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Chapter CXXXIX: Gunbatsu or Butter?
  • Chapter CXXXIX: Gunbatsu or Butter?

    In the Summer of 1937 Japan was not at a policy cross-roads, but only because that is an entirely incorrect metaphor for how Shōwa Japan made and agreed it's important decisions. The procedure was that the decision was made by a small clique within government but then, if a faction or group was angered, threatened or disappointed enough in that decision, they would stage an 'Incident' (that being the approved state euphemism for an attempted coup, mass assassination or both at once) to over-turn the decisions and remove those who had made it. Despite being fairly regular occurrences, half a dozen major 'Incidents' had been launched since 1931 with countless other disrupted, betrayed or aborted, they were not actually formal features of the Japanese constitution and were in fact a relatively recent innovation. A typical 'Incident' involved junior officers from the Army or Navy or both, generally acting with at least the implied backing of more senior officers and supported by suspiciously well armed ultranationalist civilians from group with charming names such as "The League of Blood". The factionalism inherent in the Japanese military meant there was always a group available to support the plotters of any 'Incident' almost regardless of it's motivation. Indeed so common was this tendency for Japanese military officers to form cliques that it had acquired it's own name, Gunbatsu, and was equally cursed or praised, depending upon ones views of the most recent 'Incident'. Past causes for incident had included Japan signing the naval treaties, the decline in national morality and the perennial favourite of dissatisfaction over the role of the Emperor. The June Incident, as it would become known, had the minor novelty of being at least in part about economic policy, but that aside it differed only in scale and consequence.


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    Hirohito, Emperor Shōwa, and Nagako, Empress Kojun, in full coronation regalia for their enthronement in November 1928. The Japanese constitution had all the contradictions, confusions and flaws that one expects from a written constitution but was particularly unclear about the position of the Emperor, who was both “sacred and inviolable” and bound by the provisions of the constitution. The previous ruler, the Taishō Emperor, had not been a healthy man and so the politicians of the Imperial Diet had slowly acquired more power, moving the country away from the Prussian model intended by the Meiji Restoration and closer to a Westminster style constitutional monarchy. When Hirohito ascended to the throne as the Shōwa Emperor one of the issues that faced the country was how much power, if any, he should claim back. How much direct influence Hirohito had on the planners of the Incidents is perhaps deliberately less than clear, but the concept of a Shōwa Restoration inspired many to fight for a stronger Emperor and, doubtless coincidentally, more power for them and their faction.


    The Japanese Ministry of Finance did not have the best of starts to the Depression, deciding to go back onto the Gold Standard, at pre-Great War parity, scant months after the Wall Street Crash surely being the pick of their terrible policy decisions that cratered the Japanese economy. However a change of government at the end of 1931 brought the formidable Takahashi Korekiyo back into the Ministry along the sweeping changes; leaving the Gold Standard, a 40% devaluation of the Yen, a raft of new tariffs, lower interest rates and massive deficit spending. It had been intended this spending would be on public works, but the Manchurian Incident intervened and much of the extra spending ended up with the military. The main problem facing Korekiyo’s deficit plan was that no-one wanted to buy that much Japanese government debt, the local economy couldn't afford it and no overseas investor wished to risk getting burned by a future devaluation. So Takahashi started down the always hazardous path of monetization of the debt, put in less euphemistic terms he ordered the Bank of Japan to buy up the government's new bonds with freshly created currency, as it was an internal government transaction there was no need to actually print physical Yen and shuffle them about, but in economic terms the effect was just the same. When the Japanese economy had been in a deflationary slump a bit of inflationary pressure was actually welcome (or had done no real damage while the exchange rate collapse did the real work, depending upon your economic views), but as the economy recovered inflationary pressures started to appear in the economy. With the Yen pegged to Sterling, and tax revenues finally starting to recover, the budget should have been coming back into balance, but military spending had risen as fast as the economy had grown, leaving the deficit as wide as it had been at the start of the programme. Takahashi's relatively modest proposal to just slow the rate of growth in military spending had been deemed unacceptable and he was forced out in March 1936 by the Army. Unusually this was not through an "Incident" but through use of the Army's constitutional veto over the Army Minister; the military ministers (Army and Navy) had to be serving officers nominated by their parent service, without them the cabinet was unconstitutional and had to resign. A more accommodating Prime Minister, Kōki Hirota, was duly appointed and his new cabinet proposed the entirely unsubtle "Law of Switching Budgetary Items in the Special Account in order to Compensate for Financial Resources of the General Account Expenditure of 1936" was passed. This typically verbosely titled law essentially set up a Special Account (funded by Bank of Japan money printing) and shuffled random budget items into it until the main government figures balanced. This is no way solved the problem as the inflationary pressures remained, but it somehow fooled enough of the Diet to pass without another major crisis and keep the uneasy truce between government and military going a while longer. The summer of 1937 was when that borrowed time finally ran out.


    In line with recent Japanese constitutional tradition the June Incident began with a small, powerful group inside the Japanese government making a controversial decision. The decision purported to only affect China policy, but in practice it was hoped to address a great many other issues that were concerning the Imperial Diet. Taking China first, it was becoming obvious in Tokyo that the previous incremental approach was no longer working and that relations had become so bad that no Chinese leader could politically survive doing a deal with Japan, even if they were inclined (or persuaded) to do make one. In parallel with this China appeared to be growing stronger and gathering support, despite the best efforts of the Japanese Foreign Ministry to disrupt things Sino-German relations remained strong and the German military mission was slowly strengthening the Chinese army. Worse the recent British involvement in the Chinese currency reforms indicated that the Chinese economy and civil service, long the nation's Achilles heels, could also be on the brink of reform. The inauguration of the London-Shanghai air link was particularly galling as Japan had spent years trying, and failing, to get Shanghai-Fukuoka link operational, while the British had started operating a prime route seemingly with minimal effort. Overall it was clear that Japanese influence was on the wane and China was forging ahead with pro-Western policies, the only positive that could be taken was that the American China Lobby was in an even worse position, though that was as much due to domestic US concerns as anything Japan had done to influence the situation. The second concern was obviously economic, but that was heavily linked to the final issue of concern; the state of Japan’s existing colonial empire. While the 'Japanisation' of Formosa was thought to be proceeding well and Korea was at least stable, Manchuria was proving to be a problem. A heavily agricultural region prior to Japan's annexation it's economy was dominated by soy beans, the Kwantung Army and above all narcotics, unsurprisingly it remained a net drain on the Japanese treasury. While there was great potential in the region converting that into something tangible would require time, effort and a great deal of capital.


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    A bag of 'red pills'; heroin produced in Manchuria, using Korean grown opium poppies and exported to China and beyond, this particular shipment had been seized in San Francisco. The Japanese Colonial Empire, such as it was, had a drugs problem; the League of Nations anti-narcotics organisation, the Permanent Narcotics Control Board, estimated that 90% of all illegal ‘white drugs’ (essentially opium derivatives and cocaine) were of Japanese origin, taking the crown from the previous narcotics champion, France. Illicit drug use in Japan proper was relatively low by international standards and the industry had been deliberately located in the colonies; Formosa, the Chinese concessions and above all Korea and Manchuria. The drugs themselves were mainly sold into Manchuria itself or China, helping to provide the revenue needed to fund the Kwantung Army and prop up the colonial economies. The entire industry was officially something of a secret because it represented a failure of policy; Manchuria and the entire China was supposed to have boosted the Japanese economy by providing raw materials and a market for manufactured goods from the Home Islands. This had not happened and the area remained heavily agricultural and a net drain on the Japanese economy, unless one counted the drugs trade.


    The resulting China Policy was only controversial in the context of Imperial Japan as, at first glance, it resembles common sense. The new policy aimed not for more conquest or acquisition of land in China but instead aspired for 'co-existence and 'co-prosperity' between Japan, China and Manchukuo, to be brought about by 'cultural and economic' means not military force. The policy even acknowledged Japan would need an 'understanding attitude' about Chinese demands that may be necessary for them to save face. It was hoped this new policy would lead to increased trade between the nations, and valuable trade not just narcotics, along with increased Japanese influence in Nanking and the side-lining of pro-Western views. This boost to trade and, eventually cross-border investment, was expected to help balance the budget without the need for cuts to the military budget. This perhaps explains how the government had managed to get the Foreign Affairs, Finance and, crucially, both the War (Army) and Navy ministries to agree to the policy. The heavy emphasis on anti-Communism and the Red Menace near Inner Mongolia re-assured those in the Army who still looked north, while the Navy had never been keen on further war in China, given the negligible naval dimension to such a conflict, so were happy to sign off on the plan. The conference agreed a separate, but related, policy on Manchukuo; the failure of the current industrial policy was acknowledged and, ironically given the vehement anti-communist views of the Japan government and military, a Five Year Plan was to be developed. A leading Zaibatsu (industrial conglomerate) would be induced to move out to the province to take over the existing industrial operations and be the conduit for co-ordination and future investment. Nissan would be the selected group, establishing the Manchurian Heavy Industrial Development Corporation and cross-investing in the South Manchurian Railway, Shōwa Steel and forging links with Japans industrial and development banks. The roots of the Manchuria Airplane Manufacturing Company can also be traced to this point, for all this industrialisation was to be at the service of the armed forces first and the wider economy very much second.


    Thus we come to the June Incident itself, because as could be expected these decisions were not universally popular. It should be emphasised that while every part of the decisions were unpopular with at least one faction, it was the economic decisions around Manchuria that were the least popular. As we have noted the majority of the Army high command had no real desire to thrust it's arm into the expected meat grinder of inland China, so a policy of retrenchment and consolidation while focusing on other enemies was broadly popular, even if a few vocally objected. Instead the army factions concerned themselves with the changes in Manchuria and particularly the new economic plan. Manchuria's original industrial strategy had been made by the Army and so had followed the priorities of the then dominant Kodo-Ha (Imperial Way Faction). This group were anti-capitalist and distrustful of the bureaucracy and civilian government in Tokyo, so had decided to found 'Special Corporations', firms owned by the Manchurian government and outside normal controls, these firms were given a monopoly on their industry to avoid the 'waste' of competition. While some progress had been made, ultimately these choices had crippled any chance of rapid development; the small 'non-bureaucratic' Manchurian civil service lacked the capacity to co-ordinate the industries and by excluding all outside sources of influence, the Army had also cut Manchuria off from outside capital and expertise. The new policy, promoted by the ascendant Tōseiha (Control Faction) brought in a Zaibatsu to provide the co-ordination, expertise and capital investment the region needed, which naturally enraged the Kodo-Ha; the Zaibatsus represented everything about Japanese society that they felt needed radical and rapid change. While there were many other differences between these two main factions (Military Academy vs Staff Academy, morale vs mechanisation, speed vs caution), and several other Army factions further muddying the water, it was this dividing line, revolution vs reform, that was the primary cause of the June Incident.


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    Prince Chichibu, younger brother of Hirohito and second in line to the Chrysanthemum Throne at one of the sporting events he dearly loved. A two year stay in Britain and brief study at Magdalen College, Oxford, had imbued the Prince with many admirable characteristics, not least a lifelong love of Rugby. He had, unfortunately, been less impressed with the Westminster System and remain opposed to the then ongoing Taishō Democracy movement in Japan, upon his return he made clear his support for some form of Shōwa Restoration. His many outspoken comments on the subject, and the rumours of his rows with his brother about the subject, had rapidly made him the favoured stalking horse of the ultra-nationalist movement; they did not oppose the Emperor (which was forbidden) but instead supported Prince Chichibu.


    With this wide range of enemies the plotters of the Incident concocted a suitably grand scheme for co-ordinated assassinations across Tokyo and Hsinking (the Manchuko capital). A "Righteous Army" of volunteers and patriots was to be assembled to strike at the enemies of the nation. Almost the entire cabinet were targeted, as well leading elder statesmen and former cabinet members who had promoted incorrect policies while in office. It was this ambition that did for the scheme, while the Manchukuo operations went well, due no doubt to the presence of much of the elite 1st Regiment in 'The Righteous Army', the Tokyo portion was a disaster. The assassins either failed to find their targets or were fought off by bodyguards, save for a few unfortunate junior ministers, while the attempt to seize the War Ministry was bloodily repulsed. In a richly ironic episode it turned out that a group of highly motivated, but under-equipped, fresh recruits were no match against trained and experienced regulars. If the Incident had been an anti-climax, the response to it most certainly was not. The Emperor was roused to issue an Imperial Command denouncing all involved and establishing a special courts martial, significantly Prince Chichibu was present for much of this, a visible symbol of unity in the Imperial House on the matter. The civilian government and the Tōseiha were not idle and a thorough purge of the Imperial Army was undertaken, out of the dozen full generals in the Army fully half were removed from active service within the following months, along with dozens of other senior officers. Many others were shunted out to assignments in Korea or Taiwan where they could be assessed for 'political reliability' before being allowed to return to the capital or the border forces. These measures, along with the Emperor's restrained but forceful condemnation of the Incident, were the death blow to the Kodo-Ha as an official movement, though many of their less political ideas would live on in the officer corps, not least the idea of morale and spiritual motivation being more important than mechanisation.


    As Tokyo recovered, and as the planners, financiers and bureaucrats got to work on industrialising Manchuria, it was clear that Japans' new China Policy had survived the best efforts of it's domestic opponents. The question remained as to whether it would survive contact with Nanjing.

    --
    Notes:
    Japan! So complex most people skim over it and I can see why. As an exercise in plot this chapter brings together huge numbers of strands from earlier updates and actually advancing us somewhere, so please take a moment to recover from the shock.

    Go with the big point first, the Japanese government peace in China memo is entirely historic. There's an archive copy on the web for the truly curious but OTL in the spring of 1937 the Japanese government, and crucially the Army, were looking for a breather and peaceful relations with China long term. Then the Marco Polo Bridge incident happened and, far more importantly but less mentioned, the Tongzhou Incident where a lot of Japanese civilians in China got massacred and the civilian government went mad. There is a quote along the lines of 'The only time between 1930 and 1945 when the Japanese civilian government over-ruled the Armed forces was when they insisted on war with China in 1937". Not quite true, but gives a sense of things. The economics is broadly OTL, the ludicrous law (and many follow ups) were used to hide the money printing and it was always hoped that 'next year' the economy could be stabilised, but like Germany all the fiscal tricks in the world can only delay problems not solve them.

    The Japanese drugs industry is all true of course, as was France's dominance in the 1920s. The Five Year Plan happened and mostly worked, as such plans tend to do when you are rapidly industrialising a 'backwards' region and don't care overly about human life. Prince Chichibu was a rugby fan and ended up patron of the Japanese Rugby association, so clearly not all bad, alas only a brief time in Britain so we did not have the time to fully civilise him and get him onto Cricket.

    China is doing better and as briefly mentioned Sino-German relations are still strong. After von Ribbentrop's failures in AGNA and elsewhere his shadow foreign ministry is a wreck, so von Neuarth remains in the driving seat and continues to favour China due to the resources and market it offers. It helps there is no Anti-Comintern Pact as Italy, Germany and Japan all have good reason to view the other two as failures (Italy losing the Abyssinian War, German humiliation in the Rhineland and Japan getting a kicking from the Soviets in the Kanchazu Island Incident).

    Finally the Incident itself, it is broadly the OTL 2-26 (which never happened in Butterfly) but less successful. OTL the 1st Division (including the 1st Regiment) was in Tokyo, here it has been rotated out to Manchuria to guard against the Soviets after the Kanchazu Island Incident got everyone a bit worried. Less competent troops (it was mostly raw recruits outside of the 1st Division troops in OTL) mean things go even worse than OTL. The reaction is broadly OTL though, the Emperor did make it clear he wasn't happy, there was a purge and there were no more major Incidents until the end of the war. The Japanese junior officer assassinating all who oppose war meme appears to be very much a first half of the 1930s thing, post 2-26 (or post June Incident in Butterfly) things have changed and the Japanese establishment will not tolerate such things.

    New forum software so slight change in the format, double line space between paragraphs as that might help with readability with this dodgy colour scheme. Better or worse?
     
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    Chapter CXL: Merchants of Smooth Tasting Death
  • Chapter CXL: Merchants of Smooth Tasting Death.

    When reviewing the trade, commercial and financial links between China and the wider world, Cotton is typically the chosen exemplar commodity, to the extent that commentary on the subject is almost an industry in itself. Therefore, in the interests of variety, we will instead be selecting a less wholesome, but hopefully far more interesting product; cigarettes. As with so many other products Chinese demand for cigarettes was vast and growing, some 85 billion 'sticks' would be sold in 1937 and the market was far from saturated. With such volumes being sold, and the high taxes cigarettes attracted, very large sums were at stake for both the manufacturers and the government, making the industry one that attracted political and diplomatic attention at the highest levels. Cigarettes were also unusual in that they required the manufacturer to leave the safety of the coast and venture into the interior of the country to find the customers and run the distribution networks, making the industry a very different proposition from operating a cotton mill in the safety of a Concession on the coast.

    The term Concession is a flexible one and covered everything from permanent national enclaves like Hong Kong and Macau through to the treaty ports and the 'international' quarters of various cities. It is also important to define the term in the Chinese context, for it was not just the land that was conceded but rights on trade, taxes and the principle of 'extra-territoriality', which is to say the law of the leasing power would apply, not Chinese law. Naturally these privileges were resented by the Chinese but fiercely defended by those who had them and, while various (but not all) rights on taxes and tariffs had been relinquished, the leases and the extra-territoriality remained absolute. The Concessions themselves, especially the larger treaty ports, had become somewhat 'Western' in architecture, language and culture to the point that for many companies operating in a concession became like a 'standard' colonial venture; minimal import/export duties, a reliable (normally English law) legal system and no need to learn the local language beyond conversational Chinese, if that. As a consequence out of the four hundred odd British firms registered with the Shanghai chamber of commerce, barely a dozen operated outside of the Yangtze Delta concessions, a pattern repeated across the other concession nations.

    cQ9YvTz.jpg

    His Britannic Majesty's Supreme Court for China, Shanghai. While a modest enough building it was symbolic of the extraordinary privileges enjoyed by a select few Western countries operating in China. Originally constructed as the Supreme Court for China and Japan the court had focused entirely on China since Britain gave up it's extra-territorial rights in Japan at the turn of the century. While it was 'Supreme' over the consular courts in China it sat under the Judicial Committee of the Privy Council and was part of the wider British legal system, including a typically complex relationship with the equally British Supreme Court of Hong Kong and the local Admiralty Courts. Where the United States Court for China sat at best twice a year, and France had never seen the need for anything above a consular court, the Supreme Court for China sat regularly, a fact that helped impose consistency on the lower courts. This combination of reliability and (relatively) prompt justice had encouraged many non-British companies operating in the concessions to register as 'British' for legal purposes.

    Turning back to cigarettes it is important to emphasise just how vital the revenue they provided was to the Chinese government. The total annual tax revenue for Nanking was around 850 million Yuan, of which just over a quarter (240 million) came from the Salt Tax, with cigarette taxes coming in second at around 200 million. The Salt Tax, being a relatively stable and reliable source of income, had long since been pledged to China's many bond holders as surety for the country's numerous loans, in contrast tobacco revenue was rising and could be spent as the government saw fit. Another key difference was that the salt tax was paid by millions of small merchants and importers, while the cigarette trade was dominated by one company; British American Tobacco (BAT). BAT held just over 2/3rds of the market and so was the single largest tax payer in China by quite some margin, a position it regularly used to exert influence over the national government. BAT was also in the unusual position of being an ally in Nanking's efforts to exert control over local government - if a rival paid a lower tax to a local government instead of the national headline rate they could undercut BAT's products, so the BAT distribution network became a source of intelligence about local government for Nanjing. This approach, of working with the Chinese government instead of relying of relying on extra-territoriality to ignore it, had been key to the company's success. This relationship would be tested in the struggles over the new tax rates that dominated the middle of 1937.

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    A packet of Golden Bat Export Grade cigarettes, undoubtedly the most notorious brand ever conceived. The standard Golden Bats were a product of the Monopoly Bureau of the Japanese Ministry of Finance and were made using the bits of tobacco leaf that the other cigarette brands had rejected, making them both harsh and incredibly cheap. The Export Grade cigarettes used the same cheap tobacco but had a special filter, one which included a dose of pure opium inside. Produced at the behest of General Doihara and the IJA intelligence units they were obviously banned from sale in the Japanese Empire, instead all production was shipped to China for distribution there. Being very cheap and highly addictive, even by the standards of normal cigarettes, they sold well and were threatening to disrupt the wider market, to say nothing of their impact on the purchasers. After the adoption of the new China Policy in Tokyo in early 1937 the Golden Bats were withdrawn from sale and General Doihara re-assigned, deliberately doping unsuspecting Chinese cigarette customers being seen as somewhat outside the limits of the new co-operative approach.

    The issue began when the politician, banker and businessman T.V. Soong brought a controlling share in the largest independent cigarette manufacturer in China. As was standard practice he subsequently contacted the Finance Ministry in order to get the tax and tariff system changed in favour of his new acquisition, it being expected that government policy would be bent to suit the requirements of someone so well connected. What followed, however, was not standard. While the Finance Minister, Dr H.H. Kung, was sympathetic, as one would expect given he was Soong's brother in law, his attempts to implement the changes faltered as the impact of the Leith-Ross mission started to be felt. The re-organised customs board indicated that the proposed tariffs on imported cigarettes, at a far from modest 500%, would choke off all imports (that was of course the intent) and that a new revenue stream would have to be identified to replace this lost income. Inside the Finance Ministry itself the first cadres of HM Treasury trained tax officials complained that the new tax regime would lower the effective tax on cheap brands while harshly increasing those on the rest of the market, which would drive consumers to purchase cheaper (lower taxed) packets and so reduce government revenue. That this change in consumer behaviour was the intent could not openly be admitted, the Kuomintang regime did require a facade of integrity in front of it's corruption, placing Kung in a difficult situation and escalating the problem to the top of the Nationalist government. It is worth noting at this point that so fully had some in the Finance Ministry adopted the thinking of their British mentors that their complaints referred to this lowering of tax revenues as "giving money back" to the public, a view of the world any Treasury official would surely agree with.

    That the issue reached so high was because it hit the tension at the heart of the Nationalist regime. Was it a serious government looking to unify China, push back Japan and then hurl out the other foreign powers from their privileged positions, or was it merely an elaborate rent-extraction system to enable a privileged few to get exceptionally rich. The preference was obviously both, but increasingly Generalissimo Chiang Kai-shek was having to face up to the reality that this was not possible and on certain matters a choice had to be made. The advantages of having a stable currency and the Yuan being in the Sterling Zone had grown on the elite in Nanjing and Shanghai, it made acquiring life's luxuries easier and the larger the trade flows around the country, the more they could skim off. There were options to replace the lost cigarette revenue, but they all had issues; customs revenue was preferred because it was reliable, easy to collect and invisible, the last was important because people tended to blame the shop or the manufacturer for the cost of the packet and not the government tax. Any alternative taxes would be harder to collect, more likely to 'stick' to the fingers of those collecting it and obviously a government tax and, while Chiang did not have to bother with such trivialities as elections, that did not mean he could completely ignore public opinion. For all of the Soong spin about 'encouraging local manufacturing' the proposal was fundamentally about weakening the finances of the Chinese state to allow an already very wealthy clan to further enrich itself. That this was even a subject of debate is illuminating about the state of the Nationalist government.

    B3TKvy9.jpg

    The Nationalist Finance Minister Dr H.H. Kung meeting with German Chancellor Adolf Hitler at the Berghof in the Summer of 1937. While the Chinese government was grudgingly appreciative of British assistance with the currency stabilisation, and found official membership of the Sterling Zone offered many commercial advantages, they had no intention of being sucked further into the British sphere. China's other international links therefore not neglected and while Kung was working to enhance Sino-German co-operation, Madame Chiang returned to the United States to rally the China Lobby there. For all of Madame Chiang's formidable abilities she met with limited success, the Landon administration was burning political capital at an alarming rate over 'moral neutrality' in Spain and had no desire to provoke more domestic problems by getting involved in China. Dr Kung's mission was successful and he concluded another of the large scale machinery for raw material barter deals so beloved of the Reich's economic ministry and an expansion of the German military mission.

    The final outcome could be seen as progress, if one was being generous. The cigarette tax rates were changed, but it was a mild tweak that up-rated them in line with inflation instead of a fundamental alteration, the British Embassy and BAT privately assessed it as Nanjing making a point to the Central Bank and Customs Board about who was ultimately in control of taxation. The decisive factor in Chang's decision appear to have been the attitude of the Chinese owned Shanghai banks, as a group they were heavily exposed to both the strength of the Yuan and, through their large holdings of Chinese government debt, to the helath of the Nationalist government's finances. While a degree of 'self-enrichment' was expected across the Kuomintang, in blatantly risking the stability of the state for private gain the Soong family had finally hit the limits of acceptability and pushed their greed too far. The consequences of this decision were far-reaching but should not be overstated, it was not the start of an effective anti-corruption drive (those efforts remained more about purging internal rivals than actually finding corruption) nor did it result in a fundamental change in attitude or morality of the leadership. What it did was mark the point at which things stopped getting worse and it empowered the civil service to begin to stand up to the worst excesses of the leadership. As the newly emboldened civil service began to gain in confidence the British advisors and representatives would have to tread a careful path, supporting the reformers without provoking a nationalist backlash, a task that would only grow trickier as the later struggles would not prove so clear cut.

    ---
    Notes:
    Chinese tax policy on cigarettes as it impacts international relations and governance norms! You surely have never read such magnificence in an AAR here or anywhere else. This may be considered a good thing.

    The seed of this update was a line in a paper which stated BAT where the single largest tax payer in China, which piqued my interest and here we are. Cigarette consumption and tax figures are broadly correct so they were that important, behind the charmingly old school 'Salt Tax'. This row pretty much happened, only due to war breaking out shortly after everyone forgot about it. The Soong family, and in particular the three Soong Sisters, really were the power behind the Kuomintang regime, massively rich and powerful in their own right their husbands also rose to the top. They do just seem really venal and corrupt though, at this point I think 6 out of 10 of the richest people in China are either in the family or married to it, but yet they still wanted more and ran this fag tax scam. The Leith Ross mission, as discussed previously, was much more successful than OTL and did scatter British officials and training across China, my position is that this can only aid the existing 'reform' faction inside the Kuomintang but it is not a magic bullet to suddenly make the entire government less corrupt.

    Golden Bats are of course real, it's Imperial Japan so of course they did something like that. OTL they were kept on sale behind the lines in China until things got tight and Japan prioritised their limited tobacco supply for actual cigarettes for their troops. British American Tobacco, while started as a joint venture between American Tobacco and Imperial Tobacco, has by this point become basically a British company (American Tobacco sold out pre-WW1) run by the entertainingly eccentric Hugo Cunliffe-Owen who we will probably meet later in entirely different circumstances.

    I do like the idea of the British Supreme Court for China so had to get that detail in, it was an odd system and only the British really went for it. The US Court for China was a much more half arsed system as no US judge really want to go out there (looks like bad pay and promotion/seniority problems for those who did) and US law in the region was a mess (the federal system really did not work well with extra-territoriality and Congress never got round to deciding what system should apply),, hence most firms tended to register as 'English law' with effects we see to this day. It's also apparent quite how bad a situation China was in at the start of the 20th Century, when you have conceded extra-territoriality and trade concessions to the likes of Denmark, Mexico and Peru you are in a bad way.

    The Kung-Hitler meeting did happen June 1937 and there was another big machinery for raw material deal signed, a 100 million RM credit was extended and various arrangements for training Chinese students in Germany. There is the usual tendency to re-announce old deals so I'm not 100% clear how much of that was actually new, but Sino-German co-operation did date back to the mid-20s and at this point Germany was still keen on working with China. The Three Year Plan and the HAPRO agreement are in full effect, but even without war the tension between Germany, China and Japan will remain as Germany tries to keep a foot in both camps (and has massive internal rows about the region, obviously).
     
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    Chapter CXLI: The Curious Incident of the Island in the Eclipse.
  • Chapter CXLI: The Curious Incident of the Island in the Eclipse.

    The Canton and Enderbury Islands were a pair of tiny uninhabited, and uninhabitable, coral reef atolls in the Central Pacific and were not, at first glance, an obvious prize to provoke an international incident. Given their complete lack of notable feature a first glance was often all they got, since being discovered in the mid-19th century they had been mined of their guano deposits, discounted as a naval navigation way-station due to being too far from the shipping routes and considered, but dismissed, as the site of a relay station on the Imperial Telegram Cable Route. By the start of the 20th Century the islands had been lumped in with the rest of the nearby "Phoenix Islands" and seemed fated to a life of quiet obscurity, existing mainly as just one of the many scatterings of Imperial Red specks found on any good map. This peaceful existence was interrupted when a new set of pioneers started studying maps of Pacific and, unlike their surface and sub-surface predecessors, they were soon very interested in the islands.

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    A map of the various possible trans-Pacific air routes based on the technology of the mid 1930s. Hawaii was the key to many of the routes, the complete lack of any notable feature between that island and the US west coast made it's landing rights valuable and the first thing any rival government would ask for during reciprocal rights negotiations. The abortive PanAm 'All American' route to New Zealand is shown running through the Kingsman Reef and American Samoa. Kingsman Reef was just that, an open ocean reef with no dry land, while Pago Pago harbour in America Samoa was too small to take flying boats, so the disastrous explosion of the PanAm clipper was sadly an accident waiting to happen. The Canton and Enderbury Islands can be seen in the centre of the map and the use of an airfield in such a position is obvious. Also of interest is the 'Far North' route through Alaska and the Kuriles, which was only practical in the good weather of high summer, and the 'French' southern route through Clipperton and Tahiti, a route that looked better on an Air France promotional poster than as a practical commercial proposition. Not that this stopped the British looking at an equally impractical southern route through the Cook Islands, Pitcairn and Easter Island.

    While Imperial Airlines had been focusing on the Atlantic and routes to Australia and South Africa, it's US rival Pan-America Airlines had put it's efforts into expanding into South America and, more importantly for our current purposes, crossing the Pacific. By 1935 PanAm had finally received it's new longer-ranged Martin M-130 flying boats and brought it's North Pacific route (San Francisco - Honolulu - Midway - Wake - Guam - Manila) into weekly service. With the Atlantic route still tied up in technical and political problems, PanAm fixed upon the South Pacific Route as their next challenge; the Australia/New Zealand to North America market being deemed worth the effort. In theory this should have been a far easier route to survey and organise, unlike the north Pacific the south western area of the Pacific was full of islands and atolls where a flying boat could land. Unfortunately for PanAm it soon emerged that, while there were several possible routes, all of them involved landing on a British claimed island en-route and there was no practical 'All American' route. This was not (just) a matter of national pride, landing and overflight rights had to be negotiated for and the price was typically reciprocity; you can land on mine, if I can land on yours. As a matter of practicality PanAm could not enter those sorts of deals, the permissions belonged to the US government not them, and commercially they had no desire to allow competitors onto 'their' routes. Consequently PanAm relaxed their definition of practical and attempted to use a theoretically possible route through the only territories the US did have a claim on. Tragically the proving flight ended in disaster when the Sikorsky S-42 exploded during a landing attempt in a too-small harbour in American Samoa, sadly proving their original assessment of the routes impracticality had been correct. Still reluctant to negotiate reciprocal rights PanAm turned their attention to potential landing sites where they thought sovereignty was less than clear, in this endeavour they would find an ally in the US government which was also interested in asserting claims in the central Pacific. Unfortunately they would soon discover that the various governments of the British Empire kept an eye on the region and had no doubts at all about who was, and was not, sovereign over the various islands.

    The vast majority of the central Pacific islands had previously only been valuable for their guano deposits, the vast nitrate rich masses of seabird droppings built up over centuries, when these were exhausted the islands owners tended to lose interest. This apparent carelessness over ownership encouraged PanAm to believe that they could find an island where the US had a plausible claim, encourage the US government to enforce said claim and then build a seaplane base there. They were fortunate that the US military had a growing interest in the region, concerned about Japanese expansion in the South Seas Mandate (the Caroline and Marshall Islands) the US Navy, supported by the State Department, wanted a string of bases in the region to help contain Japan and to serve as air bases and safe harbours in the event of war. To support this endeavour the US government had launched the honestly named 'American Equatorial Islands Colonization Project' in the mid-1930s, as many have observed US objections to colonialism are always more about other nations being successful at it than any actual problem with the concept. The main aim of the project was to covertly transfer groups of 'colonists' to islands were the US claims to sovereignty were weak, the newly established colonies would then serve as facts-on-the-ground to support the American diplomatic position. By the end of 1936 three islands had been 'colonised' with volunteers from Hawaii and the US claims on Howland, Baker and Jarvis Islands were far more secure, even if the British Foreign Office was attempting to drag the matter of Baker island to international adjudication. The Baker Island response should have been a warning to the State Department about the diplomatic consequences of the scheme, yet the British reaction had been at so low a level (letters at the bureaucratic level not ministerial) it was taken as a mere formality not a serious objection, indeed it would be cited as a positive precedent for future US moves. This was to prove an unfortunate misinterpretation.

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    The Imperial Airways Empire-class flying boat Centaurus in Melbourne harbour completing a 'good will' tour of Australian state capitals after successfully proving the Sydney-Auckland route. While EAMS (the Empire Air Mail Scheme) may have turned away from a full Empire wide seaplane-only service, it was believed the Empire boats still had a role to play on certain routes, not least the longer ranged over-water runs where the sea was the only 'alternative landing site'. As was often the case practical progress ran ahead of Imperial politics and the trans-Tasman route was proved in early 1937, several months before the politicians had agreed which airline would operate it. Given the precedent of QEA (Qantas Empire Airways) it was correctly believed that another joint venture would end up being selected for the trans-Tasman route, so the prominent 'Imperial Airways' branding on the aircraft was more in hope than expectation.

    From the British perspective crossing the Pacific appeared to present more of a headache than an opportunity. While it was acknowledged that a connection from Australasia to Canada would be good for Imperial unity and commerce, and it was admitted that going via London and the Atlantic was something of the long way round, the Imperial Airways planners could read a map as well as PanAm. Any route would have to go via Hawaii and that would entail giving reciprocal concessions to a US airline, likely PanAm, and Imperial's management were just as keen on keeping out competitors as their American rivals. Imperial had the added problem of the aerial ambitions of the Australian and New Zealand governments to contend with, both of whom wanted their local airlines involved in any scheme but at minimal costs to themselves. Just securing a regular route across the Tasman Sea between Australia and New Zealand had involved the formation of a new company TEAL (Tasman Empire Airways Limited) with Imperial Airways, Union Airways (the New Zealand airline subsidiary of Union Shipping), Qantas and the New Zealand government all owning a share. The Trans-Pacific route promised to be even worse as there would have to be Canadian and American involvement as well, to say nothing of the ongoing fight between Wellington and Canberra as to whether the route should 'start' in New Zealand or Australia. Despite all this the planners and surveyors had diligently continued their work, correctly recognising that whatever the makeup of the company created they would need a tested and proven route to fly.

    With the United States and the British Empire both looking for bases, carrying out surveys and generally trying to assert (or claim) sovereignty some sort of clash was inevitable. The trigger still managed to come from an unexpected source; the sun and the moon, specifically a total solar eclipse. The summer of 1937 would see a total eclipse across the Pacific and the best place to observe it from was the Canton and Enderbury islands which would experienced just over 4 minutes of totality. Naturally astronomers were keen to take advantage and two expeditions were assembled to observe the event from Canton island; one an Empire team organised by New Zealand and the other a joint US Navy/National Geographic effort. While neither effort was purely scientific, the New Zealand expedition would also assemble a meteorological and radio station on Canton to assist in assessing it's potential as an airbase, the US effort had the more ambitious ulterior motive. Pan Am had identified Canton as ideally placed for their southern route to Australasia, and the State Department had conveniently discovered a US claim to Canton that just needed 'restating' to the wider world. Consequently a flag, plaque, temporary accommodation and various other items to support the 'colonisation' of the island would be embarked on the eclipse expedition and a team would stay behind after the scientist until the 'colonists' arrived later in the year. With both expeditions convinced their nation had sovereignty, with perhaps different degrees of conviction, neither thought to inform the other government of their intentions. More seriously this meant neither prepared for the possibility of encountering the other, the New Zealanders because they genuinely had no idea about the US claims, while the State Department had convinced itself Britain might sent an irate note but would do nothing more. This lack of guidance would leave the captains 'on the ground' to fall back on their own judgement, which in hindsight was perhaps not ideal.

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    HMS Achilles, pride of the New Zealand Division of the Royal Navy and veteran of the Abyssinian War, departing Wellington en-route to the central Pacific. With the expansion of the Far Eastern Fleet and the strengthening of China Station (Hong Kong), there were a great deal more Royal Navy cruisers and sloops available around the South China Sea and western Pacific for 'flying the flag' and diplomatic duties than in previous years. This freed up Achilles to focus on other priorities elsewhere, relevantly for our purposes this included the Pacific Island Air Survey, a mission to investigate the potential for seaplane bases and runways on various central Pacific Islands. Previous surveys had relied on naval officers and the embarked Walrus seaplane pilot to assess the islands, recognising the limitations of this approach the Air Survey would embark large aircraft pilots and aerodrome engineers to provide more expert judgement. Fatefully it was decided to combine this mission with transporting the New Zealand Eclipse Expedition to Canton.

    The actual Canton Incident itself is somewhat unclear, accounts differ and it is clear there had been a degree of editing and 'revision' of various logs and records. It is known that the USS Avocet, a former minesweeper converted to seaplane tender and general service vessel, arrived first and the US group started assembling their accommodation and raised their flag to support the American sovereignty claim. The HMS Achilles arrived a couple of days later to drop off the expedition and carry out the aerial survey, and a stand off over anchorage in the lagoon developed. Naturally the Avocet had anchored in the prime spot, the lagoon being empty when she arrived, and was disinclined to move, the captain having been informed the island was under American control and so his ship had priority. The Achilles Captain disputed this on the grounds that (a) his ship was far larger and needed the best deepwater anchorage and, far more importantly, (b) the island was and always had been British territory so it was his decision to make. If a warning shot was actually fired by Achilles is shrouded in mystery, on balance the testimonies indicate it probably was, even if both sides thought it diplomatic not to refer to it in future communications on the matter. What is certain is that the Avocet decided, for whatever reason, to vacate it's anchorage and relocate elsewhere and the Achilles claimed the prime position for herself. It is also probably just Royal Navy legend that the British Captain returned the US flag and plaque claiming the island to the Avocet as some 'miscellaneous items' that the Americans must have 'accidentally dropped', certainly it is very unlikely he actually sent them back the flag with a note requesting they stop 'littering' on the island. In any event by the time the scientific expeditions departed the only flag on the island was the Union Jack and the planned American base had been packed up back on the Avocet.

    The incident soon raced up the hierarchies on both side of the Pacific (and indeed the Atlantic) and after some initial intemperate words, calm heads prevailed. As previously mentioned both sides recognised that this was not an issue worth starting a major dispute over and the incident was muddied up to avoid any obvious loss of face on the American side; the agreed line became that the Avocet had moved as there was only one spot where the Achilles could safely anchor and then both expeditions worked together through the eclipse in the spirit of scientific endeavour and Anglo-American co-operation. That the Foreign Office was prepared to go along with this version of events was due to the change of heart inside the US government. While President Landon had never been overly enthusiastic about the Colonisation Programme to begin with, the military advice, the large commercial interests backing it and it's low cost and low profile nature had been enough to convince him to allow it to continue. Now faced with a incident blowing up over an Island most of his administration couldn't even locate (a state of affairs mirrored in the British Cabinet's struggles to locate the islands when they were briefed on the Incident) the issue attracted more critical attention. The State Department had reluctantly admitted that the US claim to Canton Island was indeed weak and they had been relying on essentially 'bouncing' Britain into accepting an American presence before anyone realised what had happened. With that now impossible, and the President annoyed to be distracted from important domestic concerns and the running sore of Spain, the State Department was ordered to calm matters down and salvage what they could. An exchange of notes and letters saw a deal hammered out, the basis of which was mutual recognition between the two countries of each others claims, specifically the Americans gave up on Canton and Enderbury while Britain accepted US control over Baker Island. Interestingly, while President Landon ordered the American Colonisation Scheme to be wound down after successfully achieving it's aims, if perhaps not in the way envisaged, the British High Commissioner of the Western Pacific was instructed to launch the Phoenix Island Settlement Scheme, the last terrestrial human colonisation effort of the British Empire. With both Canton and Enderbury now safely sitting within the British Phoenix Islands the scheme was not about sovereignty claims but instead aimed to reduce over-population in the nearby Gilbert Islands and provide the population necessary to make the Phoenix Islands viable bases.

