History of England 1-6

In time, the use of buses, theatres, concert halls and even churches was prohibited to all but those of German stock. The intent was to kill or drive out all but a rump population, kept alive solely to furnish the Greater Germany with slave labour, leaving the land ‘free’ for German settlement. Polish children were given a bare minimum of education, the most important task of such ‘education’ being to engender in them a sense of inferiority to their conquerors. This was to prove a template for later conquests. A policy of removing elements considered ‘unfit’, ‘undesirable’, ‘degenerate’ or ‘useless’ commenced. In suburban Brandenburg a euthanasia centre was established, where the insane and mentally impaired were destroyed.

Anxiety and terror were the responses of those in England who listened to the wireless and accurately heeded the signs: horror at the rapid German advance and fear that the ‘Blitzkrieg’, or ‘lightning war’ would soon be visited upon their own country. The term well evoked the successive shock, terror and destruction that characterized the German military approach. Soon enough Britain would feel the force of its first wave. Hitler teased his next victim cruelly. At a rally he proclaimed, ‘They are asking themselves in England, “When will he come? Will he come?” I tell you: He is coming.’

Norway had done its best to remain neutral, but the Reich had invaded anyway. The Allies had sent forces against the great battleships that heaved their way up the fjords, but were soon obliged to withdraw. Britain’s first active engagement with the enemy had ended in humiliation at Narvik. On 7 May, the mood in the House of Commons was incandescent. Lloyd George openly called for Chamberlain to ‘sacrifice the seals of office’. Before proposing a division, Herbert Morrison of Labour reminded the House that defeat would be ‘a fatal and terrible thing for this country and, indeed, for the future of the human race’. Most celebrated is the appeal of Leo Amery, who, invoking Cromwell, urged: ‘In the name of God, go.’ The stern, succinct reproaches of Sir Roger Keyes, a war hero who had bedecked himself in full uniform for the occasion, carried perhaps more weight than anything. His refusal to blame any individual or party, and simple protest that it ‘was not the Navy’s fault’ was eloquent enough. As for Churchill, he had been reinstated as First Lord of the Admiralty on the day that war was declared, and thus felt bound to support the government he had so relentlessly attacked, whatever his private misgivings. When the results of the division were announced, the government found that its majority had been reduced to double figures. It was a defeat in all but name.

On 10 May, Chamberlain asked Clement Attlee and the Liberals whether they would be prepared to join a coalition government. Attlee’s polite but firm response was that the party’s National Executive Committee must be consulted before any decision was made; they confirmed that Labour would not serve with Chamberlain as prime minister. The jibe ‘If at first you don’t concede, fly, fly, fly again’ had been thrown at him for months, but now he could concede with honour. That evening he resigned. Lord Halifax was regarded as more reliable than Churchill, but he knew that he was not the man to lead the nation at such a time; Churchill immediately assembled a war cabinet of all parties and persuasions.

On the day of Chamberlain’s resignation, German forces invaded Belgium and France. Churchill promised the House ‘only blood, toil, tears and sweat’. These all soon poured out as the British Expeditionary Force – sent to France in September 1939 – fled to the coast. Britain was isolated and seemed likely to be crushed, but Halifax believed peace could be salvaged from the wreckage of honour. On 25 May, he proposed to the war cabinet that Italy be approached as mediator between Britain and Germany. Many in the cabinet had expressed admiration for Mussolini, Churchill among them; surely the Duce could be persuaded to soften the demands of the German enemy? In the following days, Churchill left the Italian option open, but at the last, seeing his war cabinet inclined to a dishonourable peace, he suddenly recalled both duty and panache. On 28 May, he appealed to the twentyfive members of the outer cabinet: ‘If this long island story of ours is to end,’ he declared, ‘let it end when each of us lies choking in his own blood on the ground.’