Joining the Foreign Office (FO) in 1949, he was posted to Berlin for a year before heading the oil section of the FO’s Economic Relations Department (ERD), where he became acutely aware of Britain’s post-war economic weakness and the threat posed to the country’s overseas assets by Middle East nationalists, in particular Iran’s Mohammed Mossadeq. His tenure at the ERD and

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his next post, as Head of Chancery of the UK Delegation to the United Nations in 1953–57 under the experienced and skilful Pierson ‘Bob’ Dixon, reinforced his personal belief in close co-operation with America, in spite of the rupture between the two nations during the Suez crisis. Recalled to London only weeks after the ill-fated British military venture, he was charged with bringing some order to British foreign policy as the Head of a new policy planning staff, in which role he made his own contribution to the post-Suez Anglo-American rapprochement by institutionalising exchanges of views with his American counterparts.9 And, as Prime Minister Harold Macmillan attempted to bring about a reorientation in British foreign policy through membership of the European Economic Community (EEC), Ramsbotham advised the Minister charged with negotiating entry, Edward Heath, on the political aspects of European integration. After a five-year stint in Paris as Head of Chancery in 1962–67 and a year on secondment at the Institute of Strategic Studies, Ramsbotham became High Commissioner to Cyprus in 1969. But after only two years, he was moved to Iran when the departure of Denis Wright from Tehran necessitated the dispatch of an Ambassador who would not be regarded by the Shah as another Foreign Office Arabist.10 Then, only two years after his arrival in Iran, Ramsbotham learnt that he was being nominated to succeed Rowley Cromer in Washington. On this occasion, the views of Downing Street and the FCO about Cromer’s replacement had coincided. Whilst the Appointments Board had submitted Ramsbotham’s name to the Foreign Secretary, Alec Douglas-Home, it appeared that Edward Heath, now Prime Minister, had personally decided to turn to his trusted former counsellor on European affairs to succeed Cromer.11 Writing to Richard Nixon in October 1973, Heath explained that he wanted an envoy capable of ‘sustaining the vitally close relationship between us to which I attach importance’ and told the President of his ‘high regard for [Ramsbotham’s] intellectual attainments, as one of [Britain’s] outstanding diplomats.’12 But some observers questioned whether the decision might be perceived by the Nixon administration as evidence of a lower priority being attached to the Anglo-American relationship. The President and his Secretary of State, Henry Kissinger, were known to consider career diplomats, and in particular Ambassadors, ‘virtually an outmoded profession.’13 Charles Powell, the Ambassador’s Private Secretary on arrival in Washington, later commented that the appointment of a career diplomat who had not headed a mission in a major European capital was met with some surprise.14 Yet, if Nixon

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and Kissinger did harbour suspicions about Heath’s choice, they may have been reassured by the US Ambassador to Iran, Richard Helms, who described Ramsbotham, as ‘bright, energetic and voluble,’ noting that he had been ‘unfailingly co-operative in sharing information and assessments with us . . . .’15 In fact, the greatest obstacle to Ramsbotham’s mission came not from across the Atlantic, but from events at home. Near the end of January 1974, faced by a crippling coalminers’ strike, Edward Heath sought a new mandate. Having lost the ensuing election by the narrowest of margins, Heath left office on 4 March, making way for Labour’s Harold Wilson who led a minority government. Ramsbotham, who had arrived in Washington only two days previously, now represented a government that had not been party to his appointment. Callaghan, the new Foreign Secretary, quickly confirmed that ‘it was absolutely right’ for Ramsbotham to take up his post. But Jeremy Greenstock, who succeeded Powell as the Ambassador’s Private Secretary, noted that the threat of his recall remained very real.16

Promoting relations at the summit In the six months prior to Ramsbotham’s arrival, Anglo-American relations had been characterised by a degree of tension at the highest levels of government, particularly over the future direction of US–European relations and the handling of the recent Arab–Israeli war. In October 1973, Kissinger’s staff had even prepared a list of potential actions to ‘demonstrate dissatisfaction with [Britain’s] performance as an ally....’17 The brief prepared for Ramsbotham by the FCO acknowledged he would assume his post ‘at a time when it is important to revitalise Atlantic relations’ and, shortly after arriving in Washington, the Ambassador was eager to emphasise to the National Press Club that Britain placed ‘as great a value now as at any time in the past on the friendship and communication’ between the two nations.18 His attempt to promote greater transatlantic harmony coincided with the foreign policy of the new Prime Minister and Foreign Secretary, who were philosophically inclined towards close transatlantic co-operation. On Kissinger’s next visit to London he was reassured by Wilson of the government’s Atlanticist outlook, whilst Callaghan talked of the ‘deep relationship [that] cannot and will not be tampered with.’19 And Ramsbotham found the Nixon administration similarly eager to cultivate a close working relationship with the British government. Kissinger informed the Ambassador only a week after his arrival that he would not ‘be a foreigner in the eyes of the Administration’ and, at the presentation

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of his credentials, Nixon declared to Ramsbotham how ‘much he valued the special relationship.’20 The factor that initially complicated Ramsbotham’s efforts to establish close relationships with Nixon administration officials was the Watergate scandal. As allegations grew over the extent of the President’s involvement in the bugging of the Democratic Party headquarters, European leaders were increasingly reluctant to be associated with the American President. Wilson, who had been so eager to be seen publicly with Nixon in 1969 that he suggested breaking protocol to board the President’s helicopter on his visit to Britain, now instructed the FCO ‘to take any measures open . . . to ensure that Mr Nixon did not come to London.’ Eager to avoid direct confrontation with the White House, the Prime Minister enquired whether the relationship between Kissinger and Ramsbotham might be the appropriate channel through which the British government’s concerns might be communicated.21 Coming barely days after his arrival in Washington, this request could not have been more inopportune for Ramsbotham, who warned that Labour’s glowing rhetoric about Anglo-American relations would count for little if the Prime Minister persisted with the request. Until Nixon’s impeachment became a real prospect, Britain should proceed on the basis that he would remain in office for his full term. Judging Nixon to be ‘a vengeful man,’ the Ambassador warned that a diplomatic rebuff of this kind ‘would risk unacceptable damage to our interests.’ If no credible excuse could be found for postponing a visit, Wilson must be prepared to welcome him.22 The issue of a visit became less pressing over the summer, however, with the disclosure of more damning evidence of the President’s role in an attempt to obstruct an FBI investigation into the Watergate break-in. On 2 August 1974, with impeachment looming, Ramsbotham advised Callaghan that Western interests would be best served if Nixon were to make way for Vice-President Gerald Ford.23 Six days later, Nixon resigned. Nixon’s departure brought a different challenge to the embassy: dealing with an untried, unelected President only 18 months away from an election. Although Ramsbotham later credited Ford with giving ‘America back its confidence’24, the new President struggled to make an impact on the American public and faced a challenge from the Republican Right whose standard bearer was the Governor of California, Ronald Reagan. Going into 1976, the Ambassador advised the Foreign Office that it should prepare itself for a change of administration across the Atlantic.25 But with no obvious front-runner for the Democratic nomination having emerged by early 1976, the outcome of the election could not be forecast

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with confidence. Accordingly, the British Embassy undertook its own campaign to infiltrate and establish relations with the entourages of the candidates. The chief responsibility for this task fell to Mark Russell and Jonathan Davidson, Head of Chancery and First Secretary respectively, but the Ambassador was also active, using his network of contacts to secure meetings with prospective candidates. When Jimmy Carter, the little-known Governor from Georgia building momentum in the primaries, visited Washington in March 1976, Ramsbotham’s friendship with Democratic socialite Polly Wisener ensured that he was invited to a dinner held for the Southern Governor. Having been seated next to Carter at dinner, the Ambassador initially advised the FCO that he was uncertain whether Carter was ‘a man of Presidential calibre,’ though he was ‘certainly driven by a powerful inner dynamo.’26 Russell and Davidson were rewarded for their efforts in courting the Carter team (and in particular Peter Bourne, Carter’s campaign manager) by being invited to join the candidate on the campaign trail in Baltimore. As well as the embassy, the British consulates across the United States also played a vital role in gathering intelligence and developing relationships with the campaign teams of the candidates. Frank Kennedy, the British Consul-General in Atlanta also cultivated the ‘Georgian mafia’ surrounding Carter, notably effecting an introduction for the Ambassador with Carter’s closest adviser, Bert Lance.27 But whilst his staff were immersed in electoral politics, Ramsbotham had to ensure that the British government was not seen to have a formal view of any candidate. Accordingly, having been advised by FCO officials that Carter’s image in Britain remained one of ‘a barefoot-boy peanut farmer with a private (Baptist) hotline to the Almighty,’ the Ambassador warned colleagues not to underestimate the candidate’s ‘qualities and potential as a President.’28 While identifying Carter as a serious contender in November 1976, the Ambassador noted in June that it was ‘still too early to write off President Ford’ and Davidson established contact with Ford’s Political Director, Stu Spencer, early in the campaign. But with Ronald Reagan having also announced his candidacy, embassy officials were careful to develop relations with Reagan’s campaign issues director, Peter Hannaford.29 In the event, Ford secured the Republican nomination but narrowly lost the White House to Carter in November. Callaghan, who had become Prime Minister in March 1976, and his first Foreign Secretary, Tony Crosland, were determined to be the first European visitors to the Carter White House, even though they had agreed with other European Community leaders that there should be no ‘undignified scramble’ to meet the new President.30 Ramsbotham, charged with

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the responsibility of achieving the Prime Minister’s objective, found his task made considerably easier by the embassy’s investment of time in the Presidential campaign. Tony Lake, who was responsible for foreign affairs in the Presidential Transition Team, was soon informed by the Ambassador of the ‘great importance’ that Callaghan would give to making early personal contact with the President.31 And, when Carter confirmed Cyrus Vance as his nominee for Secretary of State, Ramsbotham found himself invited to the first of a series of regular meetings to discuss strategic global issues. On Vance’s recommendation, Ramsbotham was invited for an audience at the White House within days of the Inauguration (the first Ambassador to do so) and was assured that the administration would place ‘special emphasis on consulting the United States’ closest allies.’32 More importantly, Callaghan’s wishes were fulfilled when in March 1977 he became the first European leader to be received at the Carter White House. Importantly for Callaghan, the President went out of his way to refer to the ‘unshakeable friendship and mutual commitment’ between the two countries. Reviewing the Prime Ministerial visit, Michael Palliser considered that the ‘remarkable warmth’ of the welcome ‘owed much to [the Ambassador’s] well-judged preparation of the scene.’33

