An English weekend. – The French: Weygand and Pétain.– Halifax and the Italian ambassador. – Churchill and the Defence Committee. – “Depression is quite definitely up.”
Over most of Europe and England the weather was beautiful in May 1940 — relendess sunshine pouring over the land, the calmest of seas (which was to be a blessing for the British once the sea haul from Dunkirk back to Dover began). None of the great capital cities of the warring nations had, as yet, the experience of bombs raining down upon them. Everyday life went on in London, as it went on in Berlin and Paris, although in London, unlike in Paris or Berlin, sandbagged small barricades with armed sentries went up before some of the principal government buildings. Still there was a special quality of the calmness of London on a Saturday, because of the English weekend habit. A vignette of 25 May, Saturday, from Evelyn Waugh’s wartime diary: “This morning, just as the battalion had decided that its training was so deficient that we must break up into cadres, the Brigadier, having boasted that we would have held Boulogne, reported us as trained and ready for service. Cadre training will continue. The major put in charge has eluded all responsibility and left me in charge of the NCO’S cadre. … At midday Saturday, Laura and I set off for an idyllic weekend at Alton in the Swan Hotel. A charming town not only devoid of military but full of personable young civilians of military age. A hotel full of foliage plants and massive, elaborate furniture. We went to church, read P. G. Wodehouse (who has been lost along the Channel ports),1 watched old men in panama hats play bowl, and forgot the war.”2
The “London News and Comment” column of the Scotsman reported on 25 May: “During these days of anxiety, London life proceeds with every outward appearance of normality. On the surface, at least, it is difficult to find signs comparable with the uneasiness which prevailed in the first few days of September when the realities of war were yet to come.” West End shopping streets were “far from deserted.” The list of entertainments in the newspapers was long and varied.3 Both the Daily Mail and the Daily Express printed half pages of holiday advertisements for places on the southern coast of England.4 The Manchester Guardian advertised a vacation in Paris: “STAY IN PARIS near the Opera and the Grands Boulevards. Ambassador, 16, Boulevard Haussmann. Room (running water and private w.c.) from 55 Frs. Special rates for members of Allied forces.”
Allied forces notwithstanding, there was a prewar tone and touch to this and other advertisements of the daily newspapers. There was no prewar tone in the deliberations of the highest council of the French who met that Saturday evening. It was postwar rather than prewar: postwar in the sense that the supreme commander of the French army was proposing an ending of the war, that is, surrender, to Hitler.
There were many in France — many more than in England—who did not have their hearts in the war. There were such people in the government and among the representatives elected to the Chambers. There were at least three reasons for their state of mind, reasons on different levels, involving also people with different inclinations. Perhaps instead of “reasons” we should say “elements.” The overwhelming element was the memory of the last war, in which France had lost 1.4 million men. The French population now was aged, especially when compared to those of Germany and Italy. There were almost three times as many Germans and Italians of military age as there were Frenchmen. Yet defeatism was not widespread among the French people, not even after the Black Fortnight of May 1940. The civilian population showed a remarkable degree of quiet discipline, behaving better than did some of the soldiers, especially those of the Ninth Army at the Meuse. That would change once the German onslaught approached French towns and villages. Then there would follow an enormous wave of mass flight and panic, but not much of that had occurred, as yet, in May.
The French politicians were divided. Many of them thought—and muttered, rather than said openly—that France should not have gone to war in September 1939. Again, as in so many other countries, the division was not so much between Right and Left as between two Rights: between those who thought that this war was a mistake and others who thought that France, because of her traditions and honor, had no other choice. Did the former consider that if France were to acquiesce in the German (and Italian) domination of all of Europe, except perhaps for the few democracies on the western edge of the Continent, this would reduce France to the state of a Belgium or a Holland, to a timorous neutrality, hardly able — and unwilling — to oppose almost anything that Hitler or Mussolini would demand? Even after nearly sixty years we cannot answer this question, because the antiwar politicians had not put this question to themselves. For many of them, their motives were ideological as much as political. They thought that France would be better off seeking an accommodation with Mussolini than becoming dependent on England. Anglophobia, rather than pro-Fascism, was the common denominator of these preferences, ideas, and sentiments, yet in many cases it included an ideological element. They were convinced not only that the British were hypocritical and selfish but that their system and their view of the world were old and probably useless, which was not the case with the new order of Mussolini or, alas, of Hitler either.