    With both sides resigned to the impossibility of excluding the other, and keen to avoid future incidents, the final deal also set up a joint working group for co-operate on Trans-Pacific air routes, with the aim of a Sydney to Vancouver route being operational by the end of the decade. While the Foreign Office girded itself for good few years of multi-lateral inter-governmental negotiations over the terms of the route, the Air Ministry allowed itself to hope the Trans-Pacific issue was safely parked for the forseeable and that they could focus on more urgent matters. These hopes were dashed when it emerged the airline side of the working group was resurrecting the vexed Seaplane vs Landplane issue. With Pan-Am heavily committed to it's new generation of flying boats, not least the mighty Boeing 314, the seaplane lobby within Imperial Airline (and indeed the RAF) began working to undo the earlier EAMS landplanes decision. As a matter of practicality and cost no-one wanted to build both seaplane and runway facilities and with the entire range of British and American islands to choose from both land and seaplane routes were possible, thus a decision would have to be made and a compromise reached. As had been feared by Whitehall, the Trans-Pacific crossing would indeed be at least as much of a headache as an opportunity.

    ---
    Notes:
    As promised, and in record time (by Butterfly standards), an update on the curious Canton Island incident. The background is mostly OTL, PanAm did get their proper Trans-Pacific route running by 1935 and then, perhaps out of over-confidence, did try to get to New Zealand by the shown route. OTL the 'Samoan Clipper' didn't explode on the proving flight, instead it exploded on the return leg of the first commercial flight - it was not a safe or viable route but PanAm really, really did not want to land on any British owned islands for fear of being asked for reciprocal rights. The American colonial scheme was OTL, because it had to be, as was 'acquiring' Baker Island off the British, the Foreign Office reaction was pretty tepid in OTL but gets notched up to 'threatening arbitration' in Butterfly (which was discussed) as they are starting to get their confidence back.

    On the incident, well there was an eclipse, the two expeditions did meet and there was a stand off in the harbour about who got the best anchorage. OTL it was the sloop HMS Wellington that carried the New Zealand expedition, but HMS Achilles was doing the described aerial survey at about the same time, so I combined the two as I figure the British Empire is a fair bit more confident than OTL (and has more ships in the Pacific due to the larger Far East Fleet in Singapore) so is being a bit more assertive. Even in OTL there were RN sloops pinging around fairly regularly raising flags, doing surveys and getting annoyed at PanAm reps doing illegal surveys.

    So to the big question, was their a warning shot fired? As I said sources differ, some have it as entirely peaceful, some with the Wellington firing a shot and some with Avocet firing a warning right back. I figure shots were not fired in OTL, it would be a bit of an overreaction and sloop crews tended to be a cautious lot (had it been an RN destroyer that was sent then the Avocet would be lucky to still be afloat). As has been discussed in other AARs the British government (and Dominion governments) were not on their game inter-war and were a bit listless and apathetic, the Foreign Office having it worst of all, so there was a natural caution that seeped into many things. Here it's the confident crew of a battle hardened cruiser facing a seaplane tender playing silly buggers and trying to 'steal' British territory, so shots most definitely were fired - even if the diplomats then hushed it up.

    OTL the two sides stared at each other on Canton Island for a few years after the incident, and I mean that literally as they built rival huts and radio bases and squabbled about whose supply vessel parked where. Because FDR became mildly obsessed with it, and because the Foreign Office was distracted and apathetic, the situation drifted until war loomed and Britian wanted to both clear the decks and keep the Americans happy. At that point the British and Americans agreed the slightly odd "Condominium" approach to jointly rule the place which stayed in effect until 1979 and independence. As noted the US claim was incredibly weak, even the State Department didn't really believe it, but FDR was never one to let the law stand in his way so insisted and the Foreign Office indulged him. In Butterfly that is not the case and, with Japan seeming less of a threat, Landon is happy enough to wash his hands of the whole affair and blame it on his predecessor for starting to involve America in colonisation and empire.

    New Zealanders, and fans of Imperial Airways, may notice TEAL and the Trans-Tasman route a bit early. Essentially without the need to map out a seaplane route across Australia (because EAMS is using land planes for that leg) some Empire boats have been freed up to prove that route early, not something I had intentionally planned but an obvious consequence if you think about earlier changes.
     
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    Supporting Appendix B: State of the Economic Empire, Summer 1937
  • Supporting Appendix B: State of the Economic Empire, Summer 1937

    The 1937 Imperial Conference, also known as the Second British Empire Economic Conference, was a complex and frank meeting, indeed at times in bordered on direct. To avoid over-loading the discussion of the conference with background material, this Appendix presents a series of snapshots of various sectors of the British and wider Imperial economy. It is hoped that these summaries will provide context on the many contradictory issues facing the Empire, help to explain why the British government adopted the positions it did at the conference and outline the domestic and economic policies of the main political parties on the subject. This section also provides a useful 'baseline' for the state of the Imperial Economy before the seismic events of the Autumn.
     
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    Appendix B1: Dundee! City of Empire.
  • Appendix B1: Dundee! City of Empire.

    For those unfamiliar with it's charms, Dundee is a city on the east coast of Scotland worthy of our attention due to it's close and incredibly representative relationship with the Empire and wider world. Dundee is proverbially famed for the three 'J's; Jam, Journalism and Jute, but we are concerned with only one of those in this section. The travails and triumphs of the Fourth Estate are in general beyond our scope and we shall consider Jam (or more technically marmalade) when we look at the fruit inspired nexus formed by the international citrus trade, cross-border credit financing and the Spanish Civil War. This leaves us with Jute, not perhaps the most exciting material but an important one and an industry deeply tied up with the economic complexities of Empire. Jute is a fibrous plant native to Bengal which, when processed and weaved, will produce the cheap, tough, hard-wearing and breathable material Hessian. This combination of properties made it the material of choice for transporting agricultural products (everything from wool to coffee beans to flour was shipped in Hessian sacks), backing a quality carpet and, in times of war, it proved itself an ideal material for sandbags.

    Dundee thrived on Jute and soon gained the nickname Juteopolis, such was it's dominance of the product and the city's dependence on the trade. For 50 years the Dundee factories had a virtual monopoly on the market and at it's peak almost 50% of the city's population worked in the mills. However, just as Empire had enabled Dundee to build it's monopoly by stopping her continental rivals getting a supply of raw Jute out of Bengal, so it was Empire that would cripple her by creating the competition. The potential profits from opening Jute Mills in Calcutta was obvious, closer to the raw material and with much cheaper labour they would be lucrative, and after some initial setbacks by the turn of the century the Calcutta mills were well established. In an ironic detail the workers of Dundee were crucial in to the process of killing their home town's main industry; the new Calcutta mills needed supervisors and engineers familiar with modern machinery and so the Jute Wallah was born - experienced Dundee men sent to Calcutta, inducted into the local Raj hierarchy and then given a mill to manage.

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    The Dundee Stock Exchange, formally established in 1879, was never a busy exchange in itself and was mainly a route for local investors to more easily access the wider British and Imperial stock markets. The busiest agents on the exchange were not those from local Jute firms or even those looking to set up mills in India, but the firms selling Empire and overseas focused investment trusts, particularly those targeting the Americas. That the local mill owners and investors were looking for investment options elsewhere should have been seen as warning sign about the future fate of the industry.

    A handful of Dundee based firms succeeded in making themselves into full on Raj conglomerates, owning not only the Jute mills but also the coal mines that provided the fuel, the docks where the finished product was shipped from and even the housing the workers lived in. This was however unusual, for most investors direct investment in Indian Jute mills soon gave way to the less risky, and even more lucrative, 'managing agent' scheme. A typical scheme would see the managing agent firm identify a site, build the mill and then float the resulting company on the local Indian stock exchange, not to raise capital (the mill had already been built) but to cash-out the original investors at a handsome profit while retaining a large, essentially free, stake. The managing agent firm would have a string of long term contracts with the newly floated mill company, covering the entire process from supplying raw materials through to selling the resulting product, collecting a handsome fee every step of the way at little to no risk. Crucially, and in stark contrast to the Cotton industry in the Raj, this combination of managing contracts and a large shareholding meant the Jute industry was still very much British controlled, even if it was on paper majority owned by expat and 'native' Indian shareholders. An example of the difference this made can be found in labour costs, in the west coast Cotton industry wages skyrocketed almost 300% between 1920 and the mid 1930s, with the result that the 'cheap' Indian cotton mills found themselves undercut by Japan, just as they had once threatened to undercut the Lancashire mills. In contrast wages in Bengal's Jute mills barely went up 20% as the Bengal government allowed/encouraged massive migration from neighbouring states to keep the mills well stocked with fresh, cheap labour.

    It is worth noting that this was not just a challenge to the Conservatives, both Labour and the Liberal Social Democrats (LSD) had to respond and their different reactions indicate the splits on the broader left around the issue. Traditionally Labour were anti-protectionism as they felt tariffs only increased prices of food and basic goods for the working class and entrenched domestic monopolies, increasing the bosses power over labour. But also felt the need to make clear they were anti-Free Trade as they knew that policy was also unpopular, particularly with the unions, so they had devised their own, unique solution. Diagnosing the problem as being the low wages of overseas workers their policy was for an international agreement, through the offices of the League of Nations, to agree minimum pay and conditions for factory work worldwide, on the understanding this would mean massive pay rises for Japan and India. With wages equalised UK industry would be able to compete and workers in all countries would be fairly recompensed, should any country failed to live up to it's agreement on wages then there would be a total embargo on their exports. The flaws are obvious, not least the unanswered question of why would, for instance, Japan sign a treaty that would destroy it's export trade, when Labour had made it clear they would not pre-emptively embargo any non-signatory? Roundly mocked at the time the newly 'reformed' Labour party gave in to TUC pressure, shouted down it's internationalist and idealist wings, and embraced a mild form of protectionism.


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    The Wellington Foundry in Leeds, owned by Fairbairn Lawson Combe Barbour Ltd (FLCB) the largest textile machinery manufacturing firm in the world in the mid-1930s. FLCB and their Scottish rivals ULRO (Urquhart, Lindsay and Robertson Orchar) were vigorous campaigners in Westminster against tariffs and quotas in the textile industry, on the reasonable basis that the inevitable counter-tariffs would affect their machinery exports. Given the machinery manufactures were profitable, could out-compete their international rivals, produced valuable export earnings and in general only wanted the status quo maintained, they tended to gain a warmer reception than the seemingly perpetually 'in crisis' textile firms. A similar split could be seen in the workforce, the textile unions being pro-tariff while the industrial unions supported Imperial Preference if not full on free trade.

    In contrast the LSD had the free trade inheritance of the Liberal tradition and had made that stick in the new party, it's former Labour contingent agreeing that for most of the working class free trade was a benefit for the reasons Labour had previously espoused. This position on trade, along with their other industrial policies and the ongoing bad blood inside the union movement around the welding striker, was enough to tempt the Transport and General Worker's Union (TGWU) into backing the party. To be brutal they had basically no members in the textile industry, they could see free trade would benefit all their members and that tariffs would hurt their industrial members, and they worried about a loss of influence in the TUC and the direction of Labour policy. While TGWU was the first to jump ship, they would not be the last, particularly after the dramatic events of the autumn. This did leave the question of what to do with Dundee and the others industries that would be affected by this policy, to which the LSD answer was re-train the workers and build new industries for them to work in. The LSD were comfortable with massive state intervention, nationalisation and direct government investment/finance, they just believed it should be targeted on industries with a future not wasted in prolonging the agony of those that were doomed, though they were careful to express the sentiment more sympathetically in public.

    The scale of the problem facing the British government should now be clear. Fundamentally the Calcutta Jute industry had access to cheaper labour which, while nowhere near as productive, was so much cheaper it could still undercut Dundee and, importantly, everyone else in the Jute trade. Due to the unique structure of the managing agent firms, and the involvement of the City of London in the trading, shipping and financing, the bulk of the actual profits flowed back to Britain, even if the factories were in India and notionally owned by Indian capital. Crippling the Jute industry by forcing up wages, as had inadvertently happened to the Cotton industry, was certainly possible and would to an extent aid Dundee, but on a net basis would cost Britain money as the Dundee mills would be far less profitable. Tariffs could in theory assist on the British-Indian jute trade and allow Dundee to regain the domestic market, but intra-Empire barriers to trade were unpopular, difficult to square with "Empire Free Trade" as agreed at Ottawa and fiercely opposed by the City and the many investors across Britain and the Empire who were profiting from the Jute trade. Widely believed to have no acceptable solution, or at least no solution that would be acceptable to all the parties, the issue would force itself onto the agenda of the Conference regardless. Even if Jute could be ignored, it was obvious the same pattern could repeat itself as the Dominions industrialised and British interests, however they were defined, could be found on both sides of the argument.

    --
    Notes:
    A slightly different style for this one, I've gone for the conceit of this being an Appendix to the main work just to try something new. I hoped it would result in the chapter being shorter and it is (a little bit), though it ended up growing when that political bit got dropped in the middle.

    But onto the subject itself - Dundee and Jute! I'd ask you to name a more intoxicating and bewitching combination, but I don't think the server could cope with the mountain of responses. However it was a complex problem and in it's own way interesting, certainly I have sympathy with the government trying to solve it as it involved some fairly fundamental "What is the point of Empire?" and "City of London vs The Rest" type questions which I always find fascinating.

    The Calcutta vs Bengal wage difference is entirely true, there is a quote from Halifax (when he was Viceroy of India) complaining that the Bengal Presidency had too much 'European influence" and wouldn't introduce the various factory acts and reforms everyone else in nida was. In contrast the Calcutta Cotton mills got 'reformed' and then got undercut by Japan which, for a time at least, helped save the Lancashire mills. I don't think the reforms were a deliberate attempt to cripple Indian industry by jacking up wages, I think it was a genuinely well intentioned reaction to the poor conditions, but Imperial politics is a murky place so I wouldn't rule out a degree of happy-side-effect in British policy.

    On which note Labour trade policy in 1935 through to the war was that barking made/idealistic and everyone did mock them for it, yet they persisted. The unions were torn on the policy, the TUC tended towards the practical view that if the rest of the world had tariffs then their members might as well see the benefits, but there were large differences for reasons I hope are clear. LSD have kept Free Trade as that was always totemic for (most) of the proper Liberals and there is enough of a socialist tradition of the policy for the new Labour defectors to be happy with that, particularly given the wider changes in policy. The LSD policy for Dundee is actually pretty close to the OTL government policy (which was declare Dundee a Special Area, give it some tax/rate cuts and throw money at it) but done a great deal more enthusiastically and with some money for training thrown in as well.
     
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    Appendix B2: The Capital of Capital
  • Appendix B2: The Capital of Capital.

    The City of London was, and still is, often referred to as a single entity, particularly amongst those keen to ascribe cunning scheming or malevolent intent to the nebulous forces of finance it represented. This is of course untrue, the shear variety of services offered and trades carried out by up the firms that worked in the City made a degree of internal disagreement inevitable and the various 'tribes' would regularly find themselves on opposite sides of the policy argument. That said there was some common ground and on a few select issues they could manage to speak with one voice, or at least as a mostly coherent choir. The most commonly held views were on trade, where the vast majority of the City's denizens were enthusiastic free traders for the simple reason that trade was the lifeblood of the City; the more the world traded, the more opportunities for profit there were. This was not just the trade of Britain, or even that of the Empire, from the perspective of the City any increase in world trade was an opportunity and something that would somehow end up benefiting them. An example from the summer of 1937 will perhaps demonstrate why this believe was so widely held.

    The question of German-Japanese trade had been bothering both governments for quite some time; Japan was running a large deficit it could ill afford, while Germany worried about it's exposure to the risk of another devaluation of the Yen and the lack of any way to use the large Yen balances it was piling up. In theory the new Japanese policy for Manchukuo seemed to offer a way out of this; Manchurian agricultural exports could be used to pay for the German machinery imports the ambitious industrialisation plans required. Japan could therefore reduce it's own industrial imports (many of which had been earmarked for being sent onto Manchuria) while Germany would remove the Yen foreign exchange risk as it was being paid in raw materials, mostly high energy soy beans which became the fats and margarines that German farming could not produce. There was of course a problem and it was naturally political; the German government had not recognised Manchuria so could not officially trade with them. The Reich was trying to walk a careful path between China and Japan, hoping to keep both on side as trading partners and perhaps future Allies or distractions, so had not wished to enrage Nanjing by recognising Japan's puppet state. The solution was to forgo the preferred government to government treaty and instead use the German trading house of Otto Wolff to broker a theoretically commercial deal. Otto Wolff would take large scale industrial orders from the Manchukuo government and undertake to deliver them up front, then being repaid partly in cash but mostly in twice yearly agricultural shipments deal. The directors of Otto Wolff being reassured by a secret Reichsbank guarantee that the exports could be sold on in Germany and they weren't actually taking any risk. The relevance of this to the City was the credit facility was denominated in Sterling, the first batch of orders having a value of £2million (for scale total German exports to Japan were barely £30 million in 1936), and the 'cash' part of the repayment was also specified to be Sterling.

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    The monumentally vast Bush House in Central London shortly before the final finishing works. The dream of the American industrialist Irving T. Bush the building, and it's sister tower block in New York, were intended as temples of trade and visible symbols of Anglo-American friendship. After Bush's bankruptcy in the Great Depression the new owners were rather more concerned with just getting tenants into what had been dubbed 'the most expensive building in the world' (due to it's lavish use of Portland Stone and extravagantly decorated interior) and so departed somewhat from that vision. One of the new tenants was Arcos (the All Russian Co-Operative Society), the Soviet import/export guarantee body and occasional espionage front. Arcos was one of the many Soviet financial institutions based in London and it operated along side the older Russian banks and merchant organisations that the Soviets had claimed and nationalised. Not only was London a nexus for trade, even Soviet trade, it was the home of the London Gold Fix which was the benchmark sterling price for the precious metal. The London price was the reference rate used for all bullion transactions outside of the 'Gold Bloc' nations and, as a leading Gold exporter, the Soviet Union deemed it valuable to keep a close eye on the bullion market.

    Aside from a certain amusement in seeing two proudly autarkic governments deciding to use Sterling the benefits to Britain do not appear immediately obvious, and in a direct sense that is somewhat true. It is from the consequences of the deal that the benefits flowed to the City, starting with the need for Japan to acquire moderately large amounts of Sterling to make the 'hard currency' element of the repayments. This implied increased Anglo-Japanese trade as Tokyo sought to earn the required foreign exchange with obvious benefits to the merchant banks who would facilitate the trade. While the goods covered by the deal would be carried on German and Japanese shipping, neither nation possessed enough tonnage to even carry their existing trade let alone any extra, so ships had to diverted from existing trade and were replaced by tonnage chartered from British lines. With that came the whole trail of ship brokers, insurance, merchant banking, bunkering and all the other professions who made their living facilitating trade. Finally when Japan made it's repayments those funds would not go into the Reichsbanks reserves but be used to pay for yet more German imports from either Britain or the wider Sterling Area. The government, to the limited extent it was aware of this transaction and the many like it, were somewhat less enthused about the Sterling Area being used to help Germany and Japan strengthen their economies. But just as the ubiquity of Sterling had many advantages for Britain it was recognised there were costs, not least of which was that people would use the currency for purposes you would rather they didn't. With enough effort from the Bank of England and Treasury the deal could have been scuppered, or at least forced to use a different currency and made to take longer to arrange and settle. However this minor benefit would have come at the very high cost of discouraging the countless other overseas parties transacting in Sterling and driving trade towards the ever-eager arms of New York or Paris. Sterling was pre-eminent because it was available, widely accepted and useful, if it became apparent the British government would intervene to stop it being used for certain purpose that would undercut that utility. Thus, like the Soviet banking presence in London and many other annoyances, the trade was monitored but tolerated as a price that had to be paid. It should also be noted that the many disparate intelligence groups scattered across the government had long since become accustomed to using this 'commercial intelligence' to supplement the information that came from more official sources.

    If trade was the subject of widespread agreement within the City then loans and credits were a point of tension, though as any good banker should admit new and existing loans are always a point of tension for a financial institution as they require various contradictory concerns to be balanced. This remained a truism whether the loan was for a domestic mortgage or a new mineral export harbour in Peru, even if the number of factors that had to be balanced increased considerably for the latter. Taken as a whole Britain had a very large stock of investments, offered trade credits, and outstanding debtors, all of which generated a substantial portion of the 'invisible export' income that the overall balance of trade depended upon. This stock had to be added to by issuing new credits and offering new loans as old ones were paid off, because if not that income would shrink. Indeed ideally the stock of outstanding instruments should grow, so that the income generated and returned back to London and thence the country would also grow. Furthermore, just because the City was pre-eminent did not mean British capital had a monopoly, far from it, so the terms had to be keen as most would-be debtors had options beyond the City. The source of the tension should therefore be clear, debtors only had so much money they could use to make payments and if too much new debt was added then they may not have enough to pay the new debts and their existing old debts, particularly if any new investment would take time to generate an income (if indeed it ever did).

    A balancing act was therefore required and for much of the 1920s the creditors had been in ascendance and the British government had prioritised collection of old debts. Trade deals had emphasised how a portion of any Sterling generated for the foreign power had to be used for debt servicing, these deals and measures like them had seen British creditors achieve repayments far in excess of their peers in Paris and New York. As the Depression struck minds in London started to change, it became apparent that the previous approach was having unanticipated costs, or at least unanticipated in terms of scale and consequence. Money spent on debt servicing could not be spent on British exports and the demands for surety of repayment where making British investments less attractive. The merchant banking sector of the City was also making the argument that if the debtors economies could be helped to grow they would find their existing commitments a lighter burden. The tipping point was the appointment of Walter Runciman to the Board of Trade in 1931, appointed to balance the pro-tariff Neville Chamberlain in the Treasury he would oversee a change in trade policy. Instead of chasing old debts Britain used it's leverage to promote British exports and new overseas investment. This change did indeed produce results as exports increased considerably and, significantly, they rose far faster than imports. Whether this success was being achieved at the cost of storing up problems for later as the creditors claimed, was of course, a different question.

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    A new narrow gauge diesel rail car from the Birmingham Carriage & Wagon Company undergoing final inspection, and photo opportunity, prior to being shipped to Argentina for service on the British owned Buenos Aries Western Railway line in early 1937. Out of the roughly £500million of British capital invested in Argentina by the mid 1930s some 60% of it, almost £300million, was invested in railway companies. Railway schemes had long been considered the ideal overseas investment; they required plenty of British engineers and exports to build, the locomotives and major replacements were often sourced from Britain, they did not compete with any existing British industry (indeed they often opened new markets for exports) and they were profitable so the creditors got repaid (provided one ignored the occasional over-budget disasters and failures of planning). However by the mid 1930s there were few places that had not already had their own 'railway mania' at some point, so British capital had to look for new projects and to the regret of the government these were often more controversial. It must be said that with hindsight this was probably for the best, with the rise of the cheap passenger car and the affordable lorry, railways were no longer the profitable venture they had once been.

    The new projects themselves were, in the absence of the traditional railway investment schemes, generally 'Grand Projects'; the large scale and occasionally quixotic industrial works programmes that proliferated as countries either sought to escape the Depression or elevate their nation up the ranks of power. Due to their size (and often questionable business case) the schemes were generally led by the foreign government in question and could struggle to attract conventional investors. The City's solution was to enlist the help of the Export Credit Guarantee Department (ECGD) of the British government to assist in getting the projects financed. Setup in the aftermath of the Great War to restore British exports in markets that had been lost during the war, the ECGD had broad powers to guarantee debts, underwrite loans and even raise it's own funds as required. Yet those powers were rarely exercised as ECGD involvement was something of a self fulfilling prophecy; the presence of the guarantees meant the guarantees were rarely called upon. A foreign government defaulting on commercial loans was one thing, to a certain extent the Treasury and Bank of England encouraged the idea that investors must face the consequences of their decisions, but to default on a loan backed by the British government would have diplomatic consequences. In a typical ECGD scheme the 'price' for the guarantee was the understanding that British firms be used for the design and engineering and that British suppliers would provide all the necessary equipment. It must be stated this was not a British innovation but very much par for the course, any nation with pretentious for an export industry had an organisation like the ECGD with similar aims and powers.

    Typically 'Grand Project' schemes were deemed 'strategic' by the foreign government promoting them and in some cases this was not just a euphemism for 'loss making bad idea' but a correct description (and of course often it was both). The largest and most lucrative of these strategic projects in the 1930s and 40s were Iron and Steel works; the thought process in the promoting nations tended to be that great powers had their own steel industry, the country in question wanted to be a great power, so therefore it needed a steel works. This was to the great annoyance of the British government as Steel was one of the more sensitive industrial questions in the country; Britain was the 3rd largest steel exporter in the world, but also the 1st largest importer. This is not quite as mad as it seems because 'steel' covered everything from girders, to cutlery, to car bodies to armour plate and no nation could make every type, even the Americans and Soviets imported certain specialist grades of steel. It did however mean that any new overseas mill was seen as a threat to British exports and a 'waste' of capital that should be spent building a new mill in the UK so Britain imported less. Then of course there was the Imperial dimension as the Dominions were all net importers of steel and could be relied upon to agitate for further investment in their own pet schemes. That the British government persisted was for reasons both commercial and strategic.

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    The Karabuk Iron and Steel Works, north Turkey, just after full opening in 1940. Turkey had been attempting to build a modern steel works since before Turkey had existed, it had been a dream of the Ottoman state going back to the mid 19th century. There were many reasons for the failure but a key one was that, economically, the entire scheme made very little sense; Turkey lacked any iron ore mines, her coal was low grade and poor quality, and the domestic Turkish iron and steel market was not large. To support the new works it also proved necessary to build almost all the supporting infrastructure; power stations, sintering works, coking works and so on, then to connect them up with new railways and provide new ports to handle the imported iron ore. Unsurprisingly the Karabuk works proved to need heavy subsidy and steep protective tariffs in order to survive, while the idea of 'profits' was a distant dream, a depressingly regular outcome for such schemes regardless of who initiated them.

    On the commercial level the schemes were lucrative, not perhaps for those who planned them but certainly for those who designed and built them. To take the example of the Karabuk works, total fees came in at £2.5 million and the supply of plant and equipment provided 30,000 man-years of work for the supply chain in Britain. Moreover it was work that went to those parts of the British economy most in need, the heavy industry areas that had struggled to escape the Depression. The technical success of the works was also valuable, Karabuk did not make money but it did make steel in the required quantities and to the specified standard. Where Krupp had previously dominated, future British consortia had a success outside of the Empire to use as a selling point. The most important motivation though was grand strategy, Germany had ambitions in Turkey and had funded railways and wider works as part of their plan to woo the Turkish government. The Karabuk contract broke that run of success and inserted British interests into the most strategic project in Turkey and made Ankara dependent on Britain to finally achieve their decades long dream. It is hardly surprising that the Foreign Office had lobbied hard for a relaxation on the usual ECGD limits to push the project through, nor that the Imperial General Staff and Board of Trade had joined them. A secondary strategic benefit came from the payment and this returns us to the original view of the City; any increase in trade was always a benefit to the City. Under the pretence that it would take time for Karabuk to become profitable (it being un-diplomatic to doubt it would ever actually turn a profit) the British consortia, the ECGD and the Turkish government agreed that repayments were linked to a claim on Turkish mineral exports of chrome, molybdenum and manganese amongst other strategic materials. This was to prove highly satisfactory and a pattern that would be repeated on future schemes were there were concerns about repayment, not least the vast works contracted for in Brazil and China near the end of the decade. From a British government perspective the arrangement restricted Germany's access to such materials, at no cost to the British taxpayer, and brought Turkey further into the British sphere of influence. Viewed from that perspective a guarantee on a loan and further complaints from the Steel lobby doubtless seemed a small price to pay.

    These issues would all surface during the Imperial Economic Conference and none of them would be easily resolved. The ECGD proved to be a surprisingly controversial subject, mainly due to Dominion complaints that it did not apply to investment within the Empire. As such investments were not see as 'exports', just moving capital around the Empire, this is perhaps understandable but the problem remained. There were schemes to promote investment within Britain (the Special Area Scheme) and for investment elsewhere (the ECGD) but nothing for intra-Empire projects, making them comparatively less attractive. With the aero-industrialisation schemes discussed in earlier chapters starting to ramp up in Australia and Canada this was becoming an issue, the main factories were getting funded but the supply chain was struggling for financing. More precisely they weren't so much struggling as upset at paying commercial rates and wanted to get ECGD under-written funding instead (government backed debts being less risky and so lower interest). The Dominions could have provide incentives that matched ECGD, but naturally wanted London to bear the risk and costs instead as it would be British firms that mostly benefitted. London believed that as the Dominions wanted the factories, they could pay for them. At heart it was a mismatch between politics and economics; the Dominions had their own budget, debt and policies so were naturally treated as separate countries by bankers assessing risk, but politically they saw themselves as part of the Empire and wanted to see benefits from this, such as being seen as low risk debts. The Sterling issue somehow managed to be more explosive, even if it was more tightly focused on Canada. While the rest of the Empire, and much of the world, pegged to Sterling, Canada had linked to the US Dollar due to proximity as much as anything else. The US adherence to Gold when Britain devalued had been painful and it had only got more painful, her exports were over-priced and the US tariff wall caused even cross-border trade to collapse. Canada had always been an oddity, inside Imperial Free Trade but outside the Sterling Area, but the contradictions were becoming impossible to bear. The Conference would see a choice finally made.

    --
    Notes:
    Well that is the 'short update' idea truly dead, killed by this monster. But are you now not better informed about the balance of trade, the Sterling Area and the wonderful world of overseas foreign investment?

    From the top, the German-Japan-Manchukuo trade deal is OTL as is the use of Sterling. I find the idea of the two main Axis powers having to use Pounds to trade with each other a fascinating detail, so naturally had to include it. The currency aside it was a fairly standard German 'barter' deal, machine tools being essentially swapped for Soy beans, the sort of deal you have to do when none of the countries involved has useable currencies or 'normal' economies. You can see why the British were so confident the German economy would implode under blockade, because it was a Frankenstein's monster of a mess pre-war.

    British readers and/or fans of the BBC may recognise Bush House as home of the World Service in OTL, though they did not move in until during WW2 when their main studio was bombed. There is no link to the recent Presidential Bush family as Irving T. Bush was from an unrelated Dutch family. He did go bankrupt OTL and lose control, but I think he got it back briefly. Here the Depression in the US is worse, so it is gone for good. Arcos is OTL, as was their spying in the 1920s, and they did end up in Bush House which I find mildly funny given it's original intent.

    British investments in Argentina were that huge and were heavily railway focused, most of said railways did pay nice fat dividends until the late 1920s. For once the Depression was not the problem, it was the rise of taxis and cheap lorries under-cutting them and the government restrictions on fares and rates. There were tensions pre-war about this, but then everyone got distracted by the war and things drifted. Post-war Peron nationalised the lot at a cheap price, though in fairness the train lines weren't worth much once the country was flooded with war surplus vehicles that finally destroyed their chance of ever making a profit.

    The Turkish Steel Mill is OTL as is the repayment scheme, the Foreign Office, IGS and everyone else did have a view and it went through with an ECGD guarantee. The war cut off Iron Ore imports to Turkey so they developed a domestic supply and kept going. It was famous for always losing money and terrible management, but it meant Turkey had a domestic iron and steel supply during WW2. Post-war it became a mill-stone of losses and debt, but by then it was definitely un-closeable due to Cold War grand strategy and a desire for a steel supply that could not be cut off. OTL the Brazilian mill (Vargas works) got built by the US during the war on dodgy terms as a "please don't join the Axis" bribe, while the Chinese mill in the Canton valley was being designed and finance discussed with a British consortium, then the Japanese rudely interrupted with the Marco Polo Bridge incident. With that not happening and China in the Sterling Area the scheme is going ahead.

    The ECGD did exist as discussed and everyone had their own equivalent. The US had the Export-Import Bank that FDR setup in 1934 and I'm assuming something similar happens in Butterfly because it is so damn obvious and everyone else is doing it.

    Finally Canada did peg to the USD but did sign up to the Ottawa agreement on British Empire tariffs. It did get a bit rough when the UK devalued before the US, but it was a short gap so manageable. Here the US is still on Gold so maintaining the CA$-USD peg is hurting. Something has to give and the Imperial Economic Conference is when it does.
     
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    Appendix B3: An Imbalance in the Industrial Nation
  • Appendix B3: An Imbalance in the Industrial Nation.

    Government industrial policy, to the extent that it even existed, had two main strands; supporting strategic industries and what could uncharitably be described as "backing losers". The former was straight forward in principal if tricky in practice, the basic premise was that certain industries were vital in wartime but unprofitable in peace and so needed support so they would still be operational when requried. An uncontroversial example would be the armour plate industry, with the ship building 'holidays' enforced by the Naval Treaties the specialist suppliers experienced a dramatic fall in orders leading to idle factories and an workforce facing unemployment. To stop the highly specialised forges and kilns from being closed and the skills being lost when the workforce retrained or moved on, the manufacturers had received a modest subsidy of around £300,000, spread over all the main firms and spaced out to fill the gap until the Treaties allowed shipbuilding to restart. The main complaint about the scheme was that it had been too modest, the Admiralty's estimates on required armour (or their estimate of what the Treasury would allow them to buy) had been too low and too little capacity had been preserved, a problem made worse when the Army started looking for armour plate for it's tank production. The subtler complaint was that the direct subsidy was misleading and hid the indirect subsidies that had been given, for instance the large contracts for 'Research and Development' of new types of armour plate and manufacturing techniques. While these contracts had produced valuable results, for instance the new high-manganese cemented armour plate used on the King George V and Swiftsure classes, it was argued that traditionally the firms themselves had paid for such research themselves, or it had been done in the Admiralty's own research institutions, and thus the contracts were just a disguised additional subsidy. To an extent this was probably true, though given the voracious complaints made at the time it perhaps wasn't a very well hidden disguised subsidy.

    Not all 'strategic' subsidies were as defensible, there was the unfortunate case of the War Office continuing to spend £5,000 a year on supporting the stables that breed their light horses. When set along side the £200 that was spent by the same department on subsidy for "Mechanical Transport" (i.e. lorries), at a time when a single new lorry cost somewhere around £250, the scheme does look at best farcical. In the defence of the War Office the actual spending on mechanical transport was far higher and in the hundreds of thousands of pounds, but that money was spent was procuring vehicles for the lorried infantry and development work for the Motor Rifle battalions, none of which counted as subsidy. It should also be noted that the automotive industry was in no way in need of subsidy, it was in fact enjoying something of a boom time from as civilian sales soared along with the growing economy. As we saw in Chapter CXXV Imperial Airways was the recipient of considerable subsidy to fund the Empire Air Mail Scheme and this was again justified on strategic grounds due to the perceived value of better links across the Empire. Finally the merchant fleet received over £6million in subsidy from a scrappage scheme, which subsidised new construction for owners who scrapped obsolete vessels. This was naturally subject to the work being done in British yards with 'modern' methods, while the start of the scheme was heavily impacted by the boilermakers strike by the start of 1938 demand was such that yards were looking at expansion. How much was due to the scheme and how much was just pent up demand from the Depression years and a reaction to rising world trade is, as always, unclear and the conclusion probably depends upon your views on the desirability of industrial subsidy as much as the evidence.

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    The sugar beet refinery in Spalding, Lincolnshire. Formerly owned by Anglo-Scottish Sugar it had passed to the British Sugar Company when the industry had been nationalised early in 1936. The realm of agricultural subsidy is a matter for a later chapter but it should be noted they were far larger in scale than anything in industry; sugar beet alone received more funds than all the industrial schemes combined and over the decade from 1926 to 1936 agriculture received 85% of total direct government subsidy. Despite the claims of the industry, and those who believed nationalisation and sate control would make any industry more efficient, sugar cane continued to be substantially cheaper than sugar beet. Tate & Lyle, who along with the other sugar cane firms had escaped nationalisation, would continue to dominate and supplied over 50% of the UK market from their three vast refineries in London, Liverpool and Greenock.

    If the subsidy schemes aimed to support existing industries, the other arm of government industrial policy was officially aimed at encouraging new industries to start. A prime example was the Team Valley Trading Estate, a vast industrial estate in the North East of England near Gateshead. The estate was planned and built on a vast scale, the central access road was over 2 miles long, and when work started in 1936 it was one of the largest developments in Europe. The estate was entirely government funded in the hopes of supporting an area that had been hit hard by the Depression, similar schemes were being developed for the other Special Areas that were also suffering, for example in a link back to our previous look at Jute, Dundee council were agitating for a similar project to help diversify the city and end their dependence on Jute. Hence the less than generous accusation that the scheme was about supporting losers, in this case those regions that had 'lost out' as traditional industries declined and the Depression ravaged the economy. On it's own terms the Team Valley project was a success, eventually several hundred firms, directly employing almost 20,000 workers, would be based there and would continue to operate long after official support was withdrawn. However, this achievement had taken a great deal of money and effort from almost the entire government. Leaving aside the cost of building the estate, which was just over £3 million when it was finished in 1938, the rents were below market rate, over half of the firms were also eligible for concessions on rates and taxes, and every government spending department was pressurised into making orders with firms based there. The Special Commissioner for the region was also concerned at how many of the jobs were with firms who had moved premises to get those concessions and how many were actually new jobs for the region.

    The struggles at Team Valley were put into sharp relief by the experiences outside the Special Areas. At the same time as Teams Valley was under construction a dozen large estates had been built by the private sector in the Midlands, the eastern Thames Valley and above all around Greater London, none of the schemes were individually as large as Teams Valley but in the aggregate they provided vastly more facilities and employment. Moreover these schemes did not benefit from any tax advantages yet were still often fully rented ever before final completion, proving the voracious demand for new premises and factories that existed. This did not come as a revelation to the Board of Trade and those in government concerned with industrial policy, even in the 1920s the uneven distribution of employment was a known problem and it had been noticed that the Depression had made thins substantially worse as the heavy industries were hit hardest. Despite the tailwind of re-armament those industries were still growing slower than the booming light industries, the majority of which were based in the Midlands and South East. With the market failing (or at least failing to do what the politicians wanted it to do) and the existing approaches apparently failing to work, pressure was building for a Royal Commission to investigate the problem.

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    The Guinness Brewery with a small part of the wider Park Royal industrial estate in the background. Built by Guinness in response to the Anglo-Irish Trade War and fears of British tariffs on Irish beer imports, it was the first brewery the company opened outside Ireland and despite it's vast size was only capable of supplying half the UK market when it opened in 1936. The wider Park Royal industrial estate was developed at the same time and, at peak, the developers (Allnatt London) were opening a new factory site every fortnight. While the government could match that speed of construction, they could not hope to match the rate at which new tenants for the factories were acquired.

    As with most Royal Commissions those proposing it already knew what the answer 'should' be, knew it wouldn't be popular and so wanted the Commission to help them build support and, to a large extent, take the blame for the unpopular decision. In this instance it was the soft left of the Conservative Party around Neville Chamberlain, at this time Minister for Pensions and Welfare, who wanted to significantly increase government intervention to force industry to locate where it was perceived to be needed. The theory, if that is not too grand a name, was that making the Special Areas more attractive to industry was hard, but making London far less attractive was comparatively easy. The proposal was therefore to cripple Greater London and, to an extent, the Midlands, this was was to be achieved by a moratorium on new factories, higher rates and anything else they could think of to stop new firms starting in the 'wrong' location and encourage existing ones to move. This was, naturally, an anathema to the traditional wing of the party, MPs with seats near the to-be-restricted areas and those around Oliver Stanley that had close links to or a background in industry and so could see the obvious flaws. With the ongoing boilermakers strike, and trouble clearly brewing in the coal mining industry, Prime Minister Eden decided he did not want another industrial problem and vetoed the idea of the Royal Commission. Instead he placed his faith in the reforms being made by the Board of Trade and Chancellor's Amery's confident assertions that between the re-armament boom and Empire Free Trade all would be well. The problems would come if those assurances were not borne out by reality and the regional disparities continued to grow.

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    Notes:
    Firstly, of course those subsidy numbers are real. No-one would dare invent a world where the War Office was spending £5k a year on breeding horses as late as 1939. The £200 figure on lorries is a bit unfair, I believe it was just the winding down of an old scheme (they had been paying more in 29-31 when things were really bad). But I couldn't resist pointing it out. Ship scrappage scheme is OTL but was only £4million ish, in Butterfly more money is being spent to encourage people to weld and cover the extra costs of getting started on it. OTL the aim was just "scrap old ships, build new ones", here it is "scrap old ones, build new ships with modern methods".

