34See above, chpt. 3, pp.70-72. 35dBFP.2,XIV. No.426.
36See Roskill, op.cit,, pp.178-79. 37DBFP,2,XIV, No.431.
3&For an examination of Britain's military situation at the time of the Abyssinian
Crisis, see Arthur Marder, "The Royal Navy and the Ethiopian Crisis of 1935-36", '
American Historical Review, 75, 5 (1970), pp. 1327-56; and Rosaria Quartararo,
"Imperial Defense in the Mediterranean on the Eve of the Ethiopian Crisis", r
HistoricalJournal, 20 (1977), pp.185-220. i
39dBFP,2,XIV.No.4%.
"*^F0 800/295, Hoare to Neville Chamberlain, Aug. 18,1935. 4lDBFP,2,XIV,Nos.476.477,480, 481,483, & 484.
"*2cAB 23/82, Meeting at 10 Downing Street on 21 August 1935.
43CAB 23/82, CC 42(35)1. 44See above, chpt. 3, pp.81-82. "*3Cross, op.cit., p.214. 4bTemplewood, op.cit., p. 167. "*7 Avon,op.cit.,p.302. 48See above, chpt. 3, pp.81-83. 49CAB 23/82, CC 43(35). 59CAB 23/82, CC 44(35). 51 Hardie, op.cit., pp.101-112. 52cAB 23/82, CC 45(35).
53CAB 23/82, CC 47(35); see also FO 800/295, Hoare to Eden. 16 October 1935. 54see above, chpt. 3, pp.83-89.
55Quoted in Cross, op.cit., p.227. 56CAB 23/82, CC 48(35).
57Conservative Party Election Manifesto, 1935, quoted in Simon's memoirs, Retrospect
(London: 1952), p .2 ll Commenting on this particular passage years later, Vansittart wrote: "It had been a policy of wavering". (Vansittart, op.cit., p.534.) Vansittart was correct, of course, but the British public did not have such insights into Government policy when they went to the polls.
5&Middlemas and Barnes, op.cit., pp.863-69.
59Although the Conservative Party lost 72 seats (from 459 to 387), the National Government was able to maintain a majority of 247 over any combination of
opponents (Labour strength only rose from 54 to 154 and the opposition Liberals were nearly wiped out). For an excellent study of the General Election, see James C.
Robertson, "The General Election of 1935", Journal o f Contemporary History, 9 (1974), pp.149-164.
69See above, chpt. 3. pp.82-90, and below, chpt. 6. bl Cross, op.cit., pp.227-28.
See Hardie, op.cit., pp.102-104; also Cross, op.cit., pp.229-230. 6JCross, op.cit., p.230; also Temple wood, op.cit., pp.176-177. 64DBFP,2,XV, No.251.
65F0 371/19164, J8419/1/1.
66cAB 63/50, Hankey to Baldwin 25th November 1935.
67Hankey diary entry for 25 November 1935, quoted in Roskill, op.cit., pp.186-89. 6&Templewood Papers V IÎI/3, Hoare to Runciman, 22 November 1935.
690BFP,2,XV,No.255; also Cross, op.cit., pp.232-33.
70C.P. 212(35), in DBFP,2,XV, No.270. 7*CAB 23/82, CC 49(35).
72xhis story is quoted in Middlemas and Barnes, op.cit., pp.877-78. 73See chpt. 3, p.90; also chpt. 6.
According to Middlemas and Barnes, Baldwin was in Dundee making a speech at the time (where he said nothing of Abyssinia). He did not arrive back in London until the 1st of December. Even Middlemas and Barnes who, on the whole, are quite favorable to Baldwin, paint a picture of him as indecisive and vacillating during these weeks. See Middlemas and Barnes, op.cit., pp.873-78.
75Templewood, op.cit., pp.176-78. 76CAB 23/82, CC 50(35).
