Dominion

Epilogue

October 1953

Ten months later

THEY ARRIVED SECRETLY at Chartwell early in the morning, three large unmarked cars driving steadily along the lanes, stirring up clouds of autumn leaves. As a conference room they used the big dining room with its views over the lawns and the lake, sitting round the table. There were no civil servants present, only a note-taker for each side: Jock Colville for the British Resistance and a clerk from the Prime Minister’s office for the government.

Colville hadn’t seen Beaverbrook in person since 1940. The Prime Minister was subdued, with none of his usual energy and bombast, his round little shoulders slumped, his lined face pale. He was accompanied by three of his senior Cabinet ministers. Foreign Secretary Rab Butler greeted the Resistance negotiators with bonhomie as though they were old friends who had happened not to meet at the club for a while. Ben Greene, though, the Coalition Labour leader, already looked a defeated man, his huge fat body slumped over the table. Only Enoch Powell showed defiance. His thin white face was full of angry contempt, his voice coldly severe throughout the meeting though his eyes, as always, burned passionately.

The Resistance was represented, besides Churchill, by three key politicians who had followed him since the time of the 1940 Peace Treaty. Clement Attlee and Harold Macmillan were both coldly formal towards the men who had put them beyond the law, and had wanted to capture and kill them; Aneurin Bevan, though, could not hide an air of triumph.

Colville had worried about Churchill, for the old man was failing. He had had a stroke earlier in the year, and though he had recovered physically the mental slowing and lack of focus that had begun to show in recent years were growing. But sometimes, as on this morning, Churchill could still gather his resources of energy to remarkable effect. He left much of the talking to his colleagues, but dominated the table, gloweringly contemptuously at his old foes, his interventions always sharp and decisive.

Events had moved fast since Hitler’s death the previous December. Goebbels, despite initial hesitation, had been unwilling to defy the SS determination to fight the Russian war to the end. In March a group of army officers, in alliance with Albert Speer and influential German business leaders, banded together with sections of the Nazi Party who realized the Russian war was unwinnable. They launched a military coup, assassinating Goebbels, and promising a permanent settlement with ‘Russian interests’ before the war brought Germany and Europe to total ruin. A temporary ceasefire with Russia had been agreed. But Himmler and his million-strong SS forces had immediately launched a counter-coup with the support of most of the Nazi party. Civil war had erupted across Germany, the fighting men on the two sides treating each other with the same savagery they had shown previously to the conquered peoples, German civilians fleeing to the countryside or cowering in cellars. In Russia, too, Wehrmacht and Waffen SS forces had begun fighting each other. Hitler had held all power in his hands for twenty years and with him gone the whole ramshackle, rivalry-ridden structure had collapsed. Taking advantage, the Russians abrogated the ceasefire and began marching west.

The army had hoped for a quick victory but the civil war had lasted over six months, the army winning control of each German region slowly and painfully. They had the support of the navy and most of the civilian population, and it was an open secret that the Americans, with Adlai Stevenson now in office as President, were sending supplies to the army through Hamburg. But under Himmler, who had declared himself the new Führer, and his deputy Heydrich, SS forces had everywhere fought to the last man. A week ago Vienna had fallen, leaving the remaining Nazi forces besieged in their last redoubts in the Bavarian and Austrian Alps, running out of food and fuel. The Eastern Front had completely collapsed and the forces of the Russian Federation were sweeping westward, further and faster than anyone could have expected. They had uncovered terrible things, labour camps as bad as anything Stalin had created, and vast extermination camps, gassing plants and crematoria. They now had control of most of the Ukraine and parts of eastern Poland. A week ago they had broken through into the Crimean peninsula, from where rumours were coming of savage massacres of German settlers. Without the threat of German forces behind them the European satellite regimes were tottering and falling; everywhere in the east ethnic Germans, even those who had lived there peacefully for centuries, were being massacred or fleeing west. In France secret talks were under way between the Petain–Laval government and the French Resistance; the French Jews had been freed from the detention camps where they had been held for months. In Italy, Mussolini had been removed by his own Fascist Party, and in Spain General Franco had just been overthrown and shot by a group of army officers. There was confusion, and in places fighting, across Europe. In Britain there had been a pitched battle in Senate House, Rommel and the army people against the SS. The army had won. Rommel was still ambassador; the SS faction had all been killed or imprisoned. Rommel promised elections in Germany, once the civil war was over. And now Britain’s turn had come.