The events of the Black Fortnight activated these sentiments. Those who held them blamed not the wretched performance of some of their own army but the British. The British and the Anglophile politicians in Paris, this reasoning went, had gotten France into this war. After that the British sent but a few divisions and a few squadrons of airplanes to France, and now they were retreating to the Channel ports, abandoning the French. They were also false; they were not telling the French what they were doing. There was some reason to arrive at such conclusions. We have seen that the British, including Churchill, were considering withdrawal to the ports and evacuation to England days before the twenty-fifth of May. The previous night Reynaud had telegraphed to Churchill that the British army “was no longer conforming to General Weygand’s plan and has withdrawn toward the Channel ports.” Churchill had answered, “We have every reason to believe that Gort is still persevering in his southward move.” This was not so. Two British divisions were withdrawing from Arras. Churchill knew that the “Weygand plan,” the joint Franco-British counterattack, amounted to nothing: “Nothing in the movement of the B.E.F. of which we are aware can be any excuse for the abandonment of the strong pressure of your northward move across the Somme, which we trust will develop.”5 There was no such pressure, strong or weak, and Churchill must have known that develop it would not. There was a War Cabinet at 11:30. Churchill informed his colleagues of his exchange with Reynaud, adding: “No doubt the action taken had been forced on Lord Gort by the position in which he had found himself. Nevertheless, he should at once have informed us of the action which he had taken, and the French had grounds for complaint. But this was no time for recriminations.”6
General Weygand and Marshal Pétain thought that the time had come for recriminations — and then some. Weygand was the newly appointed commander-in-chief, Pétain a national hero from the First World War whom Reynaud had appointed as his vice premier but three days before. They distrusted the British, and they were opposed to the Anglo-French alliance from the beginning. There were many indications of this, especially on the part of Pétain, who knew that he had his partisans. The previous day Pierre Laval, after 1935 a convinced Anglophobe, spoke to an Italian diplomat in Paris, whose report to Rome is telling: “Laval thinks that more than ever it has become indispensable and urgent to establish contact with Rome.” It is “the only way to talk with Hitler. The present government will not do that. A Pétain-Laval government must come.”7
At seven in the evening of 25 May the highest council, the Comité de Guerre, convened in Paris. Present were the president of the Republic, Albert Lebrun; Premier Reynaud; Pétain; Weygand; two other ministers; two other generals; and the secretary of the Comité de Guerre, a Pétain follower. Weygand began with a long account. The military situation, he said, was impossible and hopeless. “We have to fight one against three.” “We will be smashed.” What remains, then, is that “each portion of the army must fight until exhausted, to save the honor of the country.” Then came Weygand’s conclusion: “France had committed the immense mistake to enter into the war without the material or the military doctrine that were needed. It is probable that [France] will have to pay dearly for this criminal thoughtlessness.”
Then the president of the Republic, Lebrun, spoke: “We are committed not to sign a separate peace.” (In March the French and British governments made such a reciprocal commitment.) “Still — if Germany offers us conditions that are relatively advantageous, we must examine them closely and with calm heads.”8 Weygand agreed. Reynaud intervened: “If we were presented with a peace offer, France, in any case, must tell the British.… We are bound by a formal commitment.” Now Pétain: “I question whether there is a complete reciprocity with the British.… Actually they have given only two divisions while eighty French divisions are still fighting.” Reynaud considered, “An exchange of views with England may be justified, if only because one may ask them whether they would be ready to agree to important sacrifices to prevent Italy from entering the war.” There was a brave countermove by the minister of the navy, Campinchi: “The loyalty of France must not be risked; a peace treaty must never be signed by France without a previous agreement with England. [I am] not entirely in agreement with Marshal Pétain when the Marshal compares the military contribution of the two nations. … If this government had given its word to England, perhaps another government might feel less bound to the signing of a peace treaty without the former agreement with England.” But “being unfortunate is one thing; being disloyal another. It is urgent now to talk to the English.”