Chapter 5
Diplomacy in Turm oil: W hat Went Wrong
British policy during the Abyssinian Crisis failed because the diplomatic machinery of the British Government was faulty. Indeed, the entire structure of British foreign policy—the decision making process, the question of responsibility, and the relationship between the Foreign Office and the Cabinet—was a bureaucratic behemoth that invited disaster. In short, the system was incapable of dealing effectively w ith an international crisis of this magnitude.^
The focus of this thesis has been on the Foreign Office during the Abyssinian Crisis; for it is my contention that if we are to understand what went wrong w ith British policy during the crisis, we must first look at where policy was formulated and carried out. Because the Cabinet's role in the crisis was limited (by its own choosing) to approving policy recommendations rather than making policy itself, it is more important to look at the Foreign Office where policy originated. Ultimately, it is in the Foreign Office that the roots of the breakdown in British policy lie.
British policy during the Abyssinian Crisis can be divided into four phases. The first of these phases was the period from December 1934 to early February 1935, when the Foreign Office saw the Italo-Ethiopian dispute as a territorial problem and treated it as such. In the second phase, beginning in mid-February and lasting until late May, the Foreign Office recognized the seriousness of the dispute and tried to dissuade Mussolini w ith mild warnings. The third phase, from June to August, saw the Foreign Office trying to obtain French cooperation while pushing for a territorial settlement—first w ith the Zeila proposals, then w ith the Tripartite Conference. The fourth and final phase was the period between September and December, when Foreign Office policy seemed resigned to working w ith the League, though hope for a territorial settlement was kept alive. In each "phase" the Foreign Office tried to adapt its policy to the events that were developing around it. There was never a great turnaround in British
policy, however; while policy moved in stages, the assumptions that formed the foundation of that policy remained the same.
The first phase of British policy was beset w ith problems. Chief among these problems was the failure to recognize the Wal-Wal incident as something more than a mere border skirmish. The s tiff Italian line taken in the wake of the incident, and the despatch of fresh Italian troops to the region should have convinced the Foreign Office that the situation was more serious than had been originally thought. On December 12th an Italian official remarked that Abyssinia "was the only region in Africa" that held "any hope for Italian expansion," but this did not stir the Foreign Office.2 Sir Sidney Barton, the British Minister in Addis Ababa, was aware of the gravity of the situation but his warnings to London fell on deaf ears.3 Even so, there were other opportunities for the Foreign Office to see what was really going on. The signing of the Rome Accord, and the comments Mussolini made to Drummond on the 15th of January should certainly have caused some alarm in the Foreign Office.^
In retrospect, the Foreign Office’s handling of the dispute between December and early February seems careless. Since similar border clashes had occurred in the area before, it is hardly surprising that British officials initially saw Wal-Wal as another such incident. That this view was maintained for seven weeks— despite numerous signs that indicated the contrary—is remarkable, however. It was a fundamental error of judgement, and the only plausible explanation is that the higher ranking officials who might have been able to correct this mistake, were preoccupied at the time w ith European problems and thus were unable to give serious thought to the matter. When this charge was levelled at the Foreign Office seven months later, Rex Deeper of the News Department used precisely this excuse.5 In any event, the mistake cost the Foreign Office dearly; by the time that British officials realized what was going on, almost two months had passed since Wal-Wal.
