Warlord for Peacemaker

It was a warm, sunny afternoon in London, and pretty girls who sold red-&-white cloth flowers for hospital relief had collected many a shilling and sixpence. Men in uniform and mufti, women with market baskets and prams made a quiet crowd at the gates of the House of Commons, through which, between 2:45 and 3:30, streamed the cars and taxis of some 500 Members, 200 privileged private citizens, two dozen diplomats, a score of British and foreign correspondents. About to begin was one of the gravest debates in the history of the world's greatest oratorical body. On its outcome depended the fate of Prime Minister Arthur Neville Chamberlain's Cabinet and perhaps (some thought) the fate of the British Empire. Four days since, a beaten British Expeditionary Force had high-tailed out of Namsos, Norway.

Less than three days later, Adolf Hitler's coiled legions were to strike straight toward the Channel and England.

At 3:30 on the dot the Prime Minister entered the House, looking even thinner of face than usual. At 3:47 the bulky frame of his First Lord of the Admiralty and longtime political enemy, Winston Leonard Spencer Churchill, appeared from behind the Speaker's chair. A minute later Mr. Chamberlain rose to explain to a hostile House the British failure in Norway. He had hardly begun when another old enemy made a perfectly timed entrance. The bronzed, white-maned picture of health at 77, David Lloyd George walked slowly along the Opposition's front bench and took his customary seat at the end. Getting there, he stumbled over the outstretched legs of Opposition Leader Laborite Major Clement Richard Attlee.

"In the Name of God, Go!" From the moment he got up to speak it was plain that self-righteous old Neville Chamberlain had lost his confidence. Taking heart from his nervousness, his opponents, in & out of the Conservative Party, punctuated his every sentence with boos, catcalls, cries of "You missed the bus." Up jumped the bewigged Speaker of the House to plead for order. Thereafter, for 57 minutes the Prime Minister droned on, protesting that Trondheim was not comparable to Gallipoli, explaining that the failure in Norway was caused by lack of airdromes and the speed of German troop movements, defending his leadership as an effort to "steer a middle course." Only once did he draw hearty cheers from his supporters, with a warning which later events proved to have been remarkably foresighted:

"I do not think the people of this country have yet realized the extent or imminence of the threat which is impending against us."

The rest of his speech was a weak plea for unity: "This is not the time for quarrels among ourselves. . . . There is no division among us. ... We should better occupy ourselves with increasing our war effort rather than in disputing about forms of government. ... I want to get the cooperation of members of all Parties."

From the Opposition side of the House came a single firm, quiet "No."

The dejected-looking man who sat down at 4:45 seemed to realize that he had made the worst speech of his career and one unworthy of a wartime Prime Minister. For the rest of the afternoon and far into the evening he sat and listened to critics who, beginning with Labor Leader Attlee and ending with insurgent Conservative Leopold Charles Maurice Stennett Amery, became more & more insistent that he resign. Louder grew the applause with each new attack on the Government. But the greatest ovation of the day went to long-dead Oliver Cromwell, with whose angry words to the Long Parliament of 1640-53 Insurgent Amery closed his speech:

"You have sat too long here for any good you have been doing. Depart, I say. Let us have done with you. In the name of God, go!"

Personal Issue. When the House assembled that first afternoon nobody thought there was more than an outside chance of dislodging Chamberlain. An energetic show of confidence by the Prime Minister might have staved off a vote by the House. Labor and Liberals have only 197 seats to 418 for the Conservatives and their supporters, and Chief Party Whip Captain David Margesson has been able to keep many disgruntled "ginger group" Conservatives in line. But as the second day's debate began, it became plain that the Opposition sensed its advantage, would push it for all it was worth.

