This quotation, the title of the last chapter in Martin Edwards’s seminal The Golden Age of Murder, is, as so many things in the study of the genre, from Agatha Christie. The last lines of Mr Edwards’s book are:
The last word belongs to Christie. In 1940, at the height of the Blitz, when she could not know if she or her family and friends would survive for long, she inscribed a copy of Sad Cypress: “Wars may come and wars may go, but MURDER goes on forever!”How right she was. Furthermore, despite all predictions to the contrary, traditional murder and detective fiction go on forever. Nothing could prove that more clearly than the popularity of the British Library series of reprints, first of Victorian but more recently of various half-forgotten Golden Age detective novels and collections of short stories, all of which have been immensely popular.
Martin Edwards’s role in publishing and
publicizing the series cannot be overestimated. He has chosen the books, provided
highly knowledgeable introductions to a number of them and edited collections
of short stories. While doing all that he has been writing his own books and
running a blog about detective fiction that is to be recommended to anyone who
is even half-way interested in the subject. His greatest achievement to date,
however, is this massive volume, a history of the Detection Club in the
thirties and forties, a collection of biographies of the extraordinary people
who were its members and, incidentally, a history of the genre in the period.
That is what I call a useful book.
Not only is it useful but it is wonderfully
well written; indeed the story of the Detection Club [photo of one of their dinners above], whose headquarters at 31
Gerrard Street in Soho (though nowadays mostly known as Chinatown) ought to be
commemorated with a blue plaque, unfolds like a collection of interlocking
thrilling short stories. One cannot say this often enough: the people who
created the Club and the genre, which has not died out to this day, were quite
extraordinary. And while many of us know the story of Agatha Christie, her
sensational disappearance, divorce and second marriage to Max Mallowan, the
story of Dorothy L. Sayers and her secret illegitimate son, the story of
Margery Allingham (though this is less well known) we do not necessarily know
the story of John Dickson Carr, John Rhode/Miles Burton, Henry Wade, Anthony
Berkeley, Helen Simpson, Christianna Brand and a number of others. The fact is
that despite the rather lazy assumption by people who have recently written
about the subject, there were far more writers than just the “Four Queens”,
many of them more popular at the time (though Christie overtook most of her
colleagues by the forties) and, whisper who dares, many of them men. Nor were
these writers particularly cosy in their approach to the subject or,
necessarily, conservative in their attitude though I still maintain that
somewhere at the heart of the genre there is a conservative moral attitude,
which did not mean the same in political and social terms.
To me the most interesting “discovery” was
the relationship between Anthony Berkeley (real name Anthony Berkeley Cox and
also Francis Iles) and the underrated E. M. Delafield, a very popular novelist
of the period who dared to touch a lot of rather difficult subjects in her
novels but who is known now largely for the delightful series of Provincial
Lady diaries, rather deceptive in themselves, and who is often confused with
the main character of those books, the Provincial Lady herself. Martin Edwards
thinks he has traced a much closer relationship between these two difficult,
talented and now half-forgotten writers than most of us, including Violet
Powell, Delafield’s biographer realized. Admittedly, the trail that leads
through novels more than letters and reminiscences depends a great deal on
hypotheses and assumptions but it may not be too far off the truth. (Though I
do not believe and neither, I think, does Mr Edwards that Delafield’s husband
was abusive, no matter what Anthony Berkeley implied in his novels.)
I do have a couple of bones to pick. One
has nothing to do with the author and much to do with the publisher. Is it
really not possible for a respectable publisher like HarperCollins to employ a
proof-reader? The number of serious errors is outrageous and completely
unnecessary: this is not a hastily produced paperback. (I wonder if
HarperCollins would consider employing a highly experienced eagle-eyed
proof-reader.)
My second bone is to do with the general
assumption of what the thirties were like. There were serious economic problems
in many parts of the country, especially after the 1929 crash and there was a
great deal of uncertainty, both with employment and more generally in the
second half of the decade as the probability of another big war became
stronger. But, at the same time, it was the decade of much house building, when
the well-known two-down-three-up houses with decent sized gardens grew in large
numbers and many more families could afford to live in their own homes; it was
also the period when many more council and housing association estates went up
and these remain far better and more attractive than those built later on; when
the popular Morris Minor meant that a good many more people had cars than just
Lord Peter Wimsey; when holidays became statutory for many more people. It was
also the period when new publishing houses were created and magazines were set
up; when writers could live off their writing and the audience for new books
and periodicals grew; when Allen
Lane revolutionized publishing and reading by his
brilliant idea of the Penguin paperbacks.
The two views are not mutually exclusive
but both are important as we look at the background to the enormous popularity
of detective stories, both bought and borrowed from various libraries.
Martin Edwards: The Golden Age of Murder
The Mystery of
the Writers Who Invented the Modern Detective Story
2015 London
HarperCollinsPublishers
Those of us who complained in the past that detective stories are not taken seriously enough in this country or the US (two countries that have been in the forefront of producing the actual literature) ought to be pleased with the amount of academic interest displayed in the genre in the last couple of decades. All Tory Historian can say is that one must beware of what one wishes for as it might just come true.
Of course, TH and other like-minded individuals are delighted with the appearance, at intervals, of serious, well-researched and well-argued books on the subject. For example all those who are interested in the genre must be looking forward to the publication of Martin Edwards's history of the Detection Club and its denizens, The Golden Age of Murder. But Martin, who is a friend, is not an academic but a writer, anthologist and historian of the genre who loves it and understands it. He is also the author of some excellent detective novels of his own and has been much involved both as consultant and as a writer of illuminating introductions in the production of the British Library reprints of early and Golden Age detective stories that have sunk into undeserved oblivion as far as the general reading public is concerned. (Incidentally, the general reading public has taken to the reprints in a big way and most of them have been selling very well, indeed, thus proving past experts on the subject wrong.)
There are many other serious and informative books, anthologies and collections of essays on the market though, alas, not always published in the UK (still, with Amazon that should not be too much of a problem). The work of Douglas G. Greene, the biographer of John Dickson Carr, anthologist and essayist is of enormous importance. As far as I know he is not related to Sir Hugh Greene who, back in the 1970s created interest in forgotten "rivals" of Sherlock Holmes through a highly successful TV series and several volumes of short stories, but it is an amusing coincidence.
Douglas Greene has been honoured by a festschrift edited by Curtis J. Evans, called Mysteries Unlocked, full of goodies about well known and not so well known authors. Curt Evans himself is an author of several books on the subject, including one that really ought to have been published in the UK a long time ago, as it is a study of three leading British Golden Age authors: John Rhode/Miles Burton (same man but two noms de plume), Freeman Wills Croft and J. J. Conington (another nom de plume).
There are many more examples of such works and, if required, Tory Historian can list a good selection.
