Harry in England. Chapter One: Queen Wilhelmina and Edward R. Murrow

Nobody at Claridge's would take a tip from Harry. He met Wilhelmina by accident. She lived down the hall. He had dinner with Ed Murrow and got the full lowdown on the public and the private Winston.

This Chapter: Her Royal Highness Wilhelmina, Queen of the Netherlands, came to Harry’s door at Claridge’s in her robe ro welcome him to England, wishing him well. Ed Murrow was his guest for dinner that first night, telling him what to expect from Churchill and his team as bombs fell all around them.

Contents of “Harry in England”:

1. Queen Wilhelmina and Edward R. Murrow

2. Meeting The VIPs

3. With Winston

4. “Even to the end.”

5. “A little touch of Harry in the night.”

6. The Good Grind of Hard Work

7. Willkie comes to London. Not for long, but too long.

8. Hopkins Reports Details of British Needs

9. “Lord Root of the Matter.”

Chapter One: Queen Wilhelmina and Edward R. Murrow

Reading time: Twenty-one minutes

Harry and Herschel Johnson sat in the back seat of a four-door, square-bodied, black car that said Humber Pullman on a panel riveted to the back of the front seat where, on the wrong side, sat the driver, and in the seat beside him a man Johnson called Harvard, which could well have been his nickname but for a neck that looked more like South Boston than Cambridge. The driver had both the aura and the appearance of one who might bear the dead to their graves as a hobby. Bombs continued to fall, announcing their imminent arrival with long, mournful whistles. The full dark came from above and the streets and their vehicles, and the buildings and their windows, darkened themselves in preparation.

Harry said to Herschel Johnson, “I hope you’re available for dinner. I have in mind asking Ed Murrow to come by. I don’t know him and perhaps you do. I want to get his perspective on things.”

“Quite. Does he expect your call?”

“I mentioned my interest in meeting with him to Averell Harriman and he passed it on to Bill Paley who cleared it with Murrow.”

“Is that how it works?”

Harry smiled at the exchange. He said, “The driver? Is he local? British, I mean.”

“Yes. You need that local thing for knowing how to get around these streets. Harvard is my number two. A very capable guy. From Boston.”

“I’m curious about how the locals are doing. I’m sure you won’t mind if I peel off from time to time for a little chat. Nothing private, not my ears only.”

“I’ll eavesdrop at every opportunity,” Herschel Johnson said. “Would you like for us to get word to Murrow to phone you in your room?”

“Yes, please. If that’s how that works.” As Johnson discussed the Murrow matter with Harvard, Harry, thinking he’d heard Johnson call the driver “Herbert,” went with that. “Herbert,” he said, “Is that right? Herbert? Do I have that right?”

“Yes, milord.”

“I am no lord, Herbert. I am a common man. Is Herbert your first name or your last?”

“Yes, milord.”

“Try this please. Say, ‘Yes, Mr. Hopkins.’ ”

“As you wish, sir. Yes, Mr. Hopkins.” Each time he spoke he cranked his head forty-five degrees to the left and threw the answer out of the corner of the mouth that came with it. Harry leaned forward to ease matters.

“What is your other name, Herbert?”

“Wisham, sir.”

“Herbert Wisham then. Is that it?”

“Wisham Herbert, sir. Though I don’t stand on ceremony.”

“Mr. Herbert, you are driving through streets that are dark and unlit and your motor car is itself unlit.”

“Yes, sir. So I am. Some moon perhaps later, though. If we last that long.”

Harry had no idea where the street ended and the sidewalk began and thought Mr. Herbert shared his confusion each time he took the car’s tires to the gutter.

“May I call you Wisham?”

“If you would like, sir. Though I can’t imagine why you would. Be just you and Mrs. Herbert if you did.”

“I won’t take the liberty then, Mr. Herbert. You seem quite relaxed. Don’t these bombs frighten you?”

“Not so much, no. Not up to the last one, I’d say. Not that one, though. Not that one.”

“Have you lost friends to the bombs? Family?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Which? Friends or family?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Must be a nightmare.”

“Not much good to be said for it. That’s why some go to laughing.”

“Do you wonder how long it will go on? Whether or not you can … survive?”

“About how much longer, I wonder that. But not surviving. I’ll either do that or I won’t.”