When the Foreign Office first realized the potential magnitude of the Italo-Ethiopian dispute, the second policy phase began. The policy that emerged from the Foreign Office during this period became the backbone of British strategy for the next ten months, and therefore requires a second examination. The seeds of this policy were contained in the policy memorandum prepared by Vansittart on February 25th. Vansittart wrote that Italy would have to be dissuaded "from going the full length" because she was needed in Europe to help contain Germany, and because an Italian
attack on Abyssinia would deal a "deadly...blow...{toî the League." Vansittart believed that this would have to "be done in the quietest, most friendly way" since Britain could not afford to lose Italy as an ally; a "quarrel w ith Italy," Vansittart continued, might "drive her back into German embraces." He concluded his memorandum w ith a hint that a solution to the crisis might lie in a territorial settlement.^
Vansittart's memorandum contained the paradox that was to trouble the Foreign Office for the rest of the crisis. Britain could not lose Italy as an ally, but nor could she sit by and watch Abyssinia be devoured. On the one hand, Britain risked alienating Italy and driving her in the German camp; on the other, there was the danger that the League would be destroyed. It was a dilemma, and the Foreign Office tried to steer a middle course that involved mild warnings to Italy to minimize the risk of causing a rupture in relations while, at the same time, maintaining a policy that was compatible w ith Britain's obligations to the League Covenant. Anthony Eden was more inclined to emphasize the League side to this policy,7 but the basic principles of this dual-policy were never seriously questioned. (The r ift that was to develop between Eden's policy and that advocated by Vansittart did not fully emerge until much later.) The idea that a territorial settlement was the best hope of a solution was a natural outgrowth of the Foreign Office's dual-policy. Such a solution offered the best of both worlds since it would not force Britain to make the difficu lt choice between Italy and the League.
During his last four months as Foreign Secretary Sir John Simon did not try to resolve the paradox in Vansittart's policy; instead, the Permanent Under Secretary's memorandum became the basis of British strategy. Simon may have been a weak Foreign Secretary, but he was certainly aware of the paradox later to become the double policy. Indeed, his memorandum circulated to the Cabinet on May 15th could not have been more clear on the matter.® Mild warnings were given to the Italians, and at Stresa no warning was given at all.9 Under Simon's leadership, British policy was allowed to d rift along. When the Italians asked the Foreign Office to define British interests in Abyssinia, the Foreign Office had to hand the matter over to an independent committee headed by Sir John Maffey of the Colonial Office. By the time the Maffey Committee's report was ready (in June), it was too late: four months had passed and the question had been out-stripped by events. In any event, the Italian Government never received a response.*®
The net effect of British policy during this second phase was destructive rather than constructive. Taken together, the mild warnings, the failure to respond to the Italian enquiry and the decision not to raise the matter w ith Mussolini at Stresa, conveyed a sense of weakness to the Italians. The Italians could hardly have received the impression that Britain was seriously planning to stop them.^* In one sense then. British policy actually encouraged rather than deterred Mussolini.
Foreign Office policy swung into high gear w ith the appointment of Sir Samuel Hoare as Foreign Secretary in early June, and the first attempt to reach a territorial settlement w ith the Zeila proposals. There was, however, no fundamental change in British strategy. While Simon had accepted the rationale behind Vansittart's double policy, it was Hoare who actually put it into practice. The Zeila proposals and later the Tripartite Conference in Paris were attempts by the Foreign Office to solve the dispute through negotiation. The Foreign Office had little room for maneuver, however, and the position that it took during these months had virtually no chance to succeed. From an Italian point of view, the warnings which tried to remind them of their obligations to the League Covenant, reeked of hypocrisy. Having just signed the Anglo-German Naval Treaty, Britain was in no position to brow-beat the Italians. 12 The Foreign Office was similarly hampered at the negotiating table. Because the Cabinet and the Foreign Secretary had decided not to allow the threat of League sanctions to be used to coerce the Italians into line, the British delegates at the Tripartite Conference were deprived of the one bargaining chip w ith any force behind it.i^ Reason alone, was not enough to persuade the Italians.
The Foreign Office still hoped to avoid having to make a decision on whether to side w ith Italy or the League. The diplomatic efforts launched by the Foreign Office during the summer of 1935 were thus attempts to find a way out of the dilemma. It is sadly ironic that these efforts were doomed from the start. At the time, however, the strategists in the Foreign Office did not have this benefit of hindsight.
