The Ka of Gifford Hillary (6 page)

I nodded. ‘Yes; from those papers I’ve read I’m convinced now that drastic measures provide the only solution. I’m still completely in the dark, though, about how I might be able to help.’

‘I’m coming to that. After much thought I’ve come to the conclusion that the only way we can hope to get this thing over is by preparing public opinion beforehand. Do you remember the high explosive shell business in 1915?’

‘No, I was only a babe in arms then.’

‘But surely you must have heard of it. After the first great land battles the Germans dug themselves in. Ninety per cent of the shells supplied to our Field Artillery were shrapnel. They had proved very effective against troops in open warfare, but were no earthly use against trenches and concrete pill-boxes. In consequence, the C. in C. of the B.E.F., General French, asked for less shrapnel and a big increase in high explosive shell. Lord Kitchener was Secretary of State for War. He was, of course, a great administrator; but the public thought of him as much more than that. His prestige with them was enormous, and being a very
self-opinionated, dictatorial type of man, he took full advantage of it. On military matters he rarely bothered to consult his colleagues in the Cabinet, but just told them afterwards as much as he judged it good for them to know.

‘Receiving no satisfaction in the matter of the shell business from the War Office, French took steps to acquaint some of the principal Ministers with the situation. They tackled Kitchener, but he adopted the attitude that what had been good enough for him to use against the Boers in South Africa was good enough for Sir John French to use against the Germans, and flatly refused to do anything about it. As Kitchener was the idol of the public, to have forced his resignation might have brought the Government down; so they sought the aid of Lord Northcliffe.

‘He was the most powerful Press Baron of the day and he used the freedom of the press to attack the War Office. Soon, people who had never even heard of shrapnel before were saying in every pub in Britain how futile it was to burst shells filled with shrapnel bullets twelve feet above deep trenches, and indignantly demanded that high explosive should be sent to blow them in. The public assumed that Kitchener was far too busy directing the strategy of the war to be responsible for types of ammunition: so it was the poor old War Office that got the raw end of the deal. But there was such a storm about it that he had to give way, and the B.E.F. got the shells it needed.’

I nodded. ‘Yes, I do remember now once hearing some story on those lines. But I’m no Press Baron, and I can’t imagine it would cut much ice if I wrote to
The Times
as a private individual, urging the adoption of the New Look.’

‘No; but it would if you wrote as Chairman of your Company, and you had some very concrete reason for doing so.’

‘Such as?’ I asked, now agog with curiosity.

Sir Charles stubbed out the butt of his cigar, and turned his pale-blue eyes, that looked so enormous through the pebble lenses, full upon me. ‘It would be on the subject of E-boats,’ he said slowly. ‘The Admiralty has just passed an order for six more of them; and you know how much they cost—a million apiece.’

‘No, no!’ I protested. ‘I feel sure you’ve been misinformed about that, Sir. I only know the cost of the hulls; but I really
can’t believe that arming them brings the total up to anything like a million.’

‘It does, Hillary. I’ve been into every detail. I know the share you shipbuilders get is only a fraction of that sum, and the biggest item is not the armaments either. It is all the scientific gadgets with which every ship of war now has to be packed. There are scores of them, and most of them cost a small fortune. I assure you that by the time a new E-boat has now completed her trials she has cost the country a million pounds sterling.’

‘Good Lord alive! That’s as much as a Dreadnought, which had twelve-inch guns and took a thousand men to sea, used to cost in 1914.’

‘I know; and another Dreadnought meant something in those days. But in a nuclear war these six new E-boats will be no more use to us than six fishing smacks.’

‘Then you want me to write to
The Times
calling public attention to what you have just told me?’

‘There is more to it than that. Your Company’s tender has been accepted for building two of these boats. The acceptance is probably already in the post to that retired Admiral who is your Sales Manager—what’s his name? Yes, Sir Tuke Waldron. When he informs you of this nice order he has secured, I want you to refuse it.’

‘What!’ I exclaimed, sitting up with a jerk.

