IN spite of the Armistice and Oran and the ending of our diplomatic relations with Vichy, whither the French Government had moved under Marshal Pétain, I never ceased to feel a unity with France. People who have not been subjected to the personal stresses which fell upon prominent Frenchmen in the awful ruin of their country should be careful in their judgments of individuals. It is beyond the scope of this story to enter the maze of French politics. But I felt sure that the French nation would do its best for the common cause according to the facts presented to it. When they were told that their only salvation lay in following the advice of the illustrious Marshal, and that England, which had given them so little help, would soon be conquered or give in, very little choice was offered to the masses. But I was sure they wanted us to win, and that nothing would give them more joy than to see us continue the struggle with vigour. It was our first duty to give loyal support to General de Gaulle in his valiant constancy. On August 7 I signed a military agreement with him which dealt with practical needs. His stirring addresses were made known to France and the world by the British broadcast. The sentence of death which the Pétain Government passed upon him glorified his name. We did everything in our power to aid him and magnify his movement.
At the same time it was necessary to keep in touch not only with France but even with Vichy. I therefore always tried to make the best of them. I was very glad when at the end of 1940 the United States sent an Ambassador to Vichy of so much influence and character as Admiral Leahy, who was himself so close to the President. I repeatedly encouraged the Canadian Premier, Mr. Mackenzie King, to keep his representative, the skilful and accomplished M. Dupuy, at Vichy. Here at least was a window upon a courtyard to which we had no other access. On July 25 I sent a minute to the Foreign Secretary in which I said: “I want to promote a kind of collusive conspiracy in the Vichy Government whereby certain members of that Government, perhaps with the consent of those who remain, will levant to North Africa in order to make a better bargain for France from the North African shore and from a position of independence. For this purpose I would use both food and other inducements, as well as the obvious arguments.” Our consistent policy was to make the Vichy Government and its members feel that, so far as we were concerned, it was never too late to mend. Whatever had happened in the past, France was our comrade in tribulation, and nothing but actual war between us should prevent her being our partner in victory.
This mood was hard upon de Gaulle, who had risked all and kept the flag flying, but whose handful of followers outside France could never claim to be an effective alternative French Government. Nevertheless we did our utmost to increase his influence, authority, and power. He for his part naturally resented any kind of truck on our part with Vichy, and thought we ought to be exclusively loyal to him. He also felt it to be essential to his position before the French people that he should maintain a proud and haughty demeanour towards “perfidious Albion”, although an exile, dependent upon our protection and dwelling in our midst. He had to be rude to the British to prove to French eyes that he was not a British puppet. He certainly carried out this policy with perseverance. He even one day explained this technique to me, and I fully comprehended the extraordinary difficulties of his problem. I always admired his massive strength. Whatever Vichy might do for good or ill, we would not abandon him or discourage accessions to his growing colonial domain. Above all we would not allow any portion of the French Fleet, now immobilised in French colonial harbours, to return to France. There were times when the Admiralty were deeply concerned lest France should declare war upon us and thus add to our many cares. I always believed that once we had proved our resolve and ability to fight on indefinitely the spirit of the French people would never allow the Vichy Government to take so unnatural a step. Indeed, there was by now a strong enthusiasm and comradeship for Britain, and French hopes grew as the months passed. This was recognised even by M. Laval when he presently became Foreign Minister to Pétain.
It was otherwise with Italy. With the disappearance of France as a combatant and with Britain set on her struggle for life at home, Mussolini might well feel that his dream of dominating the Mediterranean and rebuilding the former Roman Empire would come true. Relieved from any need to guard against the French in Tunis, he could still further reinforce the numerous army he had gathered for the invasion of Egypt. Nevertheless the War Cabinet were determined to defend Egypt against all comers with whatever resources could be spared from the decisive struggle at home. All the more was this difficult when the Admiralty declared themselves unable to pass even military convoys through the Mediterranean on account of the air dangers. All must go round the Cape. Thus we might easily rob the Battle of Britain without helping the Battle of Egypt. It is odd that, while at the time everyone concerned was quite calm and cheerful, writing about it afterwards makes one shiver.
13*
When Italy declared war on June 10, 1940, the British Intelligence estimated—we now know correctly—that, apart from her garrisons in Abyssinia, Eritrea, and Somaliland, there were about 215,000 Italian troops in North African coastal provinces. The British forces in Egypt amounted to perhaps fifty thousand men. From these both the defence of the western frontier and the internal security of Egypt had to be provided. We therefore had heavy odds against us in the field, and the Italians had also many more aircraft.