Deciphering American foreign policy Like Freeman and Cromer before him, Ramsbotham’s ability to explain the direction of American foreign policy to his own government was heavily dependent on his relationship with Henry Kissinger, the highly secretive Secretary of State who preferred to transact diplomacy though his own personal relationships with foreign heads of government and foreign ministers. Revealingly, in his valedictory despatch, Ramsbotham noted how, following Kissinger’s departure as Secretary of State in January 1977, ‘the State Department [was] now more prepared to discuss problems with us at all levels . . . and this Embassy is benefiting accordingly.’34 Fortunately, with his own scholarly understanding of diplomacy and the forces shaping international affairs, the Ambassador was able, in the words of one observer, to establish a ‘relationship of confidence and intellectual equality’ with Kissinger.35 Jeremy Greenstock noted how, over time, this relationship became ‘extremely close’ as the American official came to appreciate the Ambassador’s judgement on international affairs and his discretion.36 Ramsbotham also developed close working relationships with Kissinger’s lieutenants, notably Brent Scowcroft, who replaced his chief as National Security Adviser in

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November 1975. Having studied Kissinger closely, Ramsbotham considered that his main fault lay in his inclination to personalise foreign policy so that ‘every criticism of himself is made into a grand renunciation of what he is trying to achieve.’ Nevertheless, the Ambassador appreciated the American’s desire to enmesh the USSR in a series of economic and strategic links to the West through détente37 and soon found himself having to assuage doubts in Whitehall about Kissinger’s methods and objectives. By June 1974, concern was mounting in the FCO that détente was being conducted at the expense of consultation with America’s European allies. But Ramsbotham argued that the Nixon administration had ‘played straight with us over détente’ and would ‘continue to be alive to the need to carry the Allies with them.’38 Warming to this theme shortly afterwards, the Ambassador advised his colleagues that, although Western European allies like Britain might have limited influence over the direction of détente, London should be comforted that no ‘Administration will settle for arrangements which . . . would jeopardise the safety of the US.’ Moreover, on issues that had necessitated formal talks with Western Europe, ‘the machinery of Alliance consultation has . . . worked well.’39 In the FCO however, the leading critic of Kissinger’s methods, Deputy Under-Secretary John Killick, was unconvinced. He singled out the Harvard professor’s consistent failure ‘to give a sufficient explanation of his requirements’ and ‘his methods of operation, and particularly his emphasis upon personal diplomacy and secrecy.’ More critically, his ‘morbid occupation’ with institutionalising détente with the Soviet Union raised the spectre of allied views being subordinated to this broader objective.40 One reason for Ramsbotham’s confidence about future US–European consultation may have been Nixon’s domestic difficulties; with the White House enveloped by the Watergate scandal, he believed that Kissinger would have to ‘reconcile himself to a slower pace in the further development of US/Soviet relations . . . .’41 And, even after Nixon’s resignation, Ford faced considerable domestic challenges to his foreign policy. The combination of Watergate and defeat in the Vietnam war resulted in the election of a Congress in November 1974 many of whose members, as Ramsbotham noted, were no longer willing to continue to give the executive branch of the government unfettered discretion over the conduct of US foreign policy.42 In London, genuine concern now arose that the combination of an overly powerful Congress, coupled with reverses in Southeast Asia, would lead to a foreign policy ‘based on a more selective and less predictable concept of United States interests and responsibilities.’43 Ramsbotham, having previously reassured Whitehall about

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Kissinger’s methods, was now compelled to provide reassurance of a different kind. With Congress in the ascendancy, he had been careful to establish good relations with J. William Fulbright, Mike Mansfield, Charles ‘Mac’ Mathias and Frank Church, all influential Senators with a particular interest in foreign policy.44 Accordingly, assessing the situation in May 1975 he conceded that, whilst the 1976 election might result in détente being scrutinised more closely, he did not perceive any appetite to ‘make the Soviet Union a scapegoat’ for setbacks in Southeast Asia. More importantly, a withdrawal from world affairs was unlikely to feature in the manifesto of any leading American politician, and whilst American intelligentsia might be unduly pessimistic about the future, Ford, with his ‘Mid-Western instincts,’ would be unlikely to be influenced by such fears. The Ambassador was convinced that once the electorate made its choice at the polls, American leadership in the Western alliance would be restored. Rather than fear consequences of this period of American introspection, he considered that the temporary self-doubt that afflicted the United States gave the British an opportunity to influence thinking in the Ford administration.45 During the 1976 campaign, when the President’s policy of détente towards the USSR came under attack from the Republican Right and even Ford’s campaign team admitted to embassy officials that Kissinger had become an electoral liability,46 Ramsbotham remained confident that the Ford administration’s policy towards the USSR would remain fundamentally unchanged.47 Ramsbotham and his staff were probably uniquely placed among embassies in Washington to forecast the likely thrust of Carter’s foreign policy, given the close links they had forged with the new President’s foreign policy team and the Ambassador’s network of contacts in Democratic circles. From his old friend Averell Harriman, the Ambassador obtained valuable insights into Carter’s likely strategy for nuclear non-proliferation, as well his broad desire to extend détente with the Soviet Union.48 The Ambassador accordingly assured London that there were ‘unlikely to be major changes of substance in US foreign policy under Carter’ and that Britain could expect more meaningful consultation than they had experienced whilst Kissinger directed American foreign policy.49 The main strand in Carter’s foreign policy which differed markedly from his predecessors was the emphasis accorded to the promotion of human rights abroad. Whilst Ramsbotham had identified this development in his early assessments of the President’s foreign policy, he had not foreseen its potential to undermine American foreign relations, most notably with the Soviet Union. By the time of Callaghan’s visit to Washington in March, the Ambassador was more critical of the White House, expressing his

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‘doubt whether [Carter] has fully thought through the consequences’ of a policy centred around human rights.50 And, as he prepared to leave Washington, he warned Owen that the President’s vision for the world was inextricably linked to his domestic principles and view of American history. While the presentation of American foreign policy might change, the ‘central core of thought and action...[would] remain intact’ so that, in dealing with decisions to which they might be opposed, the British would need to offer ‘solutions of equal cogency and urgency’ to make an impression on the determined American leader.51 Determined and principled he may have been, but Carter was also inexperienced. In the embassy it was hoped he would welcome the opportunity to draw on Britain’s expertise in foreign affairs, in spite of her diminished status and current economic malaise, as a ‘complement to American resources.’52 To some extent, this aspiration was realised. At Vance’s invitation, the Ambassador became a regular visitor at Foggy Bottom where the Secretary of State would solicit his views of the administration’s foreign policy initiatives over brunch. The other major figure in the Carter foreign policy team, National Security Adviser Zbigniew Brzezinski, was less well-known to the Ambassador but a close working relationship soon developed between them.53 Ramsbotham’s penultimate despatch from Washington reveals that Brzezinski ‘readily’ accepted the British envoy’s assessment of US foreign policy, which had questioned whether the administration’s emphasis on human rights was ‘raising hopes too high’ and suggested that the American electorate might need further education about the realities of international relations in case the President’s objectives in foreign policy could not be realised.54 Such was Brzezinski’s admiration that he once declared Ramsbotham to have been one of the most successful British representatives in Washington.55 Vance, it appears, was no less impressed. Three days before the Ambassador’s departure, he sent him a personal letter, acknowledging his ‘wisdom and judgement’ and telling him, ‘how highly I value your friendship.’56

Commercial diplomacy Although Ramsbotham had never previously held an overseas commercial post, he was now charged with the responsibility of advancing the cause of British industry in a critical market. He was not as economically literate as Cromer or Peter Jay, but his time at the ERD had given him a familiarity with the impact of commercial interests on diplomacy. Britain’s economic situation at this time could best be described as

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parlous, characterised by trades union strife, mounting inflation (peaking at almost 30 per cent in 1975) and low productivity. Furthermore, the Labour Party had been elected in 1974 with a commitment to nationalise swathes of British industry, which could only raise suspicion in a country committed to a market economy and free competition. In seeking to persuade US audiences that commercial engagement with Britain was a worthwhile endeavour in spite of the difficulties the country faced, the Ambassador travelled the country, visiting 38 of the 52 American states in his three-year tenure where he sought to create a greater understanding both of the British economic policy and of the constraints on the Labour government. Speaking to a group of leading businessmen at Hot Springs, Virginia late in 1976, Ramsbotham acknowledged that, while Britain had embarked on a road to ‘social democracy,’ which was ‘further than [Americans] would perhaps ever wish to go,’ political and trades union leaders had come to the ‘realisation . . . that . . . corrections have to be made if Britain is to look forward to a prosperous and healthy future.’ It was important to appreciate that the ‘history [of Britain], the economic and political parameters within which any British government [had to] work’ meant the state would play a greater role in industry than would be considered appropriate in America. Those US investors who were concerned that nationalised industries stifled productivity and enterprise were assured that ‘some of these [industries were] beginning to look rather efficient, when set against the usual business standards . . . .’57 Ramsbotham also cultivated and developed close relationships with leading journalists that helped to ensure media coverage for his commercial endeavours. His long-standing friendship with Johnny Oakes, who was responsible for the editorial page of the New York Times, resulted in the Ambassador being offered the opportunity to plead the case for Britain on the editorial page in January 1977.58 To reinforce the message he was articulating publicly, Ramsbotham built a network of relationships among the business community, including Reginald Jones, the Chief Executive of General Electric who secured the invitation to speak at Hot Springs, while Henry Mansager, Chief Executive of the Hoover Company, worked with the Ambassador to arrange a tour of Britain by US business leaders in 1975 with a view to encouraging investment by American firms.59 But Ramsbotham also fully understood the correlation between the perception of Britain in the United States and the esteem in which his embassy was held. Supported by his wife, Frances, he exploited the famous Ambassador’s residence to the full, making it a centre of social

