THE WAR & POLITICS.

Evening Post, Volume XCV, Issue 45, 21 February 1918, Page 4

THE WAR & POLITICS.

(By Ernest W. Muntoii.)

The resignation of General Sir William Robertson was by no means an unexpected surprise to English. - observers. Many months ago it was foreshadowed in conversation in London club rooms, and, in view of his pre-eminent position as Chief of the Staff to Lord Kitchener, to his own great personality, and to,tho obviously brilliant qualities which took him from "the ranks"' to that position, the only marvel that an Englishman can perceive is that it should have taken about six months for the news (by means of a curt cable announcement) to reach the Dominions. As there are so many divergencies of opinion—not confined to New Zealand, but throughout the Empire—as to the war, its inception, its potential duration, its progress, and the terms upon which some mutually acceptable peace compromise might be arranged, it is well to shortly review some of the salient facta. This war, in that respect, like unto all other wars recorded in history, was commenced lightheartedly and in a perfect storm of hurrahs from all sections of the people whose countries were concerned —for that matter, one may say without fear of contradiction that the man in the street (generally entirely ignorant of the really vital questions of policy or results) is always ready to throw his hat in the air and proclaim himself and his country heroes. I, personally, being more interested in the lasting virtues of history than of the evanescent popularity which comes to those who, without any consideration beyond it, associate themselves with prevalent public opinion (mostly wrong), am glad, for once, to agree that, in all the fundamental rules which govern ordinary justice, the primitive honour of mankind, and the old English public school idea of "playing the game," the Enrpiro rightly went to war; and would be right in "spending the last shilling and giving the last man" (to quote a perhaps rather hastily-conceived phrase of the Right Hon. W. F. Massey) jin an attempt, against any odds at all, to win it. When I say "win it," however, I mean win the original objective—on which alone we had any moral or legal right to come into the war at all. I mean the restoration of Belgium, guaranteed by England's signature, and compensation for any damage done to her by invasion.

What then was, shortly, the position in August, 1914? The Archduke Ferdinand d'Este had been murdered at Serajevo; Austria demanded impossible terms from Servia, in whose territory the crime had been committed; Russia (then looked upon as the Protector of the Slavs) started to mobilise, in view of potential intervention; Germany (even whilst every European Chancellerie was endeavouring to find a via media) aggressively called upon Russia to' demobilise, but started mobilising herself ; France, under her ■ treaty with Russia, also commenced to prepare to help her ally, if wantonly attacked; England, notified by Germany that she could "keep out of it" if she refrained from helping France (to whom she was bound in. definite terms under the socalled "Entente Cordiale"), as a fact did nothing until a definite act of war had been committed by the invasion of Belgium (guaranteed by the treaty signed by all the Powers, and the object of the famous "Scrap of Paper" interview with our Ambassador in Berlin—which surely will go down in history) and the obvious danger to France, and, incidentally (if Paris and the coast were lost) to ourselves. What then ?

Asquith was in power during all the early stages of the war (vide English papers of all parties at the end of 1916 as to his being "the only possible" Premier), and was wise enough to almost at ones enlist the services of our greatest chief, the late Lord Kitchener. Lord French (because he was the "beau cavalier" of French politicians, and persona gratissima on that side of the Channel) was appointed commander of the original Expeditionary Force. General Grierson, our greatest strategist and Commander-designate of the First Army, died of heart disease in the train on the way to Paris, and Smith-Dorrien ' and Haig were, "inter pares," chief assistants, to French. When the latter resigned, it was expected he would be succeeded by Smith-Dorrien, who was actually senior to Haig, but he was passed over—and, in effect (after, for obscure reasons, being sent to East Africa and then resigning on the groundof ill-health) "passed out"—and Haig (the nominee of Lloyd George and protege of Lord Northcliffe) became supreme. Meantime, Asquith- had been displaced by Lloyd George, and for jL year all England, not to say the Empire, had made a hero of him—as for a timo the made a hero of Hughes, and, more recently, of Smuts; as New Zealand from time to time has put a Massey on a pedestal and compared him with a Pitt! And still the war went on, with varying vicissitudes. Then Kitchener died—tho Hampshire tragedy in aiij other time would in itself surely have' supplied material enough for an epic poem—and Robertson, though still in the same position he. had held under "K. of X.," suddenly emerged into the limelight—to a public who, for the most part, had never heard his name. Whether the various campaigns which in aggregate go to make up the war as a whole—the questions of the responsibility for the Dardanelles failure, the failure to relieve Antwerp, the ridiculous diplomacy in tho -Balkans (which lost us Bulgaria and Greece in the beginning and brought in Rumania, to a ruinous failure, at the end), the concentration of huge armies at Salonica, where they have achieved nothing, and the ruthless expenditure of public money in financing all Europe for aims which have now become almost solely European—whether, as I say, these campaigns could have been conducted better or not is an abstract technical matter for soldiers. Whether the Empire could have arrived at a more connected and definite idea of what it wanted and what it was fighting for was a matter of leadership among politicians —a matter upon which the man in the street (who eventually has to pay the cost of all picnics, whether they lead to the Savoy Hotel in London or the deserts of Syria) had the right to expect both intelligent explanation and espress guidance as to the future. For eighteen months now —ever since Kitchener died— the politicians have had the upper sway; for my part, I never did believe politicians could win or wage a, war, and my money would be on the soldier! Today that position has become acute. Robertson, the most trusted soldier in England, has resigned; and, so far, politicians win; but, believe me, my countrymen are not quite so stupid as they may look, and even the wonderful Welsh rhetoric of our new David will not shield him from the execration of the masses to whom he has pandered if the only result of his concentration of authority Is to cause an army, split. I arrived in London at the end of January last year, when he had been a month on his throne —in my own club circles I gave him two years to last, and I was derided. _ But time brings its revenges, and I have not studied world politics for thirty _ years for nothing. It is so eaßy to deride, so easy to laugh. Who, however, would laugh at me now, or care to stake much on a popular vote as between soldier and politician, between Robertson and Lloyd George?