W riting in his memoirs years later, Anthony Eden "dateldj our Abyssinian failure from these weeks ".i^ In his opinion, a strong warning at this time (as opposed to the mild ones that were being delivered) would have succeeded:
An unmistakable warning to Mussolini that we understood the choice which we had to make, between the League w ith
the peace of Europe on the one hand and his friendship on the other, that we knew what our decision must be and were determined to give effect to it. might have halted Mussolini even then, more especially if given privately.^5
Eden’s contention is hardly the whole story. At the time, the risks of such a move were simply too great. Not only was there the risk of driving Mussolini into an alliance w ith Germany, there was also the risk of alienating France who was anxious to maintain good relations w ith Italy, Without French cooperation such a move would not only fail, but would probably increase Britain’s isolation. With the added w orry of the Royal Navy's vulnerability in the Mediterranean to a "mad dog" attack by the Italians, such a gamble was out of the question for the Foreign Office in the summer of 1935.*^
The fourth phase of British policy began in late August, when the Foreign Office and the Cabinet seemed resigned to using the League to stop Mussolini, While a first glance might give the impression that this was a departure from previous policy, closer scrutiny indicates otherwise. As we have seen, the decision to follow League procedure was taken w ith great reluctance.*^ Hoare. most of his Cabinet colleagues, and the Foreign Office staff realized that full cooperation from the French Government was the only way that the League could stop Mussolini. Without such cooperation, sanctions would not be effective and the danger of a "mad dog ” attack by the Italians would be greater. Unable to decide whether sanctions were wise or not, the British Government was w illing to let the League decide the matter for them.
Deplorable as it was, this half-hearted and vacillating attitude towards sanctions was merely another manifestation of the double policy that the Foreign Office and the British Government had been following all along. The double policy had been born out of a desire not to have to make a choice between Italy and the League; now, faced w ith just such a decision. British officials were unable to make up their mind. They had not been prepared to face the choice in February, so it is not surprising that they were still unprepared come early September. This is not to belittle the choice or to suggest that British officials should have made the decision in a particular way. Given the weak state of the military, the danger of alienating Mussolini, the lack of cooperation from France, and domestic political pressure to abide by the League, the choice was an extremely
difficult one. Moreover, the double policy that had been followed for the previous six months had been driven by the belief that a territorial solution could be reached which would save the Government from having to make the choice altogether; officials in the Foreign Office had grown accustomed to thinking along these lines. Thus when hopes for such a solution were destroyed in August, the Foreign Office found itself back where it started, facing the same dilemma and w ith almost no time left to decide. It is hardly surprising then that they acted as they did.
Harder to explain is Hoare’s speech to the League of Nations. By any reckoning, it was a major blunder. It was designed to reassure the French and to bluff Mussolini by a display of League fervour. While it stirred up League fervour, it neither reassured the French Government nor frightened Mussolini. In fact, the only thing that the speech did was to put Britain in the position of leader at Geneva—a position that both the Cabinet and the Foreign had sought to a v o i d . A t the end of the day. the British Government found itself at the helm of the League amid the clamour of sanctions and without French assistance. It was the worst of all possible worlds, and the only explanation is that Hoare misjudged the effect that his speech would have while the League mistakenly assumed that Britain intended to lead the fight to stop Mussolini. Since Hoare made the speech, it is he who should take most of the blame. He stated that Britain was "opposed to all acts of unprovoked aggression." and although he qualified this w ith the statement that risks for peace would have to "be run by all," it was the former and not the latter that League delegates chose to hear.i^ As Vansittart later commented, Hoare’s tough-sounding speech was what the League "had been wanting to hear for sixteen drab years of retreat. ’^o Hoare thought that he would be able to bluff Mussolini "by a display of League fervour." He aroused League fervour, but did not shake the Duce. It was a gamble that backfired.^t
The significance of Hoare’s speech would not be so great had it not had such unfortunate consequences. Hoare's speech inadvertently put a wavering Britain at the helm of the League where she was expected to take the lead on the question of sanctions. Given the lack of support from France Hoare, his colleagues in the Cabinet, and the Foreign Office staff had wanted to go slow on sanctions; now, w ith all eyes on them, they had no choice but to try and push them through the League. The British Government was in a dangerously exposed position, and Laval had no