There was another verbal skirmish between Campinchi and Weygand. Reynaud then declared that he would go to London the next day to explain “clearly the situation to the English: the inequality of fighting with one against four; but that nonetheless the French government was ready to continue the struggle even if it would be fighting for one’s honor.” He would ask the English what would happen if Paris were to fall. Their response might be, “You are bound by your signature; you must fight even when hopeless.” But Weygand had the last word. The total destruction of the French armed forces, fighting to the end only to save their honor? “We must preserve the instruments of order. What troubles would result if the last organized force, that is the Army, is destroyed?” “The English must be sounded on all these questions.”9 Reynaud consented. The entire meeting took two and a half hours.
A few hours before this momentous gathering of the French leaders in Paris (the essence of which the British remained unaware), Lord Halifax chose to make an attempt of his own. He asked the Italian ambassador, Giuseppe Bastianini, to meet him that afternoon. This was somewhat unusual since it occurred on the weekend, which many people in Britain, among them foreign ambassadors and Halifax himself, still observed. The tone of their conversation, including Halifax’s careful and sober language, was of course very different from what Weygand and Pétain were saying in the depressive and agitated climate of the French Council of War. Yet their purposes were not entirely different: to prevent Italy from entering the war, with concessions, if necessary—and, concealed behind his matter, the suggestion that Mussolini might be instrumental in bringing about a “general European settlement.”
We must, at this point, consider the — in retrospect, surprising — importance of Italy among the European, indeed world powers in the 1930s. Mussolini’s prestige was such that when, in 1935-36, he decided to move Italy from a possibly anti-German coalition to the German side, this weighed much more in the European balance of power than the contemporary commitment (1934-35) of Stalin’s Soviet Union to enter into a military alliance with France and thus join the anti-Hitler front. With the Italian conquest of Abyssinia and then of Albania, Bismarck’s once-acid comment to the effect that Italy had a good appetite but poor teeth was largely forgotten. Added to this was the impression that Mussolini had been principally instrumental, prevailing with Hitler in bringing about the Munich conference in September 1938, one step away from the abyss of war. Within France, admiration for Mussolini had a definite ideological element; within Britain, less so. Yet it was Chamberlain’s stubborn wish to curry favor with Mussolini that precipitated Anthony Eden’s resignation and Halifax’s assumption of the foreign secretaryship in February 1938 (Churchill’s sleepless night). This was preceded by joint intrigues between Italian agents and some of Chamberlain’s people (including Sir Joseph Ball, a minor version of Horace Wilson), including the tapping of telephone conversations. In January 1939 Chamberlain and Halifax visited Rome, without much result. In May 1939 Italy signed a “Steel Pact” with Germany. In September 1939 Mussolini’s decision of “non-belligerence,” meaning that Italy would not yet enter the war, brought relief to London and Paris. But then Mussolini began to range himself on Hitler’s side more and more unconditionally. As late as April 1940 Halifax still thought that Mussolini might not do so.10 But there were fewer and fewer reasons for the British to doubt that Mussolini would enter the war, sooner rather than later.
