The Diaries of Ronald Tritton, War Office Publicity Officer 1940-45

By Fred McGlade

The diary kept by Ronald Edward Tritton is a revealing and often frank record of the internal conflicts at the Public Relations Department of the War Office and the Ministry of Information during the Second World War.

Ronald Tritton was recruited in 1940 for the position of War Office Publicity Officer by Major-General Beith, Director of Public Relations at the War Office, to transform the dysfunctional department. The first civilian to hold the post, it was hoped his professional skills gained in Public Relations for the Savoy Hotel Group would be a valuable tool to overcome the British Army's negativity towards the use of any form of visual publicity. Internal conflicts between the service film units, the newsreel companies and the Americans proved a difficult balancing act for Tritton, as these diaries reveal. They are also an invaluable source of evidence not only for the growth and war effort of the Army Film Unit /Army Film & Photographic Unit, but also for the newsreels. With the support of Major-General Edgeworth-Johnstone, the Assistant Director of Public Relations, Ronald Tritton became the catalyst for the British Army Film and Photographic Unit, despite considerable military and political opposition. This unit was to grow in strength and professionalism throughout the conflict, producing some of the most frequently used film and photographic material of the war.

The diaries also provide a record of life at the Savoy Hotel, London, during the Second World War (Tritton was on a retainer there and counted David Niven amongst his friends) and a wonderfully evocative, almost tangible sense, of London and life in the south of England during those years.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Helion and Company
• Release date: Sep 13, 2012
• ISBN: 9781908916808

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Fred McGlade

Born in Belfast in 1953, Fred was brought up in a poor inner city area. He left school with little in the way of qualifications, his education having been disrupted by the ‘Troubles’. The family home being ‘burnt out’ by the IRA was the impetus for him to leave Belfast and he joined the Royal Army Ordnance Corps where he served for six years as a Vehicle Specialist. After leaving the army he got involved with the road haulage/logistics industry and this led to him going to Dubai where he obtained a job as an Insurance Assessor examining damage to shipping cargo onboard container vessels. After three years in Dubai, on his return to England the insurance experience he had gained led him to start up his own insurance brokerage, which he ran for 19 years. During that time he enrolled with the Open University, where he gained a BA (Hons) Humanities and an MA History. After the sale of the insurance brokerage he was accepted as a History and English tutor at a Young Offenders Institute, where he worked for almost three years. He then decided to attempt a PhD, studying full time for three years at Lancaster University. This he successfully completed in 2008. During studying for the PhD he was able to teach undergraduates part time in the History department gaining valuable teaching experience and qualifications.

For the last year he has been working as a Regional Organiser for a political party, the UK Independence Party, politics being one of his lifelong interests. He is the author of The History of the British Army Film and Photographic Unit in the Second World War and has narrated and contributed to the recent BBC3 documentary Shooting The War. During his spare time he continues to research the massacres committed by the Nazis in the Massa Carrara / Lunigiana areas of Italy during World War Two

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This book is dedicated to my beautiful daughter Caroline Trudy McGlade (1974-2009) RIP

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Published by Helion & Company 2012

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Text © The Tritton Family, Introduction and editing © Fred McGlade

Photographs © Paul Tritton

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Contents

List of Photographs

Foreword by Lord Puttnam CBE

Acknowledgements

Abbreviations

Introduction

The Diary, 1940

The Diary, 1941

The Diary, 1942

The Diary, 1943

The Diary, 1944

The Diary, 1945

Bibliography

eBooks Published by Helion & Company

List of Photographs

The Wedding, 30 April 1934

The Wedding and contemporary report

The Wedding Group, Left to Right: Anne Tritton, Sancha Whitworth, Rosamund Hornby, Jasmine van de Weyer, Viraima Brett. Bridesmaids at front: Susan Hornby, Julia Tritton

Ronald Schweder on his call up to serve in the First World War

Entrance to The Savoy Hotel

Anne Ronnie and Paul Tritton (4 months old), June 1939

Ronnie Tritton in Majorca, 1934. The Ford 8 car shown was a wedding gift.

32 Ovington Street, London

The Savoy Hotel

Views of London from the Savoy Hotel roof, mid 1930s

Ronnie Tritton with ciné camera in America, late 1936

Ronnie Tritton in America, February 1936

Ronnie Tritton

The Queen Consort at a Women Voluntary Service fundraising event, with Drum and Mary Newall (centre)

Ronnie Tritton and Anne Tritton with Drum (Ronald Schweder’s wife) in Virginia, America, Easter 1936

Left to right: Ronald Schweder (Anne Tritton’s father), Claude Tritton (Ronnie Tritton’s grandfather), Anne and Ronnie Tritton, September 1936, Essex

Langford (the house), near Maldon, Essex

The farmyard at Langford, with a view of the house

Langford near Maldon, Essex

Holt Farm House, near Worthing

Castle Goring (front view)

Castle Goring (entrance)

Wedding of Ronnie and Anne, 30 April 1934

Group in U.S.A.

Ronnie Tritton

Group in USA, sailing with the Khan family

Paul Tritton at the Cottage, Summer 1943

Anne and Ronnie Tritton on the beach near Worthing, mid 1930s

Ronnie and Paul Tritton at the well near the Cottage, September 1943

Anne Tritton

Anne and Paul Tritton, Langford 1943

Ronnie Tritton

Family group at the Cottage in 1944

Foreword

These diaries tell the story of a genuinely remarkable man, Ronald Edward Tritton, who played a significant role in changing the way we see and understand war. Tritton appreciated, as few others do, the power of the moving image to convey the impact of conflict and to shape the way in which people perceive war. There is, of course, a long and distinguished history of writing about war, but it was Tritton, with his dedication to creating a powerful and valuable Army Film and Photographic Unit in the 1940s, which helped ensure that every aspect of the war would be seen and captured through a lens.

