A bit of history first. During the lunch which the Halifaxes arranged for Agniya and me on 10 September,

At the luxurious Dorchester Hotel, which they had made their London residence.

we spoke at length about air raids and bomb shelters. Some three days earlier, the Germans had launched their air offensive against London. I made a tour of the East End and saw the fires and destruction in the port area. I was struck by the paucity of shelters in this part of London, fewer than in other districts with which I am more familiar. I related this impression during the course of the lunch. About two and a half weeks later, I received a long letter from Halifax where, referring to relevant statistical data, he declared that my impressions were mistaken.

Halifax’s figures proved that in the East End boroughs, where the estimated population was 520,930, there were 328,913 private shelters and 81,821 public ones, while in the West End boroughs, where the estimated population was 462,520, there were 128,744 private shelters and 70,109 public, the comparison being ‘definitely favourable towards East London’; RAN f.1702 op.4 d.1290 ll.6–7, 24 Sep. 1940.

In conclusion, he suggested I make a tour of the bomb shelters in the East End. Halifax promised to organize the tour. I decided to accept the invitation and visited the East End yesterday with Agniya.

Our ‘guide’ was Admiral Evans,

Edward Evans, admiral, naval commander and Antarctic explorer; commander-in-chief, The Nore, 1935–39, he took part in the Norwegian Campaign. Retiring from the navy in 1941, he was appointed London’s regional commissioner for civil defence.

who has just been appointed ‘dictator’ of the London bomb shelters. His chief of staff, Colonel [name missing in diary] accompanied us, as did Ellen Wilkinson, who was appointed deputy home secretary a few days ago and who is (in the words of the gallant Evans) ‘the queen of the bomb shelters’ in parliament. Ellen was with us only at the beginning of our tour though, for she was urgently needed at her ministry and had to dash off.

Our first visit was to the ‘Group 2 HQ’ (there are nine groups comprising the 95 boroughs of Greater London). The building of this ‘HQ’ had been seriously damaged a few days earlier and the staff had moved to poorly lit premises nearby. The head of ‘HQ’, a gloomy bespectacled gentleman with a hedgehog coiffure, was all but frightened by our arrival: he had not expected such ‘eminent guests’. We walked around the premises, inspected the alarm system signalling local bombings, examined a big map of London stuck with coloured pins showing where bombs had fallen (each type of bomb had its own colour), and met local administrators responsible for medical, fire-fighting, transportation, excavation and other services. All these services were concentrated right there, in the headquarters.

Then we drove to inspect the Group 2 district (St Pancras, Kentish Town, etc.). With the district authorities in tow – the gloomy head of ‘HQ’, the engineer and some others – we became a convoy of three large cars. It was somewhat unpleasant, but it couldn’t be helped. The admiral explained that the No. 2 district is one of the best in London. The local authorities have failed to rise to the occasion and have coped poorly, if at all, with the task in hand… Nonetheless, he, Admiral Evans, is not ashamed of showing me district No. 2! Let ‘Russia’ know that the British do not conceal their shortcomings! Democracy reigns in England!

We saw the bomb shelters: the Anderson type, the school type, the trench type, under a clothing store, under a textile factory, in the hotel at Euston Station, at the Carnero cigarette factory, on the streets – small and large, under a bank in the City, in the Borough of Stepney and, finally, in the big railway tunnel at Tilbury.

We were out and about for some four hours, walking, inspecting the shelters, asking questions, exchanging opinions. Summing up my impressions, I must say that all the shelters we saw except one are worthless when it comes to safety. At best they may protect from shrapnel. But they wouldn’t save anyone from a direct hit.

The Carnero factory was the only exception. Its owners seem to belong to the category of ‘intelligent capitalists’. Evans, who knew the old owner (now deceased), lavished praise on his ‘kind heart’ and ‘noble attitude towards his employees’. The current owners maintain the traditions established by their father. They built a superb bomb shelter for 3,000 people at a depth of 20 feet under the factory building, with a reinforced concrete ceiling, waves of electric light, an excellently equipped medical aid post, powerful air supply pumps, etc.