Sir Charles smiled at me. ‘I know that what I am asking is a bit hard on you and your shareholders; but I’m sure your Company is much too solid a concern to be at all seriously affected by the loss of this order. Quite frankly, I am appealing to you on patriotic grounds. You did not know about this contract before I told you of it, so you can honestly say that it was obtained without your knowledge. I want you to reject it, then write to
The Times
, saying what you have done, state the convictions you have formed this evening about the urgent necessity of our adopting the New Look, and say that in view of them you could not square it with your conscience to be a party to such a scandalous waste of the public’s money.’

I said nothing for the moment, and he went on:

‘That will send the balloon up. The following day it will be front page news in every paper in this country, in the
United States, and on the Continent as well. Your obvious integrity will be evident from the sacrifice you are making. Logic is on our side. We’ll have spiked the Admiralty’s guns and have the nation behind us. You have it in your power, Hillary, to enable the Government to go to the House on this thing without risking defeat—more, by enabling us to act in time, you may save us from annihilation by the Soviets in a few years from now. Will you do it?’

‘Has the Prime Minister approved this idea for catching the Old Lookers napping?’ I asked.

Sir Charles made a little gesture with one of his long slim hands. ‘I don’t think we need go into that. We all know that, even if it meant the fall of his Government, he would still face the House and ask it to do what he felt to be the right thing for the nation. It’s my job, and that of my colleagues, to lighten, as far as we can, the burden he has to carry; and the heaviest one in a democracy is that of persuading the mainly ignorant masses to accept a programme that sound evidence has shown to be the best for them.

‘Of course, I am fully aware that my proposal to you is highly unorthodox, and if it got out that I had made it I should have to resign; but you wouldn’t think much of me if I did so for no apparent reason and left the baby for some other poor devil to hold, would you? Or if I shirked facing up to the issue?

‘Frankly, Hillary, I believe that if we continue with the Old Look, or even try to have it both ways, Britain will be as much a thing of the past within ten years as Greece or Rome; the only difference being that any of our grandchildren who may survive will not even be allowed to know about the great achievements of their race. That is why I don’t feel the least scruple about asking you to do this thing.’

I realised then that by my last question I had implied that he was doing something vaguely dishonest. He had taken it very well; but, actually, that was the very last thing I had had in mind. No one could have been more of an antithesis to the modern politician whose eyes are always, flickering round to catch sight of a band-wagon on to which he can climb with the hope of doing a bit better for himself. Sir Charles was a most modest and retiring man. Rather than seek office he had been pushed into it by those who appreciated
his many gifts. He was a younger son of one of our great families, who, like the Cecils, the Stanleys, the Churchills and the Seymours, had served the country with little thought of self for many generations.

Smiling, I said: ‘That you feel the way you do, Sir, is quite good enough for me. But there is just one point that I have to consider. I am the largest individual shareholder in my Company, but I don’t hold a controlling interest. Our next Board Meeting is on Friday. It is then that Admiral Waldron will produce this order he has secured for two E-boats. When he has done so it will be up to me to turn it down. Naturally, my co-directors will think I’ve suddenly gone crazy; so, to win most of them over to support me in this altruistic sacrifice of the Company’s financial interests, I shall have to produce some very strong arguments. I realise, of course, that I must keep you out of it; but I’d like you to give me an idea how far I may go in using this material that you’ve shown me tonight?’

After a moment, he replied: ‘I see your point, and it’s a very sound one. You must not disclose that you have seen these papers, as to do so would as good as give the game away; but providing you warn your co-directors that, for security reasons, what you are saying should go no further, I see no reason that you should not use the arguments in them. They won’t know where you’ve got them from, but they are so convincing that they should do the trick.’

Later I was bitterly to rue the fact that he had given me such a free hand, or at least had not warned me to avoid quoting figures and the mention of certain special passages; but I suppose he took it for granted that I should keep those to myself.

We had another drink together and talked on in a most friendly fashion for a further half hour. Then he let me out, and as I walked up Whitehall I felt the thrill that must come to every man chosen for any form of special mission. Little did I guess then what would have happened to me by that time on Friday night.