Round the Chartwell dining table, Beaverbrook offered Churchill a senior role in a Government of National Unity, all the men present forming a new government, Mosley and the Fascists excluded. Churchill brusquely refused, insisting the British Resistance alone was morally entitled to govern. They would deal with any of Mosley’s people who resisted them, then call elections.

‘The Fascists will want to hold onto the power they have,’ Beaverbrook said. ‘Best to have us on your side to negotiate with them.’

‘You are no longer of any account,’ Bevan answered brutally. ‘And what power they have, you gave them.’

Beaverbrook looked stunned. He said, ‘We used to be friends, Nye.’

‘That was my mistake. A long time ago.’

Beaverbrook spread his arms wide. ‘The Jews will be released from their camps. I’ve already said so publicly. I never wanted them detained in the first place.’

‘And all of their homes and property will be returned to them,’ Churchill insisted. ‘Those supporters of Mosley, and yours, who moved into their houses will be booted out.’

‘That could be complicated—’

‘Booted out!’ Churchill shouted. ‘The whole bloody lot of them!’

‘Very well. And I’ve promised I’ll sack Mosley as Home Secretary. That proves our goodwill.’

‘But will Mosley go quietly?’ Attlee asked. He had said little so far, puffing quietly on his pipe, though his eyes followed every move. ‘His people are unhappy about releasing the Jews. It’s just as well you put the camps under army control. If the Auxiliary Police were still running them, they might have disobeyed your orders.’

‘I’ll disband the Auxies.’ Beaverbrook’s voice rose. ‘But if they and Mosley’s people resist a change of government, you’ll need the old police force, the army, all the forces of law and order, on your side. Do you think they’ll obey you if my people and I aren’t there? We’ve governed this country for twelve years. Half of your people are Socialists, you’ve fought the police and army on the streets. What if the forces of law and order resist you? Are you going to arm the Reds to fight them? Factory workers and miners?’

‘They’re fighting already,’ Bevan answered quietly. Attlee nodded.

Churchill looked at Beaverbrook. ‘When you go, those with sense will realize that the days of authoritarian government are over, and they’ll jump from your bandwagon onto ours to save their skins. It’s happening already.’ He leaned across the table. ‘And those who don’t, the fanatics, Mosley’s Blackshirts, they will be dealt with, with whatever force it takes. The tide has turned, Max, as I knew it would in the end. As Bevan just said, you count for nothing now.’

‘What happens to India?’ Powell snapped. He looked directly at Churchill. ‘You’ve opposed Indian independence all your life. You called Gandhi a half-naked fakir. But these people, your people – ’ he gestured at Attlee and Bevan – ‘they want to hand it over.’

‘We can’t hold India down any more,’ Churchill replied heavily. ‘Perhaps I was wrong. In any case, I lost.’

Powell stared furiously round the table. ‘India is ours,’ he said in his sharp, hard nasal voice. Colville wondered if, in the end, Powell, the fiercest nationalist of them all, would go down fighting with Mosley.

But Beaverbrook wouldn’t. The old man spoke now, his broad lips trembling slightly. ‘If I agree to go, what happens to me?’ he asked. ‘To the others round this table?’

Churchill didn’t answer for a moment. Then he said, ‘If you agree to go quietly, we’ll let you go quietly.’

‘Go back to your country house,’ Bevan taunted him mockingly.

‘No, you’ll have to leave the country, Max,’ Churchill said. He waved a hand. ‘Maybe Canada will have you back, I don’t know.’

‘My newspapers—’

‘You give them up,’ Bevan said, his voice rising. ‘Two or three proprietors foisting their prejudices on a nation is not a free press. We’ll sell your papers, each one to someone different.’

Beaverbrook blustered. ‘You want to send me into exile because you know people will rally round me—’

‘No,’ Attlee said bluntly. ‘Because you’re poison. You always were.’

By the time Beaverbrook and his people left to consult the rest of their Cabinet, the Resistance leaders knew they had won. The others were jubilant but Churchill looked tired. After a few minutes he asked the others to leave him alone with Colville. When they had gone he got up, slowly and painfully, and went to sit in an armchair. ‘Whisky, Jock,’ he said wearily. ‘Pour one for yourself.’ He stuck a cigar between his teeth, lit it and bit down on it hard.

Colville stood beside him. Churchill stared out of the window at the leaf-strewn lawn, his face sombre. ‘There will be fighting,’ he said. ‘Maybe very soon. Mosley won’t just go. Little Beaverbrook’s people are unimportant now, as I said, but Mosley and his men have guns. And some of the Auxiliaries will support him.’

