Westminster, Tuesday
The House of Commons, at the time of writing, is still trying to adjust itself to one of the gravest speeches ever made to it in all its long history. It shattered any illusions that the withdrawal of the BEF [British Expeditionary Force] and the French troops from Northern France has turned a military defeat into a victory. “A miracle of deliverance” – that it was, Mr. Churchill agreed, won by discipline, resource, skill, and unconquerable fidelity. But let no one, was his warning, assign any attributes of victory to what had happened. Wars were not won by evacuations. And then one heard Mr. Churchill, with the House hanging on every syllable, saying with remorseless candour that was clearly bent on sparing us nothing of the truth: “No; this is a colossal military disaster.”
The proof? Mr. Churchill provided it. The French Army had been weakened, the Belgian Army had been lost, part of the Allied fortified line had gone, valuable mining districts had passed into the enemy’s possession, the whole of the Channel ports were in his hands, and we had abandoned an enormous quantity of material, including a thousand guns.
Facing the possibilities
The House was certainly getting the picture presented to it in a true and grim perspective. “Hug no more delusions,” Mr. Churchill seemed to be saying. For he had not finished. He squared up to all foreseeable developments and examined each fearlessly, with the House following him in deepening gravity.
There was a possibility that Hitler might strike at France or he might strike at us. He discussed a German invasion rather as a probability than a possibility. Finally, he confronted, the disastrous contingency (though, he said, he could not for a moment believe in it as an actuality) – the possibility of the subjugation of a great part of these islands. But if that moment came the war would still not be over. Our Empire, guarded by the British fleet, would then take up the struggle until the new world was ushered in.
After this, surely no one is going to accuse Mr. Churchill or his Government of complacency. Of course, there was a bright side. No one who reads Mr. Churchill will complain that he underrates the Allies’ withdrawal from Dunkirk either as a feat of arms or as an immortal example of heroism. Nor should his glowing passage about the RAF be overlooked, with its moving tribute to these young men (his voice seemed to falter a little with emotion) who made the Crusaders and the Knights of the Round Table look not only remote but prosaic. But that was not all on the credit side. Mr. Churchill found a victory at the heart of the miraculous deliverance, the victory of these young men over the German Air Force, for this, said Mr. Churchill, had been a great trial of strength between the two opposing air forces, and the enemy had been forced to pay four-fold for every loss he had inflicted upon the RAF. We might feel greatly reassured by these facts, Mr Churchill thought, when we came to consider the prospects of aerial attack on this country.
The attitude of the House was worthy of all praise. As Mr Churchill gradually unfolded the position, its spirits rose instead of dropped, and in the end there was a long and defiant cheer underlining Mr Churchill’s closing declaration, that, if need were, we would fight in France, on the sea, in the air, on the beaches, on the landing-grounds, in the fields, in the streets, and in the hills, and we would never surrender.