TH was also very impressed by the splendid exhibition the Museum of London had about Sherlock Holmes and aspects of his career and various reincarnations. Of particular interest were the many photographs and paintings, oil and watercolour, of London of the period and the tracing of the journeys Holmes and Watson took across various parts of he city and out of it from one of the many railway stations. It is important to recall that Holmes and Watson carried out all those investigations at a time when London was growing and changing rapidly. Sometimes one sees that in the stories but the curators of the exhibition made a great effort to demonstrate it through maps, quotations and pictures. The world Holmes and Watson lived and worked in was not a cosy, dependable bourgeois one that is so often argued by those academic students of the genre; it was one of great and rapid upheavals.
Which finally brings Tory Historian to the whole issue of academic studies of crime and detective fiction. There are now courses in detective fiction, academic publications on the subject that manage to take all the joy out of it, even whole series of academic books.
Clive Bloom edits such a series for Palgrave Macmillan called Crime Files, which makes it sound like a TV series of almost any vintage but its purpose is far more serious:
Some of the titles are of interest. The problem is that they are deceptive. These books are not for discerning readers or even for students except those who are about to take exams in the subject and, even more so, those who want to rise in the academic ladder.
There is some evidence that both early and Golden Age writers of crime fiction did not consider that work to be important or worthy of serious consideration. We all know that about Sir Arthur Conan Doyle hating Sherlock Holmes because he displaced what he considered to be his serious literary work from the public's knowledge and affection. As a matter of fact, those historical novels are very good and the various non-Holmes short of adventure, medical life and ghostliness are excellent but we all know who holds our attention and affection and does so all over the world.
Detective fiction writers of the late nineteenth and early twentieth century sometimes used pseudonyms or considered their output to be merely an unimportant part of their work. The same applied to some of the Golden Age writers like S. S. Van Dine, Henry Wade, J. J. Conington and others. Women continued to use male pseudonyms long beyond the time this was deemed to be necessary and it is only slowly that the writing of detective fiction became an acceptable and honoured profession. (There is no need to discuss J. K. Rowling's tricksy way of advertising her detective novels, supposedly written by one Robert Galbraith with the truth somehow becoming known to every journalist within days of the first book's publication.)
Of course, this is not true for everyone. Conan Doyle may not have liked Sherlock Holmes but he wrote the stories under his own name and eventually accepted his detective's importance; Agatha Christie used her real name for the detective fiction and a pseudonym, Mary Westmacott, for what might be termed her "serious" fiction. John Dickson Carr, who did use several names at various times, gloried in being a crime fiction writer, calling it the "grandest game on earth". Despite this and despite the great popularity of the genre in the years between the wars and immediately after the Second World War, some unease prevailed.
Nowadays the unease lies with those academics. The subject may exist but its students are uneasy: can it really be called a serious academic study, they ask themselves. The answer is no, not unless it is analyzed from many, reasonably fashionable point of view and certainly not unless rather spurious academic debates can be conducted.
Tory Historian realized this with complete clarity while reading one of the books in the Crime Files series, Late Victorian Crime Fiction in the Shadows of Sherlock by Clare Clarke, Assistant Professor of Nineteenth Century Literature at Trinity College, Dublin.
Professor Clarke's main intent is to show that there were other detective fiction writers contemporaneous with Conan Doyle (not precisely news to people who have been reading the various anthologies that have been published over the yeas) and that a number of these were somewhat more subversive of the self-satisfied Victorian view of the world than .... who, precisely?
The problem with those who are out to prove how self-satisfied the Victorians were but actually there were subversive writers even in that period is that they have to rely on those very Victorians to show the seamy side of that supposedly self-satisfied existence. Indeed, one reason why life was improving for so many people was the existence of crusading journalists and writers, like W. T. Stead who were not afraid to write about unpleasant facts, actually going to prison in his case.
Stead, a remarkable man, brave, emotional, hard-working, but often contradictory and infuriating, is much discussed by Professor Clarke because of his campaign against child prostitution that included his shocking and very well known series of articles in the Pall Mall Gazette, The Maiden Tribute to Babylon and the equally shocking Eliza Armstrong case, which resulted in the journalist going to prison for purchasing a child from her mother in order to demonstrate how easy that was.
Stead's most recent biographer, W. Sydney Robinson suggests in Muckraker that the story of Eliza Armstrong was not quite as straightforward and Stead's behaviour not quite as honest as it has always been assumed.
However, the case and the articles had a shattering effect on many and the age of consent was hastily raised in law till sixteen. By no stretch of the imagination could it be said that any of it was unknown until Professor Clarke and other modern academics uncovered it.
What Professor Clarke has done is to link the Maiden Tribute to Babylon with The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde, arguing that child prostitution is at the heart of that story. As one of the only two crimes that Mr Hyde is known to have committed (the rest of his activity being shrouded in the mists of horror) is him trampling on a young girl, the argument is not unreasonable. When it is then extended to Dr Jekyll and his friends it becomes slightly less plausible. Yes, they might go wandering in the streets of Edinburgh at night in search of young girls or they might do so in search of young men who are willing to engage in sexual activity, or in search of opium dens or various other things.
As far as the theme of the book as a whole is concerned, Stevenson's novella is a problem. Professor Clarke argues for greater recognition of late Victorian writers who do not happen to be Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and of the complexity of both life and literature of that period. Nobody could possibly argue that Robert Louis Stevenson is not well known or that the complexity of his work, especially of his account of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde, is underestimated. I have no doubt that many have already written about the theory of it being linked to W. T. Stead's investigative journalism.
Apart from the chapter on Stevenson's novella the book has one chapter on Sherlock Holmes that illustrates the contradictions and difficulties of his character as a number of recent academics have apparently insisted that he is the epitome of Victorian bourgeois morality and the man who creates peace and contentment at the end of his adventures, solving the problems and restoring law and order.
It seems a little odd that there should be any academics who can argue that as the various difficulties and contradictions of Holmes's character are openly discussed by Dr Watson from his first meeting with the man in laboratory of Bart's Hospital and we can all list stories in which Holmes deals with something else but crime, does not manage to catch the criminal or decides not to punish him.
Indeed, there is one story in which the criminal is actually Holmes's client and an innocent person is hounded out of the country by the great detective. But before TH turns to that rather odd tale, a little more about Professor Clarke's book.
The other chapters are a call for greater interest in other contemporary writers who, unlike Conan Doyle, took a less acceptable attitude to crime, showing, in the case of Fergus Hume, that the so-called respectable society in Australia still rested on criminality (hardly an unknown idea), or the influence slum living can have on human beings as in Israel Zangwill's one crime story, The Big Bow Mystery, or looking at crime from another perspective, that of the criminal as in Arthur Morrison's The Dorrington Deed-Box and Guy Boothby's The Prince of Swindlers.
Actually, none of these writers are completely unknown and various stories from the two latter collections have been reprinted. Fergus Hume's The Mystery of the Hansom Cab and Zangwill's novella have also been reprinted from time to time and many of them are now available on line.