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and cultural activity. Hosting an exhibition on Winston Churchill’s early paintings, securing the loan of a Henry Moore sculpture for the Embassy Garden and sponsorship of the Folger Library’s Shakespearean collection were just some of the ways in which the Ramsbothams sought to raise Britain’s profile. By far the most important social events during the Ramsbothams’ time in Washington were those commemorating the American Bicentennial, boosted by a state visit by Queen Elizabeth II. In Washington, a party in the grounds of the embassy was attended by guests from the world of politics, business and the arts. Elsewhere, the presence of the royal yacht Britannia off New York enabled the British Consul General there to host a function that would ‘promote direct exports, invisibles [earnings] and inward investment’: leaders from industry, commerce, federal and state agencies were invited on board for a day of presentations on Britain’s economic prospects.60 The Ambassador’s close relations with social affairs columnists like Henry Mitchell of the Washington Post and Joy Billington of the Washington Star ensured that such activities attracted as much publicity as possible. Whether Ramsbotham’s efforts on the commercial front affected the hard-headed calculations of American business leaders is difficult to gauge. Certainly, his own correspondence suggests that he himself did not consider this particular task had been accomplished. One missive to the Foreign Secretary in late 1974 recorded his deep concern about the prevailing American media perception of Britain’s economic performance and was followed by a request that the Prime Minister give interviews to US television networks in a bid to boost the faltering British image.61 Over a year later in a letter to Isaiah Berlin, Ramsbotham admitted that winning over sceptical American opinion was ‘uphill work.’62 The Ambassador had been given good reason for this conclusion after hearing from business leaders in the American South that Britain’s labour relations record caused no little apprehension and that the government’s inability to control inflation was linked to the ‘strength of trades union control.’63 But such worries were typically dismissed by Harold Wilson, who was rarely interested in external assessments of his economic policy. During a Prime Ministerial visit to Washington in May 1975, Bernard Donoughue, one of Wilson’s advisers, recorded ‘another row [between Wilson and] the Ambassador in the car coming from the airport when Ramsbotham started pressing on him the American concern about our rate of inflation.’ Two years later, on the eve of his departure, the Ambassador advised Owen that Labour’s vision of an egalitarian Britain did ‘not pull in the dollars’; the

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government should be mindful that ‘the advertisement must be tailored to the customer.’64 The principal commercial venture that occupied the British Embassy’s time was the Anglo-French supersonic airliner, Concorde. After almost 15 years of development and an investment of $2 billion, the aircraft was ready to commence trans-Atlantic service, but consents were needed for flights out of Washington Dulles and JFK airport, New York. Although Nixon had assured Heath in 1973 that his administration would not discriminate against Concorde,65 the regulatory process was complicated by the need to demonstrate Concorde’s compliance with noise regulations. Chief responsibility for the case rested with the airlines (British Airways and Air France), the Department of Trade and Industry and their French counterparts. But, given the highly political nature of international aviation, the embassy was bound to be drawn into the campaign. However, British diplomats had to maintain a delicate balance between lobbying influential policymakers and interfering with the political process. Ramsbotham conveyed his concerns to the Secretary of Transportation, William Coleman, who was charged with taking the initial decision over Concorde’s access to American airports, but with sufficient subtlety that Coleman would later declare that the Ambassador ‘never came in to try to unduly influence me.’66 However, even after Coleman declared that Concorde would be admitted to operate for an initial 16-month period, there remained the prospect of unwelcome Congressional intervention. Apprised of this possibility, Ramsbotham advised the FCO of his intention to ‘intensify meetings with individual Senators.’67 Invitations to the Ambassador’s residence provided him with opportunities to advance the British case, particularly when influential Senators such as Russell Long, Chair of the Senate Finance Committee, attended.68 It is difficult to determine the impact of lobbying efforts on the votes of politicians, but Ramsbotham told Ymelda Dixon, the Washington Star correspondent, that embassy dinners in general could ‘accomplish a lot’69 and, given that some votes were won by the narrowest margin, conversations in the Ambassador’s residence may have been vital. In the event, the greatest threat to Concorde emerged not from Congress but the state of New York, where the Port Authority possessed the jurisdiction to prohibit operations out of JFK airport. Given local concerns about the environmental impact of Concorde, the Authority declared in March 1976 that no permit would be forthcoming until a six-month evaluation period had elapsed. Having been advised by Ford that British lobbying was unlikely to thrive during the Presidential

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election, Ramsbotham intensified his efforts after Carter’s accession to power. Both Vice-President Walter Mondale and the new Secretary of Transportation Brock Adams were warned that the ‘unjustified delay in New York would have political repercussions for the foreign relations of the United States.’ And when Carter issued a lukewarm statement regarding Concorde in early 1977, Ramsbotham exploited his channel to Brzezinski to complain that the President’s words had undermined the Anglo-French case.70 But all of the embassy’s lobbying failed to produce an early resolution and, before leaving Washington, Ramsbotham advised that legal proceedings should no longer be delayed in the hope of a favourable decision from the New York Port Authority.71 The legal process only resolved that Concorde could be admitted to operate at JFK airport in November 1977, but the effectiveness of Ramsbotham’s understated but persistent approach over 18 months was not lost on those who were subject to his efforts. Senator Mike Mansfield later told British diplomats that without the Ambassador the British government would ‘never have got as far as [they did] with Concorde; that he had played his cards with admirable judgement; that his whole style of operation was excellent . . .’.72

The IMF crisis of 1976 The gravest crisis into which Ramsbotham was drawn in Washington related to the International Monetary Fund (IMF) loan to Britain in late 1976. In the middle of the year, reflecting Britain’s continuing economic malaise, Sterling had fallen in value to under $1.80, having previously been at $2. With the autumn budget having failed to impress the foreign exchange markets, Sterling continued to slide and, by late September, Callaghan and the Chancellor of the Exchequer, Denis Healey, conceded that a formal approach to the IMF for substantial support was necessary. The Prime Minister immediately tried to exploit his personal relationship with the President to evade the dose of deflation the IMF was likely to prescribe as a condition for its support. Speaking to Ford on the telephone, he warned that unless an IMF agreement could be reached with minimal ‘haggling’ and a safety net created to protect the Sterling balances, the British government’s commitment to an overseas presence and an open trading system would come under attack from the Labour Party’s left-wing.73 But in Washington the Secretary of Treasury, Bill Simon, his Deputy Edwin Yeo and the Head of the Federal Reserve Board, Arthur Burns, who were all highly critical of the Labour government’s economic policy, would

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most likely support the commitments that the IMF would demand. (At one point, Burns memorably told British officials to end ‘this nationalisation nonsense, give your people some incentive [and] reduce these awful public deficits.’74) Supporting Callaghan’s political strategy, Ramsbotham exploited his relationship with Kissinger in the hope that he might be able to moderate the stance of the Ford administration. Initially, the Secretary of State responded to Ramsbotham’s pleas for understanding, promising to bring the administration’s ‘economic people under control.’ But an ‘idiot lecture’ from Yeo on the importance of allowing the IMF to set the terms of any loan appeared to convert Kissinger to the cause of fiscal orthodoxy by the time of his next discussion with the Ambassador.75 Even though Ramsbotham and subsequently Harold Lever, a personal emissary of the Prime Minister, warned Kissinger of the political consequences for the Labour government and future British foreign policy if sharp deflation were imposed, the Ambassador did not believe that Simon and Burns would allow these political concerns to outweigh the financial necessities. To do so in their mind would be to temporarily postpone Britain’s difficulties and set a dangerous precedent for the Fund’s dealings with other governments.76 Unsurprisingly, Burns proved impervious to the Ambassador’s pleas for an understanding of political reality, telling him that the Federal Reserve would not even participate in any contingency discussions relating to the Sterling balances until the British government had agreed terms with the IMF. By the end of November 1976, Simon had evidently won the political argument with Kissinger; Scowcroft’s staff conceded that Ford would not approve any agreement to stabilise the Sterling balances in the absence of measures to restore Britain’s economic position.77 The British government finally yielded to the IMF’s demand to bring public sector borrowing below £9 billion for fiscal years 1977–78 and 1978–79. However, Callaghan and Healey still considered that the separate announcement of a safety net for Sterling balances was critical to the government’s survival.78 Ramsbotham intervened by increasing the pressure on the White House, and in particular on Scowcroft, to the extent that Yeo considered the Ambassador to be ‘a master at working them over in the White House...he used to have Scowcroft practically in tears.’ Yet, no agreement on a facility could be reached before the Chancellor announced the painful news of the IMF deal and swingeing expenditure cuts. Only at a meeting shortly before Christmas did Ford, urged by Kissinger, instruct US Treasury officials to participate in multilateral discussions for a facility in support of Sterling.79 Soon afterwards, the leading

224 Peter Ramsbotham, 1974–77

Central Bank Governors announced that $3 billion of medium-term financing for the Sterling balances would be made available.80 Although the British government had ultimately secured the assistance it sought, the entire episode left the Ambassador in no doubt as to the power of American financial institutions. Writing to the FCO before Callaghan’s March 1977 visit to Washington, the Ambassador urged that the Prime Minister meet Burns in the hope of persuading him of the British government’s determination to tackle its economic difficulties.81

Conclusion When Ramsbotham left Washington in July 1977 he should have done so with his reputation enhanced. Instead, the slur cast on his abilities by the Downing Street press machine was compounded when Callaghan and Owen tried to further justify his replacement in their memoirs. For Callaghan, only Peter Jay could have enjoyed direct access to President Carter, whilst Owen declared that the Prime Minister had ‘little time’ for Ramsbotham, citing as evidence Callaghan’s decision to stay at Blair House in March 1977 rather than the embassy.82 Yet, these arguments are not borne out by credible evidence. It was clear that Ramsbotham had rapidly earned the respect of the President and his most important foreign policy advisors, Vance and Brzezinski, a position that stemmed from the close relations developed with the Carter team during and after the 1976 election,83 reflected in the President’s remark to Ramsbotham at his farewell audience, ‘if I had my druthers, you would not be leaving.’84 Nor was there any sign that Callaghan had evinced distrust of the Ambassador prior to his recall.85 As Prime Minister, he may have stayed at Blair House in March 1977, but Ramsbotham himself had advised London that Callaghan had been invited to stay at the prestigious state guesthouse by the Carter administration.86 It was not an invitation likely to be turned down by any Prime Minister. Owen’s decision to appoint Jay revealed both his mistrust of the Foreign Office and his belief that his own personal relationship with US officials would further Anglo-American relations. But the 1976 economic crisis had demonstrated the limitations of such a line of thinking when Callaghan’s appeals to Ford and Kissinger via the transatlantic telephone line failed to secure less onerous IMF terms. Ramsbotham’s ambassadorship had confirmed that common Anglo-American understanding could only be fully maintained through the breadth of the institutional relationships forged by the Ambassador and his staff with the agencies of