We chatted with the admiral as we drove from one shelter to another. He turned out to be a very cheerful and talkative man. He looks astonishingly young for his 60 years. Evans told us his story.

‘I’m an adventure-seeker by nature!’ he exclaimed with a charming laugh. ‘Much like our prime minister. Oh, Mr Churchill is a great adventurer! That’s why I believe he’ll win the war.’

Evans’s career bears out his self-portrait. His father was a lawyer. At the age of eight the boy ran away from home, headed for ‘the West Indies’. He was caught outside the London suburbs and returned to his parents. He did not calm down, however: he ran away for a second, and then a third time. In the end he was tried for ‘vagrancy’ and put in a workhouse. Then Evans felt drawn to the sea. He entered nautical school and joined the navy at 18. At the age of 21 he sailed with Scott

Robert Falcon Scott, British Royal Navy officer and explorer.

on board the Discovery to the Antarctic, where he spent two years. At 28, he set off with Scott again to the South Pole as his second-in-command. Spent three years on the ice. After Scott’s death, Evans led the surviving members of the expedition back to England. He captained a destroyer during the last war. In 1917, the destroyer HMS Broke, under the command of Evans, together with another destroyer, the Swift, sank six German destroyers. His life became quieter after the war as he rose up the navy. Evans became admiral of the Australian navy (he recalls this with a smile), commanded the British navy in China and in Africa, captained battleship Repulse, and finally, three years ago, became… rector of Aberdeen University. The admiral has an endless quantity of medals: his breast is covered with ribbons of different colours. He wields a pen. He is the author of several books – on sea power and on Scott’s expedition. Writing adventure books for children is his latest hobby. He is married to a Norwegian and has two sons who are also tied to the sea. In general, Admiral Evans cuts an extraordinarily colourful figure. What’s more, he is a first-class demagogue, of the classically English variety.

I saw this for myself when we arrived in Tilbury. It was already 6.30 p.m., and a sizeable crowd had gathered in and around the shelter. Anything up to 2,000 people, I would guess. First, Evans brought us to the railway office, where 15 or so officials from Stepney borough had assembled to greet us. They showed the admiral a map of the tunnel and the alterations required to convert it into a shelter. Evans had a look, had a feel, wheezed, and then launched into rapid conversation with the assembled authorities.

‘Hm…,’ the admiral bellowed, ‘will you send me the relevant letter of request tomorrow morning?’

The tall, beefy railway official to whom Evans’ question was addressed did not seem too taken with the idea of sending a letter of request, especially in such haste. But the canny admiral glanced at him meaningfully, looked at me, then shifted his eyes back to the railwayman – and the railwayman agreed: after all, it would have been a bit embarrassing to squabble in front of a foreign ambassador. Evans got his way. Then he adroitly turned to another official and added in a rapid patter: ‘You guarantee cement for tomorrow, do you not?’

The cement supplier was none too happy either, but what could he do: he also had to agree. The same happened with the suppliers of timber, iron and some other essential commodities. Everything was settled in a few minutes. Evans could justly say: ‘Veni, vidi, vici.’ My presence helped him greatly. I’m even convinced he brought me there specially to facilitate his victory. A crafty fellow!

Then we went to see the tunnel. By this point the assembled public already knew who had come. They greeted us with loud cheers: ‘Hurrah! Long live the Soviet Union!’

Agniya and I were surrounded on all sides. People shook our hands, shouted enthusiastically, punched the air, and embraced us. But the admiral kept his head. He took us by the arm and the three of us, accompanied by a local warden and a single policeman, proceeded to the tunnel.

We walked around the shelter for 15–20 minutes. Had a look at the medical aid post, where they asked us to sign the visitors’ book. We observed the primitive – very primitive – sleeping arrangements which the East Enders had devised for themselves. The place was crowded and filthy, with wretched bedding on the stone floor, heaps of junk, and hundreds of children of all ages and appearances. The variety of individuals, and the variety of their conditions, was astonishing. I saw emaciated and hungry faces, and next to them red, well-fed physiognomies which belonged, I reckon, to the category of Whitechapel shopkeepers. Tall phlegmatic Englishmen jostled with rowdy Irishmen and nervously mobile Jews. Yes, the whole ethnographic spectrum of the East End was there.