The sad truth is that Fergus Hume, Guy Boothby, Israel Zangwill and Arthur Morrison may be interesting and amusing writers but Conan Doyle and Stevenson are great writers who approach genius in some of their works. That is not a reason for not reading the first four but it is the reason why they are less well known. Furthermore, if we are looking for complex, ambiguous and subversive writing we are once again faced with the fact that Stevenson in The Strange Case and other works and Conan Doyle in the Sherlock Holmes canon fulfil that task better than, say, Guy Boothby.
Conan Doyle's astonishing achievement was the creation of a character who was really rather unpleasant, anti-social to the point of rudeness, arrogant, self-centred, a drug addict and a probable manic depressive (though he did soften as time went on) who was nevertheless liked and admired in the books and has been liked, admired by readers all over the world and emulated by other writers ever since. Arthur Morrison could not have done so either with his honourable and upright Martin Hewitt (again, the stories are very well worth reading) or his smart, dishonourable, completely amoral Dorrington.
What is more the public loved the ambiguous character of Holmes. The first two long stories were reasonably well received but it was not till Strand Magazine started publishing the Adventures that real popularity emerged. The first of those was A Scandal in Bohemia. Professor Clarke's first reference to it is a little odd. In her introduction she says:
As one starts discussing Sherlock Holmes and the complexities of the character and stories, one finds that there is enough material for a medium-sized book though the chances are most of those points have been made by someone else not in the academic world whose denizens seem to do nothing but invent theories of no importance and argue against other academic theories of equal interest. What a terrible waste of opportunity and effort.
In the meantime, here are a couple of questions about Holmes and the canon that TH might answer in another long blog:
In The Adventure of the Noble Bachelor, another non-criminal case, Holmes expresses himself as a true lover of America or, as we would say nowadays, the Anglosphere.
As against that, and this is TH's second point, there is no evidence of one of the latest academic theory and that is "fear of reverse colonization", that is fear expressed that men of the colonies, either native or white influenced by native ideas, return home and bring back criminal ideas. When there is a crime story, which is somehow rooted in colonial events, as in The Sign of Four or The Boscombe Valley Mystery, the criminals are white and have not been particularly influenced by anything but their own criminal nature. Little Tonga to whom Professor Clarke refers rather a lot, is a secondary character and is activated by complete, all-consuming loyalty to Jonathan Small who had saved his life.
Of course, TH and other like-minded individuals are delighted with the appearance, at intervals, of serious, well-researched and well-argued books on the subject. For example all those who are interested in the genre must be looking forward to the publication of Martin Edwards's history of the Detection Club and its denizens, The Golden Age of Murder. But Martin, who is a friend, is not an academic but a writer, anthologist and historian of the genre who loves it and understands it. He is also the author of some excellent detective novels of his own and has been much involved both as consultant and as a writer of illuminating introductions in the production of the British Library reprints of early and Golden Age detective stories that have sunk into undeserved oblivion as far as the general reading public is concerned. (Incidentally, the general reading public has taken to the reprints in a big way and most of them have been selling very well, indeed, thus proving past experts on the subject wrong.)
There are many other serious and informative books, anthologies and collections of essays on the market though, alas, not always published in the UK (still, with Amazon that should not be too much of a problem). The work of Douglas G. Greene, the biographer of John Dickson Carr, anthologist and essayist is of enormous importance. As far as I know he is not related to Sir Hugh Greene who, back in the 1970s created interest in forgotten "rivals" of Sherlock Holmes through a highly successful TV series and several volumes of short stories, but it is an amusing coincidence.
Douglas Greene has been honoured by a festschrift edited by Curtis J. Evans, called Mysteries Unlocked, full of goodies about well known and not so well known authors. Curt Evans himself is an author of several books on the subject, including one that really ought to have been published in the UK a long time ago, as it is a study of three leading British Golden Age authors: John Rhode/Miles Burton (same man but two noms de plume), Freeman Wills Croft and J. J. Conington (another nom de plume).
There are many more examples of such works and, if required, Tory Historian can list a good selection.
TH was also very impressed by the splendid exhibition the Museum of London had about Sherlock Holmes and aspects of his career and various reincarnations. Of particular interest were the many photographs and paintings, oil and watercolour, of London of the period and the tracing of the journeys Holmes and Watson took across various parts of he city and out of it from one of the many railway stations. It is important to recall that Holmes and Watson carried out all those investigations at a time when London was growing and changing rapidly. Sometimes one sees that in the stories but the curators of the exhibition made a great effort to demonstrate it through maps, quotations and pictures. The world Holmes and Watson lived and worked in was not a cosy, dependable bourgeois one that is so often argued by those academic students of the genre; it was one of great and rapid upheavals.
Which finally brings Tory Historian to the whole issue of academic studies of crime and detective fiction. There are now courses in detective fiction, academic publications on the subject that manage to take all the joy out of it, even whole series of academic books.
Clive Bloom edits such a series for Palgrave Macmillan called Crime Files, which makes it sound like a TV series of almost any vintage but its purpose is far more serious:
Crime Files is a ground-breaking series offering scholars, students and discerning readers a comprehensive set of guides to the world of crime and detective fiction. Every aspect of crime writing, detective fiction, gangster movie, true-crime expose, police procedural and post-colonial investigation is explored through clear and informative texts offering comprehensive coverage and theoretical sophistication.Those are grand claims and hard to live up to. Whether the series does or not is something every reader of individual books has to decide but two things need to be said at once: there is nothing particularly ground-breaking in the serious study of crime fiction as it has been done for good many decades and it is unlikely that very many ordinary readers, discerning or otherwise, will bother with titles like Masculinity, Crime and Self-Defence in Victorian Literature or its counterpart, Femininity, Crime and Self-Defence in Victorian Literature.
Some of the titles are of interest. The problem is that they are deceptive. These books are not for discerning readers or even for students except those who are about to take exams in the subject and, even more so, those who want to rise in the academic ladder.
There is some evidence that both early and Golden Age writers of crime fiction did not consider that work to be important or worthy of serious consideration. We all know that about Sir Arthur Conan Doyle hating Sherlock Holmes because he displaced what he considered to be his serious literary work from the public's knowledge and affection. As a matter of fact, those historical novels are very good and the various non-Holmes short of adventure, medical life and ghostliness are excellent but we all know who holds our attention and affection and does so all over the world.
Detective fiction writers of the late nineteenth and early twentieth century sometimes used pseudonyms or considered their output to be merely an unimportant part of their work. The same applied to some of the Golden Age writers like S. S. Van Dine, Henry Wade, J. J. Conington and others. Women continued to use male pseudonyms long beyond the time this was deemed to be necessary and it is only slowly that the writing of detective fiction became an acceptable and honoured profession. (There is no need to discuss J. K. Rowling's tricksy way of advertising her detective novels, supposedly written by one Robert Galbraith with the truth somehow becoming known to every journalist within days of the first book's publication.)
Of course, this is not true for everyone. Conan Doyle may not have liked Sherlock Holmes but he wrote the stories under his own name and eventually accepted his detective's importance; Agatha Christie used her real name for the detective fiction and a pseudonym, Mary Westmacott, for what might be termed her "serious" fiction. John Dickson Carr, who did use several names at various times, gloried in being a crime fiction writer, calling it the "grandest game on earth". Despite this and despite the great popularity of the genre in the years between the wars and immediately after the Second World War, some unease prevailed.