“And the government? The Prime Minister? Do you stand with them, with him?”

“To the death, sir, come to that. I’m with Winnie and he’s with me. We’ll beat that Nazi bastard one day.” He said “Nar-zee,” growled it as Harry had heard Churchill spit it out on broadcasts. “Until then, if it’s tough it takes, it’s tough we’ll deliver. Here you are, sir. Claridge’s it is.”

The car was stopped and darkness enshrouded it. To the left, structures slowly surrendered their façades. Harry remembered Claridge’s from a visit years ago. It was a glittering and inviting presence. This was not it. A door opened and a laughing couple emerged and walked down a slight flight of steps, and a sliver of light and a speakeasy sensation came with them. Johnson took in Harry’s confusion and said, “It gets better on the inside.”

*

Harry was in his room and emptying his pockets when the phone rang. He said hello and a voice known to him and millions of others said, “Mr. Hopkins?”

“Yes, Mr. Murrow.”

“Mr. Hopkins. I’m told you’re interested in my company.”

“You’re told correctly.”

“It will be a pleasure and an honor. When?”

“I had in mind this evening with an apology for the short notice. I’m not asking for your company as a journalist, Mr. Murrow. I’m asking for it as an American. I want to talk about the … the whole thing. The people, the temper of them, the lay of the land, the prospects, the principals, their advisers, their temperaments. I want this trip to make a difference. I hope you’re agreeable to a conversation that will be entirely and permanently off the record. Between on;y us and President Roosevelt.”

“I am. I am an American before I am a reporter.”

“Herschel Johnson, whom I’m sure you know, will join us. I’m just troubling the kitchen for dinner to be sent up. Can I make it for three?” Harry thought he was talking British again, and not all that poorly. He wasn’t sure he had the “whom” right, but he never would be.

Murrow said, “Mr. Johnson is picking me up. We’ll be right along.”

Hanging up the phone, Harry noticed the bellman standing at the door with a smile on his face. He fumbled for a tip and the man said, “No, Mr. Hopkins, I don’t want a tip. I want to ask your permission to have your suits and your topcoat cleaned and pressed and your shoes shined. Perhaps we can also do something with your hat.”

“Well, I don’t know. I’ll need them in the morning.”

“They’ll be waiting right here.” He gestured to the door panel that opened from either side for just the purpose he had in mind.

“That would be very nice,” Harry said. “But please accept this,” extending a few bills in his direction.

“No, sir. Thank you just the same. We know who you are and why you’re here and the staff at Claridge’s plans to serve your needs as a courtesy to your purpose.”

“Thanks so much. Go into my closet and take it all. God knows it needs it after the trip it’s been on. And you can have these shoes, too. The hat’s probably hopeless. Here. Take my trousers, too.” He slipped his shoes and trousers off and put them by the door, finding his pajamas and robe to wear.

A little later he answered a knock on the door, and there was Herschel Johnson with Edward R. Murrow in tow, and an elderly woman who managed to project great dignity despite the fact that she was wearing a dressing gown and a robe in the hallway of a distinguished hotel. But then so was Harry, more or less. He was dressed for bed, and though still within his room, it was only a minor advantage.

Johnson said, “Mr. Harry Hopkins, emissary from the American president Franklin Roosevelt, meet Her Majesty Wilhelmina, Queen of the Netherlands.”

Harry stammered, “Your Majesty … I apologize for the … informality of my attire.”

“Don’t be absurd, Mr. Hopkins. As you can plainly see, I’ve left my crown and my ermine robes in my room just down the hall. It’s these two gentlemen who are improperly dressed. It is bedtime, after all. The hotel manager told me of your arrival and I just wanted to pay my respects when Mr. Johnson and Mr. Murrow intercepted me.”

“Oh, you know them?”

“Of course. And of course they know me. Or of me. I hope you’ve come to England with great news of imminent American intervention.”

“Well, Your Highness, I suppose we shall see about that.”

“Do all you can. Adolf Hitler is the most abominable human being of my long experience. I’ll leave you to your work. As I say, I’m just down the hall, and I would welcome a conversation at your convenience. King Haakon of Norway is also here, and I’m certain he would like to join us. George of the Hellenes is not here yet, but I’m certain he will be coming soon. Zog of Albania is at the Ritz. Been there forever. A royal encounter, you might say.” She eyeballed his attire and said with a smile, “Come as you are. Good night.” And went regally back down the hall. She stopped and turned back around and said, “And please tell President Roosevelt that I was enormously impressed with his address last night. And I am particularly grateful for his gracious recognition of the barbaric manner in which my good people have been treated. God bless your work.”

As the Queen disappeared Harry said to Johnson and Murrow, “What are the Hellenes?”

Johnson said, “Greece.”

Murrow looked Harry over, extended his hand in greeting, and said, “Forgive my suit and tie. I didn’t realize it was a slumber party.”

“It’s just dinner. Come as you are.”

Inside, Johnson said, “Wilhelmina arrived here by accident, or by incident more precisely. When her army collapsed she asked the King for a ship to carry her safely to Flushing, a Dutch port on a peninsula guarded by a narrow isthmus, where she intended to install her government in exile. But all he could spare was a destroyer and it couldn’t get safely to the port. So … she came here. Wearing a tin hat. Good thing, too. What’s an isthmus to Hitler? She’s a tough old bird.”

After servers arrayed the dinner and departed, the three men grazed the meal and strolled the room, nibbling as they talked, rather than taking seats more formally at the table that had been set. French doors led to a balcony and a view of Hyde Park where cannons blasted at shadows in the sky as bombs fell to earth. Harry and Murrow chain-smoked cigarettes. Herschel Johnson nursed a pipe.

Harry said, “Ed, I want to know all you know about how we can win this war, so let me earn your confidence by showing you all the cards in my hand.

“My boss believes we can’t afford to lose Britain. The American people are slowly coming his way on this, but Congress is far behind the people. And while the people are waking up to it — much thanks to your broadcasts — that doesn’t mean they’re warming to the notion of sending their sons over here to fight. You’d be lucky to find ten percent who felt that way.

“I think we’ll pass the Lend Lease bill but not by any kind of overwhelming majority, especially in the House. But so what? We don’t have anything sitting on the dock waiting to ship. The bill will probably stipulate that we can only ship materials our own military doesn’t need, and they need everything. I wouldn’t be surprised if it didn’t require some kind of proof of impoverishment from the recipients. Not that we have any kind of industrial capacity prepared for making planes and tanks and weapons on the scale we need in the first place. Our economy is getting strong selling automobiles and refrigerators and radios and damn few of the guys making that kind of stuff want to give it up and retool for a government contract. Henry Ford’s actually pulling for Germany to crush England. So the president will be in a position to be generous, but with nothing to offer. To say nothing of the concern that if we could make it and could get it delivered over here, it might end up in Hitler’s hands after England collapses.

“The wise men say my boss needs to lead on this, sell his point of view, bring America into an enlightened sense of its global responsibility to enter the war. Easy for them to say. It’s war and it kills people and we remember when it actually did, and we think it didn’t do much good back then or we wouldn’t be facing it all over again now.

“Still, I’m an optimist.”

“You had me fooled,” said Murrow. “But I thought he did a fine job last night of bringing America into an enlightened sense of its global responsibility. I liked the way he couched the full argument on moral grounds, pitting democracy against Fascist tyranny.”

Harry said, “Yes, thank you.”

Herschel Johnson said, “I plan to do more listening than talking during this, so I’ll get my one point in early, if I may. There is a limit to how much the people of this island can endure. There is a limit to how many of their homes can be destroyed, how much hunger they can put up with, how many nights they can sleep in sewers, how much suffering and death they can handle. As that limit is approached, the political class will sense it and Churchill will be in jeopardy. If his government falls, it almost certainly will be replaced by one that will want to settle with Hitler, to seek peace terms. At that point, the entire international dynamic will be changed to the detriment of America.”

Murrow said, “That’s been Hitler’s end game from the beginning. To bring the British people to a willingness to say, ‘Enough.’ I think it surprised him when Chamberlain was replaced by Churchill, who gets under his skin in the worst way. Anybody else, Hitler thinks, would have had the sense to surrender, to make a deal. He was willing to give them great terms and he said so. Independence, respect for the empire, no recriminations. He’d take the continent and Great Britain could have the rest of the world for all he cared. Of course, five minutes after he signed off on a deal like that, he would have set out to break it. And Winston knows it.

“The arc of Winston’s time in office has been odd. You might think he arrived triumphantly after the way Chamberlain bungled the crisis, but he didn’t. The navy didn’t comport itself with glory in the Norway debacle and you have to lay that at Churchill’s doorstep. He was on very shaky ground early, even with the King. Then, after Dunkirk, perhaps because of Dunkirk, it turned for him. And since then, as things have gone from bad to worse, his support has grown.”

Hopkins said, “How does that happen? It goes against the grain of logic.”

“I think it’s that he fits the people. His mood is their mood. He said it’s going to be hard, harder than anything they’ve ever done before, and they rose to that. He told them he believed with all his being that they would win, and they think so, too. I can’t, he says to them, I can’t promise that many of us won’t die trying, but we will not surrender. We will fight to the last person. When he pulled off Dunkirk, got their boys safely home, I think the people said, ‘Okay, well done. We’re in this with you. Lead the way.’ ”

Johnson said, “From the first day he was in office, through Dunkirk I would say, those three weeks he had to deal with Halifax and Neville, mostly Halifax, pushing for peace negotiations, Winston couldn’t, or didn’t, just dismiss them out of hand for fear his coalition wouldn’t hold. He played them, some say he lied to them and I wouldn’t be surprised if he did. Nor blame him. Halifax was determined to capitulate.”

Murrow said, “He had, he has, a five-member War Council. Chamberlain and Halifax from the Conservative side, the appeasing side, himself in the middle, and Attlee and Greenwood from the left, from Labor. Neville went quiet, but Halifax was wearing him out. But there was also his full cabinet of twenty-five or so representing all the parties. When he finally got the Dunkirk rescue in place, he went to them and told them he would rather die choking on his own blood — those were his words — than give in to that man. And they rallied to him. That put an end to the idea of capitulation … for then.”

“I met with Bill Shirer in New York last week and he was very helpful about the battle. What can you add?”

“Nobody knows more about the battle than Bill. Certainly not me. You should know that it’s a good time now for Winston politically. What may come may be dangerous, but for now he’s in good shape. He kept Halifax on as Foreign Secretary is spite of all their differences and he put Neville right there in the War Council and never once lapsed into criticism of the policies that had brought all this on. At least in public. Others wanted to, but he didn’t. He believes if you spend the present dredging up the past you lose the future. And I think he’s right. He was truly courteous to Chamberlain. When the man took ill, he asked the nation to pray for him. When he died, he eulogized him as a patriot deceived by an evil man. Then he faced a confidence vote and won 341 to four. Now, I think he feels the burden of the coalition is lifting and he sees it as a good time to give Halifax a sendoff. If it is a demotion, it’s a very small one.”

“And Eden?”

Murrow said, “Anthony Eden is sort of emblematic of England. He can be stuffy, irritatingly patrician. Sometimes it seems like he must have been born with a mustache while wearing a bespoke suit from Savile Row. But he by God fought in France the last time. And he took the hard road with Chamberlain, going up against the party elders, siding with Churchill. I think he’ll be great in the Foreign Office. I think he’s one of those tough sonsabitches you’d never expect to be.”

Harry said, “FDR has a couple of strikes on Churchill. He hears he’s a drunk. And he hears he’s always been reckless and has no chance up against Hitler. It sounds more like gossip than evidence to us, especially since Joe Kennedy spread it and the boss hopes never to see that man again. What do you think?”

Murrow, with a shrug, said, “He drinks. Morning to night. Continuously, but not heavily. A little scotch in his water upon arising, and as the day goes on. Sips good wine and his favorite, champagne, at meals. And brandy as the night comes on. I’m sure he’s been hammered plenty of times over the years, maybe even recently. God knows I would have been, in his shoes. But I don’t believe the cause of freedom has anything to fear from the imbibing of Winston Churchill. This is the pattern of a lifetime. I’m sure he’s not drinking more or less than he ever has. He drinks.” He shrugged.

“And the recklessness?”