Suddenly the admiral turned to the warden accompanying us and exclaimed: ‘Gather the people! I want to say a few words to them.’

The warden jumped on a platform of sorts and set about shouting at the top of his voice, waving his arms: ‘Over here! Over here! Admiral Evans will speak!’

The people quickly hurried over to the platform, onto which the admiral, with a lightness unusual for his age, had also managed to jump. A big, tightly packed, steaming crowd was soon assembled. Men, women and children. Hats, caps and bare heads. About two thousand people. Agniya and I stood at the foot of the platform, trying to keep in the shadows, and waited with curiosity to see what would happen next. Suddenly the admiral bent down towards us and, gesturing emphatically, addressed me: ‘And what about you? Over here please! Over here!’

The admiral started tugging me and Agniya onto the platform. Someone helped us from behind and a moment later we were standing side by side with the admiral, who was waving his arms about energetically and shouting to the crowd: ‘Come closer! Closer! Don’t be shy!’

The people moved closer, bunching up tight. Evans took off his cap, waved it, and exclaimed: ‘Our country is the country of fair play! Am I right?’

An uncertain rumble passed through the crowd. One could interpret it as a sign of approval or as a mark of disapproval. The admiral continued unabashed: ‘A few days ago the king and queen visited you here!’

The same uncertain rumble passed through the crowd, and someone in the back row cried out: ‘What about it?’

The admiral went on without batting an eyelid.

‘And today,’ he shouted with sudden emphasis, ‘I’ve brought you a different guest! I’ve brought you the Soviet ambassador!’

And with a wide sweep of his arm, Evans gestured towards Agniya and me.

Unrestrained cheering among the crowd. Everyone started shouting: ‘Hurrah! Long live the Soviet Union! Long live the Soviet ambassador!’

Then Evans moved on to other topics. He said he sympathized with the people of the East End with all his heart. He couldn’t promise them miracles, but he was doing all he could to improve the situation. Half of the tunnel had been freed to turn it into a shelter. It had been cleansed of rubbish and stench. That was progress, but it was just the beginning.

‘I’ll give you 4,000 beds within the week!’ the admiral cried in a stentorian voice. ‘Would you like that?’

Needless to say, the crowd welcomed the admiral’s announcement with thunderous cheers.

‘I’ll not stop at that!’ roared the admiral. ‘Soon each of you will get a special seasonal ticket like this one (he pulled a small piece of green cardboard from his pocket and waved it about in the air)… On the ticket will be written the name of the owner, the name of the shelter, and the number of the bed assigned to him. What do you say, will that be good?’

‘Good! Good!’ the crowd yelled back.

The admiral continued: ‘If there is not enough room for some of you in this shelter, I’ll provide you with places in a good shelter in the City of London!’

The crowd roared with delight.

The admiral mopped his forehead, put on his cap, and we all moved to the edge of the platform in order to get down. I already considered myself ‘saved’: given my delicate diplomatic status, it would have been a bit embarrassing for me to speak at this improvised meeting in the East End. So I hastened to get down, when I was suddenly met with deafening cries: ‘Maisky! Speech! Speech! ’

Smiling broadly in all directions, I did my best to get out of it, but the shouts grew louder and louder and the people standing in the front rows rushed towards the platform to prevent my descent. The admiral spread out his arms, and giving me a friendly slap on the shoulder exclaimed: ‘And really, why not say a couple of words? Speak! You must speak!’

All escape routes had been cut off. Standing on the edge of the platform, I gestured for silence and said: ‘On behalf of my wife and myself I thank you kindly, friends, for the cordial welcome which you have given us here today.’

My voice was too weak for the gigantic space, but the crowd responded with frenzied shouts: ‘Hurrah! Hurrah!’

‘I’m especially touched by this welcome,’ I continued, ‘because I well understand that your greetings are addressed not so much to me and my wife as to the country I represent.’

The shouts grew even wilder. A section of the crowd started singing the ‘Internationale’.