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the American government, the media, academia and Congress. Palliser for one considered that the Ambassador’s close ties to Kissinger and Brzezinski provided the British government with ‘an invaluable insight into the inner counsels of three US Administrations.’87 In developing these important relationships, diplomatic spouses, and in particular, the Ambassador’s wife, Frances Ramsbotham, played a critical role. Frances’ friendships with wives of influential figures facilitated and strengthened the Ambassador’s own relationships with US officials. Ramsbotham considered that her friendship with Labelle Lance, wife of Bert Lance, one of Carter’s closest advisers, had been pivotal to the close relationship he himself built with Lance. Such was the respect and affection for the Ambassadress in Washington that, on her untimely death in 1982, over 250 prominent Americans filled Washington Cathedral for a memorial service held in her honour.88 The existence of a resident mission was equally important to the promotion of commercial interests and when matters such as Concorde’s access to US airports arose, they required sustained lobbying by the embassy of the different governmental agencies to resolve them; the task could not easily be resolved through bi-annual meetings of heads of government or foreign ministers. Central to the success of such lobbying activities were the social events organised by the Ambassador. Such was the significance attached to these occasions that Ramsbotham assumed personal responsibility for the placements at dinner.89 The beneficial effects of such hospitality were later revealed by Henry Brandon’s comment that ‘one of the most powerful men in Congress’ had expressed his desire ‘to help Sir Peter [on a matter as] he has been such a gracious host to me and my wife.’90 Ramsbotham had acquitted himself as effectively as any envoy could have done representing a country at its lowest ebb in Washington in the mid-1970s. The true cause of the criticisms of Britain’s economic performance so frequently heard across the United States had been the Labour government’s persistent failure to appreciate that its economic policies were antagonistic to personal incentives and free enterprise. Revealingly, American businessmen who participated in the Mansager mission to Britain in 1975 concluded that ‘there were too many problems’ to make it an attractive investment proposition, with ‘increased government interference in the marketplace and no sign of [a] return to a more free enterprise system.’91 Replacing the diplomat who had developed such a broad range of relationships in government, business and media circles, earning both trust and respect as he did so, was a move that was unlikely to improve Britain’s fortunes in the United States.

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Notes 1. Personal papers of Peter Ramsbotham, Palliser to Ramsbotham (20 April 1977). The author wishes to express his deep appreciation to Sir Peter Ramsbotham for allowing access to his personal papers and for discussing the issues raised in this chapter. 2. Ramsbotham Papers, Owen to Vance (2 May 1977). 3. David Owen, Time to Declare (London, 1991), 283, 324–5. 4. Denis Greenhill, More by Accident (York, 1992), 165. 5. Evening Standard, 12 May 1977. 6. Ramsbotham Papers, letters from Oliver Wright (15 May) Nicholas Henderson (13 May) and Edward Heath (8 June 1977). 7. Ramsbotham Papers, Palliser to Ramsbotham (2 May 1977); and on his Governorship, see Allison Moir, Partners in Peace and Prosperity: A Premier and Governor in Bermuda, 1977–1981 (Philadelphia, 2000). 8. Peter Ramsbotham, ‘The Art of Diplomacy,’ in Perspectives on Culture and Society (Muncie, Indiana, 2000)127–49. 9. Author’s interview with Ramsbotham, 5 January 2008. 10. Churchill Archive Centre, British Diplomatic Oral History Project (BDOHP), Cambridge, Ramsbotham interview. 11. Heath said he was ‘responsible for your appointment to Washington after heaving you out of Teheran . . .’: Ramsbotham Papers, Heath to Ramsbotham (8 June 1977); Ramsbotham Papers, Greenhill to Ramsbotham (undated). 12. The National Archives (TNA), Kew, PREM15/1989, Heath to Nixon (24 October 1973). 13. Brandon in the Sunday Times, 9 January 1974. 14. Henry Brandon, ‘Sir Peter, This is Your Life,’ Sunday Times, 20 January 1974; ‘Cromer’s Farewell,’ Financial Times, 9 January 1974; Author’s interview with Lord Powell, 7 February 2008. 15. US National Archives and Records Administration (NARA), College Park, Maryland, Record Group 59, State Department Central Files, Access to Archival Database (AAD), Helms to Kissinger (11 December 1973) at http://aad. archives.gov/aad/fielded-search.jsp?dt=1573&tf=X&cat=all&bc=sl 16. Author’s interviews with Peter Ramsbotham, 9 September 2007, and Jeremy Greenstock, 15 October 2007; TNA, FCO82/483, Acland to Ramsbotham (5 March 1974) 17. NARA, White House Central Files, Subject Files, Countries, UK, Springsteen to Kissinger (30 October 1973). 18. FCO82/483, undated briefing; Washington Star, 22 March 1974. 19. FCO82/443, Record of Wilson–Kissinger meeting (28 March 1974); Digital National Security Archive (DNSA), Kissinger transcripts, toasts at lunch meeting (28 March 1974), Item 1089 at http://nsarchive.chadwyck.com/marketing/index.jsp 20. FCO82/432, Ramsbotham to FCO (11 March); FCO82/483, Ramsbotham to Callaghan (13 March 1974). 21. Virginia Historical Society, Richmond, Diary of David Bruce, 17 February 1969; PREM16/291, Note of meeting with Wilson (19 April 1974). 22. PREM16/291, Ramsbotham to Killick (16 April 1974). 23. PREM16/292, Ramsbotham to Callaghan (2 August 1974). 24. BBC Radio 4, interview with Ramsbotham, 27 December 2006.

Raj Roy 227 25. FCO82/546, Ramsbotham to FCO (12 December 1975); PREM16/1155, Ramsbotham to Palliser (15 December 1975). 26. Author’s interview with Ramsbotham, 5 January 2008; FCO82/644, Ramsbotham to Edmonds (20 April 1976). 27. FCO82/644, Note by Davidson (7 May 1976); FCO82/646, Kennedy to Ramsbotham (19 July 1976); BDOHP, Michael Palliser interview. 28. FCO82/645, Sykes to Ramsbotham (5 July 1976); FCO82/646, Ramsbotham to Callaghan (31 July 1976). 29. FCO82/645, Ramsbotham to Sykes (29 June 1976); FCO82/643, Note of Davidson–Spencer meeting (10 February 1976); FCO82/646, Note of Davidson–Hannaford meeting (28 July 1976). 30. FCO82/669, Crosland to Ramsbotham (9 December 1976) and Note by Melhuish (7 December 1976). 31. FCO82/651, Record of Ramsbotham–Lake meeting (22 November 1976). 32. FCO82/734, Ramsbotham to FCO (18 and 26 January 1977). 33. FCO82/759, Record of Carter–Callaghan meeting (10 March 1977); Ramsbotham papers, Palliser to Ramsbotham (20 April 1977). 34. Ramsbotham papers, Valedictory dispatch (2 July 1977). 35. Ramsbotham papers, Wright to Ramsbotham (15 May 1977). 36. Author’s interview with Jeremy Greenstock, 15 October 2007. 37. Bodleian Library, Oxford, Isaiah Berlin Papers, Ms. Berlin 210, Ramsbotham to Berlin (14 April 1976). 38. FCO28/2572, Simons to Bullard (20 June 1974); FCO82/474, Ramsbotham to Callaghan (21 June 1974). 39. Ramsbotham Papers, Ramsbotham to Callaghan (2 July 1974). 40. G. Bennett and K. Hamilton (eds), Documents on British Policy Overseas (DBPO), Series III, Volume III: Détente in Europe 1972–1976 (London, 2001) No. 68, Killick to Ramsbotham (4 September 1974). 41. PREM16/292, Ramsbotham to Callaghan (2 August 1974). 42. FCO82/545, Ramsbotham to Callaghan (29 April 1975). 43. DBPO, No. 79, Footnote 7, Ramsbotham to Killick (19 May 1975). 44. Ramsbotham letter to the author (21 December 2007). 45. DBPO, No. 79, Ramsbotham to Killick (19 May 1975); Ramsbotham papers, Ramsbotham to Callaghan (29 May 1975). 46. FCO82/643, Note by Davidson (10 February 1976). 47. DBPO, No. 89, Ramsbotham to Callaghan (31 March 1976). 48. FCO82/2937, Ramsbotham to Sykes (15 October 1976). 49. PREM16/1155, Ramsbotham to FCO (3 November 1976). 50. FCO82/756, Ramsbotham to FCO (3 March 1977). 51. Ramsbotham Papers, Ramsbotham to Owen (30 June 1977). 52. FCO82/756, Ramsbotham to FCO (3 March 1977). 53. Ramsbotham letter to the author (21 December 2007). 54. Ramsbotham Papers, Ramsbotham to Owen (30 June 1977). 55. Author’s telephone conversation with Anthony Acland, 18 September 2007. 56. Ramsbotham Papers, Vance to Ramsbotham (29 June 1977). 57. Ramsbotham Papers, speech at Hot Springs (15 October 1976). 58. Author’s interview with Ramsbotham, 9 November 2007; Peter Ramsbotham, ‘Wherein Brittania Finds Something to Hail’, New York Times, 19 January 1977. 59. Author’s interview with Ramsbotham, 9 September 2007.