During July and August the Italians became active at many points. There was a threat from Kassala westwards towards Khartoum. Alarm was spread in Kenya by the fear of an Italian expedition marching four hundred miles south from Abyssinia towards the Tana River and Nairobi. Considerable Italian forces advanced into British Somaliland. But all these anxieties were petty compared with the Italian invasion of Egypt, which was obviously being prepared on the greatest scale. Even before the war a magnificent road had been made along the coast from the main base at Tripoli, through Tripolitania and Cyrenaica, to the Egyptian frontier. Along this road there had been for many months a swelling stream of military traffic. Large magazines were slowly established and filled at Benghazi, Derna, Tobruk, Bardia, and Sollum. The length of this road was over a thousand miles, and all these swarming Italian garrisons and supply depots were strung along it like beads on a string.
At the head of the road and near the Egyptian frontier an Italian army of seventy or eighty thousand men, with a good deal of modern equipment, had been patiently gathered and organised. Before this army glittered the prize of Egypt. Behind it stretched the long road back to Tripoli; and after that the sea! If this force, built up in driblets week by week for years, could advance continually eastward, conquering all who sought to bar the path, its fortunes would be bright. If it could gain the fertile regions of the Delta all worry about the long road back would vanish. On the other hand, if ill-fortune befell it only a few would ever get home. In the field army and in the series of great supply depots all along the coast there were by the autumn at least three hundred thousand Italians, who could, even if unmolested, retreat westward along the road only gradually or piecemeal. For this they required many months. And if the battle were lost on the Egyptian border, if the army’s front were broken, and if time were not given to them, all were doomed to capture or death. However, in July 1940 it was not known who was going to win the battle.
Our foremost defended position at that time was the railhead at Mersa Matruh. There was a good road westward to Sidi Barrani, but thence to the frontier at Sollum there was no road capable of maintaining any considerable strength for long near the frontier. A small covering mechanised force had been formed of some of our finest Regular troops, and orders had been given to attack the Italian frontier posts immediately on the outbreak of war. Accordingly, within twenty-four hours they crossed the frontier, took the Italians, who had not heard that war had been declared, by surprise, and captured prisoners. The next night, June 12, they had a similar success, and on June 14 captured the frontier forts at Capuzzo and Maddalena, taking 220 prisoners. On the 16th they raided deeper, destroyed twelve tanks, intercepted a convoy on the Tobruk-Bardia road, and captured a general.
In this small but lively warfare our troops felt they had the advantage, and soon conceived themselves to be masters of the desert. Until they came up against large formed bodies or fortified posts they could go where they liked, collecting trophies from sharp encounters. When armies approach each other it makes all the difference which owns only the ground on which it stands or sleeps and which one owns all the rest. I saw this in the Boer War, where we owned nothing beyond the fires of our camps and bivouacs, whereas the Boers rode where they pleased all over the country. The published Italian casualties for the first three months were nearly three thousand five hundred men, of whom seven hundred were prisoners. Our own losses barely exceeded one hundred and fifty. Thus the first phase in the war which Italy had declared upon the British Empire opened favourably for us.
I felt an acute need of talking over the serious events impending in the Libyan desert with General Wavell himself. I had not met this distinguished officer, on whom so much was resting, and I asked the Secretary of State for War to invite him over for a week for consultation when an opportunity could be found. He arrived on August 8. He toiled with the Staffs and had several long conversations with me and Mr. Eden. The command in the Middle East at that time comprised an extraordinary amalgam of military, political, diplomatic, and administrative problems of extreme complexity. It took nearly a year of ups and downs for me and my colleagues to learn the need of dividing the responsibilities of the Middle East between a Commander-in-Chief, a Minister of State, and an Intendant-General to cope with the supply problem. While not in full agreement with General Wavell’s use of the resources at his disposal, I thought it best to leave him in command. I admired his fine qualities, and was impressed with the confidence so many people had in him.
As a result of the Staff discussions Dill, with Eden’s ardent approval, wrote me that the War Office were arranging to send immediately to Egypt over one hundred and fifty tanks and many guns. The only question open was whether they should go round the Cape or take a chance through the Mediterranean. I pressed the Admiralty hard for direct convoy through the Mediterranean. Much discussion proceeded on this latter point. Meanwhile the Cabinet approved the embarkation and dispatch of the armoured force, leaving the final decision about which way they should go till the convoy approached Gibraltar. This option remained open to us till August 26, by which time we should know a good deal more about the imminence of any Italian attack. No time was lost. The decision to give this blood-transfusion while we braced ourselves to meet a mortal danger was at once awful and right. No one faltered.
