Noël Coward and the Second World War
Told by Churchill to ‘go and sing when the guns are firing’, Noël Coward aspired to do more during the Second World War than entertain the troops.
It was as a writer and performer that Noël Coward (1899-1973) is best remembered for his war effort, most obviously in the form of his much-lauded propaganda film In Which We Serve (1942). Yet this notable achievement masks a series of personal disappointments for Coward, who thought he had much more to offer than his talents as an entertainer. In fact he had a varied wartime career, characterised by commitment, energy and generosity on several levels.
Coward believed he had a major role to play in the Second World War, a view that was only partly explained by his vanity and ego. He was encouraged to see himself as having an important position in affairs of state by many of those around him. A division of opinion became apparent, however, over the nature of his role. Coward wrote in his 1954 memoir, Future Indefinite: ‘I emphasised repeatedly my firm conviction that my brain and creative intelligence could be of more service to the government than any theatrical ability.’ But while a guest at Chartwell, Winston Churchill’s country home in Kent, Coward was told by his host that his role in any future conflict must be solely as an entertainer, to ‘go and sing to them when the guns are firing, that’s your job’. On the way home Coward made it clear to Robert Boothby, who had arranged the meeting, that he was unhappy with what he saw as Churchill’s dismissive view of him.
The notion that Coward, the gilded creature of the stage, he of the silken dressing-gown, cigarette-holder and witty aphorism, could have a major part to play within the corridors of power at a key moment of national peril might appear absurd. But Coward included among his friends Robert Vansittart, the Foreign Office mandarin closely involved with anti-appeasement thinking; Anthony and Beatrice Eden; Duff and Diana Cooper; and Robert Boothby, the former personal and private secretary to Winston Churchill and his close confidante. Coward identified totally with the anti-appeasers and had no regard for Neville Chamberlain. In the crucial summer of 1939 Vansittart had arranged for Coward to visit Eastern Europe and report back to him. ‘I had an urge to see for myself what was going on in Europe,’ Coward wrote. ‘I discussed this with Robert Vansittart at the Foreign Office … and a few days later I set off for a flying trip to Warsaw, Danzig, Moscow, Leningrad, Helsinki, Stockholm, Oslo and Copenhagen.’ There was speculation about the true purpose of Coward’s mission, which seemed to involve frequent detours from the planned itinerary. But it certainly gave him a taste for travelling on official business. A year earlier Coward had conducted an assignment for the naval commander Lord Louis Mountbatten, who had asked him to tour the Mediterranean fleet to establish how best the newly-formed Royal Naval Film Corporation could serve the purposes of the sailors. However these trips abroad, though officially approved, attracted a certain hostility from sections of the press and Parliament that was to be a constant irritant to Coward throughout the war, yet which he himself sometimes exacerbated.
Mad Dogs and Englishmen
Noël Coward’s belief that he was, and might continue to be, a significant figure away from the footlights was certainly no illusion. This was made most apparent in the late summer of 1939. Coward was asked by Sir Campbell Stuart, a director of The Times who had been a significant figure in wartime propaganda in the First World War and was now supervising anti-German propaganda, if he would be prepared to establish an intelligence agency in Paris to work alongside the French Ministry of Information. In the First World War a key propaganda role had been found for Anthony Hope, the bestselling novelist and author of The Prisoner of Zenda (1894), who was knighted for his work in intelligence, and, impressed by the literary heavyweights the French were making use of, it seems Cambell Stuart was keen to find someone with a similar literary cachet. Coward’s role was to create and oversee the production of anti-Nazi propaganda in the French capital, where he would be liaising with his Gallic counterparts, the distinguished writers, Jean Giraudoux and André Maurois.
Within days of war being declared Coward was installed at the Ritz in Paris. An unreal tranquillity enveloped the city after the initial shock of war. In full confidence that the Maginot Line would discourage the Germans from invading, Parisians returned to their stylish routine. Coward moved from the Ritz to a delightful apartment in the Place Vendôme and dutifully went to work each day at his office in the Place de la Madeleine. But this was not quite the war service he had intended. In his accounts of his frustrating few months there Coward could not resist promoting the image that people expected of him but which also tended to fuel their prejudices and increase his somewhat flippant reputation. For example he describes his criticism of the policy of dropping leaflets over Germany, proclaiming that no war was ever won by ‘boring the enemy to death’. Instead he suggested dropping confetti-style pieces of paper bearing the Union Jack on one side and the Tricolour on the other. When sending despatches to London he would write across the envelope ‘secret, confidential and dull’. But in fact it was Coward’s dogged determination and persistence that resulted in the closure of the commercial radio station, Radio Fécamp, in January 1940, a significant achievement. At the start of the war there had been an Anglo-French agreement that all regional radio stations in France would be taken over by the government for fear that they might provide cross-bearings for German aircraft. All complied except Radio Fécamp, crucially based between Le Havre and Dieppe. Convinced that powerful financial interests were keeping the station on air, Coward confronted the complacency of politicians and the avarice of local businessmen and forced its closure.