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60. FCO82/678, Gordon Booth to Statham (13 February 1976). 61. FCO82/559, Ramsbotham to Callaghan (23 December 1974) and Ramsbotham to FCO (31 December 1974). 62. Berlin Papers, Ramsbotham to Berlin (14 April 1976). 63. FCO82/644, Record of meeting with business executives in Tennesse, North and South Carolina (18–22 March 1976). 64. Bernard Donoughue, Downing Street Diary: With Harold Wilson in No.10 (London, 2006), 373; Ramsbotham Papers, valedictory despatch (2 July 1977). 65. PREM15/1989, Nixon to Heath (19 January 1973). 66. Kenneth Owen, Concorde and the Americans: International Politics of the Supersonic Transport (Shrewsbury, 1997), 113. 67. TNA, FV2/933, Ramsbotham to FCO (5 February 1976). 68. Author’s interview with Ramsbotham, 9 November 2007. 69. Washington Star (3 March 1977). 70. FV2/936, Ramsbotham to FCO (14 July 1976); FV2/938, Ramsbotham to FCO (9 and 17 February 1977). 71. FV2/939, Ramsbotham to FCO (13 April 1977). 72. Ramsbotham Papers, Wilford to Palliser (30 June 1977). 73. PREM16/798, Record of Callaghan–Healey meeting (28 September 1976); Record of Callaghan–Ford telephone conversation (29 September 1976). 74. TNA, T364/32, Note to Wass–Burns meeting (3 October 1976). 75. PREM16/799, Ramsbotham to FCO (27 October 1976); DNSA, Kissinger Transcripts, Record of meeting between Kissinger, Yeo and Rogers (3 November 1976), Item 2123; PREM16/800, Ramsbotham to FCO (11 November 1976). 76. DNSA, Kissinger Transcripts, Record of meeting between Kissinger, Lever and Ramsbotham (15 November 1976), Item 2129; PREM16/801, Ramsbotham to FCO (16 November 1976); PREM16/801, Ramsbotham to FCO (17 November 1976). 77. PREM16/802, Ramsbotham to FCO (23 November); PREM 16/803 Hunt to Stowe (29 November) and Ramsbotham to FCO (30 November 1976). 78. PREM16/807, Record of Callaghan–Schmidt conversation (11 December 1976). 79. Stephen Fay and Hugo Young, The Day the Pound Nearly Died (London, 1978), 41 and 44–5. 80. Kathleen Burk and Alec Cairncross, ‘Goodbye Great Britain’: The 1976 IMF Crisis (New Haven, 1992), 123–4. 81. FCO82/756, Ramsbotham to FCO (4 March 1977). 82. James Callaghan, Time and Chance (London, 1987) 489; Owen, Time, 283. 83. FCO82/649, Note of Palliser–Bourne meeting (8 November 1976). 84. Moir, Partners, 42. 85. Callaghan later admitted to Zaida Ramsbotham, the Ambassador’s second wife, that the episode was ‘a mistake’ (Author’s interview with Lady Ramsbotham, 9 September 2007). 86. FCO82/755, Ramsbotham to FCO (24 February 1977). 87. Ramsbotham Papers, Palliser to Ramsbotham (20 July 1977). 88. Author’s telephone call with Ramsbotham, 11 October 2007; Ramsbotham Papers, Wright to Ramsbotham (13 January 1983). 89. Author’s interview with Jeremy Greenstock, 15 October 2007. 90. Sunday Times, 15 May 1977. 91. PREM16/625, Note of meeting Richardson and US business leaders (26 September 1975).

Conclusion G.R. Berridge and John W. Young

Towards the end of the period covered by these chapters the value of the resident ambassador was called into question, not least by some American foreign policy-makers. Zbigniew Brzezinski wrote an article in 1970 called ‘The diplomat is an anachronism’1 and George Ball, the former Under-Secretary of State, wrote that ‘jet planes and telephones . . . now largely restricted ambassadors to ritual and public relations.’2 The twentieth century certainly brought many challenges to the resident embassy. Diplomatic exchanges increasingly took place through international organisations, at summits and during foreign ministers’ meetings, while news of most world events could readily be gathered from the media. And while it is clear that ambassadors weathered the storm – by the end of the century there were more than ever – arguments about their value still rage.3 What light does the role of British Ambassadors in Washington throw on this question? It must be stressed at once that ambassadors’ jobs vary so enormously that generalising about the significance of their work is perilous, and Britain’s embassy in Washington was in no sense typical. It was relatively large and high-powered, and operated in an unusually favourable environment. This point warrants elaboration. It is true that the very power of the United States could make it difficult for British Ambassadors to have a real impact on Washington decision-making and, as Britain retreated from its world role, this problem probably became greater. Henry Brandon who, as Washington correspondent of The Sunday Times, observed most of the ambassadors discussed in this book concluded that only Franks and Ormsby Gore wielded real influence. ‘All arrived with high expectations about that mysterious blessing of the Anglo-American special relationship and all of them left disappointed about the inspirational effect it had and the influence it afforded them.’ 229

230 Conclusion

Even Freeman, whose ambassadorship proved such an unexpected success, admitted that the degree to which Britain could influence Washington was ‘minimal.’4 This imbalance in power was not a problem unique to ambassadors: all diplomatic methods had to contend with it. The central issue concerned not the degree of the embassy’s influence on the American government but rather the extent of its influence when compared to other diplomatic means available to the British government. Alternatives included summit meetings and personal correspondence between Presidents and Prime Ministers. From Churchill onwards British leaders liked to indulge in these, threatening to undermine the position of the embassy. But, as the lukewarm relationship between Harold Wilson and Lyndon Johnson shows, even summits proved to be of limited value as a means of exerting British influence.5 As a partner for the United States, Britain was a declining asset in the post-war period. For a time, memories of wartime co-operation could still be exploited, as under Makins and Caccia, both of whom had worked alongside Eisenhower in North Africa in 1943. But in the mid-60s the withdrawal from East of Suez and the instability of Sterling made the relationship a shadow of what it was in the war years. No method of diplomatic contact could counteract this. But that did not make the embassy redundant. There were aspects of the Washington environment that were uncongenial to the work of the embassy. Cromer seems to have felt this acutely, complaining of the reluctance of the US Press to carry news about his statements; the tendency of Americans to deal lightly with issues of protocol; the viciousness of the Washington social scene; and the capital’s poor climate, high crime rate and lack of cultural life. Like Freeman and Ramsbotham, Cromer also had to deal with Kissinger’s notoriously unconventional methods.6 Nevertheless, being head of the Washington Embassy had many advantages over other ambassadorial postings. The British mission in Washington, elevated from legation to embassy status in 1893, was a very large operation, indeed the largest British diplomatic post in the world. This was because it was the most important to Britain, had so many different access points to power to cover, and fulfilled multiple roles, not just in the consular, immigration, or trade areas on which many posts had come to focus by the mid1970s. It was often headed by political appointees of great status and considerable skill like Lothian, Halifax, Ormsby Gore or Cromer and its regular diplomatic staff was of exceptionally high calibre. In contrast to that of small posts in the less-developed world, the work of this embassy was also carried out in a relatively privileged, comfortable and

G.R. Berridge and John W. Young 231

secure environment. Cross-cultural understanding was made easier by the linguistic, ideological and historical links between the two countries; and America was an open, liberal society where, in contrast to diplomats working behind the Iron Curtain, you were not followed by the secret police, preoccupied with the dangers of ‘bugging’ or restricted in where you could go. All of this made lobbying and public diplomacy much easier. Yet, while the work of ambassadors in Washington may not have been a ‘typical’ case (whatever that is), examples of all classes of embassies in all classes of situation are needed if a general picture is to be built up. Furthermore, the Washington Embassy did typify the class of large embassies that pluralist democracies maintain in each other’s capitals and it did provide a specific example of the flexibility of the resident embassy as an institution. Most attention in these chapters has been devoted to the degree of influence obtained by British Ambassadors over decision-makers, legislators and opinion formers in Washington. This is not surprising because, generally speaking, the most valuable thing an embassy can do for its own government is to bend to its wishes the policy of the state to which it is accredited, especially if that state is a powerful one. Nevertheless, influence of this kind is only one aspect of an embassy’s usefulness. Others include political reporting, policy advice, trade promotion, propagandising and negotiating agreements. Bearing this in mind, it is apparent from these chapers that the Washington Embassy only added an ingredient of British influence over the high policy of the United States when for special reasons the ambassador was able to gain the ear of key individuals in government. Franks and Ormsby Gore stand out here because of the influence they were able to wield over, respectively, Dean Acheson and John F. Kennedy, though Makins was able to exploit his friendship with Under-Secretary of State Walter Bedell Smith, and Freeman was quick to establish close ties with Kissinger. Ambassadors were also free with their advice to their own governments, perhaps in part because a good number of them had previously been important political figures. Being ‘on the spot’ added to the authority of their views (though some, like Makins during the Suez crisis, were not immune to the charge of having ‘gone native’), while advances in telecommunications enabled them to get through quickly to London. Then again, they seem to have been more influential in shaping British tactics than strategy towards the United States and their advice was sometimes brushed aside: Caccia could not dissuade Macmillan from meeting Eisenhower at Bermuda in March 1957, although he was able to influence the Prime Minister’s aims at the

232 Conclusion

summit; Harold Wilson ignored Dean when ‘dissociating’ Britain from the US bombing of Hanoi and Haiphong in 1966, but took the ambassador’s advice on how to clear up the ensuing ill-feeling. On the destroyers-for-bases deal, Lothian even had trouble in shaping British tactics, his preferred approach of generosity towards the United States being pushed aside in favour of some hard-headed bargaining. Of course, the role of the ambassador and the role of the embassy are not identical, especially in large establishments like that in Washington. While the ambassador may be in overall charge, he or she cannot keep an eye on the activities of hundreds of staff, especially when many of them work for departments other than the Foreign Office. For a number of reasons, the chapters in this book have focused on the ambassadors themselves. The internal archives of the embassy are not yet open in sufficient quantity to allow a full picture of its work to be drawn; neither is the work of these officials prominent in such private papers of the ambassadors as are available. The ambassadorial role is an important one as the face of Britain in the US capital and it has not been studied sufficiently in the past. The chapters here suggest little ambassadorial involvement in consular duties and only at certain points did they seriously engage with particular high-profile trade deals (as with Cromer’s involvement in the Rolls Royce issue or Ramsbotham’s efforts to support Concorde) or the details of defence co-operation (though Lothian helped secure the ‘destroyers-for-bases’ deal and a number of post-war ambassadors worked to maintain atomic co-operation). If there was a focus for their work it was in trying to secure political influence in the US government, especially with the State Department and the White House, but the broader American public could not be ignored, especially when the embassy had to promote an understanding of Britain’s case on a number of fronts. For Lothian and Halifax the focus of public relations work was winning sympathy for the war effort, whereas Ramsbotham’s fate was to defend an increasingly poor economic record. For all ambassadors in this period, however, there was a need to socialise with members of Congress, give interviews to the media and make speaking tours outside the capital. Some individuals may have been better able to cope with the challenges than others. Inverchapel may not have been the failure in Washington that he has sometimes been described as; but his previous experience seems to have prepared him better for dealing with less ‘open’ societies, like Stalin’s Soviet Union. Yet problems also seem to have varied with particular administrations and sometimes even the most successful ambassador could find new personalities difficult to come to terms with.