‘Not all,’ Colville answered. ‘Some have come over to us already. Remember that Inspector Syme, who was involved in the Muncaster affair? He was hit in the leg, but survived?’ Churchill grunted and nodded. ‘He approached us last month, he knows a lot of the key people who can be expected to jump our way. We might give him a role in the new police force, behind the scenes.’

‘The devils we have to deal with,’ Churchill growled. He seemed sunk in gloom, his ‘black dog’ had entered the room again. He said, ‘Who knows, Beaverbrook may even tell his people to come and arrest us tonight.’

‘They won’t, sir. They know they’re finished. They’ll try to save their own skins now, hold on to what they can. It might be an idea, though, to ask the Americans to say they would welcome a change of government in Britain. They said it of France yesterday.’

‘Good idea.’ Churchill nodded, encouraged. ‘Telephone the White House now.’

Colville hesitated. ‘It’ll need to be put carefully. Stevenson is different from the isolationist Presidents, but he’s frightened of a revolution in Europe. And Beaverbrook was right. When the Fascists resist we will need to – what did they say in the Spanish Civil War? Arm the workers?’

‘They’re armed already. And Attlee and Bevan’s people are committed to free elections, they always have been.’ Churchill nodded. ‘And soon we shall have them again.’ He glowered at Colville. ‘What about these Russian rumours? That Khruschev has been overthrown?’

‘I think they may be true, sir. Sections of the KGB and state industries say they’ve taken over Moscow and are going to create a capitalist state, like the one the Germans planned for Russia east of Astrakhan, only bigger, and nationalist. It’ll be popular. The Russians don’t want communism back.’

‘Who’s in charge of this?’

‘A couple of unknowns. The mayor of Moscow and a KGB man. My guess is such a regime would be pretty corrupt. The Soviet Union certainly was. Poland and the Baltics have declared their independence, by the way. They’re fighting both Germans and Russians.’

Churchill shook his head sadly. ‘So it will go on, at least for a time, the endless suffering. If only we had stood firm in 1940, it could all have been over by now.’ He bowed his head.

Colville asked, ‘Will you stand for Prime Minister in the election here?’

‘I don’t know. Old age is the devil. Especially without my Clemmie.’ Churchill was silent a moment, then looked sharply up at Colville. ‘But if I don’t it should be Macmillan for the Conservatives, not Eden. Anthony’s not up to it.’

‘It could be Bevan for Labour. A lot of their people want him, say Attlee is too old, too moderate. They could win. Full-blooded socialism.’

‘If that’s what the people choose, it is up to them. So long as these vile years of bloodshed and oppression can be brought to an end.’ Churchill relapsed into silence again, staring into space. After a minute Colville said gently, ‘Would you like me to leave you, sir? Set up the call to Washington?’

‘The Muncaster affair,’ Churchill said. ‘The man who knew the secrets of the atom bomb. You remember him?’

‘Yes, sir. He died in that shootout in Sussex.’

Churchill grunted. ‘A brave man. Took his secret to the grave rather than let the Germans have it.’ He looked at Colville sharply. ‘There were those of us who badly wanted to prise the secret out of him, hoping to set up our own nuclear programme.’

Colville sighed. ‘Well, the secret will spread eventually, it must. God help civilization then.’

Churchill shook his head. ‘We were so afraid the Germans might get hold of what Muncaster knew, remember? But it wouldn’t have mattered in the end, would it? They’d never have had time to develop the Bomb before their whole regime collapsed into civil war.’

‘We didn’t know that then,’ Colville said. ‘We didn’t know it would all fall to pieces so soon.’

Churchill grunted. ‘Well, only America has the Bomb now. The mission succeeded. What happened to the rest of those people, by the way? That woman from – where was it?’

‘Slovakia. She went back there in the spring. Just before the Slovak army rose against the Fascists.’

‘There’s still fighting there, isn’t there?’

‘Yes. It’s pretty savage, I hear.’

‘And the others? The English civil servant and the Scot? I met them with Muncaster that night, I remember. The Englishman’s wife got away too, didn’t she?’

‘Yes. They were all questioned pretty closely in America, I know that. Muncaster’s older brother was dead by then. He had a stroke, in custody.’

‘That whole family gone, then?’

‘Yes. There were some questions about the Scot – he was a Communist. I think he got sent to Canada. He lost an arm in that fight. The other man and his wife got a clean bill of health, permission to stay in the States. I don’t know what happened to them after that.’ He smiled. ‘Maybe they’ll come back now.’

Churchill sat up. He looked more cheerful now. He banged a fist on the arm of his chair. ‘Yes. The exiles will be returning soon. To help us rebuild. Rebuild! We need them all now.’