But Coward wanted a more challenging role. In April 1940, after several requests for a change of scene and with the French office now established with its own secretariat, he was given leave to undertake a tour of the United States where, it was believed, his influence and celebrity might assure the Americans of the preparation and determination of the British war effort. In America Coward mixed in the highest circles and became particularly fond of Eleanor Roosevelt, the president’s wife. But the Hollywood expatriate community was upset by his sharp remarks about its lack of patriotism. Lord Lothian, the British Ambassador in Washington, cabled to London:
Noël Coward, who has just been to Hollywood, is strongly of the opinion that the continued presence of young actors in this country at a time when heroic and tragic events are taking place in Europe is creating a bad impression … I agree with Coward in thinking that it is a mistake for young men of military age with all the limelight on them not to go home to help in the present emergency.
(Lothian, with whom Coward established a good relationship, was a somewhat compromised figure as he had been a key supporter of appeasement in the build-up to the war; six months after Coward’s visit he died and was replaced by Lord Halifax.)
Coward’s departure for the United States was ill-timed for it coincided with the German invasion of Norway and Denmark. A month later, with his visit drawing to a close, two events occurred that transformed his wartime career. On May 10th, 1940 Hitler invaded the Low Countries and on the same day Winston Churchill replaced Neville Chamberlain as prime minister. An immediate casualty of the political shake-up was Coward’s mentor, Sir Campbell Stuart, who was replaced by Duff Cooper. The change might have been expected to suit Coward for Cooper was an old friend. It became clear, however, that the new minister of information shared the same view of the nature of Coward’s wartime contribution as the prime minister.
At the beginning of June 1940 Coward returned to Europe keen to renew his propaganda duties in Paris, given the changed military and political circumstances. But the scale of the German advance was such that his journey was never completed. His plane touched down in Lisbon and the British ambassador insisted he return directly to London. Had Coward carried out his intention and reached Paris he would have arrived on the same day as the German army.
Though travelling widely and busier than ever over the next year Coward’s role was increasingly confined to that of morale-booster and entertainer. This position was brutally confirmed when a final suggestion was made for him to participate in espionage activities. Coward had become acquainted with Sir William Stephenson, a Canadian millionaire who represented British security interests across the American continent. Unlike Campbell Stuart, Stephenson was well regarded by Churchill and held in considerable respect on both sides of the Atlantic. Significant figures such as the film producer Alexander Korda, the actor Leslie Howard and the writer Ian Fleming had undertaken missions for him. Stephenson made a somewhat bizarre proposal to Coward that he might go to South America to investigate pro-Nazi activities in the region and Coward was excited by the prospect. But the plan was swiftly and decisively aborted. Stephenson forwarded a message to Coward – ‘a greater power than we has contradicted our intents’. It was quite apparent that the ‘greater power’ was the occupant of number 10 Downing Street.
In Which We Serve
Coward’s travels over the next year took him back to the United States and then on to Australia and New Zealand. While in the United States he made arrangements for the evacuation from England of the 68 children of the Actors’ Orphanage of which he was president. Coward made numerous speeches and gave many concerts that raised huge sums of money for charities and the war effort. A self-made man from humble origins, though well off, he still needed to generate income to fund his extravagant lifestyle. His travels, particularly in the US, were largely self-financed and most of his work since the outbreak of war had been offered freely. It was important to produce a new and commercially attractive play. So it was that in a rare six days of seclusion, in Portmeirion, North Wales, Coward wrote an escapist comedy Blithe Spirit (1941). It was quickly put into production and became one of his most commercially successful plays, for many years holding the record for the longest West End run for a non-musical production.
Around the same time a proposal was put to him by the film producers Anthony Havelock-Allen and Filippo del Giudice. They wanted Coward to write and direct a morale-boosting film paying tribute to the courage of the British armed forces. Coward would have a free rein over every aspect of the production. Coward’s initial reaction was lukewarm. His few forays into the cinematic world had not been enjoyable; he disliked most of the film versions of his work and he had played just a single major role in a film (The Scoundrel, 1935), an experience that had depressed him. But he was flattered by the offer and, if his role was ‘to sing when the guns are firing’, then this would at least be a stylish and large-scale way of doing so. Coward was instinctively drawn to the Royal Navy, having worked for the Royal Naval Film Corporation for his friend Captain Lord Mountbatten. He had been deeply moved by the latter’s description of the sinking of the destroyer HMS Kelly off the coast of Crete earlier in the year. So he accepted the brief. He would write and direct a film about HMS Kelly and, most controversially, he would star in it himself.
On its release in 1942 In Which We Serve met with international acclaim. The New York Herald Tribune wrote: ‘Never at any time has there been a reconstruction of human experience which could touch the savage grandeur and compassion of this production.’ Coward received a special Academy Award for his all-encompassing contribution. The project created an artistic partnership of himself, Anthony Havelock-Allan, David Lean and Ronald Neame, which would combine on another film, Brief Encounter, in 1945 to achieve even greater acclaim.
