Chapter 139, Cowes, 2 August 1941
The season, which had proven (so far) an improvement on last year’s austere, faltering affair, had moved to the Isle of Wight for “Cowes Week”, the relaxed, informal week of sailing that had so vexed Kaiser Wilhelm and Edward VII a generation ago. Managing to be upmarket yet relaxed, the only formality was an occasional brass band and a general disdain for ‘show-offs’. Although generally unwelcome, there were a few Europeans, almost entirely from neutral nations. There were more Americans, in sleek yachts and trim jackets, fitting in with the ‘clubby’ atmosphere and usually avoiding the lazy stereotypes of ‘loud, brash, ostentatious’ that languid Englishmen could pronounce so easily.
Lord Hankey, First Lord of the Admiralty, was enjoying his visit to Cowes. He and Vice Admiral Holland, commanding the Channel Squadron of the Home Fleet, were particularly welcome guests; the two men had anchored the Squadron in the Solent and the fireworks display on the opening night had taken place with the impressive backdrop of HMS Barham. Barham’s guns had been fired to start the races, and the Ship’s Company had ‘volunteered’ to show guests around her upperdeck. The Ship’s band had been brought ashore to entertain the revellers and the battleship had “dressed ship” to welcome the Lord Mayor of Portsmouth whilst her spotter aircraft had given regular updates on the progress of the races. It was as if the Navy, under their amiable political head, was trying to assist the efforts of society to enjoy themselves.
Yet Hankey could sense that all was still not well. The yachts were fewer in number, their masters less impressive and the tone more nostalgic than optimistic. Hankey wondered whether many in the Cabinet realised how much the brief war had affected Britain. For all the gentle “summer dance” atmosphere of the regatta and the underlying might of Barham and her escorts, the eyes of those attending belied their apprehensions. France, just beyond the horizon, was now a fascist, hostile country and still possessed not only a powerful fleet but a huge, modernised army. And then there was Germany: for all the rhetoric of peace between the Empire and the Reich, many wondered whether Hitler, after his epic struggle in Russia, wouldn’t turn to finish off little England next. For all Barham’s strength, she and her sister ships couldn’t be everywhere. Then there was the misery of life at home; many of the blazers and jumpers so casually worn by these well-heeled guests, Hankey noted, were worn, frayed, patched-up, a bit like Britain herself. The talk was of tough times ahead, of unions appeased just that one time too many, of an increasing lack of deference and respect. An ironworks in Hull had recently and spectacularly caught fire: the lack of safety precaution had resulted in needless deaths.
No wonder, he thought to himself as he arrived at yet another yacht club lawn party,
that we’re turning to whimsy. His remark was prompted in large part by the arrival of David Niven, the charming young actor who had just finished yet another light-hearted film, this one called
The Adjutant. Playing a slightly caddish Guards officer who elopes with the daughter of a bishop, it was yet another one of the “society comedies” that was dominating British filmmaking. Niven, the son of an Army officer and himself formerly of the Highland Light Infantry had at least brought some authenticity to the part; he had refused to portray the Army in a bad light, had insisted that his character’s regiment had been named the (wholly fictional) English Guards, and had also succeeded in getting the part of the Guards’ CO, Colonel Barnaby, played by Basil Rathbone and not the Moore Marriott: the latter habitually played older characters whilst Rathbone would only bring gentle humour (rather than the mocking that Moore Marriott would bring) and a powerful on-screen presence.
“Lord Hankey,” the club’s treasurer, Wright, made the introductions. “This is Niven, the actor.”
“Delighted to meet you My Lord,” Niven shook Hankey’s hand warmly.
Hankey knew that his daughters would never forgive him for giving a poor recollection of the meeting later: like many Englishwomen they found Niven charming. Hankey smiled at the young actor. “Ah, our young Adjutant? Are you relaxing, or researching a new role?”
Niven smiled. “Actually this is my last week in England. I’m off to America on Tuesday.”
“More films? My wife particularly liked you in
Charge of the Light Brigade.”
Niven smiled. “And Your Lordship?”
“I preferred
Wuthering Heights actually. But don’t tell the Admiral that: he’ll doubt my warlike nature!” Hankey jerked a thumb in the direction of Holland.
Niven laughed. “I’m going to try and persuade Samuel Goldwyn to take me back. Which he might not do: I’ve not made a film for him for nearly two years.” Niven had the slightest trace of apprehension.
“How could you raise your profile? You’ve made a lot of films over here haven’t you?”
Niven smiled sadly. “None of them will cut any ice with Sam Goldwyn. He wants a big film, not a small English comedy.”
Hankey nodded, he had read of the difficulties actors faced after being ‘demobbed’. “Would a large-scale production over here help? Something epic, about the war perhaps?”