    Regional industrial policy, I've done my best to make it interesting but it is just a bit of a grim area as no-one (not just UK but anywhere) seems to be able to make it work on a sustained basis. OTL Chamberlain and the Special Commissioners got their Royal Commission, which duly suggested throttling London and forcing people elsewhere. War intervened and then the Labour Party went for it (Bevin had been on the commission so was keen) producing the f*cking awful "Industrial Development Certificate" scheme to stop anyone building a factory where central government didn't want it. As one would expect, this was a relentless disaster. Here I've killed it as Neville is not in power and Eden has enough problems, but the basic issue remains so will doubtless re-appear.

    British policy for sugar was, is and probably always will be barking and full of contradictions. It's not EU farming policy mad (which includes such features as setting a high tariff on sugar cane imports, then refunding slightly more than that fee back to the sugar refiners who have to use the sugar cane) but it gets close. In any event I tip my hat to Tate & Lyle, they've dodged at least two attempts to be nationalised and are still going strong.

    Finally the Guinness brewery dates are all OTL and is perhaps proof that in the UK at least the trade war never got that heated as people kept drinking Guinness. The Park Royal factory supplied the South of England, while Scotland, Wales and the North got it from Dublin. I believe Guinness were a bit less precious about the "magic" of the St James' gate brewery at that point, so no-one noticed.
     
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    Chapter CXLII: The Low, Low Price of an Imperial Conference.
  • Chapter CXLII: The Low, Low Price of an Imperial Conference.

    Traditionally Whitehall had a sense of mild dread about Imperial Conferences, as they tended to lead to a new set of demands from the Dominions and more compromises by their lords and masters in Westminster. The Second British Empire Economic Conference was one of the rare exceptions to this rule. While not exactly looking forward to it, the civil service believed that for once it would be their Dominion counterparts forced to make hard decisions and uncomfortable compromises. Prompted by the growing imbalances in Empire Free Trade the conference had the unenviable task of trying to keep the benefits of the current arrangement while removing the undesirable features. It was the considered opinion of the Board of Trade that while this outcome was eminently achievable, the policies that would be required would not be popular in the Dominion capitals. As it was the Dominions that had pushed for the conference, and had rejected the option of a Royal Commission to kick the issue into the long grass, there was a belief that they did not quite understand what they were asking for. While this paternal air, which doubtless often crossed over into patronising superiority, was not an attractive feature of the London civil service, events at the conference would prove it was, for once, not unjustified.

    The fundamental problem was that Imperial Preference was trying to be two incompatible things at the same time. Those involved wanted utterly friction free trade between the members, whilst having the freedom to set their own 'external' tariffs and custom duties. The former was considered non-negotiable by all involved, it was a bedrock of Empire and something so fundamental that it was never even discussed and certainly not something that could be changed. The latter was at least in part the result of a very British feature of taxation policy that had been exported to the Empire; the desire to rely on indirect taxes (like customs and excise) and not raise the direct taxes (like income tax) that voters actually noticed. Indeed the children had taken the parent's lessons to an extreme and indirect taxes amounted to 75% to 80% of the total revenue of the Dominion governments. As we have also seen in the previous chapters tariffs and trade barriers were seen as vital tools to protect politically important industries, even if they weren't used to do so (or wouldn't work if they were used) no politician is ever keen to give up any power. As discussed in Chapter XCV the problems with this arrangement are entirely predictable; to bypass a high tariff in one country it was only necessary to ensure the item entered the Imperial Preference area through a low tariff member, once inside it could be moved around tariff-free to it's intended destination. While this problem had been identified at the first Imperial Economic Conference in Ottawa, it had been felt that given the large distances, the cost of shipping and the broadly similar tariffs rates it would not be a serious issue. To an extent this was correct as it still wasn't a serious economic issue but it had become a political issue due to a few high profile cases. More seriously shipping rates had become drastically cheaper as the diesel powered motor vessel started to displace the steam ship and the steady stream of reforms, tweaks and bilateral trade treaties were opening up far larger tariff differentials across the Empire that could be exploited.

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    The MV Delius, a refrigerated cargo liner in service with the Lamport & Holt shipping line and working the Liverpool-Buenos Aries route. Completed around the same time as the Imperial Conference began, she was symbolic of the newer generation of ships entering service and causing so many problems. The MV stood for Motor Vessel and she was powered by a pair of large six cylinder diesel engines in place of the more traditional steam turbine or reciprocating triple expansion engine. While marginally more expensive to construct than those types, a motor vessel was dramatically less expensive to run as it required fewer crew and was more fuel efficient. While their introduction into wide-scale service had been delayed by the shipbuilding lull of the Depression as trade recovered so did shipbuilding. To the annoyance of the shipping lines the far lower running costs of the MVs did not equate to larger profits, but instead lower shipping rates, these lower rates then opened up new opportunities for traders to profitably exploit the loopholes in Empire Free Trade. As was so often the way a government policy for one area was causing problems in another; the ship scrappage scheme was accelerating this trend by speeding up the replacement of old triple expansion ships with more modern MVs.

    With the problem identified discussion turned to a solution, which was naturally where the arguments began. Trade theory did have an answer to the conundrum of different external tariffs while maintain internal free trade, the concept of Rules of Origin. The principle was simple enough to state, to benefit from free trade within the Empire the product had to be demonstrably produced within the Empire, however the practical problems with this 'simple idea' soon mounted up. Consider a simple steel bar, if it was made in a Scottish furnace with British coal, South African and Australian alloy metals, but Swedish iron ore, did that count as an Empire product? Was the measurement of allowable 'non-Empire' content by cost or volume? Did you consider the volume of the raw ore or the amount of material in the final product? Did the coal count towards the total? Certainly you could not make steel without it but there was precious little in the final product. Take these questions and apply them to a more complicated product, such as a lorry with hundreds of suppliers and thousands of components, and the scale of the problem should be clear. More seriously for those at the Conference this approach would impact on intra-Empire trade, forcing firms to jump through bureaucratic hoops to 'prove' their products were indeed eligible to be shipped tariff-free within the Empire. Essentially if it did not inconvenience exporters then the rules would be impossible to enforce and so ineffective. Thus this approach was soon ruled out and the conference was forced to turn to the other option, the one the Board of Trade civil servants had predicted would cause considerable consternation.

    The other solution was to eliminate the opportunities to exploit the system by harmonising tariffs. There were a range of ways to do this, from full blown Customs Union though to just keeping tariffs within a certain range so there were no large differentials to exploit. While this seemed harmless enough the implications were far reaching, as we have seen the income from tariffs was significant for all the governments at the Conference so any changes would require budgets to be re-balanced. Trade policy was to a large extent also foreign policy and while few in the Dominions wished to deviate from the main thrust of British policy they had become accustomed to a degree of latitude. All of the Dominions had negotiated their own trade deals, from small bi-lateral affairs through to the sprawling mess of the Southern African Customs Union, and these would all have to be co-ordinated and perhaps re-negotiated. Those in favour of the scheme pointed out that improved co-ordination would have significant advantages beyond just closing loop-holes in the existing system of Empire Free Trade. The example given was Japan, which had deliberately been adopting a policy of 'picking off' the Dominions one at a time, in the early 30s she had forced trade concessions from Canada and was now working on Australia. While Australia had responded tit-for-tat with tariffs on key Japanese trade items, her big problem was a lack of Imperial co-ordination. To ramp up pressure Japanese importers had started substituting Australian wool for woolen imports from South Africa, the UK and New Zealand. If the rest of the Empire would agree not to co-operate with such efforts the Australian negotiating position would be immeasurably enhanced and Canberra could get a far more favourable treaty. The Australian delegation was quick to realise that the 'price' of this support would be far less latitude in the negotiations, or in the case of a full Imperial Customs Union, having to negotiate as part of the Empire and not on their own account.

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    The new Chelsea Bridge over the River Thames under construction in the spring of 1937. A true product of Empire it was built from Newfoundland iron ore, South African chromium, Rhodesian copper, Douglas Fir from British Columbia and asphalt from Trinidad, in addition to Cornish granite and Yorkshire coal. While this made it a wonderful photo opportunity for the Conference attendees, the bridge would be officially opened by half a dozen Prime Ministers simultaneously, it was also a symbol of the economic challenges of Empire. The structure could have been constructed with Swedish iron ore, Turkish chromium, Chilean copper, pine from the Baltic and Iraqi asphalt. For a variety of reasons, from commercial to strategic, trade with those nations was also important and had to be maintained, not least because there were many products where the Empire alone could not supply the required quantities.

    This in the end was the crux of the matter, the political dimension of the change. The budgetary impacts could be managed and the foreign policy concerns were in practice minimal, but symbolically it would be hugely significant; the Dominions returning a power to the Empire. Indeed, given Britain's disproportionate economic and industrial weight and the massive advantage the City of London's financial firepower gave, it would be returning power mostly to London. As the dilemma was assessed as unsolvable, or at least not solvable in a palatable manner, the solution was a traditional bodged compromise. The attendees agreed to close the largest loop holes to solve the immediate problems and to setup an Imperial Trade Council to "co-ordinate" tariffs with an aim to harmonising them at some unspecified point in the future. The Council was also to review and advise on the Imperial consequences of tariffs and treaties and all parties agreed to consult with the Council before signing new deals or significantly revising duties. Quite what would happen if the advice of the Council was ignored was left unsaid, though in practice it was unlikely to matter; Britain and the Dominions were to have a single representative each and all decisions were to be unanimous, a perfect recipe for ensuring nothing actually got decided (and for provoking yet another mild row about quite what Rhodesia was). Yet from this unpromising start something significant would develop. The Council would need a permanent staff, to carry out the reviews and assess what the impacts of any trade treaty would be, there was also a need for a secretariat to support the representatives, or that at least was the firm opinion of the Whitehall Civil Servants that ended up dominating the body. As noted above there were foreign policy and defence implications in any trade deal, so the Council developed links with the Committee of Imperial Defence, a body already being roused from it's slumber by the challenges of the Wellington Project. While the Council would continue to mostly fail at it's main task of harmonising tariffs and reviewing trade treaties, or rather that would happen despite what the council did not because of it, it soon became the default clearing house for a wide range of Imperial matters as it had the staff and Dominion representatives who actually turned up and paid attention. So much so that by the time it finally dropped the 'Trade' from it's title in the early 1940s that was more a long delayed recognition of reality than an ambitious power grab.

    With the precedent of policy fudges before them, it is perhaps hardly surprising that the other major decision facing the conference was also fudged. Though it is perhaps unfair to say the decision faced the conference when it in fact only really faced one attendee; Canada. The gold standard had been good for Canada, with her currency effectively pegged to both the US Dollar and Sterling (as both were tied to gold) and with close ties to the US economy and a full member of the Sterling Area Ottawa believed it had the best of both worlds. The early 30s had seen that advantageous position shattered, as the Smoot-Hawley tariffs closed off the US and Britain had begun Imperial Preference in reaction. The British decision depart the gold standard and devalue was another blow and one that forced a decision, while the rest of the Empire had followed London the Canadians had not. While Canada had left the Gold Standard, no longer was the Canadian dollar exchangeable or officially backed by bullion, she had not devalued. The intervening years had not been kind, the continued failure of the US to devalue or offer any meaningful talks on trade and tariffs had hurt the economy badly. It was noted that while the US State Department was very keen for other people to drop their tariffs, but silent on what measures the US would take to lower her own. While Canadian Prime Minister Mackenzie King remained keen on free trade, and trade with America specifically, by the summer of 1937 he had been forced to concede this was unlikely to happen. The persistent failure of the US to reciprocate Canadian approaches, or even to consider their interests, had finally worn him down, hence his acquiescence to the Imperial Trade Council. This also explains why he had finally given in to the steady lobbying from business, the opposition parties and the banks to stop waiting for the US to devalue and get it over and done with. Thus during the conference the devaluation of the Canadian Dollar was announced, it would drop 20% compared to it's Gold Standard value and be stabilised at it's old level with Sterling. In this endeavour the Bank of Canada would receive the full support of the Bank of England and the British Treasury, not to mention it's own healthy gold reserves. After a degree of turbulence this stabilisation was achieved and the benefits began to flow into the Canadian economy, alongside the angry telegrams from the US government. In light of the events of the Autumn the devaluation is often somewhat overlooked, it was to an extent over-taken by developments elsewhere. Yet it remains worthy of note as one of the first clear, if reluctant, steps towards London and away from Washington that Canada took. That it was Prime Minister Mackenzie King that took it makes it all the more noteworthy.

    --
    Notes:
    Australian-Japanese trade and relations were complex at best and there was a surprising lack of Imperial co-ordination on these things. I am to an extent glossing over some of the issues, it was sensitive and the Imperial Trade Council (or something similar) was perhaps not the most likely outcome even after all the changes in Butterfly. But it was possible so I'm going with it.

    There absolutely was a need for something to be doing Imperial co-ordination, it was noted at the time, but nothing much happened. The Dominion Office was notionally responsible, but tended to mostly worry about Ireland and get dragged into Colonial matters like Palestine. The Committee for Imperial Defence had notionally Dominion representatives on it, but they mostly never turned up because they didn't really care about defence (that was Britain's job). Trade and tariffs however, they do care about so will turn up, something which is made easier by Imperial Airways pulling their finger out on the air route to Australia. My reasoning is that natural Whitehall empire building will kick in and the Council will attract power and jobs on the strength of actually being a meaningful link between London and the Dominions.

    The Wellington Project is of course the plans to build the Vickers Wellington in Australia and Canada and adapt it to use the Rolls Royce Merlins that Australia is building for it's Hurricanes (which probably need a moniker. If Canada is building Snow Hurricanes then Australia must have xxxx Hurricanes). In any event this means the RAAF and RCAF liaison officers are being kept busy poking the Air Ministry, Vickers and Rolls-Royce about progress, while those parties keep referring them back to the Committee on Imperial Defence just to be left alone.

    I've glossed over much of Canada's economic adventures (like the fact the Bank of Canada was only founded in 1935,the really close relationships between the new Bank and the Bank of England and the ongoing gold earmarking schemes) but they are not really relevant. What is relevant is that in OTL Canada stayed pegged to the dollar, but here the US still has not devalued and it is hurting. So after a change in President has not changed things even the arch US-ophile Mackenzie King had had to admit reality, hence devaluing down to match Sterling and trying to co-ordinate trade with London and not Washington. OTL of course the mildly deranged Cordell Hull was at the US State Department preaching free trade (for everyone else, not the US obviously) and his crazy theory that if only Hitler could get slightly better trade terms he would become a peaceful and normal politician.

    To answer the questions no-one asked. Ireland was invited but didn't turn up, because Dev loved hacking at his nose to spite his face. Hence London looks reasonable to the other Dominions for making the effort, but no-one has to actually think about Ireland. Rhodesia did get invited, even to the OTL 1937 Imperial Conference, because it's status is wilfully weird and doubtless will remain so.
     
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    Chapter CXLIII: The Consequence of Conference
  • Chapter CXLIII: The Consequence of Conference.

    Imperial Conferences spawned committees, councils and bureaus in much the same way the Stuarts spawned illegitimate children; frequently, vigorously and with precious little thought as to the consequences. There were some slight hopes that the London Economic Conference would break this trend, an Australian proposal to establish an Empire Agricultural Council was rejected when it was noted there was already an Agriculture sub-committee on the Imperial Economic Council as well as an Imperial Agricultural Bureaux. Sadly the ambitions of bureaucracy, and the enduring political value in being seen to 'do something' (even if nothing was ever actually done), were not so easily denied and the London Economic Conference would gift the Empire several new organisations before it finally concluded. In addition to the Imperial Trade Council discussed in the previous chapter there were new groups doing worthy work in quiet (such as the Brown Goods sub-committee, which would belatedly start work standardising plugs and such like across the Empire) and others that made a great show of achieving very little (the Fuel Board on the Imperial Shipping Committee mostly provided a new place for the Coal Lobby to complain about the continued existence of fuel oil). Our attention in this chapter is directed to the Capital Finance and Investment sub-committee of the Imperial Economic Council which, despite it's less than enthralling name and relatively short life, would produce some long lasting and unexpected results.

    As with many things at the Conference the starting point had been a Dominion complaint about British policy, in this case it was their objections to the British government's Export Credit Guarantee Department's remit only covering projects that were, in fact, exports (i.e. outside the Empire). This was presented as a grave threat to Imperial unity, the spectacle of British guarantees and capital being poured into foreign projects, such as the Turkish Iron & Steel Works discussed previously, when schemes in the Dominions were crying out for funding would undermine the entire economic basis of the Empire. Moreover these funding problems were impacting the facilities being built for the Wellington Project, so this would have serious defence implications unless immediately rectified. The politicians recognised a difficult looking problem when they saw it and hurriedly kicked it down to the new sub-committee, at which point the British representatives got to work determining what the issue actually was as opposed to what was being complained about. It soon emerged that the large scale works for the Wellington Project were actually mostly proceeding on schedule and, being relatively 'safe' government projects, had secured commercial funding at reasonably low rates, certainly far below the rates that the ECGD charged for its projects. Further down the supply chain however things were not so rosy and it was the myriad of smaller suppliers who were struggling to establish themselves and obtain reasonable funding. The Dominions were also concerned that if these problems were occurring on such a high priority project then similar, or worse, issue were probably afflicting lower profile schemes.

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    The crankshaft being lowered into the crankcase during construction of a Merlin engine. While the Australian government had grandly declared they wished to build the 'whole engine', as opposed to assembling kits of imported parts, the reality was proving far more challenging than they had imagined. Taking the parts in this picture, the Merlin crankshaft was made of a nickel-chrome-molybdenum steel alloy, which was shaped in a high capacity drop forge, perfectly balanced and then nitrogen hardened, while the crankcase itself was precision cast from high quality aero-grade aluminium. At this time there was no steel mill in Australia capable of producing the correct grade of steel and no aluminium refineries in the country at all (or indeed in the entire Southern Hemisphere). There were also no drop forges with the necessary capacity or any facilities for hardening the steel to the required strength. It was slowly dawning on Canberra that there was far, far more to this endeavour than just building a couple of modern factories and that London's preference for a more gradual approach might not have just been about trying to keep the work in Britain. It was quietly being discussed if allowing a small number of imported parts would be an acceptable compromise of Australia's grand aero-engineering industrialisation plans.

    The Dominions depended upon foreign capital for most of their industrialisation, being too small (Australia) or still scarred by the Depression (Canada) to generate large amounts of investable funds themselves. In practice this meant British capital as the other options that would have been acceptable had no funds and those offering funds were politically unacceptable. While the British economy was recovering well there was a certain amount of capital available and the various City institutions were very good at herding it together and then sending it out into the wider world to earn a good return. These skills were in fact a large part of the problem, while a great deal of British capital was being invested in Australia, Canada and the wider Empire (formal and informal) it was going to the 'wrong' schemes. That is to say projects that would make the best returns for the investors and not those schemes that accorded with the plans of the various governments. As an example gold mining was a popular choice for the Empire focused investor, very large scale investment was ongoing throughout the 1930s in new and expanded mines in Western Australia, Northern Ontario, the Canadian North West Territories and much of East Africa. With so much of the world economy remaining on the gold standard, and with the 'Gold Fix' conveniently priced in Sterling in London, these investments were proving far lucrative than expected, even after the costs of the additional infrastructure required to access the new mines. The delight amongst the investors at this was almost perfectly mirrored by the frustrations of the Dominion governments, who had wished to move their economies away from resource extraction and into more industrial endeavours.

    The specific problem had a simple enough solution, the extension of assured contracts and guarantees to the Wellington Project supply chain would make those firm's investments very low risk, and so more attractive, and this was duly done. The wider problem would remain, how to 'encourage' Imperial investment into the right areas and this was the meat of the committees work. It soon became apparent that it was not strictly speaking an Empire problem, there were more than enough existing links and Empire-wide banking institutions to move the money about, it was a British problem. Specifically it was another manifestation of the Macmillan Gap, the tendency of British banks to not properly support small and medium sized industries, for an admittedly very unclear definition of 'properly support' but which was generally taken to mean not offering enough long term loans to fund expansion and 'working capital'. The exact reasons and history as to why this was the case is long, contested and to a large extent irrelevant for our purposes, it is enough to say that the "gap", having been identified by the Macmillan Committee in the early 1930s (hence the name), was the subject of a number of schemes initiated by the Bank of England and Treasury in a effort to "close" it and improve the flow of funding to smaller firms. However those efforts were fairly narrowly focused on the British domestic market, had more than half an eye on minimising 'disruption' to the existing systems and, far more seriously, were not actually working. Frustration had been building within the rest of the government at this lack of progress not least within the Board of Trade (who had long pushed for a more ambitious approach) and from the more small business friendly wing of the wider Conservative party (who didn't particularly care how it got solved, just that it was sorted). With the issues raised by the committee at the conference adding Imperial and Defence implications, the problem escalated up the government's rather full priority list.

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    The Captain Flats mine in New South Wales, less than 40 miles south east of Canberra, after almost £1.5 million of investment the mine went into full production just as the Conference was opening. It was not just gold mining that brought the miners to Australia, Captain Flats was a lead-zinc pyrite mine which admittedly did produce a small amount of gold as by-product, in any event this was not the sort of diversification away from gold mining that the Australian government had been hoping for. While the mine brought with it a large investment in the Port Kembla docks, the local railways and the electrical power network, it was still a long way from the sort of industrial manufacturing development Canberra wanted to see. The issue was that Captain Flats would be a profitable mine and repay it's investors handsomely, while the 'strategic' industries the government wanted to see built had far less enticing economic prospects.

    It was the Canadian representatives on the committee who provided the answer, being less attached to the existing configuration of the British financial system they pointed out the obvious solution - stop trying to get the clearing banks to do something they didn't want to and just get someone else to do it. This was very much in line with Canada's own interventionist approach to financing, one of the first acts of the Mackenzie King government had been the Dominion Housing Act which had used generous federal co-funding to get life insurance companies involved in mortgage lending when the traditional 'trust and loan' organisations would not. To an extent this had been happening in Britain as well (though without the central government funding or direction) as so called 'extra-bank' lending had been increasing steadily for years; insurance companies and building societies dominating the mortgage market, merchant banks expanding their offerings and any number of institutions providing Hire/Purchase and leaseback financing. However this competition and 'cutting in' to the clearing banks business (as the banks saw it) had not extend to the type of loans and financing identified in the Macmillan Gap. This was, depending upon ones view, indicative that the market was either dominated by an oligarchy that squeezed out competition or was just not a particularly profitable endeavour and therefore not worth new entrants competing in. Either way change would be required and there were precious few options left; 'influence' (the Bank of England and Treasury asking the Clearing Banks to sort the matter out) had clearly failed, as had the Bank of England's efforts to improve the existing system. The stick' (making other investment opportunities less attractive through tax or regulations) was discarded due to concerns it would have undesirable side effects elsewhere, so this left only the 'carrot', making long term industrial loans a more attractive proposition. As the rates could not be raised (making the loans more expensive would defeat the object of the exercise) that meant they had to be made less risky. If the loans were safer then their low interest rate and the required long term commitment would be more acceptable and more investments would be made. However the only body in the financial system that would take the risk of default, without requiring some form of compensation, was the Bank of England and thus ultimately the Treasury.

    This was, to put it mildly, not an attractive option to the Directors of the Bank of England, yet they can be considered wildly enthusiastic as compared to the reaction from the Clearing Banks themselves. It was therefore unfortunate for both groups that there was a self-styled 'economic heretic' in No.11, Leo Amery has very little problem with enraging bankers if it would meet his goals of Imperial Unity and strengthening British industry. In a clash of wills between Governor of the Bank and the Chancellor it is the Treasury that tends to get its way, particularly if there was wider support in the government and country, which as we have seen there was. Thus was the British Investment Finance and Industrial Development corporation (BIFID) formed and operational by early the next year, that bifid also meant something split in two was undoubtedly deliberate, as even at birth the corporation would be torn between two almost incompatible objectives. The Bank of England was determined it would not disrupt the existing banking system too seriously, whereas for the government a major disruption was the entire point; if there wasn't a major step change in industrial financing and a closing of the Macmillan Gap there was no point in forming BIFID. The Governor achieved some small victories, BIFID would remain under the aegis of the Bank of England and not the Treasury for instance, but his desire to see the existing clearing banks involved was rejected, the government making it clear they very much saw those banks as part of the problem. The initial funding would instead be from the Bank of England itself and from the various non-bank financial entities who were interested in safe long term assets, pension and assurance funds chief amongst them. The exact extent of the guarantee was somewhat nebulous, the Bank of England investment would take the first loss (should any occur) while any profit not re-invested would be split equally, but beyond that it was more implication that firm commitment; the Bank was not legally obliged to cover losses, but the expectation in the City was that it would ultimately cover them to avoid the reputational damage. Ultimately this proved enough to get the corporation going and, while not every BIFID investment would be a success, the overall portfolio made a healthy return so the implied guarantee was never tested.

    Naturally BIFID included investments by British firms within the Empire in its remit, while carefully excluding notionally 'British' firms that merely had a London office and where entirely Empire based. Realising this loophole had been closed, the Canadian government would follow it's own advice and began work on the Industrial Development Bank (IDB), which would be operational in Canada before the end of the decade and, like it's British counter-part, it would be an arm of the Bank of Canada. Australia would in fact never quite get round to starting their own industrial bank, the BIFID remit would prove to be more than sufficient in encouraging British industry to setup subsidiaries in Australia, which was the main objective. By the time Australia had ambitions, and sufficient domestic capital, to go beyond that point industrial development banks had somewhat fallen out of fashion, not least due to the various problems that would engulf BIFID and IDB in their later years as their 'innovations' in securitisation and financial engineering did not develop as they had hoped. Such matters are beyond the timeframe of our work however, it is enough to say that while BIFID would face a considerable challenge from the incumbent clearing banks it would ultimately achieve it's objective and more funding would flow to British industrialists. What should also be noted that the Bank of England directors would feel they 'owed' the clearing banks something for their failure to maintain the status quo and that this marker would be called in sooner than anyone had expected with quite unexpected consequences.

    --
    Notes:
    Some people would have to tempt fate and say industrial finance seemed very interesting and that it would not scare anyone off. Let us see if they are still so confident of those opinions now. :)

    Imperial Conferences really where that bad at breeding new talking shops. So of course the Australian idea about a new agricultural council, when the Empire already had at least one, is OTL from the actual 1937 Imperial Conference. Not mentioned, because it is irrelevant yet amusing, was that the Empire somehow ended up with an Imperial Forestry Institute and an Imperial Forestry Bureau, both based in Oxford with a shared library, seconded staff, shared buildings and so on, but absolutely different things. Let us be clear on that, definitely different things. (Also the Imperial Bureau of Agricultural Parasitology was both a real thing and slightly disturbing sounding).

    The Macmillan Gap was indeed a thing, you can find a number of explanations ranging from "Evil bankers oligarchy" through to "It's Lloyd Georges fault". Naturally I prefer that explanation, which is obviously correct.
    Z3wSg01.gif
    The reasoning is thus - the main source of small/mid sized industrial investments from the Industrial revolution through to just before WW1 were mad aristocrats, the idle rich and people who had already made a fortune from industrial endeavours. The huge hike in Death Duties Lloyd George introduced, followed by WW1 and lots of lords and heirs dying off, encouraged all those people to setup trusts and other such tax-dodges, none of which could do such industrial investments as they were required by tax law to invest in sensible things (if they were to pretend to be a trust not a tax dodge). Frankly Lloyd George should have had the testicular fortitude to just tax the rich properly and not do it in such a half arsed, easily dodged and distortional way. But I digress.

    Australia has bitten off more than it can chew by building an 'entire' Merlin and is slowly realising this, OTL it was in 1938 the Australian tariff board said it would be 'unwise' to try to build an entire car in Australia and aero-engines are much more complicated. Australia (and the southern hemisphere) didn't get an Aluminium smelter until the mid 1950s in OTL and they are not quick or easy things to build. However BIFID will help with the supply chain and Australian aero policy was always madly ambitious so they will go a long way towards their goal before quietly compromising on the really difficult bits. Gold Booms are OTL, it was a busy decade for gold.

    Canada did have some interesting ideas on what a bank should do, the IDB is an OTL (if 1944) organisation and the Bank of Canada was in part setup to help funnel money to farmers and industry after the existing Canadian banking system failed to do so in the Depression. Being so dependent on the US Canada had a bad depression in OTL and it's only marginally better here, yes Imperial trade is doing much better, but the US is doing worse and the re-balancing is taking time (and being resisted by Mackenzie King to some extent). Australia never bothered with any sort of local development bank, rhetoric aside Australia has always been happy enough to ride various natural resource crazes which keeps under-cutting any industrial plans.

    BIFID is an invention, but one based on a few OTL organisations, mainly IDB and Industrial and Commercial Finance Corporation (ICFC) the British version which had been in planning since 1942 (because the pre-war efforts like Credit for Industry just hadn't worked). ICFC was in many ways a 'modern' venture capitalist, it took equity stakes and provided advice as well as loans. That seemed a bit much for 1930s Britain, but the ideas where there so a toned down version like BIFID seemed reasonable, particularly with someone like Amery as Chancellor. It will not solve every problem of British industry, but it will remove one of the excuses. BIFID will probably get involved in some massive secondary banking scandal/cockup involving securitisation sometime in the 60s, because that is the way of such things, but that is for Pip Generation 6 to worry about. If the last line seems in some way ominous, it is supposed to.
     
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    Chapter CXLIV: A Tale of Two Carbides.
  • Chapter CXLIV: A Tale of Two Carbides.

    If one wished to be counted amongst the Industrialist cognoscenti of 1930s Britain it was necessary to acquire at least a nodding familiarity with the so-called two carbides. While not all readers may aspire to such an exalted position a similar level of knowledge will still be beneficial, the two substances were at the heart of many of the industrial and trade issues in the country and the wider Empire. We begin with Tungsten Carbide which, as it's name suggests, is a combination of Tungsten and Carbon. The intricacies of the mono-carbide grains and liquid phase sintering necessary to achieve this combination need not detain us, what is important is that resulting material was both incredibly hard (being only slight softer than Diamond) and incredibly heat resistant. These properties made it ideal for use in machine tools, the exceptionally wide range of devices used to cut, grind, drill, shear or otherwise persuade metal to take on new and more useful shapes. Despite having been discovered in the mid-1920s it had taken many years for Tungsten Carbide tooling to achieve widespread use, in no small part because it was such a leap forward compared to previous materials; it is no use having a Tungsten Carbide tool capable of cutting at great speed if the rest of the machine is not capable of the same performance. The Depression had also been something of a drag on this process as there was precious little point designing new and improved machine if customers lacked the funds or inclination to purchase them. However by the early 1930s the new machines were entering the market and prompting dramatic improvements in output and productivity.

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    The Auto-Lathe Department in the Alfred Herbert Company's Edgwick Factory. As one might guess an Auto-Lathe is an automatic lathe, capable of machining simple steel bars into complex shapes with no operator input beyond loading the bar and collecting the finished item, allowing a single operator to 'work' on dozens of machines simultaneously. While the basic Auto-Lathe was not a new innovation the introduction of hydraulic operation, the other great advance in machine tool technology at the time, allowed much finer control of the machinery and enabled tighter tolerances and more standardised outputs. Hydraulics were also increasingly necessary to boost the power of many machine so they could fully utilise the capabilities of a Tungsten Carbide tooling, so even fully manually operated machines benefited from this advance. The Alfred Herbert Company was a machine tool manufacturer and these particular auto-lathes were making parts for capstan lathes, a fine example of the trend of self replication seen in many British machine tools works at the time. It is likely that many of the lathes made from the parts being produced in this photo were not sold to customers but used internally to boost production; output at Edgwick would increase dramatically in the late 1930s to meet the ever growing demands of Imperial Industry for new machinery.

    In the ordinary course of events this revolution in industrial efficiency would have passed by the political world unnoticed; no politician could plausibly, or even implausibly, claim credit for it and there was no crisis, real or imagined, that required grand intervention or angry speeches demanding such. Yet the subject still managed to rise to the attention of first Whitehall and then Westminster, not because of the impact the machinery had but due to the trading required to obtain the metal at the heart of the change. The British Empire had been, just about, self sufficient in Tungsten thanks to the rich deposits in Burma and the Malay States, but during the Abyssinian War the rapid rise in demand had overwhelmed those sources and forced industry to look elsewhere. Conveniently the largest miner of Tungsten Ore was China, the newest member of the Sterling Area and with a government always keen to earn more foreign currency (and local taxes) by selling raw materials to those with hard currency to offer. The various mining companies of the Empire, reassured by the Leith-Ross mission and the large British investments ongoing throughout the Pearl River delta, began looking to acquire, expand and modernise the Chinese Tungsten mines. The Chinese government was cautiously in favour of this, expanded production meant more revenue and their experiences with British American Tobacco had taught them that they tended to get more actual taxes out of British firms than Chinese ones, even if it was never quite as much as they thought they should. Naturally it was at this point that the political problems began and, despite the best efforts of the domestic mining lobby, they were concerned with the implications for foreign policy.

    The Chinese government were not the only ones aware of the value of it's Tungsten, the world's other powers were all involved to various degrees. Britain may not have traditionally been a major buyer but large quantities still flowed through Hong Kong and onto the wider world, often without the shippers being put to the inconvenience of paying export taxes and mining royalties. The French were substantial purchasers, it was widely (and correctly) believed the demands of the Soviet Five Year plans exceeded the USSR's own supply and that Chinese imports made up the balance and even the US, though notionally self-sufficient domestically, had bankers and traders who worked the Chinese end of the Tungsten trade. The dominant customer was Germany which traded for over half of China's total Tungsten output, trade being the operative word as Germany preferred to barter rather than spend valuable hard currency, it being widely acknowledged that the Reichsmark was of questionable utility outside Germany. Under this German influence moves had been underway in China to centralise control of the industry, in the hope this would make the government-to-government German barters easier to organise, stamp out un-taxed mining and that presenting a united front would allow Nanjing to push up prices. Keen to avoid a disruptive fight over the matter the German state-controlled company that dealt with China, Hapro (Handelsgesellschaft für industrielle Produkte, Trading Company for Industrial Products), proposed a tri-partite agreement. A joint Anglo-Sino-German board to oversee the Chinese Tungsten trade, in the short term this would allow China to supply Britain without affecting it's valued trade with Germany (this would be achieved by squeezing it's French and Soviet exports) and beyond that it would co-ordinate expansion and 'guarantee' that future British investment would not fall under direct Chinese government control or be nationalised. In a gesture to London's concerns about overt governmental involvement it was proposed that a suitable firm, ideally the state-sponsored but notionally independent British Metal Corporation, be the British representative; BMC already had deep links with the German metals industry through it's cross-holdings in the influential Metallgesllschaft trading and refining company based out of Frankfurt. The deal would thus be between two 'private' companies, BMC and Hapro, and the Chinese government and would be modelled on the many producer/consumer cartels that proliferated in the 1920s and 30s.

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    South Crofty Tin Mine, Cornwall, showing the New Cook's Kitchen shaft headworks and gear. Technically the British Isles had tungsten reserves and these were generally found within tin mineralisation, so the beleaguered tin industry was quick to spot the opportunity. Intense lobbying began with the aim of securing domestic 'support' for tungsten production through loans, import tariffs, quotas and all the usual tools of protectionism. With plenty of Empire sources that could be expanded, and already entangled in a messy fight with coal mining industry, the government found it easy to ignore those demands, much as successive governments had done since the end of the Great War. The tin miners case was not helped by the divisions within the industry; most of the major Cornish mine owners also had large holdings in the Malay tin mines, those deposit being easier to work and so much more profitable. It is worth noting that South Crofty itself had been shut during the tin price slump of the early 1920s and had only re-opened due to the International Tin Control Scheme stabilising the price, the tin control scheme being quoted as one of the models for the German tri-partite Tungsten board proposal.

    Such a scheme would serve Chinese interests by increasing Nanjing's control of the industry and in keeping both Germany and Britain engaged with China, the need to avoid dependence on any one foreign power being a core pillar of any Chinese policy. Germany, aware that hard currency was normally preferred to barter (if only because barter was limited by what Germany had to offer), hoped the board would head off a bidding war with Britain which they feared they might lose, but there were also deeper motives. The dream of an Anglo-German alliance was not dead in Berlin, indeed the ongoing co-operation with Britain over the civil war in Spain and the visible disintegration of the Entente Cordiale encouraged many to dream it was a real possibility, even the more hard-headed diplomats around Foreign Minister von Neuarth believed better relations and perhaps some sort of non-aggression/non-intervention pact may be possible. To this end co-operation with Britain was seen to have a strategic and diplomatic value even above the economic benefits. Naturally the diplomats in Whitehall were aware of this, the German Embassy had been assiduously promoting such an 'understanding' for many years, and could understand the logic even as they recoiled from the implications. The Foreign Office may have been concerned by the drift of British foreign policy towards Splendid Isolation (as they saw it), and was resigned to the fact that recent French actions, or lack of them, had done serious damage to any hopes of reviving the Entente, but that did not make them in any way keen on a German alliance. The various Anglo-German friendships and fellowships were at best fringe movements, between fascisms apparent failures and the perception that the Amsterdam Conference had rectified the "unfair" mistakes of Versailles those groups were declining in members and influence. However von Neuarth had pitched the idea well, not asking for governmental involvement just a nominated private firm and deliberately referencing the many other councils, schemes and boards that were working to control supply and price of raw materials, hinting that once the Tungsten board was established it could be expanded to include other nations and suppliers. The various British officials inside the Chinese government reported back on the popularity of the scheme in Nanjing, noting that a properly taxed and controlled mining industry would further bolster government finances and the currency board, so reducing the reliance on British guarantees, a conclusion which was enough to get the Treasury and Board of Trade on side. Despite all this the Cabinet still hedged, going for the formulation of 'not objecting' to BMC's involvement instead of actively approving of the scheme. It is also worth noting that firm support for increasing production from Empire sources was expressed and this translated into action, the still new Dominion of Burma in particular enthusiastically encouraging the expansion of her existing mines and the establishment of new ones. For all that the Chinese Tungsten Control Board would be in operation by the start of November 1937, just in time to set the quotas for the following year, and the facade of the British government not being involved would fool approximately no-one.

    Leaving Tungsten behind we turn to the other carbide, Calcium Carbide. Where Tungsten Carbide had very few uses, vitally important though those were, Calcium Carbide was used far more widely. A fairly innocuous looking off-white powder it was used in it's raw form in steel making and a range of niche applications from mining lamps to naval flares, where it became vital was in the chemistry industry; it was the raw material used to make the important fertiliser calcium cyanamide and far more crucially acetylene. Acetylene was a vital feedstock to many chemical works, eventually finding it's way into all manner of plastics, acrylics, paints and polymers, but it was not this which made the material strategic, it was the it's use as the fuel in the oxy-acetylene blowtorch. While over-shadowed by later technologies, and indeed it's rival at the time electrical arc welding, for many years oxy-acetylene was the preferred method of welding in applications ranging from shipbuilding to construction, it's use in Britain would rise exponentially during the boilermakers strike as firms who had been unsure about welding were forced to adopt it or see their works shut. As was often the case, once the initial change had been made few managers wanted to return to the old method of riveting even when the strike was finally resolved, ensuring the 'temporary' boost to acetylene demand (and so calcium carbide) from the strike was in fact permanent. Britain lacked any working facilities for the manufacture of Calcium Carbide and depended entirely upon imports, the vast majority of which came from outside the Empire (though from within the Sterling Area) and unlike tungsten the importance of the materail was well known across Whitehall and, more surprisingly, the issue of supply was regularly discussed by Parliament. The reason for the interest was due to the method of manufacture of Calcium Carbide, essentially one placed limestone and coking coal into an arc furnace and applied a great deal of electricity until the Calcium Carbide was formed. To an MP for a depressed mining region this was an irresistible prospect, a strategically important product produced by a simple process which required coal as one of the key ingredients and needed a large amount of electricity, which would obviously come from a coal fired power station. On top of that there would be jobs for miners in the limestone quarry and the carbide works could be just the start of larger things, an entire chemical works cluster could form around the new factory to make use of the carbide and the many by-products. There was but one slight problem, you couldn't economically produce calcium carbide using coal-derived electricity as it was far too expensive, which was why British imports came from Norway which had a vast excess of cheap hydropower.