Until the French collapse the control of the Mediterranean had been shared between the British and French Fleets. Now France was out and Italy was in. The numerically powerful Italian Fleet and a strong Italian Air Force were ranged against us. So formidable did the situation appear that Admiralty first thoughts contemplated the abandonment of the Eastern Mediterranean and concentration at Gibraltar. I resisted this policy, which, though justified on paper by the strength of the Italian Fleet, did not correspond to my impressions of the fighting values, and also seemed to spell the doom of Malta. It was resolved to fight it out at both ends. The burdens which lay upon the Admiralty at this time were however heavy in the extreme. The invasion danger required a high concentration of flotillas and small craft in the Channel and North Sea. The U-boats, which had by August begun to work from Biscayan ports, took severe toll of our Atlantic convoys without suffering many losses themselves. Until now the Italian Fleet had never been tested. The possibility of a Japanese declaration of war, with all that it would bring upon our Eastern Empire, could never be excluded from our thoughts. It is therefore not strange that the Admiralty viewed with the deepest anxiety all risking of warships in the Mediterranean, and were sorely tempted to adopt the strictest defensive at Gibraltar and Alexandria. I, on the other hand, did not see why the large number of ships assigned to the Mediterranean should not play an active part from the outset. Malta had to be reinforced both with air squadrons and troops. Although all commercial traffic was rightly suspended, and all large troop convoys to Egypt must go round the Cape, I could not bring myself to accept the absolute closure of the inland sea. Indeed I hoped that by running a few special convoys we might arrange and provoke a trial of strength with the Italian Fleet. I hoped that this might happen and Malta be properly garrisoned and equipped with aeroplanes and A.A. guns before the appearance, which I already dreaded, of the Germans in this theatre. All through the summer and autumn months I engaged in friendly though tense discussion with the Admiralty upon this part of our war effort.
However I was not able to induce the Admiralty to send the armoured force, or at least their vehicles, through the Mediterranean, and the whole convoy continued on its way round the Cape.
I was both grieved and vexed at this. No serious disaster did in fact occur in Egypt. Everywhere, despite the Italian air strength, we held the initiative, and Malta remained in the foreground of events as an advanced base for offensive operations against the Italian communications with their forces in Africa.
Our anxieties about the Italian invasion of Egypt were, it now appears, far surpassed by those of Marshal Graziani, who commanded it. A few days before it was due to start he asked for a month’s postponement. Mussolini replied that if he did not attack on Monday he would be replaced. The Marshal answered that he would obey. “Never,” says Ciano, “has a military operation been undertaken so much against the will of the commanders.”
On September 13 the main Italian army began its long-expected advance across the Egyptian frontier. Their forces amounted to six infantry divisions and eight battalions of tanks. Our covering troops consisted of three battalions of infantry, one battalion of tanks, three batteries, and two squadrons of armoured cars. They were ordered to make a fighting withdrawal, an operation for which their quality and desert-worthiness fitted them. The Italian attack opened with a heavy barrage on our positions near the frontier town of Sollum. When the dust and smoke cleared the Italian forces were seen ranged in a remarkable order. In front were motor-cyclists in precise formation from flank to flank and front to rear; behind them were light tanks and many rows of mechanical vehicles. In the words of a British colonel, the spectacle resembled “a birthday party in the Long Valley at Aldershot”. The 3rd Coldstream Guards, who confronted this imposing array, withdrew slowly, and our artillery took its toll of the generous targets presented to them.
Farther south two large enemy columns moved across the open desert south of the long ridge that runs parallel to the sea and could be crossed only at Halfaya—the “Hellfire Pass” which played its part in all our later battles. Each Italian column consisted of many hundreds of vehicles, with tanks, anti-tank guns, and artillery in front, and with lorried infantry in the centre. This formation, which was several times adopted, we called the “Hedgehog”. Our forces fell back before these great numbers, taking every opportunity to harass the enemy, whose movements seemed erratic and indecisive. Graziani afterwards explained that at the last moment he decided to change his plan of an enveloping desert movement and “concentrate all my forces on the left to make a lightning movement along the coast to Sidi Barrani”. Accordingly the great Italian mass moved slowly forward along the coast road by two parallel tracks. They attacked in waves of infantry carried in lorries, sent forward in fifties. The Coldstream Guards fell back skilfully at their convenience from Sollum to successive positions for four days, inflicting severe punishment as they went.
