Politicians and the War.

Press, Volume LXIV, Issue 19447, 22 October 1928, Page 8

Politicians and the War.

We do not think many people would pretend to know, even fourteen years afterwards, what would have happened if Britain had stood out of the war. It is so difficult to imagine how Britain could have stood oat that to talk of the consequences of such a course is a stage we never reach. And that, no doubt, is why it still shocks as when we are reminded, as we were again on Saturday morning, how hard it was politically for the Government of the day to join in, and how long and anxiously some of the best minds hesitated. It is probably the truth to say that it was the very best mind of all, philosophically if not politically, which was unable to approve of the decision to make war, and the fact shows what a strange world the political is. But what is perhaps the most arresting of Lord Morley's revelations is the proof we have from his own pen that even he, the austere scholar and thinker, i found himself engaged, in the very -greatest crisis of his country's history, in a kind of political euchre party. Wo must of course not read more into his words than they actually say, or suggest, or think, that his "Winston, M we have beaten you after all," meant the same thing coming from him as it would have done if ottered by an ordinary politician, or even by Mr Churchill himself. It is not true, or nearly true, though something like it has often, been charged against them—even the New, York Times said something like it the other day in reviewing Lord Oxford's Memories —that Whitehall during the war was a kind of Rugby or Eton where the big boys bullied the little boys, and all, without any regard for the world outside, remained absorbed in a game of intellect and ambition. Such a legend has grown np only because the Greys and the Asquiths and the Morleys and the Haldanes wore no hearts on their coatsleeves, and knew that when the Empire was tottering those at the heart of things must confess to no anxiety. It is, however, true to some extent that politics becomes a game if politicians are not careful to remember who and what they are, and there are words here and there in Lord Morley's confessions which are still almost alarming. For example, there is his '"ef erence to Lloyd George, not half-playful like his remark to "Winston," but measured and cold: "He [Lloyd "George] knew that his stock was "dangerously low and that peace "might be a popular card ijigainst "Winston's adventurous energy." To understand fully what this means we have to add Lord Oxford's account of his interview with Lloyd George on the subject of the tatter's apparent intrigues with the Press:

I have never seen him more moved. He vehemently disclaimed having anything io do with the affair. . . . As for himself (LI. G.) he declared that he owed everything to me, that

11 had stock to him and protected him and defended him when every man's hand was against him, and that he would rather (1) break stones, (2) dig potatoes, (3) be hung and quartered (these wore metaphors used at different stages of his broken but impassioned harangue), than do an act or say a word or harbour a thought that was disloyal to me, and he said that every one of his colleagues felt the same. His eyes were wet with tears, and I am sure that, with all his Celtic capacity for impulsive and momentary fervour, he was quite sincere. Of course, I assured him that I had never for a moment doubted him, which is quite true, and he warmly wrung my hand and abruptly left the room.

When we remember the reason given by Lord Oxford a little later for his belief that his policy wa3 right—that " Carson was calling me a traitor and " LI. G. saying that I was a lunatic " it is a little terrible to think that it was these "traitors" and "lunatics" and weeping friends who make every nation's international destiny.