Labor's energetic Herbert Stanley Morrison, Leader of the London County Council and the man many Britons are watching as the dark horse who may yet run the country, led off for the Opposition, came out flatly with Labor's demand: that not only Mr. Chamberlain, but also his two old cronies, Air Secretary Sir Samuel Hoare and Chancellor of the Exchequer Sir John Simon, must go. Cried ne:

"I feel apprehensive that if these men and others remained in office, we would run the grave risk of losing the war. . . . We feel that in view of the gravity of events, we must divide the House at the end of our debate tonight." Mr. Chamberlain, who had yawned continually through the Morrison speech, was on his feet at once. "I accept the challenge.

I call on my friends. . . ." Those words were a fatal blunder. By introducing a personal factor into so grave a debate Mr. Chamberlain gave his opponents a club which they wielded mercilessly from that moment on. Most effective use of it was made by hoary Lloyd George, who rapped out: "It is not a question of who is the Prime Minister's friend. It is a far bigger issue. The Prime Minister must remember that he has met this foe of ours in peace and in war and he always has been worsted. He appealed for sacrifice from the nation. ... I say now solemnly that the Prime Minister can give an example of sacrifice, because I tell him one thing: that there is nothing that would contribute more to victory in this war than that he should sacrifice his seals of office." Last Card. Neville Chamberlain had one card left to play, and it must have hurt him to have to play it. Since he took Winston Churchill into his Cabinet when war began, he has watched his First Lord's popularity grow steadily, while his steadily dwindled. Though the two men have long been political enemies, Churchill told friends when he entered the Cabinet that he had "signed up for the duration." War chief for less than six weeks, Churchill knew that Britain knew that responsibility for Norway went further back than what was done in Norway, that the chief cause of that defeat was Britain's unpreparedness in the air. Yet, on the evening of the debate's second day, he shouldered the task of trying to save the Government responsible for that unpreparedness.

But in one sharp sentence Lloyd George had already discounted much of Winston Churchill's effectiveness. "I hope," purred World War I's Prime Minister, "[the First Lord] won't allow himself to be converted into an air-raid shelter to keep splinters from hitting his colleagues."

Churchill made no great oration, but his was an honest exposition of the Norwegian failure and an earnest plea for national unity. Thunderous cheers, the attention given to his every syllable, his own confident manner proved that Winston Churchill had not underestimated his ability to take blame and get away with it. In the 50 minutes that he spoke he demonstrated also that he was the one man present who commanded the respect of a vast majority of the House. As Big Ben struck the hour of n, he called for a vote of confidence on the question of adjournment or further debate.

"At no time in the last war were we in greater peril than now. I urge the Members most strongly to deal with these matters not in a precipitate vote . . . but in a grave manner, in due time, and in accordance with the dignity of Parliament."

Ten minutes after the division, Whip Margesson announced the result: for adjournment, 281 votes; against, 200. Almost every man in uniform had voted against the Government. A split second later, Laborites, Liberals and dissident Conservatives began shouting: "Resign! Go! Go!" Neville Chamberlain rose, smiled wanly, and marched out of the House.

New Government. Few Prime Ministers would have tried to hang on with a majority of 81 in a House which is normally Conservative by 210. But for two long days stubborn Neville Chamberlain clung to his office while Adolf Hitler struck savagely at the Low Countries (see p. 22). Desperately Mr. Chamberlain appealed to Laborites Attlee and Arthur Greenwood and to Liberal Leader Sir Archibald Sinclair to join a National Government. But both Labor and Liberals were firm. Labor, with its 164 votes, though it could not command a majority, could write its own ticket with all Britain demanding national unity. And Labor, meeting in a Party conference at Bournemouth, knew exactly what it wanted: Churchill as Prime Minister, its two leaders in a five-man War Cabinet, Sir John Simon and Sir Samuel Hoare out of the Government.

That was just what Labor got. As predicted, the Chamberlain Government had not survived military disaster (TIME,

April 8). Neville Chamberlain shakily confessed that a National Government could be formed "under another Prime Minister, though not under myself. . . . My duty was plain. . . . You and I must rally behind our new leader."

At week's end Prime Minister Churchill announced his War Cabinet of five: Conservatives Churchill, Chamberlain and Lord Halifax, Laborites Attlee and Greenwood. For himself Mr. Churchill took the title of Defense Minister as well as Prime Minister. Lord Halifax kept his job as Foreign Secretary, Chamberlain was given the sinecure post of Lord President of the Council. Major Attlee became Lord Privy Seal, Arthur Greenwood Minister "Without Portfolio. Thus, the two new Cabinet members and discredited Mr. Chamberlain, though responsible for conduct of the war, were relieved of major administrative duties.

Other Cabinet appointees: P: First Lord of the Admiralty: onetime Lay Preacher Albert Victor Alexander, who had the job under Ramsay Mac-Donald in 1929-31.

P: War Secretary: Anthony Eden, a sop to U. S. anti-appeasers.

P:Air Secretary: Sir Archibald Sinclair, Churchill's man Friday in 1919-22 when

Churchill was War and Colonial Secretary.

P:Chancellor of the Exchequer: Sir Kingsley Wood, who was an able administrator until, as Air Secretary, he got caught in the buzz saw of plane production.

P: Minister of Supply, an all-important post: up-&-coming Herbert Morrison.

P: Minister of Information: bloody-shirt-waving Alfred Duff Cooper.

P: Sir John Simon was removed from active participation in this Government and given Britain's highest judicial post, the Lord Chancellorship, and made a peer.

Of Sir Samuel Hoare nothing was heard.

Though the new Cabinet contained no members of brilliance save Morrison and Sir Archibald, it was probably as able a collection of Ministers as Mr. Churchill could find at his fingertips, furthermore.

he has no aversion to running his own show. As soon as he had made up his Cabinet he appeared before the House and, mincing no words, told it what was in store for Britain: "If you ask what is our policy, it is to wage war by sea, land and air with all our might," said Winston Churchill. "I have nothing to offer but blood, toil, tears and sweat." The House gave him a 381-to-0 vote of confidence and Neville Chamberlain smiled a tight-lipped smile.

Man of Property. Although Prime Minister Churchill included his predecessor in his War Cabinet, the public career of Neville Chamberlain was all but ended when he surrendered his seals of office, the most spectacular failure in English political history since Palmerston.

When Kipling was singing the glories of Empire in India, Neville Chamberlain was painstakingly trying to raise sisal on the thin soil of Andros Island in the Bahamas, to recoup his family's fortunes. When his father, Old Joe Chamberlain, as Colonial Secretary, was working to bring the Boers to terms, Neville was learning the hardware business in Birmingham and interesting himself in health work. The age of Victoria molded him into a typical Englishman of his time--not a Kipling Englishman, but a Galsworthy Soames Forsyte. Neville Chamberlain's mind was once described as "the type which was considered advanced and enlightened at the close of the last century." He was a competent Lord Mayor of Birmingham (1915-16), but of his efforts as wartime Director of National Service, Lloyd George wrote in his memoirs: "A vein of self-sufficient obstinacy in the new Minister contributed to the difficulties that baffled all our endeavors. . . . Mr.

Chamberlain is a man of rigid competency. Such men have their uses in conventional times or in conventional positions . . . but they are lost in an emergency or in creative tasks at any time." The times Neville Chamberlain came upon as Prime Minister were not conventional ones. They saw superannuation and complacency go down before threadbare desperation, Christian morality and capitalist economy succumb to the hungry rule of tooth and claw. They saw Anschluss, Munich, Prague, Poland, Norway.

Neville Chamberlain's vein of self-sufficient obstinacy made him believe he could cope with them and made the desperate, traumatic old Empire believe in him, while Adolf Hitler repeatedly proved him wrong. It would not be too fantastic for Hitler to have hastened last week's invasion of the Low Countries in an effort to take advantage of the Cabinet crisis, to keep Chamberlain in power. If that was his intention, Britain for once had fooled him. Without Chamberlain, Hoare, Simon and other appeasers, she turned at last to face her destiny.

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