That he achieved this while working as a public servant is all the more remarkable. As Fred McGlade’s skilful and exemplary handling of Tritton’s diaries demonstrates, he encountered opposition – both from political and military circles – at virtually every turn. He thus found himself up against two pillars of British life, both of which can be notoriously resistant to change. Yet change Tritton certainly delivered – bringing both vision and vim to his role at the War Office.

Without his grit and determination, millions might have been deprived of the opportunity to witness, on newsreels and dramatic still images, the twists and turns of the Second World War. Many others, my father who was a war photographer, among them, would have been denied the opportunity to use their extraordinary creative talents to help ensure the impact of that global conflict would never be forgotten.

Tritton’s understanding of the power of film echoes what many politicians have felt both before and since. It was Lenin who said, Of all the arts, for us cinema is the most important. Former President, Woodrow Wilson, called film the very highest medium for the dissemination of public intelligence. Other political leaders, including Winston Churchill, who had a personal passion for film, recognised how powerfully it could change our view of the world.

It is even more remarkable then that while engaged in battling political and military inertia, Tritton found time to keep such a fascinating diary. It is far from a humdrum account of ordinary existence. Instead, like all the best diaries, it reveals a depth of insight and an abiding interest in people – those he liked as well as those he came to dislike. It has a great deal to tell us about life in London during the war – in clubs, restaurants and hotels.

Tritton’s love of the cinema also shines through; he is forever off to the Odeon or some other picture house to see the latest release. It is little wonder that he fought so passionately to help deliver remarkable filmmaking at every turn in his career. He clearly understood that the most important role of the film-maker is to help explain the ambiguities and complexities of life.

While these diaries deal with the war years, Tritton’s contribution to the art of film and the moving image extended well into the 1950s and 60s. His work at B.P. in particular ensured that the company became widely known for the creativity and the ingenuity of its film unit, and not just its ability to extract millions of gallons of the black stuff from the deeper reaches of the earth.

Fred McGlade has done a remarkable job in editing these diaries. His painstaking and forensic examination of the source material has resulted in footnotes which provide a wealth of additional insight for the reader. As a consequence, these diaries stand as a fine ‘living monument’ to the extraordinary life and work of Ronald Edward Tritton.

Lord Puttnam CBE

April 2012

Acknowledgements

Iam grateful to Kay Gladstone of the Imperial War Museum for showing me the short extract of Ronnie Tritton’s diaries which were lodged at the I.W.M. It seems a lifetime ago and little did I know the journey this would take me on or the commitment that would be required to reach publication. As always I must thank Professor Jeffrey Richards for his constant support, expertise and understanding. Thanks also go to my friends Annette Woodward for her typing and transcribing skills, Nigel Brown for his patience in proof reading and Geoff Vintin for his help with computer skills and manuscript preparation. Without those named above a difficult task would have been almost impossible. Last but not least my thanks go to my ever patient and supportive wife Alex. How she puts up with me is one of the mysteries of the modern world. Thanks love.

Abbreviations

Introduction

Ronald Edward Tritton was born in Nairobi, Kenya, in 1907. His father was Claude Henry Tritton (1874–1959), of Lyons Hall, Great Leighs, Essex, an early British pioneer who had chosen to settle in Kenya with his wife Evelyn Mary Strutt (1884–1965), daughter of Edward Strutt of Terling. The first time the Tritton family appear with any certainty is in mid Kent around 1600, when they were Quaker farmers and landowners. A son went into brewing and bought the Ashford brewery, where he made a fortune around 1740, supplying French prisoners of war interned in Sissinghurst Castle. In 1763 he purchased the Ram Brewery in Wandsworth, which he owned until 1830 when the branch died out. Another son went into banking about the same time, and married into the Barclay family in 1784, whereby the Trittons became one of the founder families of Barclays Bank, a line which remained until 1990 ¹. Claude Henry Tritton decided against going into banking, and instead became an agent for Suttons Seeds while growing coffee on land he had purchased in Kenya. Ronnie was sent to England as a small boy for his education at Elstree Preparatory School, where he was from 1914 until 1921 ². In 1921 he went to Winchester Public School where he remained until 1925 ³. After a short period in the City of London with Labouchere and Caro, a firm of stockbrokers ⁴, he went into a Canadian bond-dealing house, but this was to finish in the big slump of 1929. After a brief period of unemployment, in 1930 he worked as a kitchen porter at the Hotel Bar Au Lac, Zurich, before gaining a position in public relations at the Savoy Hotel Company with a brief to publicise the group’s hotels and encourage visitors, primarily from America. In 1934, he was married to Andrina Frances Schweder, (Anne), the daughter of a rich stock broker of an original German Jewish family. Anne Schweder had been one of the ten most attractive debutants of 1933; her father had been an Artillery Major in World War One where he won the MC ⁵.

During 1934, Ronnie Tritton was sent to New York in order to open an office to promote the Savoy Hotel Group⁶, a role which involved him travelling all over the United States. In 1938, he was summoned back to London to oversee the group’s London publicity⁷.

