Indeed. Along with All The Blitzpunks, the narrative style for this TL has really gelled now, it's Turtledovian yet entirely pukka at the same time.
Chapter VIII: 16/05/47
Chapter VIII
16th April 1947
16th April 1947
The weather was bad. That was a refrain that Herbert Morrison had heard often over the last few months, and while it had often referred to considerably worse weather than a simple downpour, the phrase still seemed appropriate. The constant drumming of rain against window panes seemed to echo in the large wood panelled office, and kept his mind from concentrating. A blank sheet of paper sat on the desk in front of him and his pen lay dry beside it.
The gloom outside seemed to reflect his mood. He remembered the conversation he had had with Halifax, some seven years before and their fears at achieving only a comfortable majority over the opposition seemed positively rosy compared to what was rushing through his mind now. The votes were still being counted, but it felt like a foregone conclusion. They had promised Preparation to the British people and had spent a great deal of money rearming, building and training. But the moment of action had never seemed to surface. In 1943, the Soviet Union had fallen and all of Europe succumbed to the embrace of the Reich. They had done their best to allay the country’s fears, but John Priestley had proved a far more effective Leader of the Opposition than anyone had anticipated. He pointed to three years of dithering, three years of wasted opportunities, to the fateful decision in 1940 to roll over for the Germans and in so doing hand them a continent on a platter.
The mood was improved somewhat by the fall of Japan in 1945 to the American invasion, there seemed to be a glimmer of hope that if Britain did go to war with Germany, then maybe they could count on the Americans’ support. All those hopes had come to nothing as it became clear that none of them had truly understood Douglas MacArthur. He had devoted the ‘Arsenal of Democracy’ to crushing communism in East Asia, leaving Germany to digest her conquests. The 1945 election had been dominated by these crushed aspirations and the utter failure of Preparation. The ‘41ers had reorganised themselves, uniting the disparate parties affiliated to the War in ’41 Committee into a single political organisation – Common Wealth. Their platform of socialism at home, bitter resistance against fascism abroad was intoxicating. Similarly, Mosley’s Union Movement had gone from strength to strength. While Priestley attacked them for complacency, Mosley launched broadsides against their paranoia and ‘backwards thinking’. They had tried to stand in the middle of the road, wanting neither a war to the knife with Hitler, or to embrace his New Order. In so doing, in the pithy words of Nye Bevan from his place in Priestley’s ranks, they had got run down.
If they were to have any chance of saving Britain from the disaster, they would have to reorganise. The magic circle of Tory grandees had assembled along with leading members from all parties which had participated in the Preparation Government. They had agreed to formally merge and fight the election on a single united platform – The National Government had steered Britain through domestic and international crises for over a decade, why stop now. And they needed a new leader, Halifax had become too tarnished over the preceding five years. And they had settled upon him, as the answer to Common Wealth’s battlecry for socialism. He had hoped, maybe even expected, that he could turn their campaign around and lead them to victory.
And in an uncomfortable sort of way, he had. Both Common Wealth and the Union Movement had the disadvantage that their brands were new and not yet readily recognisable. The National Government had endured since 1931, and even if the parties that composed it had dissolved, that brand alone carried weight. The formalisation of the pact had streamlined the whole operation, making the business of constituency selections that much easier. But five years of failure had their own weight. The result that they had eventually found themselves in was a precarious minority. They were still the largest party, but both of their challengers had ballooned in Opposition, making any government difficult to shepherd.
For a while they had survived thanks to the antipathy that divided the ranks of the Opposition. Then Priestley was gone, and Acland was in his place and the ground shifted. Acland was an ex-Liberal, and a fellow traveller with ex-Communists within the party, and importantly was willing to make a deal with the devil to get what he wanted. A string of by-election defeats had dogged the National Government since 1945, then the winter of ’46 struck. The government flailed to organise the country effectively and for a time it looked like the nation would either freeze or starve to death. And when the snow and ice melted, they had no time to breathe a sigh of relief as floods ensued and martial law had to be implemented in certain areas to deal with the humanitarian crisis. This was the moment that Acland chose for his killing blow. He and Mosley had marched in lockstep to bring down the government in a vote of no confidence. Neither man had been willing to endorse the other in forming a government, so Parliament dissolved and went to the country.
Even after all of that, he had hoped that the two baronets would be punished for their opportunism. The British value fair play, he had told himself. They won’t stand for this kind of treachery. But thoughts of fair play fell to the back of the line when the more basic needs of food, warmth and shelter barged into the queue. Mosley pointed to Europe, which had endured the same weather but far more effectively, as a model. No matter that the conditions in those countries had been much less severe and that they were bonded together in a pact of steel enforced by the barrel of an MP-40. Acland decried the disaster as borne from the government’s ‘typical attitude of half-heartedness, whether it be the prosecution of war upon our enemies or the safeguarding against natural disaster’. It had been difficult to answer to their objections with anything other than responses that still sounded half hearted and weak.
He started back to reality, realising that an orderly had been patiently trying to get his attention from the doorway. He waved them in and the young man passed him a few sheets of paper.
‘It’s, ahem, the projections from the BBC, sir.’ He stammered. ‘I knew that you would want to see them for yourself.’ Morrison nodded, smiled insincerely and motioned for the boy to leave. He hesitated for a moment then briskly left, the door closing quietly behind him.
The projections were as he had suspected, though perhaps even now he had clung to an unwarranted shred of optimism. The National Government had been smashed, reduced not just to opposition but not even as leaders of the opposition. That illustrious title would instead pass into the hands of Oswald Mosley whose Union Movement had surged in the shires. He was surprised at the relief he felt that the Blackshirts would not be able to form a government. Common Wealth would have a majority, that much was clear. But what would that mean?
The War in ’41 Committee had formed for the express purpose of immediately reopening hostilities with Germany. While Eden and the other members of the short-lived War Party had been uncharacteristically quiet as Common Wealth had laid out its platform for socialism and common ownership, the rhetoric of war had changed little in 1945. At this election though, it had all been about the government’s incompetence in handling the winter crisis, in ineffective distribution of resources and manpower. It was clear that Acland’s Britain would be no friend to Nazism, but what form would that enmity take? The voices of discontent on the other side of the Atlantic were growing louder against MacArthur’s crusade against communism, whilst turning a blind eye to the advance of fascism even into Latin America. Acland could seek common cause with those voices, to form a United Front to constrain the global ambition of Hitler and his heirs and fellow travellers. But Morrison suspected that to Common Wealth such a front would be but a half measure, when what was needed was immediate action.
Black rain sluiced against the windows and Morrison rose to look outside, looking out upon the city as he had left Halifax to do seven years before. London had lain under blackout for the best part of a decade. The city had adapted, as it always had to whatever travails it had met. Wardens patrolled the streets, hunting out the crime which festered under cover of darkness. Shops had universally adopted the airlock system of doors which prevented even a single beam of light of light from escaping as customers came and went. He suspected he would not see the lamps of London relit in his lifetime.
This is a very interesting scenario. What ended up happening to Mosley and his fascists once the war resumed?
Subbed and hooked so much. I really hope this thread is updated soon, I can't wait to hear more of the action!!