onslaught. Their sympathies undoubtedly lay with the Republic. But they could no more rejoice at the overthrow of the democratic republicans by the Communists than at the bolstering of Franco’s cause by forces sent by Hitler and Mussolini. So their judgement long swung in the balance. If Stalin’s proxies had triumphed in Spain, the West might well have come to see international communism as the more serious threat. As it was, the triumph of the fascists cemented the belief not only that international fascism had to be stopped but also that the Communists, for all their faults, might have to be recruited to the Allied camp.
Britain’s relationship with the country where the Second World War in Europe started, its First Ally, inevitably had its ups and downs. It was born from the collapse of appeasement and of the shared determination to stand and fight against Nazi Germany. It generated a genuine comradeship-in-arms, especially in 1940–41, when Britain faced the prospect of the same national catastrophe by which the First Ally had already been engulfed. It also generated much genuine affection, especially among the diplomats, administrators, and military personnel on both sides who worked and fought in harness. At the same time, like a love affair that faded, it came under growing pressures. Britain found new and more powerful partners. The First Ally was reduced to the ever-growing company of minor clients and hopeful petitioners. It was not abandoned, but it had every right to feel increasingly neglected. In late 1944, a state of informal separation emerged. Formal divorce did not occur until July 1945.
During the September Campaign of 1939, when the First Ally was attacked by Nazi Germany and then by the Soviet Union, the weaknesses of the Allied camp were cruelly exposed. Despite their declarations of war, neither Britain nor France thought fit to activate assistance. And the First Ally was left to face its enemies alone. The RAF dropped leaflets overBerlin urging the Nazis to desist. The French army crossed Germany’s western frontier to test the response, but retreated in haste after coming under fire and advancing less than 10km (six miles). Its complicated mobilization procedures meant that Gamelin’s promises could not be kept. At Franco-British staff talks on 12 September, no senior representatives of the First Ally were present, and it was decided that no major action could be taken. The First Ally’s fate was thereby sealed. Fighting lasted for five weeks. A German panzer column reached the outskirts of the Capital, Warsaw, on 9 September; and repeated reports falsely announced that the defenders had surrendered. In fact, the First Ally continued to resist a merciless siege by land and air until the 27th. A fierce counterattack to the west of the Capital inflicted heavy losses on the Germans in the third week of September; and some spirited skirmishes on the frontier held up the Red Army before it swarmed through the undefended eastern provinces. A joint Nazi–Soviet victory parade was held at Brest-Litovsk whilst the Capital was still holding out. The last fighting ended on 6 October in the marshland wilderness beyond the River Bug. In all, the Germans had suffered 60,000 casualties, the First Ally 216,000, and the Soviets 11,500. Two images of the conflict stand out. One is that of encircled cavalrymen charging tanks in order to escape. The other is of two Allied planes, reinforced with sticking plaster, taking off for the very last sortie of the campaign. 11
The diplomatic fall-out of the September Campaign was considerable. Somewhat belatedly, the British Government clarified its understanding of its obligations. When pressed by the First Ally’s Ambassador in London, Count R., the Foreign Office explained that according to the secret protocol, the clause in the treaty of 25 August concerning common action against an ‘attack by a European Power’ could not be used to refer to the attack by the
John Steinbeck, Richard Astro