In 1939, he was approached by Major-General Beith, a First World War veteran and novelist (under the pen name of Ian Hay), a Savoy acquaintance of Ronnie Tritton. At that time Beith was Director of Public Relations at the War Office and he intended to harness Tritton’s professional skills and his civilian outsider’s detachment, so as to transform the muddled and haphazard visual publicity office at the War Office.⁸

The Wedding, 30 April 1934

The British War Office, at the beginning of the Second World War, was ill prepared for the use of film and photographic material as a weapon of war. Attitudes towards all forms of publicity were negative among the hierarchy of the British Military, who feared that it could reveal British secrets to the enemy. Of course, military mistakes in battles often resulted in heavy loss of life, and it could be argued that commanders in the field would be concerned that their failures in battle would be seen by newspapers and cinema audiences at home. It was one of Tritton’s first tasks to try to improve relations between the Army and the newsreels. Tritton could not achieve this task on his own, and he quickly discovered that he would need the assistance of the Ministry of Information Films Division. The M.O.I. Films Division was in a similar malaise to the Public Relations department. One of the main problems was that it had never been designed as a film production organisation; its function was structured, and decidedly more suited, to the commissioning of films from the private sector. The directorship of Sir Joseph Ball proved an unsuccessful appointment. Ball had been involved in propaganda for the Conservative Party pre-war, and his decision to rely on the commercial section of the British Film industry at the expense of the documentary movement filmmakers was constantly to undermine his efforts. The internal conflicts and Ball’s failure to make an impact with cinema audiences eventually led to his replacement in December 1939, by Kenneth Clark, the then Director of the National Gallery. In April 1940, Clark was promoted and Jack Beddington, a former director of publicity for the Shell Group, was appointed as head of the M.O.I. Films Division⁹. Beddington brought in Sidney Bernstein, director of the Granada cinema chain, as his chief advisor and together they would begin to shape an effective M.O.I. Films Division¹⁰. Bernstein was well known and respected in the British film industry and was acceptable to the documentarists and the Labour Party. He personified the approach that was to become the hallmark of Beddington’s administration, to secure the support of the entire film industry by balancing the different interests of the groups within it¹¹. Beginning in August 1940, bi-weekly meetings were chaired by Beddington to resolve the problems between the newsreels and the three armed services in the wider context of British film propaganda needs at home and overseas¹².

The Wedding and contemporary report

The Wedding Group, Left to Right: Anne Tritton, Sancha Whitworth, Rosamund Hornby, Jasmine van de Weyer, Viraima Brett. Bridesmaids at front: Susan Hornby, Julia Tritton

Ronald Schweder on his call up to serve in the First World War

Entrance to The Savoy Hotel

Anne Ronnie and Paul Tritton (4 months old), June 1939

By October of 1940 Tritton was to begin to benefit from the start of the M.O.I.’s rehabilitation. The revitalised Film Division of the M.O.I. and in particular Beddington and Bernstein, would begin to support Tritton’s efforts to reshape the improving public relations department, and plan an effective War Office Film Unit.¹³

Throughout the Second World War Tritton managed to achieve the almost impossible task of transforming the ethos of the British military and political establishment, from the lacklustre attitudes towards filmic and photographic recording of the early part of the war, into an almost total acceptance of the use of the camera as a weapon. Without his exceptional talents the film and photographic record of the conflict, from El Alamein to Victory in the Far East, would have been a shadow of the fantastic collection now stored at the Imperial War Museum, available for future generations to see. His contribution to the British war effort cannot be overstated. It is a national disgrace that this remarkable individual did not, and has never received, the recognition to which he is clearly due. On 14 September 1945 Tritton left the War Office to become the Director of the Films Division of the British Council. In 1946 he worked for the Central Office of Information before joining the Anglo-Iranian Oil Company to form and take charge of the Films Branch. He became Assistant Manager of the General Department (later re-named Information Department) in 1952 and was subsequently promoted to manager in 1957. In 1962 he was promoted to the role of General Manager of Information and Public Affairs at the now known British Petroleum where he remained until his retirement in 1967. The following tribute to Tritton remains in the archives of B.P:

It is due to Mr. Tritton that B.P. has attained a high reputation as filmmakers and has received numerous awards including one Hollywood Oscar and many prizes at the Venice Film Festival. Some of his early films such as that dealing with the geology of oil As Old as the Hills are still popular and undated. It is also in no small measure due to his efforts that the aims of public relations have become more generally understood and appreciated throughout B.P. and that the outside world now has a better understanding of the company. Mr. Tritton is also keenly interested in architecture and art and has taken a prominent part in planning the interior decoration of the new Britannic House. He also brought colour to B.P. with the design of information centres at the U.K. refineries and also abroad at Gothenburg and Rotterdam refineries. Mr Tritton has furthered with great success in the industrial world the theory that design should be both beautiful and functional. He continues to be an advisor to the company on these matters. He is married with a son and daughter. His interests include gardening, photography, design and the collecting of old china and silverware.¹⁴

In retirement he was active with the National Trust and maintained an interest with the Mischa Black Design Company. Ronnie Tritton died in 1990, and is buried in the graveyard of the round towered Anglo Saxon church of St Mary The Virgin at Great Leighs, Essex.

1    Letter from Paul Tritton to the editor Fred McGlade (Bromwell Leaze, 10 February 2009)

2    Letter from David Cooper, archivist Elstree Preparatory School, to the editor Fred McGlade (Elstree, 18 March 2007).

3    Letter from Suzanne Foster, archivist Winchester Public School, to the editor Fred McGlade (Winchester, 14 March 2007).

