Stuart Slade: A Mighty Endeavor

“Your Excellency, there is no word at all from London. It is as if London has completely forgotten about us. I have heard from Prime Minister Robert Menzies in Australia, for all the good that has done us. The Australians have heard nothing either and they are not best pleased by the fact. Their National Party has paid a political price for entering the war on Britain’s side and to be left in the dark like this is unconscionable. It has insulted them, My Lord.” Gerald Tarrant, Private secretary to the Viceroy, spoke sadly. “They found out the same way we did, by hearing it on the World Service news broadcast.

“Outrageous. Sir Martyn, has the word spread to the Congress Party yet?”

The remark was addressed to Sir Martyn Sharpe, Assistant Secretary for Domestic Affairs and a protégé of the Marquess. Sir Martyn’s official duties were to look after the routine activities of his Department. In reality, his job was to maintain relations with the Indian politicians in the Congress Party. It was the kind of unofficial, back-door communications channel that the British seemed to thrive upon. One uniquely suited to India’s environment. In the frantic hours that had passed since the news had been broadcast, Sir Martyn had spoken, on an entirely unofficial basis of course, with Pandit Jawaharlal Nehru, leader of the Congress Party. That conversation had not been helpful in maintaining his tranquility.

“Your Excellency, I can quote the initial reaction of the Congress Party to this meeting. Their position is and I do quote exactly, ‘You have lost the war you forced on us, now you can leave while we make peace. Next week will be soon enough.’ They offer us help in packing our bags and making our way to the railway station.”

“Damned cheek.” Tarrant growled to nobody in particular.

“Gerry, they have to say that. Their own membership will tear them apart if they said anything else. Their real position is held within those two words: ‘next week’. They want to find out what the hell is going on as well before they commit themselves.”

Lord Linlithgow frowned at Sir Martyn’s final choice of words, but let the matter pass. Everybody was frustrated and edgy from the knowledge that great things were afoot and they knew nothing of them. “I suppose it was inevitable they would demand peace. They never wanted a part of this war in the first place.”

“They never wanted into this war, that is true, Your Excellency. To be honest, your decision to take us in was almost as offensive to them as we have found London’s treatment of us has been. That point was made, quite gently I may say, by Nehru who described the situation as ‘Karmic Justice’.”

A smattering of laughter ran around the room. Lord Linlithgow shook his head, “I can see their point on that. In retrospect, I think the Indian declaration of war was not one of my better hours.”

Privately, Sir Martyn agreed, but he was not going to say so.

“Nevertheless, India is at war and I suspect that having found themselves in it, they do not want out of it at the abrupt and unsolicited command of a dubiously legitimate Prime Minister in London. They want to end the war by their own hand and leave it with their heads held high. To accept this diktat from London would leave them crawling way like whipped dogs. They, also, are offended, Your Excellency. Their offer to help us pack our bags and make our way to the railway station should be seen in that light. It isn’t cheek, Gerry; it’s their way of telling us they want to work with us on our departure, not against us.”

There was a learned nodding of heads around the conference table.

Subtle meanings attached to apparently inconsequential words were meat and drink for those present. There was a wealth of experience in doing just that around the table.

“Which takes us to the next question.” Harold Hartley, known to all as HH, asked the obvious question. “Are we still at war with Germany?”

“That, at least, I can answer.” Lord Linlithgow answered firmly.

“India is a Dominion, not a colony. We declared war by our decision; we end that war by our decision. We may take our lead from London, if they deign to give us one, but the decision is made here, not there. And so, the answer is a clear yes. We are still at war with Germany and will remain so until we, or our successors, decide otherwise.”

“That also is the Australian position, your Excellency. Prime Minister Menzies points out that Australia had its reasons for declaring war and that those are not necessarily changed by a British surrender.” Tarrant relayed that input with a certain level of relish.

“That is absurd.” Sir Richard Graham Cardew, the Cabinet Secretary, had gone bright red. “If the India Office commands, then it is our part to obey. The final authority lies there, not here.” Cardew was one of the oldest men at this table; his experience over the last 30 years had formed his opinions and attitudes to the point where they were set in stone.

“That may have been the case once, Sir Richard; it is not now. India a Dominion heading towards independence.”

“Never!” Cardew’s interruption was explosive.

“Inevitably, Sir Richard, and I will thank you not to interrupt me again. India is inevitably heading towards independence and most of us will live to see that day. The question is not whether independence will happen, but when and under what terms. Do we simply walk out and leave or do we arrange a slow and gracious hand-over of power? Sir Martyn, in your experience, what is the Congress Party position on this? Their real position, not the one for public consumption.”

Sir Martyn thought carefully. “Their various demands that we should simply leave now are indeed for public consumption. Or, perhaps I should say, to the rank and file membership of their party for whom they have to display a continued militancy. Their real position is that they are prepared to accept an interim regime provided there is a steady visible transfer of power. I except Gandhi from this of course; he demands we quit now and he means every word of it. The wretched man is quite impossible, I fear. But, your Excellency, an early casualty of that transfer process will have to be your own position. The place you occupy must be occupied by an Indian. Probably Nehru. And membership of the Commonwealth is a likely casualty also. Not in the immediate future, perhaps, but at some time, an independent India will sever relations there.”

“That is outrageous. You betray us, Sir Martyn.” Cardew was deep crimson and appeared on the verge of a stroke.

“Sir Richard, I have warned you before about interrupting others here. Once more and I will ask you to withdraw.”

“There is no need for that, Your Excellency. I will not stay here and listen to treason.” Cardew flung his chair back and stormed out of the cabinet room. The crash as the door closed behind him caused the papers on the great conference table to flutter. Lord Linlithgow raised an eyebrow at the disturbance.

“Pray continue, Sir Martyn. I find your insight most important.”

“Well, your Excellency, the position of an Indian as a replacement for the Viceroy is essential for any agreement on a transition. It will be a sign of real power and authority that will cause the rank and file of the Congress Party to accept much else. Leaving the Commonwealth will be more of a symbolic gesture, especially in the light of today’s events. It will be a dramatic breaking of ties that will also justify much else. It may even make acceptable India staying in the war. There is an interesting aside to that question; we speak of India’s membership of the Commonwealth but what of the position of Britain? Is the government in London the legitimate government of Britain? If so, should it remain in the Commonwealth? If it is not, and there forms a Government in Exile, should not that entity be the legitimate representative of the British people within the Commonwealth?”