Then came the triumphant march of the Germans across northern France. On 16 May Churchill wrote an impressive letter to Mussolini: “I beg you to believe that it is in no spirit of weakness or of fear that I make this solemn appeal which will remain on record. Down the ages above all other calls came the cry that the joint heirs of Latin and Christian civilization must not be ranged against one another in mortal strife.” Two days later came Mussolini’s answer: “If it was to honour your signature that your Government declared war on Germany, you will understand that the same sense of honour and of respect for engagements assumed in the Italian-German Treaty guided Italian policy today and tomorrow in the face of any event whatsoever.” Churchill: “The response was hard. It had at least the merit of candour.”11
This exchange was not communicated to the Italian ambassador in London. Bastianini, though an early Fascist, was neither an Anglophobe nor a committed Germanophile. It is not possible to ascertain whether the initiative leading to his talk with Halifax came from him or from Halifax’s side: probably the latter.12 Around 20 May Bastianini had met with Lord Phillimore, who reported their conversation to Butler, who was enthusiastic: “Hitler would listen to [Mussolini] and him alone, even now.”13 Halifax did not tell Churchill this, but he thought it prudent to inform the War Cabinet on 25 May that “at the invitation of a third party a meeting had taken place between Sir Robert Vansittart and a member of the staff of the Italian Embassy.” This man (whose name was Paresci) said that “if His Majesty’s Government saw their way to make an approach to the Italian Government, with a view to exploring the possibilities of a friendly settlement, there need be no fear of their meeting with a rebuff.” Halifax was treading gingerly. “After consulting with the Prime Minister, the Foreign Secretary had been authorized to pursue the matter further.” There would be a second meeting between Vansittart and the Italian. “Very likely nothing might come of all this. Nevertheless, even if the result were merely to gain time, it would be valuable.” Churchill said that he did not object to the meeting but cautioned that “it must not, of course, be accompanied by any publicity, since that would amount to a confession of weakness.”14
Halifax met Bastianini that afternoon. He reported their conversation in considerable detail: “It was quite true that we had intended to make an approach, in appropriate form, to certain political questions … and in any such approach we should have wished to make plain our desire that Italy should naturally take her proper place at a peace conference by the side of the belligerents. … If and when we should receive an indication that our approach might be received with due consideration, we should be prepared to carry the matter further and deal with it in greater detail.… [It] might serve to open the way to the treatment of other questions, always provided that we could approach these questions on the basis of the frankest recognition of the rights and necessities of both parties.” Bastianini answered that he would of course immediately pass on what Halifax had said to his government, adding, however, that it had always been Mussolini’s view that “the settlement of problems between Italy and any other country should be part of a general European settlement.” Bastianini asked Halifax “whether he might inform his Government that His Majesty’s Government considered it opportune now to examine the question at issue between our two countries within the larger framework of a European settlement.”15
Halifax said that he “had always thought, if any discussions were to be held with a view of solving European questions and building a peaceful Europe, that matters which caused anxiety to Italy must certainly be discussed as part of the general European settlement.” Now Bastianini moved a bit forward. “He would like to know whether His Majesty’s Government would consider it possible to discuss general questions involving not only Great Britain and Italy, but other countries.” He meant Germany, of course. “On my saying [Halifax] that it was difficult to visualize such wide discussions while the war was still preceding,” the ambassador replied that, “once such a discussion were begun, war would be pointless.” Mussolini, said Bastianini, was concerned to build a settlement “that would not merely be an armistice but would protect European peace for the century.” Halifax said, “The purpose of His Majesty’s Government was the same, and they would never be unwilling to consider any proposal made with authority that gave promise of the establishment of a secure and peaceful Europe.” To this Bastianini “warmly agreed”: “He would like to be able to inform Signor Mussolini that His Majesty’s Government did not exclude the possibility of some discussion of the wider problems of Europe in the event of the opportunity arising.” “This I told [Bastianini] he could certainly do.”16