4    Letter from Suzanne Foster (Winchester, 14 March 2007).

5    Letter from Paul Tritton to the editor, Fred McGlade (Bromwell Leaze, 10 February, 2009).

6    Interview with Paul Tritton conducted by Fred McGlade at Bromwell Leaze, Terling, Essex on 10 May 2007.

7    Ronnie Tritton, interview held by the I.W.M. Accession No. 4626 (London: I.W.M. Sound Department, March 1980).

8    Gladstone, K., ‘The A.F.P.U.: The Origins of British Army combat filming during the Second World War’ Film History: An International Journal, Vol. 14, (3/4) (2002), pp. 316-319

9    Taylor, PM. (ed.), Britain and the Cinema of the Second World War (London: Macmillan Press, 1988) p.10

10   Moorhead, C., Sidney Bernstein: A Biography (London: Jonathan Cape, 1984) p. 117

11   Chapman, J., The British at War: Cinema, State and Propaganda, 1939-1945 (London: I.B. Tauris, 1998) p. 37

12   Gladstone, K., op. cit. p. 319

13   Ibid., p 320

14   Letter and documents supplied by Bethan Thomas, archivist B.P. archives. (Warwick: University of Warwick, 12 March 2007)

1

The Diary, 1940

1 January 1940: the Cottage

¹

The New Year came in to a deathly still, clear, freezing morning. We got up early to catch the 7.55am to London. The sky was bright pink and the snow reflected the pinkness. Red sky in the morning, shepherds’ warning. I hope 1940 will see a turn for the better in everything. It’s incredible what chaos and misery one man’s ambition can cause in the world. I had to go as the W.O. representative, with Gillian Dearmer representing the A.T.S., to view a film called Laugh It Off with Tommy Trinder and Jean Colin all about enlistment. We sat in solemn state and shivering cold in the empty Phoenix Theatre. There wasn’t another soul in the theatre except, presumably, a projectionist and some charladies scrubbing the stairs. It was pretty poor stuff and I have my doubts if it will ever reach the West End, but there was nothing harmful from the W.O. point of view. We nearly died of cold though. A letter came this morning from Sir George² saying the Savoy Company would pay me a retaining fee while I am here. This is good news. I wonder how much it will be. My guess is £100 a year, but it would be lovely if it was £200.

2 January 1940

Hanging over my desk in the W.O. is a white-shaded ceiling lamp. Its shade is very dusty so we left a note for the charwoman asking her to dust it. This morning a little note was on my desk, it read: ‘Sir, re. the lamp, this is not my job. Signed the charlady’. The whole W.O. seems to live on the principal of passing the buck. One never takes a decision if one can avoid it; one merely passes the file on to somebody else. There must be acres of dusty files somewhere. I have discovered a fantastic situation. It seems that in the Civil Service and the Army people can’t be sacked, they can only be promoted or moved to another branch. They can be sacked for dishonesty, or something like that, but not for incompetence or inefficiency. Also, promotion in the Civil Service does not depend on ability or efficiency, but rather on the length of service. The older, slower and

stupider you get, the more important your job. If we ever win this war it won’t be due to any efficiency on the part of the W.O. I’ve never seen such a building of muddlers. The weather is still bitterly cold. The snow has frozen solid on the streets and sidewalks, which makes walking very perilous.

Ronnie Tritton in Majorca, 1934. The Ford 8 car shown was a wedding gift.

3 January 1940

Spent the morning going round the Newsreel companies with Captain Jacot who is one of the P.R. Officers from G.H.Q., and an extraordinarily nice person. A Wykhamist³, he has had an interesting life. He spent six years with The Times, wrote some articles for the Saturday Evening Post, which were seen by M.G.M., who asked him to write for them in Hollywood. He drifted into movies, spent some years in California, drifted back into newspapers and has been lately Central European Correspondent for the New York Herald Tribune. He was with the Movietone man in the Spanish War when he was killed getting pictures in the line. A most attractive person: big, quiet and with gentle brown eyes. He was at Oxford with Hore-Belisha⁴ with whom he shared a room. I can’t imagine a better man for a P.R. Officer. He knows both sides of the business; soldiering (he was a gunner at the end of the last war) as well as film and newspaper work.

4 January 1940

A thaw at last. Ovington Street⁵ seems to be the only street in the west end of London which has not had the snow and muck cleared away. A fairly busy day at the W.O. Verney⁶ is taking a week’s leave and I’ve got to deal with everything while he is away, which is rather a tall order as I’ve only been here two weeks. I lunched at the S.F. with Anne⁷. Went to Nicoll’s to buy Anne a new country coat. Her old Jaeger is in the last stages of decay. Got a rather nice brown tweed for £5 in the sale. I’m going to try and find a bit of nutria to make a collar for it. I feel rather rich today as £80 came in from the Savoy and £22.10.0 from the W.O. I can’t think what’s happened to my North American Aviation dividend of $50.00. It was declared months ago but I have never had the money.

32 Ovington Street, London

5 January 1940

A very busy day. Verney is going off to Scotland for a week’s leave tonight leaving me in charge. This is a bit hard as I’ve only been here two weeks and, as frightful staff upheavals are taking place, I hope to goodness no crisis occurs. I lunched in the Savoy Grill with Miles⁸. Richard Collet⁹ was lunching Jean Lorimer¹⁰ and Carroll Gibbons¹¹ almost next door. I had some Kummel¹² with them after Miles had gone. Carroll starts again at the Savoy on Monday week which is good news. Anne received a $75.00 dividend this morning from the Greyhound Corp. That stock certainly pulls its weight. I suppose a bus company couldn’t help making money last year with the World’s Fair in N.Y., and the other fair in San Francisco. Picture Post is busy again at the Savoy. This is the third time they have been excited over the possibility of a Savoy pictorial story. God knows if it will ever appear. Leath says that the P.P. photographer, Bauman, has lost that vital energy he had when he first took photos at the Savoy. He no longer rushes about snapping his Leica at everything, but rather strolls calmly and slowly about.

6 January 1940

Not much doing in my office but tremendous upheavals at the W.O. Belisha has resigned. Two rapid and meaningless letters between him and the P.M. are the only things the public has to go on. The cheap press is letting itself get all worked up and is guessing madly at the reasons. Among the many guesses are; a disagreement between the Generals and H-B, disapproval of his publicity and his democratising of the army from the old guard, a personal feud between H-B and Churchill … etc. Probably all these reasons have something to do with it. It seems a pity though that the S. of S. for War should resign suddenly in the middle of a war. I saw Beith today and he said the Generals have always disliked H-B. I gathered that he wondered what would happen to the P.R. now. It was very closely allied to H-B personally, and it took a long time for the Generals to get what P.R. was all about and to even accept it, much less approve of it.