G.R. Berridge and John W. Young 233

Ormsby Gore’s personal friendship with Kennedy may have helped in his first few years as ambassador, but even he could not wield much influence with Lyndon Johnson in 1963–65. This point helps us understand why Dean had such a difficult time as ambassador, his time falling entirely within the Johnson years. Then again, it is possible to exaggerate the significance even of presidents to the Anglo-American relationship. In July 1965, Dean wrote to the Foreign Office about his problems in dealing with Johnson. This inspired Foreign Office planners to look at the value of the ‘special relationship’ in the light of the changing personalities in the Oval Office. They concluded that ‘fundamental American attitudes change very little over the years, however much men and methods may vary in Washington’ and that Britain was still perceived there as a major partner. Furthermore, ‘our main instrument for constructive interchange of ideas with the Americans must continue to be the embassy in Washington’, from the ambassador downwards. The study did not look in detail at the ‘regular, and very important, exchanges in regard to intelligence, communications or atomic energy’, but it did note that ‘constant and continuing day-to-day contacts . . . give us an unparalleled opportunity of knowing the mind and influencing the decisions of the Administration.’ Certainly, there were other important links in the relationship, not least that between the Foreign Secretary and Secretary of State, the work of the US Embassy in London, the role of the British Information Services and visits by high-level British ministers and officials to Washington. But, ‘Such visits must not . . . seem to bypass the Washington embassy and its expertise.’ The basic message was that, ‘One of the key elements in the “special relationship” is the functional dialogue . . . between American and British officials at all levels’, with ambassadors playing a central part. This, not the particular president of the moment, was the cement of the alliance. ‘We should ensure that the dialogue never flags.’7 This was a clear statement of the enduring value of the resident embassy. Ambassadors and their staff were vital because they were a permanent institution, handling day-to-day contacts. Summit meetings, foreign ministers meetings and one-off missions by Whitehall experts came and went, but the embassy remained a constant presence on the ground in America, gathering inside information on the government, fostering contacts and building sympathy for Britain. As the 1964 Plowden Report on British representation overseas said, ministerial visits did ‘not reduce the need for an ambassador or the burden and importance of his work. The necessity for him to be in touch with local personalities and sources of informed opinion is all the greater because

234 Conclusion

reliable advice is required from him much more quickly and on a vastly increased range of subjects.’8 The need for accurate, ‘inside’ information on US thinking was especially clear during crises like Suez, Cuba and the Yom Kippur War. But the flexibility of the Washington Embassy was seen in the way it could achieve so many different aims for Britain over a long period from securing lend–lease supplies in the Second World War to obtaining landing rights for Concorde a generation later. It might not have been a typical diplomatic post but, in the last analysis, its work demonstrated that the embassy survived as a diplomatic institution because it was so adaptable. Despite Britain’s decline in world affairs, the range of contacts between London and Washington in the political, military, financial and commercial fields was so broad that it was impossible to manage without a large-scale presence in the US capital. No other method of diplomatic communication could substitute for this. Far from ambassadors being anachronistic, they were a vital means of preserving a healthy transatlantic relationship.

Notes 1. Washington Post, 5 July 1970. 2. George Ball, The Past has Another Pattern (New York, 1982), 452. 3. See, for example: Robert Wolfe, ‘Still Lying Abroad? On the institution of the resident ambassador’, Diplomatic Studies Programme, Discussion Paper 33 (University of Leicester: Centre for the Study of Diplomacy, 1998); Kishan Rana, The Twenty-First Century Ambassador (Malta, 2004); and G.R. Berridge, Diplomacy: Theory and Practice (third edition, Basingstoke, 2005), chapter 7. 4. Henry Brandon, Special Relationships (London, 1988), 320 and 322. 5. See Jonathan Colman, A Special Relationship? Harold Wilson, Lyndon Johnson and Anglo-American Relations (Manchester, 2004). 6. The National Archives (TNA), Kew, FCO73/138, Cromer to Douglas-Home (4 April 1972). 7. TNA, FO953/2261/3, SC(65)12 (2 July 1965) and /5, draft minute of GoreBooth to Stewart (10 August 1965). 8. Cmnd 2276: Report of the Committee on Representational Services Overseas, 1962–3 (London: HMSO, 1964), 6.

Select Bibliography

Below is a selection of secondary books on Anglo-American relations covering the years 1939–77. For articles and primary sources please consult the footnotes to relevant chapters in the book. Unless otherwise stated, for books the place of publication is London. Aldrich, Richard J., The Hidden Hand: Britain, America and Cold War Intelligence (2001). Allen, H. C., The Anglo-American Relationship since 1783 (1959). ——— The Anglo-American Predicament: The British Commonwealth, the United States and European Unity (1960). Anderson, Terry H., The United States, Great Britain and the Cold War (Colombia, Missouri, 1981). Ashton, Nigel, Kennedy, Macmillan and the Cold War: The Irony of Interdependence (Basingstoke, 2002). Bartlett, C. J., The Special Relationship: A Political History of Anglo-American Relations since 1945 (1992). Baylis, John, Anglo-American Relations since 1939 (Manchester, 1997). ——— Anglo-American Defence Relations, 1939–1984 (1984). Bell, C.oral, The Debatable Alliance (1964). Boyle, Peter (ed.), The Eden-Eisenhower Correspondence, 1955–1957 (Chapel Hill, North Carolina, 2005). Brandon, Henry, Special Relationships: A Foreign Correspondent’s Memoirs From Roosevelt to Reagan (1989). Burk, Kathleen, Old World, New World: Great Britain and America from the Beginning (2007). Busch, Peter, All the Way with JFK? Britain, the US and the Vietnam War (Oxford, 2003). Capet, Antoine and Sy-Wonyu, Aissatou (eds), The ‘Special Relationship’: La ‘Relation Spéciale’ entre le Royaume-Uni et les Etats-Unis (Rouen, 2003). Charmley, John, Churchill’s Grand Alliance: The Anglo-American Special Relationship, 1940–57 (1995). Clark, Ian, Nuclear Diplomacy and the Special Relationship: Britain’s Deterrent and America, 1957–1962 (Oxford, 1994). Clarke, Richard, Anglo-American Economic Collaboration in and War and Peace, 1942–1949 ed. A. Cairncross (Oxford, 1982). Cull, Nicholas J., Selling War: The British Propaganda Campaign Against American Neutrality in World War II (New York and Oxford, 1995). Colman, Jonathan, A Special Relationship? Harold Wilson, Lyndon Johnson and AngloAmerican Relations (Manchester, 2004). Danchev, Alex, Oliver Franks: Founding Father (Oxford, 1993). ——— On Specialness: Essays in Anglo-American Relations (Basingstoke, 1998). Dickie, John, ‘Special’ No More: Anglo-American Relations – Rhetoric and Reality, (1994). 235

236 Select Bibliography Dimbleby, David and Reynolds, David, An Ocean Apart: the Relationship between Britain and America in the Twentieth Century (1988). Dobson, Alan, Anglo-American Relations in the Twentieth Century (1995). Duke, Simon, US Defence Bases in the United Kingdom (1987). Dumbrell, John, A Special Relationship: Anglo-American relations in the Cold War and after (Basingstoke, 2001). Edmonds, Robin, Setting the Mould: The US and Britain 1945–50 (Oxford, 1986). Ellis, Sylvia, Britain, America and the Vietnam War (Westport, Connecticut, 2004). Harbutt, Fraser T., The Iron Curtain: Churchill, America and the Origins of the Cold War (New York, 1986). Gardner, Richard N., Sterling-Dollar Diplomacy (Oxford, 1956). Gowing, Margaret M., Independence Deterrence: Britain and Nuclear Weapons, 1945– 1952 (1974). Grayling, Christopher and Langdon, Christopher, Just Another Star? Anglo-American Relations Since 1945 (1988). Hahn, Peter L., The United States, Great Britain and Egypt, 1945–1956 (1991). Hathaway, Robert M., The Ambiguous Relationship: Britain and America, 1944–1947 (New York, 1981). ——— Great Britain and the United States Special Relations Since 1945 (Boston, 1990). Heiss, Mary Ann, Empire and Nationhood: The United States, Great Britain and Iranian Oil, 1950–1954 (New York, 1997). Hitchens, Christopher, Blood, Class and Nostalgia: Anglo-American Ironies (1990). Hopkins, Michael F., Oliver Franks and the Truman Administration: Anglo-American Relations, 1948–52 (2003). Hollowell, Jonathan (ed.), Twentieth Century Anglo-American Relations (Basingstoke, 2001). Louis, William Roger and Hedley Bull (eds), The Special Relationship (Oxford, 1986). MacDonald, Callum A., Britain and the Korean War (Oxford, 1990). Macdonald, Ian S., Anglo-American Relations Since the Second World War (New York, 1974). McNeill, William H., America, Britain and Russia (1953). Manderson-Jones, R. B., The Special Relationship: Anglo-American Relations and Western European Unity, 1945–1956 (1972). Marsh, Steve, Anglo-American Relations and Cold War Oil (Basingstoke, 2003). Mead, Walter Russell, God and Gold: Britain, America and the Making of the Modern World (2007). Neustadt, Richard, Report to JFK: The Skybolt Crisis in Perspective (Ithaca, New York, 1999). Nicholas, H. G., Britain and the United States (1963). ——— The United States and Britain (Chicago, Illinois, 1975). Nunnerley, David, President Kennedy and Britain (1972). Ovendale, Ritchie, Anglo-American Relations in the Twentieth Century (Basingstoke, 1998). Renwick, Robin, Fighting With Allies: America and Britain in Peace and War, (Basingstoke, 1996). Reynolds, David, The Creation of the Anglo-American Alliance, 1937–1941 (1982). ——— World War to Cold War (Oxford, 2007).

Select Bibliography 237 Richardson, Louise, When Allies Differ: Anglo-American Relations during the Suez and Falklands Crises (1996). Rofe, J. Simon, Franklin D. Roosevelt’s Foreign Policy and the Welles mission (Basingstoke, 2007). Ruane, Kevin, The Rise and Fall of the European Defence Community: Anglo-American Relations and the Crisis of European Defence, 1950–1955 (Basingstoke, 2000). Ryan, H. B., The Vision of Anglo-America (Cambridge, 1987). Russett, Bruce M., Community and Contention. Britain and America in the Twentieth Century (Cambridge, Massachusetts, 1963). Schlesinger, Arthur M., The Thousand Days (Boston, Massachusetts, 1965). Scott, L. V., Macmillan, Kennedy and the Cuban Missile Crisis: Political, Military and Intelligence Aspects (Basingstoke, 1999). Sorensen, Theodore C., Kennedy (1965). Temperley, Howard, Britain and America Since Independence (Basingstoke, 2002). Thorne, Christopher, Allies of a Kind: The US, Britain and the War Against Japan, 1941–45 (Oxford, 1978). Watt, Donald Cameron, Succeeding John Bull. America in Britain’s Place, 1900–1975 (1984). Woods, Randall B., A Changing of the Guard: Anglo-American Relations, 1941–1946 (Chapel Hill, North Carolina, 1990).

