Chapter 125, Windsor Castle, 25 May 1941
Halifax was awoken from his port fuelled slumber. It had been an enjoyable visit to the King and Queen, with both in good spirits. The Princesses, Elizabeth and Margaret Rose, had staged a short play for the Prime Minister who had smiled, nodded and applauded (as best a one handed man could) at their efforts. Then it had been to dinner, and for the King and Queen it came with a delicate notion from their good friend. Queen Elizabeth had been aghast at Halifax’s proposed retirement, charging Halifax to “continue the good work”. The King, less passionate, less certain, had merely implied the dangers from Eden, or even worse Amery, driving up the Mall to accept the Sovereign’s commission to form a ‘Government in my name’. The King, in his delicate, subtle way, had made it clear to “darling Edward” that if the unthinkable happened, if such a terrible replacement was appointed First Minister, it would all be
his fault. Halifax had finished the port (noting, with a quiet satisfaction, that the vintage procured by Cole was far superior to that offered by the Monarch) and had retired, suitably informed of the King’s opinion. In truth, he was also missing Lady Halifax; Dorothy had retired to Garrowby just before the regal summons had arrived as she was unwell. As the stresses of dealing with the domestics in Downing Street, as well as the aftermath of the Channon scandal, took its toll on Lord Halifax, it had been invariably to Lady Halifax that he had turned. The result was inevitable; Lady Halifax had been struck with crippling migraines and had been taken to Garrowby by their concerned offspring.
Halifax, habitually, was a heavy sleeper when under the influence of alcohol. Under Queen Elizabeth’s withering pronouncements he had sought solace, like many a servant of the Crown, in the drink at the table. But now, at the first knock of the door, Halifax was awake, and fumbled with the bedside light. He found himself staring at an immaculate Flight Lieutenant, one of the equerries to the Royal Family.
“Forgive me My Lord, but Mr Elliot is here from London to see you. He says that is most urgent.”
“Ah yes, give me a moment. Pway, what time is it?”
“Shortly after four in the morning, Prime Minister.” That made sense; it was just starting to lighten and Halifax saw the first hints of dawn breaking outside.
“Goodness,” Halifax rose and put on a dressing gown. “Show him in.”
The appointment of Walter Elliot to replace Channon (hurriedly, for Halifax had again acted with uncharacteristic resolve) had been one of the few positives from the disgrace of Sir Henry Channon and the emasculation of Rab Butler. He had an astute mind and was able, tactfully, to steer the ever prickly Viscount ably on difficult policy matters, particularly with the Commonwealth (Halifax realised that this was never Rab’s strongpoint). Halifax knew that for Elliot to journey to Windsor from Westminster indicated a serious development. Instinctively, his stomach tightened.
Elliot coughed. It had been an awful hour, as the hurried telephone conversations had turned rumour to confirmed news, and then to the inevitable 'well, what the hell do we do now' stage. Controlling his fatigue, he addressed his leader calmly. “Prime Minister, apologies for the lateness of the hour, but I thought you would like to know. At approximately midnight our time a massive German invasion of the Soviet Union began. We already estimate that there have been thousands of casualties, mainly on the Russian side. They’re falling back all along the frontier. Minsk and other key cities are already near the front line.” Halifax sank onto the bed.
“Who’s, er, who are we talking to over there?”
“Mr Butler is seeing the Russian ambassador tomorrow morning. Ambassador Monckton has called; he’s trying to get an audience with the Germans as soon as possible. But we need guidance, My Lord. How do you want to approach this?” Elliot looked eager, intense. He risked an opinion. “There are some who will argue for our aiding Stalin.”
Halifax pursed his lips. “No, no, that would be a bweach of the Tweaty of Milan. The Germans wouldn’t stand for it.” Halifax looked sorrowfully at Elliot, who, uniquely of late for a Foreign Office Minister, now stood firm and looked his Prime Minister in the eyes. Halifax, understanding, lowered his. “You’re right, of course. If the Germans ask for us to declare war against Wussia I will refuse. If I did otherwise the Government would have to resign, and Anthony would be Pwime Minister. Thank you for coming. Are you going back to London?”
“Yes, My Lord, I’d better be going. Are you going to tell the King?”
“No, I’ll let him sleep. I’ll tell him at bweakfast. When is Wab meeting Maisky?”
“Noon, he’s invited him to Lunch. He’ll be bringing the military attaché too.”
“Tell Wab to give them both my best wishes. But nothing more. After all we’ve been thwough, then this.” Halifax was struck by another thought. “We’ll need to consult with the Dominions, no doubt it will pwove to be the usual quagmire.” Halifax winced at the prospect of further Commonwealth diplomacy.
“Indeed, My Lord, perhaps lunch for the High Commissioners, you, Rab, Anthony.”