7 January 1940: the Cottage

Damp and still. The ground is so sodden that it gives off a mist in the warmth of today. The woods drip. It’s too wet to do anything in the garden.

8 January 1940

I feel rather weighed down with the various office troubles. Everybody bickers so and the general atmosphere is so tense … God knows how P.R. got into the state it’s in. It seems absolute chaos. It is the first day of rationing. Four pats of butter free of coupon for us at lunch and two lumps of sugar. Several of the plats du jour had bacon in them, so that’s not curtailed altogether. I dined at home by myself off cold bacon, cherry jam and toast. There was a good radio programme so I put up the card table in front of the fire upstairs and wrote a long letter

9 January 1940

It was a busy day at the office. I spent all morning at the weekly P.R. meeting. Rather interesting. I do feel that I’m really beginning to see what it’s all about now. The telephone rings unceasingly, but as long as one deals with situations the moment they crop up, it’s all right. It’s only when things begin to get behind that one gets ballsed up. This is the third job I’ve been shoved into which is in a bad state: first the N.Y. one, second the Savoy Publicity, and now this. I spent a long time with Barrington-Hudson, the P.R Officer of Eastern Command. He talked very big and is, I suspect, rather a phoney. I couldn’t get away from him at all.

10 January 1940

This thing is blowing up to a crisis in the office. From every quarter come complaints of P.R.2, all of which really can be brought to Verney’s door. Take the case of the show at Simpson’s of W.O. photos. This was originally planned two months ago. All that was wanted was a number of enlarged photos and a few of our models. Verney never did a damned thing about it, except send a few paltry 8″ × 12″s. I discovered, on going to have a look at the show, that it was very thin and that, as D.P.R. was going to open it officially tomorrow, something had to be done quick. I found a lot of 30″ × 24″s (quite good stuff) up in the store, got onto Beck and Pullitzer, who held the models and rushed everything to Simpson’s. Went with Miles to see one of the best pictures of the year, Mr Smith goes to Washington. Absolutely A.1, with great performances by James Stewart and Jean Arthur.

11 January 1940

Quite a bust up today. Humphries (A.D.P.R.) came down to our office to have a look at the staff question and was appalled by the situation. He, Hancock and I sat down there and then and drafted out a reorganisation scheme. Humphries and I then went straight to the C.4. man who looks after staff matters and put in for about eight extra people. God knows what V. will say when he gets back. In the afternoon D.P.R. held a meeting on the whole affair. I was rather surprised to find that everybody at the meeting was outspoken in criticism of Verney. I went with D.P.R. to open the Simpson’s exhibition. He made quite a good little speech and we had cups of tea with that old thug Sir William Crawford¹³. I was rather impressed by him. He went out of his way to be civil to me and made conversation quite unnecessarily, considering my lowly position. We met the Simpson’s general manager, a young Jew, pretty shrewd I should think, and Dr. Simpson himself, a very unattractive middle-aged Jewish gentleman from somewhere towards the east of central Europe. He told me that Simpson’s spent about £75,000 last year on advertising, and that business was better now than the corresponding period last year.

12 January 1940

Major J¹⁴ and I have been experimenting with the War Office Luncheon Club. It is really excellent. The room is quite small, only holding thirty or forty people; all officers, or people like me, who snobbishly consider themselves good enough to eat there. Actually it’s like a pub. There is a ‘private bar’ and a ‘public bar’. There is no definite line of isolation, but everybody seems to know which one they fit into. The food is really good plain cooking, and lots of it, plenty of choice and very cheap. For instance, a large plate full of steak and kidney pudding costs 9d. Vegetables cost 2d a portion and puddings 2d or 3d. One has to go either before one o’clock or after 2.30 or else there is no room.

Not a bad day at the office but very busy. Humphries and I went ahead with the new staff plans and went to see the headman, Periottl, who deals with staff. I went round to the Savoy when I left. Jean L.¹⁵ and Jean N.¹⁶ were busy in the office preparing for a party to be given on Monday to welcome Carroll Gibbons back. It’s nearly six months since he left now, which seems incredible. It will be good to get him back. I never feel the Savoy Restaurant is quite the same thing with Carroll away. Apart from the fact that his band is good, he has such a very charming personality.

15 January 1940

Started on time for London, but icy roads and fog held us up and made going slow. Ronald¹⁷ drove with great caution, and I was fussed about being late for an appointment at the W.O. Verney is back and some new staff arrived for us today. Ward, who will take over from James and do newsreels under me, seems a capable and nice person. Went to a cocktail party at the Savoy for Caroll Gibbons today, lots of press. Everybody from the Tatler (they were all there for the free drinks probably), Elizabeth Penrose the editor of Vogue, a charming American, but she will call me Mr Tryton. Ian Coster rather depressed by his new column in The Standard, Jonah Barrington¹⁸ etc. Pamela Murray being rather temperamental and prima donna over exclusivity of photographs. Lady Jersey was there in mink, hiding behind huge glasses; Mrs Carroll Gibbons very attractive and chic with hair just greying … Jean Lorimer seemed to cope with the party well … I don’t know who will pay for it, but a lot of champagne was drunk.

16 January 1940

I have no words to describe the cold. The whole of Europe is suffering from the worst cold wave for a quarter of a century. In Moscow it is 75 degrees below zero. The Finnish War is frozen into immobility, and thousands of men have died of cold. In Berlin there is a coal shortage and heating in blocks of flats is rationed to one day a week. The Danube is frozen solid and German oil supplies from Romania held up. The Baltic is almost frozen up and traffic severely restricted. Leonard Dodds, back from France, told me that when the radiator cap of his car was removed to let out boiling steam and water, the boiling water, which bubbled out over the wings and onto the road, was frozen within two minutes.