Nowadays the unease lies with those academics. The subject may exist but its students are uneasy: can it really be called a serious academic study, they ask themselves. The answer is no, not unless it is analyzed from many, reasonably fashionable point of view and certainly not unless rather spurious academic debates can be conducted.
Tory Historian realized this with complete clarity while reading one of the books in the Crime Files series, Late Victorian Crime Fiction in the Shadows of Sherlock by Clare Clarke, Assistant Professor of Nineteenth Century Literature at Trinity College, Dublin.
Professor Clarke's main intent is to show that there were other detective fiction writers contemporaneous with Conan Doyle (not precisely news to people who have been reading the various anthologies that have been published over the yeas) and that a number of these were somewhat more subversive of the self-satisfied Victorian view of the world than .... who, precisely?
The problem with those who are out to prove how self-satisfied the Victorians were but actually there were subversive writers even in that period is that they have to rely on those very Victorians to show the seamy side of that supposedly self-satisfied existence. Indeed, one reason why life was improving for so many people was the existence of crusading journalists and writers, like W. T. Stead who were not afraid to write about unpleasant facts, actually going to prison in his case.
Stead, a remarkable man, brave, emotional, hard-working, but often contradictory and infuriating, is much discussed by Professor Clarke because of his campaign against child prostitution that included his shocking and very well known series of articles in the Pall Mall Gazette, The Maiden Tribute to Babylon and the equally shocking Eliza Armstrong case, which resulted in the journalist going to prison for purchasing a child from her mother in order to demonstrate how easy that was.
Stead's most recent biographer, W. Sydney Robinson suggests in Muckraker that the story of Eliza Armstrong was not quite as straightforward and Stead's behaviour not quite as honest as it has always been assumed.
However, the case and the articles had a shattering effect on many and the age of consent was hastily raised in law till sixteen. By no stretch of the imagination could it be said that any of it was unknown until Professor Clarke and other modern academics uncovered it.
What Professor Clarke has done is to link the Maiden Tribute to Babylon with The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde, arguing that child prostitution is at the heart of that story. As one of the only two crimes that Mr Hyde is known to have committed (the rest of his activity being shrouded in the mists of horror) is him trampling on a young girl, the argument is not unreasonable. When it is then extended to Dr Jekyll and his friends it becomes slightly less plausible. Yes, they might go wandering in the streets of Edinburgh at night in search of young girls or they might do so in search of young men who are willing to engage in sexual activity, or in search of opium dens or various other things.
As far as the theme of the book as a whole is concerned, Stevenson's novella is a problem. Professor Clarke argues for greater recognition of late Victorian writers who do not happen to be Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and of the complexity of both life and literature of that period. Nobody could possibly argue that Robert Louis Stevenson is not well known or that the complexity of his work, especially of his account of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde, is underestimated. I have no doubt that many have already written about the theory of it being linked to W. T. Stead's investigative journalism.
Apart from the chapter on Stevenson's novella the book has one chapter on Sherlock Holmes that illustrates the contradictions and difficulties of his character as a number of recent academics have apparently insisted that he is the epitome of Victorian bourgeois morality and the man who creates peace and contentment at the end of his adventures, solving the problems and restoring law and order.
It seems a little odd that there should be any academics who can argue that as the various difficulties and contradictions of Holmes's character are openly discussed by Dr Watson from his first meeting with the man in laboratory of Bart's Hospital and we can all list stories in which Holmes deals with something else but crime, does not manage to catch the criminal or decides not to punish him.
Indeed, there is one story in which the criminal is actually Holmes's client and an innocent person is hounded out of the country by the great detective. But before TH turns to that rather odd tale, a little more about Professor Clarke's book.
The other chapters are a call for greater interest in other contemporary writers who, unlike Conan Doyle, took a less acceptable attitude to crime, showing, in the case of Fergus Hume, that the so-called respectable society in Australia still rested on criminality (hardly an unknown idea), or the influence slum living can have on human beings as in Israel Zangwill's one crime story, The Big Bow Mystery, or looking at crime from another perspective, that of the criminal as in Arthur Morrison's The Dorrington Deed-Box and Guy Boothby's The Prince of Swindlers.
Actually, none of these writers are completely unknown and various stories from the two latter collections have been reprinted. Fergus Hume's The Mystery of the Hansom Cab and Zangwill's novella have also been reprinted from time to time and many of them are now available on line.
The sad truth is that Fergus Hume, Guy Boothby, Israel Zangwill and Arthur Morrison may be interesting and amusing writers but Conan Doyle and Stevenson are great writers who approach genius in some of their works. That is not a reason for not reading the first four but it is the reason why they are less well known. Furthermore, if we are looking for complex, ambiguous and subversive writing we are once again faced with the fact that Stevenson in The Strange Case and other works and Conan Doyle in the Sherlock Holmes canon fulfil that task better than, say, Guy Boothby.
Conan Doyle's astonishing achievement was the creation of a character who was really rather unpleasant, anti-social to the point of rudeness, arrogant, self-centred, a drug addict and a probable manic depressive (though he did soften as time went on) who was nevertheless liked and admired in the books and has been liked, admired by readers all over the world and emulated by other writers ever since. Arthur Morrison could not have done so either with his honourable and upright Martin Hewitt (again, the stories are very well worth reading) or his smart, dishonourable, completely amoral Dorrington.
What is more the public loved the ambiguous character of Holmes. The first two long stories were reasonably well received but it was not till Strand Magazine started publishing the Adventures that real popularity emerged. The first of those was A Scandal in Bohemia. Professor Clarke's first reference to it is a little odd. In her introduction she says:
There are instances, for example, where Holmes does not catch the criminals ('A Scandal in Bohemia', 'The Five Orange Pips' and 'The Yellow Face'); is prepared to break the law in pursuit of a case ('A Scandal in Bohemia' and 'The Illustrious Client'); fails to save his client from being murdered ('The Five Orange Pips'); lets the guilty party go free ('The Boscombe Valley Mystery' and the 'The Adventure of the Blue Carbuncle'); ....One wonders why there is no mention of Charles Augustus Milverton but one cannot list all the stories that have quirks in them. What is undoubtedly odd is that reference to not catching the criminals. There are no criminals in The Yellow Face and the criminal in A Scandal in Bohemia is not Irene Adler who does nothing except protect herself but the King, Holmes's client. Let us recall part of their first conversation:
We were both in the photograph.Well, well, just what are those five attempts but commissioning of serious crime which includes two attempts to terrify a lady? Yet the King becomes the client and Holmes behaves in a questionable manner, particularly when creating a false fire alarm, completing the case by driving the blameless Nortons from England as they are afraid of what the King and his "henchman" Holmes will do. Hardly the behaviour of an honourable man and yet the public loved it and saw nothing strange in the fact that the man who behaves in such a fashion in one story becomes the epitome of morality (he might esteem the intelligence of criminals but pace Professor Clarke he does not actually admire them) in the subsequent ones.
Oh, dear! That is very bad! Your Majesty has indeed committed an indiscretion.
I was mad—insane.
You have compromised yourself seriously.
I was only Crown Prince then. I was young. I am but thirty now.
It must be recovered.
We have tried and failed.
Your Majesty must pay. It must be bought.
She will not sell.
Stolen, then.
Five attempts have been made. Twice burglars in my pay ransacked her house. Once we diverted her luggage when she travelled. Twice she has been waylaid. There has been no result.
No sign of it?
Absolutely none.
As one starts discussing Sherlock Holmes and the complexities of the character and stories, one finds that there is enough material for a medium-sized book though the chances are most of those points have been made by someone else not in the academic world whose denizens seem to do nothing but invent theories of no importance and argue against other academic theories of equal interest. What a terrible waste of opportunity and effort.
In the meantime, here are a couple of questions about Holmes and the canon that TH might answer in another long blog:
In The Adventure of the Noble Bachelor, another non-criminal case, Holmes expresses himself as a true lover of America or, as we would say nowadays, the Anglosphere.
It is always a joy to meet an American, Mr Moulton, for I am one of those who believe that the folly of a monarch and the blundering of a minister in far-gone years will not prevent our children from being one day citizens of the same world-wide country under a flag which shall be a quartering of the Union Jack and the Stars and Stripes.And yet, a good many of the stories are about crime and criminals that come over from the United States. The Study in Scarlet, The Valley of Fear, The Five Orange Pips, The Dancing Men, The Red Circle and The Three Garridebs spring to mind immediately. There may be others.
As against that, and this is TH's second point, there is no evidence of one of the latest academic theory and that is "fear of reverse colonization", that is fear expressed that men of the colonies, either native or white influenced by native ideas, return home and bring back criminal ideas. When there is a crime story, which is somehow rooted in colonial events, as in The Sign of Four or The Boscombe Valley Mystery, the criminals are white and have not been particularly influenced by anything but their own criminal nature. Little Tonga to whom Professor Clarke refers rather a lot, is a secondary character and is activated by complete, all-consuming loyalty to Jonathan Small who had saved his life.
The
First but Forgotten Lord Hailsham
Chris
Cooper
Dr Chris Cooper was recently awarded a PhD at the University of Liverpool . He has taught at a variety of higher education institutions
and has published a number of articles on different aspects of
modern British political history.
The Conservative History Journal blog is very
pleased to be publishing this article about an unjustly neglected Conservative
politician and personality.
In the course of the
twentieth century only one family succeeded in occupying cabinet posts in
Conservative governments over three successive generations. Douglas Hogg served
as Minister of Agriculture under John Major from 1995 to 1997 and, as a successful
barrister, he must have nurtured hopes of eventually following his father and
grandfather by becoming Lord Chancellor. But he did not prosper under
subsequent Tory leaders and his career ended in controversy when his claim for
cleaning the moat at his country manor-house epitomised the ‘expenses scandal’
of 2009. Douglas ’s
father, Quintin, was one of the century’s longest serving cabinet ministers.
Becoming Harold Macmillan’s Minister of Education in 1957, he finally stepped
down as Margaret Thatcher’s Lord Chancellor thirty years later. He came
tantalisingly close to the party leadership and premiership when Macmillan
resigned in 1963. Though Quintin Hogg, second Viscount Hailsham and, in a later
incarnation, Baron Hailsham, died in 2001, he is well remembered for his
formidable intellect, passionate oratory and ebullient personality.[1]
By contrast, Quintin’s father, also called Douglas, the doyen of this
remarkable political family, is a largely forgotten figure. He wrote no memoirs
and has yet to be the subject of a full-scale biography.
The
limited historical discussion concerning Douglas McGarel Hogg, 1st
Viscount Hailsham (1872-1950), does not do justice to his significance. He held
key government offices under Prime Ministers Andrew Bonar Law, Stanley Baldwin,
Ramsay MacDonald and Neville Chamberlain. He had, as one obituary concluded, a
‘brilliant career’ and ‘was one of the mainstays of the Conservative Party’.[2]
He was twice Attorney-General (1922-4 and 1924-8), twice Lord Chancellor
(1928-9 and 1935-8), Leader of the House of Lords (1931-5), Secretary of State
for War (1931-5), Lord President of the Council (1938) and acting Prime
Minister during the summer of 1928.
***
Hogg
was born on 28 February 1872, the eldest of the three sons of Quintin Hogg, a sugar
merchant and philanthropist who founded London’s Regent Street Polytechnic.
Educated at Eton ,
Hogg achieved the distinction of becoming Captain of the Oppidans. He did not
continue to university, instead spending his next eight years managing the
family merchant firm in the West
Indies and British
Guiana . After his decorated service in the Boer
War, Hogg returned to Britain
and embarked on a highly successful career in the law. But he also nurtured
political ambitions. Inspired by Joseph Chamberlain’s campaign for ‘Tariff
Reform’, Hogg became a Conservative. After standing down as the pro-tariff Unionist
candidate for East Marylebone
in 1909 to help maintain party unity, Hogg patiently waited for his political
opening. In the meantime, he became a KC during the Great War, was appointed a
bencher of Lincoln ’s
Inn in
1920 and acted as the Prince of Wales’ Attorney-General during 1921-2. With
annual earnings exceeding £40,000, he was Britain ’s
leading lawyer in commercial and libel cases.[3]
Hogg’s
opportunity to launch his political career came in October 1922 with the
collapse of Lloyd George’s Unionist-Liberal Coalition after the celebrated
Carlton Club revolt. When Andrew Bonar Law became Prime Minister and assumed
the Conservative leadership, Lloyd George’s former law officers – like many
leading Conservatives – refused to serve in Law’s administration. Hogg was
appointed Attorney-General even before being elected as an MP. Returned
unopposed for Marylebone in the November General Election, he began his
parliamentary career on the government’s front bench.
With
a dearth of debating talent in Law’s so-called ‘Government of the Second XI’,
Hogg quickly established himself as one of the most capable ministers. He
helped to pilot the controversial Irish Free State Constitution Bill through
the Commons less than two weeks after his election at Marylebone. Hogg’s
contribution led the Daily Mirror to conclude that the Attorney-General
‘stands out radiantly as the most notable success’ of the new parliament.[4]
The Daily Telegraph later noted that ‘No man ever made his mark more
quickly or more surely’.[5] Law
believed that, in unearthing Hogg’s talents, he had made ‘a real discovery’.[6]
Before the close of 1922, Hogg had become a Privy Councillor and a Knight.
In the years that followed Hogg made extensive policy contributions.
He helped re-shape Conservatism at the beginning of the democratic age,
during a period marked by the rise of organised labour and the appearance of an
avowedly socialist party that competed for – and obtained – power. The
Conservatives, especially after Baldwin
inherited the leadership in 1923, presented a constructive non-socialist
alternative that sought to maintain Britain ’s
constitutional framework and adhere to traditional Tory principles. Hogg’s role
in formulating the ‘New Conservatism’ helped the party establish a broad base
of support.
Hogg became renowned for his oratorical
skills, regularly delivering combative speeches in parliament and the country. One
newspaper noted that the Labour Party had grown to ‘dread the remorseless
analytical logic of this benevolent and rubicund looking lawyer’.[7] In
opposition after the 1923 General Election, Hogg wound up his party’s case
during the parliamentary debate on the Campbell Case that led to the
resignation of the minority Labour government in November 1924. The
Conservatives won the resultant General Election and Hogg was again appointed
Attorney-General. In recognition of his growing stature, he secured a cabinet place.
Hogg’s speedy climb up the greasy pole continued. He was soon described by one backbench
MP as ‘One of the major figures of Conservatism’.[8]
In October 1925 Hogg sanctioned the arrest
of a number of Britain ’s
leading communists and conducted the successful prosecution of ‘the twelve’
under the Incitement to Mutiny Act. Meanwhile, he joined a ministerial
sub-committee that considered the legal position of Trade Unions. During the
General Strike of May 1926, he was amongst those who favoured an immediate
legislative response. But, although Baldwin ’s
caution prevailed and the strike collapsed, Hogg’s thirst for action was not a
reactionary attempt to crush organised Labour. His proposals omitted one
controversial aspect of the bill that ultimately addressed Trade Union powers
in 1927 – the replacement of ‘contracting in’ to the political levy by
‘contracting out’. During the deliberations over this legislation, Hogg was overruled
in his desire to leave the political levy alone. Nonetheless, the
Attorney-General wholeheartedly endorsed the outlawing of ‘general strikes’ and
industrial action directed against the state and he assumed responsibility for
the Trade Disputes and Trade Unions Bill in the Commons. Hogg won many plaudits after his composed presentation in the fiery
debate during the second reading in May 1927.
The
Attorney-General’s prosecution of Communists, his role in restricting Trade
Union powers and his oratorical assaults on Labour seemed far removed from
Baldwin’s conciliatory style and calm statesmanship. But ‘New Conservatism’ was
a doubled-edged sword. Anti-socialism and the defence of the constitution were
accompanied by progressive reform and Disraelian calls for national unity. Hogg
played an important role in this constructive facet of the Tory appeal. In 1927
one cabinet colleague welcomed Hogg’s ‘most valuable support… in opposing
Diehards or in backing what you might call left-wing proposals’.[9]
These
progressive instincts were clear in Hogg’s involvement in shaping the
Electricity Supply Act of 1926. The challenge was securing an efficient supply of
electricity throughout Britain
without nationalising the industry. Hogg chaired the cabinet’s sub-committee,
established in May 1925, charged with formulating a bill. It recommended the
creation of a ‘Grid’ system that would be publicly owned, while other assets
would remain in private hands. During the bill’s second reading in March 1926,
Hogg, in Disraelian tones, told the Commons that the scheme was designed to
‘benefit the people whom we are here to serve’. It would also ‘make
nationalisation more difficult by removing some of the very difficulties and
criticisms which consumers... can level’.[10]
This pragmatic measure, geared to enhance industrial competitiveness, reduce
unemployment and raise living standards whilst blocking nationalisation,
exemplified the reformist nature of ‘New Conservatism’. The Act was one of the
most important industrial developments of the inter-war years.
The
Attorney-General had now established himself as a leading Conservative figure.
In 1927 Neville Chamberlain noted that Hogg had
become
one of the most influential Members of the Cabinet by sheer force of
character... People are beginning to talk of him as a possible leader... and so
far as I am concerned... he would make a
great one.[11]
When Baldwin
considered the succession the following month, he penned that ‘the best men are
Neville and Hogg, and I think on the whole the second would be chosen… [H]e is
first rate and stuffed with character.’[12]
But when Hogg succeeded Lord
Cave
as Lord Chancellor in March 1928 and accepted the accompanying peerage and the
title Baron (later Viscount) Hailsham, his chances of becoming Conservative
leader in a democratic age had seemingly evaporated. His elevation was a
permanent move, as no mechanism allowed peers to renounce their titles. But
unlike many Lord Chancellors, he maintained a political role. This was central
to his re-emergence as a potential Tory leader.
Amid
mounting criticism of Baldwin ’s
performance in opposition after the Conservatives lost the 1929 General Election,
Hailsham, in the absence of Lord Salisbury, successfully directed the party in
the House of Lords and his leadership credentials were widely touted. In March
1931 Neville Chamberlain recognised that if Baldwin
stepped down there was a ‘strongish possibility that the two Houses would unite
in choosing Hailsham as leader’. Chamberlain and Hailsham even agreed that, if Baldwin
retired, they would promote a Hailsham-Chamberlain partnership and refuse to
serve under Winston Churchill.[13]
For one Conservative, if Baldwin
resigned ‘the only possible suggestion... is that Hailsham should lead
the party and Neville be leader in the Commons’.[14]
Lord Derby reached the same conclusion, noting that ‘surely all would
accept Lord Hailsham as Prime Minister’.[15]
***
As
during the 1920s, Hailsham continued to make interventions beyond his ministerial
portfolio and he quickly became a major player in Britain ’s
imperial policy. He assumed a leading role at the Imperial Economic Conference
held at Ottawa
during the summer of 1932 which introduced a modified form of imperial
preference. Baldwin ,
the nominal head of Britain ’s
delegation, ensured that the bulk of the work would fall to Hailsham and
Neville Chamberlain, two committed tariff reformers.[17]
The War Secretary chaired the conference’s main committee charged with the ‘Promotion of Trade within the Commonwealth’. While the conference was not a total success, the British delegation did sign workable bilateral agreements with the Dominions which helped boost imperial trade.
The War Secretary chaired the conference’s main committee charged with the ‘Promotion of Trade within the Commonwealth’. While the conference was not a total success, the British delegation did sign workable bilateral agreements with the Dominions which helped boost imperial trade.
Hailsham also became involved in a drawn-out feud between Britain and Southern Ireland . When Éamon de Valera’s Fianna Fáil Party was elected to power in March 1932, pledged to
abolish the Oath of Allegiance and withhold land annuity payments to Britain , Hailsham, a committed Unionist of Ulster descent, was at the
forefront of British attempts to resist Irish infringements of existing
agreements. His influence over Britain ’s Irish policy was rooted in his membership of a cabinet
sub-committee, charged with shaping policy towards the Free State . Hailsham quickly concluded that ‘No useful purpose would be
served by... making fresh bargains with a government which has just shown in
unmistakable fashion that it could not be relied upon to keep the most solemn
engagements.’[18]
To compel de Valera’s government to reconsider its attitude
towards past agreements, the National Government imposed a 20 per cent tariff
on Irish goods entering Britain . When the Free State responded with similar measures, the ‘economic war’ began. In the
second half of 1932, J.H. Thomas, the Dominions Secretary, sought to end the
dispute through British concessions. Hailsham, however, helped stiffen the
government’s resolve, warning
Thomas that he would ‘not be a party to an agreement... to let off Ireland from all her liabilities’.[19] After negotiating with de
Valera in Dublin and London in June 1932, Hailsham concluded that the Irishman was ‘so much
obsessed with his own bigoted view of Anglo-Irish relations’ that no settlement
was possible.[20]
The National Government followed Hailsham’s lead until late 1935. But, in the
meantime, de Valera’s administration undermined the position of the Governor
General, abolished the Right of Appeal to the Privy Council and made British
citizens aliens in the Irish Free
State .