This is Halifax’s carefully worded précis of his talk with the Italian ambassador. Bastianini’s record of their conversation is not very different, except that in his version, unlike Halifax’s, Germany, as such, was mentioned. According to Bastianini, Halifax, among other matters, “fully recognized the special relationship of Italy with Germany,” and that in accord with Bastianini’s personal opinion, “the problem of the Italian-British relationship cannot be considered, given the actual situation and the special Italian-German relationship, except in the greater and more enduring framework of a just and enduring European settlement.”17
There is nothing about this significant conversation (indeed, not a single mention of Bastianini) in Halifax’s bland memoirs or, perhaps more significantly, in his diaries. According to Roberts, Halifax’s biographer: “In September 1948 Lord Ismay persuaded Churchill to excise a passage in Volume Two of his War Memoirs, which dealt with the Bastianini affair and read, The Foreign Secretary showed himself willing to go a long way.’ Churchill magnanimously went so far as to alter the passage.” In reality, Churchill omitted the entire matter. “Halifax showed little thanks.”18
That same afternoon, 25 May, Hitler dictated an unusually verbose letter to Mussolini. Hitler knew that Mussolini had decided to enter the war, probably within the next fortnight, which is why it does not behoove us to analyze this long epistle in detail, except perhaps for one matter: Hitler, in passing, wrote about the temporary halt of the German spearheads before Dunkirk (adding that the corrupt press of the Western Powers drew false conclusions from that, which was not the case), assuring Mussolini that it would last not more than two days. This was so: he lifted the halt order the next day.
Churchill’s Saturday schedule was unusually full but perhaps not extraordinary. There was a cabinet meeting at 11:30. The Attlees came for lunch in Admiralty House. At 5:30 he met the Defence Committee in Downing Street, where the discussion mostly concerned the situation in Flanders and the Belgians.19 The British did not know what the king of Belgium, Leopold III, had said to three of his ministers that day: “The cause of the Allies is lost.… No doubt England will continue the war, not on the Continent, but on the seas and in the colonies, but Belgium can play no part in it. Her role is terminated.… There is no reason for us to continue the war on the side of the Allies.” (He also said that Queen Wilhelmina of Holland ought not to stay in Britain.)20
General Ismay sent a paper to Churchill about the prospect of a German intervention in Ireland, which he doubted.21 At 8:30 “Lord Beaverbrook, Prof. Lindemann, Mr Bracken to dinner.” Churchill was still full of energy. Immediately after dinner, at 10:00 P.M., there was a second Defence Committee meeting in his quarters in Admiralty House. It was now evident that there was no chance for a southward move of some of the BEF, coordinated with the French. “Having regard to the practical certainty that no effective French offensive was likely to be launched from south of the Somme for some considerable time, the view was generally expressed that an immediate march to the coast was the right course.” (They did not know that Gort had definitely abandoned the Weygand plan by 6 P.M. that day and that from that moment on every British unit was moving west and north, to the coast.) “If we were now to decide on a move to the ports, we must make certain of Dunkirk. There were said to be two French Divisions in Dunkirk, but they were neither of them reliable.” (This was not true.)
Then Churchill made a somber and dramatic pronouncement. He “would not be at all surprised if a peace offer was made to the French, having regard to their weak position and to the likelihood of an attack on France by Italy. If France went out of the war, she must, however, make it a condition that our Army was allowed to leave France intact, and to take away its munitions, and that the soil of France was not used for an attack on England. Further, France must retain her Fleet. If an offer were made on these terms, he [the prime minister] would accept it, and he thought that we could hold out in this country once we had got our Army back from France.”22
This was extraordinary. Churchill knew nothing about the sorry deliberations of the French high council, which had adjourned in Paris only an hour or so before. There is no evidence that Churchill’s speculation about a possible peace offering to France was the result of confidential or secret intelligence information that had been made available to him at that moment; it rather seems that this somber speculation was his own. At the same time his phrasing suggests that he had few hopes of extricating the BEF from its situation. That is why one of his last orders to Ironside that day was to tell Brigadier Nicholson in Calais to hold out to the very end: “Defence of Calais to the utmost is of the highest importance to our country and our Army now.”23 That night, he replaced Ironside with General John Dill as chief of the Imperial General Staff. (The official announcement was not made till the twenty-seventh.)
