ENGLAND AWAKES

ON March 15th, 1939, Hitler’s troops marched into Prague. That date will go down in history as the date when England woke up. Sugar umbrellas disappeared from shop windows and Mr. Chamberlain asked angrily: “Is this an attempt to dominate the world by force?”

But it was the fact that Hitler had violated his solemn declaration of only six months before, in which he had asserted that the Czech State would hold no interest for him after the Sudeten German problem was settled, that shocked English people the most. The village pubs resounded with the single damning phrase: “Hitler’s broke his word.” And that was the end of English tolerance. From then on the nation prepared for war. Soon armoured trucks began rumbling through the countryside, housewives turned on the radio to hear the latests new bulletin, National Service placards began to appear and large yellow posters said: “Join the Balloon Barrage.” The British Government slapped down guarantees on Poland, Greece and Roumania and introduced conscription. Even Mrs. Sullivan became politically-minded and summed up the psychology of the country with the remark: “My old man says now as we can’t trust ’Itler any more there’s no use arguing with him; now we’ve got to give ’im a licking.”

Many foreign observers did not understand the change that had swept the country. Some had associated the policy of appeasement with a ‘ruling class’ of England, which, they claimed, had grown so effete that it was willing to drive a bargain with Nazi Germany to preserve peace (and property) at any cost. Others accused Chamberlain of Fascist tendencies, claiming that his supporters were pro-German. Nothing could have been further from the truth. Englishmen are first and foremost “pro” their own country. Many people had been genuinely taken in by Germany’s well-publicized grievances; they had sympathized with the German occupation of the Rhine-land, with the Austrian Anschluss, and even with the claim for Sudetenland on the grounds that the German population had shown an overwhelming desire to become incorporated in the Reich. There was a case to be argued for all three of these developments. But there was no case to be argued for a man who demanded the principle of self-determination and, six months later, violated that very same principle by the brutal destruction of the Czech State.

From that date England’s unanimous verdict was Guilty. From that date the policy of appeasement was dead.

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I had been very happy in London. Not only because I was interested in the political life, but because I had grown to have a deep admiration for many of the people I’d come to know. Most of them were members of the much-criticized ‘ruling class’. The better I knew them the more I was impressed by their regard for justice, and their granite-like quality of loyalty and integrity. Many could be accused of stupidity, but none of dishonesty.

England is a puzzling nation. As John Gunther has pointed out, it is at one and the same time, “the world’s strongest oligarchy and freest democracy”. This oligarchy is one of the phenomena of the civilized world. The old school tie has been the butt of many jokes, but in history you will find that the tradition it embodies has led England during her most enlightened periods and fortified her in months of peril.

To explain the tradition one must examine the structure of the oligarchy or ‘ruling class’. Drawn from the public schools (private schools in the American sense) which educate the sons of the aristocracy and the upper middle-class families, it supplies the country with the bulk of its statesmen, civil servants, diplomats, army and navy officers and county squires; in other words, the leaders of the nation.

But the interesting feature of the oligarchy is its elasticity. It is by no means a rigid caste. The British aristocracy, unlike any other aristocracy in the world, is constantly refurbished by new blood. Every year men who have distinguished themselves in business, science, medicine, politics, in the arts or in the fighting services, are elevated to the peerage. Thus the best brains of the country are lassoed into the service of the nation. Unlike America, where the public life of successful business men is confined for the most part to lending their names to philanthropic institutions, in England they are given an opportunity to take a responsible part in the life of the nation. (A notable example is Rufus Isaacs—later Lord Reading—who went to India the first time as cabin boy, the second time as Viceroy.) As members of the House of Lords, they can make their views known and bring an influence to bear on the events of the day; they are eligible for membership in the Cabinet. Present-day illustrations are Lord Beaverbrook and Lord Woolton.

Admission to the ruling class is achieved not only by way of the peerage. The Tory party keeps a wary look-out for new ability which might reinforce the ranks of the Opposition; let any really able champion of the Left arise, and the doors of the oligarchy swing open. (For example: Ramsay MacDonald.) But all those who enter the ranks, whether by way of the public school or by outstanding merit, are bound together by the old school tie tradition.

This tradition is not, as many Americans imagine, preserved by a snobbish group which takes delight in singing sentimental songs about their lost youth and sworn to ‘stick together’ at any cost. Eton, for example, which supplies England with seventy-five per cent, of its ruling class, offers no tangible evidence of a ‘fraternity’. It is a curious but important paradox that Old Etonians seldom wear Old Etonian ties, never have re-union dinners, and rarely refer to their school except in anecdotes directed either at the sanitary arrangements or the stupidity of their masters. This extraordinary freemasonry which admits no symbols, tolerates no pass-words, and ignores the usual paraphernalia of the exclusive society, is bound together by an intangible code of ethics—a code unwritten, unmentioned, but understood and accepted by all.

This code is the fibre of England. Public school boys are educated to be the future leaders of the Empire and from an early age are taught to assume responsibility. But more important, they are impressed with a sense of noblesse oblige. They must set the standard for the nation; in peace-time, their honour must be unassailable; and in war-time, their courage unquestionable.

In America and France the men of the highest ability and education go into business, for the most part, and leave politics to the professional men; as a result, self-interest often comes before public interest; graft is accepted as the rule rather than the exception and politics are generally regarded as a ‘dirty’ trade. But in England, since the cream of the country serves the country, the standard is the highest and government departments are incorruptible. As an American I had become so accustomed to the fact that one always regarded politicians sceptically, that I was astonished on my first trip through England to hear the confidence with which the ordinary people referred to the Government. When I drove through the North with Martha Gellhorn, we were assured over and over again that whatever the outcome the Government was ‘doing its best’—and that the Government was ‘the best Government in the world’. Now this is the last sort of remark you would hear either in America or France.

The governing class in England has not maintained its position without justification. On the whole, its policies have been enlightened and far-sighted. In 1906 it passed a vast programme of reforms, initiated by Lloyd George, ranging from Old Age Pensions and Workmen’s Compensation to Town Planning and Unemployment and Health Insurance, which were not introduced in America until nearly thirty years later by Roosevelt’s New Deal—and even then were considered ‘radical’ by many Americans.