Halifax nodded. “And Cadogan. He’s vewy good at explaining the logic of our position.” He looked into the distance. Below, in the courtyard, workers were already preparing for the day ahead. Halifax had been looking forward to a quiet Sunday, spent in respectful worship with the Royal Family and a quiet evening reading a favourite Agatha Christie novel in his rooms in Downing Street. And now, with an ominous feeling, he knew that his quiet life in Yorkshire would have to wait. He realised, almost automatically, that the nascent splits in the Conservative Party would once again show themselves. The hawks would demand support for the Russians following yet another breach of German promises of good faith, whilst the doves would applaud Halifax for disentangling Britain from the horrors of European warfare and would push for a declaration of neutrality. Halifax, quite naturally, felt that the doves were right. In his mind he rehearsed the arguments that he knew would need to be razor sharp.
We have not, he would begin,
dragged the British Empire out of one war only to be sucked into another, much more terrible one. He knew that Butler would support him, as would Dunglass and Templewood. He was quietly confident that the moderate Stanley would be disinclined to support the calls for British intervention.
But then there was another element. Halifax knew his history. Eden, in his Milan-inspired resignation, had likened the agreement with Germany to the Treaty of Amiens, signed in 1802 between a weary Britain and all-conquering Napoleon. Halifax realised that he was in a similar position to Henry Addington, the then Prime Minister.
Whomever wins this war wins Europe, he knew,
and will command a strong power on the international stage. He looked out, between the heavy curtains, at the gentle rural morning before him.
But Europe will be in ashes: this war will not be won easily. An independent Britain is the only hope, a place far from the graveyards and bombed cities. But he felt odd at allowing a tenet of British policy toward Europe, that of maintaining a balance of power, to slide so easily and felt that he would revisit this issue in the next few days. But, importantly, he knew that it would be for him to keep the Empire neutral in the coming war.
“Now begins,” he said softly, almost in reverence, “the gweatest stwuggle of our times.”
[Game Effect] – A month or so early, the Germans attack Russia. Halifax, despite warnings that it was looming, was taken unawares though Elliot, trying his best, manages to inform him fairly quickly of the news.
So what will Halifax do? It is a “no brainer” – he’d stay out and thank God that the Empire isn’t involved. The Amiens analogy continues, and I think that whilst Halifax’s knowledge of History is good, his interpretation will be challenged (imagine a Napoleonic War without British subsidies and the Roya Navy!). He’ll also need to be good in the Cabinet meeting that he knows he has to hold – yet another broken German promise isn’t going to be popular with the more hawkish elements of the Tory Party. Attlee will, I think, call for action as the pressure from the British left to support Stalin grows. Attlee reluctantly supported Milan – he has a difficult job on his hands if he tries to push for a renewed effort against Germany.
Lady Halifax did suffer from migraines. Upon arriving in the US her husband was what we would today call “a PR disaster”. He was badly advised and in the end Lady Halifax, along with a small corps of advisors, turned his performance around. But the effort of pushing her husband along was tiring and for much of their time in America she was seriously ill with crippling headaches.
Enewald: Nope, Yugoslavia, and indeed the near mythical BCF, is completely avoided here. I have my opinion on whether this really would have happened, but the AI's indifference to it chimed with my own lack of knowledge - at the moment all's quiet there.
Mussolini will, I promise, feature soon. But the lack of a French or Italian perspective on Barbarossa is deliberate - they are minor players on this stage and Italy isn't even (in game terms) allied to Germany, as the 1940 campaign ended so quickly with Milan. Here the game reflects my opinion - I doubt that Italy would be satisfied with her limited Milan gains and Mussolini is probably jealous of the French 'usurping' of his role as sidekick to Hitler. But I think that a loyal France is of greater use to the Reich than an increasingly Maverick Italy.
Trekaddict: Wilson will long remain one fo the most devious people to ever hold the office of PM. And he's up against some stiff competition!
Kurt_Steiner: I love "Yes Minister", and there probably is a bit of that in this AAR (although I also love the "House of Cards" trilogy and "First Among Equals").
El Pip: Monckton's sympathetic portrayal in this AAR is fairly accurate (but I would say that!) in that he was a reasonably capable politician trying to do his best for Blighty. I do think that any British Ambassador to Germany would struggle in Spring/Summer 1941, as the Germans don't really care about Britain now that she has been silenced. As Monckton starts to falter, who will help him?
BritishImperial: I wanted, in the last update, to show something completely out of kilter with the world around it. Monckton and his Embassy can play cricket and drink Pimms, but only a couple of hours' flying time away you have this epic contest just beginning.
Phargle: Following on from the update above, I wanted to also have this looming tension hanging over the European scene. I think that most reasonably informed politicians would know that something was coming, but would form their opinions in answering the
what and
where of the puzzle.
Nathan Madien: I hear you! You'll be pleased to know that the war has started...
BritishImperial: 
Nathan Madien: Cricket is wonderful, even if we're usually rubbish at it...
El Pip/BritishImperial/Nathan Madien: :rofl:
