"War Is Very Near"

Joseph Patrick Kennedy, 50, father of nine and normally cheerful, flew from Cannes to London one day last week brimming over with gloom which had been gathering inside him for more than a year. As the official eyes, ears, head and heart of the U. S. in Great Britain, it seemed that he was at last about to behold that unspeakable spectacle which he had dreaded: totalitarian war in which women & children, the aged and the ill, civilians as well as military, orders sacred and orders profane, would all be devastated regardless. Ambassador Joe Kennedy returned to a Britain preparing for death on a scale it believed impossible to exaggerate. Yet Britain was calm, methodical, at moments almost whimsical--completely different from last September.

>London expected 100,000 air-bombing casualties per week. Some 250 big suburban busses were transformed into ambulances. Hospitals ringed the city, first-aid stations honeycombed it. But these preparations were only for a London that was to be relatively empty 48 hours after hell should erupt. Evacuation plans for all nonessential workers, for mothers & children, old people, invalids, were set and published. Beauty parlors were crammed with women seeking one last hairdo before fleeing to safety or reporting for emergency jobs.

>King George returned, hurried and hatless, from Scotland to attend Privy Council, become a quasi-dictator and stay at Buckingham Palace, beneath whose gardens were built prodigious bombproof quarters for King, retinue, servants. Queen Elizabeth and the two Princesses stayed on at Balmoral Castle, where gas masks were issued to all. Later they would go to Windsor Castle, whose rock, looming above the fabled cricket fields of Eton, was tunneled and chambered invulnerably for them and for art treasures from Buckingham Palace as well as the Castle. Queen Mary obdurately insisted on staying at Sandringham on the dangerous east coast.

>Their Majesties' friend and Great Britain's U. S. banker, John P. Morgan, called off the grouse shooting at his Scottish moor, offered his Gannochy Lodge to the nation for a hospital.

>To Ambassador Kennedy, retired U. S. Banker George Weeks (National City) offered his "Headley Park" on the downs near Epsom as a refugee embassy.

>The giant pandas, chimpanzees, orangutans and other rare animals in Regent's Park Zoo were moved to more remote Whipsnade. Plans were made to gas all snakes, shoot all dangerous animals the minute war began.

>Every evening Britain recalled Sir Edward Grey's epic lament about the lamps going out all over Europe, never again to be relit in his time. The late August moon rode alone over a darkened city whose street intersections were marked only by thin crosses cut in the black paper masking their traffic lights. Dim blue bulbs picked out busses and subway entrances. Lord Halifax, returning across Downing Street from No. 10 to the Foreign Office after a night broadcast, could not find the keyhole, had to strike matches. In Hyde Park, antiaircraft crews stood by their guns through the small hours. Frank Frewin Pinnock, 50, a London businessman arrested for reckless driving after a motor crash, pleaded "a mental blackout."

>Usually somnolent in August, London surged and churned with conflicting streams of humanity: urbanites leaving for the country, vacationers coming back, foreigners seeking refuge or trying to leave for home (see p. 40). All Germans were ordered out by their Embassy. But life went on unchanged for lots of people. Dancer Tilly Losch proceeded with her design to marry young Lord Carnarvon. Promoters went ahead with a walkingstick show, were miffed when Prime Minister Chamberlain refused to let his umbrella be exhibited. But 19 walking sticks owned by Lady du Maurier were there, one containing a telescope, another a gold toothpick.

>To Stockholm on schedule went 117 deaf British athletes, one carrying a gas mask, to compete in the 5th International Deaf Games.*

>Safest spot near London was judged to be Harrow, because the steeple on its hill is German aviators' prime landmark approaching London from the Channel and they would not likely bomb it down.

>In any crisis, Englishmen crave an apt quotation from Shakespeare. The London News-Chronicle performed great public service last week by discovering in Hamlet (Act IV Scene 4): "Goes it against the main of Poland, Sir? . . . Yes, it is already garrisoned."

>The whole British Labor Party sent this message to the whole German people, whose censors throttled it: "War is very near. You must clearly understand that if war comes Britain and France both stand firmly by their pledges to Poland. "Your Government does not tell you the truth. British labor, which is the friend of the German people, will tell you the truth. "There need be no war. Provided that the threat of force is renounced, there can be just and peaceful settlement of all international disputes."

>Parliament sat. The Government asked for war powers--powers for the King to issue decree laws, for the Government to confiscate property, order arrests, search premises, control railways, conduct secret trials, impose financial regulations. Debate began. At 5:30 p. m. Prime Minister Chamberlain, his old-man's voice steady, started his speech. If war came in spite of

Britain's efforts for peace--"God knows I have tried my best"--Britain would fight.

The debate was over. Four members--a Quaker, a Pacifist, a Laborite, an independent Laborite--walked out the door that signified they were voting against the measure; 457 members walked out on the Government side. Politically, Great Britain was ready for war. The King put his hand to the measure in the traditional Norman phrase: "Le roy le veult."

Next day the Government announced a full military alliance with Poland--much stronger than originally advertised. The effort for peace continued. Ambassador to Germany Sir Nevile Henderson had one last talk with Hitler, just to get everything straight. From this interview Sir Nevile flew straight home to report. For 48 anxious hours the Cabinet worked to settle on a formula that might mean peace without retreat. At last they composed their answer: urged negotiation, offered mediation, agreed to discuss the German colonial question, trade relations and even reduction of armaments--but not in an atmosphere of war. Hitler must settle his quarrel with Poland, and Britain would stand by her ally. Sir Nevile boarded a plane for Berlin as crowds at Heston Airport shouted: "Good luck!"

"Thanks," said Sir Nevile. "I'll need it."

>London's favorite and most revealing story-of-the-week was about a militiaman who was asked: "Are you going to fight for King and Country?"

"To hell with King and Country!" "Well, are you fighting for Democracy?" "I don't give a damn for Democracy!" "What are you fighting for?" "To beat that bloody Hitler."

*Final score: Germany, 286; Sweden, 266; France, 130; Finland, 117; England, 93; Denmark, 57; Belgium, 42; Norway, 42; Poland, 36; America, 6; Rumania, 3.

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