    Broadly speaking the government had viewed Calcium Carbide as desirable but not essential in terms of domestic production; important, but not worth expending any taxpayer funds supporting. This was not just ideological, though that played a part, it was also a reflection of certain economic realities. Autarky was seen as incompatible with Britain's economic and financial position in the world and maintaining the standard of living enjoyed by the British people, therefore some materials were always going to be imported and some of those would be items deemed 'strategic'. Protecting said imports was the job of the Royal Navy and the Admiralty was expressing confidence that with ASDIC they had conquered the submarine menace, thus it was 'safe' to rely on cheaper foreign supplies for certain items, freeing up funds for more useful endeavours. This comforting equation had been somewhat shaken by the Abyssinian War, while the Royal Navy had indeed protected British trade from the predations of Italian submarines (even if the Admiralty was privately concerned at their failure to actually sink any enemy submarines), the Norwegian supplies had not been as reliable as hoped. More precisely the Norwegians had reliably supplied at pre-war levels but the manufacturers were disinclined to massively ramp up production to meet the increased wartime demand, doubtless concerned that they would struggle to recoup the costs of the required investments should demand return to pre-war levels. It was into this febrile atmosphere that the Caledonian Power scheme was once again proposed.

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    A view down the penstocks running from the Ben Nevis tunnel towards the power station and aluminium smelter in Fort William, the foundations of which can just be seen in the distance. The Lochaber Water Power Scheme had been one of the most ambitious of it's type, the water transfer tunnel through the heart of Ben Nevis was 5m in diameter and 15miles long, making it the longest water tunnel in the world at the time and for many decades after. Constructed in less than five years the scheme had been a considerable success for the British Aluminium Company and the directors were looking at further expansion, although like calcium carbide production aluminium smelters required large amounts of cheap power, tying the company to a limited range of sites if it wished to be competitive. Hoping to follow the lead of various defence contractors the firm had started discussion with the Australian government and had identified a number of possible locations across Tasmania and New South Wales which had potential. In the UK the success of Lochaber, and the fact it actually came in on budget, gave comfort to the promoters of Caledonian Power that their scheme could be delivered to the time and cost the civil engineers promised.

    The scheme was developed by the British Oxygen Company (BOC) and proposed to use the vast water power potential of the Scottish highlands to produce cheap electricity which could then be used to power a carbide works, specifically the scheme envisaged damning Loch Quoich, tunnelling to Fort William and constructing a new hydropower plant and carbide works there. There was already a large aluminium works in Fort William, powered by the Lochaber hydropower scheme, so this was not a particularly innovative idea but was all the more attractive for that, it was believed the challenges and risks were political and not technical. Thanks to the unique way the British planning system worked a private members bill was required to gain the powers necessary to construct the scheme, so BOC convinced the local MPs of the worth of the project and started the process. The government was nominally supportive, the Ministry for Defence Co-ordination hoped to have one less 'strategic' material to worry about and the Treasury always supported a plan to reduce imports without requiring government funding, yet the cabinet decided to remain neutral, correctly foreseeing how bitter things would become. As feared the opposition was fierce, alongside the usual complaints any development attracts the scheme was particularly attacked by MPs from South Wales and the North East of England. This was not out of any particular care for the impact on the River Ness or desire to support the indigents of Inverness, but concern at seeing their own hopes of the carbide works coming to their constituency vanish. The political facts were that South Wales and the North East were 'Special Areas', regions that had been hit especially hard by the Depression and had still not recovered, the general economic boom not extending to a full recovery of the coal export trade. All else being equal the government would have preferred the works to be located in a 'Special Area' and technically that was possible, but of course all else was not equal as it so rarely is. BOC would build Caledonian Power at their own cost, some £3 million, and while angling for reduced rates would not require subsidy nor quota, something any other scheme would require in order to be viable. The BOC directors had also made it clear that if the scheme was knocked back they would abandon the idea and instead listen to their City advisor's proposed solution, use their financial firepower to buy Norway's A/S Odda Smeltsverk and secure their supplies by that means. The choice therefore was not South Wales, the North East or the Highlands, but the Highlands or Norway. Framed that way, as Minister for Co-ordination of Defence Macmillan did in his speech to the house, it was a choice about whether parliament wanted Britain to invest in her own industries and facilities or turn to banking and finance to solve her problems. In truth that was a false framing, even if the choice had been that stark the Caledonian Power Bill was by definition a one off piece of legislation and £3 million, as large a sum as it was, was insignificant compared to the annual spend of British companies on new plant, let alone the sums the City dealt with on a daily basis. But as an indication of what Parliament and to an extent government wanted it is instructive, they would like to favour industry over finance, they just didn't want to spend any public money while doing so, a limitation which somewhat limited their options, though from another perspective it also limited the damage they could do. The Caledonian Power Bill would eventually get royal assent in the spring of 1938 after an especially bitter committee stage and construction began shortly after, the Fort William works would produce their first batch of Calcium Carbide in May 1941 and reach full production by the summer. In a typically British coda the City banks that had advised BOC pushed ahead with their proposed deal even after BOC dropped the idea, putting together a consortium of Imperial investment funds and unit trusts to purchase Odda Smeltsverk and completing the purchase before the Caledonian Power Bill had even had it's second reading. The bankers and investors believed that they had a good few years until the Fort William works would be operational and that given the ever increasing demand there would still be substantial UK demand for imports even after the works were in full production, in both cases they were proved correct. The economic dominance of the City was not so easily broken and it would take more than one scheme or one parliamentary vote, no matter how symbolic it's supporters believed it to be, to change that.

    ---
    Notes:
    It is done! I hope you will all bask in the shade of it's industrial magnificence. I decided to dial down the excessive chemical industry details compared to my first drafts, for instance I could have included some more detail on cyanamide, or cyanamid as the Americans then knew it, but I decided the balance of convenience was in favour of not proceeding with it. That previous sentence contains one of the most niche references I have ever made, bonus points to anyone who is not Le Jones getting it without using google. In any event I kept in 'liquid phase sintering' and have high hopes about DB's reaction to reading it, if nothing else I'm fairly certain no-one else has ever used that particular phrase in any other AAR.

    But onto the actual chapter, people occasionally ask about the game lurking beneath Butterfly Effect, I hope the in-game inspiration for this chapter is clear enough. To return to the discussion on dates we have been having recently these events are a good example of why they are tricky, Tungsten Carbide did take a long time to roll our and improve everyone's machine tools, not just in Britain but across the world, so there was no single date or even a year where you could say that was "when" it happened, it was an on-going process. Hapro and the German Tungsten trade are OTL, the long complex story of BMC and Metallgesllschaft is OTL (and not discussed here because it is irrelevant to the current point), however the Tungsten Tri-Partite board is not. OTL China did start centralising the Tungsten trade to better deal with Germany, but then Germany pivoted to Japan and that whole Sino-Japanese War broke out which distracted them somewhat. Here Germany is still interested in China, China is a bit more stable and Britain needs more Tungsten than OTL, so it seemed possible. Certainly there were a huge number of cartels, boards and control agreements for almost every other raw material, it was a very 1920s/30s solution.

    On the bigger picture Berlin (Hitler) still likes the idea of an Anglo-German alliance so he can focus on the wars he wants to fight without worrying about blockade, so he keeps getting it pushed and London keeps having to politely refuse. However German and British interests do keep aligning (China, Spanish Civil War, not keen on communism, etc) and it is making the Foreign Office nervous, they worry other people will start assuming there is some Anglo-German understanding even when their most definitely isn't (in London anyway).

    Onto Calicum Carbide, the Caledonian power scheme came around several times in OTL and was regularly knocked back. BOC did eventually get the hint and brought A/S Odda Smeltsverk in August 1937, ramping up production there and building up massive stockpiles in the UK, they could see that war was coming and it was a good thing they did. BOC did still come round again after that, but parliament voted against it again even when BOC offered to build some works in Port Talbot to buy off the Welsh vote. Here the government is a little more interventionist and a little more aware of the issues around supply, not by much but enough to speak out a little more firmly in favour of the scheme versus their fairly diffident response of OTL, and that is enough to tip what had been some fairly close votes. After all in OTL it was Inskip as MoDC speaking out and he was ineffective at best, Macmillan is both a lot wetter (in 1938 he would publish The Middle Way and argue for a mixed economy with loads of state intervention) and more effective in parliament. Not sure he could have pushed through an actual subsidy, but just allowing a mildly controversial scheme seemed possible. Also an excuse for some pictures of the Lochaber scheme which remains deeply impressive.

    I decided to have the City still buying the Norwegian Smeltsverk just to remind everyone that 1930s Britain was not an industrially focused country and is not easily going to become one, it has a large industrial base of course (some of it world class, some not so much), but that is not where it shines, even if a large chunk of the country and parliament would wish otherwise.
     
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    Chapter CXLV: A Cooled Head in a Crisis Part I
  • Chapter CXLV: A Cooled Head in a Crisis Part I.

    The Cooling Crisis is a convenient shorthand to describe the throng of concerns and long standing issues that all came to a head inside the Air Ministry in the Summer of 1937, before overflowing into the wider government. It must also be admitted that while the challenges of cooling high powered aero-engines were the notional cause of the crisis they were not the issues at the heart of the matter, if they were then the entire affair would probably never have become a crisis; Like any government department worth its salt the Air Ministry preferred to keep problems 'in house' and would doubtless have kept the matter from rising to the attention of the cabinet if that had been at all possible. That they failed to do so is due to the far reaching tendrils of the affair, dragging in the Foreign and Dominion Offices and touching on the ever contentious issues around industrial policy. The roots of the technical and political problems went back many years, but the specific trigger was the problems with the Arctic version of the Handley Page Hampden bomber. The standard Hampden in RAF service used Bristol Pegasus engines and was serving well, there was little wrong with the basic airframe, or at least little wrong that wasn't well known; it's nickname of 'The Flying Suitcase' was not exactly a sign of affection from the aircrew who had to squeeze into it. The Arctic version, which had been sold to Sweden and then selected by the Royal Canadian Air Force as an interim until the Wellington became available, came with Napier Dagger engines and was leading a far more troubled life. As one would guess from the chapter title the Dagger engine had severe problems with cooling, managing the impressive feat of over-heating on the ground then being over-cooled and seizing up while flying at altitude. While the full extent of the problem had been kept hidden from the Swedes and Canadians they had become aware there was an issue and were growing impatient with the lack of information. By the summer of 1937 the Foreign and Dominion Offices became involved as the queries had reached the diplomatic level, the Foreign Office was quick to warn of the strategic and diplomatic consequences should the Swedes drop the deal and instead turn to German suppliers, while the Dominion Office fretted about the Canadians turning to US engine suppliers or worse just buying an entirely American design, finally the Board of Trade were quick to complain about the prospect of losing either deal and the negative consequences for future sales to anybody else. None of this political pressure actually helped solve the problem, but it did ensure that the cabinet was taking a close interest in the Air Ministry's efforts, which was unfortunate for them given what was to follow.

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    The Napier H-24 Dagger VIII engine, as used in the Arctic Hampden, viewed from the supercharger end, the distinctive 'tall and narrow' profile of the H-block layout is apparent. Designed by Frank Halford the key feature of the Dagger was not it's air-cooling or the H-block layout but it's small power stroke and very fast spinning camshaft. Where other designers had sought extra engine power by making cylinders larger or just adding more of them, Halford had instead sought to increase revs, the Dagger running at 4,200 rpm for take-off where the Pegasus barely hit 2,500 rpm. The result was that that the 17L displacement Dagger produced the same power as the near 29L Pegasus, resulting in a more compact engine with considerably better fuel efficiency. The Achilles Heel of the Dagger was cooling, the earlier lower powered marks had just about managed reliable performance but managing the extra heat from the 1,000hp Mk.VIII would prove to be a far more difficult problem. As Napier specified ever larger ducts and intakes to try and stop the engine over-heating on the ground, they only made the over-cooling problem at altitude worse.

    Technically speaking there was a very easy solution, take out the Dagger and put in the Pegasus engine from the RAF's version of the Hampden, just in case this proved necessary a number of engines from the Bristol production line were earmarked for the purpose. While the loss of range would be noticeable it was felt it wouldn't be enough for either customer to cancel the deal and the Pegasus itself was still being developed, so there was a small hope it would 'catch up' the difference by the time it came to deliver the final aircraft. It would however be an embarrassing to have to admit that the Dagger did not work as promised and failing to live up to the sales pitch would make future foreign sales trickier, hence the preferred solution was for Napier and Handley Page to properly fix the original design. This was where the real problems started, because the Air Ministry technical section was starting to have grave doubts that Napier had the capacity or even ability to do so. The high revving, H-block design concept was not a new idea, the Dagger was a development of the earlier and smaller Rapier engine and this was not a promising starting point. The Rapier had seen limited use, partly due to concerns over it's novelty but mostly because it proved to have terrible problems with cooling. To make matters worse for Napier they had inadvertently damaged their position with their planned follow up to the Dagger, provisionally called the Sabre, which they proposed should retain the same H-block layout and hi-revving concept but would be water cooled. Many in the Air Ministry saw that choice as an admission that either the Dagger's air-cooled approach was fundamentally flawed in some way or that Napier did not know what they were doing with air cooling. Neither option appealed, nor did the possibility that both answers were correct.

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    The Fairey Seafox prototype undergoing trials, note the 'tall and narrow' profile of the nose which indicates the presence of a H-block engine, in this case the Napier Rapier. Developed as a spotter-reconnaissance floatplane for the Royal Navy's light cruisers the Seafox was one of the last Fleet Air Arm aircraft to result from an Air Ministry specification and selection. As the Seafox was the only production aircraft to use the Rapier it fell to the FAA to deal with the problems of that engine, not least it's chronic cooling problems and the lack of power compared to what had been promised. While the Fairey airframe proved robust and manoeuvrable the Fifth Sea Lord began to suspect the FAA had been sold a pup with the engine, which to a large extent they had been. Strictly speaking there was no need for the Seafox at all, the FAA could just have procured more of their standard float planes, but the Air Ministry had wished to 'spread the work around' to Fairey, and especially to Napier, so had pushed the design through. The Admiralty vigorously indicating their unwillingness to receive sub-standard machinery just to help the industrial planning requirements of the Air Ministry would be one of the spicier strands of the Crisis.

    While officialdom losing faith in their ability was a serious problem for Napier, who were almost completely dependent on military contracts for their survival, it was also a serious embarrassment for the Air Ministry, because Napier was an 'approved firm' and a member of the Ring. The Ring was the Air Ministry's scheme for maintaining capacity in the aircraft industry, after a shake-out in the immediate post-Great War period the industry had stabilised around a few key firms that the Ministry wished to see stay in the business of military aircraft and was prepared to support with orders and contracts to ensure that they did. The Ring can be seen as similar to the various Admiralty schemes to mothball and retain capacity for armour plate and large calibre gun construction, like their naval counterparts the Air Ministry sought to retain both design and production capacity and to keep research and development progressing even if it was not justifiable on purely commercial grounds. It is interesting to note at this point that the Army had no such scheme for tank or armoured vehicle manufacturers, it was the private sector efforts of Vickers and a few other key firms that kept that industry alive, a striking example of the defence priorities of successive governments.

    The Air Ministry Ring of Approved Engine Manufacturers
    • Armstrong Siddeley
    • Bristol
    • De Havilland
    • Napier
    • Rolls Royce
    Notes;
    (1) There was a separate Ring for airframe manufactures
    (2) Some entities (Bristol, De Havilland and the Armstrong group) appeared on both lists, but significantly some did not.

    Napier had earned their place in the Ring on the strength of the superlative Lion engine, a masterpiece of no-compromise design produced by one of the greatest engine designers of his generation, Arthur Rowledge. Boasting the bold choice of a W-12 configuration the Lion had incorporated countless advanced or innovative features and would find it's way into over 160 aircraft types, including dozens of RAF types, and would at various points power the Schneider Trophy winner and the World Land Speed and World Water Speed record holders. There were but two problems; firstly the Lion had been designed in 1917 so by the mid-1930s it was thoroughly obsolete and secondly Rowledge had long since left Napier to work for Rolls Royce, taking most of his design team with him. To be blunt it was dawning on the Air Ministry that Napier had designed a grand total of three engines since Rowledge had departed the firm in 1922 and none of them had actually worked properly. From a certain perspective this was not actually a problem, one of the justifications for the Ring was to provide the stability and support for engine manufacturers to develop new concepts without being afraid that failure would bankrupt them. As not every new idea would work out as hoped the Air Ministry would end up backing ideas that 'failed' and the manufacturer should not be punished for this. The counter-argument was that fifteen years support was surely enough time for Napier to have produced something valuable, even the incredibly complex sleeve valve project had only take Bristol five years to (mostly) get the hang of.

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    The racing power boat Miss Britain III being lowered into Poole Water prior to a race in 1933. At the heart of the aluminium clad hull sat a single Napier Lion VIID engine, the ultimate racing variant of the design and the last great hurrah of Sir Montague Napier before his death. Through supercharging and careful tuning the Napier engineers had coaxed 1,350hp out of the engine, a staggering figure when one considered the standard Lion in RAF service managed a shade under 500hp, though in fairness the engine could only manage such outputs briefly before needing an overhaul. While Miss Britain III would narrowly lose the Harmworth Trophy she would go on to win many races both in the UK and abroad, not least the prestigious Count Volpi Trophy in Venice, embarrassing Mussolini and the Regia Marina sponsored Italian entrants. These victories, and the many other triumphs for Lion powered craft on land, sea and air, had helped to mask the failure of Napier to successfully develop any sort of replacement engine. Alongside the troubled Dagger and Rapier they had also produced the mostly pointless Javelin, intended for the light aircraft market only a handful were sold as their intended customers chose the more powerful and more reliable Gypsy Six engine from De Havilland.

    While this debate continued within the technical section of the Air Ministry the more urgent question of how to fix the Dagger was being considered. The Royal Aircraft Establishment at Farnborough were asked to look at it, but the Air Ministry decided to bring in some industry expertise as well. With Rolls Royce and Bristol considered too busy on other vital projects the obvious choice from the Ring was Armstrong Siddeley Motors (ASM), the firm had experience of air cooled engines and as part of the Hakwer-Siddeley grouping had a wise range of other expertise they could draw on. Unfortunately for the Air Ministry this approach did not help with the Dagger problem, instead it brought to the surface the problems that ASM were having with their new engine designs which, with a grim sense of inevitability, it soon emerged were related to cooling. As mentioned ASM were thought to be knowledgeable about this matter, they owed their place in the Ring not to a single great engine but a large family of good ones, the 'big cat' air cooled radials. So large and successful was that family of engines that the designers ran out of actual big cat names to use, for instance the 5 cylinder Mongoose engine gave good service in the RAF's training aircraft and shared many details and parts with it's larger brethren, but a Mongoose is at best a cat-like creature. Names were not the only thing that the 'big cat' engine family was running out of however, far more seriously the basic design was also reaching the limit of it's development by the early 1930s, in particular the lack of a central bearing between the two rows of the larger engine was proving a major bottleneck to further increases in either cylinder volume or RPM, the two main methods of increasing an engines power.

    Recognising this the company had started developing it's next generation of engines, the dog family, which for our purposes began with the Hyena. The Hyena's 15 cylinders were arranged in three rows of five, three rows not being unusual enough the designers had then arranged the cylinders of each row inline behind the first row. Conventionally in a two row engine the two rows were staggered, to maximise the possible air flow and ensure the first row did not block air flow to the second row. This was impractical for a three row engine so ASM made a virtue of necessity and adopted the in line approach, vastly simplifying the valve and cam arrangements and relying on careful ducting and baffling to achieve the required cooling. While the Hyena itself encountered serious problems during testing the basic concept was promising enough to get an Air Ministry development contract for an improved version, the 21 cylinder Deerhound, which was projected to be capable of 1,500hp. Work had started in late 1935 and the Air Ministry had the engine tagged as an alternative/backup for the Bristol Hercules as part of their portfolio approach to engine development which required that any important engine programme should always have at least one backup. By mid 1937 the Deerhound prototypes were running and encountering problems with cooling, the airflow over the rear most row of cylinders was far too low and they were over-heating. It was at this point that the Air Ministry approached ASM asking for help with the Dagger issue, prompting the panic in certain parts of the Ministry to rise another few notches as it appeared that another member of the Ring was also unable to properly cool their engines. Proper investigation would eventually reveal a subtly different problem, namely a disconnect between the engineers at ASM (who, based on the problems encountered with Hyena, wanted the Deerhound to be water cooled) and the management (who wanted it to be air cooled, because they knew that was the configuration the Air Ministry would prefer if the Deerhound was to be backup for the equally air cooled Bristol Hercules). That the Air Ministry technical section had not flagged this up prior to the Deerhound being approved became another concern to add to the pile, but in the short term the Ministry still had the Dagger issue to solve so turned to the next member of the Ring, De Havilland.

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    The only application of the Armstrong Siddeley Hyena engine, the Armstrong Whitworth A.W.16 fighter, the distinctive 'air holes' in the nose line up with the cylinders behind and were intended to channel the cooling air to where it was needed. It must be noted that the Hyena was only fitted as an experiment to trial the engine, the standard hyena had conventional Panther engines. The A.W.16 failed to find favour with the RAF and instead found it's niche in China, the Hong Kong based Far Eastern Aviation Company selling 16 of them to the Kwangsi Air Force in the early 1930s, Kwangsi perhaps being more commonly known as the Guangxi Clique. Keen biologists may note that the Hyena, despite appearances and reputation, is technically a member of the cat family and is classified as Feliformia or cat-like. Some have suggested this is deliberate by ASM, the name chosen to represent the transition between cat and dog. While this is an elegant suggestion there is the slight flaw that ASM's first dog engine was actually the Mastiff, a heavily modified Tiger engine used to test various metallurgical and design concepts and so would have very much suited the name Hyena. A more relevant parallel is perhaps the one between ASM's understanding of taxonomy and their understanding of air-cooled engines, in both cases they had a decent understanding of the basics but were unaware of all the details and that occasionally led them into error.

    De Havilland's place in the engine Ring was a slightly odd one at first glance, at this point their most powerful engine was the then brand new 425hp V-12 Gipsy King which developed enough power for the new Albatross Airliner and other commercial aircraft, but was deeply inadequate for any fighter or bomber with pretensions of being competitive. The explanation was that De Havilland's engines were widely used by the utility, communication and above all training aircraft of the RAF, roles were power was relatively unimportant but reliability, ease of maintenance and low cost were crucial. Naturally this meant De Havilland engines were all air cooled, that being the cheap and low maintenance option, so there was a certain logic in the Air Ministry turning to them. This was not the only reason however, it is apparent there was considerable concern about how competent the firms of the Ring actually were, with doubts circling around both Napier and Armstrong Siddeley, so bringing in De Havilland was also a chance to find out how wide spread the problem was. It is instructive to note that at no stage were doubts about Bristol or Rolls Royce expressed, Bristol's extensive track record of sales and licensing of air cooled engines being an eloquent enough defence of their skills, while the technical expertise of Rolls Royce was so taken for granted that no-one even thought to ask. As the De Havilland team got to work they essentially ignored the engine itself and focused on the installation, taking the Arctic Hampden trial aircraft and adjusting the exhaust and cooling outtakes on the wings. To the considerable surprise of the representatives from the Air Ministry these seemingly small tweaks worked, while the Dagger-engined Hampdens would never break records for reliability they would be good enough and that was all that was required. The explanation from De Havilland was quite simple, in their view cooling was not a problem of trying to force air into the front of the engine but about keeping the air pressure low at the exit, provided that was done correctly it would pull through the required volume of air. This implied that Napier, who had been focused on trying to control how much air went into the engine, had been looking at the wrong end of the problem for about a decade. Damning as that was on Napier, the Air Ministry realised that they had also failed to spot this issue despite it apparently being well known in the wider industry.

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    The Armstrong Whitworth A.W.38 Whitely shown in 'level' flight, it's distinctive nose-down angle being a feature of the design. The chief designer of the Whitley had been entirely unaware of the possibility of fitting flaps to the wings, so had instead just angled the entire wing down by 8º to achieve the same aerodynamic effect. While this did ensure the aircraft had a safe landing speed and could fit on the standard RAF runway, it did result in the aircraft flying with the same 8º down angle line of flight. While flaps were added to the design after initial testing the wings were never adjusted and remained angled on the production aircraft. This failure did not just result in a mildly ridiculous looking aircraft, but one that had considerably more drag than it should and so a lower top speed and shorter range. As the Air Ministry grappled with questions of how to share knowledge throughout the industry the example of the Whitely served as a reminder that similar issues afflicted the airframe design side of the industry.

    While the nominal issue had been solved and the Arctic Hampden would go on to give entirely adequate service, it had left behind a string of problems that had managed to rise to the political level. While most of the cabinet were happy to move on once the panic had been solved, the Treasury and the Minister for Defence Co-ordination remained interested in aviation affairs. The Treasury were concerned that the Ring had been a waste of money, funding firms for not obvious benefit, and wanted to make sure there was some reform of the scheme to stop that happening again, Defence Co-ordination merely spotted a chance to expand their influence and leapt on it. As mentioned previously the Admiralty were no longer willing to accept 'bad' aircraft because the Air Ministry needed to keep the Ring in business, yet there clearly was a need to keep valuable defence industries supported during the lean times. Who better than an independent ministry, like the MoDC, to mediate the demands of the Air Ministry and Fleet Air Arm and oversee a co-ordinated policy? While the Air Ministry civil servants started a strong counter-attack to prevent this bureaucratic land grab, finding temporary allies in the Fleet Air Arm who had no desire to lose the control they had only just gained, the Air Board grappled with the actual problems thrown up by the Crisis. As they saw it there were three issues that needed dealing with;
    1. Which firms should be in the Ring
    2. How to properly disseminate knowledge and research around the industry
    3. How to stop the Admiralty disrupting the Ring and duplicating their efforts
    Notably absent from this list is any discussion on whether the entire Ring concept should be re-considered, the Air Ministry had very rapidly decided that the basic idea was correct and all that was required was some tweaking and not anything precipitate or dramatic. However they would soon discover that even these deliberately limited aims would throw up some unfortunate discoveries and tricky decisions.

    ---
    Notes:
    A few thousand words on engine design and British aero-industry industrial policy. I considered just ploughing on through to what the Air Ministry will do about the problem, but I decided this had got long enough so you have a Part 2 to look forward to. You may, or may not, have noticed a lot more pictures in this one, it is a slight tweak to the format so any comment on that would be appreciated, even if it is just to say you hadn't noticed anything different.

    The actual engine problems are all OTL, but the crisis was not. The Dagger engined Hampden (or Hereford as it was called in OTL) did not work very well, but as it was only ever in RAF service, and only ordered in case of a shortfall in Pegasus engine production (which never occurred), they just cancelled the order and converted them across to standard Hampdens. In Butterfly I think I have explained why that is not an option and so when various non-technical people start looking around they do notice a great many engine companies seemingly struggling with engine cooling and over-react, as the Air Ministry often did. They were a bit highly strung and prone to panics, which probably made it a tense place to work but overall they were probably one of the better inter-war ministries, certainly compared to say the French or German air departments. The Ring was of course OTL and there are a few questionable aircraft and indeed engine decisions they made that only make sense once you know they were trying to keep certain firms in business, the Seafox being just one example of their use of the Fleet Air Arm as a handy dumping ground for such aircraft. This is no longer an option and that will cause problems, as we shall see.

    Napier are an odd bunch, a bit more on them in Part 2 as they fight to stay in the Ring, but they appear to have not really recovered from Rowledge leaving the firm. Because Rowledge really was that good, at Rolls Royce he would do Kestrel, Buzzard, the 'R' racing engine and a great deal of work on the Merlin, we are just around the time when you start to need teams to do engine work so it was not all him, but as started he did take his team with him when he left Napier so it was a hell of a blow. They had enough left to continue to tweak the Lion engine and it was a record breaking monster, but they struggled with a replacement. I quite like the dock photo with Miss Britain III in it and power boat racing / world water speed records seemed to excite the public imagination a lot more in the 30s than now.

    So we come to Armstrong Siddeley Motors and our discussion on taxonomy. Hyenas are indeed part of the cat family, or cat-like feliformia should one wish to be precise. Morphologically (that is bodily structures and appearance) wise they do definitely look like dogs, but phylogenetically (that is the actual DNA and evolutionary relationship) they are much closer to cats, they also have a great many behaviours around parenting, marking territory and so on which are more feline-esque. As noted it would therefore be absolutely ideal for ASM to have used that name for their experimental transitionary engine, the one in between the 'big cat' and the 'dog' engines and had traits of both, but alas the opportunity was missed. One the actual engines, ASM did good but not amazing designs, the larger ones mostly ended up in Armstrong Whitworth and Avro designs (because all three companies were part of the same group), but they also provided a great many small low power engines for trainers, etc. The problems with Deerhound are OTL and best I can tell the engineers knew they had a problem, but management was telling the Air Ministry what the civil servants wanted to hear to get the contract. I suspect it was a corporate infighting issue as well, right around the time Deerhound got the development contract the bigger Hawker merger/takeover was happening, so a nice big contract win would help convince Hawker management to keep the engine division going. No proof of that, but it seems plausible to me. In any event it has now gone wrong and the Air Ministry are staring at them asking awkward questions (because the Air Ministry is also being asked awkward questions in Whitehall and wants to share the pain around).

    De Havilland's fix for the Dagger is actually OTL, because in OTL the Dagger also ended up in the Hawker Hector biplane and didn't work their either. Here Churchill killed the biplanes, so the Hector never happened so wasn't mentioned. When De Havilland got asked to look at the Dagger they focused on the out-takes, pulling air out not trying to force it in, certainly that approach makes sense to me - if the way out is constricted then the airflow is always going to be limited. That also allows for the intakes to be made a bit smaller and so also help the over cooling at height issue (over cooling is when the engine oil drops below minimum temperature and becomes too thick to flow properly, so the engine is no longer properly lubricated). I don't think it's enough to make the Dagger a wonder engine, but it will make it good enough that the deals can go through, after all by definition most engines will be average.

    We've mentioned the Whitley before and frankly it is a bit ridiculous that no-one thought to fix the wing at some point. That said it was ordered in a mad hurry, one of the first 'off the drawing board' orders the RAF made, they had committed to buying 80 around a year before the first prototype had even flown. I imagine the RAF looked at the time required to change the wing, re-run the flight trials, change the jigs in the factory, and realised that if they wanted a 'modern' heavy bomber in service quickly it was this or nothing. However the general point stands, someone should have tapped the designer on the shoulder and told him that flaps in wings were a thing he could do. What the Air Ministry needs to do is work out how to do that, because no-one on their side had noticed it either when they were looking at the drawings.
     
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    Chapter CXLVI: A Cooled Head in a Crisis Part II
  • Chapter CXLVI: A Cooled Head in a Crisis Part II.

    The Air Ministry's response to the Cooling Crisis had a decidedly rocky start, the mandarins preference for a cautious and considered evolution clashing with their Minister's love of action and dramatic change. The civil services plan had been to convene a committee with broad terms of reference to think through the implications, consider the consequences, explore the ramifications and then arrive at the conclusion the service had pre-selected - which was that things were basically fine and very little change was required. Unfortunately, for the civil service, in such a situation a suitably energetic and determined Minister can triumph over bureaucratic inertia and so their hopes for masterly inactivity were dashed. As a brief aide mémoire the three points of consideration were;
    1. Which firms should be in the Ring
    2. How to properly disseminate knowledge and research around the industry
    3. How to stop the Admiralty disrupting the Ring and duplicating their efforts
    We will begin with the second point as it was mostly self contained so can be relatively briefly covered. The problem was far from a new one inside the Air Ministry and the Crisis mostly just accelerated existing plans, though only mostly. To be brief the Ministry already had a limited system of Resident Technical Officers (RTOs), a mix of Air Ministry civilian scientists and mid-ranking RAF officers, assigned to the more crucial airframe design offices to report back on progress. It was decided to expand and build upon this system, the Ministry first made clear all the firms in the Ring, airframe and engine, would have an RTO assigned and they would be responsible for checking the designs teams were aware of the latest research. Significantly it was also decided to end the pretence that all firms in the Ring were equal, those that the Ministry trusted would get a single RTO who's job would remain mostly liaison and reporting, while less trusted firms would be assigned teams of RTOs and be subject to greater scrutiny. Naturally this was unpopular with the firms of the Ring who had been used to a far cosier relationship, though they had a slightly more legitimate complaint in their concerns about trade secrets leaking to their competitors. From a certain perspective such leaks were the entire object of the RTO scheme, to try and drag up the general level of the industry by sharing information, and if you were a leading firm that was likely to involve a lot of giving and very little receiving. As has been discussed airflow over engines was still a black art even at the cutting edge of research and the same could be said for a wide range of similar specialist areas, even workable 'rules of thumb' were enough to give a significant advantage if your rivals didn't know them. The Air Ministry's were aware of this tension and so were at pains to explain that they intended to respect actual trade secrets, though admittedly for selfish reasons; homogenising the design process so all the firms had similar approaches and philosophies would entirely defeat the point of the portfolio approach of engine design, if everyone made the same assumptions they would make the same mistakes. This reassurance, and the blunt truth that all the firms were dependent on government orders to a greater or lesser extent, was enough to get the scheme through with relatively less practical fuss even, even if several protests were made for form's sake.


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    The core team working on the Supermarine Spitfire photographed on the day of the successful first flight of the prototype. The central seated figure is the Chief Designer R J Mitchell, to his left is his deputy Harold Payn and to his right the RTO for Supermarine, the Air Ministry scientist Stuart Scott-Hall, the final two figures are the Vickers Chief Test Pilot Joe Summers and his deputy Jeffrey Quill. Having been involved with the project from the start Scott-Hall had established a strong and close relationship with the Supermarine design team, indeed often being considered a part of the team by those he worked with. While this was the ideal, a strong team producing a world class aircraft, it must be said that not all RTOs had such a pleasant or collaborative relationship as those assigned to Supermarine or Rolls Royce.

    At the highest level the response became more political and for our purposes the only noteworthy chance was a reshuffling of the Air Council. Prior to the Crisis research had sat with the Air Member for Research and Development (Air Member meant a serving RAF officer, as opposed to the Civil Members which covered everyone else) but it was 'recognised' that bringing in more civilian scientific expertise could be helpful, it being deliberately obscure quite who had 'recognised' this problem. In any event Churchill's old friend and advisor Professor Lindemann was elevated up to being the Civil Member for Aeronautical Research, the dividing line being that he would be more concerned with theoretical and government research while the Air Member would supervise the industrial side. While arguably at least in part a nepotistic appointment it was greeted with relief in the scientific side of the Ministry; it finally resolved the fight between Lindemann and Tizard that had been raging across the Ministry's many research committees and councils. The Air Council itself was less than delighted by the appointment because the main reason Lindemann stopped fighting Tizard was that he was too busy fighting the rest of the Council, contemptuously ignoring his brief to forcefully express his opinions on everything from RAF force composition to civil airport strategy. While that problem would only worsen throughout Lindemann's tenure on the Council the rest of the measures were a success. The expanded RTO scheme would achieve it's aim and while technical problems would still occur, indeed were accepted as an inevitable side effect of an ambitious development programme, there would at least be no more mistakes caused by designers being unaware of the latest research.

    While the Air Ministry was united in it's belief that the Ring system worked, there was far less unanimity on which firms should be inside the system. Rolls Royce and Bristol were naturally safe and after their exploits on fixing the Arctic Hampden/Dagger so were De Havilland. Armstrong Siddeley managed to retain their place after the appointment of a new chief engineer, the talented but mercurial Stewart Tresilian, and the introduction of a particularly large contingent of RTOs to keep a very close eye on the rest of the design team. This left Napier and here the splits inside the Air Ministry became apparent, as one would expect the Engine Production department were in favour of another chance being extended to Napier but faced opposition from those who wanted to see change, not just Churchill but also a group around the Permanent Secretary for Air, Sir Christopher Bullock. While Sir Christopher had not been in favour of kicking Napier out, that would be a change too far, he had wanted to see new firms enter the engine market and some more competition for firms he feared were getting complacent. With an expansion of the Ring out of the question, the Chancellor may have been supportive of defence spending but like his department he retained doubts over the entire concept, the reformers around Sir Christopher chose to sacrifice Napier in order to get a new firm onto the approved list. With the Minister and Permanent Secretary both keen on change, if perhaps for different reasons, the search for a new company to join the Ring began.

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    The propeller shop section of the High Duty Alloys Ltd foundry in Slough. Another of the reasons for the survival of Armstrong Siddeley within the Ring was it's ownership of High Duty Alloys (HDA), a firm that had long been identified as a valuable national asset. HDA produced high strength nickel-aluminium alloys and in particular specialised in the RR alloys, so called because they had been developed by Rolls Royce for their high performance racing engines. The world of specialist alloys was considered by the Air Ministry to be an example of successful knowledge sharing, the National Physical Laboratory, Armstrong Siddeley, Rolls Royce and HDA had all contributed and the alloys themselves were widely used by all the British engine manufacturers and many foreign firms as well. It was also noted that the nascent jet engine programme at RAF Martlesham Heath was steadily increasing it's demand for HDA's alloys, another strong reason to support the facility and it's parent company.

    There were several companies available to replace Napier, despite official discouragement the gathering storm clouds and events overseas had encouraged a few firms to start work on aero-engines in the hope of finding their way into the Ring as rearmament gathered pace. Top of list, at least in the mind of it's owner Lord Nuffield, was Wolseley. The Wolseley Libra engine was powering the Vickers Venom fighters being sent to Spain, so there was a quasi-official stamp of approval for their work and it was unarguable that Wolseley had the factories and experience at mass production of engines. The key argument against was that the Libra was the largest engine Wolseley had ever made and, while it was fine for service in Spain, it was far too weak for RAF use; at just under 600hp the Libra would need to almost double in power to reach the 1,000hp that was deemed a minimum for the latest types. There had to be a degree of dissembling about this, admitting that the Monarchists were getting engines that the RAF would not accept for their own use would cause no end of diplomatic problems, but it was undoubtedly a factor. Lord Nuffield was aware of the limits of Wolseley's current range and had a proposal, he had approached the US firm Pratt & Whitney for a licence to build their R-1830 Twin Wasp engine and the Americans had responded enthusiastically. This pointed to the other major problem with bringing Wolseley into the Ring, the tendency of Lord Nuffield to treat requirements as optional and specifications as suggestions. It was government policy for the RAF to only purchase British designed engines, a policy that the government was attempting to extend out to Imperial Airways and civil aviation in general. A sudden volte face on that requirement would certainly aid Wolseley, but it was hard to see how it would aid the government's industrial and trade policy, unsurprisingly therefore his proposal was firmly, and not particularly politely, rejected. Instead Wolseley were given the requirements for the next generation of engines, essentially a minimum of 1,500hp but with potential for 2,000hp or more when fully developed, explicitly told this set of requirement were non-negotiable, and sent off to start designing it. Naturally Lord Nuffield was annoyed by this, not only had his licence building plan been comprehensively rejected but Wolseley were still not in the Ring, so there was no guarantee the future engine would be ordered even after his team had designed and tested it. That said the continued success of the Spanish Venom would ensure a steady stream of Monarchist orders and from other smaller airforces keen to buy a combat proven fighter aircraft on the cheap. These orders would be enough to keep Wolseley in the aero-engine business in the short term, though their long term future would depend on their next design gaining the favour of the Ministry.


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    A 1937 advert for the "new" Alvis aero engines, the advert ran in the specialist technical press and was aimed at Air Ministry staff, 'air minded' politicians and RAF officers, the people who would influence the next generation of RAF specifications and Air Ministry contracts. The engines themselves were licensed derivates of Gnome et Rhône engines, or would be if they existed; despite the adverts claims only the Pelides had been built and tested at this point. The Pelidies was one of the many engines based on the G&R 14K Mistral Major and retained the basic shape and major features while replacing the French fixings and accessories with British items. The 14K was not the first twin row radial, and it certainly wasn't the best, but it was the most widely used, aside from Alvis half a dozen other companies had taken a licence and it had been this ubiquity that had encouraged Alvis to select it. However, like it's fellow licensees, Alvis soon discovered the basic 14K design needed a great deal of work to make it reliable, a fact G&R would tacitly admit when they were forced to redesign the original engine after complaints from the French Air Ministry.