On the 17th the Italian army reached Sidi Barrani. Our casualties were forty killed and wounded, and the enemy’s about ten times as many, including one hundred and fifty vehicles destroyed. Here, with their communications lengthened by sixty miles, the Italians settled down to spend the next three months. They were continually harassed by our small mobile columns, and suffered serious maintenance difficulties. Mussolini at first was “radiant with joy”. As the weeks lengthened into months his satisfaction diminished. It seemed however certain to us in London that in two or three months an Italian army far larger than any we could gather would renew the advance to capture the Delta. And then there were always the Germans who might appear! We could not of course expect the long halt which followed Graziani’s advance. It was reasonable to suppose that a major battle would be fought at Mersa Matruh. The weeks that had already passed had enabled our precious armour to come round the Cape without the time-lag so far causing disadvantage.
When I look back on all these worries I remember the story of the old man who said on his deathbed that he had had a lot of trouble in his life, most of which had never happened. Certainly this is true of my life in September 1940. The Germans were beaten in the Air Battle of Britain. The overseas invasion of Britain was not attempted. In fact, by this date Hitler had already turned his glare upon the East. The Italians did not press their attack upon Egypt. The Tank Brigade sent all round the Cape arrived in good time, not indeed for a defensive battle of Mersa Matruh in September, but for a later operation incomparably more advantageous. We found means to reinforce Malta before any serious attack from the air was made upon it, and no one dared to try a landing upon the island fortress at any time. Thus September passed.
A fresh though not entirely unexpected outrage by Mussolini, with baffling problems and far-reaching consequences to all our harassed affairs, now broke upon the Mediterranean scene.
The Duce took the final decision to attack Greece on October 15, 1940, and before dawn on the 28th the Italian Minister in Athens presented an ultimatum to General Metaxas, the Premier of Greece. Mussolini demanded that the whole of Greece should be opened to Italian troops. At the same time the Italian army in Albania invaded Greece at various points. The Greek Government, whose forces were by no means unready on the frontier, rejected the ultimatum. They also invoked the guarantee given by Mr. Chamberlain on April 13, 1939. This we were bound to honour. By the advice of the War Cabinet, and from his own heart, His Majesty replied to the King of the Hellenes: “Your cause is our cause; we shall be fighting against a common foe.” I responded to the appeal of General Metaxas: “We will give you all the help in our power. We will fight a common foe and we will share a united victory.” This undertaking was during a long story made good.
Apart from a few air squadrons, a British mission, and perhaps some token troops, we had nothing to give; and even these trifles were a painful subtraction from ardent projects already lighting in the Libyan theatre. One salient strategic fact leaped out upon us—CRETE! The Italians must not have it. We must get it first—and at once. It was fortunate that at this moment Mr. Eden was in the Middle East, and that I thus had a ministerial colleague on the spot with whom to deal. I telegraphed to him, and at the invitation of the Greek Government, Suda Bay, the best harbour in Crete, was occupied by our forces a few days later.
The story of Suda Bay is sad. The tragedy was not reached until 1941. I believe I had as much direct control over the conduct of the war as any public man had in any country at this time. The knowledge I possessed, the fidelity and active aid of the War Cabinet, the loyalty of all my colleagues, the ever-growing efficiency of our war machine, all enabled an intense focusing of constitutional authority to be achieved. Yet how far short was the action taken by the Middle East Command of what was ordered and what we all desired! In order to appreciate the limitations of human action, it must be remembered how much was going on in every direction at the same time. Nevertheless it remains astonishing to me that we should have failed to make Suda Bay the amphibious citadel of which all Crete was the fortress.
The Italian invasion of Greece from Albania was another heavy rebuff to Mussolini. The first assault was repulsed with heavy loss, and the Greeks immediately counter-attacked. The Greek army, under General Papagos, showed superior skill in mountain warfare, outmanœuvring and outflanking their enemy. By the end of the year their prowess had forced the Italians thirty miles behind the Albanian frontier along the whole front. For several months twenty-seven Italian divisions were pinned in Albania by sixteen Greek divisions. The remarkable Greek resistance did much to hearten the other Balkan countries and Mussolini’s prestige sank low.
