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Authors: David Roberts
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these great men could be, talking in front of journalists they neither knew nor trusted. Reith could not resist denigrating the man who had usurped him, whatever the consequences.
‘These foreign broadcasts are a good idea,’ she said.
‘Yes, I’m glad you think so. My friend Dr Wanner, who was head of the South German Broadcasting Organization until the Nazis took over, is doing a very good job, so much so that the Germans try to “jam” his broadcasts. The PM told me the other day that he was unhappy at the tone of the BBC’s foreign broadcasts, that they were too gloomy. I pointed out that the news was gloomy and that the best way of making sure the BBC was listened to and trusted in Europe was to tell the truth however gloomy. Then, when there was good news to report, it would be believed.’
‘And the talks by Harold Nicolson and Byron Gates – they are very popular but serious, too,’ Weaver put in. ‘Gates, in particular, strikes just the right tone – serious but not pompous, cultured but not patronizing.’
‘Ugh! That man Gates. I can’t stick him,’ Reith said vehemently. ‘He’s immoral and irreligious – a damned hypocrite. According to one of my people, he almost got himself kicked out of the building just before I left. I would have done so myself but Ogilvie has kept him on.’
‘What had he done?’ Verity inquired with interest.
‘Women! What else. Someone’s wife – it’s all too sordid to go into, my dear. Saving your presence, when I was in charge I tried to do without them. It’s bad enough having them as secretaries. They flirt with the men and . . .’ Seeing the twinkle in Weaver’s eye, he stopped himself. ‘Well, don’t get me on my hobby horse.’
Verity stifled a protest. She looked at Weaver and saw that he was surprised and even a little disappointed that she had been able to control herself.
On their way back to the New Gazette , Weaver said, ‘I hope you enjoyed that, Verity.’
‘I was very interested to meet Sir John but I still don’t understand why you took me along with you. Was it just to rile him? He really wanted to see you on your own.’
‘He’s going to be Minister of Information, as he said, and I want him to use you, if possible. I need someone who can stand up to him and who knows about newspapers, which he doesn’t.’
‘But . . . I’ll be abroad, won’t I?’
‘I hope so, I very much hope so. I don’t want to sound defeatist but, a year from now, will there be anywhere in Europe for you to report from?’
‘Paris – there’ll always be Paris.’
‘I hope so, Verity,’ he repeated. ‘It was almost lost in the last war and that was before the Germans had Panzers . . .’
Verity, suddenly aware of the very real possibility that Britain would be defeated, lapsed into silence.
4
That evening, Verity didn’t altogether feel like going out but Edward had got it into his head that these were the last moments of peace and that they would look back with nostalgia on a London of bright lights and innocent pleasure. However, once she was dressed in a shimmering gown she had bought from Schiaparelli and had straightened Edward’s white tie, she felt she would, after all, enjoy herself.
The West End was crowded with people intent on having a good time, determined to put out of their minds the imminent catastrophe. It would come but, until it did, they would party. Edward and Verity dined at Gennaro’s and then, as it was a warm evening, strolled down to the Embassy at the Piccadilly end of Bond Street. Verity felt her spirits lift and tunelessly – she was not musical – hummed the lines from a popular song. ‘There’s film stars, peers and peeresses, all crowded on the floor. There’s the Prince of Wales and Lady F and every crashing bore I know in the dear old Embassy.’
The nightclub was reached down a wide, low-ceilinged tunnel. The entrance at the far end was guarded by a tall, impressive-looking commissionaire who
‘These foreign broadcasts are a good idea,’ she said.
‘Yes, I’m glad you think so. My friend Dr Wanner, who was head of the South German Broadcasting Organization until the Nazis took over, is doing a very good job, so much so that the Germans try to “jam” his broadcasts. The PM told me the other day that he was unhappy at the tone of the BBC’s foreign broadcasts, that they were too gloomy. I pointed out that the news was gloomy and that the best way of making sure the BBC was listened to and trusted in Europe was to tell the truth however gloomy. Then, when there was good news to report, it would be believed.’
‘And the talks by Harold Nicolson and Byron Gates – they are very popular but serious, too,’ Weaver put in. ‘Gates, in particular, strikes just the right tone – serious but not pompous, cultured but not patronizing.’
‘Ugh! That man Gates. I can’t stick him,’ Reith said vehemently. ‘He’s immoral and irreligious – a damned hypocrite. According to one of my people, he almost got himself kicked out of the building just before I left. I would have done so myself but Ogilvie has kept him on.’
‘What had he done?’ Verity inquired with interest.
‘Women! What else. Someone’s wife – it’s all too sordid to go into, my dear. Saving your presence, when I was in charge I tried to do without them. It’s bad enough having them as secretaries. They flirt with the men and . . .’ Seeing the twinkle in Weaver’s eye, he stopped himself. ‘Well, don’t get me on my hobby horse.’
Verity stifled a protest. She looked at Weaver and saw that he was surprised and even a little disappointed that she had been able to control herself.
On their way back to the New Gazette , Weaver said, ‘I hope you enjoyed that, Verity.’
‘I was very interested to meet Sir John but I still don’t understand why you took me along with you. Was it just to rile him? He really wanted to see you on your own.’
‘He’s going to be Minister of Information, as he said, and I want him to use you, if possible. I need someone who can stand up to him and who knows about newspapers, which he doesn’t.’
‘But . . . I’ll be abroad, won’t I?’
‘I hope so, I very much hope so. I don’t want to sound defeatist but, a year from now, will there be anywhere in Europe for you to report from?’
‘Paris – there’ll always be Paris.’
‘I hope so, Verity,’ he repeated. ‘It was almost lost in the last war and that was before the Germans had Panzers . . .’
Verity, suddenly aware of the very real possibility that Britain would be defeated, lapsed into silence.
4
That evening, Verity didn’t altogether feel like going out but Edward had got it into his head that these were the last moments of peace and that they would look back with nostalgia on a London of bright lights and innocent pleasure. However, once she was dressed in a shimmering gown she had bought from Schiaparelli and had straightened Edward’s white tie, she felt she would, after all, enjoy herself.
The West End was crowded with people intent on having a good time, determined to put out of their minds the imminent catastrophe. It would come but, until it did, they would party. Edward and Verity dined at Gennaro’s and then, as it was a warm evening, strolled down to the Embassy at the Piccadilly end of Bond Street. Verity felt her spirits lift and tunelessly – she was not musical – hummed the lines from a popular song. ‘There’s film stars, peers and peeresses, all crowded on the floor. There’s the Prince of Wales and Lady F and every crashing bore I know in the dear old Embassy.’
The nightclub was reached down a wide, low-ceilinged tunnel. The entrance at the far end was guarded by a tall, impressive-looking commissionaire who
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