    In a similar position to Wolseley were Alvis, another motor manufacturer that wished to take advantage of re-armament to expand into aviation work. The Alvis management had taken to their endeavour with gusto, constructing a vast and modern new aero-engine factory and development centre which included everything from an aluminium foundry to electro-plating shops and X-ray testing facilities. While the Alvis board had ambitions to design their own engines in the short term they had reached a similar conclusion to Lord Nuffield and decided to licence a foreign design to produce and learn from. While Wolseley's choice of the American Pratt & Whitney was at best poorly received by the Air Ministry, Alvis' selection of the French firm Society des Gnome et Rhone (G&R) can only be described as catastrophic. As we have seen any foreign design was against policy, a French design hit the issue of the still lingering anti-French feeling after the Abyssinian War and a G&R design was particularly unfavourable as they were widely viewed as still owing Bristol a great deal of money for the licence that G&R had taken on the Bristol Jupiter in the 1920s. These factors would likely have been enough to sink the project, but the final killer blow (should one have been required) was the fact that the engine that Alvis were attempting to sell, the Pelides, was not very good. The faults it had inherited from it's French ancestor are too numerous to list in detail, but in summary the engine was unreliable, lacked development potential, never lived up to it's claimed power and, in a grimly familiar detail, had serious overheating problems due to lack of cooling fins and poor airflow design. While Alvis strived to fix some of these problems, eventually coaxing a heavily revised Pelidies into passing an Air Ministry 50hour test, many of the problems were too inherent to solve without starting almost from scratch. Unsurprisingly therefore the Ministry's Engine Department found it easy to recommend sticking to policy and keeping Alivs off the approved list and outside the Ring.

    At the other extreme lay the last option, or at least the last serious option, Fairey Aviation. While in the Ring on the airframe side the engine development efforts of the company had never attracted the interests of the Ministry, yet the Fairey board had persisted. As mentioned Fairey were the opposite of the previous two firms in that they had a small but experienced design team and their own all British designed engine, the H24 Monarch. Unfortunately this contrast also extended to facilities and Fairey entirely lacked the modern engine factories, laboratories and testing equipment of their rivals. As an example Fairey lacked a test rig large enough to test their new engine at full power or any form of engine production line. With a definite Air Ministry development contract Fairey could find funding to expand their design and testing facilities, and Ministry plans had always assumed that the bulk of engine production would be done by the Shadow Factories, so these were not insurmountable problems. A more serious issue was their engine design, while the Monarch was attracting attention for it's twin propellers and unusually resilient design in terms of power and performance it was solid but nothing special, and that was assuming the final engine achieved it's projected performance, hardly a certainty given the immaturity of the design. The counter-argument was that the Ministry perhaps should be backing some 'average' engine designs to provide backup for the cutting edge work being done by others in the Ring. Previously that role had been filled by Armstrong Siddeley, but as that firm was now looking to use it's Dog series to push itself into more advanced work there was perhaps an opening. Should any of the next generation of large high powered engines fail then the Monarch was about the right size and power to be an acceptable substitute, particularly for medium and heavy bomber specifications. On this basis, as a provider of purely backup designs for large aircraft, the Ministry began to lean towards Fairey as the preferred option to bring into the Ring.

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    An engineering section drawing of the Fairey P24 Monarch engine, the distinctive twin coaxial contra-rotating propellers and H-block arrangement clearly shown. The chief engine designer at Fairey was Captain Archibald Forsyth, formerly of the Engine Division at the Air Ministry, and the engine showed a great many features that could generously be described as 'inspired' by other engine manufacturers details. In fairness the engine did have some actually new features, most notably was the fact it could be described as essentially two separate engines located incredibly close together. Looking from the rear of the engine (i.e. where the pilot would sit) the left side of the engine powered the front propeller and the right side powered the rear propeller. In addition the two sides of the engine shared no accessories or parts, having separate fuel pumps, superchargers, etc. This duplication made the engine heavy but exceptionally resilient, should any individual element fail (whether through mechanical failure or enemy action) then at worst that side of the engine failed but the other side would continue as normal.

    This neatly brings us to the 3rd issue resulting from the Crisis, the challenge of co-ordinating the plans of the Air Ministry and the Admiralty. Because the many features of the Monarch were also attracting the attention of the Fleet Air Arm, for obvious reasons they prized reliability and durability to a greater degree than their land based counterparts and saw great potential in the concept. The Air Ministry had been aware of the FAA's desire for a new engine and so had pencilled in the Rolls Royce Exe for that role, but what they had neglected to do was order work on any backup engine. The official reason was that it was a Rolls Royce design, indeed it was under the legendary Arthur Rowledge (of Lion, 'R' and Merlin fame), so there was no need for a backup. Unofficially the FAA suspected the Ministry did not want to put more than the bare minimum of effort into a purely naval design. In the event the Ministry was correct and the Exe had a relatively trouble free development, but it was certainly an approach they would never have adopted for something the RAF cared about, like the engines for the heavy bomber programme. For the next generation the FAA intended to do things 'properly' and had identified the Monarch as part of that, like the Ministry they also though it would make a good backup engine so in theory there could be some co-operation there. The problem was the FAA's first choice was a development of the Exe, essentially doubling it's displacement so it could produce the desired power. Provisionally called the Tamar it would be less work, and risk, than a blank paper design but was not a trivial undertaking, particularly when the FAA had casually asked about the possibility of an enlarged Merlin as well. The Admiralty neglected to share these plans with the Air Ministry, so when a Rolls Royce development engineer made the mistake of mentioning these projects to his resident RTO things did not go well. As the report made it's way up the hierarchy it gathered intemperate views like moths to the flame, so by the time it reached the top a Whitehall row was inevitable.

    Looking beyond the institutional annoyance having upstart 'fish heads' impinging on aero-industrial concerns and the bureaucratic indignation at having their carefully worked out development plans disrupted, the Air Ministry did have a few valid points to make. As a matter of simple engineering capacity the British government could not keep loading it's engine problems onto Rolls Royce, at this point the firm had three major aero-engine projects at various stages of development (Merlin, Exe and Peregrine/Vulture), had been committed to supporting Australia build her own Merlins, was fielding requests from Canada for the same and was getting involved with tank engines for the Army. Throwing in two new engine design projects was going to require delaying or cancelling some of that existing work and it was clear the FAA did not want to delay the Exe engine, meaning they either expected someone else to make a sacrifice or hadn't quite understood the limitations of industry. On a related point some pointed questions were asked about where, exactly, the Admiralty expected these engines to be built and the answers were heavy on bluster but light on facts, which correctly suggested it had been inexperience not arrogance behind the FAA's interventions. There was a brief ceasefire between the two parties as they united to head off an unwanted intervention from the Ministry of Defence Co-ordination, agreeing that the last things either department wanted was Macmillan trying to play Solomon and overseeing their decision making, but that was not the same as making a decision. It was agreed that the Air Ministry should retain overall oversight of the industry as it would be counter-productive for the Admiralty to duplicate the RTO system and this would be based on the Ring system, it was even agreed that there should be a joint plan, the stumbling block was who decided the priorities and then enforced them. After a degree of civil service wrangling, including the Cabinet Secretary refusing to allow such 'minor technical details' onto the cabinet agenda and an abortive effort to use the Chiefs of Staff Committee to decide so the Army could play tie-breaker (both the RAF and RN officers agreed this was a terrible idea), the problem was kicked over to the Committee of Imperial Defence. Given the increasingly Imperial nature of defence procurement this would, in theory, allow the wider implications to be considered and there were enough sub-committees and experts already involved it might even be an informed decision. There remained the option of escalating the matter further up to the cabinet, but it was not just the civil service who were wary of involving the politicians; it was not unknown for a politician asked to decide between option A and B to select Option C, so there was incentive for both sides to respect the decision of the Committee, or indeed to reach agreement to avoid the Committee even needing to be involved.

    With a tentative agreement with the Admiralty about co-ordination, a new system of technical oversight and information sharing agreed and a decision made to replace Napier with Fairey in the engine side of the Ring, all seemed to be going well for the Ministry. So when trouble came it was especially disturbing, particularly when it came from such an unexpected source - Napier. The company's board had got wind of the plan to kick them out of the Ring, the Air Ministry choosing not to tell them until the decision was final, and had decided they would not be going quietly into that good night.

    ---
    Notes:
    Aero-engines, civil service wranglings and industrial design policy. Do topics get more thrilling that this? Best not to answer that one, because it is what you are getting. Once again an update has got away from me, it's another few thousand words and I've not quite reached the final point, though we are getting perilously close and some actual decisions have been made so progress has happened. Part III will see things escalate further into the political realm, because no such decision could ever be free of politics.

    I decided to save the world a discussion on the full details of Air Ministry RTOs and I was perilously close to bringing in Coaseian transaction costs as an argument for not letting Napier go bankrupt ("The Nature of the Firm" and all that). But then I decided that subject was better left saved for future update, something for us all to look forward to I am sure.

    Lindemann and Tizard did have quite the fight through much of WW2 and overall you would have to say Tizard had the better of the arguments (save in a couple of key areas) and Lindemann only survived because Churchill was quite incredibly loyal to those who had stuck with him in the backbench days (and in fairness Lindemann was right on some things and did do very valuable work in producing statistics and encouraging/forcing others to do the same). So here he gets booted upstairs and is shaking things up, with at best mixed results, but he was always going to get some big job from Churchill so here we are.

    High Duty Alloys are entirely OTL and we shall find out more about them later, because there is an amazing photo I have to use from their works. It just hadn't been built at this point and I am nothing if not over-invested in the details. More relevantly special alloys was one of those not very sexy but really important things that Britain did (and does) really well, but no-one shouts about because we are British and don't shout. Also because they are only of interest to specialists.

    The consequences of the Spanish Venom continue, Wolseley are sniffing around the Air Ministry and will not rest until they get a contract. The Twin Wasp licence is OTL, Lord Nuffield really did not understand how the Air Ministry worked and why they were never going to say yes to that plan. His experience was with the British Army who would accept US licence built stuff of questionable suitability, because the Army was desperate and had so few suppliers it couldn't be that picky. The Air Ministry, at least before the real crunch hit, could be more discerning.

    Alvis and their marvellously ambitious plans are true, they did indeed built a massive factory and facility then only a bit late realise the Air Ministry would never buy a foreign design unless forced. So OTL they ended up doing 'Shadow Factory' work on parts and repairs, before finally managing to get their own engine out post-war. The G&R 14K was very widely licensed but also not very good, at least in original form. We will be going into that in a bit more detail when we look at French fighters and the Spanish Civil War, because part of it was some very French design obsessions which came from the very to. The cooling issue however is OTL, the 'fixed' version G&R produced for French service (the 14N) had 40% more cooling fins so it was not a minor problem and all the licensees made similar changes to get their versions to work properly.

    Fairey had been trying for years to get into aero-engines, since at least the 1920s, and spent a lot while failing to do so. OTL the Monarch was (very slowly) developed, passed around a few people, including the US, but never got anywhere as there was always a better or more developed engine available. The Monarch was pitched at the FAA who were interested but never had the money or control to chase it, in Butterfly they are at least making receptive noises. The Exe was OTL (got cancelled in the BoB panic), the extended version is mostly OTL (was called the Pennine because RR changed their naming convention mid-war) and the 'large Merlin' the FAA are asking about is an OTL request from early 1938 that would become the mighty RR Griffon. Here they are making those request a bit earlier, Rolls Royce are a lot busier, so the OTL arguments about who gets priority over what happen earlier. I can absolutely see the Cabinet Secretary refusing to touch it, because Cabinet should not be arguing about that sort of detail, so rather than invent a whole new body (which wouldn't solve matters if it is half RAF/RN) I have continued the policy of boosting the various Imperial Defence bodies. They had the systems and staff to do a lot more, so the capacity is there, and they always seem under-used. With a more defence/re-armament/Imperial minded faction of the Conservatives in power I think this seems reasonable they become more than just mostly empty talking shops.
     
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    Chapter CXLVII: A Cooled Head in a Crisis Part III
  • Chapter CXLVII: A Cooled Head in a Crisis Part III.

    It is sometimes said that a Minister can be judged by how they respond to being informed about a leak; a politician will prioritise finding the source of the leak, a statesman will deal with the consequences. Leaving aside the possibility, or even desirability, of differentiating between the two proposed types of Minister, this formulation misses out the most likely response - that the person in question will do both. So it was with the Napier Affair, certainly Churchill and the Ministry worked hard to address the issues raised, but simultaneously a leak inquiry was put in hand and the culprit eventually identified. The essence of the affair was that, due to the leak, Napier had discovered far earlier than was planned that they were to be removed from the Approved List of Air Ministry suppliers and kicked out of the Ring. Napier's management had reacted to this as one might expect; they had rounded up all the local MPs around their factories and suppliers and then terrified them with stories of job losses, economic catastrophe, and general electoral disaster for any MP who failed to keep Napier in the aero-engine business. The Air Ministry had been aware of this potential political opposition, it had been one of the reasons Napier had survived so long, and had factored this into their proposals. It had been planned that Napier would be allowed to complete their existing contracts and provide support the engines still in service, the intent being there would be no sharp stop and plenty of time for the workforce and suppliers to adapt to the change. As both Napier and Fairey were based in West London it was believed the transition could be relatively painless, certainly in the context of the fast growing economy in London and the wider South East. In any event this plan had required briefing the key people first, convincing Napier that a slow 'transition' was better than having their contracts cancelled, getting the local MPs on side in advance and generally being in control of the process. The selective leaking of part of the plan and the subsequent political and media attention meant a new approach would be required.


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    The Fairey Aviation engineering and development works which, conveniently for our purposes, had it's location branded upon the roof. The Napier engineer works were located in Acton so there was less than 10 miles distance between the two firms, hence the Air Ministry's confidence that there would be minimal disruption for staff and suppliers after the switch. Indeed this has been one of the points against Fairey as a new member of the Ring, government departments were still under an exhortation to look at opportunities to place contracts in the 'Special Areas' and switching from one London firm to another was not particularly in line with this objective. While the Air Ministry had achieved a measure of success in spreading construction and assembly works around the nation (though as much as a strategic measure to counter bombing raids as anything else) development and engineering works were not so easily moved or created.

    The Napier director's campaign had not been subtle but it had been thorough, in addition to the local MPs they had also contacted every 'air minded' MP the board could think of and passed the story (or a heavily edited version at least) to every media contact they had. Their efforts were rewarded as the matter bubbled up out of the specialist press into the national newspapers and became a subject on which politicians were expected to have opinions. Naturally this opportunity was leapt on by the opposition parties, a chance to accuse the government of disarray, incompetence and any other vaguely plausible allegation was not to be missed, especially on hot topics like defence and employment, and doubly so if the press were actually paying attention. Labour reached into it's policy toolbox and pulled out it's favourite, many would say it's only, hammer and declared this was all the fault of the free market, capitalism and the lack of state control. The Labour response made it clear that only by nationalising the entire aviation industry and merging it into a single state monopoly covering design and production could such issues be avoided in the future. While some in the Parliamentary Party remained uneasy about the embrace of re-armament, and so were unhappy about supporting 'merchants of death' like Napier, the general principle was popular in the wider party and it was a chunk of red meat for the TUC leadership who were pleased to see the Labour benches standing up and championing Clause IV and nationalisation. The response was careful to not explain what a nationalised aero-industry would look like or quite what 'popular administration and control' actually meant in this context, not least because such questions remained the matter of lively internal debate within the party. However for press and parliamentary purposes the basic policy of nationalisation as the solution to any and all problems was all the detail that was required.

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    James Henry Thomas, more commonly known as JH Thomas, railwayman, trade unionist and MP for Derby since 1910. Originally elected as the Labour party candidate he had been amongst the small group that had stayed loyal to Ramsay MacDonald and joined the National Government in 1931. The fall of Baldwin and MacDonald losing his seat in the 1935 general election has been body blows to 'National Labour' from which it never recovered; In it's weakened state the departure of the National Liberals and the final implosion of the National Government had all but finished off the movement. Unwilling to join the Conservatives, and still viewed as a traitor by the Labour Party, Thomas jumped ship and joined the Liberal Social Democrats. A former cabinet minister and Lord Privy Seal he was one of the more experienced members of the new party and threw himself into the endeavour with vigour. He would be a leading light of the effort to carve out a distinctive position for the new party on it's own terms and not just relative to the existing main parties.

    The Liberal Social Democrats (LSD) were particularly tenacious and vocal in their response to the affair, because this was a subject on which they had a policy which was both distinctive and potentially popular, making it an excellent opportunity to define themselves to the press and public. As might be expected their industrial and economic policy charted a course between the Conservative and Labour approaches, it might even have been called the "Middle Way" had that phrase not already been claimed by Macmillan and the left wing of the Conservative Party. The LSD declared that the Labour approach of nationalising everything was neither necessary nor even desirable, because it would remove the vital element of competition and freely determined prices. They also castigated the Conservatives for being too hands-off and failing to intervene before problems became crises and then being too hesitant and weak-willed when intervening. In the specific case these ideas led them to argue for the nationalisation of Napier, but only Napier, and for it to be merged with parts of the Royal Aircraft Establishment to form a resurrected Royal Aircraft Factory. Parallels were drawn with the navy (which had the Royal Dockyards) and the Army (the Royal Ordnance Factories) to suggest the RAF was somehow losing out by lacking such an organisation. The Shadow Factories were dismissed as irrelevant because, while they were government funded, they were managed by the private sector and so the Ministry was not gaining the practical experience of running a design studio and factory which was, it was claimed, vital. This 'moderate' approach was acceptable to the LSD's union side, which was mostly the TGWU and associated unions, as they were less fussed about quite who owned a factory as long as their members got good jobs out of them, a stark contrast to the TUC/Labour approach. Internally there was agreement this approach was a good idea politically, the party was sure that there were many voters who viewed massed nationalisation as unsettling but nevertheless wanted to see some big changes after the great recession. Where there was debate was between those who though the "national champions" would inevitably out-compete the inefficient private sector and those with more government experience who were doubtful about the actual creativity and productivity of a state controlled firm. But, as with their Labour colleagues, outside of a general election it was enough for an opposition party to have a clear and distinct headline policy on the issues of the day, detail beyond that was not required.

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    The site of the R.101 Airship crash in Northern France. The dirigible came down in bad weather in October 1930 killing 48 of the 54 passengers and crew on board, including the Air Minister Lord Thompson as well as it's design team from the Royal Airship works. For much of the popular press the failure of the state designed and built R.101, in contrast to the relative success of the private sector R.100, was a decisive argument against a nationalised aero-industry. Within the Air Ministry the view was more nuanced, certainly the R.101 had had design flaws but the cause of the disaster had been primarily political not technical; after the success of Vicker's R.100 in crossing the Atlantic and touring Canada the Labour government had been desperate for 'their' airship to have a success, so R.101 had been ordered to make passage to India in spite of many warning signs and known problems. For the Ministry the key argument against the idea was in fact the original Great War-era Royal Aircraft Factory; having one organisation responsible for specification, design, manufacture and approval had resulted in some truly terrible aircraft entering service and then staying in production for far too long.

    Demands from the opposition benches for radical change were essentially harmless, particularly for a government with a healthy majority, but rumbles on the government benches about the issue were another matter entirely. While the aims of the Ring system were broadly accepted there was a degree of disquiet in Conservative ranks about the execution and particularly the approach to competition in the industry. The Air Ministry was more vulnerable that it liked to admit to these concerns as they were longstanding and cut to the heart of one of the rationale behind the Ring. The Air Ministry wanted to retain capacity in the industry but it also wanted, and the Treasury had all but demanded, competition between the firms, both technically and commercially. A similar capacity in terms of number of factories and workforce could have been maintained by a much smaller number of larger firms, but just as the Admiralty had been 'encouraged' to keep it's armour plate supply spread between three firms so the Air Ministry had kept five engine supplies and fifteen airframe manufacturers in the Ring. Such a lengthy Approved List of manufacturers meant some degree of work share was almost inevitable, both to keep firms in business and to stop the successful firm being overloaded. Broadly speaking the industry was happy with this state of affairs, while it limited the opportunity for growth it also ensured a certain stability and a safety net if the next design turned out to be duff. A significant minority of backbenchers and many voices in the Lords were less pleased with the arrangement, seeing it as rewarding failure and preventing new firms with new ideas from entering the industry. The less politically experienced might expect this group to have been happy with the Napier affair, after all it was notionally about a firm being kicked out of the Ring for repeated failure and a replacement being inducted. This was, of course, not the case. While the objectors were mostly pleased to see Napier being removed from the list they were upset about the Air Ministry's choice of replacement firm, some because it was once again the civil service 'picking winners' not a free competition, but others for baser reasons.

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    Lord Sempill, seated in the cockpit of his BAC Super Drone, essentially a glider with a small 30hp engine nailed on top. While infamous for his dealings with Imperial Japan, Lord Sempill was also active the continent and to describe him as well connected in Germany would be an understatement. When he made his record breaking flight from Croydon to Berlin in the Super Drone the welcoming committee included Foreign Minister von Neurath and he would later meet General Milch (Secretary of State at the Reich Air Ministry) and Colonel Udet (then Inspector of Fighters and Bombers in the Luftwaffe). While Sempill boasted of these connections and his resulting 'in-depth' knowledge of foreign powers aerial capabilities, it was well known in intelligence circles that these connections worked both ways and information on British designs and capabilities leaked back, certainly to Japan and potentially to Germany. With Britain's growing détente with China, and growing rivalry with Japan, Sempill's Japanophilia induced espionage stopped being an annoyance and became an inconvenience; he would be arrested and convicted of espionage in a scandalous trial before the decade was out.

    The pro-competition lobby of this period has been somewhat tarnished by association due to the calibre and motivations of it's most vocal members. There was a tendency for those members who argued that, for instance, the Nuffield Organisation should be added to the approved list to have a close relationships with either Lord Nuffield or a constituency close to where the new factory would be located. Likewise the cause of foreign engines, either licensed or direct from the supplier, was most vigorously promoted by Lord Sempill and his subsequent treason conviction inevitably raised questions about the motivations of those that made similar arguments. Despite this there were many who made those argument in good faith and even if badly motivated the points still stood, specifically there were areas where British aero-firms could learn from abroad (for instance fuel injection) and it was at least arguable that a competition (as opposed to a Civil Service choice) to determine which new firm should join the Ring would be more in keeping with the purpose of the policy and may produce a better choice. Naturally the Air Ministry was aghast at this, as discussed in previous chapters using overseas designs went against decades of careful policy and it can easily be understood why senior civil servants were repelled from the idea that they were not entirely capable of 'picking winners' and selecting the correct firm. The next stage is somewhat murky to this day and how much was genuinely 'independent commercial decision making' is far from clear, though almost certainly there was a degree of at least unofficial discussion and approval from the Air Ministry and no small amount of political pressure from above for that approval to be granted.

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    Thomas Dugdale, MP for Richmond (Yorkshire), Parliamentary Under Secretary of State in the Ministry of Defence Co-ordination and source of the leak to Napier. While the Whips Office and a degree of pressure from the Air Ministry onto the industry had identified Dugdale as the source, there was no official sanction. Partly to avoid embarrassment but partly because leak is an irregular verb; "I give confidential briefings, you leak, he has been charged under section 2a of the Official Secrets Act". No doubt a charge could have been found but it would be politically embarrassing for all involved, so the government decided to deal with the matter quietly and internally rather than make a scandal out of it. Dugdale was frozen out of all Air Ministry business and officially replaced in the Autumn reshuffle, he would subsequently "take the Chiltern Hundreds" and retire as an MP before the next election. While this approach avoided the immediate scandal the lack of any obvious punishment for the leaks would have unfortunate consequences for party discipline.


    The merger of Alvis and Napier was, officially at least, an entirely commercial decision taken by the two companies. This was widely disbelieved by almost everyone, prior to the leak Napier's stock price had been flying high on the general re-armament boom and it's directors would never have agreed to a merger with the far smaller (financially) Alvis. After the leak the share price had collapsed as it emerged that the most valuable things about Napier was it's position on the Approved List; the car business had long since been wound up and aside from eccentrics looking to break world records there were no other customers for Napier's aero-engines, so Alvis had no reason to want to do the merger. The only rationale behind the Alvis-Napier merger was that the combined firm would be able to keep it's place on the Approved List and that the Air Ministry had given unofficial assurances this would be the case. Thus Napier got to stay in business, after a fashion, while Alvis gained a place inside the Ring, contacts inside the Air Ministry and the experienced British design team it had previously lacked. For the Air Ministry this solution calmed the MPs local to Napier and it's suppliers, pleased those who had been campaigning for Alvis' entry and was grudgingly acceptable to most of the backbench lobby as it at least retained the appearance of competition and consequences for failure, not least because the 'merger' was basically a take-over. Alvis-Napier, as the aero-engine division would be called, retained the development contract for the H-24 Sabre but would be supported by a large contingent of Resident Technical Officers, the Ministry being keen to ensure that the merger did not just result in Alvis learning all of Napier's bad habits. Fairey would not be allowed into the Ring but would keep their contract to develop the Monarch engine, partly to avoid re-starting a fight with the Fleet Air Arm, partly because they recognised Fairey would just do it anyway and partly as a lingering threat to the incumbents that the replacement could still happen.

    As the Air Ministry tentatively started to relax and look forward to it's summer it was only natural that on the South Coast of the country two separate groups of boffins were working their socks off on projects that would throw these carefully made plans into disarray.

    ---
    Notes:

    JH Thomas achieved his OTL moment of fame by being forced to resign due to a fairly tawdry budget leak scandal (copyright @LeJones I believe) in early 1936. Here his reputation is saved (perhaps?) as he and the other National Labour types got frozen out so never knew anything about the budget to leak, as he seemed a slippery ambitious type I decided he would jump to the LSD. In the unlikely event anyone wondered what happened to National Labour, now you know. It is very unlikely they will come up again.

    Conversely Thomas Dugdale didn't have his scandal till post-war where he was involved in the Crichel Down affair, due to the general shake up of politics he got a government role sooner than in OTL and promptly threw it away. I can absolutely see an Eden government trying to keep it quiet, and the press and Napier being happy to go along with that, but equally the lack of immediate and obvious consequence for such leaks will be noted.

    To round out the people part the career of Lord Sempill had been slightly baffling to me, MI5 had known about his links to Japan since the 1920s (he led the Sempill Mission to Japan to teach the IJN about carriers, back when the Anglo-Japanese Alliance was still active) and he had hardly been discreet about it. What I had not known was quite how well connected to Germany he was, his mad glider flight (11hours Croydon to Berlin) was OTL and was that well attended, he was also in all the aristocratic and ineffectual Anglo-German Fellowship type groups. With everyone taking Japan a bit more seriously in Butterfly Sempill is not going to get the many chances he got in OTL, certainly he will still get too many and probably more than a less aristocratic traitor would, but fundamentally the balance has changed and while it will still be embarrassing to try him his actions will be seen as that much more serious and so 'worth' the cost.

    The LSD section on policy could have been a been quite the monster discussing the difference between Market Socialism and Social Capitalism, but then I realised that would be a waste of electrons. The debate is roughly as it was in OTL so there is no point me just regurgitating it, the players may have moved around a bit but the argument remains the same; are prices important and how much central planning do you want. The left in general will be continuing to argue about this for quite some time, the wet end of the Conservative Party will continue to flirt with bits of it and the LSD will revel in it as the various ideas can be used to justify completely opportunistic policy making as they are being "pragmatic" about things. For now it is enough to know the ideas are swirling around.

    We somewhat glossed over the R.101 disaster in the airship section, it happened and it did kill off most of the airship enthusiasts in government and the civil service. As the update says the crash didn't happen because it was a public sector designed and built craft, it happened because the cabinet demanded it be launched in bad weather, while over-weight because they couldn't stand seeing the private sector do 'better'. The inquiry concluded that while there were design flaws, not least an over-weight structure and under-powered engines, it was not a bad design provided it only flew in good weather with a much reduced crew and cargo (which I suppose is proof that it was a bad design as it didn't meet the specifications or requirements, but I am really trying to be fair here).

    There was a government owned and operated Royal Aircraft Factory in WW1 and it did do design and manufacture, but sadly it also did specifications, approvals and had a hand in procurement. So while it did produce some excellent aircraft, like the S.E.5 fighter, it was also associated with several scandals, such as badly obsolete aircraft staying in production for too long because the Factory was producing them (the B.E.2) or getting it's own terrible designs into service despite them failing assessment (the B.E.12). This experience made the Air Ministry realise that they should not "mark their own homework" and influenced their post-war plans for the industry and future wartime expansion.

    OTL Napier got 'merged' with English-Electric who promptly kicked out the old Napier board and brought a bit of order to the place, but only after a few years of things going quite badly wrong production wise with the Sabre. With Churchill in the Ministry there is pressure for a bit more intervention and the Alvis-Napier merger does make sense from quite a few perspectives. It is also a substantial change from OTL so I feel worth doing just for that reason.
     
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    Chapter CXLVIII: The Consequences of a Failed Death Ray Part I.
  • Chapter CXLVIII: The Consequences of a Failed Death Ray Part I.

    There were a number of articles of faith underpinning British grand strategy in the early 1930s, some were ancient and abiding like the necessity of a strong navy, while others were more recent additions. Numbered amongst these newer articles was the maxim 'The bomber will always get through' and it had rapidly become one of the more influential and hotly debated ideas. While that particular formulation owes itself to a politician, specifically a speech the then Prime Minister Stanley Baldwin had made in 1932, the general idea had been discussed and debated for many years in both military and civilian life. The general fear was that in any future conflict enemy bomber armadas would swarm over their target unhindered and drop vast quantities of munitions on it. The threat posed by these bombers was often amplified by fears of what exactly might be inside the bombs they carried. While the use of chemical and biological weapons were de jure banned by the Geneva Protocol this treaty had entirely failed to prevent the use of chemical weapons in the Rif War, the Japanese using it on rebels in Taiwan, and most recently, the Italian attempts to use it in Abyssinia. Speculation that any future enemy would resort to such measures was therefore commonplace whenever the bombing threat was discussed. It should be noted though that even amongst those who believed the Geneva Protocol would hold (or that British threats of a similar response would deter the enemy from such escalation) there remained a pervasive concern that massed bomber attacks could lay waste to the country in short order and the 'morale blow' from this would force the country to sue for peace. The experiences of the Abyssinian War were seen by much of Westminster as supporting this belief; the RAF's Whitley bombers had successfully 'raided' Rome without a single loss and, had they been armed with bombs not propaganda leaflets, it was generally believed they would have devastated the city. The influence of this belief in the bomber can be seen in the other services, the Royal Navy and Army accepted the RAF view and incorporated it into their own planning. The Admiralty's debates over armoured carrier design and air power tactics, as discussed in Chapter CXXXVI, were in large part informed by the perceived difficulty of stopping incoming bombers. On land that same perception drove the Ministry of War to prioritise developing modern anti-aircraft weaponry over updating it's somewhat outdated artillery park; with the RAF unable to stop the bombers it would fall to AA weapons to defend key targets, which meant those weapons had to be modern.

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    The Chemical Defence Research Establishment (CDRE) at Sutton Oak in Merseyside. The British government had signed the Geneva Protocol against chemical and biological weapons but with a reservation; in the event of such weapons being used against Britain the government reserved the right to reply in kind. To make good that deterrent threat Britain needed modern chemical weapons and plenty of them, this dangerous and complex task fell to the staff of Sutton Oak. While it's more famous parent unit, the Chemical Defence Experimental Station at Porton Down, focused on researching new weapons and defences against them, the CDRE had the more specific role of developing the methods and processes required to manufacture the substances safely, economically, and in bulk. Situated in the heart of the Merseyside chemical industry cluster the establishment had seen major funding boosts during and after the Abyssinian War with the intention of updating and improving the methods that had been used in the Great War and starting construction of new production plants.

    Inside the RAF the concept was more subtle than Baldwin's wording suggests, his speech had been made in the context of an upcoming disarmament conference and was more concerned with rhetorical efficacy than accuracy, though that caveat could be added to almost any political speech regardless of context. For the military the crucial point was not that interception of any individual bomber was impossible, but that you could not stop all of them and some number of bombers would always make it through to their target. Within the RAF it was accepted that the Rome raid had been an exception, taking advantage of Italian complacency and the limited resources of the Regia Aeronautica to essentially launch a surprise attack. It was expected that any follow up raids would have experienced far greater losses from the now alert Italian defenders, a reasonable belief given the panicked orders from Mussolini ordering fighters and anti-aircraft guns from the French border pulled back to defend Rome and other key targets. While this did help prove bolster the Air Staff's arguments about the psychological impact of heavy bombers and their value as a deterrent, it was not the same as an actual bombing campaign in terms of hard evidence particularly as the success had been achieved with what the Staff thought was a far too small bomber force. Frustratingly, from the point of view of the Air Staff at least, the civil war in Spain was refusing to develop a 'strategic' dimension in the air. Neither side was well equipped with heavy or even medium bombers and both were holding back from trying to hit targets in populated areas, let alone deliberate attacks on 'morale' targets. Given it would be their own citizens they would be bombing, and given the persistent belief by both sides that they would 'soon' make a breakthrough and end the war, this is understandable. It should be noted that the Air Staff had strongly argued that a short 'decisive' bombing campaign would force the Republicans to seek terms and end the war with fewer overall casualties. Uncomfortably for the Air Staff this put them alongside German advisors arguing for 'terror bombing' and the more excitable Falangists who would rather see a city destroyed than in enemy hands. Regardless of this it proved to be a counter-productive argument to make; the more the threat of heavy bombers was talked about, the louder the Monarchist high command demanded modern fighters to defend Madrid and the other major cities.

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    Sound mirrors at the Hythe Acoustic Research Station on the south Kent coast, on the left the 30ft and 20ft parabolic dishes (note the metal 'stick' on the 30ft dish that would have held the microphone), on the right the large 200ft mirror wall and it's rack of receivers. While the British had not invented sound ranging they were the first to make it operationally useful and the first to deploy it to detect aircraft, as early as 1915 work was underway on using sound to warn of incoming German bombers and Zeppelins. Essentially the sound mirrors collected and concentrated sounds towards a central microphone where the operator listened for the sound of aero-engines before passing a warning to the wider air defence network. A 200ft mirror had been built on Malta as part of that island's defence system and was used operationally during the Abyssinian War. The 'Il Widna' (The Ear) station was able to detect incoming aircraft up to 35miles away in the right conditions, a considerable improvement over the 5 to 8 miles the Great War era 20ft dishes could manage. Unfortunately along with range the larger mirror also scaled up the problems, background noises were also amplified and even ship engine sounds were detectable. It became apparent it took considerable practice for a listener to be able to reliably differentiate between aero-engines and ships. These issues could perhaps have been overcome, but fundamentally 35 miles of range was insufficient and in the post-Abyssinian review the Air Ministry abandoned the project to focus on more promising prospects.

    In fairness to the Monarchists high command those demands were uncomfortably close to the Air Staff's own view on the subject. The RAF's fighter squadrons had borne the brunt of the initial post-Great War defence cuts, but when concerns grew about the 'Continental Air Menace' in the early 1920s the reaction was a large expansion of the fighter force alongside increasing the number of bomber squadrons. It is worth noting that, in the grandest traditions of British strategic thinking, the 'hostile' bomber fleet that prompted this large investment was that of the French, Anglo-French relations in the early 1920s having reverted to their natural level of suspicious mistrust. This position was not a political imposition from cabinet, but a decision the Air Staff had fully supported in principle, with an admit degree of squabbling about the detail. The RAF firmly believed in the ability of air power to win a war on it's own and was certain of the potentially devastating impacts of strategic bombing but that did not mean they saw no role for the fighter, quite the opposite. RAF doctrine did indeed hold that bomber squadrons should be as 'numerous as possible' but it also demanded that fighter squadrons be provided for defence of vital targets and to support morale on the home front. In a battle of attrition with both sides trying to destroy the industry and will to fight of the other side, an effective fighter defence was seen as a vital counter-part to the bombing campaign. Blunting the enemy's attacks, reducing the damage they caused, attriting the enemy bomber force and raising civilian morale by seeing friendly fighters in the skies above and AA guns defiantly firing away were all seen as valuable contributions. For the Air Staff you could not win a war with strategic air defence, but you could keep the country in the fight while the heavy bombers did. Naturally there was plenty of room for arguments within this framework around how many fighter squadrons were actually the bare minimum required, but a steady enough consensus was in place. This agreement was disrupted when the Committee for the Scientific Survey of Air Defence entirely failed to develop a death ray.

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    The planned Air Defence system for Great Britain as it stood before the Abyssinian War. Acoustic mirrors along the coast would detect incoming bombers, supplemented by observers on the ground, and they would feed the information back to their local operations room. These rooms would be in radio-telephone communication with the fighters patrolling in the pink Aircraft Fighting Zone which would be directed onto the incoming raid. This system overcame the limitations of acoustic/visual observation by having the aircraft already be at combat altitude and on patrol, though at the cost of leaving Dover and the East Coast ports relying on AA guns alone. Not shown on this map are the facilities that made it possible, the Y-stations which were responsible for wireless direction finding (D/F). Radio transmission from enemy bombers carrying out equipment checks and organising themselves could be detected and triangulated from hundreds of miles away, even if the messages themselves were encoded this was enough to warn that a raid was assembling. There was therefore no need for the fighters to remain on permanent patrol, a task that would require vast numbers of fighters and ground crew, as they could instead wait for a D/F warning before taking off.

    The Air Ministry had been plagued by inventors claiming to have an aerial death ray since the early 1920s, to the point where there was a standing offer of £1000 to anyone who could demonstrate a working model capable of killing a sheep at 100 yards. Naturally this went unclaimed, but the general swirl of rumours about foreign powers developing such weapons went unabated, not helped by credible figures such as Nikola Tesla and Guglielmo Marconi claiming to have perfected the device or be close to it. In order to close off the matter the Committee for the Scientific Survey of Air Defence, also known as the Tizard Committee after it's chairman Henry Tizard, asked the head of the Radio Research Station, Robert Watson-Watt, to carry out a quick feasibility check on the concept in January 1935. A brief calculation confirmed unfeasible amounts of power would be required to make such a device work and that would have been that, had it not been for the suggestion from Watson-Watt's assistant Arnold Wilkins that while radio waves could not kill incoming pilots they may be able to detect the aircraft. The 'problem' of aircraft interfering with radio transmissions had been known since the early 1930s, the proposal was to use this hitherto undesired phenomenon to detect aircraft at greater distances. The potential use of radio waves for aircraft detection was not a particularly groundbreaking insight; Germany, the US, France and the Soviet Union all had research programmes based on the idea by the mid 1930s. What did mark out the British effort was the speed with which the programme was pushed and the funds committed to it, in mid January Wilkins produced the theoretical calculations on how detection might work and by the end of February a practical test was carried out. The 'Daventry Experiment' used a BBC radio transmitter and a GPO portable radio truck in a very lashed up system that nevertheless detected a Heyford bomber at several miles distance. Less than two months after that a permanent installation had been established at Orford Ness for overwater testing and by the autumn the range was up to 40 miles, a result the Tizard Committee and the Air Ministry felt was sufficient to justify stopping all funding for acoustic research, even if the sites themselves remained in operation as a stop-gap measure. In December of that year the Treasury agreed to fund five stations to form a Thames Estuary Chain to cover the southern and eastern approaches to London, construction started in 1936 and the first three sites were substantially complete by the spring of 1937. Long before then funding had been secured for 20 more stations to form Chain Home, which would cover the entire south and east coasts. Watson-Watt and Wilkins had not been idle in this time, working out of the newly established research station at RAF Bawdsey near Orford Ness they had pushed the detection range out to 100 miles and added a height finding function, vital information for the ground controllers to know. By August 1937 the sites were complete enough to be included in the RAF's annual air exercises, for the Air Staff this was where the problems began.

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    The transmitting towers at Air Ministry Experimental Station 04 Dover. To provide a degree of cover the sites were codenamed as experimental stations, similarly the method itself was referred to as Radio Direction Finding (RDF) in order to make it seem like a mere variation on existing direction finding systems. The stations themselves have been variously described as crude or even primitive, unfavourably compared to the systems under development in the US and Germany which used far shorter wavelengths so were theoretically more accurate and required far smaller aerials; the US SCR-270 required a 55ft antenna and the German Freya made do with a 6m (20ft) antenna, both were semi-mobile and could be relocated on a trailer, in contrast an AMES Type 1 aerial as installed at a Chain Home station needed towers 360ft tall. There was truth in these comparison but it was the result of a very deliberate compromise, Watson-Watt and Wilkins had used off the shelf components which were not as powerful as custom made items because they allowed faster development and rapid construction of the final system. As a result the UK would have Chain Home completed and integrated into the national air defence system long before either Germany or the US had a single one of their more complex sets out of development and ready for operational testing.

