Category Archives: Second World War

Art, Arts, Exhibitions, Second World War

Exhibition – Winston Churchill: The Painter

WALLACE COLLECTION

Serenity: Winston Churchill’s Cap d’Ail, Alpes-Maritimes (1952)

Xavier Bray, the director of the Wallace Collection, recently described the London gallery’s new exhibition of Winston Churchill’s paintings as “provocative”.

Churchill didn’t take up painting as a hobby until he was 40 years of age, perhaps to distract himself following the disastrous Dardanelle campaign of 1915 (for which, as First Lord of the Admiralty, he was held responsible), but he became besotted with the medium, and sought out artistic instruction from masters including John Lavery, Walter Sickert, and William Nicholson. Before his death at the age of 90 in 1965, Churchill produced more than 500 oil paintings.

Yet, astonishingly, there hasn’t been a British retrospective of his work since 1959. According to one commonly held view, this is because his “daubs”, as he described them, simply aren’t up to scratch.

He may have won the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1953 – writing was his main source of income for most of his life having authored dozens of books and penned countless journalistic pieces – but, surely, nobody in their right mind would honour his amateurish paintings, despite the enthusiasm with which he set about them while wearing a bespoke painting coat tailored by Henry Poole & Co. All of this done in his studio on Chartwell’s 80-acre estate, where he stored pigments in a cigar humidor presented to him by the Cuban government.

On the evidence, though, of Winston Churchill: The Painter, he was hardly as bad as all that. On occasion, he was even surprisingly decent, as demonstrated by a display of Moroccan landscapes, including a view of the Koutoubia Mosque in Marrakech that achieved £8.3m at auction when it was sold by Angelina Jolie in 2021.

Painted in 1943, it was the only canvas he produced during the Second World War. He gave it to his friend and fellow wartime leader Franklin D Roosevelt, whom he’d persuaded to accompany him on a trip to Marrakech immediately after the Casablanca conference – to, as he put it, “see the sunset on the snows of the Atlas Mountains”. According to Bray, Churchill often gifted his paintings to important people, including three consecutive American presidents, as a form of “soft power”.

You can tell that, like many artists before him, Churchill loved painting in North Africa, where, while working en plein air, he would attract a curious crowd. His Moroccan compositions may lack the blazing audacity of, say, those by Henri Matisse or others in the Fauvism movement, but their combinations of dusky pinks, cool lavenders and greens still satisfy.

While stick figures populate some of Churchill’s Moroccan views, Bray and his co-curator, Lucy Davis, wisely omit his paintings of people, which can appear ham-fisted. Instead, they prefer to present an attractive selection of about 60 of his still lifes and landscapes, including serene, sun-soaked vistas of holiday destinations in Italy and along the Côte d’Azur (as well as in Morocco).

This specific subject matter may reflect the fact that painting for Churchill was a way to relieve strain – which he wrote about brilliantly in his essay Painting as a Pastime. (He found similar solace in bricklaying.) His compositions in this mode are easy on the eye and inoffensive. The best examples are preoccupied with capturing complex reflections on the surface of water.

On occasions, there is a hint of warfare – although the exhibition sidesteps controversial talk about imperialism. A squat black Napoleonic cannon facing mainland Europe in the foreground of The Beach at Walmer is surely a sort of self-portrait, given the painting’s date of 1938. Otherwise, though, this is painting as escapism.

Sometimes, this means that Churchill’s pictures are insipid or banal. Too many appear like inexpert imitations of Post-Impressionist paintings, which he admired. Several are blighted by boring, unmodulated passages and feel stilted. With little to analyse aesthetically, the labels rely heavily on anecdotes (although this could invoke fun). A quarter bottle of Pol Roger is on show in the first gallery, alongside his spectacles. Supposedly, it contained the last bubbly he ever drank.

Yet, almost everything that Churchill brushed conveys his infectious passion for the art form and, occasionally, a painting by him really comes together. A view from about 1924 of sun-struck snow surrounding the Chartwell estate (which Churchill purchased in 1922 and loved dearly) is delicious.

A 1932 canvas of a goldfish pool fringed with greenery near the house – which Churchill often painted, possibly in homage to Claude Monet’s depictions of his water garden at Giverny – is enlivened with undulating curls and slivers of orange, like sinuous Wotsits, representing fish beneath its rippled surface.

Forget the august aura of the artist who produced it. Considered purely as a painting, it hits the mark.

– The Wallace Collection, London W1, runs until November 26                                                                                                                                                    

Standard
History, Military, Politics, Second World War

Chamberlain had courage. Does Starmer?

POLITICAL HISTORY

Intro: Trump’s comparison between the pair misses the point. Despite what the critics say, whilst Chamberlain did make some grave errors he did have courage. What will Starmer’s legacy leave on the pages of history?  

Just a few days ago Donald Trump delighted in comparing our Prime Minister, Sir Keir Starmer, to Neville Chamberlain. Winston Churchill’s predecessor is blamed for the failed policy of trying to appease Hitler rather than confront German expansionism across Europe in the years before the Second World War.

Chamberlain is the most vilified of British prime ministers, “the guilty man” who, it is argued, failed to deter Hitler and left us almost defenceless when he resigned in May 1940.

Had Donald Trump studied history a little more carefully, he would not have made the comparison, however. Far from failing in his duties, Chamberlain was the author of the rearmament policy from the mid-1930s that made it possible for Britain to stand firm in 1940.

To compare our current prime minister to him does a grave disservice to Chamberlain, while some might say it greatly inflates Starmer’s political courage and grasp of strategy, neither of which is in evidence in his policies or speeches. Despite frequent public denigration today, Chamberlain’s reputation among historians is higher than might be expected.

As Chancellor from 1931-1937, and then as Prime Minister, he stuck to a double strategy: try to ease tensions with Germany through diplomacy, while at the same time rearming. Rearmament would not only prepare Britain for any future conflict, but would also deter German aggression by showing that we had the means and commitment to fight.

No one looking at Britain today, with its naval ships and fleet under constant repair, its tanks numbering at only a few dozen, and its Army unable to field anything larger than a brigade – about 5,000 men – for about a month of fighting, would be deterred by the readiness of our Armed Forces.

Chamberlain was the principal author of defence plans from 1936 that committed £1.5bn – then a vast sum – over five years to rearmament. He recognised that Britain’s defence would depend on airpower and set a target of nearly 2,000 front-line planes for the RAF. Were it not for this far-sightedness we would not have had the Spitfire and Hurricane and would likely have been invaded in 1940. New warships were commissioned for the Navy; older ships were modernised.

After Hitler’s invasion of the Czech provinces of Moravia and Bohemia in March 1939, this programme was rapidly accelerated. The Ministry of Supply was established to oversee the production of military equipment, and peacetime conscription began. The Territorial Army was doubled in size. Just as war began in September 1939, the famous chain of radar stations around Britain’s coastline became operational.

Revealingly, Chamberlain had been attacked during the 1935 election campaign by the deputy leader of the Labour Party, Arthur Greenwood, for the “disgraceful” suggestion “that more millions of money needed to be spent on armaments”.

Chamberlain understood something else about war readiness: the need for strong finances. Any war would likely be a long one, and a strong economy with reserves to spend would play a vital part in any struggle. He planned for what is now called headroom, fiscal surpluses that could be used in time of national emergency. In 1937, he put up income tax to 5s in the pound.

Today, our peacetime taxes are at the highest levels since the end of the Second World War and yet we have no headroom at all. Everything points to cuts in expenditure, above all to pay for a ballooning welfare bill. Starmer, though, does not have the courage or political capital to tell his backbenchers, as the former Labour prime minister, Jim Callaghan, told the Labour Party conference during the 1976 International Monetary Fund (IMF) crisis, “the party’s over”: the spending on benefits has to stop.

Chamberlain is rightly blamed and held accountable for giving Germany the Sudetenland, then part of Czechoslovakia, at the 1938 Munich Conference, and for taking Hitler at his word by believing his protestations of peace. These were crucial failures of judgment. Then, when war came and Britain’s position looked increasingly hopeless, Chamberlain lacked the resolve to fight.

It was in this context, in May 1940, that the Conservative MP Leo Amery, speaking in the House of Commons, and using words attributed to Oliver Cromwell, demanded of Chamberlain: “In the name of God, go!”. If the upcoming local elections in May don’t finish off Starmer, it is quite likely that someone will say these words to our current prime minister.

For military campaigners and those on the political right will surely argue it would be excellent if Starmer could behave with Churchillian resilience and bravery by living up to our responsibilities to NATO and the free world. Failing that, it would be enough if he could follow Chamberlain’s example and at least lay a basis for having a stronger military and economy that we now require.

If Starmer really did behave like Chamberlain he would leave a better legacy, and also do something that would save his future reputation among historians. Time is short and running out for Starmer politically, but he still has time to act.

Standard
Arts, Books, Literature, Second World War

Book Club: The Walls Have Ears

LITERARY REVIEW

Fry16

Book Club16

REVIEW

DURING World War II, captured German generals and other senior officers were taken to Trent Park, a mansion house in North London.

On arrival, they were greeted by a one-legged Scottish aristocrat named Lord Aberfeldy. He was, he told them, their welfare officer and a second cousin of the king, who was very concerned that they should be treated well.

But this was all an elaborate charade. Aberfeldy was no royal relative – he was an intelligence officer called Ian Munro, who also happened to be a very good actor. So enthusiastically did he throw himself into this role that, according to a colleague, “he became too grand to talk to any of us” and “expected orderlies to address him as Your Lordship”.