When Baldwin began his final premiership in June 1935, Hailsham returned to
the Woolsack. Malcolm MacDonald, son of Ramsay, succeeded Thomas as Dominions
Secretary in November. He was prepared to make major concessions to engineer an
Anglo-Irish Settlement. Hailsham, however, stuck to his guns, maintaining that
negotiations ‘could produce no good result’ as de Valera was pursuing his ‘obsession’ of an all-Ireland republic.[21]
But two crucial developments undermined his protests. Firstly, Hailsham
suffered a serious stroke. Although he returned to work in January 1937 and
‘struggled on manfully with his cabinet work’, he
was ‘no longer the vigorous expounder of his views’.[22]
Secondly, Chamberlain, who began to see the merits of
conciliating Britain ’s opponents, now dropped his support for Hailsham’s hard line.[23]
The preliminary discussions with the Free State went ahead and led to the eventual signing of the Anglo-Irish
Treaty of April 1938. The National Government, now
headed by Chamberlain, voluntarily removed trade barriers, withdrew financial
claims and relinquished access to the three Treaty Ports. Hailsham was dissatisfied with the whole agreement but his spirited protests fell on deaf ears. Strikingly, he was the only minister to object to
relinquishing the Treaty Ports, which had repercussions for the Royal Navy
during the Second World War.[24]
Historians generally dismiss Hailsham’s views on imperial affairs
as those of a reactionary ‘diehard’. But this interpretation
does less than justice to his position. The same instincts that underpinned his opposition to Irish
violations of past agreements were crucial in shaping his support of a
progressive solution to Indian constitutional reform. In both instances
Hailsham’s thinking was underpinned by a clear belief in the sanctity of
existing agreements and pledges – whether or not he personally approved of
them. He became an important – perhaps vital – link between the Conservative
leadership and the party’s disgruntled right wing during the years that the
Government of India Act of 1935 was shaped and enacted. He helped persuade many
Conservative backbenchers to support what their instincts suggested was an
unnecessary measure.
In October 1929, while the Conservatives were in Opposition, Lord
Irwin, the Viceroy, declared that India ’s constitution should progress towards Dominion Status. This was
accepted by the leaders of Britain ’s main parties as the ultimate aim of British rule in India . Nonetheless, Britain ’s mission in the sub-continent remained an emotive topic for most
Tories. Opinions ranged from Baldwin ’s liberal
Conservatism to that of right-wing ‘Diehards’, led by Winston Churchill, who
opposed increases in Indian autonomy. While Hailsham shared the concerns of the
Conservative right, he believed that reform was essential as past pledges,
however problematic, must be acted upon. ‘[W]e have been committed to a
particular objective’, he told one audience, ‘and whether it be right or wrong,
when this country’s word is pledged, I am satisfied that no party in the State
would wish to go back on its word’.[25]
To seek agreement over India ’s constitutional development, Britain hosted the Round Table Conference [RTC ] in London during 1930-32. Britain ’s main political parties were represented and all shades of Indian
opinion were invited. Samuel Hoare, the leading Conservative, appreciated the
key role that Hailsham could play. He warned Baldwin , that without
Hailsham’s presence at the conference, ‘you may have great trouble with some of
the members of the extreme right of the party’.[26] Hailsham preferred not to get involved, but under pressure
from his colleagues, he eventually agreed to become a RTC delegate in
July. Following the National Government’s landslide election victory in
November 1931, Hailsham served on the cabinet’s India sub-committee.
Although the RTC collapsed without
agreement in late 1932, the
government designed legislation to extend Indian autonomy in the provinces and create
an all-India Federation with a central legislative body possessing limited
sovereignty. While broadly consistent with past pledges, Hailsham was concerned
that the bill went too far. But, unable to
offer a better alternative, he accepted the government’s proposals and publicly
backed them. When Tory opposition to the India bill threatened to tear
the party apart, Hailsham, as Hoare had anticipated,
used his established position on the Conservative right to promote party unity.
As Leader of the Lords, Hailsham faced a number challenges to the government’s
policy in the Upper Chamber but, under his careful supervision, the government always
avoided defeat. Hailsham also defended the government’s policy at Conservative
Party meetings. In one instance during June 1933, where defeat might have toppled
Baldwin and the National Government, Hailsham skilfully wound up the debate and
the dissidents were comfortably defeated. ‘You were quite excellent’, a
grateful Baldwin wrote, ‘No one could have done what was needed at that moment
better.’[27]
Hailsham had delivered an important victory for the government.
After a Joint Select Committee, the Conservative Party and both
Houses of Parliament had approved the government’s plans, Hoare, the India Secretary, introduced the Government of India Bill in early 1935.
Though it was endorsed by both Houses of Parliament by wide margins, the Act was largely still-born asIndia ’s Princely states, by refusing to participate, vetoed the
creation of the federation. Nevertheless, the bill’s passage was a noteworthy
achievement for Hailsham and the Conservative leadership.
Convinced that past pledges must be fulfilled in order to maintain imperial
unity, Hailsham was an important link between the leaders of the National
Government and the Tory right. Without him, Conservative unity would have been
more seriously fractured.
Though it was endorsed by both Houses of Parliament by wide margins, the Act was largely still-born as
***
Challenges to Britain ’s position in the 1930s were not confined to imperial matters and
Hailsham played an important role in shaping Britain ’s foreign policy in the era of the European dictators. He has
strong claims to being the first cabinet minister to identify the German
threat, warning his colleagues about the dormant menace even before Hitler had
assumed power. For Hailsham, the turning point came in July 1932 when Germany withdrew its delegation from the Geneva Disarmament Conference.
In September, when the cabinet considered granting Germany ‘equality of rights’
in armaments to facilitate its return to the conference, Hailsham uttered his
first ‘grave warning’. Sanctioning German rearmament, he predicted, would allow
Germany to realise ‘her undisguised intention of rectifying her eastern
frontier’.[28]
He made similar remarks the following month, adding that a rearmed Germany might also pursue territorial ambitions in Western Europe .[29]
This was no passing fixation. In April 1934 he told a cabinet sub-committee that
German rearmament could only be stopped by ‘a preventive war which France
was not prepared to undertake’.[30] A
year later he observed that ‘It really looks as if Germany
were still pining for that world domination which brought about the last war’.[31]
Yet,
despite his farsighted warnings, Hailsham consistently supported the National
Government’s foreign policy. After heading the War Office during the initial
stages of what he regarded as inadequate rearmament, Hailsham believed that Britain
would be unable effectively to combat a potential three-pronged challenge from Germany ,
Italy
and Japan .