    The summer air exercises generally focused on 'home defence', protecting the British Isles from an unspecified continental air threat. They were not just an RAF event, the Army would commit a number of it's searchlight and AA units, the Observer Corps would call in it's volunteers to get the posts manned and the Admiralty would send an observer or two, officially to monitor the plans for the aerial defence of key ports and unofficially to keep an eye on the junior service. The 1937 exercises would see the debut of a great many new innovations or developments which were finally able to be used together. On the intelligence and warning side there was of course the Chain Home RDF stations supported by 'Huff-Duff' (high-frequency direction finding) enabling friendly fighters to be tracked. Fighter Command's new control room at Bentley Priory was operational and the dedicated phone and teleprinter circuits had been added to connect it to all the various controls, groups and other elements. Finally in the air it was the first full scale exercise carried out with Spitfires and Hurricanes not biplanes and with pilots trained on the latest aerial warfare tactics brought back from Spain. While there had always been a master plan for how the various elements would work together, the so-called Dowding System, this would be it's first real trial. Naturally it did not start well, it soon became apparent that the Observer Corps and the RDF stations could generate an overwhelming volume of information and it was often contradictory. The plethora of phone lines proved to be woefully insufficient for the volume of information and were overloaded, forcing controllers to switch between receiving updates and being able to contact the airfields. The 'Huff-Duff' system required the pilots to make regular transmissions to enable tracking but they often forgot when distracted by flying and fighting their aircraft, though given the short range and temperamental nature of the radios this was often irrelevant. In the air, when an interception was managed it was clear that the lessons of Spain did not neatly transfer to the UK and the tactics and training required for interception, as opposed to zone patrolling, needed more development. And yet, when all the elements did come together the results were startling. In the final days of the exercise the defenders managed to intercept every incoming bomber and shoot down all of them. The bomber had not got through.

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    The first production Hawker Fury Mk.I, outside the Brooklands aircraft shed in the Spring of 1931. The highly polished surfaces are clearly visible, as is the large 'chin' air intake for the 525hp Rolls Royce Kestrel V-12 engine. It can also be seen that there are no wires for radios, because the original Furies were 'interceptors', stripped of all extraneous weight (such as radios) to maximise performance. The concept held that a Fury squadron would sit at readiness, wait until an incoming bomber was visually spotted, and then take off to chase them down, using their superior speed and rate of climb to catch them. The 1931 summer exercises proved this idea was a disaster in practice, even when the bombers were routed directly over the Fury squadron's airfields at Tangmere and Hawkinge the fighters still could not climb fast enough to reach altitude before the bombers had vanished from sight. The Interceptor concept was abandoned and Hawker developed the Mk.II Fury as a zone fighter, equipped with a radio and all the equipment for night flying operations. The experience of the 1937 exercises made the tacticians of Fighter Command wonder if RDF meant it was worth looking again at an interceptor.

    Naturally this was contested by a somewhat panicked Air Staff, the bomber force had not had a chance to adapt to the new defences and clearly the best tactics against a patrol defence were not appropriate to overwhelm interceptors. Moreover the Spitfire and Hurricane were brand new aircraft going up against older designs, the 'proper' four engined heavy bombers being developed under the B.12/36 specification would fly faster, higher and be better protected. Fighter Command contested that they too had improvements coming; cannon armed fighters, improvements to Chain Home, new radios with automatic D/F, 'filter rooms' to help manage the flow of intelligence and more phone lines to improve communications. The scene was set for another internal RAF argument about the relative priorities of fighter vs bomber and quite which side would be more favoured by future technological developments. This well worn pattern was interrupted by the Air Council which not particularly innocently asked the question, what if our future enemy has or develops the same air defence capabilities? The Permanent Under-Secretary of State for Air, Sir Christopher Bullock, had never been entirely convinced of the Air Staff's obsession with the bomber offensive and saw in the exercises an opportunity to correct the balance. The Treasury could be relied upon to support this measure, a fighter being far cheaper than a bomber yet counting the same to a press and public (and many backbench MPs if one is honest) that looked only at the number of 'machines' the RAF had and not the composition of the force. The variable was the Air Minister Churchill, but once he received a positive report on the exercise and the potential of Chain Home from 'Prof' Lindemann he threw himself into the matter with his usual enthusiasm, much to the horror of the Air Staff.

    ---
    Notes:
    I hadn't actually intended to make this a two parter, but it got to a few thousand words and everyone had been so politely leaving the top of the page free I felt I should get something out before Christmas, and here we are. Apologies for not responding to each comment, but I assumed you would prefer an actual update.

    The starting point for all this is a quote from Macmillan; "we thought of air warfare in 1938 rather as people think of nuclear war today". Once you look at it from that perspective the parallels are numerous, particularly in the language. Bomber Command had lively debates about the merits of strategic targets (cities and factories) versus counter-force missions (enemy airfields and logistic networks), deterring enemy bombers through the threat of your own bombers responding was a widely discussed strategy. The language is similar of course because it's the same people talking, the pre-ww2 squadron leader who went to Staff College and learnt this became the post-war air marshal developing doctrine for the cold war. The worries about chemical weapons are all OTL as is the CDRE and it's upgrades, there was a genuine belief that only the threat of chemical retaliation could deter their use. Given they were liberally used by the Soviets, Italians and Japanese, but only on people who couldn't use them back, this is not unreasonable. It is probably too simplistic to say Germany didn't use chemical weapons because they were worried about the Allies/Soviets using them back, but it absolutely has to be part of it and certainly must be a major part of why Japan used chemical and biological weapons freely in China but never anywhere else. They are never going to get used, may indeed never get mentioned again in the story, but you cannot understand the debate about bombers without acknowledging fears of bombers carrying gas or something worse.

    I have tried to squeeze a good decades worth of involved strategic debate into a short section, but overall the point is that even the most obsessive 'bomber baron' never neglected fighter defence. If you wish to run a strategic air offence, and the RAF absolutely did, then you almost have to run a strategic air defence. hence the many defence schemes and experimentations with zone fighters, interceptors, acoustic mirrors and wireless intercepts. Indeed there is an irony that despite it's reputation the RAF put a lot more thought and effort into developing and improving it's fighter defence tactics, equipment and doctrine than it ever put into the bombers. As has been said the Battle of Britain was essentially a group of happy amateurs who relied on luck and things just working out going up against hard bitten professionals who had been training and honing their craft for years, and the RAF were the professionals.

    The Army did start work on it's "modern" AA guns (the QF 3.7" for heavy and the 40mm Bofors for light) before it got it's artillery sorted. In large part because home defence was more important than equipping a new BEF for the politicians, but also because anti-aircraft guns were a big part of the Army's home defence role and at least under the pre-Radar plans a lot of ports and industrial centres were outside the 'fighting zone' and so were going to be relying on AA guns alone. This will be discussed a bit more in Part II because change is coming.

    Radar development story is of course true, including the death ray and rewards for dead sheep. Watson-Watt had a fairly robust approach to engineering, his position was "Give them the third best to go on with; the second best comes too late, the best never comes." and of course in the context of Radar he was undoubtedly correct. The British could have developed more advanced systems to match the US and German efforts, but they never would have been ready in time. And bear in mind the target date was not summer of 1940, it took time to learn to use it, iron out the bugs and generally make it work. The US SCR-270 radar at Pearl Harbor is an example of what happens if you have superior technology but untrained operators and no air defence system behind it.

    There were exercises with radar pre-war and they did indeed not go well but showed flashes of great promise, but in OTL it was Earl Swinton as Air Minister and Bullock had been sacked as PUS and replaced by an ex-Army major general with extensive experience at the Post Office. Which says a great deal about how important the Civil Service thought rearmament was. Here the 1937 exercises are still somewhat shambolic, but the flashes of promise remain. Enough to encourage Bullock to try and change strategy and for Churchill to get over-excited about, which always ends well.
     
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    Chapter CXLIX: The Consequences of a Failed Death Ray Part II.
  • Chapter CXLIX: The Consequences of a Failed Death Ray Part II.

    One of the first tangible actions to come out of Air Minister Churchill's focus on radar and Bomber Command was the establishment of a Committee for the Scientific Survey of Air Offence, a body intended as a counter-part to the existing scientific air defence committee (the Tizard Committee) which had done such sterling work on Chain Home. Given the RAF prided itself on being the most modern and 'high tech' of the services, and given the Air Staff's well known obsession with the bomber offensive and the power of bombing, it is often seen as surprising that they had not established such a body themselves. The nearest they had comes was the long standing Bombing Committee comprised of a fair mix of scientists and RAF technical officers and which had been working on various technical issues for a number of years, but the name of the committee is instructive on it's intent and it's many limitations. The Bombing Committee had done a great deal of work on what to do when an aircraft attacked a target (looking at bomb sights and similar) but nothing on how you got to the location or identified the actual target once there, let alone consider the possibility that the enemy may try and stop you. They had stretched themselves to note that aircraft were getting faster and flying higher and that this could cause problems, but identifying this issue was as far as they had got, or perhaps as far as they had been allowed to get by the Air Staff. The new committee had the brief to not only investigate issues such as target identification, navigation and possible enemy air defences, but then to develop solutions to the problems encountered, backed up by the Air Council and indeed the personal interest of the Air Minister himself. The Air Staff were particularly alarmed about this, worrying that the solutions that were proposed may not be compatible with their carefully determined ideal bombing doctrine, of course for the civil servants in the Air Ministry the fact that said doctrine was such a 'matter of faith' that should not be challenged by new evidence or analysis was just another reason to support the new committee.

    The key figure on any government committee was the chair and not just because the body was typically named after them (the actual committee names were generally too long and unwieldy). A competent chair could direct what the committee did, or did not, look into and heavily influence any reports or recommendations produced; their assumptions would typically become those that the wider body worked under. There were strong arguments for appointing Tizard to the role given his success at chairing the Air Defence committee and the significant overlap in the relevant technologies, it would help ensure a minimum of duplication and that ideas and developments flowed freely between the two groups. Instead the Air Ministry chose a different chair, purportedly to avoid over-burdening the already very busy Tizard and to get a different perspective on the matter, ensuring that all avenues were investigated and that the committee did not just copy over the assumptions made by the air defence group. While there was weight to these arguments it must also be admitted that the choice also solved an ongoing civil service headache that had defied repeated efforts to resolve and that this undoubtedly played a role in the civil service recommendation, one which they were well aware the Air Minister would leap at. The recommendation was Professor Lindemann who had the qualifications and strong personality required so was a legitimate choice, however from the civil service perspective it was hoped it would also keep him too busy to interfere with the Air Council, reassure Churchill that his friend had an important role and keep 'The Prof' away from Tizard and so reduce the number of heated arguments considerably. The Air Staff were initially relieved to have a chair who they assumed would not probe too deeply into their strategic assumptions about bombing and so it proved, under Lindemann the committee would enthusiastically embrace the importance of strategic bombing. Their relief soon soured when it became clear that he would instead challenge them on almost every single other aspect of bombing and aerial operations, embracing a very expansive definition of 'scientific' to justify inquiring about everything from grand strategy to tactics and training. While it is likely he would have done an equally thorough job in other circumstances, it is undoubted that his rivalry with Tizard added a certain piquancy to the task, one he defined as pushing Bomber Command into embracing scientific and technical ways to ensure that that the bomber would once again 'always get through', even against a Chain Home type air defence network.

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    The Radar, Gun Laying, Mark I fully deployed with all aerials extended. The GL Mark I had been developed to provide ranging information to anti-aircraft guns, as range was considered the hardest input to estimate visually. The British Army could claim to have been the first of the services to properly investigate radar, the Army's Signals Experimental Establishment having constructed a lab bench prototype coastal defence radar as early as 1931. The War Office tended not to make this claim as it involved admitting that they then showed zero interest in the concept and reassigned the team, doing nothing further on radar until becoming aware of what the Air Ministry was doing. The scientists responsible for the abortive coastal defence radar were re-assembled as the 'Army Cell' and sent to the Bawdsey Research Station to investigate Chain Home and possible opportunities for the War Office from this 'new' technology. The GL Mark I would be the first tangible result of this and, despite the unfortunate start, the Army Cell and the other Army research establishments would make many valuable contribution to British radar research and development.

    The Air Staff were not without bureaucratic countermeasures to this 'interference' as they saw it, there were countless ways they could have obstructed the committee and delayed it's progress all while appearing to work with it. In the event they would generally co-operate even with the more awkward questions and potentially embarrassing problems that emerged, making trial aircraft available and even encouraging internal debate on the issues discovered. This was not a result of any persuasive argument from Lindemann or pressure from Churchill, but due to the crisis of confidence that was afflicting Bomber Command and the bomber leaning members of the Air Staff. The Bomber Barons were well aware their preferred method of warfare was unpopular both with politicans and the general public, they were long practised at euphemistic descriptions to obscure the brutal reality of the way of war they proposed. But they had always believed that the cold calculus of war was in their favour, that when faced with the prospect of massive casualties the politicians would turn to the bombers and the 'knock out blow' that could end the war without a bloody land campaign or a slow and expensive naval blockade. The Abyssinian War had therefore come as a nasty shock, a quick and relatively low casualty victory for Britain without the use of airpower (or without the correct use of the right sort of airpower) was not in the plan. The situation in Spain was in some ways worse as that was in a bloody, high casualty stalemate, yet the Monarchists consistently refused to start strategic bombing and the Republicans hadn't either, both sides instead demanding fighters to protect themselves against the threat and tactical bombers to assist over the battlefields. It was becoming apparent that the political threshold for unleashing the bombers was far higher than the Air Staff had believed. To this existing concern had been added growing doubts about whether the RAF even could win the sort of war it wanted to fight. Air Staff planning assumed that once strategic bombing started the enemy would strike back in kind, so it would be a race to see which side could destroy civilian morale faster. In such a race size and composition of force was key, the more bomber aircraft you had the more bombs you could drop, which made the material situation concerning. In a European context the Luftwaffe was expanding massively and was building a large bomber force, one which the Air Staff automatically assumed could be turned to strategic purposes because that is what they would do in that situation. In contrast the post-Abyssinia defence review had seen RAF expansion focus on fighters and tactical aircraft for Strike Command leaving the RAF badly outnumbered in terms of 'useful' bombers , at least as far as the Bomber Barons defined 'useful'. Looking to the Far East things were worse, while there was no realistic possibility of Japan bombing Britain, there was also no real chance of the RAF being able to meaningfully bomb Japan. Quite aside from the logistical challenges of equipping and supply a bomber force there were a lack of bases and a lack of any bomber with the range, even if aerial refuelling worked as promised that was no panacea and vastly increased the logistical problems by multiplying the number of aircraft and amount of fuel required. Radar and the prospect of the enemy having effective air defence just made theses problem worse, at best radar could be expected to substantially increase losses and even that best case was a serious issue; the Air Staff already thought the bomber force was too small to do the job and that was assuming minimal losses.

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    HMS Saltburn, a Great War-era Hunt-class minesweeper which spent most of the 1930s serving as one of the tenders attached to the Royal Navy Signal School in Portsmouth. Her sole claim to fame came in December 1936 when the Admiralty Experimental Department used her as the trials ship for their new Type 79 radar, the first British radar set to go to sea and detect anything while afloat. Despite being something of a lash up the radar operators detected a Fleet Air Arm trainer at almost 20 miles and the light cruiser HMS Dunedin at five miles. The Admiralty had something of an 'inside track' on radar development, due to it's pioneering work in radio transmission the RN Signal School had developed silica valves which were capable of much higher power outputs than the then standard glass ones. As Chain Home depended upon existing technology (lacking the time and budget to develop their own) a relationships had been formed between Bawdsey and the Signal School, an exchange of ideas, equipment and technique. This had made the Signal School, and it's experimental department, the home of British naval radar. While naval radar would see rapid developments in power and range, the greatest contribution would not be any specific radar set but the Signal Schools work to solve very specific naval concerns about radar, as we shall see in later chapters.

    The RAF response to all of this was very much in keeping with one of the oldest traditions of the service, which is to say it involved panicking about being broken up and abolished. The founding mission of the RAF was strategic bombing, the "independent means of war operation" that Smuts had described in his 1917 report that had led to the creation of the RAF and Air Ministry. If there was no political desire for the heavy bombing missions, and they would not be successful even if launched, and if radar and modern fighters could provide a defence against enemy bombers and so negate the deterrence role of the heavy bomber, then what was the rationale for the continued independent existence of the RAF? In the context of the time these fears were not completely unreasonable, the RAF had already 'lost' the Fleet Air Arm back to the Admiralty, had been over-ruled to see Strike Command formed and work worryingly closely with the Army and were involved in a long running fight with the Navy about Coastal Command and flying boats. If strategic bombing was disavowed by the government then it was not out of the question that Coastal Command would be moved to the Admiralty, Strike Command become a reformed Royal Flying Corps under the Army and the RAF reduced to a rump fighter defence organisation with a few transport aircraft. Indeed there was even an argument that as the Army already ran the Anti-Aircraft and Searchlight organisation that the fighters could be moved under their control as well and might as well have the transport aircraft as they only existed to move troops around anyway. That there were no serious proposals to carry out such a re-organisation, beyond the usual inter-service bickering and jostling, did not stop the Air Staff from worrying about it. Their default approach when feeling threatened was fear mongering about the terrible damage that bombing could do and arguing that only fear of British bombers striking back would deter a future enemy, but they had finally learnt this was counter-productive and just meant more money for Fighter Command and even less chance of politicians agreeing to such an "uncivilised" form of warfare. What the Air Staff realised was that they needed was a new string to their bow, a new 'independent mission' that was politically acceptable and could be carried out by the bomber force they had, not the one they wished for. The choice fell on industrial targets, specifically the key points of the enemy's economy that could cause maximum disruption by destroying the minimum number of sites, the very strategy in fact that Lord Trenchard had argued strongly against when setting the new service on it's path to area bombing and targetting civilian morale. As the staff worked to identify targets, develop requirements and understand the practicalities of this new strategy it soon became apparent this approach would require careful target selection, accurate navigation and precision bombing, and these were not exactly the skills that the Bomber squadrons had been rigorously and diligently practising up to this point.

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    Desmond Morton, former army officer, intelligence officer and confidant of Winston Churchill. After an appropriately murky and vague career as an intelligence officer in both SIS and the War Office by 1929 he had been appointed head of the Board of Trade’s Department of Overseas Trade. This entirely banal sounding organisation was in fact a front for another intelligence body, the Industrial Intelligence Centre (IIC) attached to the Committee of Imperial Defence. The IIC was responsible for the gathering and interpretation of intelligence about ’the state of industrial and economic preparedness of foreign countries to make war’ and soon picked up the role of planning offensive economic strategy in any future conflict, their plans for 'economic warfare' against Italy would have formed the basis of the British strategy against Abyssinia had Mussolini not sought terms. While the RAF had somewhat ignored the IIC previously, expecting to win any war long before blockade or economic pressure could be a factor, those planning the new precision campaign found their reports invaluable for highlighting the weak points and critical nodes of potential enemies. For the Air Staff the additional advantage of using IIC reports as a basis for their plans was that it tied the RAF into the wider Imperial defence strategy as agreed by the CID, hopefully making it harder for the other services to argue against the 'vital' role of heavy bombers.

    The committee began by ordering a series of more realistic practice exercises with results measured by instrument and photo not crew or umpire 'judgement', while training bombs were used the bombers were flying at combat speed and operational altitudes. It should be explained that high altitude level bombing was not an easy task, not least because bombs do not actually drop vertically onto their target but followed a parabolic arc; a Whitely Bomber flying at 20,000ft and cruising at 160mph would have to release it's bombs almost 2 miles from the target to ensure a hit, even small errors in estimated height or speed would result in a large miss. The Air Staff had been vaguely aware of this issue but had long subscribed to the 'near miss' theory, the idea that even if the bomb missed the specific target it would still hit something and as the important enemy target was actually 'morale' it didn't particularly matter what that was, so it had not been considered it a serious concern. To this end they had a rather relaxed definition of 'on target', defining it as somewhere within 300 yards of the target, and even then planned on the basis of 90% of bombs missing this fairly large target. While the exercises proved that the bomber squadrons were mostly achieving this, it became apparent there was a considerable variation between the crack crews who achieved tolerable accuracy and the average crew who missed quite badly, indeed a worryingly high percentage missed the target range entirely. The committee also looked at the bombs being used and noted that the standard GP Mk.IV 500lb bomb had a structural blast radius of barely 30 yards, essentially any structure outside that range would experience little to no damage. On this basis they concluded that the 300 yard figure was fairly meaningless, a bomb that did no damage could not be considered 'on target', and worked out what the average accuracy actually was in terms of bombs that would actually do damage. Instead of the already very low 10% that the Air Staff had been assuming the real figure was estimated at nearer 1%, and that was for daylight bombing, with no enemy AA fire and clear weather conditions. Things were bad but not disastrous, there were certain targets so huge that even that level of accuracy was sufficient; the Krupp Factory Works in Essen covered over half a square mile, the wider steel and iron works another two, at that scale the "near miss" theory still applied. However the IIC reports had highlighted that many of the crucial points in German industry were fairly small facilities, the examples given was that the actual crucial parts of an oil refinery were a handful of key pieces of equipment, the rest was off the shelf items or easily replaced pipework. To damage a target such as that would require either greater accuracy or a very large number of bombers over the target.

    As mentioned the Air Staff were lucky to get Lindemann as chair, his response to these revelations was not to reconsider if strategic bombing was actually a good idea but to hurl himself into improving the bomber force. As an immediate measure the RAF started looking at tactics, the Bombing Committee had been asking for a Bombing Development Flight since 1934 but had never been able to secure the funds required, this unit was finally activated and given a squadron of Whitley bombers to work with. While intelligence work was underway to determine if any 'future enemy' (code for Germany or Japan, with France also investigated as a general precaution) had radar or any air defence system, planning proceeded on the basis as if they did. The Bombing Development Flight would operate closely with the Bawdsey Research Station and the still officially experimental Chain Home stations, the bombers providing the 'test targets' the stations needed and the stations acting as the 'enemy defence network' for the bombers to try to penetrate, a friendly rivalry soon developed as both sides tried to outwit the 'enemy' with new tactics and tweaks to their technology. Work on new larger bombs was ordered, area attack had favoured large numbers of smaller bombs, industrial and logistical targets (machine tools and bridges) required larger bombs to destroy and for other targets larger bombs were more forgiving of 'near misses' due to the larger blast radius. A new modern bombsight was prioritised, the technical branch had known stabilisation offered the promise of perhaps double the accuracy of existing sights, but the Bombing Committee had prioritised incremental improvements on the existing models not a wholesale redesign. While work started on this in the hope it would be a relatively quick fix, the principles of stabilisation were well known, it would unfortunately prove far harder and slower to develop than anyone hoped. As this was still the Air Ministry a portfolio approach was implemented for the question of how to bypass any enemy air defences, while tactics might help in the short term a more permanent solution was sought through a twin track approach, one electronic and one about the aircraft themselves. On the electronic side work on what would become jamming and counter-measures was started, the teams having to start from the basic question of could an RDF type system even be deliberately fooled and if so how? The aircraft side was perhaps were the Air Staff felt more comfortable as the idea was to produce a bomber that could fly fast enough or high enough that even if the enemy could detect it, they couldn't do anything about it. Speed was a matter for a specification and engine design, and looking at it's engine portfolio the Air Ministry felt they had that in hand, operations at very high altitude were felt to need more research and this was continued.

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    Squadron Leader Francis Swain in his high altitude pressure suit at RAE Farnborough, in the background the Bristol Type 138A that he would take up to a hair under 50,000ft to reclaim the world altitude record for Britain. As should be clear one of the biggest challenges of high altitude operation was keeping the pilot alive, the aircraft themselves were comparatively simple to get up such heights whereas Swain's suit suffered a minor failure, which soon became a major one, during his record breaking flight, forcing him to rapidly descend earlier than planned. With minor modifications to the aircraft, and considerable changes to the suit, the record would be taken to 54,000ft by the spring of 1938 and pushed further up from there. Recognising that the suit was impractical, and not especially reliable, the work of the High Altitude Flight began focusing on pressurising the aircraft itself, an endeavour the wider Air Ministry keenly supported as they could see great advantage in high flying pressurised civilian passenger aircraft.

    Lindemann had saved his most controversial suggestion for last, perhaps deliberately or perhaps because it was a logical outcome of the work described above. The future bombers were shaping up to be fast, flying at very high altitude, possibly equipped with a notional anti-radar device and with a highly trained crew well practised in precision bombing. All of that was likely to be expensive to procure and maintain, to say nothing of the costs in crew training and practice, making a massed bomber force a very significant expenditure when there were other big items in the defence budget. It was also noted that only a small number of crack crews were capable of actual pin point accuracy, it required not only great skill but also great co-operation and understanding between pilot and bombardier and that combination was rare. Therefore one possible solution was to have a small but exceptionally capable bombing force, the best possible crews in the best aircraft and just remove the 90% of bombers who would struggle to even hit the target range. This was an anathema to the Air Staff who had long believed tonnage was king and that a large mass of aircraft was required to both deliver that tonnage and to cover for losses. Lindemann however had marshalled his evidence well; the bombing exercise evidence, the hoped for changes in tactics to high altitude/high speed and the growing evidence from exercises that the "massed concentrated defensive fire" from bombers did not, in fact, stop enemy fighters from massacring bombers once detected on radar. The Air Ministry did not leap onto this idea, partly because it relied on several 'hoped for' technologies working and they were too cautious for that, but mostly because if the Treasury got wind of the scheme then the potential cost savings of a smaller force would doubtless be used as a stick with which to beat them. Instead it was accepted as an option, something worthy of investigation and future discussion, but definitely a longer term possibility worthy of a place in the development portfolio. In the short term however attention shifted to the existing specifications and design under consideration, many of these were reaching decision points and there was work to be done determining if the designs emerging were still suitable for the new direction of Bomber Command.

    ---
    Notes:
    This one has taken a little while to wrestle into shape, but overall I am quite pleased with it. Onto the notes.

    There was a committee of air offence in OTL, but Tizard got the chair and it achieved very little before war broke out. The Air Staff resented the intrusion, Tizard was far too busy on other things and the Air Ministry never pushed it, so it drifted. Obviously Lindemann was nowhere near the frame in OTL, but here he is a fairly obvious choice as for all his faults he is going to at least shake things up, which was frankly long over-due. Bombing accuracy figures are hand wave accurate, in part because the pre-war RAF didn't really bother that hard to measure, though the assumed 90% within 300 yards figure is correct, though even the official history doesn't quite know where that came from. The pre-war USAAC assumed 1% accuracy based on some actual measured exercises so that seems a reasonable benchmark for what the RAF could achieve in daylight when no-one is shooting back, though probably somewhat on the generous side because accurate bombing from 3.5miles up in the air with 1930s tech is really hard.

    On the wider point the consequences of not only radar, but also the Abyssinian War and a very different Spain have all come together and the heavy bomber is looking a bad idea. The RAF is prone to occasional bouts of existential dread and paranoia that the other services are out to abolish it (which the leadership of the other services generally aren't, though the Treasury probably would in heartbeat just to save on senior officer costs) and without their prized "independent mission" they are feeling vulnerable.

    Desmond Morton probably belong in a Le Jones AAR as he is a wonderfully shadowy figure with links to MI6/SIS, Churchill and a few front organisations that never existed. The IIC was real because the Civil Service took the idea of Economic Warfare very seriously, doubtless in part because they really wanted to avoid a repeat of WW1 and it seemed to offer a way of doing that.

    Most of the proposed fixes for the bombers are either OTL proposals (bombing development flight only happened in 1941!) or things that did happen pre-war (new larger bombs, etc). Training bombers against Chain Home I don't think happened, but if seems bloody obvious and benefits both sides so I'm going with it. The High Altitude flight is delightfully mad, the very spindly Bristol Type 138 almost made it as photo but the suit was too good not to include. High altitude, and high speed, are definitely seen as the future.

    Finally the brief hints of Army and RN radar work are OTL device which will crop up again, but this was getting a bit long so a photo and caption seemed enough. We might look at British AA and radar later, it is mostly OTL at the moment so not much to say, we absolutely will be looking at RN radar again as that is already diverging massively from OTL thanks to the hero of the Abyssinian War Admiral Fisher who is giving the programme the Admiralty support and resources it lacked in OTL.
     
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    Chapter CL: The Murky Depths of Black Gold
  • Chapter CL: The Murky Depths of Black Gold.

    The issue of whether a barrel of crude oil was fungible was not the sort of question that most politicians or senior civil servants bothered themselves with, and not just because they may not have been able to understand it. For those that did the answer would undoubtedly be yes it was fungible, from the grand strategic perspective it was merely important to have a reliable supply of "oil" (whether from domestic production or secure sources of import) and no real distinction was made as to the type. However if you ran a refinery then oil was very much not fungible, a barrel of sweet and light Iraqi crude could not usefully be substituted for by any amount of Venezuelan sour and heavy oil, at least not if you wanted the refinery to run properly. So those inside the oil market made sure to be careful in their negotiations and specifications, preferring to trade directly with the oil producers to be surer of exactly what they were buying. Hence while one could find a quoted "price" for a barrel of oil it was at best an indicative reference, one calculated as the average from many wells of varying quality. The price you would actually pay could vary considerably, depending if one wanted a higher quality or could find a use for the dregs the supplier was keen to be rid off. These two worlds would happily have co-existed without ever crossing over, or even being particularly aware of each other, had a technological development not intervened and forced the strategists to engage with the practical realities. The prompt for this was the seemingly minor decision of the RAF to switch from 87 octane fuel to 100 octane, to take advantage of the greater 'anti-knock' properties of that fuel and the resulting further boost to aero-engine performance. The service had only finally completed switching from 77 to 87 octane in 1935 so there was a degree of grumbling from the Treasury at another change so soon, however as fuel was always being used up (and indeed could 'spoil' if left too long) it was expected this could be managed with minimal wastage of existing supplies and some fairly cheap alterations to existing engines. The Air Ministry obtained some samples of 100 octane fuel from Royal Dutch Shell's US subsidiary at the start of 1936 and began testing. At this point the problem emerged; none of the fuels worked as promised and in many cases performance decreased or the engine itself suffered damage. With the start of the Abyssinian War the issue dropped to a low priority and was kicked out to a research group run by the Royal Aircraft Establishment and experts from the fuel and engine industry. By the end of 1936 the Air Ministry was paying attention again and the group reported back, their first finding being that the Octane Number was a terrible way to classify fuels, a fact long suspected even by those who had invented the system. The trials demonstrated it was possible to produce completely different mixtures that had very different effects on an engine and get both of them to test as '100 Octane'. To briefly explain the octane number was a rating of the fuels ability to resist detonation, that is the fuel in the cylinder combusting at the wrong time due to ambient heat or pressure and not because of the spark from the sparkplug. If the fuel did detonate too early that caused a dramatic pressure increase in the affected cylinder that could damage the engine, it also made a very distinctive 'knocking' sound, hence why higher octane fuels were said to have 'anti-knock' properties. A fuel that was more resistant to knock meant an engine could run a higher manifold pressure, which meant more fuel and air being combusted and so more power produced, assuming of course that the rest of the engine could handle the higher pressures.

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    Two crude oil samples, on the left a light oil and on the right a heavy one. In oil terms light and heavy referred to the specific gravity of the oil, light crudes producing more 'lighter' (short chain) products like petrol, diesel and kerosene, whereas a heavy crude would produce more fuel oil, asphalt, bitumen and feedstock product. Not seen, as it makes no difference to the appearance, is the sweetness of the two samples. To somewhat over-simplify a sweet crude oil has a low sulphur content, whereas a sour one has a high level of sulphur that would have to be removed during refining. Finally there were the equally invisible 'aromatics' also know as the BTXs (Benzene, Toulene and Xylenes) the content of which varied considerably and had a substantial impact on what the refinery could produce. While any good refinery would have a degree of flexibility on what it could take there were limits and you could not just put any barrel of oil into any refinery and expect things to work out. The Air Ministry and the various economic departments of the government had mostly managed to survive without caring, or even knowing, about these differences but would be denied that luxury as they dealt with the High Octane Question.

    The group further proved that the octane number of any individual fuel could vary with the fuel-air mix inside the cylinder, but that this change depended upon the composition of the fuel. This was a problem as British military engines had developed to take advantage of this fact, even if neither the designers or the Air Ministry had been consciously aware of it. British engines expected fuels which showed a 'rich mixture response', that is to say if you ran them at a rich mixture (more fuel than required) they would combust at a cooler temperature, which allowed you to run at a higher pressure and get more power, at the cost of increased fuel consumption. The Merlin in a Spitfire for instance could run at a rich mixture for take off and climb, then switch to a lean mixture for cruising at altitude to get the best of both. The problem was the US Army Air Corps (USAAC) had specified a maximum of 2% aromatics in their fuel, because above that content the aromatics started eating the fuel lines and damaging the engines, so the 100 Octane mixes they had developed followed that rule. In contrast the Air Ministry had a de-facto minimum aromatic content of 20% (their 77 octane fuel had in fact been called 80/20 as it was 80% aviation spirit and 20% aromatic benzol) and while this meant British aircraft needed stronger fuel lines to resist the corrosive effects this aromatic content was vital to get the 'rich mixture' response. The results was that if you tried to run USAAC 100 octane in a British engine you either had less power at take off and climb or you boosted the mixture as normal, didn't get the expected cooling effect, and so seriously damaged the engine due to excess knock. Fortunately the group's final finding was much more positive, they had developed a British blend of 100 octane, it would come to be known as BAM100 (British Air Ministry 100 octane), which had the required properties and then tested it in a Merlin. With minimal modification this allowed the supercharger boost of the engine to be increased from 6.25 psi to 12psi, if only for 5 minutes or so, but that extra boost equated to 300hp extra and was enough to give a Spitfire an additional 25mph at sea level, 35mph at 10,000ft and faster climbing at all altitudes. Rolls Royce were also confident they could strengthen the relevant parts of the Merlin and have the next models operating at 12psi boost at all times, with similar benefits expected in all future engines. This was clearly a valuable improvement and so the Air Ministry began making plans to start the changeover of existing designs and incorporate a requirement for BAM100 octane fuel into the new specifications and engine development plans. By this time news had filtered up to the Committee of Imperial Defence (CID) and the Oil Board became officially aware of the plans, those bodies raised concerns about the strategic implications of this plan, focusing on the issue of where the RAF proposed to get this new 100 octane fuel from and how supplies could be secured.

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    A Bristol Blenheim Mk.I bomber of No.90 Squadron being inspected by it's new crew at RAF Bicester. The squadron would be selected as one of the trials units for 100 octane fuel, Strike Command were keen to see what performance gains were possible for their bombers and so 'volunteered' the newly formed squadron. In the event the trials merely proved that not all existing engines would benefit from the new fuel; the Mercury VIII engines in the Blenheim were pressure limited not knock limited, so any attempt to increase boost risked damage to the engine. Bristol would strengthen the crankshaft and bearings of the design and produce the Mercury XV which could take roughly double the boost (+5psi to +9psi) and so eke the engines take off power up to 920hp as against the 840hp of the Mercury VIII. The resulting Blenheim Mk.IV had fairly similar performance, but with the extra take-off power available could carry more fuel and gained 300miles of range or carry more bombs to the same range. These gains were more typical of what could be expected from the change of fuel, very few existing engine/aircraft combinations would see the immense improvements that the Merlin powered Spitfires did.

    The Oil Board was a sub-committee of the CID and as one would guess it was concerned with the supply and distribution of oil and all related fuels and substances. By the mid 1930s the glass, or perhaps the barrel, was either mostly full or basically empty depending upon how you looked at it. The negative case was that just over 5% of the oil imported into Britain came from the Empire, mostly the fields of Trinidad, and there was little prospect of that figure improving in the short or medium term. The positive case was that over 85% came from oilfields that were leased and operated by British companies (if one counted the Anglo-Dutch Shell concern as 'British) and from countries either within the Sterling Area or that accepted payment in sterling. The Oil Board tended towards the 'mostly full' interpretation and were of the opinion that the main limitation stopping that figure increasing was not actually supply or currency, but tanker capacity. This 'mostly full' position was not an accident, concerted efforts had been made to reduce dependence on US sources ever since the Board had been founded in the early 1920s and these had only accelerated after President Landon's policy choices during the ongoing war in Spain. The US and Britain ending up on opposite sides of that conflict, even if the US government strenuously denied that they had taken a side at all, had once again highlighted the risks of being dependent on US supplies in time of war. This background informed how they approached the question of 100 octane supply; Empire or Sterling Area production was preferred, avoid American sources if at all possible and make sure the impact on the tanker fleet was manageable. It should therefore be no surprise that Oil Board was quietly pleased that the existing US sources of high octane fuel were not suitable for RAF use and that they had got involved before a decision had been made. The board moved quickly to heavily recommended against the interim solution proposed by some of the oil companies of upgrading the US refineries used to make USAAC grade fuel to be able to produce BAM100 as well (only after long term supply contracts had been signed of course). This intervention very much cut to the heart of the matter, that while there was an official pretence that the matter was a private sector decision with the government 'just' buying the fuel, in reality there were no large customers for high octane fuel outside of military air forces, so the Air Ministry for once had a great deal of leverage. The subsequent question of where the fuel should be sourced from instead was more complex as many of the key considerations were impossible to know with any certainty. The key variables were where any future conflict would be fought and if the Mediterranean would be 'open' or 'closed' to tanker traffic. For planning purposes the answer on the former was decreed to be 'anywhere', while the most likely flashpoint was still see as a 'Far Eastern defensive operation' (code for war with Japan), the experience of the Abyssinian War had left the CID reluctant to rule anything out so options were prepared for a range of conflicts. They did however commit to the Med always being 'open', with the Italian fleet crippled and Mussolini focusing on rebuilding his land and air forces it was believed that the Med could be kept open to critical tanker convoys in any future conflict.

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    HMCS St Laurent, formerly the C-class destroyer HMS Cygnet she had been purchased by the Canadian government as part of their post-Abyssinian naval rearmament. In the summer of 1937 the St Laurent was serving with the Royal Navy's North America and West Indies Station, a secondment which had been seen as a low risk way for the Royal Canadian Navy to get some operational experience without the cost of going to Singapore or the political issues of the Spanish Civil War. An emergency call from the Governor of Trinidad for Admiralty assistance would shatter this belief and the St Laurent would be dragged into the Trinidad Oil Field Strike as she dashed to the islands alongside the cruiser HMS Ajax. A strike over low pay had been hijacked and turned violent, so the Royal Marine detachments of Ajax along side a 'landing party' from St Laurent would bolster the police until order was restored and the strike could play out peacefully. This was not the sort of experience Ottawa had envisaged it's sailors gaining and there was unease at being dragged into such affairs, yet there was also pride at how well the matter was handled, acknowledgment of the importance of Trinidad to the oil economy of the Empire and recognition of the fact that great engagement with affairs outside of Canada would inevitably result in more of these sort of incidents.

    The final plan therefore spread it's bets somewhat, which was inline with the Air Ministry preferred portfolio approach and a practical necessity given the projected fuel requirements far exceeded what any one site could realistically produce. In the UK a single existing refinery, the Stanlow Refinery at Ellesmere Port, was selected for upgrades on the basis it dealt with the right sort of crude already, had direct access to the Atlantic shipping routes and was considered safely out of range of bombing raids from the continent. It was complemented by a new build site at Heysham in Lancashire which had similar logistical and strategic advantages, the extra cost of building a whole new refinery being believed to be a price worth paying to avoid the more vulnerable south coast refineries and to get the extra efficiences of a fully dedicated modern facility. A The second set of sites were in the West Indies, two of the Trinidad refineries would be upgraded as would the two large refineries in Curaco and Aruba, the later two being in the Dutch Caribbean but were owned and operated by Shell. These sites were close to the vast Venezuelan crude oil deposits that were rich in the aromatics that BAM100 needed, additionally the Venezuelan fields were majority controlled by British oil firms and the oil could be paid for in Sterling, ticking all the Oil Board boxes. Strategically these refineries were considered safely out of range of any potential enemy and based on the Great War and Abyssinian War experience Shell could be relied upon to support any British war effort even if the Netherlands stayed neutral. In the Middle East the vast Abadan refinery in Iran was selected, strategically it was the 'swing' site, while not especially well positioned for either Far Eastern or UK supply it was able to supply both as well as the local demands from RAF Middle East Command and the Mediterranean squadrons of the Fleet Air Arm. Abadan's true value would come from the experimental work being done there by the Anglo-Iranian Oil Company, it would be the Abadan pilot plant that would first produce 100 octane fuel by Alkylation. Without going into the detailed chemistry the key ingredient of 100 octane fuel, of any type, was iso-octane, up to this point it had been produced by a complex two stage polymerisation and hydrogenation process invented by Shell in the early 1930s. The Alkylation process that had been (accidentally) discovered by Anglo-Iranian's Sunbury laboratory was a single stage process that did not require the high temperatures and pressures of the Shell method, making it far faster and cheaper. The first large scale pilot plant for this process would be built at Abadan and it was there that it was refined from a lab bench idea to an industrial manufacturing process, by the end of the decade it would be the standard method for making iso-octane. The final set of upgraded refineries were in the Far East and were a matter of some debate, broadly the choices were the East Indies or Burma. Burma, specifically the large Burmah Oil refinery at Rangoon, was naturally preferred as being on British territory and being in a more secure location strategically, however it required the most work as it had been built to refine the light sweet Assam crude which was not an ideal feedstock for making 100 octane fuel. The East Indies options were supplied with the heavier and more aromatic Borneo crudes which were very suitable for high octane fuel, but were also right in the line of any hypothetical Japanese attack. In the end the Rangoon Refinery was too small and would need too much work, so the choice was made to go with an East Indies location. The refineries of Miri and Lutong were initially favoured as being almost on British territory, the exact status of the always unusual Raj of Sarawak being a tale of itself, however they dismissed as the North Borneo coast was just too vulnerable. The choice therefore settled on the large Shell refinery at Palembang, on the basis that if Java had fallen into enemy hands then any defence of the Far East probably had bigger problems.