There was more to follow. Mr. Eden got back home on November 8, and came that evening after the usual raid had begun to see me. He brought with him a carefully-guarded secret which I wished I had known earlier. Nevertheless no harm had been done. Eden unfolded in considerable detail to a select circle, including the C.I.G.S. and General Ismay, the offensive plan which General Wavell and General Wilson had conceived and prepared. No longer were we to await in our fortified lines at Mersa Matruh an Italian assault, for which defensive battle such long and artful preparations had been made. On the contrary, within a month or so we were ourselves to attack.
We were all delighted. I purred like six cats. Here was something worth doing. It was decided there and then, subject to the agreement of the Chiefs of Staff and the War Cabinet, to give immediate sanction and all possible support to this splendid enterprise, In due course the proposals were brought before the War Cabinet. I was ready to state the case or have it stated. But when my colleagues learned that the Generals on the spot and the Chiefs of Staff were in full agreement with me and Mr. Eden, they declared that they did not wish to know the details of the plan, that the fewer who knew them the better, and that they whole-heartedly approved the general policy of the offensive. This was the attitude which the War Cabinet adopted on several important occasions, and I record it here that it may be a model, should similar dangers and difficulties arise in future times.
Although we were still heavily outnumbered on paper by the Italian Fleet, marked improvements had now been made in our Mediterranean strength. During September the Valiant, the armoured-deck aircraft-carrier Illustrious, and two anti-aircraft cruisers had come safely through the Mediterranean to join Admiral Cunningham at Alexandria. Hitherto his ships had always been observed and usually bombed by the greatly superior Italian Air Force. The Illustrious, with her modern fighters and latest Radar equipment, by striking down patrols and assailants gave a new secrecy to our movements. This advantage was timely.
He had long been anxious to strike a blow at the Italian Fleet as they lay in their main base at Taranto. The attack was delivered on November 11 as the climax of a well-concerted series of operations, Taranto lies in the heel of Italy three hundred and twenty miles from Malta. Its magnificent harbour was heavily defended against all modern forms of attack. The arrival at Malta of some fast reconnaissance machines enabled us to discern our prey. The Illustrious released her aircraft shortly after dark from a point about a hundred and seventy miles from Taranto. For an hour the battle raged amid fire and destruction among the Italian ships. Despite the heavy flak only two of our aircraft were shot down. The rest flew safely back.
By this single stroke the balance of naval power in the Mediterranean was decisively altered. The air photographs showed that three battleships, one of them the new Littorio, had been torpedoed, and in addition one cruiser was reported hit and much damage inflicted on the dockyard. Half the Italian battle fleet was disabled for at least six months, and the Fleet Air Arm could rejoice at having seized by their gallant exploit one of the rare opportunities presented to them.
An ironic touch is imparted to this event by the fact that on this very day the Italian Air Force at the express wish of Mussolini had taken part in the air attack on Great Britain. An Italian bomber force, escorted by about sixty fighters, attempted to bomb Allied convoys in the Medway. They were intercepted by our fighters, eight bombers and five fighters being shot down. This was their first and last intervention in our domestic affairs. They might have found better employment defending their fleet at Taranto.
For a month or more all the troops to be used in our desert offensive practised the special parts they had to play in the extremely complicated attack. Only a small circle of officers knew the full scope of the plan, and practically nothing was put on paper. On December 6 our lean, bronzed, desert-hardened, and completely mechanised army of about twenty-five thousand men leaped forward more than forty miles, and all next day lay motionless on the desert sand unseen by the Italian Air Force. They swept forward again on December 8, and that evening, for the first time, the troops were told that this was no desert exercise, but the “real thing”. At dawn on the 9th the battle of Sidi Barrani began.
It is not my purpose to describe the complicated and dispersed fighting which occupied the next four days over a region as large as Yorkshire. Everything went smoothly. Fighting continued all through the 10th, and by ten o’clock the Coldstream battalion headquarters signalled that it was impossible to count the prisoners on account of their numbers, but that “there were about five acres of officers and two hundred acres of other ranks”. At home in Downing Street they brought me hour-to-hour signals from the battlefield. It was difficult to understand exactly what was happening, but the general impression was favourable, and I remember being struck by a message from a young officer in a tank of the 7th Armoured Division: “Have arrived at the second B in Buq Buq.” Sidi Barrani was captured on the afternoon of the 10th and by December 15 all enemy troops had been driven from Egypt.
