Winston’s War by Michael Dobbs Read Free Book Online

resignation speeches are meant to be heard in silence and Hansard , the official record of parliamentary proceedings, is renowned for its inability to hear insults and inappropriateinterruptions even if they ring round the ancient rafters. But The Times also published extensive verbatim extracts of parliamentary proceedings, and their report was unable to hide the crude treatment Cooper received at the hands of members of his own party.
    They surrounded him, intimidated him, jeered and scoffed at him. Destroyed many friendships. Only when he mentioned the name of the Prime Minister did they cheer, then fell into sullen silence when he said that, no matter how he had tried, he couldn't believe what the Prime Minister believed. “And so I can be of no assistance to him or his Government,” Cooper continued, looking around him, eyes flooded with sorrow. “I should only be a hindrance.” Growls of agreement began to rise about him like flood water. “It is much better that I should go.” And Order Papers were waved like a breaking sea that threatened to wash him away. He stood in their midst like a rock, lonely, defiant, mouth dry as the abuse continued.
    Yet gradually a hush fell. Perhaps his tormentors grew ashamed, or simply ran out of breath. In any event, Cooper's dignity at last was allowed to shine through, without interruption.
    “I have forfeited a great deal. I have given up an office which I loved, work in which I was deeply interested, and a staff of which any man might be proud. I have given up association in that work with my colleagues with whom I have maintained for many years the most harmonious relations, not only as colleagues but as friends. I have given up the privilege of serving as lieutenant to a leader whom I still regard with the deepest admiration and affection.”
    He was looking directly at Chamberlain, who refused to return his stare.
    “I have ruined, perhaps, my political career. That is a little matter.
    I have retained something which is to me of greater value—I can still walk about the world with my head erect.”
    Only then did he sit down. And still the Prime Minister would not look at him.
     
    For a place of such eminence and influence, Downing Street was architecturally extraordinarily undistinguished. Even after the extensive renovations to Number Ten undertaken by Neville Chamberlain and his wife, required in part by the need to shore up floors that were sagging and in danger of collapse, much of the interior remained remarkably dark and cramped. A place of elves and goblins. Two of the most voracious of these goblins were Sir Horace Wilson and Sir Joseph Ball.
    Wilson's official title was the Government's Chief Industrial Adviser, which did no justice to his real influence. In practice he was recognized as being Chamberlain's most trusted assistant. He had accompanied the Prime Minister on all three of his flying visits to Hitler in the previous month and had even been dispatched to talk with the German leader on his own. “He is the most remarkable man in England,” Chamberlain had once told colleagues, “I couldn't live a day without him.” Wilson controlled most of the levers of Government. Meanwhile his close colleague Ball controlled the political machinery. He was the director of the Conservative Research Department, the policy-making body for the Tory Party, and was also the official in charge of publicity and propaganda at party headquarters. Ironically he had turned down Guy Burgess when Burgess had applied to become an employee of the Conservative Party after leaving Cambridge. He thought him too scruffy.
    Wilson and Ball shared many things—a background in the secret services (both had been officers in MI5), virulent anti-Semitism, a passionate belief in the policy of appeasement, and above all a devotion to Neville Chamberlain that went far beyond any job description. They were formidable, and in some quarters were justifiably feared.
    Now these two eminent