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    The Portsdown No.1 oil well, one of the first very deep level oil wells sunk in the British Isles, Portsmouth Harbour just visible in the background. The D'Arcy Exploration company (a subsidiary of Anglo-Iranian Oil) spent the mid and late 1930s carrying out a moderate investigation campaign within the UK, as part of a government supported imitative to find domestic sources of oil. While Portsdown would be a dud, by the summer of 1937 their attention have moved to Nottinghamshire were the geological team had discovered the first signs of the Eakring/Dukes Wood oilfield. While this would eventually become the UK's first commercial oil field it would never produce a significant amount of oil, joining the Scottish Shale Oil fields as such small scale producers that the Oil Board regularly forgot they even existed.

    While this agreement between the CID, Oil Board and Air Ministry was sufficient to start signing contracts and issuing the orders for construction to begin on the new refinery upgrades and expansions, there was an issue lurking in the background. Under pressure from the coal lobby in parliament, and recognising there could be great value if it worked, the government had setup the Falmouth Committee to report on the desirability of producing oil from coal. This was an important question as the UK had a fledging oil to coal industry, or more precisely it had a single facility that had miserably failed to fledge despite a great deal of patient support. A motley combination of industry and academia had been working on the process of turning coal into oil since the Great War and two decades of effort, a lot of research, and a very complex patent licensing deal with IG Farben and various British and international oil companies, had produce a process that worked. It just produced petrol that cost twice as much as any other source, so was limited to small scale pilot plants. However the Depression intervened and Imperial Chemical Industries (ICI) was able to cobble together an argument about import dependence, strategic flexibility and support for hard hit areas that convinced the National Government to support building a full scale plant. The support was not direct subsidy, instead it was exempting UK produced gasoline from paying fuel duty which in theory would make it competitive with conventional gasoline. Two years and six million pounds later the Billingham coal hydrogenation plant produced it's first shipment of synthetic gasoline from UK coal. While a technical triumph there was the small issue that, despite paying no fuel tax, the facility barely scrapped into the black and made nowhere near enough to even cover the cost of capital let alone show a useful profit. Despite this there were considerable calls to build additional plants, to produce it's 45 million gallons of petrol Billingham consumed 750,000tonnes of coal (which kept 2,000 miners employed) and employed another 2,000 staff in an economically depressed area. Given that was less than 2% of the UK's annual petrol consumption there was considerable scope to expand production, which would also considerably expand the effective subsidy of lost import duty which was not insignificant, Billingham alone was costing the exchequer £750,000 a year. Mere financial arguments were of precious little concern to the coal lobby, nor to the Labour Party who had naturally decided the problem was capitalism (in this case ICI) and if the facility was nationalised it would soon become profitable even after paying full duty. To these could be added the voices that argued that the technology was the problem and that Britain should abandon hydrogenation and use other methods to turn coal into oil. To investigate these concerns, or to make the matter go away for a while depending on your perspective, the Falmouth Committee had been setup and was due to report in the spring of 1938. The decisions made on 100 octane had somewhat pre-empted this, should the Committee come back and back domestic coal to oil then the matter would need to be re-considered. Despite this the Air Ministry pushed ahead, unwilling to wait another nine months for a decision that may not even be unfavourable. That this decision was recommended by the civil service, rather than having to be pushed through by an impatient minister, is testament to the changed attitude in Whitehall since the Abyssinian War. Whether this change was entirely for the positive was a different matter.

    --
    Notes:
    Three weeks! Barely 20 days. This pace is terrifying.

    This one is perhaps a bit over-detailed in places, but if nothing else I enjoyed finding out quite why 100 octane was so important, what it actually did to an engine and the many challenges behind sourcing and making the stuff. I have tried to steer clear of the worst of the chemistry though some did sneak through, there was no way to avoid it and still understand what was going on.

    The RAF did find out about 100 octane that early and the boosts (or lack of them) that it gave to engines are OTL as is the whole rich mixture issue. Even well into the war this was an issue as the US just did not care about that as that didn't fit how they designed engines, as late as 1942/3 US fuel shipments had to be tested and occasionality 'doped' by the RAF (chucking in additives) so they worked as expected. Octane is a very bad way of defining fuel, the wartime bodge was defining the standard and rich response, so BAM100 became 100/130 octane (identical mix, new name) as it was 100 Octane standard and 130 octane rich. It's used out of legacy convenience, but the actual definitions of the fuel you see at the pump is a very complex series of curves and surfaces.

    No.90 squadron was a guinea pig for 100 octane in 1937 and even as early as that the Air Ministry was stockpiling fuel, because production was limited. I skimmed over the production challenges, but pre-Ango-Iranian discovering Alkylation it was slow and expensive to make iso-octane and so 100 octane petrol, the fact it was discovered by accident is OTL of course. As per OTL it will take a while to get everything built and all planes flying on 100 octane, but things will be designed with it in mind from now on.

    Now onto the changes, in OTL a couple of US refineries were upgraded and a US owned refinery in the East Indies also got a supply contract. Not in Butterfly because Anglo-American relations are a bit chilly, partly due to being on different sides of the Spanish Civil War and partly due to the Canton Island incident a few chapters back. Not hostile, just a greater awareness that US and British interests don't always align and plans should be made as such. So Abadan, which was OTL seen as a bit too far away from the UK, gets an upgrade instead because the Far Eastern war is seen as more likely and the Heysham refinery which was OTL started in 1939 gets pulled forward as well to make up the difference. The DEI sites are broadly unchanged, Rangoon is an important standard petrol and fuel oil site, but not really suitable for 100 octane, and Pelambang was OTL because it was just too big to ignore.

    The Trinidad oil strike/riot is OTL, a complaint over stagnant wages that got out of hand very nastily and the Royal Navy was called in to reinforce the police. I have swapped the ships, a Canadian destroyer gets to come along instead of HMS Exeter and I imagine the Canadian politicians are a bit shaken up by it. The Royal Marines were just to stop the riots and didn't have to do any strike breaking, just support the out-numbered police while they restored order, the strikers even got most of their demands met in the end so it is fairly clean as these things go. A lot of Trinidad refined 100 octane will end up in Canada for the RCAF, so there is even a good strategic national interest reason for Canada to be actively supporting law and order in the Caribbean. But it is not what any of them expected and is very much a warning to Canadian politicians that having ships out on active patrol is not just friendly port visits and training exercises.

    Finally the sad tale of British coal to oil efforts. It technically worked quite well, though it was limited and did require a lot of subsidy. As stated though it used a lot of coal so was really popular with the coal lobby and mining groups and of course the Labour Party who produced their own alternative Falmouth Committee Report, I believe because they didn't like what the real one said so decided to just make up their own version. We will probably end up looking at coal to oil again, because it touches so many important issues.
     
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    Chapter CLI: The Challenges of Floating a Bear
  • Chapter CLI: The Challenges of Floating a Bear

    At first glance the Anglo-Soviet Naval Agreement should never really have been signed, it's name is a clue to it's inauspicious beginnings as a counter-part to the disastrously failed Anglo-German Naval Agreement. It began life as part of the web of naval arms control agreements the Foreign Office was attempting to weave in the early 1930s, bringing as many powers as possible into the naval treaty system so as to stabilise a broadly favourable status quo; the more powers involved, the less reason any signed up power had to justify a 'new threat' that required more tonnage. However with the London treaty expired and it's replacement dead, from the British perspective the talks appeared redundant; Britain was not going to limit her fleet if the other major naval powers were not and there seemed no reason at all why the Soviets would unilaterally do so. Despite this the talks did persist as the Soviet delegation explained that, while limitation was absolutely not on the table, naval co-operation was something they wished to continue discussing. This prompted a degree of concerned interest in Whitehall, with the treaties dead there was very little on the naval side that Britain wanted from the Soviets while it was well known that they had a very long list of secret technologies and sensitive equipment they wished to acquire. While the Foreign Office would have entertained the talks just out of diplomatic politeness, and to try and find out exactly what it was that Moscow wanted to help inform wider policy, at the strategic level they were broadly in favour of a stronger Soviet Navy. In their view a meaningful Soviet naval presence in the Baltic and Far East would distract Germany and Japan respectively, making both less likely to make trouble for British interests. The Treasury and Board of Trade were both keen on anything that increased exports, while even the Bank of England chipped in to note the large Sterling credit balance on the Soviet clearing account and how it would be good if that could be reduced by, for example, the Soviets buying a lot of industrial and naval engineering equipment. In the face of this opposition the Admiralty and Intelligence agencies fought a brave rearguard to avoid anything that would encourage the Soviets but were ultimately out-voted, with the caveat that the Cabinet was only agreeing to talks not to actually release anything.

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    The Project 1 destroyer leader Kharkov in harbour prior to trials. As may be guessed from the project name this was the first proper warship built in the Soviet Union since the revolution and it was just as troubled as you would expect. The lead ship Leningrad was laid down late in 1932 and would be launched a year later, unfortunately it was launched without any engines inside and without weapons, the turbines still being under production while the 130mm (5.1") main guns were still being designed. As a result the Leningrad and her sisters would take four years to build and then another two years in the yard fixing the problems that emerged during trials, not least the weak hull and instability at all speeds. While all aspects of the construction were troublesome and plagued by defective parts (with a reported 90% rejection rate for the more complex items) the main problems had been hull design and detailing, turbine and engine room systems and guns and fire controls, not coincidentally areas the pre-revolutionary Russian Imperial navy had also struggled with.

    Where the British government was divided on the naval talks, the Politburo was entirely united in what it hoped to achieve. The commanders of the 'Naval Forces of the Red Army' as the Soviet Navy was formally known had a relatively realistic view of what was needed, what could be built and what could be operated, all of which were slightly different things. For the Second Five Year Plan (which was supposed to cover 1933 to 1938) they had intended to focus on submarines and lighter forces, along with land based naval aircraft and a new generation of fortresses and gunnery emplacements at key naval ports and coastal cities. It was mostly a defensive force, while some of the submarines were expected to go out and raid the enemy the bulk of the forces were intended to stop foreign powers being able to land at will along the coast; memories of the many Allied landings and interventions in the Russian Civil War still lingered. This plan met with general approval within the wider Soviet government, the air force was of course pleased at more aircraft being built, the army was eyeing up the coastal artillery and fortresses, the foreign ministry was pleased at the lack of 'provocative' capital ship building (this was the era of 'Collective Security' in Soviet foreign policy) while the planners at Gosplan were just relieved that it was a modest programme that was probably within the capacity of Soviet industry. However the Soviet Union of the time was a country of One Man, One Vote; Stalin was the man and he had the vote. Therefore as Stalin wanted battleships all those plans were chucked away and the admirals were instructed to plan a full scale ocean going fleet built around a large gun line of battleships. This does lead to the question of why Stalin was so keen on a large fleet of ocean going capital ships when there was no apparent military need for them. The answer is a mix of national pride, a desire for a power projection force, a determination to get Soviet diplomacy taken more seriously outside her near neighbours and a degree of insecurity in a Soviet regime that was obsessed with big numbers and big projects. These tendencies had been pushed into over-drive by the Komsomol Affair in December 1936. Notionally an innocent Soviet flagged freighter carrying manganese ore to Belgium, she had actually been carrying a load of light arms and T-26 tanks to the Soviet aligned factions in Spain. Intercepted by the Monarchist heavy cruisers Canarias inside Monarchist claimed waters she had been forced to stop and then sunk, her crew saved but all cargo on board lost. Stalin had asked for future shipments to be escorted by the Red Navy, to ensure they got through and as a response to this embarrassment. The head of the naval forces, Admiral Orlov, argued against this on the ground that (a) the fleet did not have any ships to spare for overseas duties and (b) even if he did the ships would be so weak and obsolete that they would not deter the Canarias and instead just shame the country and the revolution. Reluctantly this was accepted and Soviet freighters would resort to long circuitous routes, hiding in French convoys and delivering to inconvenient ports to sneak their way into Spain, domestically meanwhile the battleship programme became an even higher priority. In an macabre coincidence Orlov would be was arrested and sentenced to be shot as a British spy at the same time as the Anglo-Soviet Naval Agreement was being signed. It has been suggested that this was a delayed revenge on Orlov for contradicting Stalin, or at least telling him something he didn't want to hear. As all three of his predecessors and his two immediate successors would also be arrested and executed within the next two years, it is unlikely it was anything personal and that he would have been purged regardless of what he had said to Stalin about Spain.

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    Admiral Orlov prior to his fall from grace, a life long political Admiral it was darkly appropriate that it would be political intrigue that would kill him in the end. It is indicative of the status of the Soviet Navy that while it was harshly purged, along with Orlov and his predecessors eight out of the nine serving Admirals would be executed with a similar pattern down the ranks, it was not subject to it's own specific show trial. The Army had the 'Case of the Trotskyist Anti-Soviet Military Organization' where supporting the wrong doctrine or questioning the role of horses in modern warfare was used as evidence against the victims, while the Navy was just purged without publicity or any particular care for internal naval politics. In a blood soaked irony Stalin purged the older naval officers for being 'unreliable' as their careers had started under the Tsars, yet it was that group who had been most supportive of his big battleship policy, in part because big battleships had been the naval policy of the Russian Empire and was what they had been trained to aspire to.

    In theory the Soviets already had an agreement that would provide them with naval advice and expertise, the grandly titled Italo-Soviet Treaty of Friendship, Non-Aggression and Neutrality. Once it had become clear during the Leningrad saga that building a fleet would require either time and patience while the Soviet learnt through trial and error or foreign expertise, Stalin had quickly decided on the later option. In pursuit of this all five of the treaty naval powers had been approached but only Mussolini had been desperate (or foolish) enough to make a deal, ideology being less important to both sides than economic pragmatism. Alongside the port visits, official tours and general diplomatic palaver the core of the arrangement was swapping Italian naval technologies and design knowledge for Soviet coal, oil and wheat. While it was the only option available to the Soviets it should be noted that Italian design habits were also seen as a good match for Soviet naval doctrine of the time; high speed, plenty of guns, light armour and minimal endurance seemed appropriate priorities for how the Admirals wanted to fight while providing the necessary big numbers to impress Stalin. While the deal remained in place till later in the decade and all the commercial clauses and orders were honoured, if only to keep Italy on-side diplomatically, Soviet interest had been wavering even before the Abyssinian War as the limits of Italian naval expertise became apparent. The disastrous showing of the Regia Marina in that conflict had convinced Stalin that the Italian design priorities were wrong and further reinforced his doubts about their basic competencies, he therefore instructed that for his battleships a new, more competent, source of technical advice would have to be found. This was where the Anglo-Soviet Naval Agreement talks came in, with the Royal Navy's reputation at new heights the British were even more desirable as a technical partner while on the political side it was believed Eden would be more likely to make a deal than his most recent predecessors. In theory of course the Soviets could just hire whoever they wished without any such deal, they had £10 million worth of Sterling credits underwritten by the Export Credit Guarantee Department and there would always be a Merchant Bank that would help them find a way to spend it. In practice unofficial contacts with the major arms firms had confirmed that without British government approval none of them would be selling the items the Soviets wished to buy, hence the need for the agreement.

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    The X and Y turrets of the Soviet cruiser Kirov in the summer of 1937 while she was undergoing trials in the Baltic Sea. Built at the Ordzhonikidze yard near Leningrad the design was heavily based on the Regia Marina light cruiser Raimondo Montecuccoli and built with assistance of the Italian state owned Ansaldo company. As the largest ship built from the keel up since the revolution great things were expected of her, it was therefore unfortunate quite how badly wrong the trials went. The much vaunted Italian designed turbines underperformed making her slower than expected, though the fact she was also 800t over-weight did not help. During the test-firing of the 7.1-inch guns the decks buckled and the superstructure was damaged, due to both incorrect gun positioning (the turrets and firing arcs had been sized for Italian 153mm/6-inch guns) and the failure of the shipyard to follow the welding specification. To add injury to injury a test-fired dummy torpedo circled back after launch and knocked off one of the ship’s propellers, requiring the ship to be towed back to port. The debacle resulted in the arrest of the navy’s acceptance commission, a purge of the yard and an added keenness in Moscow to find a new technical partner on naval matters.

    If the Soviets had merely wanted to buy warships and key components then the talks may have been easier, Britain was well practised at the art of offering up ships or components that were good enough for a buyer to accept without giving away anything actually important. The problem was that Moscow wanted the ability to design and build their own ships with no reliance on imported parts or designs, hoping to employ the same model they had used for many of their civilian industries during the previous years; hire international experts, suck their brains dry of knowledge training a first generation of Soviet experts, get those new Soviet experts to train the second generation and then finally purge the first generation as "unreliable" due to excess exposure to foreign influences. While unaware of the full details the British could recognise the general shape of the Soviet plan, as it very much resembled the technical portion of the Anglo-Japanese alliance but with a wasteful and paranoid purging stage added on. Under the alliance British engineers and naval officers had worked in Japan and Japanese engineers had been trained in Britain, this resulted in a relatively rapid and comprehensive transfer of naval and naval aviation knowledge to Japan, to the point where by the early 1920s the Japanese were entirely capable of designing very capable ships and making technical advances of their own. As the British Empire was at that point re-arming in part due to the threat from Japan this was not an experience that anyone in government wished to repeat, as there was no possibility of a compromise on this the Foreign Office was primed for the failure of the talks and set itself the limited aim of trying to end them amicably. That this did not occur is not a testament to the skill of the diplomats involved but to the shear desperation of Stalin to acquire a battleship, as a final incentive he authorised the discussion of one of the forbidden topics: the Tsarist era pre-revolutionary debts which Lenin had repudiated. From a Soviet perspective these debts were utterly unfair, illegitimate and in any event the responsibility of a regime that no-longer existed, naturally the creditors saw it as a default from a state that was more than happy to claim to be the heir of Tsarist Russia when there were treaty rights or trade statuses it wished to claim. While the bulk of the debts remained off limits, the offer was made to resume payments on some of the railway bonds which had predominantly been sold to British investors and which Moscow had previously indicated it would consider repaying if the creditors made certain concessions, mostly massive new loans on very generous terms. The sums in question were tiny compared to the overall Tsarist debts, which ran to just shy of four billion pounds, but would still result in several million a year flowing back to creditors and into the British economy, the lengthy process of capital ship construction and commissioning ensuring the Soviets would keep their side of the deal for at least a few years until the new ships had been handed over. This massive bribe, along with an acceptance on the Soviet side that there would be no training, officers exchange or deliberate knowledge transfer, was enough to get the outline of a deal agreed. The Soviets would purchase a single capital ship from a British yard which had been designed to their specifications and the plans for that ship would be transferred to the Soviets along with details of the key systems, a destroyer leader and plans would be sold on the same basis.

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    The Project 1058 hybrid battleship carrier designed for the Soviet Union by the US firm Gibbs and Cox, this particular variant had four triple 15" gun turrets and a capacity for 36 aircraft and was expected to displace around 72,000 tonnes. As the flight deck was fairly short a series of catapults were provided to launch aircraft, the deck itself only being used for landings. Unsurprisingly even simple wind tunnel testing proved the design did not actually work as a carrier and it's un-armoured flight deck and exposed aviation fuel tanks made it hideously vulnerable as a battleship. Most damning of all was the fact that two separate specialised ships would in fact be cheaper to build and run, so there wasn't even a cost saving. The rejection of this design and the other hybrid battle-carriers Gibbs and Cox had produced, along with the rejection of the Italian UP.41 design from Ansaldo, marked the end of Soviet efforts to procure a battleship and technical knowledge from other sources. After this point all efforts would be focused on exploiting the Anglo-Soviet Naval Agreement.

    At first glance this seems to be exactly the sort of knowledge transfer the Admiralty was desperate to avoid and certainly they were not happy about this, but as is so often the case the devil was in the detail. To begin with the designs were to be bespoke for the Soviets and not actual Royal Navy designs, so would very much be 'export grade' with all the limitations and technological exclusions that term implies. As an example the Soviets already had Italian range finders from their previous agreements and the British had become aware that those units were marginally upgraded versions of Great War-era Barr & Stroud units that had been sold to Italy during that conflict. It was therefore easy enough to supply something similar direct from Barr & Stroud which was still an improvement on what the Soviets had, but did not include the lessons from the war and fell well short of anything the Admiralty would dream of using themselves. Secondly there was no requirement for the technology in the ships to actually be Admiralty spec or even British, as they had with the Dutch battlecruiser order a range of non-British systems would be integrated into the final design that was handed over. The Italian Pugliese torpedo defence system would once again be included in an export design and much of the armour would end up being of Czech origin, partly to protect British metallurgical advances but mostly because, as we have seen previously, there just was not enough capacity in Britain to produce the required additional plate without delaying the Royal Navy's own programme. Finally the Admiralty reassured itself that just having a set of plans alone was barely the start of being able to design a ship, the blueprints would tell you how large elements had to be but would not tell you why. The plans would say a certain member was detailed at 0.5" thick, but was that for structural reasons, damage resistance, to provide mass to stop vibration or was it over-sized but specified to simply supply and construction by using a few standard sizes? While the Soviet designers would eventually figure it out the aim had never been to stop Soviet naval development, which was recognised as impossible, just to make sure they couldn't quickly 'catch up'. With these details sorted the biggest sticking point soon became the size of the main guns, there was a brief forlorn effort from the British size to pitch something similar to the Dutch battlecruiser with it's 12" guns which was dismissed for the same reason the Soviet's own Project 25 design had been cancelled; Stalin wanted a larger ship with bigger guns. A 13.5" option using surplus Royal Navy barrels to 'speed up construction' was also rejected by the Soviets while the British flatly refused to contemplate selling the 15" or 16" guns they used themselves. A begrudging compromise was reached on 14" guns on the basis that they were the largest the Soviets had a realistic chance of manufacturing themselves given the limits of their gun pit infrastructure, most of which had been inherited from the Tsars and originally sourced from Britain in the first place. The final design would officially be Project 69 in Soviet speak and the lead in class would be dubbed the Kronshtadt.

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    A contemporary painting of what it was hoped the Kronshtadt would look like, the triple 14" turrets and tall blocky superstructure favoured by Soviet design being prominent. The painting also attempted to emphasise the speed of the ship with 34knots being targeted as the design speed, this speed was part of the reason the Kronshtadts were classified as battlecruisers by the Soviet Navy along with the less discussed fact it was not armoured against gun of it's own size. The relatively light armour was because it had the classic battlecruiser mission of hunting treaty cruisers and cruiser-killer designs such as the German Scharnhorsts. Their nearest peers could be considered the re-built Japanese Kongos, in comparison to which they had the edge in heavy guns and a considerable speed advantage though a somewhat smaller and less efficient armour layout. In Stalin's grand naval plans they would not be the pride of the fleet however, that spot going to the massive Sovetsky Soyuz-class battleships which where secretly being developed in parallel and were intended to start construction once enough had been learnt from the design process for the Kronshtadts.

    While there was a degree of domestic backlash to the deal from the more virulently anti-communist types the rubicon had to some extent been crossed many years ago when the MacDonald government had recognised the Soviet Union and British firms had begun trading with the Soviet state. More recently than that it had only been the previous year that the cabinet had agreed to underwrite the £10 million Soviet credit line in the hopes of improving relations and encouraging trade, an event which had mostly passed un-remarked upon but in hindsight was an indicator of the deals to come. Nevertheless the government did still have to walk a careful line between reassuring parliament and the public that no vital defence knowledge was being given away while not outright telling the Soviets that they were being sold second-rate goods, though in reality they were well aware of the reality of the situation, as Stalin would rhetorically ask "What fool would sell us their secrets?". To the surprise of most it would be the destroyer leader part of the deal, which many in the negotiating team had treated as an after thought, that would provoke the biggest reaction. The UK-Soviet trade commissioner had approached several of the major yards about the vessel and Yarrow, Dennys and Thornycroft had all expressed an interest with the result that the actual Soviet requirements were being thrashed out as the rival designs developed, the Admiralty was keeping a close eye on the process to make sure a commercial desire to win the contract did not induce any of the firms to offer some design or technology they shouldn't and so rapidly became aware of the problem. British destroyer speed was set as around 36 knots for speed trials and a somewhat more leisurely 32 knots when fully fuelled and laden, the Admiralty did not consider extra speed being worth the extra tonnage or compromises elsewhere so had seen no reason to ask for more, however the Soviets wanted 40 knots or greater from the design as their doctrine emphasised the value and importance of speed. As all the firms had based their submission on the post-war standard British destroyer (the A- through I-classes) to save money, all being well aware this was a one off which did not particularly justify an expensive design effort, a range of options were considered from just making the hulls larger to fit in more boilers through to drastically cutting back on armaments and build strength to save weight. It was the Yarrow Shipbuilding company which first approached the Admiralty to get clearance for the easiest solution, fitting more efficient engines. This did involve making the slightly awkward point that the engines currently being fitted to British destroyers were quite some way from cutting edge and so it would be entirely possible to fit better engines to the Soviets designs while still giving them out of date and second string technology. Naturally this did not go down well and the Admiralty hurriedly launched an investigation into quite was happening with the propulsion of their ships.

    ---
    Notes:
    A bit of a wide ranging one, but I think I managed to keep it on track and actually result in something that could be confused with plot, if you were so inclined. The central part of this chapter, the Anglo-Soviet Naval Agreement did happen and was the counter-part to German one that notionally kicked of Butterfly all those years ago. It was however just a vague ish agreement from the Soviets to comply with tonnage limits on ships and notifications in exchange for Britain giving them advice on modern 6" guns so the Soviets would stop using their 7.1" guns which didn't really fit in the Treaty classification system, naturally the Soviets lied from day one and the British never delivered anything particularly useful as a result. The £10 million credit line is OTL surprisingly and about 3/4 was spent on naval related items in OTL, not least a 25,000t capacity dry dock from Sawn Hunter, with the rest going on electrical equipment and machine tools.

    The Italo-Soviet treaty, the naval tech for coal/oil/grain trade and the resulting problem ridden ships are OTL, as was Stalin's 'interventions' in naval policy and negotiations. In OTL he apparently monitored the talks daily, regularly dispensed detailed design advice on the shipbuilding and did authorise the mission to the US to get Gibbs & Cox to design those monstrous BB-CV hybrids. OTL they got another chance and designed a sensible battleship in 1939 and Stalin was so desperate to get it he did offer to resume payments on the Tsarists debts owed to the US as a sweetener to get the US government to agree, but the USN had the Treaty system to hide behind as well as the US' own build up and got it killed. Didn't seem unreasonable for him to make the same limited offer to Britain, particularly as with the Abyssinian War and the Komsomol Affair he is even keener to get battleships in general and 'war proven' RN tech in particular. This will very much annoy France as they were the biggest Tsarist creditor by far, well over 50% of the total, yet will continue to get nothing, however no-one is that fussed by this. On a related point the formation of the Axis saw the Italo-Soviet treaty quietly dropped by both sides, here it is somewhat downgraded but the Italians remain very keen sellers as foreign orders are the only thing keeping their naval industry going (and they still need a foreign source of coal and oil) so the Soviets are happy to carry on exploiting that for the things the Italians are good at making.

    I'm aware I've skimmed over the purges somewhat, the Great Terror is all OTL and better covered elsewhere so I've just covered the bits relevant to the navy. This did mean I couldn't mention the Esperanto Purge (probably the only Soviet purge where everyone was actually guilty of the crimes they were accused of), but that might be for the best.

    The final Kronshtadt design is a bit of a Frankenstein's monster, but this is fairly in-keeping with Soviet shipbuilding practices. The Soviets did buy a lot of items in (naval guns from Skoda, boilers and turbines from Switzerland, FC from Italy, etc) because they couldn't make them domestically, or at least not reliably so. Of course they tried to copy the items they brought, but as I hope I explained just having a reverse engineered copy or even a plans is no use if you don't understand them, so often the Soviets had to go back and keep buying things. The rather blood-thirsty knowledge transfer plan is based on what the Soviets did to the engineers who built their tractor factories and hydro-works in 1929-1933, US engineers came over and taught them, who then taught others, then all the first generation were purged during the Great Terror, all a bit grim. In any event the final ships is a bit different from the OTL designs (there was a light 12" armed version and a final version that used German 15" turrets that had been brought under the M-R pact) so there are no actual pictures, but an artistic impression covers many sins.

    Finally our hook for the next update, when I will once again attempt to craft an actually interesting and mostly correct update about the thrilling world of marine propulsion.
     
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    Chapter CLII: The Pressure of Foreign Designs
  • Chapter CLII: The Pressure of Foreign Designs.

    There are three main factors that determine the range of most naval vessel; the efficiency of the engines, how much fuel it carries and how it's turbines have been geared. There are other factors such as the condition of the hull and the quality of the fuel, but generally these can be controlled while the first three are set at the time of design and require a major rebuild of the ship to change. The three main factors were all in tension with other desirable qualities, if you used less displacement for fuel then you had more tonnage for guns and armour for instance, and as the Admiralty considered the question of range and propulsion it became apparent that they had generally sacrificed range in favour of those other qualities. For the Abyssinian War this had worked well, but it was becoming clear that the Far East was a different proposition entirely. The problem was not distance per se, the Admiralty had well developed plans to deploy an entire fleet the 9,000 odd nautical miles from the UK to Singapore, but the adverse geopolitics of the region. To take one of the classics of Far Eastern war planning it was around 1,400 nautical miles from Singapore to Hong Kong and any planning had to assume there wouldn't be any fuel in the city when the relief force arrived, as an un-modernised Queen Elizabeth-class battleship could do about 1,600 nautical miles at full speed before running out of fuel the issue should be obvious. Of course operating at cruising speed improved things, even the worst of the battleships could expect around 5,000 nautical miles of range at most economical cruising speed, the problem was that this was barely 12 knots. While we have seen that the Admiralty had disavowed the cult of speed that did not mean they were happy for the fleet to move around at the speed of a tramp freighter. There was also the matter of the carriers, air operations of the time required carriers to sail into the prevailing winds and maintain a decent speed while doing so, as a consequence even if the main fleet was transiting at cruising speed the carriers would still be burning considerable quantities of fuel. In the rest of the Empire the solution had been a network of bases, over half of the fuel reserves of the Navy were stored at bases outside of the UK in strategic waypoints such as Aden, Trincomalee and indeed Singapore. Once North East of Singapore that was not an option, Hong Kong was very much a lone outpost and recent events had demonstrated the inadvisability of assuming bases in French Indochina to be available, let alone those in the US controlled Philippine Islands. Hindsight would suggest that refuelling at sea was the obvious solution but at this point in time that was still something of a black art in the Royal Navy, the preference very much being for stationary refuelling in secured anchorages, as much due to lack of suitably equipped tankers as anything else. The only remaining choice was to find a less official refuelling point, the Spratly and Paracel Islands both being identified as possible choices that had suitable anchorages, secure enough to allow stationary refuelling and close, but not too close, to the expected areas of operation. Inconveniently the two sets of islands were claimed by France and China, but as neither had done much about their claims the Admiralty decided to just survey the islands and anchorages without telling either party. For the Foreign Office this became just another headache as the lingering Francophile element in the department would have preferred to support the French claim, just to help repair relations, while the Navy was pushing the Chinese claim on the basis that China had the least capacity to interfere (or indeed be aware) of the Royal Navy using the islands.

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    Speed-Fuel Use curves produced by the Royal Corps of Naval Constructors for a King George V-class battleship and a notional 'Far Eastern' battleship of the same design but with a revised propulsion system. The actual numbers are not particularly important at this point as they depend heavily upon other factors (auxiliary equipment use, if unused boilers are kept lit or cold, etc) it is the difference in the curve shape that is relevant. The standard KGV was optimised for high speed cruising, useful when hunting down commerce raiders or trying to dash through contested seas under hostile skies, the price it paid for this ability was the extra fuel use at normal cruising speeds. In contrast the 'Far Eastern' battleship could cruise faster and further for the same fuel use, ideal for long transits far from friendly bases, but would burn enormous amounts of fuel if asked to travel at high speed. As with so much in naval engineering, and indeed design in general, optimising for one desirable quality almost always comes with a cost elsewhere. Traditionally the Admiralty had always chosen the high speed option, confident that for the North Sea or Mediterranean theatres this was the best choice. For the South China Sea, not to mention the wider Pacific theatre, things appeared to be very different.

    It was into this febrile atmosphere that the Yarrow request to export high pressure boilers arrived. The request itself was easily dismissed, but as Yarrow had doubtless anticipated it did re-start the debate inside the Admiralty about high pressure steam. To grossly oversimplify matters the maximum efficiency of steam propulsion is limited by the difference between the temperature at which steam is raised in the boiler and the temperature at which steam leaves the turbine, the bigger the difference, the higher the maximum possible efficiency. If you increase the temperature of a boiler then, all else being equal, you will also increase the pressure it operates at. High pressure steam has another advantage, namely that it is more space efficient which is often a very different thing from being fuel efficient, in this case it meant you could either generate more power from the same sized plant or shrink the size of the equipment required for the same power. All of this was somewhat theoretical with a great many assumptions that were often difficult to achieve in practice, as a result it was quite easy to build a high pressure propulsion system that was larger and less efficient than a similarly sized low pressure alternative. Indeed the Admiralty had several examples of this in hand, the collection of battered cruisers taken from Italy during the Peace of Valletta had boilers that ran at higher pressures and temperatures than those in Royal Navy warships of the same vintage, yet used more fuel because the inefficiencies in the boiler systems and turbines swamped any gains from higher pressure operation. The result of the study of the Italian ships had fortified the Admiralty in their view that high pressure steam had severe practical issues and just was not worth the effort, so while existing designs were refined and new types of boilers were trialled in at least one destroyer of every new flotilla, no effort was made to increase the pressure of those systems. As a result the Yarrow request had been a nasty shock; the still under construction Tribal¬-class destroyers had standard Admiralty three drum boilers that ran at 300psi/600ºF and Yarrow were proposing to offer the Russian navy a destroyer with plant running at 500psi/700ºF, on the basis of their belief that an actual state of the art plant would be running at 650psi/850ºF or more. The Admiralty had expected that setting a limit on pressure would mean they were no longer on the cutting edge of propulsion technology, but not that they would fall so far behind. It must be said that Yarrow were somewhat over-optimistic in their belief of what state of the art was, based on their belief that power station technology could easily be adapted for naval use. This was not a completely unreasonable belief and would eventually prove to be correct, however the firm had grossly under-estimated the challenges involved in fitting a large and heavy land-based plant inside a ship's hull.

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    The A-class destroyer HMS Acheron while on service with the ASDIC trials and training base at HMS Osprey near Portland. Laid down in late 1928 the Acheron was an experimental ships, while her sisters had either the standard Yarrow or new Admiralty pattern three-drum boilers the Acheron had experimental Thornycroft boilers that produced steam at 500psi/750ºF. It was hoped this higher temperature operation would translate into a considerable improvement in fuel efficiency, which it duly did as the Acheron used 25% less fuel than the rest of the class. Unfortunately she could not do so reliably, despite regular refits and a far more intensive (and expensive) maintenance regime she was still crippled with constant mechanical problems, the boilers themselves were reliable but the associated piping and high pressure turbines were not. While her speed and operational trials were officially "inconclusive", despite a second set of trials being carried out just before the Abyssinian War to see if regular service had improved matters (it had not), all the follow up destroyer designs would use the Admiralty three-drum boiler and the Admiralty Engineering Laboratory imposed a limit of 400psi/700ºF on future boilers, effectively curtailing future high pressure steam development in the fleet. Withdrawn from regular flotilla service the Acheron became the trials ship for the Type 128 ASDIC set, a task which did not require her to move particularly quickly or be especially reliable.

    Once it was clear the Admiralty had indeed fallen behind the initial response was straightforward enough; the ban on high pressure research was lifted and work started to investigate the proposed Yarrow designs, both the 'export' design and the cutting edge one, as well as look again at the Acheron system to see if modern materials and details could make it reliable. The next step however was less clear, standard practice would be to conclude the investigation and, if promising, specify that one of the destroyers in the next ordered flotilla include a boiler of that design. Realistically that would mean a ship ordered under the 1938/39 Naval Estimates, allowing the usual build and commissioning time and time for trials of the new ship this meant the Admiralty would be reviewing the results sometime in late 1940. By that point it was hoped that most of the new construction agreed by the Defence Requirements Sub-Committee would have either have been built or already laid down, so there would no chance to include the advances in any of the next generation of capital ships. The alternative was the so called Admiral Fisher solution; just build the things in the expectation that any problems would be sorted before the ships were commissioned. There was a strong argument that the current technology was 'good enough', the Abyssinian War had been won and there were enough low-risk incremental developments available that range could be increased without a radical and risky jump in technology, particularly now design was no longer limited by the naval treaties. Conversely bitter experience had shown that it was slow and expensive to upgrade a ships engines and it had also shown that the Cabinet and Treasury expected capital ships to live a long life, so if the Admiralty played safe they would be stuck with the consequences for quite some time, as a result the example of the Revenge-class loomed large over the decision making. In the end therefore the Fisherite solution won out, partly due to concerns over Far Eastern operations, partly due to a recognition that great efficiency and range would also be helpful in hunting down German raiders but mostly because the Admirals worried they would laying down ships that would be obsolete before they even launched. They knew the Italian navy had been working on high pressure steam (unsuccessfully admittedly) and it was likely they had also provided information on that to the Soviets as part of their ongoing co-operation. The USN had very publicly announced it ships would use a new and more powerful form of steam propulsion, combined that with it's termination of all contracts with Parsons and the many contracts issued to General Electric (which had no naval experience, but was pre-eminent in power station engineering) and it was obvious they too were looking at high pressure steam in the same way as Yarrow proposed. Naval Intelligence had correctly identified that Germany was using very high pressure boilers for the Scharnhorst-class battlecruisers, while it was admitted that they had no real firm data on what the Japanese were doing save that it was likely optimised for range given their Pacific ambitions. The sole bright point was that it appeared the French Navy were at least no further forward, though for the Admiralty to be reduced to the level of such a comparison was damning in itself. So from that perspective for much of the Admiralty board it had in fact been no choice at all.

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    The RMS Queen Elizabeth under construction in John Brown's Yard in Clydebank, Glasgow. While the hull and internal structure had been completed prior to the boilermakers strike her owners, Cunard White Star, had been forced to chose between a long suspension of work or instructing John Brown to adopt welding to finish constructing the upper decks. Given the financing of the ship was dependent on government guarantees the line's chairman, Sir Percy Bates, soon discovered the board had very little choice in the matter; the government was keen to see welding adopted, so Cunard White Star would have to be equally keen if they wished to keep their financing guarantee. The dozen Yarrow boilers deep in the heart of the vessel had also been completed prior to the strike and careful enquiry by the Admiralty Engineering Laboratory had revealed that they were intended to operate at a much higher temperature than those going into the Royal Navy's capital ships. The Trans-Atlantic route was tough on liner machinery, four days of constant near maximum power output to maintain the 30knots speed demanded by the timetable, repeated every week. That the owners and builders of the Queen Mary had selected high pressure steam for such a high profile ship was taken as another sign that the technology had become reliable.