Reluctant support for appeasement was the inevitable consequence. He offered no
alternative to the government’s responses to the Italo-Abyssinian War, Germany ’s
remilitarisation of the Rhineland ,
the Sino-Japanese War or the Austro-German Anschluss. He supported Prime
Minister Neville Chamberlain not Anthony Eden, the Foreign Secretary, when
the latter resigned in February 1938 over the prospect of opening negotiations
with Mussolini’s Italy .
Yet, although Hailsham appeared to be an out-and-out ‘appeaser’, there was a
point beyond which he would not go.
On
his second visit to Germany
in September 1938, Chamberlain met Hitler at Godesberg. The two leaders planned
to finalise Czechoslovakia ’s
cession to the Reich of the German-speaking Sudetenland .
Hailsham, now Lord President, had agreed with the rest of the cabinet in accepting secession after Chamberlain’s first meeting with the Fuhrer. Hitler, however, suddenly increased his demands, insisting that German forces must occupy the Czech state’s German districts immediately. The Fuhrer threatened to invadeCzechoslovakia
if his terms were rejected. This would trigger the Franco-Czech alliance and
almost certainly drag Britain
into war. Chamberlain, desperate to avoid such a course, judged that the issue
was essentially one of timing. He believed that Britain
should accept Hitler’s terms and advise the French and Czechs to do the same.
Hailsham, now Lord President, had agreed with the rest of the cabinet in accepting secession after Chamberlain’s first meeting with the Fuhrer. Hitler, however, suddenly increased his demands, insisting that German forces must occupy the Czech state’s German districts immediately. The Fuhrer threatened to invade
Lord Halifax, Eden ’s
successor as Foreign Secretary, is generally credited with the cabinet’s
refusal to endorse the Prime Minister’s line. He suddenly dropped his support
for Chamberlain’s approach. But the cabinet’s successful revolt on 25 September
involved the input of other ministers – most notably Hailsham, Chamberlain’s
longest-serving cabinet colleague. Whilst Chamberlain believed that Hitler’s
ambitions were limited to ‘racial unity and not the domination of Europe ’,
Hailsham undermined the Prime Minister’s view by listing a catalogue of broken
promises, telling the cabinet that ‘we could not trust Herr Hitler’s
declarations’. ‘The right thing to do’, the Lord President recommended,
was
to put the facts to the Czechoslovak Government, and if that Government
rejected the German demands and France
came to Czechoslovakia ’s
assistance, we should come to the help of France .
No pressure… should be put upon Czechoslovakia
to accept.[32]
After Hailsham’s lengthy
intervention, other ministers voiced their misgivings. The cabinet did not
accept Hitler’s demands, and with the Czechs poised to fight, war with Germany
seemed inevitable.
In
the event, Chamberlain accepted a last-minute invitation to meet Hitler again
at the end of September. The Munich
settlement delayed the German occupation of the Sudetenland
by ten days and ensured that plebiscites in disputed areas would be supervised
by an international commission, not Germany .
For Hailsham, this was not ‘Peace in our Time’. He justified the Munich
Agreement in very different terms from Chamberlain. ‘My defence of the
government policy’, he informed his younger son,
would
be not faith in Hitler so much as distrust in our allies and of our
preparedness to meet his attack, coupled with the consciousness that nothing we
could have done would have availed Czechoslovakia ...[33]
Hailsham, of course, had
been sceptical of German pledges since 1932 and there were always limits to his
acquiescence in the appeasement of Germany .
But, perhaps most importantly, his career shows that even someone who foresaw
the near inevitability of the Second World War could not find a better policy.
Only at this one moment did he demur from Chamberlain’s line.
The
following month, Hailsham’s elder son was elected as Conservative MP in the Oxford
City
by-election. Once the contest was over, Hailsham revealed that he had resigned from
the cabinet to provide a vacancy in order to help Chamberlain reinvigorate his
government. Hailsham’s retirement was almost total, although he contemplated
fronting a national campaign to ‘stump up the country here against any
surrender of Tanganyika
[formerly Germany East Africa] to Germany ’.
Convinced of Germany ’s
bad faith, Hailsham calculated that negotiations could only lead to futile
surrender. In the event, news of Kristallnacht reinforced the
government’s resolve and Hailsham dropped plans.[34
During
the Second World War, Hailsham became a founding member of Lord Salisbury’s
Watching Committee, established in April 1940. It monitored the government’s
wartime performance and argued for the setting up of a government that embraced
leaders from across the political spectrum. Hailsham survived the bombing of the
Carlton Club in October 1940 unscathed, but he did not enjoy good health. He
managed to fill the role of Honorary Colonel in the Inns of Court regiment
until 1948 and he remained the chairman of the British Empire Cancer Campaign
and acting President of the Polytechnic until his death at his Sussex
home on 10
August 1950 .
Quintin
Hogg was inundated with letters of sympathy. Clement Attlee, a former political
opponent, had ‘always appreciated the keenness of [Hailsham’s] intellect and
his straightforward way of putting his case.’[35]
For one correspondent Hailsham was ‘an example to his generation’.[36] Douglas
Hailsham has been largely overlooked in the narrative of twentieth-century
British history, but his sustained contributions to
British domestic, imperial and foreign policy merit consideration.
[1] See G.
Lewis, Lord Hailsham (London , 1997) and
Quintin Hailsham’s own writings, The Door Wherein I Went (London , 1974) and A Sparrow’s Flight (London , 1990).
[9] British Library, Indian
Office, Irwin Papers, Eur.C.152/17, Chamberlain to Irwin, 25-27 Aug. 1927.
[10] House of Commons Debates,
vol.193, col.1947.
[11] Chamberlain to Irwin, 25-27
Aug. 1927.
[13] Chamberlain to Hilda Chamberlain,
1 March 1931, cited in R. Self (ed), Neville Chamberlain Diary Letters
vol.3 (Aldershot, 2002), p.244.
[14] J. Ramsden (ed.), Real
Old Tory Politics: the political diaries of Sir Robert Sanders, Lord
Bayford, 1910-1935 (London , 1984), p.245. Emphasis
added.
[15] Birmingham University Library,
Neville Chamberlain papers, NC 8/10/21 : Derby to Chamberlain, 25
Feb. 1931 .
[16] See S. Ball, Baldwin and
the Conservative Party: the Crisis of 1929-1931 (Yale, 1988).
[20] Churchill
Archives Centre, Cambridge [CAC ], Douglas
Hailsham Papers, HAIL 1/1/1 , Hailsham to
Granard, 5 March 1934.
[22] Viscount Simon, ‘Hogg,
Douglas McGarel, first Viscount Hailsham (1872-1950)’, Dictionary of
National Biography (London , 1959).
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