Index Abadan crisis, 83–4 Acheson, Dean, 39, 56, 60, 67–8, 74, 77–83, 86, 91, 140, 231 Adams, Brock, 222 Aden, 6–7 Allen, Denis, 73–4 Allen, Richard, 100 Alphand, Hervé, 135 Alsop, Joe, 97 Alsop, Stewart, 97 Anglo-Iranian Oil Company, 81–4 ANZUS pact, 5, 99 Arbenz, Jacobo, 99–100 Ashton-Gwatkin, Frank, 21 Ashton, Nigel, 133–4, 139, 141 Astor, Nancy, 15 Atomic bomb, 57, 92, 98 Attlee, Clement, 3–5, 54, 57–8, 64, 72, 79–80, 84, 93 Australia, 5, 105 Baghdad Pact, 101 Bailey, Abraham, 17 Bajpai, Giraj, 45 Baldwin, Stanley, 34 Balfour, John, 56–7, 59–61, 66, 73 Ball, George, 122–3, 153, 229 Bareau, Paul, 85 Bartlett, C.J., 165 Beaverbrook, Lord, 35, 39–40, 44, 46, 132 Bedell Smith, Walter, 95, 231 Beetham, Roger, 158 Belgium, 75–7 Bell, Walter, 55 Benn, Tony, 150, 152, 180 Berle, Adolf, 17 Berlin, 8, 75, 136–7 Berlin, Isaiah, 44, 47–8, 220 Bermuda summits, 117, 120–1, 136–7, 192–3, 231–2 Bevin, Ernest, 4, 54, 56–7, 59–60, 62–6, 72, 75, 77, 79, 81, 86, 112

Billington, Joy, 220 Bloom, Solomon, 38 Bohlen, Charles, 73, 77 Boothby, Robert, 52, 65 Bourne, Peter, 214 Boyd, John, 174, 190 Brandon, Henry, 10, 100, 132, 136, 145, 152, 184, 225, 229 Brimelow, Thomas, 135–6 British Broadcasting Corporation, 59, 105 British Defence Staff, 3, 174 British Information Services, 3, 37, 42, 48, 55–6, 85, 95–7, 174 Brown, George, 160–2, 169–70 Bruce, David, 154–5, 157, 171–2 Bryce, James, 53 Brzezinski, Zbigniew, 218, 222, 224–5, 229 Bundy, McGeorge, 124, 135, 137, 139, 146, 153 Buraimi oasis, 103 Burgess, Guy, 81 Burns, Arthur, 222–3 Burns, David, 175 Burrows, Bernard, 74 Butler, Nevile, 28–9 Butler, R.A., 100, 135, 143–4 Caccia, Harold, 106–7, 110–25, 135, 151, 164, 230–2 Caccia, Nancy, 113–14, 121 Cadogan, Alexander, 15, 22, 28, 37 Callaghan, James, 12, 209–10, 212–15, 217, 220, 222–4 Cambodia, 179 Canada, 24, 36, 46, 75–7, 80, 98 Carter, Jimmy, 12, 209, 214–15, 216–17, 221–2, 224–5 Casey, Richard, 27, 39 Castro, Fidel, 137–8 Central Intelligence Agency, 96 238

Index 239 Central Treaty Organisation, see Baghdad Pact Chalfont, Lord, 170 Chamberlain, Neville, 22, 34–5 Chatfield, Lord, 18 Chiang Kai-Shek, 54, 65, 102 Chicago Daily News, 39 Chicago Times, 39 Chicago Tribune, 37–8 China, 4–5, 11, 53–4, 74, 78–81, 85, 87, 98–9, 101–2, 191, 193, 197, 205 Church, Frank, 217 Churchill, Winston, 1, 3, 7, 22–8, 35–6, 39–40, 44–5, 47, 53–4, 81, 92–3, 98–9, 101, 113, 177, 230 Clark Kerr, Archibald, see Inverchapel, Lord Clark Kerr, Maria Theresa, 53, 61 Cleveland, Harlan, 181–2 Clifford, Clark, 162 Coleman, William, 221 Combined Chiefs of Staff, 3 Commonwealth, 3, 5, 45–6, 58, 98, 101, 140, 159, 182 Concorde airliner, 221–2, 225, 232, 234 Congo, 134 Congress, 37–8, 56, 60–7, 73, 77–8, 95–8, 102–3, 118, 163, 181, 195, 216–17, 221–2, 225, 232 Connally, John, 190–1 Connally, Tom, 77 Consular work, 104–5, 214, 220, 232 Council on Foreign Relations, 18–19 Cripps, Stafford, 62 Cromer, Lord, 135–6, 180, 189–205, 210–11, 215, 218, 230 Crosland, Tony, 214 Crossman, Richard, 172 Crowe, Colin, 170 Cuba, 8, 9, 123, 130, 137–9, 144, 176, 234 Cudlipp, Hugh, 170 Cyprus, 99–100 Czechoslovakia, 10, 21, 34, 65, 75 Davidson, Jonathan, 214 Davis, Dwight, 93

Davis, Norman, 20 Dean, Patrick, 119, 136, 150–65, 170, 232–3 De Gaulle, Charles, 8, 11, 170 Destroyers-for-bases deal, 23–6, 28, 232 Diego Garcia, 4 Dill, John, 46 Dixon, Pierson, 92, 99, 114, 210 Dixon, Ymelda, 221 Dobrynin, Anatoly, 175, 195, 200 Dobson, Alan, 10 Donoughue, Bernard, 220 Douglas-Home, Alec, see Home, Lord Douglas, Lewis, 62 Dulles, Allen, 95–6 Dulles, John Foster, 6–7, 91, 93–5, 98–102, 104, 113, 115–19, 121 Duncan Report, 165, 173–4 Dundee, Lord, 134 East of Suez position, 9–10, 150, 158–65, 169, 173, 177, 184, 230 Eden, Anthony, 5, 7, 34, 38, 44, 54, 73–4, 81, 91–5, 98–104, 107, 110–16, 124 Edwards, William, 55, 57, 64 Egypt, 6–7, 53, 57, 98–9, 101, 103–4, 200–1 Ehrlichmann, John, 172 Eisenhower, Dwight, 4, 6–8, 91, 93–4, 98, 104, 107, 110, 112–21, 123–4, 139, 169, 230–2 Elizabeth II, 118, 220 Elliott, William, 96 Embassy, structure of, 3, 44–5, 56–7, 173–4 Empire, British, 2, 4, 15, 24, 45–6, 66 Empson, Charles, 105 European Community, 8, 11, 120, 130, 136, 159, 178, 180–3, 190–3, 195–200, 202–5, 210 European Defence Community, 101 European Payments Union, 100 European Recovery Programme, see Marshall Plan European Security Conference, 196 Everett, Christopher, 165

240 Index Falkland Islands, 106 Ford, Gerald, 213–14, 216–17, 221–4 Foreign and Commonwealth Office, 165, 180, 193, 209, 211, 214, 216, 224 Foreign Office, 15, 21, 27–8, 43–4, 53, 59–61, 64, 66, 76, 83–5, 101–2, 104, 111–12, 120, 132, 154, 158, 183–4, 232–3 Foster, John, 23 France, 6–7, 16–17, 19, 35, 75–7, 180, 191, 221–2 Frankfurter, Felix, 41 Franks, Oliver, 62–4, 71–87, 91–4, 105–6, 229, 231 Freeman, John, 163, 169–85, 215, 230–1 Fretwell, John, 158 Friendly, Al, 97 Frost, David, 171 Fuchs, Klaus, 5 Fulbright, William, 217 Gadaffi, Muammar, 7 Geneva conference on Indochina, 5, 94, 101, 113, 156 Geneva summits, 101, 113 George, Walter, 37 Germany, Nazi, 15, 19, 22 Germany, West, 4, 140 Gillies, Donald, 52, 59, 63 Gore-Booth, Paul, 85, 151 Government Communications Headquarters, 5 Greece, 4, 57–8, 61, 112 Greenhill, Denis, 136, 139, 170, 177, 179–80, 184, 194 Greenstock, Jeremy, 212, 215 Grewe, Wilhelm, 135 Gromyko, Andrei, 5 Guatemala, 99–100 Haggard, Godfrey, 17 Haig, Alexander, 194, 196 Hailsham, Lord, 142–3 Halifax, Lady, 36, 39, 41 Halifax, Lord, 14–16, 18, 20–3, 33–48, 55, 92, 230, 232 Hall-Patch, Edmund, 62, 64

Hannaford, Peter, 214 Harcourt, Lord, 96 Harlech, Lord, see Ormsby Gore, David Harriman, Averell, 142–3, 217 Harsch, Joe, 97 Healey, Denis, 222–3 Heath, Edward, 11–12, 180–3, 189–94, 197–200, 203–5, 211–12, 221 Helms, Richard, 212 Henderson, Nicholas, 68, 106, 154 Herter, Christian, 121 Hetherington, Alasdair, 170 Hicks, Coleman, 194 Hitler, Adolf, 19, 38 Holt, Harold, 178 Home, Lord, 9, 120–1, 130, 135, 140–1, 143–4, 190, 192–5, 202–4, 211 Hong Kong, 4–5, 79, 85, 160 Hood, Samuel, 121, 135–6 Hoover, Herbert, Jr, 95, 103 Hopkins, Harry, 42–3 Horne, Alistair, 135 Howard, Anthony, 156, 158 Hoyer Millar, Derek, 44, 73, 76 Hughes-Hallet, Charles, 96 Hull, Cordell, 19–20, 22, 24–6, 38–40, 42 Humphrey, George, 96, 103, 115–16 Humphrey, Hubert, 169 Hunt, John, 203 India, 34, 45, 57 Indonesia, 5 Indo-Pakistan War, 190, 192 International Monetary Fund, 12, 222–4 Inverchapel, Lord, 52–68, 71, 85, 232 Iran, 4, 6–7, 81–4, 101, 103, 210 Iraq, 7 Iron Curtain speech, 47 Israel, 6–7, 74–5, 103, 201 see also Palestine Japan, 54, 86–7 Jay, Peter, 209–10, 218, 224 Jebb, Gladwyn, 64–5, 92 Jenkins, Roy, 74, 134