It was now evident that Sunday, a few hours away, would be an agitated day, to say the least. Churchill requested that the War Cabinet meet as early as 9 a.m.
Again it is remarkable how little of all this could be found in the newspapers.24 There is no evidence that this was due to selfcensorship; the private letters and diaries of the newspaper owners show that they were not privy to any information about the prospect of France actually dropping out of the war.
Even so, on 25 May the leading articles and the commentaries in the newspapers were more somber and realistic than they had been during the previous days. For the first time their emphasis was less on the battle in France than on the invasion threat to Britain. The leader in the Daily Express read: “The threat to this island grows nearer and nearer. While the people of Britain wait anxiously for news of their soldiers over the Channel, they must prepare for the onslaught which may come upon their own soil.” The Daily Mail, while praising Churchill (he is “proving himself to us and to the world the supreme leader. He has put heart into his own people and their allies”), “If Hitler consolidates his hold on the Channel ports, the onslaught on these shores will be at hand.” One exception was by the military correspondent of the Daily Herald: “To evacuate by sea—or force a junction with the French on the Somme. The latter alternative would seem infinitely preferable and more practicable.” Practicable? By 25 May it was out of the question. The News Chronicle admitted that Boulogne had fallen: “That is bad news, and the enemy’s latest claims suggest that there may be worse to come.” Even if “the outcome should be that the B.E.F. had to hack its way through the Nazi ring and leave the Channel ports to the Germans for the time being [my italics], there would be no need for us to take a catastrophic view of the position. There can be no large-scale invasion of this country until the Germans have overcome our sea-power — and they are very far from achieving that.” But what about the air? One photo in the News Chronicle showed German prisoners of war in France. Another, less encouraging one showed a sentry standing guard beside a road in the south of England; the alarm, to be rung in an emergency, was a battered oil can.
There was general anxiety about fifth columnists, some of it funny, like the letters to the editor of the Times, printed on 27 May by a J. M. Darroch: “Sir — It was with much pleasure and amusement that I observed this morning that you have seen fit to publish the news of Sir Oswald Mosley’s arrest in the fifth column of today’s issue.” A reporter from the Daily Telegraph wormed his way into a meeting of “the Link,” the Anglo-German society: “Still Unbroken.” There were about forty people. “The lecturer asserted that the war was caused by international financiers.… The Germans were only ‘technically’ our enemies.” In the Daily Mirror: “Shipping circles in Bristol are concerned that two Germans, mother and son, are still allowed to carry on their business as foreigners at Avonmouth.” (The mother and the son were Jewish refugees.) Mixed in with this anxiety about spies and foreigners and refugees was a certain persistent provinciality. In the Daily Mirror: “Instead of playing tennis or going on the river ten Balliol undergraduates went in a van lent by Lord Nuffield to a farm nearby, … where they began a spell of hoeing.” And in a letter to the editor, two girls in the “Land Army” entreated: “Our grouse is that we are ashamed to wear our uniforms on leave in London because no one knows who or what we are. People say we look like out-of-work cowboys. Won’t you put in a good word for us?”
Yet in the list “Army Dead” in the Times some women were listed.
