Exodus - Leon Uris [100]
Humphrey Crawford entered Tevor-Browne’s office. Crawford was a pasty-faced career man in the Middle East section of the Colonial Office, and served as liaison between the army and the policy makers at Whitehall and Chatham House. “Afternoon, Sir Clarence,” Crawford said nervously. “It is time for our meeting with Bradshaw.”
Tevor-Browne arose and gathered some papers together. “Mustn’t keep old Cecil Bradshaw waiting.”
Cecil Bradshaw’s office was in the Institute of International Relations at Chatham House. For thirty years he had been one of the top men in formulating British Middle East policy.
At the end of World War I, Britain and France competed for influence in the Middle East. When the British got the Palestine mandate, Bradshaw had been one of those, with Winston Churchill, who had pushed for the creation of an Arab state out of half the mandate. The state they were instrumental in forming was Trans-Jordan. The entire purpose for bringing it into being was to turn it into a British military base. British subsidies made possible the establishment of Britain’s Arab army, the “Arab Legion,” and the choosing of a king for Trans-Jordan. He was the Hashimite Arab Abdullah, mortal enemy of Saud of Saudi Arabia.
At the end of World War II the Labour party swept into power with promises—among others—to help establish a Jewish homeland in Palestine and a refuge for the survivors in Europe. Cecil Bradshaw led that strong faction in Chatham House which convinced the new Foreign Minister that these promises were charming but not very practical and that Britain’s interests lay with the Arabs. The Arabs’ ten million square miles were rich in oil and included a vital canal.
General Sir Clarence Tevor-Browne and Humphrey Crawford were ushered into Cecil Bradshaw’s office. The latter, a fat man in his sixties, stood looking at the wall with his back to them, his pudgy hands clasped behind him. Humphrey Crawford sat down nervously on the edge of a seat. Tevor-Browne made himself comfortable in a deep leather chair and lit a cigar.
Bradshaw talked to the wall. “Congratulations, gentlemen,” he said in a voice filled with sarcasm and quivering with anger. “I see we made the news today.” He turned and patted his rotund stomach and smiled. “You expected to find me in a lather. No indeed, no indeed. Whitehall called this morning. As expected, the Minister has dumped this Exodus business into my lap.” Bradshaw sat behind his desk, glanced at the reports, and snatched off his thick horn-rimmed glasses with a quick gesture. “Tell me, Sir Clarence ... was your Intelligence staff dead or merely out for tennis? And I believe you have a bit of explaining to do about Sutherland. He was your idea.”
Tevor-Browne refused to be bullied. “I believe the establishment of camps on Cyprus was your idea. What is your explanation?”
“Gentlemen,” Crawford said quickly to avert a clash, “we are faced with a peculiar situation in this Exodus affair. This is the first time any publicity has carried into the American press.”
Bradshaw laughed a wheezy laugh. His big apple cheeks reddened. “With all of Truman’s talk the Americans have only allowed ten thousand Jewish refugees into the country since the end of the war. Certainly Truman is for Zionism ... as long as Palestine isn’t in Pennsylvania. Everyone talks idealistically but we are still the ones with a million Jews on our hands, a million Jews who could ruin our entire position in the Middle East.” Bradshaw replaced his glasses. “Star of David, Moses, Palmach, Gates of Zion, Door of Hope, and now the Exodus. The Zionists are very clever people. For twenty-five years they have made us the villains in Palestine. They write words into the mandate articles and the Balfour Declaration that were never meant. They can argue a camel into thinking he is a mule. Good Lord ... two hours with Chaim Weizmann and I