Index 241 Johnson, Lyndon, 9–11, 130, 143–6, 150, 152–65, 169, 171, 178, 230, 233 Joint Staff Mission, 3, 95–6 Jones, Reginald, 219 Jordan, 7, 120, 176 Jordan, Philip, 60 Judson, Alan, 96 Kennan, George, 56, 60, 65, 67–8 Kennedy, Frank, 214 Kennedy, John F, 8, 110, 120–4, 130–43, 145–6, 152, 177, 231, 233 Kennedy, Joseph, 28 Kennedy, Robert, 132, 134, 142, 145–6 Kerr, Philip, see Lothian, Lord Keynes, John Maynard, 46 Key West summit, 122–3, 132 Khruschev, Nikita, 122–3, 138, 142 Kiesinger, Kurt, 179 Killick, John, 160, 216 King, Mackenzie, 16, 27 Kirkpatrick, Ivone, 99–100, 112–16 Kissinger, Henry, 10–12, 172, 175–80, 184, 190–204, 211–13, 215–17, 223–5, 230–1 Kitchen, Jeffrey, 160 Korean War, 5, 71, 73–4, 79–81, 86–7, 91, 98–9, 102 Kosygin, Alexei, 157 Krock, Arthur, 85, 97 Kuwait, 7 Lake, Tony, 215 Lamont, Thomas, 17 Lance, Bert, 214, 225 Lance, Labelle, 225 Laos, 5, 8, 122 Leaming, Barbara, 131 Lebanon, 7, 120 Lend–Lease programme, 14, 26–8, 37, 234 Lever, Harold, 223 Leyland buses, 144 Libya, 6, 7 Life magazine, 79 Lindsay, Ronald, 15–16 Ling, Jeffrey, 194 Linlithgow, Lord, 45

Lippmann, Walter, 97 Lloyd George, David, 15, 35 Lloyd, Selwyn, 115, 118 Lockheed, 191 Long, Breckinridge, 20 Long, Russell, 221 Lothian, Lord, 1–2, 14–29, 35, 47–8, 92, 230, 232 Lovett. Robert, 65, 67–8, 76 Lucas, Scott, 151 MacArthur, Douglas, 80–1, 85 McCaffrey, Tom, 209 MacDonald, Ramsay, 53 McDonnell, Angus, 40–1, 43 McGhee, George, 83 Maclean, Donald, 46, 57, 67, 81 McMahon Act, 97, 108 Macmillan, Harold, 5, 7–9, 92, 107, 110, 112, 116–24, 130, 133–43, 146, 177, 210, 231–2 McNamara, Robert, 135, 139–40, 146, 153, 159 Magowan, John, 57 Maitland, Donald, 162, 201–2 Makins, Alice, 92–3, 105–6 Makins, Roger, 46, 56–7, 91–107, 110–11, 113, 124, 164, 230–1 Malaysia, 5, 160 Malfatti, Franco, 191 Mansager, Henry, 219, 225 Mansfield, Mike, 217, 222 Marshall, George, 41–2, 46, 58, 65, 67, 74 Marshall, Peter, 102 Marshall Plan, 4, 58–62, 66–7, 71–5, 77 Martin, Kingsley, 171 Mathias, Charles, 217 Menzies, Robert, 35 MI6, 96 Miall, Leonard, 59–60 Middle East war of 1973, 190, 200–3, 212, 234 Mildenhall summit, 178 Milner, Lord, 14 Mitchell, Henry, 220 Moffat, Jay Pierrepoint, 20, 22–3, 28 Mondale, Walter, 222

242 Index Mooney, Edward, 42 Morgan, Aubrey, 85 Morgenthau, Henry, 27, 38 Morrison, Herbert, 81, 84, 86 Mossadeq, Mohammed, 6, 82–4, 210 Mountbatten, Earl of, 92 Munich conference, 34 Munro, Gordon, 57 Murphy, Robert, 117 Murrow, Edward, 105–6

Peake, Charles, 37, 40 Pearson, Drew, 24 Persian Gulf, 6, 7, 10, 161–2 Plowden report, 234 Poland, 21 Polaris missile, 8, 140–1 Pompidou, Georges, 179, 181 Powell, Charles, 189–90, 194, 211–12 Profumo scandal, 5

Nassau summit, 8, 140–1 Nasser, Gamal, Abdul, 6–7, 104, 115 The Nation, 39 National Security Agency, 5 Netherlands, 75–7 Neustadt, Richard, 198–9 Neutrality Laws, 16–17, 19–21, 28 New Statesman, 169, 171–2 New York Times, 20, 85, 219 New Zealand, 5 Nicolson, Harold, 52, 125 Nigeria, 10 Nitze, Paul, 76–7 Nixon, Richard, 4, 10–12, 96, 132, 169, 171–3, 175–85, 190–200, 203–4, 211–13, 216, 221 ‘Nixon shocks’, 190–3, 205 North Atlantic Treaty Organisation, 3–4, 65–6, 71–8, 86, 140–1, 159, 163, 179, 181, 196–7, 199, 201–2 Nunnerley, David, 134, 146

Ramsbotham, Frances, 219–20, 225 Ramsbotham, Peter, 209–25, 230, 232 Reagan, Ronald, 213–14 Reilly, Patrick, 170 Reston, James, 85, 97, 150 Reynolds, David, 27 Rhodesia, 10 Rhodes Trust, 15 Rickett, Denis, 96 Ridgway, Matthew, 81 Rippon, Geoffrey, 191 Robertson, Walter, 95 Rogers, William, 172–3, 177, 182–4, 194 Rolls-Royce, 191, 232 Roosevelt, Franklin, 1, 3, 15–28, 33, 35, 37, 39–40, 42–7 Rostow, Walter, 153, 155–6, 158 Round Table, 15 Royal Navy, 19–20, 79 Roy, Raj, 150 Rusk, Dean, 78, 122, 124–5, 135, 140, 144, 146, 153 Russell, Mark, 214

Oakes, Johnny, 219 Observer, 15 Oil, 6–7, 74, 200, 203 O’Neill, Con, 182 Ormsby Gore, David, 110, 120–4, 130–46, 152, 172, 229–33 Overton, Hugh, 193 Owen, David, 209–10, 218, 220–1, 224 Pacific War Council, 45 Palestine, 6, 74 see also Israel Palliser, Michael, 155, 157, 209–10, 215, 225 Paris summit, 120 Peacock, Edward, 38

Sandburg, Carl, 39 Saudi Arabia, 103 Schlesinger, Arthur, 131–2, 134–5 Schumann, Maurice, 196 Scowcroft, Brent, 215–16, 223 Shepherd, Francis, 82 Simon, Bill, 222–3 Simon, John, 37 Singapore, 10, 160 Skybolt missile, 8, 130, 139–41 Soames, Christopher, 170 Sorensen, Theodore, 131–2, 134

Index 243 South Africa, 14–15 South-East Asian Treaty Organisation, 99, 156 Spain, 35 Speaking tours, by ambassadors, 17–19, 39, 41–2, 45, 59, 66, 85–6, 117–18, 218 Sputnik, 118–20 Stalin, Josef, 54, 65, 67 State Department, 12, 20–1, 24–5, 28, 38, 73, 83, 95–6, 100, 102–3, 119–20, 122, 133, 140, 175–7, 181, 184, 193, 195, 205, 215, 232 Steel, Christopher, 73 Sterling crises, 4, 8–10, 156–63, 169, 173, 177, 222–4, 230 Stewart, Michael, 112, 123, 155, 173, 177–8, 180 Stokes, Richard, 84 Strategic Arms Limitation Talks (SALT), 192 Suez crisis, 4, 6–8, 91, 95, 98, 103–4, 106–7, 110, 114–16, 123–4, 151, 210, 231, 234 Syria, 119 Television, appearances by ambassadors, 85, 105–6, 171, 183 Test Ban Treaty, 130–2, 141–3, 146 Thayer, Charles, 183 Thompson, S.E., 39 Thorneycroft, Lord, 139 Time magazine, 19, 28, 42, 52, 79, 201 Times newspaper, 15, 189, 209 Tomkins, Edward, 162 Trade, Anglo-American, 3, 11, 100, 158, 161, 181–2, 191–2, 218–22, 225 Trade promotion, by ambassadors, 104–5, 107, 232 Treasury, British, 38, 95, 104 Trend, Burke, 197, 205 Trevelyan, Humphrey, 106 Truman Doctrine, 4, 58–9

Truman, Harry, 3–4, 52, 77, 79–81 Turkey, 4, 45, 57–8, 61, 138–9 UKUSA agreement, 5 Union of Soviet Socialist Republics (USSR), 3–4, 6, 10, 11, 35, 38, 46–7, 53–5, 57–8, 61, 66, 79–80, 85, 103, 118, 120, 130–1, 136–9, 196–7, 199, 216–18 United Nations, 79–80, 87, 99, 130–1, 136, 141, 151, 192, 200–1, 210–11 Vance, Cyrus, 209, 215, 218, 224 Vandenberg, Arthur, 41, 56, 60, 77 Vietnam, 5, 93, 98–9, 144–5 Vietnam War, 9–11, 130, 150, 152–8, 164–5, 169, 177–80, 194–5, 197, 216–17, 232 Washington Post, 220 Washington Star, 220 Watergate scandal, 200, 213, 216 Watson, Adam, 87 Watson, Edwin, 43 Weizmann, Chaim, 53, 66 Welles, Sumner, 21–2, 24–5, 38–40, 46–7 West Indies, 23–4 Willkie, Wendell, 40 Wilson, Harold, 9–12, 130, 134, 144–5, 152–65, 169–74, 177–80, 189, 212–13, 220, 230, 232 Winant, John, 44 Wisener, Polly, 214 Witherby, Percival, 17 Witherow, James, 17 Wood, Andrew, 175 Wright, Denis, 211 Wrong, Hume, 76, 78–9 ‘Year of Europe’, 11–12, 196–9, 203–4 Yeo, Edwin, 222–3 Yost, Yevgeni, 59, 64 Young, John, 190