The picture of British morale that emerges from the day’s newspapers is different from that of the opinion reports, which are grimmer in tone. There exists an extensive confidential paper prepared by the Ministry of Information on 25 May: Public Opinion: The Present Crisis.25 Under the heading “Morale”: “There is definite evidence of increasing confusion. Today the strongest optimists (working-class men) are often qualifying their remarks with slight suspicion or doubt about the way things are developing.” They are of course critical of the French: “Depression is quite definitely up, but on the whole the main trend is toward fatalism, as if people’s minds were prepared for almost anything in the way of bad news. Complacency [has] practically disappeared.… There are further reports which show that the morale of women is considerably lower than that of the men. The King’s speech had a steadying but not a deep effect.” (King George VI had broadcast to the nation the previous night; many people commented favorably on his delivery, since the king was known for his habit of stuttering.) “Many people expressed the opinion that the mobilisation of man-power and woman-power is still not being tackled realistically.” Under the heading “Class and Sex Differences in Morale”: “Upper classes show more disquiet and slightly less optimism than working class. There is more doubt among the working class.… Tension is greatest among middle and upper class women, and least among working class men. … A number of social workers consulted are of the opinion that working class women are more likely to show panic than other classes of the community.”
There follows a sheet summing up “Rumours,” and then “Points from Regions”: “Although there seems to be general confidence about the ultimate outcome of the war, there is considerable confusion in most of the Regions about the present military situation in France. Coincident with this is a feeling of tension and expectation of a coming counter attack; unless this materialises fairly soon the effect on morale would seem to be to increase general uneasiness. At the moment, however, the public on the whole seems to be fairly calm and determined.” Bristol: “The effect of Haw Haw [the Britisher broadcasting pro-German propaganda from Germany] is considered to be extremely insidious, and this danger is underestimated by the BBC and the Government, who do not fully appreciate to what extent this propaganda is believed.” Birmingham: the king’s speech (“a grand effort”) was greatly appreciated, but “in some sections of the community there is a rather defeatist feeling among people who are not very well off and who have not much idea of what we shall lose if we do not win the war.” Manchester: the king’s speech was “just what was wanted.” Reading: “Although tension is increased here there is no suggestion of panic, but the continued absence of the eagerly awaited Allied offensive is causing a good deal of apprehension. There is a growing anxiety about bombing and parachute troops — fears continue to be fed by rumour.”
“The action taken against potential Fifth Columnists is strongly approved.… These precautions should be carried to even greater lengths.” Cardiff: “Feeling is definitely disturbed by our apparent inability to check the German advance, and by the possibility that this may mean that our own troops will be cut off, but never-the-less there is confidence in our ultimate success.”
On 25 May, Mass-Observation, somewhat unusually, set out a report on people’s morale in statistical terms:
Males (%) |
Females (%) | |
Disquiet |
27 |
31 |
Optimism |
30 |
18 |
Doubt (Don’t Know) |
21 |
30 |
Disquiet was higher among the upper middle class (40 to 25 percent) than among the lower class and artisan samples of the population; optimism was about even (23 to 25 percent) between the two groups; the number responding “don’t know” was higher among the lower and artisan classes and higher among their females. The daily Mass-Observation survey, which was also transmitted to the Ministry of Information, largely accorded with the ministry’s morale survey: “People are becoming distinctly confused today, and the strongest optimists, the working-class males, are today often qualifying their remarks with some slight suspicion or doubt as to the way things are developing.” Some people cannot understand how the Germans can advance as they are doing without being cut off. Plenty believe that all this development is part of our strategy.”
“Depression is quite definitely up,” the survey concluded, “but on the whole the main trend is for people to be rather fatalistic, as if their minds were prepared for almost anything now in the way of bad news. A large number of people today are finding themselves unable to express any opinion or to know what to think.… On the whole, the quality of optimism has violently declined, and the quality of pessimism deepened. The public mind is in a chaotic condition and ready to be plunged into the depths of an utterly bewildered, shocked, almost unbelieving dismay. The whole structure of national belief would seem to be rocking gently.”26
Compared with many other reports, some of them cited above, this last summary statement, suggesting as it does a radical change in mood, seems to have been exaggerated. For once, the words of Virginia Woolf in her diary, where this withdrawn and often solipsistic woman otherwise gave very little space to the great political and military events of that time, sum up the situation and the feeling of the day: “The [Germans] seem youthful, fresh, inventive. We plod behind.”27