If Australian ship had fought German ship, whatever the outcome, it was an act of war.
Curtin might say what he liked, but Berlin would have their own view and that was nothing to brush under the carpet. Nor was there any point to pushing this bill though until there was some idea of how Herr Hitler felt about it all.
Locock was still on his feet as the PM resumed his seat. Rosevear would have graveled him down, but the fellow had asked the question that had to be asked and done it with unusual civility. There was no reason to be abrupt and every reason to encourage a return to the usual courtesies on such a day as this, so Rosevar nodded at Locock.
“Mister Speaker,” Locock nodded back, “I would like to thank the Prime Minister for his clear and informative expression of the Government’s position. And further, Mister Speaker, I would beg leave to move this House has no Confidence in the present Government.”
Chaos descended, bringing with it pandemonium, bedlam and turmoil. It did not quite reach anarchy, if only because Parliament sat on benches so there was a shortage of ready weapons. Rosevear pounded his desk like a carpenter and swore like a bargee, turning ever deeper shades of puce in the process. He might as well have spared his voice and blood pressure the strain. Eventually it was George Bell who stepped up to the Speaker’s chair, stuck two fingers between his lips and let out an ear piercing whistle.
“SHUT UP YOU BASTARDS AND SIT DOWN! Your pardon, Mister Speaker.”
It took a few moments for the Speaker to regain control of himself. Rosevear felt the humiliation of Bell’s assistance as keenly as his own embarrassment and anger at losing control of the House. So it was with some ferocity he glared down at Billy Hughes, nominally Locock’s party leader. Although, at 79, Hughes’ position was mostly honorary; one he filled in lieu of some more energetic man.
“Has this Motion a second?”
In his day, Billy Hughes would have eaten Rosevear alive and picked his toes with the bones. Now, a little past his prime and still coming to terms with recent events, Hughes hesitated. It wasn’t that the room lacked for men who would have backed the Motion of No Confidence in a heartbeat, but the Speaker had just made it a party affair rather than a private matter and so no one stepped forward.
Until, from the Labor benches, the Parliament’s one true independent stood up. “I’ll second the motion,” said Alexander Wilson in his Irish brogue, “and what’s more, I think I may take a small little stroll.” Putting actions to words, he crossed the floor.
The man who had bought the curtain down on Menzies’ government proceeded to leave Curtin’s in a heap on the floor of the House.
“Telegram from the Governor General in Australia, Your Excellency.”
Sir Martyn bustled in to the Viceroy’s brightly morning room and handed the message over directly. He knew the contents, of course, but theoretically it was a private letter.
Lord Linlithgow slipped the flimsy from its envelope and read eagerly. Of all the sources of intelligence available to the Government of India, the back channel between the Crown’s direct representatives around the globe was by far the most reliable. It was actually the official route for a good deal of correspondence between parts of the Empire that lacked more direct representation, but as a source of reliable gossip, it was without peer.
“Which way have the Australians gone?” asked Nehru anxiously from settee. Yesterday, Brigadier General The Right Honorable Lord Gowrie, VC, GCMG, CB, DSO & Bar, known to his friends as Alexander Hore-Ruthven and presently Governor General of Australia, had sent warning the new Government was clarifying its position in response to Daventry and he should have more news shortly. “Are they still in the war?”
The Viceroy just shook his head. “This verges on the incredible! Two governments in almost as many weeks. Good God, one would think they were turning into some comic-opera republic, yet Gowrie believes they remain stable and has some hopes for a new Government by morning.”
“They are so divided all over this one issue?” puzzled Nehru.
“Oh, reading between the lines, I suspect there is a little more to it than just the war,” Linlithgow sniffed. “And I can’t say I cared for the sound of this Curtin fellow, so perhaps there’s a silver lining to be found in that. But what sort of government they might cobble up now, I should hate to think.”
“They have three parties,” offered Sir Martyn helpfully, “but only one has the numbers to govern on its own. The other two have a long standing coalition.”
Pandit Nehru smiled “Yes and the Australian Labour Party was the first Labour Party in the world to form a national government…”
“Ahh…”
“…even if it only lasted for five days. My knowledge is mostly historical, Martyn. As Australian affairs have taken some prominence lately, I thought it best to do a little reading, but I find there is not a great deal to be had on the subject.”
“Oh?” recovered Sir Martyn easily “Well recent events are a little complicated but, put simply, the previous Prime Minister, or should I say now, the fellow before the last chap…”
“Menzies,” supplied Linthgow. “A good man by all accounts.”
“Yes, sir; thank you. Robert Menzies took the loyalist view and was, reluctantly, prepared to follow London. His party, by and large, disagreed, as did his coalition partner and they all seem to have parted ways. That let Labor in as a minority government — I believe resting on the vote of a single independent…”
“Who must have jumped ship,” concluded Nehru.
“Precisely,” agreed Sir Martyn. “Or, if not, then there has been some movement across the floor. But other than Labor no one else has the numbers to form government unless another coalition can be arranged.”
“Damn messy,” nodded Linlithgow. “Whoever does come along will have no choice but to make a stand on the war, one way or another. So I know what will occupy the bulk of our day, we must find a sound line and length for us to take should the Australians publicly accept the Armistice and step out of the war.”
“And should they stay in, of course…” add Nehru.
“Oh, I should think that very much depends on you, Pandit,” returned the Viceroy with a smile. “What say the Congress Party on the events of yesterday?”
“Your Excellency,” Nehru began gravely, “the revelation of plans to invade India and the sinking of the Hobart have swung enough votes on the Party executive towards maintaining the state of war. It is held that the act confirms the intentions. Many disagree, of course. Gandhi and his followers call for peace at any price and non-violent resistance to the German invasion. Subhas Chandra Bose actually believes that an alliance with Germany is the proper course. But with those exceptions, and with heavy hearts, most others agree that maintaining the state of war is required. Both as a prudent precaution against German designs and to highlight our independence from London.”
Linlithgow smiled with relief. “Very well. With your agreement, Pandit, we will announce your appointment as my deputy tomorrow. One change I would like to make to the agreement you negotiated with Sir Martyn. In two years, when you become President, instead of taking the position of your Chief of Staff, I would like you to appoint Sir Martyn in that role. It would be of great benefit to all concerned, I think. Oh and if you are agreeable, Martyn?”
Nehru’s stately nod and Sir Martyn’s stunned head jerk seemed to signify acceptance. The Viceroy took pity on his secretary. “Then, with your concurrence Pandit, two telegrams please, Martyn. If you would, type them out personally, and secure them until required. The first to London; in cypher of course: ‘Regret to advise you that in accordance with the Daventry Message, India takes responsibility for her own internal government and external relations. God Save the King.’