17 January 1940

It is still bitterly cold. As the weather is of national importance, no weather reports are issued and no descriptions of weather are allowed in the papers, so we don’t know how cold it is or how it compares with other years. I’m sure it’s the coldest winter I remember. I lunched with Leonard Dodds in the Savoy Grill. He was in great form and seems to be fairly happy in France. He is at G.H.Q. now with all the P.R. chaps.

I looked into my Savoy office for a minute and found Jean L. in a state. Wontner¹⁹ had been at her for a whole hour about the Dorchester’s publicity. He had seen two mentions of it in the Evening Standard and was therefore of the opinion that the Dorchester was getting all the publicity and the Savoy none.

18 January 1940

I went in to the Savoy in the evening to see Miles about Jean’s row with Wontner. He quite takes her part and assures us that it won’t happen again. I hope this is not because Jean seems to have got into a bad state of worry about it. Charles Cochran²⁰ has asked her to do his publicity for the new Cochran Revue which opens early in February at the Savoy. Jean has got permission from the Savoy Directors to do this and will probably be able to combine a good bit of theatre and Savoy Hotel stuff, which will be most valuable. Then I met Anne at the Carlton to see the new Fleischer animated full length Gulliver. It’s a sad disappointment and does not compare with Disney’s pictures. There is no originality and no pathos. It’s all rather crude and unfunny. The animation is fairly good and the sequence when Gulliver is tied up and moved to Lilliput is clever. Many shots are cribs from Snow White; for example, the Lilliputians marching along over a bridge, shot from below with them silhouetted against the sky is an exact copy of the dwarfs’ march to their mine. The main melodies; Hap Hap Happy Days and Sailor Man are good, but neither are made full use of. Sailor Man in particular is rather a lovely tune and should have been plugged much more. There is no chance to really get hold of it.

The Savoy Hotel

19 January 1940

I was invited to a private showing of the new Ace film The Boys with the Guns, a four-reel feature on the Royal Artillery. It was such a private showing that the producer and I were alone in the Grand National Co’s private theatre. It’s a first class little film, intelligently photographed and well commentated. There were a lot of pictures of the miraculous electrical predictors and range finders, and I kept thinking of the time and brains which had been expended on these marvellous devices … all to kill men. It seems a tragedy that, in the year 1940, some of the world’s best brains are working out new and more hideously efficient machines for the destruction of mankind. I can dimly see the glamour and excitement and tradition of the great regiments of the British Army. There is something rather wonderful in the unbroken history of nearly three hundred years of the Coldstreams, for instance, but to me all the glamour and tradition is swamped by the realisation that the chief function of the Army is to destroy mankind. However many beautiful uniforms you dress them up in, however many stirring bands may play – which I admit work on one’s emotions – still, the fact remains, that the job the Army is supposed to do is to destroy men, and I can never condone that.

20 January 1940: the Cottage

It is bitterly cold and the Cottage is absolutely frozen up. Not a drop of water to be had. The freeze-up is somewhere near Robinson’s²¹ cottage, where the main pipe is open to the air for a few feet. We had to carry water for drinking and washing up. It was so cold that my sponge and Anne’s flannels were frozen solid in the bathroom. The thermometer at Steadman’s garage said 20 degrees after lunch but had been as low as 12 degrees during the night. I’m going to leave the baby Ford out tonight, so I hope the antifreeze stuff is powerful enough. It ought to be; it cost 10/1 for one radiator-full and is the brightest green.

22 January 1940

The Duke of Windsor is staying at Claridge’s. Good for business. So is Robert Montgomery²² in a racoon coat. I went into the Savoy today to go through Jean’s January Savoy News-Letter. It’s rather good and I think it will interest all the agents very much.

23 January 1940

Two destroyers sunk in four days. One with all hands lost. It looks as if there must be some U-Boats out again or a new lot of magnetic mines sown. Trouble is brewing between the U.S. and this country on several different things. The U.S. object to our censoring the Clipper mails at Bermuda, thus slowing up the Transatlantic Service. Although we are quite within our rights in doing so, it hardly seems worth losing a lot of popularity in America over such an unimportant matter. Also, they are making an outcry because we say we can’t afford to buy any more Virginian tobacco, but must conserve our dollars for more useful things. Admittedly this will hit the South badly, but the U.S. as a whole should remember that hundreds of millions of dollars are being spent there on aeroplanes, guns, trucks etc. What they are losing on the swings they are more than making up on the roundabouts.

24 January 1940

I lunched at the Savoy Grill with Jean and Miss Hogg (Corisande of the Evening Standard). The next table was occupied by the Queen of Yugoslavia looking very large, untidy and like a cook. Manetta²³ says she has ordered him to send her a smoked turkey and salmon to Belgrade. Presumably she has come over to take her son back to Eton. She most certainly didn’t look like a Queen. Old Minnie Hogg is in great form, trumpeting about all her relations and gobbling up an enormous lunch. There was an official lunch today at Claridge’s given by Sir George to the press, Lord Horder²⁴, Herbert Morrison²⁵ etc. so as to boost the new smoke extractor on the main chimney at Claridge’s. Wontner had shown unbelievable tactlessness, and had not asked Jean to go in her normal capacity as Publicity Manager, but had suggested she go ‘to take shorthand notes’ – in other words as a typist. He is a bloody fool. Luckily Jean saw the funny side of it and has not felt insulted, as well she might. I can’t quite make out why Wontner is taking this strange attitude towards her. She is doing extremely well and making friends with everybody, except him.