His job was to butter up the generals and keep them happy. While Aberfeldy flattered them and brought them treats, they were less likely to notice what was unusual about Trent Park, which was that everything that could be bugged was.

Hidden microphones were everywhere: in the light fittings, in the fireplaces, under the floorboards in the generals’ bedrooms. There were even some hung in the trees in the grounds. The whole place was wired for sound and, in rooms hidden from view, secret listeners tuned in to everything the Germans said.

This was one of the most effective intelligence operations of the war, yet probably the least known. Its records have been declassified only over the past 20 years, and Helen Fry’s remarkable and insightful book throws new light on its workings.

It was run by Thomas Joseph Kendrick, a man with 30 years’ worth of experience in the secret services behind him.

 

WHILE working as a British passport officer in 1938, he became the “Oskar Schindler of Vienna”, arranging for hundreds of Jews to leave Austria after the Nazi takeover. He was arrested, interrogated by the Gestapo and expelled from the country for espionage.

Returning to London, he was the ideal commander for a new unit setting up a special bugging operation in the Tower of London. When war was declared, and the first German prisoners of war (PoWs) arrived – most Luftwaffe pilots and U-boat officers – Kendrick was ready.

Early results were promising, although, very occasionally, one of the shrewder prisoners became suspicious. Wilhelm Meyer, a pilot shot down over the Thames in November 1939, asked a cellmate: “Do you think listening apparatus are built in here?” But even Meyer finally decided he was being over-cautious.

Most were blithely unsuspecting as Kendrick’s team recorded every word they said.

As the war went on, and more and more PoWs arrived, Kendrick expanded his work. Three more sites, including Trent Park, were fitted with cutting-edge recording technology shipped over from the Radio Corporation of America in New York. With Allied victories in North Africa, more senior German officers were taken captive. (There was, of course, a huge influx of high-ranking Wehrmacht personnel after D-Day.)

As operations grew, Kendrick needed extra listeners. His interview techniques could be terrifying for candidates.

He once handed a would-be recruit a pistol across his desk. “If you ever betray anything about this work,” he said, “here is the gun with which I expect you to do the decent thing. If you don’t, I will.” His original listeners were British-born, but fluent in German. Soon, because of the variety of accents and dialects they were encountering, he needed native German-speaking emigres, most of them driven into exile by the Nazis.

They were the “King’s Most Loyal Enemy Aliens”, as one man sardonically described them.

Kendrick also used “stool pigeons” – fake fellow prisoners who joined real PoWs in their cells and subtly encouraged them to talk. One of these, a fluent German speaker, was the father of singer and actress Olivia Newton-John.

Another, whose name has never been revealed, was a former inmate of Belsen, imprisoned for his political views. After release, he had been conscripted into the German army and then captured by the British.

Unsurprisingly, his loyalty to the Nazi regime was non-existent. He was one of the first to reveal the horrors going on in the camps. But Kendrick’s greatest successes were with the generals at Trent Park. The more senior they were, the more they knew (and could unwittingly reveal) about the German war effort.

Most of them were eccentric, arrogant parodies of the Prussian officer class. One, Lieutenant-General Gotthard Frantz, wore a monocle at all times, even under sunglasses, and went to bed with all his medals on.

Another was heard to exclaim in utter bafflement, “We have the best generals and we are losing the war!”

As Fry wryly comments: “Clearly, talking too much within earshot of the hidden microphones may have had something to do with that (the loose talk).”

Others, however, more sensitive and intelligent, became severe critics of the Nazis – although toasts were still raised on Hitler’s birthday. “Pity it has to be English beer,” remarked one of the generals.

 

RIVALRIES developed at Trent Park between pro-Nazis and those utterly disillusioned with the progress of the war.

Kendrick’s methods of dealing with the generals was unusual, to say the least. As well as listening in on their every conversation, he took to wining and dining them. There were even lunch trips to Simpson’s on the Strand.

When Winston Churchill found out about this, he was furious and had them stopped – so Kendrick relocated the lunches to The Ritz.

Helen Fry likens the atmosphere at Trent Park to a traditional London gentlemen’s club.

Living a life of relative luxury, with their egos stroked and sense of self-importance encouraged, they relaxed – and played straight into Kendrick’s hands.

However unorthodox his operation, it worked. His listeners never set eyes on a single German PoW, but eavesdropped on more than 10,000.

They picked up enormously valuable intelligence on the secret weapons programme that produced the V1 and V2 rockets; on battle plans and troop positions; and on U-boat bases and new aircraft technology.

“You have done a Herculean task,” Kendrick was told towards the end of the war.

It was on a par with the better-known work at Bletchley Park and the cracking of the enigma code.

Helen Fry’s richly researched book, packed with surprising and fascinating detail, will bring the covert listeners of the time some of the attention they deserve.

– The Walls Have Ears: The Greatest Intelligence Operation of World War II is published by Yale, 320pp

Standard