“He’s made his mistakes. Lots of them. He’s very active. He’s in the game. Swings at a lot of pitches. He has an extraordinarily wide emotional range, and he trusts it, goes with it. Now he’s the Minister of Defense as well as the Prime Minister. Takes a set of nuts to strap that on, doesn’t it? He calls every play. Drives Ismay and Brooke absolutely crazy with his … well, they call it interference, but he is the boss and he believes in himself. He’ll listen but you better make sense. He’ll cut a long-time friend off without so much as goodbye if he thinks he can get better advice somewhere else. He wants to win this goddamn war, wants to kick Adolf Hitler’s ass up the gallows steps and march him into the hangman’s noose in the worst way. And he believes he can.”

“The last war. The Dardanelles. Gallipoli. What do you make of that story?”

“You’ve studied it?”

Hopkins nodded. Murrow said, “I think he was let down by naval commanders who hadn’t been to war before. They thought their job was to protect their ships and not advance and kill the enemy. They lost their nerve. He may deserve some criticism for not anticipating that and managing it, but he was five thousand miles away from the action. That’s the kind of mistake he’s most likely to make, believing that others are as eager to fight as he is.

“Winston is a linear descendant of the traditions of the Empire. He sees himself as the next in line to Marlborough, Nelson, the Duke of Wellington. You know the names of these brigades and regiments? The Royal Dragoons? The Queen’s Own Hussars? Each one of them has a history that goes back centuries and Winston is romantically involved with it. It was Nelson who said as the fateful battle began, ‘England expects that every man will do his duty.’ Which meant fight to the death. And they did. These British bastards fight and Winston Churchill at 65, now 66, is one of them.

“Ask him about the Dardanelles. He’s not likely to be reluctant to discuss it and he’ll admire you for having the guts to bring it up.”

Johnson said, “Do you know he was captured in the Boer War and escaped? Broke out of a prison and made his way across Africa with only his wits and guts and rejoined his regiment. The man is a soldier.”

Hopkins said, “Who does he listen to? Who’s there late?”

Murrow said, “He likes rogues, hustlers, but smart ones, effective ones. Bracken. Beaverbrook. He fought the king over Beaverbrook, and won. Beaverbrook’s close to impossible as a human being, but Winston thought he was the best person to run aircraft production. And he’s been great at it, outproducing the Germans. There’s Lindemann, a professor he calls ‘the Prof.’ He’s able to distill scientific information for Churchill in a way that he understands it. He trusts the Prof, who’s been wrong a time or two, but Winston doesn’t think he lies, or has a hidden agenda.

“Winston will like you.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re pushy. He’ll be nice to you because you can help him. But he’ll like you because you’re difficult. Don’t ignore Clementine. She is largely responsible for the great improvements that have been made in the shelters. They were just cesspools when this began. She goes into them. So does he, of course, but she sees them from a woman’s view. She raised mountains of hell until she was heard and they are far better now than they were. And getting better every day. Clementine Churchill is an independent force in this war. She won’t stay up boozing with the boys and she’ll cover for him in public. But when nobody’s around, she’ll set him straight.”

“How do you know this if nobody’s around?”

“See?” Ed Murrow said. “You’re pushy.”

“So what’s the answer?”

“The answer is he’s been around so long everybody knows everything by now. But the answer you bought with this dinner is I know it because his daughter-in-law Pamela is my friend and she used to sleep with Winston. Still does from time to time.”

“What?”

Murrow chuckled at his joke’s effect. He said, “In the bomb shelter where they go to spend the night, nights like this one, Clemmie has her own room and Winston has another and Pamela sleeps there when she’s in London. It’s bunk beds. Winston takes the top. Started out when she was pregnant with his grandchild and his asshole son Randolph, her husband, was off and gone. Now the baby’s come, on dangerous nights, she’ll still go there. She’s … my friend. She’s … let’s leave it there.”

“ ‘Let’s leave it there?’ When it finally gets good, you clam up?” Harry got it. Pamela had batted her eyes at Murrow and his heart stood still.

When they had gone, he called Room Service and said, “There’s food up here we didn’t eat. A lot of it. It’s still good food. Edible. Excellent, actually. In America, we call these leftovers and they are very well respected. It would please me if it could end up in the bellies of people who need it. Can you come promptly and put our leftovers to good use?”

“Mr. Hopkins, Claridge’s does not normally …”

“Please. Normal? What’s that? Tell me you’ll try, even if it’s a lie.”

“We’ll try.”

“If nothing else, refrigerate them and I’ll eat them tomorrow.”