25 January 1940

Busy with facilities for various film companies. There are no less than ten different films being made now for propaganda purposes which require War Office assistance. As four or five of them are on the same subject – the vast commercial and industrial power of this country – the whole thing is liable to get rather confused. I went to The Old Maid with Anne. It is a Victorian story in a Civil War setting, featuring Bette Davis as a soured old maid. It’s good in a way – very well acted but the story is very typical of its period, false and rather pretentious. Bette Davis, who is supposed to age twenty or thirty years throughout the film, is lovely as a girl but not convincing as an old lady. There is more to getting old than wearing a grey wig and having lines on one’s face.

26 January 1940

The credulity of the German people is amazing. Two utterly fantastic stories have been circulated in the German and neutral press. Both might have been torn from the pages of Jules Verne²⁶, Edgar Wallace²⁷ and William le Queux²⁸ combined. The first is that German scientists have discovered a formula whereby the entire British Isles can be frozen into a solid block of ice. The second is that German Air Fleets, operating at great height, will spray all England with a gas that will send the entire population to sleep for a fortnight. When they wake up the Germans will be in control. Another good story is that, with typical German thoroughness, the men who are to administer a conquered England are already hard at work learning their jobs. Thus the man who will, for instance, be Governor of South Wales is busy, even now, learning the habits, studying the characteristics, and going into the economic situation of the Welsh miners. What sublime optimism, but how does it agree with the defeatist attitude of scuttling? Major J. has presented me with a brace of wild duck from Neatherby. I’ve had them plucked and made ready for cooking by Latry.²⁹

28 January 1940

Today is worthy of two pages. It’s a story of travel in England in winter in 1940.

Quite unsuspecting, in spite of a brisk frost on top of yesterday’s thaw, we set out to catch the 4.40 from Worthing. The road was rather icy but not too bad. The train was late but not unreasonably so, and we left Worthing at about 5pm. It was an electric train and the conductor rail had a coating of ice so the shoe couldn’t make contact except every now and then. We proceeded in desperate jerks, lighting the countryside with huge flashes … sometimes we stopped for ages, then groaned on using the accumulators for a few yards. It sounds incredible now, but it took us from 5 o’clock until 8.50 to get to Brighton. It can’t be more than twelve miles and usually takes about twenty minutes. It took us ten minutes under the four hours. Thank heavens the carriage was warm and not too crowded, but of course it was pitch dark. There was nothing to do but watch the flashes and guess the relationship of the couple opposite. She had no ring but they talked intimately about her satin pyjamas, ‘you know the ones’. I got into Brighton at 9 o’clock, causing a rush to the London train. No one knew when or if it would go. I went to the bar to get some food but there were fifty people fighting round one old black satin barmaid with pince-nez and blonde hair, so I was afraid of missing the train and hurried back to Anne. There wasn’t even any chocolate left in the penny-in-the-slot machines. Luckily we had some cake in our bag so we ate that, which helped. The train eventually left about 9.15. There was no corridor, no heat and no light, but it had a steam engine and we groaned along fairly steadily to Haywards Heath. Here it got tired and waited another forty minutes at Three Bridges. At Croydon (it was now 12.30) the platform was jammed with people who had been waiting hours in the snow for a train … when we left Croydon three quarters of an hour later, everybody cheered rather pathetically. There were several children. Our compartment now had seventeen people in it. I felt so sorry for them. Some had travelled for seven hours, going down to the country to see their evacuated children, and then found the roads too icy to get to their houses and were now spending eight or nine hours getting home. We arrived at Victoria at five minutes to 2am. No taxis. We had to walk home through deep snow carrying our suitcases. To bed by 3am. Nine hours solid train travel to go just sixty miles.

30 January 1940

The whole country is paralysed by weather conditions. Many trains are ‘lost’ in the north. People are cut off in isolated villages with no food. Telephones are useless, mails and newspapers not delivered. There is the threat of a serious coal shortage owing to transport hold-ups. News is now being printed about the cold spell three weeks ago. Papers are not allowed to mention weather reports or have photographs showing the state of the weather until fifteen days have lapsed. This is to ensure that Germany doesn’t know too much about our weather conditions as they might help her Air Force. Apparently the Germans are supposed not to know that we have had snow and bitterly cold weather. It’s crazy to think that they have no espionage system. Personally I feel that a great part of this secrecy over everything is absolute nonsense. Anyway, it has been the coldest spell since 1894. The Thames froze over above Kingston, and the temperature in London went to 25 degrees of frost, only seven degrees above zero. As it’s been sixty degrees below zero in Finland, no one here can possibly have any conception of the cold there. We stayed in by the fire and listened to a good George Gershwin programme on the radio.

31 January 1940

Not a very interesting day. Some official War Office film came in and we saw it run through for censorship. The only good sequences, of tanks, had to come out. Hitler screamed his head off last night in his usual January 30th speech. He said nothing new and spent most of the time on the old shop-worn Versailles stuff. It is interesting that he is very much afraid, presumably, of being bumped off, so much so that no one knew where or when he would speak until the very last moment. A thaw has set in at last and the snow is becoming grey slush over one’s shoes. I thank heaven for my old galoshes.

1 February 1940

Lunching in the War Office Luncheon Club today, I sat next to a padre. He was bluff and red-faced; his opening remark, accompanied by a giggle, was so truly parsonical that I was quite taken aback. Beaming round the room he said, ‘The Army is just one great big family isn’t it?’ The food in the Luncheon Club is surprisingly good. I had wonderful jugged hare today for 10d. A notice has been sent to all rooms complaining that over three hundred spoons and forks have disappeared from the Luncheon Club in the last few months. Do the Officers steal them or what? There is still no real news of the war. The Western Front is frozen solid and nothing happens there. It’s amusing to see what pains the Official Reports go to in avoiding the phrase ‘all quiet on the Western Front’. They say it in every other possible way, but never that. My Film Section is now thoroughly reorganised, I hope. Our new filing system for the Official War Office Film should make it possible for anyone writing a history after the war to pick out the sequences he wants, quickly and easily. I have been told that the films and photographs of the last war were in such a muddle that, twenty-two years after the war ended, two men are still working on them.