“Yes, but what did you have in mind?”
“I think, as does Anthony Eden, that we should stop shying away from our wartime experiences: our servicemen deserve better. We want to make a film about the Army and Navy’s experiences, something patriotic to raise morale. You were there, you served.”
“In England, My Lord. My battalion never made it to France.”
Hankey nodded. But he pointed a bony finger at Niven. “But you at least wore the uniform. You came home to serve your country. That matters a great deal to the people of this nation. And I think that we can serve your interests as well as Britain’s. Or do you like sugary stories about elopements?”
Hankey left Niven with a knowing smile and the First Lord’s calling card. He then found himself besieged by the usual society types: officers’ wives who wanted assurance that their husbands would be safe, country types who held extreme views, and, increasingly, businessmen who wanted a strong Royal Navy (but at the cheapest cost possible) to protect their interests. He found Colonel the Honourable Nicholas Keane, an old friend from his Royal Marine days and an enthusiastic Hampshire yachtsman and the two men enjoyed a much-needed scotch.
“Maurice,” Keane began, familiar enough to avoid a more formal address. “How is the job? Still enjoying being Lord Harmless’ henchman?”
Hankey rolled his eyes. “There’s much more to the job than that, Nick. The Navy needs friends in Parliament. They’re so,” he paused to think of the appropriate word, “short-sighted, bouncing from one election to the next. I had a difficult time getting the new light carriers through, never mind the battleships.”
Keane chuckled, and seamlessly guided Hankey to an elegant, well-groomed (and very tall) guest who was twirling a cigar as he chatted to a giggling young woman. He had a bald, domed head, ringed with a thinning line of reddish-brown hair. “First Lord,” Keane began, making the introductions, “may I introduce you to ‘Jonah’ Jones, he belongs to the Royal Southampton Club, but we tolerate him.”
“I rescue the bloody trophy and he treats me thus,” Jones replied, shaking Hankey’s hand.
“I understand,” Hankey said absent-mindedly, “that you found the trophy in Wales?”
“Second-hand shop in Cardiff. Cost me thirty-five pounds!” Jones chuckled, whilst Hankey was wondering why on Earth Keane had forced this introduction. “Actually, First Lord, I have a feeling that I might be of use to you.”
“You do?” Hankey was alert now, waiting for what an American friend called the “pitch”. He was not waiting for long.
“I happen, in an advisory capacity, to sit on the board of Armstrong Whitworths”.
Ah, Hankey understood,
you are circling over the Ansons. As the new battleships were assembled on the slipways, talk had turned to their armament. Hankey had argued, passionately, for seventeen or eighteen inch guns. But British industry was struggling, and the latest forecast from the Royal Gun Factory, the lead contractor for arming the four battleships, was that sixteen, or even fifteen inch guns were the best that could be done. “And what, Captain Jones, does that have to do with me?”
“Well, First Lord, I think we may be in a position to save the Ansons.”
“Go on,” said Hankey, carefully hiding the hope growing within.
“Well, our engineers think that we can build a sixteen and a half inch gun for the new ships.”
“How many, Jones, and how soon?” Hankey saw the smile on Jones’ face and knew that he knew. As Lord Halifax would say, ‘he’s cast a line and got a bite from a big fish’.
“Well, First Lord, you are committed to the following naval building programme. He held a ‘Commissioning List’, a forecast to industry of the Naval orders.
“You know that Harland Wolff can be left alone to build your carriers for you, just as your Scottish shipyards will finish off your cruiser and destroyer programmes.”
“But, you’re worried that in the spring HMS Anson will be ready for sea trials without any firm commitment on her armament. You know that if this farce continued your nightmare would be the ships’ completion date pushed back as you modify them to take whatever guns you could mount on them. Am I correct?”
“Unfortunately, Jones, you are entirely correct.”
“We are in a position, in our Elswick factory, to modify our tools and plant to make you triple sixteen and a half inch guns and mountings.”
“Like the Nelsons?”
“Not quite, these will be based on the BL fifteen inchers.”
“But they’re museum pieces! The Queen Elizabeths and R Class have them!”
“But, First Lord, these will be capable guns and can be quickly produced.”
“Yeees,” Hankey replied evasively, offering a weak smile. “Perhaps you could call upon me officially in Whitehall to explore any potential contract.”
“Excellent, First Lord. Of course, this could be the start of a long alliance. Perhaps we could start to plan the successors to the Ansons?”