‘Let me thank you once more, with all my heart!’ I concluded and began getting down from the platform.

A few seconds later and we were all on the ground. The crowd was delirious. A path opened for the three of us – myself, Agniya and the admiral. Agniya and I were once again squeezed on all sides, embraced, and shaken by the hand. An elderly woman with light brown hair and a face webbed with deep wrinkles cried out in Russian: ‘Our Russia is still alive!’

Hundreds of people on both sides raised their clenched fists in salutation. The ‘Internationale’ sounded louder and louder.

‘What are they singing?’ asked the admiral naively. ‘“Red Flag”?’

‘No,’ I replied. ‘They are singing the “Internationale”. It’s our Soviet national hymn.’

‘Is that right?’ The admiral was surprised. ‘I had never heard it before.’

We arrived, at last, at our cars and climbed in, to the accompaniment of loud shouts: ‘Long live the Soviet Union!’

Once again, the ‘Internationale’. Once again, raised fists.

The admiral was somewhat amazed. He had hardly expected the Soviet ambassador to be accorded such a warm welcome. But he lost neither his presence of mind nor his good cheer. We headed off to the embassy for a cup of tea. And on the way I thought: ‘This is how the East End greets the Soviet ambassador today. If the war lasts two more years, Piccadilly will greet him in a similar way.’

C[omrade] Vyshinsky

Andrei Yanuarevich Vyshinsky, a former Menshevik, he was prosecutor general of the USSR, 1935–39, in charge of the rigged political trials, most of which ended in death sentences being handed down; deputy chairman of the Council of People’s Commissars, 1939–44, and first deputy to people’s commissar for foreign affairs, 1940–46; minister for foreign affairs, 1949–53.

summoned Cripps on 9 October to hand him a note of protest against the actions of British authorities in respect of the Baltic ships moored in British ports. The note holds the British government responsible for the damage caused by these actions. It further demands the removal of the obstacles preventing the immediate return of the Baltic ships to the Soviet Union, and the release of the gold reserves of the Baltic republics kept in London, at least so as to cover the ongoing expenses of the said ships. The note also stresses the inadmissibility of the arrest of Baltic sailors in Canada (the Ubari steamer) and other reprisals committed against them.

Cripps responded with a statement saying that the ships are just one part of the Baltic question, and the British government will hardly agree to consider this matter separately. For his part, Cripps proposes on behalf of the British government to put the entire Baltic question on ice for six months and open trade negotiations in the meantime.

C[omrade] Vyshinsky answered that the Soviet government has no reason to change the point of view which he expounded to Cripps during their previous meeting. The Soviet government is not against trading with England, but it also does not wish to publicize it widely.

Cripps then said that trade deals between the two countries for separate commodities would not produce satisfactory results. They will merely arouse suspicion in England that the USSR is re-exporting to Germany the products it has imported from England. That is no way to improve relations. So Cripps thinks it advisable to open negotiations concerning general commodity exchange between the two countries, if only on a ‘narrow base’ (he referred to his conversation with C[omrade] Mikoyan on 14 July).

Before parting, Cripps told C[omrade] Vyshinsky that he felt that the conversation had broken the stalemate on the matter of trade negotiations.

C[omrade] Vyshinsky said he thought so, too.

The trade union congress held in Southport from 7 to 10 October has ended. Five million members were represented (a 300,000 increase over the year). A further increase of 500,000 is expected in 1941. In part, this is down to the line taken by Bevin, with his demand that the firms fulfilling government contracts recognize the trade unions.

The mood at the congress was extraordinarily bellicose. Everything proceeded under the banner ‘War until Hitlerism is crushed’, without further specifications. The following episode serves as a curious illustration of these sentiments. Even before the congress opened, Elvin,

Herbert Henry Elvin was the general secretary of the TUC in 1938.

on behalf of his union of clerks, tabled a resolution demanding that peace be concluded by way of negotiations and agreement. Sensing the atmosphere at the congress, he withdrew the resolution once the sessions were under way. However, he failed to be re-elected to the General Council and was replaced by a certain O’Brien,

Tom O’Brien, member of the TUC General Council from 1940.

a man of no distinction and a loyal advocate of the ‘general line’ of the majority.