Bardia was our next objective. Within its perimeter, seventeen miles in extent, was the greater part of four more Italian divisions. The defences comprised a continuous anti-tank ditch and wire obstacles with concrete block-houses at intervals, and behind this was a second line of fortifications. The storming of this considerable stronghold required preparation, and to complete this episode of desert victory I shall intrude upon the New Year. The attack opened early on January 3. One Australian battalion, covered by a strong artillery concentration, seized and held a lodgment in the western perimeter. Behind them engineers filled in the anti-tank ditch. Two Australian brigades carried on the attack and swept east and south-eastwards. They sang at that time a song from an American film, which soon became popular also in Britain:
“We’re off to see the Wizard,
The wonderful Wizard of Oz.
We hear he is a Whiz of a Wiz,
If ever a Wiz there was.”
This tune always reminds me of these buoyant days. By the afternoon of the 4th, British tanks—“Matildas”, as they were named—supported by infantry, entered Bardia, and by the 5th all the defenders had surrendered. 45,000 prisoners and 462 guns were taken.
By next day, January 6, Tobruk in its turn had been isolated. It was not possible to launch the assault till January 21. By early next morning all resistance ceased. The prisoners amounted to nearly 30,000 with 236 guns. The Desert Army had in six weeks advanced over two hundred miles of waterless and foodless space, had taken by assault two strongly fortified seaports with permanent air and marine defences, and captured 113,000 prisoners and over 700 guns. The great Italian Army which had invaded and hoped to conquer Egypt scarcely existed as a military force, and only the imperious difficulties of distance and supplies delayed an indefinite British advance to the west.
As the end of the year approached both its lights and its shadows stood out harshly on the picture. We were alive. We had beaten the German Air Force. There had been no invasion of the Island. The Army at home was now very powerful. London had stood triumphant through all her ordeals. Everything connected with our air mastery over our own Island was improving fast. The smear of Communists who obeyed their Moscow orders gibbered about a Capitalist-Imperialist War. But the factories hummed and the whole British nation toiled night and day, uplifted by a surge of relief and pride. Victory sparkled in the Libyan desert, and across the Atlantic the Great Republic drew ever nearer to her duty and our aid.
We may, I am sure, rate this tremendous year as the most splendid, as it was the most deadly, year in our long English and British story. It was a great, quaintly-organised England that had destroyed the Spanish Armada. A strong flame of conviction and resolve carried us through the twenty-five years’ conflict which William III and Marlborough waged against Louis XIV. There was a famous period with Chatham. There was the long struggle against Napoleon, in which our survival was secured through the domination of the seas by the British Navy under the classic leadership of Nelson and his associates. A million Britons died in the first World War. But nothing surpasses 1940. By the end of that year this small and ancient Island, with its devoted Commonwealth, Dominions, and attachments under every sky, had proved itself capable of bearing the whole impact and weight of world destiny. We had not flinched or wavered. We had not failed. The soul of the British people and race had proved invincible. The citadel of the Commonwealth and Empire could not be stormed. Alone, but upborne by every generous heart-beat of mankind, we had defied the tyrant in the height of his triumph.
All our latent strength was now alive. The air terror had been measured. The Island was intangible, inviolate. Henceforward we too would have weapons with which to fight. Henceforward we too would be a highly organised war machine. We had shown the world that we could hold our own. There were two sides to the question of Hitler’s world domination. Britain, whom so many had counted out, was still in the ring, far stronger than she had ever been, and gathering strength with every day. Time had once again come over to our side. And not only to our national side. The United States was arming fast and drawing ever nearer to the conflict. Soviet Russia, who with callous miscalculation had adjudged us worthless at the outbreak of the war, and had bought from Germany fleeting immunity and a share of the booty, had also become much stronger and had secured advanced positions for her own defence. Japan seemed for the moment to be overawed by the evident prospect of a prolonged world war, and, anxiously watching Russia and the United States, meditated profoundly what it would be wise and profitable to do.
And now this Britain, and its far-spread association of states and dependencies, which had seemed on the verge of ruin, whose very heart was about to be pierced, had been for fifteen months concentrated upon the war problem, training its men and devoting all its infinitely-varied vitalities to the struggle. With a gasp of astonishment and relief the smaller neutrals and the subjugated states saw that the stars still shone in the sky. Hope, and within it passion, burned anew in the hearts of hundreds of millions of men. The good cause would triumph. Right would not be trampled down. The flag of Freedom, which in this fateful hour was the Union Jack, would still fly in all the winds that blew.
But I and my faithful colleagues who brooded with accurate information at the summit of the scene had no lack of cares. The shadow of the U-boat blockade already cast its chill upon us. All our plans depended upon the defeat of this menace. The Battle of France was lost. The Battle of Britain was won. The Battle of the Atlantic had now to be fought.