Hankey rolled his eyes. He had privately agonised over the longer-term building programme. The admirals were desperate to secure another battleship programme, ostensibly to replace antiquated R Class (and eventually the Queen Elizabeth Class) Battleships that had served the Empire well for decades; although Hankey wryly surmised that a way would be found to keep these ships “in reserve”. Some, the Fleet Air Arm particularly, advocated new and bigger aircraft carriers. Hankey, though brought up in “the battleship school” realised that carriers were useful. He had therefore privately decided to split the funding to give the Royal Navy a fighting chance in either field. But all that was in the future, beyond the remit of this conversation. “Captain Jones,” Hankey said with warmth, watching as Jones’ eyes alighted on the young lady. “You have scored one success, perhaps I should retire to let you complete another.”
[Game Effect] – Rubbish, soppy rubbish, I know, but I wanted a chatty, fairly harmless update which isn’t epic or terribly important.
I like Lord Hankey as First Lord and am confident that he can be trusted to come up with sensible decisions (if a tad too battleship centric) whilst in office. Whilst lacking the skills necessary for the cut and thrust of Parliamentary debate, and probably proving hopeless in elections, he was nevertheless an excellent Whitehall operator who, through his Civil Service (and military) background had a much more detailed ‘vision’ of his department than some of his other ministerial colleagues. Hence his long-sighted considerations for the fleet. After the frankly massive SHBBs of the Anson Class (essentially, expect a cross between the Lions and the Vanguards) I think that any future battleships would have to be smaller – the bigger yards would probably get involved with carrier construction and having built monsters the importance of having numbers would probably dominate discussion. Expect modern BBs – if they prove necessary (not telling you what happens). I’ve given the Ansons 16.5” guns, probably the best that British industry could do (and if I’m being really honest, they’d probably end up with 16”) even if I wanted HMS Anson to have 17” or 18”, through Captain Jones’ little deal.
Jones was an interesting character, who really did rescue the Queen’s Cup from a shop in Cardiff. I wanted to introduce him but lacked motive – hence, (fictionally) he lands a job with Armstrong Whitworth to give him a reason to ambush Hankey.
As you can see, the age of respect for rank, and the power of the establishment is still here, and with a hereditary peer as PM not under too much threat from the political class. But, things are a changing – with the economy becoming even more important and the genuine desire to escape austerity I think that some breaking down of barriers would have happened. I also think that the British, faced with international embarrassment and domestic woe would turn to light-hearted media. So Niven, back in England (presumably, he has been demobbed after returning to Britain to join up: though he famously told some senior RAF officers to “fuck off” and ended up – against his wishes – in the Rifles) finds work in light comedies: does this mean and earlier ‘golden age’ for the classic 1950s style comedies?
Trekaddict: You may be right, but Halifax would never simply pick up the phone or send Woolton round to the White House with his instructions – he would establish what we could his “baseline” and work from there.
El Pip: I think it definitely was “the straw that broke the camel’s back”. As for the Far East, well the UK is far less ‘good’ (sorry for the bad grammar) at fighting wars. And the command setup in the Far East, as you’ll see soon, is awful.
Trekaddict:
Arilou: That’s actually a tad unfair – relying as it does on a number of “what ifs” that both I and the AI could thwart.
El Pip: Oh God, not you too! Didn’t realise that this was becoming predictable.
Enewald:
Nathan Madien: At this stage, God alone knows. If the Embassy decides to follow it up then the Americans may take greater notice, but at this stage a polite reply from State is the best that Halifax will probably get.
El Pip: Would FDR get on with Halifax? Historically it took ages, and by then Halifax was sidelined by Churchill, Eden, Dill, and Brooke. So it is a bit of an unknown, although I doubt that they’d become friends.
The Executer: That was a horrific image. And God knows what Halifax, with his prosthetic hand, would be capable of...
MITSGS John: A good point. On the classic FDR question of “is he someone I can handle” the answer re: Halifax is probably “God knows, for he is such a reticent old bugger”. But, if FDR relies on Harry Hopkins, who has seen nothing but Parliamentary chaos and weakness internationally, the future might be grim.
DonnieBaseball: The problem with Halifax is that he took ages to reconcile his contradictory feeling on America and Americans. That was as ambassador, IRL. As PM, it’ll be even worse.
Nathan Madien: Agreed, FDR will be careful.
El Pip: A dream scenario – but no doubt Lord H will mess it up.
Morsky:
MITSGS John: GOC Singapore is a nonentity, Lt Gen Floyer-Acland. GOC Hong Kong is Franklyn, and both command the basic garrisons, as well as 2 x INF divisions in their respective cities. In Singapore, the INF forces up the peninsula are nominally (for AAR purposes) under GOC Singapore’s command. A fuller update (with lovely diagram) coming up soon.
Bafflegab: You’re right, but we’re talking about Halifax here!