Another symptom of the same mood was the decision to ban the Daily Worker correspondent from the congress. Despite strong opposition to this decision on the part of Horner

Arthur Lewis Horner, president, South Wales miners, 1936–46.

(communist, chairman of the South Wales miners), Wall (secretary of the printers’ union) and Hunter (representative of the union of journalists), the congress participants refused to allow the representative of a communist newspaper to attend their meetings.

The trade employees’ delegate Berger

H. Berger.

put forward a proposal to refer back the chapter of a report dealing with the Finnish war and brimming with anti-Soviet insinuations. Berger made a fine speech arguing that the Soviet Union, the only socialist state in the world, was obliged to take measures to safeguard its security at any price. Interestingly, every mention of Soviet successes in Berger’s speech was met with loud cheers. Citrine’s response, full of anti-Soviet venom, was met with icy silence. But, when it came to the vote, the ‘machine’ did its job: a 70% majority saw off Berger’s proposal.

The dominant figure at the Congress was undoubtedly Bevin. Citrine was pushed to the background and obviously didn’t like it. A short while before the congress a minor scandal had occurred between Bevin and Citrine. Bevin had agreed with Churchill that workers who lost their tools as a result of air raids would receive compensation of up to 100 pounds. Unaware of this, Citrine wrote a letter to the Treasury on the same matter and suggested setting a compensation of up to 25 pounds. This led to a real tiff between Bevin and Citrine. It was expected that the issue would be discussed at the congress. But the conflict was quashed behind the scenes.

Bevin engaged in various forms of demagogy at the congress, declaring, for instance, that the Ministry of Labour would get its hands on the Foreign Office and take measures to infuse ‘fresh blood’ into its ranks. I’d like to see how he does that.

Balkan matters are on the agenda.

Subbotić told me today that the G[erman] G[overnment] has assured Belgrade that its activities in Rumania in no way reflect aggressive intentions towards other Balkan countries, Yugoslavia in particular. The Yugoslav government knows the value of German assurances, of course, but all the same it is, for the moment, feeling a little relieved.

Simopoulos, in his turn, tried to show that the Italian press campaign against Greece is nothing but a bluff aimed at undermining the authority of Metaxas

Ioannis Metaxas, prime minister of Greece, 1936–41.

in Greece. Simopoulos does not think it will all end in a real war. I’m not so sure.

Simopoulos outlined the situation in Bulgaria in the following way: the people are for ‘Russia’, the top brass for Germany. King Boris

King Boris III of Bulgaria, 1918–43.

manoeuvres between the two poles.

Simopoulos has also gleaned from German sources that the German calculation in September was that a two-week air offensive against London would suffice to bring England to its knees. An invasion would not even be needed. They miscalculated badly.

***

I wonder how events will develop in reality.

The families and children of the Soviet personnel at the embassy were evacuated in early October to ‘a fairly large and comfortable house’ in a village near Cheltenham. Agniya categorically refused to leave London. ‘Her presence by my side,’ recalled Maisky, ‘was a serious support for me. And for political reasons it was more to our advantage that the British should see the wife of the Soviet Ambassador “in the front line”, not in the rear.’ To catch up on their sleep, they tended to spend the weekends out of London at the house of their close friend, Juan Negrín, the former prime minister of the Spanish Republican government.

Maisky, Memoirs of a Soviet Ambassador, pp. 116–18.

Maisky hinted a couple of times to Molotov that the Germans could perhaps be asked to spare the embassy. He was convinced, as he cabled Molotov, that it was no coincidence that the Soviet embassy was particularly targeted by the Germans. He attributed it to Ribbentrop’s ‘extreme hostility’ towards him personally, dating back to the German foreign minister’s time as ambassador to London. Being ‘a vengeful person’, Maisky guessed, he was trying to ‘take his revenge’ on him from the air. ‘It may seem a fantasy,’ he concluded, ‘but we now live in fantastic times.’

DVP, 1940, XXIII/1, doc. 401, 25 Sep. 1940.

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