Yet the happy outcome of In Which We Serve does not detract from the many obstacles that confronted Coward during its production. There was considerable dismay in official quarters that the story of a ship destroyed by the Germans should be regarded as morale-boosting. Brendan Bracken, who had succeeded Duff Cooper as Minister of Information (and later founded History Today), was of this view. Bracken also made it clear that he would have preferred the film to have focused on the army rather than the navy but he graciously backed down after the film appeared. There was also much hostility to the notion of Noël Coward playing a war hero. The idea of an apparently pampered fop playing a courageous naval captain was difficult for many to accept. His old foes in the press poured out the vitriol. Cassandra, the Daily Mirror columnist, commented on Coward’s ‘stilted mannerisms, his clipped accent and his vast experience of the useless froth of society’. The fact that Coward had spent the duration of the war in service to his country while many more superficially ‘heroic’ types were sitting it out in Beverly Hills seemed to escape his critics. The Daily Express complained of the vast cost of the production. Coward had perhaps provoked the paper’s ire by including a shot in the film of the unfortunate Daily Express headline of August 7th, 1939, ‘No War This Year’.
Without honour
Finally, Coward had became embroiled in a financial scandal midway through the film’s production, when he was fined for holding an unauthorised bank account in the United States and for withdrawing funds from it without informing the authorities. The charges came about due to the incompetence of his American agent and former lover, Jack Wilson, and seemed harsh in view of the fact that Coward had already spent a fortune of his own money performing propaganda duties in America. Mercifully the press paid little heed to the case and Coward emerged professionally unscathed though the scandal was used against him by those hostile to honouring his achievements at the end of the war. Throughout all these travails the film was supported and protected by the influential Mountbatten, without whom the forces lined up against Coward might well have won the day.
In Which We Serve appeared almost exactly halfway through the course of the war and it was undoubtedly the pinnacle of Coward’s wartime service. But it would be false to imagine him basking in its glory as a national treasure for the remainder of the war. His critics were momentarily silenced but not vanquished. While Coward was the recipient of a special Academy Award there were to be no other honours, certainly none from the state. Alexander Korda was knighted for his war effort in 1942 but there was nothing for Coward. Yet his wartime service continued unabated. At home he embarked on a six-month tour of the provinces, performing in repertory three of his plays, Blithe Spirit, Private Lives and This Happy Breed. He also toured South Africa, the Middle East and Burma, where he performed perilously close to the Japanese front line. After his visit he was asked by General Slim to publicise the achievements of the 14th Army, which Slim himself termed ‘the forgotten army’. This Coward was pleased to do and made mention of its fortitude in many after-play speeches. But in 1944 Coward created an opportunity for his opponents to pour scorn on him once more. He published his Middle East Diary. His biographer, Philip Hoare, describes the work as ‘a name-dropping piece of self-promotion’. A war-weary public did not like the tone of the book; it had no wish to hear about Coward’s disgruntlement, when he could not find access to a dry Martini. Coward himself later admitted it was misconceived. One reference in particular caused outrage, notably in the United States, when following a visit to an American military hospital in Tripoli Coward wrote of ‘mournful little Brooklyn boys lying there in tears amidst the alien corn with nothing more than a bullet wound in the leg or a fractured arm’. American public opinion turned against him; there were comments about the antisemitic undertones of the phrase ‘Brooklyn boys’. Only vociferous representations on his behalf by his friends and his own apologetic insistence he had meant no disrespect allowed the controversy eventually to play itself out.
Private lives
The fact that Coward’s wartime contribution was not more widely recognised is down to a number of factors. First, there was his self-indulgent and light-hearted image and his readiness to play up to it. Even when his actions actually involved courage and determination, there is an insistent undertone of frivolity in his own wartime accounts. For example, the reader has to know that initially he lived at the Ritz when he first moved to Paris in 1939, or that when he was bombed out of his London home he settled at the Savoy, and there are frequent mentions of the celebrities he meets while on his travels. Second, while Coward’s homosexuality was not public knowledge, it was certainly known within the circles of influence. When she heard of Coward’s visit to the United States, Joyce Grenfell notoriously remarked in 1940: ‘It is definitely a pity, to say the least of it, that the man who represents this country at a time like this should be famous as a queer.’ There can be little doubt that this was a factor in explaining hostility to him, which included denying him a knighthood, an honour not bestowed upon him until 1969. Finally, while Coward’s career has been well-documented in a plentiful series of good biographies, these understandably concentrate on his theatrical career. Yet Noël Coward’s war service was characterised by immense involvement and commitment and was highlighted by a cinematic representation of wartime experience widely regarded as masterly. It was not the war career he had hoped for but Coward served his country with courage and distinction; his service is worthy of more honour than it has received.