I have found already that dictating this account helps to take my mind off the harrowing and unnerving vision of myself standing in the dock at Winchester and the Judge putting on the black cap to sentence me. So, while continuing to adhere to the strict truth in everything, instead of confining myself to bare facts as I had originally intended, I shall give free rein to the tendency to be discursive—where the matter warrants it—as indeed, it seems that I have been already to some extent; and so by this occupation may stave off the morbid contemplation of my only too well-founded fears. To resume my narrative.

During the war poor old Southampton took a terrific pasting and our offices were among the many buildings destroyed in the blitz. For several years we suffered considerable inconvenience in a higgledy-piggedy collection of prefabs, but at last we got a rebuilding permit and were able to erect a fine modern glass and concrete block. The new Board-room is on its top floor overlooking our yards and with a vista of Southampton Water.

At two-thirty on the Friday the Directors of Hillary-Compton assembled there, and before going any further I had better give some account of them.

Our Managing Director is James Compton. His father started in the firm at the age of ten, in the bad old days of child labour, and by hard work, initiative and ability progressed right to the top. As a reward for his long and valuable services my grandfather made him a junior partner a few years before the concern was turned into a Company. James has not only benefited by a proper education but inherited the old man’s drive and knowledge of our craft; so my father took him on the Board in his early thirties. He is now just over sixty, and the mainstay of the firm. He knows far more about
the practical side of the industry than I do, handles our labour problems with firmness and tact, and has his whole heart in the business. In matters on which his opinion differs from mine he fights me tooth and nail; but on the majority of questions we see eye to eye, and no man could have a more loyal and honest partner.

Angus McFarlane is our Chief Engineer. He is a tall thin bachelor, who says very little and, I believe, spends most of his leisure poring over his stamp albums. But he is a first-class technician, and I have never known him advise us wrongly about types of engines for our speed boats and motor launches. When he had been with us for some years we decided to give him a seat on the Board as being more convenient than having to summon him so frequently to it.

Charles Toiller is the Secretary of the Company and has been with it since my grandfather’s time. He is a Chartered Accountant and has all the Company’s financial affairs at his finger tips. In addition the little man carries all our principal transactions for many years past in the egg-shaped dome of his bald head. He is getting on now, as he was nearly sixty when my father died; and it was then that James Compton and I decided to promote him to a Directorship.

Admiral Sir Tuke Waldron, K.B.E., D.S.O., etc., has, since his retirement from the Navy, been our Sales Manager; but his connection with the Company goes much further back than that. His father was related to mine by marriage, and when our business was floated as a Company he took a large block of shares in it. By inheriting them, the Admiral became, after myself, the largest shareholder. As we are boat-builders to the Admiralty, he was naturally precluded from holding a Directorship during his service career, but it had for long been understood that on retirement he should join the Board.

He was retired as Vice-Admiral, so is still only in his middle sixties. To look at, he is the choleric type of sea-dog, with a red face, bushy white eyebrows and an apparently unlimited capacity for despatching pink gins; but he is far from being a stupid man, and has a most likeable personality. I do not, of course, suggest that Admiralty contracts can be obtained by taking people out to lunch, but in securing any business the personal touch does count where tenders are equal; and he has many friends in the right places. He had
not been long on the Board before he began to produce results; so in due course we made him our Chief Salesman, and in the five years he has been with us we have never had reason to regret it.

The Right Honourable Annibal William Fitz-Herbert Le Strange, 14th Earl of Wiltshire, Viscount Rochford and Baron Blackmere, known to his friends as Bill, is my father-in-law. The only serious row I have ever had with James Compton was due to my insistence that Lord Wiltshire should join our Board. At the time I was so ashamed of foisting a ‘guinea-pig’ on to my colleagues that I tried to sell them the story that as he had always been a keen sailing man it was intended that he should join the principal yacht clubs round the coast, and so would be able to bring us a lot of business; but the truth is that landing him a Directorship was part of the price I had to pay for Ankaret.