2 February 1940

I went to see Fifth Avenue Girl. It was very disappointing, considering it was made by Gregory la Cava who directed My Man Godfrey. Ginger Rogers looked heavenly as usual but wasn’t given much of a chance. Walter Connolly was good, as always, but the whole thing lacked life.

3 February 1940

I am on duty this weekend, though there was nothing whatsoever to do in the office. I got there about two o’clock and left at about a quarter to five. The papers are full of the coal shortage brought about by the snow and freeze-up. In Manchester and Liverpool they are dreadfully short, and a crowd of hundreds of people besieged a big coal merchant’s sidings with prams, suitcases and even paper bags. This will make a nice bit of propaganda for the Nazis and give great scope to Lord Haw-Haw³⁰. By the way, how sickening it is of the Daily Telegraph to refer to that gentleman always as Lord Hee-Haw, just because the Daily Express was the first with Haw-Haw. Anyway Haw-Haw caught on and everyone, including all other papers except the D.T., calls him Haw-Haw.

5 February 1940

I had a sound film showing at 10.30am. The W.O. Cinema has no sound facilities, so we have to borrow the G.P.O. theatre in Soho Sq. A 10.30 showing is therefore rather convenient because there isn’t time to go to the W.O. first. It is not worth getting there at 10.00 and leaving again at ten past ten, so I go straight to Soho Square, thus having half an hour extra at home. Some of the Art Editors came today to a little photograph conference in my room. Harvey of The Express, a very country gentleman in a rough tweed overcoat, check suit, suede shoes and Eton Rambler tie; Bogaerde³¹ of The Times very pompous and obviously looked upon himself as a spokesman for the other which, as a matter of fact, he wasn’t at all. These conferences never achieve anything concrete. Everybody has an axe to grind, and obviously The Times and The Daily Express, for instance, have quite different ideas as to the type of photographs they want. There was a man from The Evening Standard and another representing the Provincials; rather a trying little man. The film producer, Arthur Elton³², came in to see me today. A vast bearded blonde Viking of a man with a surprisingly gentle and diffident manner. I liked him.

8 February 1940

Arthur told us some amazing stories of naval affairs which have never been published. The Navy doesn’t seem to realise the enormous propaganda value of stories of heroism. He told us of the Commander of a destroyer who had his legs shot off and who asked for a chair, and then sat – legless – on the bridge, bringing his ship safely alongside. He could only whisper his orders and the Quartermaster had to put his ear close to the Commander’s mouth. He died within an hour of docking his ship.

Now that is an epic story and would have made marvellous propaganda, particularly in America. But the Navy looks upon those things as all in the day’s work. They don’t realise the enormous propaganda value. The English are a funny race. Captain Horton, recently returned from France, a soldier whose job it is to kill people – men –, said to me today: ‘I had the most awful experience of my life today’. So I said ‘What was it?’ and he replied: ‘I had to have my old dog put away. I feel quite awful about it … it’s the worst thing I’ve ever had to do’. This was spoken by a soldier whose job is killing men …

9 February 1940

A lousy day, one of those days when everything goes wrong from start to finish. There was a complete balls-up of the newsreel film of the Canadians. It wasn’t my fault but it was another nail in the P.R.2. coffin. I dined at the International Sportsman’s Club with Geoffrey and Mary³³. Geoff is on sick leave after a bad bout of ’flu. He seemed cheerful, but the war has changed them both a lot. They seem much older and the carefree days of ’81 seem a very long time ago. Of course G. has had an awful lot of worry lately. His father died the day before war broke out, and he had all the business of settling up a big estate (Uncle Alfred left something well over half a million) in addition to Brightwen’s affairs and the army. We went to Black Velvet and were disappointed. It’s been cracked up to be so marvellous that we expected something out of the ordinary, which it wasn’t. In fact, apart from Vic Oliver, it was boring. The theatre was packed.

10 February 1940

Cochran had his first night last night and it was apparently a riot. The Savoy Grill did four hundred suppers as stars, part stars and would-be stars gazed at each other eating. Jean L. got permission to break with precedent and have photographs taken in the Grill. I wonder how it will work out. Apparently several people wrote notes asking to be taken and only two refused when asked (Castlerosse³⁴ and St. John Hutchinson³⁵) The Cochran show, if it runs, should make all the difference to the receipts of the Grill and Restaurant. Anne and I went to a private showing of some colour films taken by an amateur at the Royal Photographic Society. The subject was South Africa, Land of Smiles and Sunshine. The pictures were of very poor quality. She had used Kodachrome but in almost every case she had under-exposed and the pictures were just black. She used no originality of angle, everything was a straight picture and very dull. She had a sound outfit synchronising sound effects and music which was fairly good. It gave us great pleasure to realise that her films shown before the R.P.S. were not as good as our own.

Views of London from the Savoy Hotel roof, mid 1930s

12 February 1940

Had a busy day today. We are producing a recruiting pamphlet for the A.M.P.C.³⁶ which requires a lot of work. I have no doubt that this sort of thing is easy when you’ve done a few, but the first is always difficult. You don’t know where or to whom to go to get anything done. The Russians are hammering away with all their might at the Mannerheim line but don’t seem to be making much headway. They have so much of everything though – millions of men and shells and tanks – that they can afford increasing attacks which must, in the end, wear down the Finns.

13 February 1940

Whole batches of Time and Life magazines have arrived all at once, but no New Yorkers. I hope our subscription hasn’t run out because I don’t think we shall be able