    This decision prompted a flurry of urgent orders to flow down from the Sea Lords to their many subordinates. The naval constructors prioritised rapidly modifying the plans for two of the upcoming J-class destroyers, one to include Yarrow's proposed "export grade" boilers and plant and the other with an updated version of the machinery used in Acheron incorporating modern welding and materials. The lucky ships would be Jupiter (because Yarrow's shipbuilding arm had already won the contract to build it) and Jaguar (because it was planned to be the last to be laid down and so gave the designers the most time to update the old Acheron plans), the two ships would serve as test beds with the knowledge that one would prove to have been built with the 'wrong' boiler. The next priority was to start on-shore testing of the designs in order to decide exactly which sort of high pressure boiler should be used for subsequent ships. It was at this point that a particularly unfortunate issue was noticed by the Admiralty Board, they had two departments looking at marine propulsion and the demarcation between them had not been well done, resulting in both duplication and far more worryingly gaps. The Admiralty Fuel Experimental Station (AFES) at Halsar had done excellent work on optimising the burning of fuel inside boilers, but considered fundamental questions about pressure outside their scope because the rest of the system (turbines, piping, etc) would also have to be improved to cope. Conversely the Admiralty Engineering Laboratory (AEL) in West Drayton had a large team looking at ship propulsion from the point of view of propellers, gearboxes, turbines and so on, but they also considered boiler pressure outside their scope as they believed all matters to do with boilers sat with the AFES. After a meeting between the First Lord Viscount Monsell, the First Sea Lord Admiral Keyes and the heads of the AEL and AFES that was both frank and direct it was agreed that number of senior officers would take up challenging new posts to help spread engineering knowledge to the more distant stations in Africa and the South Atlantic. It was also decided that all surface ship propulsion work from boiler to propeller would be concentrated at one site in Halsar, under the renamed Admiralty Propulsion Research Station while the AEL would focus on it's mechanical and electrical work, along with the diesel-electric propulsion for submarines which was recognised as being very much it's own specialised area. The first priority of the new station was to produce a recommendation on the boiler system from the many options available and to do so by the end of October at the very latest. The deadline was important because while some of the ships allowed under the 1937-38 estimates had been laid down (the Swiftsures and most of the J-class destroyers) much of the programme had not. In the autumn and into the spring of 1938 the Admiralty had planned to lay down another destroyer flotilla (pencilled in as the K-class), some repeat Town-class cruisers, the first batch of Diadem light escort cruisers and two fleet carriers. It was likely some of these ships would have to use the existing Admiralty three drum boilers at the standard pressures just due to limits on time and manufacturing capacity, but for the carriers and ideally most of the cruisers the Sea Lords wanted high pressure installed. The development programme was a chastening experience for the Navy's engineers, forced to lean on the experience of the power station boiler makers at Yarrow and Babcock & Wilcox it soon became apparent it was not just advances in high pressure they had missed. The lack of economisers on the standard Admiralty three drum boiler was greeted with incredulity and a team hurriedly formed to add them to the boilers destined for the rest of the J-class, this simple addition alone improved fuel efficiency by 10% at all speeds. To the relief of the naval engineers it was not all one way traffic, their experience with several more exotic types of boiler, such as the forced circulation La Mont boilers fitted to HMS Ilex, was valuable to industry if only from a 'what not to do' perspective and several of the innovative details of the Admiralty three drum system were much admired and would find their way into power station systems before the end of the decade. In the longer term, after the initial rushed efforts had been completed, the Admiralty moved to put these industrial co-operation efforts on an more official footing and to include the shipbuilding firms as well. While many would grumble about giving up 'trade secrets' it was clear the previous fragmented approach had not worked and a move to the same co-operative approach used for guns and armour plate seemed only logical to the Admiralty. Time would tell if this would be correct.

    ---
    Notes:
    This one was a bugger of an update that has fought me every single step of the way. Four complete re-writes and thousands of words sitting in my "this will be useful later (hopefully)" file. However in the end there is only so many times something can be re-done before one has to just hit Post and be done with it.

    This all started from me wondering why the Royal Navy ships had a reputation for being short legged, if nothing else because many of them weren't. Ark Royal had the same cruising range as Yorktown for instance. The Illustrious-class and the KGVs however, very much were short legged. A large chunk is just not carrying much fuel, a KGV had maybe 60% of the fuel capacity of a North Carolina or South Dakota. Another large part was the gearing as per the pretty graph, the KGV data is indicatively about right and the 'Far East' battleship is actually from a North Carolina, but the principles holds if not the exact numbers. The Admiralty didn't see a role for high speed cruising but did want max endurance for full speed dashing around after raiders or racing in and out of enemy air cover/Straits of Messina/whatever.

    That just left boiler efficiency and the words around that are indeed grossly simplified as I felt a long discourse on Carnot's theorem, the Second Law of Thermodynamics and the Ideal Gas Laws would be a bit of distraction as well as easily available on the internet if anyone truly cared. Royal Navy boiler technology inter-war is a funny one, the Acheron trial did kill off high pressure steam research but everything else carried on and so the Admiralty 3 Drum boiler was still a very good design and incredibly reliable. It also makes comparison very hard because you are never really comparing like for like. There were also very different decisions on priorities being made, the Germans went for crazy high pressure because for them fuel saving was absolutely vital, both due to lack of fuel and to give their ships the long range to get out into the Atlantic and stay there for extended periods. In contrast the British were still over-concerned about the treaties, for instance the lack of economisers on the Admiralty boiler (essentially you use the exhaust from the boiler to help heat up the incoming water) was because that wasn't very weight/space efficient, on a destroyer you would add say 100t of weight to your machinery to save 50t of fuel (assuming the same range). Under the Treaty system that was not a good trade and so the Royal Navy did not fit them, by the time even they had thrown off the treaties there was a mania for efficient mass production, so the design was frozen as it was thought that would help get machinery built faster. In Butterfly different pressures, different decisions.

    At Sea Refuelling for large ships while abeam (side by side) had a fearsome reputation inter-war, the USN tried it multiple times in exercises and it kept being called of by the supervising officers as 'too dangerous'. They didn't manage to succeed at it until Nimitz personally ran an exercise in late 1939 and just held his nerve about it. Interestingly abeam refuelling for destroyers was basically routine in the USN so it was just fear of the lack of manoeuvrability of larger ships. On the RN side there are some 1932 trials where they came up with exactly the right answer (abeam refuelling, you can refuel multiple ships and you should use more than one fuel hose per ship for speed) but then did bugger all with it, no doubt in part because there was no reason to. As I am trying to have the British make mistakes the RN will not be making that leap quite yet, forcing them to look at other solutions. Such as the OTL plans to just use some reefs that the French and/or Chinese had not claimed properly, at least until the Japanese invaded China and then the IJN did garrison them. Here though they remain the emergency option.

    As to the decision, well high pressure steam does work at sea (a few issues about graphitisation and tricky welding aside) but the learning curve is unpleasant, the USN did take the plunge first in OTL (and have done again in Butterfly) and their first high pressure class did use GE land based power station tech, so had a torrid few months during and after commissioning the first ships as there were a lot of detail problems. But after they were sorted then the system worked reliably so I'm assuming a similar thing will happen on the RN side. the J-class test beds will be challenging ships but by the time the big ships are launched it will all be understood. The overlapping research stations is of course OTL but the fix isn't, in part because wartime panics meant something else was always more important.
     
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    Chapter CLIII: The Teeth of the Cubs.
  • Chapter CLIII: The Teeth of the Cubs.

    While there are many definitions of what a light tank is they generally all relate it to it's larger brethren, thus they state that light tanks are smaller/faster/less well armed/cheaper than a full size tank, depending on which virtue or vice the definer wishes to emphasise. One of the few absolute definitions was that of Major-General Percy Hobart, head of the Royal Armoured Corps, who defined them as an utter liability that he was going to purge from the corps and refuse to accept any more of, a stance that Major-General Giffard Martel, head of the Mechanisation Branch of the War Office, fully agreed with. Unfortunately this harmonious agreement was only possible due to the lack of any definition of what a light tank actually was, an oversight which would later become a problem. In the autumn of 1937 however there was agreement that the existing marks of Vickers Light Tanks in service needed replacing and, relevantly for our current purpose, it was also agreed that not all of them should be replaced with 'proper' full sized tanks. Specifically the Vickers Light Tanks had served in the scouting and reconnaissance roles, hence the observation that the most useful thing in them was not the guns but the radios, and it was believed this job could be better done by an armoured car. The fact that a typical armoured car cost around half what a light tank of the same notional capability did meant that cost was doubtless a factor, but it should also be noted that there were many practical advantages. On all but the very worst terrain a wheeled vehicle would be faster, quieter and more fuel efficient than a tracked one, all important virtues for reconnaissance work, it was also easier to train a driver on a conventional wheeled vehicle and the maintenance and logistics burden was far lower. Looking beyond the scouting role the Abyssinian War had shown armoured cars were still far from helpless on the modern battlefield, the exploits of the 11th Hussars in their Rolls Royce armoured cars had amply demonstrated their continued potential as supply line raiders and general harassers of enemy rear areas. Prior to that conflict the War Office had decided to replace some of the oldest Great War-era armoured cars with a new vehicle developed by Morris Motors. The Morris CS9 was essentially an existing army truck, the Morris 15 cwt, with an armoured body and open top turret placed on top and various key mechanicals strengthened and reinforced. In a decision made perhaps more in hope than expectation the turret contained a 0.55" Boys Anti-Tank rifle alongside the 0.5" Vickers machine gun, though a 4" smoke discharger was added to the production model as it was realised that discretion was the better part of valour for a reconnaissance vehicle. While the CS9 was a considerable improvement over most of the existing fleet it had only ever been a stopgap solution, the basic chassis was not 4x4 but front wheel drive and the armour was barely enough to stop small arms fire. With an ever increasing need for reconnaissance units, for instance it had been decided that every infantry division would need an armoured car equipped Divisional Cavalry Regiment to provide divisional level scouting, the War Office issued a specification for a new vehicle with the intent of having competitive trials of prototypes early the following year. As was becoming common practice notice of this was passed to the Committee for Imperial Defence, the civil service had decided CID was the best 'clearing house' for military related information that should be shared with the Dominions. This sharing was not done out of expectation the governments in question would do anything with the information, but to stop the various High Commissioners complaining to the Dominion Office that they weren't being involved. In a break from this pattern notice of the armoured car trials did attract considerable interest from the various military attaches and Dominion representatives on the council, all of whom requested an official presence at the trials as they hurriedly passed the news home.

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    A Morris CS9 light armoured car in the North African desert while the crew from the 11th Hussars take a break from the harsh sun, on the turret the long barrel of the Boys anti-tank rifle and the short 4" smoke projector are clearly visible. The 11th Hussars were one of the British units that remained in Libya after the war to support the newly installed King Idris and to protect British interests in the country, not least the then still under construction Libyan leg of the Tripoli-Cairo railway. It is not clear what feature made the CS9 a 'light' armoured car, but given later trends in classification there may well have been no good reason. In the 1938 trials every vehicle submitted had a different classification, perhaps indicative that British doctrine at the time was not fully clear on the difference between the scout, reconnaissance and armoured car roles, let alone what a heavy or light variant would be. However, that does not excuse the decision to declare one of the prototype vehicles a Light Tank (Wheeled).

    To save a degree of repetition later on it is worth noting that while the air forces and navies of the Dominions were closely modelled on their British counterparts, in some respects their land forces had more in common with each other than the British Army. The differences began with the name as the land forces were not technically armies, for a variety of political, historical and financial reasons it was preferred to call the forces militias and this was not just a stylistic choice. In practice the Dominion militias consisted of a small force of full time soldiers and a much larger part-time reserve force, while this was superficially similar to the regular vs territorial/yeomanry of the British Army there was a key difference; the Dominion forces were practically incapable of any serious military action without mobilising the reserves. The full time militias were generally dominated by troops that were slow to train (staff officers, artillery specialists, etc) or those useful to the civil power in times of peace (engineers mostly), as a result the reservists were required to provide the manpower for any actual fighting formation. This was an entirely deliberate decision as much of the philosophical and political support for the militia system was based on avoiding a standing army during peace time. That aside the differences with Britain should not be over-stated, equipment and doctrine was the same and the organisation of a mobilised Dominion division was broadly similar to the British pattern.

    We begin in Canada where things were not going well for the Army, mostly because they had been absent for the Abyssinian War and then lost out badly to the other services in the post-war reviews. At the outbreak of war the reserves, who struggled under the name the Non-Permanent Active Militia (NPAM), had been mobilised and the problems began almost immediately. The NPAM were badly equipped and badly trained at anything much above platoon level drill and tactics, many of the units had not even carried out a battalion level exercise in years, let alone anything more complex. The core of the problem was that the Canadian General Staff, with the agreement of the various post-Great War governments, had assumed any future war would also be a long war and so Canada would have the necessary time to train and build an army. The small force of full time regulars, naturally enough the Permanent Active Militia, consisted mostly of staff officers, specialists and trainers, they were the group who were supposed to do the final training to bring the NPAM up to strength and then fill in the gaps in the engineering and artillery units. It was acknowledged this task would take weeks, but the funding cuts to the NPAM during the 1920s meant that it would actually take many months before they were even close to ready. The initial hope was for 1st Canadian Division to be ready by late summer, as the war progressed this firmed up to a tentative involvement in the planned invasions of Sicily and Sardinia. Of course Italy sued for peace before this was necessary, meaning that the freshly renamed Canadian Army had no chance to make any sort of contribution to the conflict, as a result they very much lost the post-war review; while their bitter rivals in the Royal Canadian Navy had managed to acquire new ships and the Royal Canadian Air Force had dramatically grown in size and even managed a new over-seas posting in Singapore, the Army had just about manage to fend off another round of cuts. Looking to the future the Canadian General Staff had decided it had to be armoured and mechanised so, like their colleagues in the British Army, they were waiting on the next generation of tanks before making a choice, however unlike their colleagues they did not really have the time. The RCN was keeping itself in the public eye with the Trinidad Oil Strike and, while Ottawa was still not sure about the entire affair, it had at least shown the navy had a potential peacetime role in a region Canada had interests in. Meanwhile the RCAF had embraced it's posting to Singapore and had caught the media's interest with both dramatic flying displays alongside the RAF squadrons and human interest 'Pilot from Manitoba in the tropics' stories. This left the Canadian General Staff nervous and keen to just buy something before the government decided on further land forces cuts, or worse listened to those in the RCN suggesting abolition of all full time ground forces, a campaign that was the RCN's sweet bit of revenge for the Army's almost successful campaign to abolish the Navy in the early 1930s. Some new armoured cars seemed to tick many boxes, not only would it finally mechanise Canada's reconnaissance forces, they could be used to beef up the 'airfield defence and security' force that the Army wanted to send to Singapore. This force was planned partly because security of rear areas and lines of communication was a mild obsession of the Canadian General Staff, but mostly because they wanted to attach themselves to the RCAF's mission there and get a higher profile 'peace time' role. Naturally the idea of armoured cars found favour with the Canadian government for the same reason the British Treasury had liked it; armoured cars were much cheaper to buy than tanks and cheaper to run than horses. Thus a delegation from Canada would make their way across the Atlantic to observe the trials and to see about licensing the design of the winner for manufacture in Canada.

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    A Light Tank Mk.IIB Indian Pattern in the Khalsora Valley taking part in the Waziristan Campaign in early 1937. To keep everyone on their toes the British government and the Raj had decided to use very similar names for the different forces based in India. Thus you had the British Indian Army (the locally recruited and permanently India based force) which reported to General Headquarters India and then to the Viceroy in New Delhi and the British Army in India (the regular British Army units in India for a tour of duty) which reported back to the Imperial General Staff in London. Operationally both forces sat under the overarching Army of India which also controlled the Indian States Forces, the expeditionary portions of the armies of the various Indian Princely States. While all but the richest Princely States balked at the costs of replacing horse with tank the Raj had decided to finally start the process and mechanise two cavalry regiments; the 13th Duke of Connaught’s Own Lancers and the 14th Prince of Wales's Own Scinde Horse. As the British Indian Army had it's own supply chain and procurement systems it was theoretically free to chose what it liked, in practice GHQ India had decided to follow the choice of the British trials.

    We move on to Australia where the Army was slightly confusingly called the Australian Military Forces, despite the Royal Australian Air Force (RAAF) and Royal Australian Navy (RAN) very much being distinct and separate services. As in Canada there was a small full time core, the Permanent Military Force, and a larger part-time reserve in the Militia and as in Canada they had not had a good Abyssinian War or post-war. As mobilisation began it became apparent that as well as being badly trained and under-equipped the Militia was also badly under it's nominal strength and had dramatically lowered it's acceptance standards just to achieve that. The Australian General Staff had been hoping to get a single unit, the 6th Division, ready for action by late autumn, a time span that reflected their view they were all but starting from scratch and one which proved far too long. In the post-war review the RAAF were the obvious winners, their success on the battlefield dovetailing nicely with Australian industrial plans and political ambitions in the South Pacific, while the RAN had done tolerably well by tying themselves into the new British Far Eastern Fleet and demonstrating they had a valuable peacetime role to play. The Australian Army was saved from truly losing out in the review by Japan, or more precisely the threat from Japan. Where Canadian politicians envisaged any future war as being a distant one, that is to say a conflict where there was no direct threat to Canada itself only it's interests and obligations, in Canberra the threat from Japan was more tangible, particularly in light of the sabre rattling and dramatic claims about the South Pacific coming out of Tokyo after the Amur River Incident. Thus funding flowed to both the permanent forces and militia to ensure they were actually capable of mobilising and producing a credible home defence force in weeks and not months. This was mostly non-controversial, however the planning for the Permanent Mobile Forces very much was not. The basic mission of the forces was to provide a full time permanent force to defend key points across the country, starting with the isolated but strategic city of Darwin and expanding out from there. The original plan had been for the Royal Australian Artillery to raise units for the job (as permanent peace time infantry units were banned under the 1903 Defence Act) however this evolved into the idea of making them armoured car equipped cavalry units drawn from the Australian Light Horse regiments. While an armoured car unit would certainly be more mobile, and would have a useful wartime role providing the light pursuit forces so lacking in Abyssinia, it must be acknowledged that cost paid a part; the Australian cavalry needed mechanising anyway and it was cheaper to properly equip an existing unit than raise a new unit from scratch. It is also worth mentioning the RAN's attempt to disrupt things by suggesting that a unit of marines would also bypass the limit on peacetime infantry, could easily be moved about by sea to whichever coastal city was threatened to tick the mobility box and would have a valuable offensive wartime role in any future conflict in the Pacific. While the Australian Admirals would lose that particular political fight the arguments made were the genesis of the Royal Australian Marine Corps. After the debacle of the 'Corroboree' armoured car project it was decided that selecting an existing vehicle would be the fastest route to actually getting something into service, so Australia would also be attending the armoured car trials. In line with the government's ambitious industrial policy the intent was to license the design for production in Australia, though after the experience with the Hurricane and Merlin it was expected the more complex components such as the chassis and drivetrain would likely be imported.

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    The LP-1 (Local Pattern) 'Corroboree' armoured car, nicknamed Ned Kelly after the similarly crudely armoured bushranger. Based on a Ford truck chassis and engine the LP-1 prototype was the result of almost four years of work from experts from the various design and supply boards of the Australian Army. It was therefore somewhat unfortunate that the trials in 1935 proved it was fundamentally unusable in any role due to it's weight, instability, slow speed, noise and the fact that due to poor visibility and ventilation the .303" Vickers machine gun was more dangerous to the crew than the enemy; the cordite fumes would disable the crew long before their blind firing would hit anything. The failure of the LP-1 meant that the 1st Armoured Car Regiment, which had been formed in 1931, was still using civilian trucks and horses by the time of the Abyssinian War. While the experts at the Munitions Supply Board and the Tank Section of the Small Arms School assured the General Staff that the LP-2 would definitely fix the problems and would be ready for testing very soon, it was decided an off-the-shelf design would be the better option for Australia's armoured cars.

    We come now to South Africa which was something on an outlier, as was often the case. Despite been distracted by what was euphemistically described as 'Internal political matters' during the Abyssinian War, and having made clear that domestic politics was not going to allow any planning for a larger outside-Africa deployment, it was still expected that South Africa would be interested in the armoured car. Prior to the Abyssinian War the South African government had been the only Dominion to prioritise her army, for the admittedly ominous reason that they were the only government that had 'suppression of internal dissent' as the top defence priority. The details of this, along with the Hertzog government's unusually broad definitions of internal and indeed external threats, are fortunately beyond the scope of this work, however it meant that as early as 1933 the South African government had been working on rearmament plans with a heavy army focus. With the arrival into power of the Smuts government these plans had naturally been revised, with some of the more paranoid elements removed and various lessons learnt added in. Despite some fairly expensive decisions, such as the re-establishment and re-equipment of the previously scrapped field artillery HQs, the identified need for an armoured car remained. The Union Defence Forces had very efficiently de-mounted the army and removed all the horses from it's cavalry units, however this had been for entirely financial reasons and so they hadn't actually been replaced with anything. While some of the reserve mounted rifle units had been converted to regular infantry several the need for some sort of mobile force had been recognised and the intent had been for a locally designed and produced vehicle to be acquired "when funding allowed". The Smuts government, feeling much more financially secure as the country stabilise and the ongoing boom kept demands for South African exports high, decided that funding at last allowed. Keen to re-orientate back towards Britain they dropped the locally designed idea and decided South Africa would join her fellow Dominions in attending the trials and licence building the winner.

    As would be expected the final official Dominion, New Zealand, declined to attend the trials or put any effort into armoured car deployments. The government had decided it's limited efforts were best spent enlarging the Royal New Zealand Air Force (RNZAF) with new Hurricane and eventually Wellington squadrons, with anything left over going to support the Royal Navy (New Zealand Division). These forces were felt to give the most impact for the money spent, not just militarily but in terms of Imperial diplomacy and influence; another armoured car regiment would not really register in London, the actions of the New Zealand division ship HMS Achilles in the Pacific had very much been noticed while the plans for RNZAF Hurricanes being deployed to Singapore gave New Zealand a more important seat when Far Eastern defence plans were being discussed. At the other extreme we see Rhodesia fulfilling it's apparent constitutionally required duty of being a bit inconvenient to Whitehall. Quite how the Rhodesia government managed to get wind of the trials is unclear, they very definitely were not on the Committee for Imperial Defence as they were still officially not a Dominion, however they did and announced they would be attending. For many this was further proof that merging the Rhodesias had been a mistake, it combined the ambitious keenness of the Southern Rhodesia with the lucrative income stream flowing from the Northern copper mines. Certainly the pre-merger South Rhodesia would have struggled to afford forming and equipping a full armoured car regiment while the North never would have thought to. The Rhodesians were however not the most unexpected attendee at the trials, that honour went to the Koninklijke Landmacht, the Royal Netherlands Army.

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    A Hawker Hart at Cranborne Airfield, just outside the Rhodesian capital Salisbury. The idea of a Rhodesian Air Force to an extent pre-dated the country, the first pilots had been sent to Britain for training as early as 1935 and were still under training when the Abyssinian War broke out. The pilots had left as members of the Southern Rhodesia Staff Corps Air Unit, by the time they had earned their wings they would return to the Rhodesian Air Force, dubbed the RhAF to avoid excessive confusion. Consciously modelled on the British parent the Rhodesian's had been aided by a secondee from the RAF, Acting Air Commodore Harris as he was as the time, a Staff College graduate and former Deputy Director of Plans on the Air Staff he had shaped the organisation and ensured it inherited what he saw as the correct technocratic ethos. As elsewhere one of the jobs the armoured cars were slated for in Rhodesian service was airfield security and defence, in truth there was a very limited air threat to Rhodesia itself and the RhAF was entirely structured around being deployed to assist Britain in any future conflict, the provision of airfield defence was one of the measures intended to make that more credible. As for Harris, such was the strength of the impression he made that after a succesfull RAF career he would end up becoming Governor General of Rhodesia, eventually seeing the service he helped to start be awarded the prefix of Royal.


    In early 1935 the Dutch Army had begun arguing for the procurement of a second squadron of armoured cars, having long recognised that tanks were not a plausible option given the budget available. The army had a single 12 car squadron of entirely mediocre Swedish Lansverk L-180s but wanted something better, preferably British as they had assessed them as these to the best available (which is a subtly different thing from the absolute best). The British victory over Italy had only enhanced the reputation of British equipment, even if one did not rate the Italian army it was still a better proven track record than anything else on the market. The Netherlands government however had been less keen, partly for financial reasons but also due to diplomatic concerns. To many in the government their neutrality policy meant that purchases should be balanced, after the British success in the battlecruiser contest the foreign ministry would have preferred a German or at least non-British aligned purchase. The German foreign ministry, and many of the German economic departments, would have enthusiastically agreed to such a sale, however such was the state of Germany's own armoured programmes that this was vetoed outright by the military. With both the Panzer II and Panzer III projects delayed and facing serious technical problems, along with increasingly concerning reports about British and French tanks in Spain, the German High Command was using armoured cars to fill the gaps and pad out it's own armoured units. Thus the few truly ancient relics the Germans were prepared to sell were so obviously useless that the Dutch had no interest in buying. A solution appeared when the DAF company claimed that not only could it locally build an armoured car, but that it would be clearly superior to anything the British could offer. While a prototype was ordered the Army expressed it's deep concerns in trusting a company that had never before designed or built an armoured vehicle and was proposing several completely novel technologies. To this end they would find allies in the more activist part of the Foreign Ministry who, after the German debacle in the Rhineland, the Amsterdam Conference and the sabre rattling from Japan, were less concerned with strict neutrality. Building on the relation with Britain from the battlecruiser, the potential for an 'understanding' in the Far East seemed attractive. While it was seen as probable that if Japan attacked the British would come to their defence, probably was not the same as certainly and the Japanese threat seemed less theoretical with each pronouncement from Tokyo. Previous schemes had hit concerns about a European entanglement, if the Netherlands were too closely tied to Britain then they could be dragged into any future European war, the avoidance of which was the entire point of the neutrality policy. But with the Franco-British entente clearly dead and Germany perceived as a paper tiger, particularly post-Rhineland, it appeared Britain was also free of continental commitments. There were still formalities to observe, so after a degree of negotiation it was agreed that DAF would enter their new armoured car into the British trials, officially as an entirely private venture by DAF. Senior officers from the Netherlands Army would be attending, but only as observers to see how the DAF design fared against contemporary foreign designs. With British defence policy firmly focused on the Far East, at least in terms of planning for a future major conflict, the chance for extended unofficial talks with the Netherlands seemed attractive. British plans did indeed assume that they would have to intervene in the even of a major attack on the Dutch East Indies, if nothing else if Sumatra and Borneo were in hostile hands then Singapore was at best isolated if not untenable. Given this reality co-ordination with a likely future co-combatant could only be beneficial.

    ---
    Notes:
    Two pages of comments, truly a step back towards the glory days. I do of course appreciate (almost) all comments and I would response, but I think you'd all prefer the next chapter.

    Armoured cars, who knew there was such detail there? Not anyone who reads this update as I realise most of the techy detail has been booted into the future armoured car trials update, so instead we get a high level review of the Dominion (and Rhodesia) army plans and domestic politics, and isn't that at least as good?

    From the top, by this point both Hobart and Martel had turned against the idea of light tanks, but sadly had a different definition of what one was. See the OTL Light Tank Mk.VII, the Tetrarch, which ended up being assessed as 'light cruiser' tank despite it's name. However they are both agreed that machine gun armed boxes are overkill for recon work while also being useless as proper tanks, so there is some common ground. The Morris CS.9 was a stopgap and so it is here, as you can see they lasted quite a while in OTL service because they weren't that bad provided the crew accepted they should never get in a position where they are firing the Boys AT gun in anger. The trials were OTL as the army had realised that they needed something modern and 4x4 for the recon role. And of course in OTL they did give ever single one a slightly different name, including the light tank (wheeled) designation. There may well be no sensible reason for this.

    Canada didn't really take rearmament that seriously, in OTL they managed a dozen light tanks by 1939 so an early Canadian Armoured Corps seemed unlikely. Some modern A/C much more likely to fit in the budget, particularly for a service that is 3rd on the list after the RCAF and RCN. OTL the Army did try to get the RCN abolished, so that coming back to bite them seemed appropriate.

    Indian is not a mess deployment wise, it just uses lots of very similar names to confuse outsiders. The British Indian Army could and did pick different weapons, for instance they picked a Vickers MG instead of the Bren and kept the old pattern SMLE in service for years after Britain changed over, and were never that keen on mechanisation, at least until war broke out. But they are professional enough to keep an eye on things. The mention of the Princely State forces is just to remind everyone those States exist, they may well come up in the future.

    Australia is where we see yet more butterflies, the truly awful LP-1 is of course historic. OTL it proceeded to the mostly average LP-4 which was only ever used for home defence, here the project is quietly killed in favour of a British model. Australian industrialisation dreams have been slightly dented by the Hurricane / Merlin experience and they are perhaps a bit more realistic. There has never been a Royal Australian Marine Corps, but a more confident RAN is pushing for it and as the ban on standing infantry units is OTL they have a chance. The Darwin Mobile Force did indeed end up technically an Artillery unit, so another change with it being armoured cavalry. New Zealand were always fairly complacent about the ability to be able to import things when the time came and with the Med now secure there is no chance of that changing, plus as stated the RN(NZ) and RNZAF looks a better bet from where they are.

    South Africa did have heavy re-armament plans that early, the reasoning was not particularly pleasant and frankly irrelevant now Hertzog is gone. Smuts' government still can't really commit to any overseas plans, things are not that stable, but he can re-orientate things. OTL in 1938 South Africa produced the Marmon-Herrington Armoured Car, a Ford engine, US drive train (from Marmon-Herrington, hence the name), local armour plate and UK weapons. One of those quiet background units, 5,700 of them were built during the war and ended up everywhere from with the Poles in Italy through to the Dutch East Indies. The new armoured car will replace that, with UK or Empire components replacing the US parts, production run is more likely to the dozens, perhaps low hundreds, due to the wildly different circumstances. South Rhodesia did have an early air force and was expanding the land forces, with the extra money from the North Rhodesia mines they have become more ambitious and continue to annoy the Colonial and Dominion Offices by not neatly fitting a category.

    Finally the Dutch, a late addition but they were looking for an armoured car at this point (DAF design is OTL) and I think some of the Anglo-Dutch butterflies are taking effect. The Germans do have nothing to sell, more on that later, and the Dutch army did think British armoured cars were the best available, but diplomatic and industrial concerns won out so DAF got the chance. Here the Dutch are a little more keen on some kind of understanding with Britain in the Far East, they were interested in OTL but concerns over a continental war kept getting in the way, but with Hitler looking all mouth but no trousers this is less of a concern. To be clear this is not the Netherlands government suddenly wanting an alliance or anything, it is just a step in that direction. A big step perhaps, and one that follows the step made by the battlecruisers, but there is still a believe that Neutrality worked out well last time so should not be lightly abandoned. It's just there is a bit more concern that Japan might not respect that position.
     
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    Chapter CLIV: If You Seek Prosperity, Prepare for Peace.
  • Chapter CLIV: If You Seek Prosperity, Prepare for Peace.

    The start of September saw the first round of shadow factories completed, for a somewhat arbitrary value of first round and indeed shadow factory. The term shadow factory had been stretched somewhat from the original intention and so, depending on how one counted, there were anywhere between 5 and 30 factories in the first round. The large range should give the reader an indication of how protean the phrase had become and how much the intended first round had been disrupted by the emergency requirements of the Abyssinian War. The original definition was a government funded, private sector operated, new build aero-engine factory that was built close to an existing car factory. The new factory was intended to be "in the shadow" of the existing one as it would both physically be very close and it would be the existing site that would provide the management, technology and expertise to get the new factory up and running. In practice however almost any new armaments factory ended up being dubbed a shadow factory, in part due to journalistic laziness but in part because the phrase took on a bureaucratic life of it's own; almost any planning problem or local concern could be ignored if the work was being done by the crown for defence purposes, therefore a great many schemes invoked the mantra of shadow factory without being overly concerned about official definitions. It is worth noting that originally there was absolutely no secrecy implied by the term shadow, the majority of the schemes were deliberately very high profile both for domestic and international audiences. A very large scale investment in massively increasing defence related industrial capacity, or as it was unsubtly dubbed 'war potential', was considered to have a deterrent effect as well as providing tangible backing to British foreign policy, so the aerial portions of the scheme in particular were well publicised. A few truly sensitive facilities were actually kept secret, mostly those connected to the ongoing RDF work, and most of the Admiralty schemes passed unnoticed as the Sea Lords felt keel laying and launching ceremonies were publicity enough for their own efforts. In hindsight the great public emphasis given to the aero shadow factories was perhaps a mistake, the scheme never had a chance to be a deterrent as it had barely stared before war with Italy broke out, while domestically it's high profile merely made the later problems trickier to solve.

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    The newly opened Earls Court Exhibition Centre, hosting as it's first event the 1937 Chocolate and Confectionery Exhibition. The exhibition and 1937 in general would be one of the highpoints of the so-called chocolate renaissance of the 1930s with the Kit Kat, Smarties and Rolos all launched that year. To the extent any of the exhibitors had concerns about foreign affairs and overseas matters their thoughts would have been mostly focused on the Gold Coast and the potential production problems in the cocoa market there, even confectionery had an Imperial dimension, with attention just as much on changes in the futures markets in the City as on the exhibits in Earls Court. That aside they, like much of the rest of the country, had fully transitioned back to a peacetime mentality which saw 'abroad' as a market to sell to or buy from and not a source of threat. This attitude would complicate how the government and industry approached the question of the shadow factories.

    From the earliest planning phase of the scheme the shadow factories had been subject to a range of constraints, the strictest being the economic ones as opposed to the political or even financial limits. The mantra had been that the scheme must not disrupt the wider civilian economy, so many plans had been limited not by what the Treasury could fund but by what the economy could absorb and adapt to. This was very much in line with British strategic thinking of the time which held that the economy was the 'Fourth Arm of Defence', this was on the basis that any sustained conflict would be decided as much by industrial and financial factors as strength of arms. Naturally all of this carefully calibrated policy was hurriedly discarded at the outbreak of the Abyssinian Crisis and the country switched over to a semi-war economy. In amongst the mountains of urgent defence orders for new equipment the shadow factory schemes were kept as a high priority, the government agreeing with the Chiefs of Staff to plan for a long war even while hoping for a short one. The scheme survived the post-war winding down of defence spending and even the wartime second round were continued, if nothing else because they were far too advanced for there to be any financial advantage in cancelling them, however the completion of the factories meant some decision had to be made about them. In contrast to the pre-war years by the autumn of 1937 the economy was growing strongly, both due to internal demand and increased trade with the expanding sterling area. The civilian sectors had easily taken up the slack from the switch away from the wartime orders and a combination of technological advances, union in-fighting and labour disillusionment had essentially broken the boilermakers strike by the end of the summer. Indeed by some measures the economy was over heating, or to be more precise inflation was starting to rise as the idle capacity in the economy was used up and various bottlenecks and shortages became apparent. In the grandest traditions of the British economy these issues were not evenly distributed across either industries or geographically. The newer light engineering industries were experiencing the worst of the problems as were their heavier brethren in steel, ship building and associated trades. It was many of the other traditional staple industries such as coal and textiles that were struggling, indeed had been struggling even before the Depression. In part this divide was due to the regional and structural trends discussed in Appendix B, for example increased foreign competition meant that employment in the textile staples such as cotton and jute was never going to recover to pre-Depression levels, but that only explains the lagging sectors. When looking at the booming sectors a different picture emerges however, while some of the limits and bottlenecks were in specific strategic materials which we shall be looking at in due course, the overarching problem across all the over-heating sectors was labour supply. Skilled and semi-skilled workers, provided they had the right skills and were in the right part of the country, were in great demand and their wages were rising in response. Long term of cause the solution was training new staff, both in government and industry funded schemes and work was underway around this, but there was a limit on how many staff could be trained and absorbed by the industry, so in the short term there would be a skill squeeze. This would have been a government concern in any event due to the potential economic and inflationary consequences, however for many of the industries it was the shadow factories that were the cause of the labour shortages and this made the matter especially difficult to resolve.

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    The Rootes Securities shadow factory at the Speke aerodrome in Liverpool under construction in the summer of 1937, the works were notionally intended for manufacture of the Bristol Blenheim. Rootes was at the time one of the 'Big Six' car producers in the country and had intended to construct the factory in the south near Maidenhead, however intense government pressure has seen it moved to one of the 'special areas' where the local economy remained depressed. Despite the move to Lancashire, were unemployment remained stubbornly high, the factory was still disrupting the wider civilian economy; The steel framed factory was erected by the structural department of Rubery Owen who, like the rest of the construction industry, had a full order book and an ever growing waiting list. To put is simply the manpower and steel used for the construction at Speke could have been building a civilian factory in the booming south east or midlands. For all the intentions of Whitehall the ripples of the shadow factory scheme affected much of the wider economy.

    One of the main intentions of the shadow factory scheme had been to massively increase production to allow rearmament to be completed in a reasonable time-frame. As an example it had taken Bristol's main works in Filton almost six years to produce 420 odd Bristol Bulldog biplane fighters, the Speke shadow factory was intended to build 40 of the far larger and more complex twin engined Bristol Blenheim monoplane bombers a month, or just under 500 a year. It was a step change in production volume and the Ministry of Labour had made it clear there wasn't enough skilled labour in the country for them all to be made in the traditional manner and even attempting to do so would cause immense disruption to the civilian economy. This assessment had been one of the mains reasons for selecting the motor industry as the base for the shadows, they were perceived to have management experience of mass production and doing so with a mostly unskilled workforce. It was true that a production line approach did reduce the overall demand for skilled staff, however it also tended to concentrate the remaining demand on a few key points in the process. While an inexperienced person could become a decent enough line worker in a few shifts, assuming a properly organised production process, the fabrication of the tools and jigs that said line worker used remained a skilled trade and so demand for those 'tool room' skills still increased. That those skills were also useful in the non-mass production context, to a certain extent if you could make the tooling for an item then you could also make the item, meant the shortage rippled out across a range of seemingly unrelated sectors of the economy. If this had been the end of the matter then it would have been a straightforward but difficult decision for the cabinet on how much to reduce or delay the rearmament programme in order to free up skilled labour for the civilian economy. However there were alternative options which promised the possibility of keeping full production at the shadow factories while not impacting the wider economy. Naturally the cabinet expected there would be a catch to these plans and so it proved.

    The Committee for Imperial Defence had amongst it's many sub-organs an industrial Advisory Panel, essentially the voice of business on defence and rearmament related matters. The panel had been instrumental in planning and organising the shadow factory scheme and had been amongst the business voices that held firm on the matter of welding and the reorganisation of the shipyards. It was this group that suggested the first alternative, take the example of the successful (if unintentional) dispute with the boilermakers union and do the same to the tool room workers union, the AEU (Amalgamated Engineering Union). As one would expect from a craft union of the time the AEU demanded strict limits on apprenticeships, training and demarcation, limiting the number of new workers that could be trained up and what their members could do once trained. There was undoubtedly a very large degree of self interest in this, many of the key members of the panel had been agitating for a showdown with the AEU over the two ds (dilution and demarcation) for many years, yet it was also true there was wide dissatisfaction across the country with the AEU's intransigent positions and the bottlenecks it was causing. Indeed it had only been the pressures of wartime production, and then the transition back to peace, that had stopped the panel from pushing for such a confrontation earlier, with that out of the way they resumed their campaign with the support of lobby groups such as the well connected Economic League trying to bring a mass of MPs on board with the plans. The cabinet was far less certain of the merits of such a showdown, having just got through one period of industrial unrest there was very little desire to provoke another, moreover the circumstances that had led to victory in the boilermakers strike did not seem to apply here. While there was always a hard core in the party that would happily scrap with the trade unions at almost any excuse, the other factions united against the plan, though in truth the cabinet did not take much convincing before deciding against the option.

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    Newly hired welders starting their practical training at the Rosyth Royal Dockyard. Scenes like this were exactly what the United Society of Boilermakers and Iron and Steel Shipbuilders (USBISS)had been striking to prevent. The staff were being trained by their employer over a few weeks and not through a 5 year long apprenticeship with compulsory union membership, even worse after training they were expected to work anywhere on site without strict demarcation limits or union veto. As more and more firms adopted welding, and the vast majority of welders chose unions that would accept them as full members rather than the USBISS position that they were merely apprentices until USBISS said otherwise, the strike collapsed. It is worth noting that neither USBISS nor their colleagues in the AEU would have allowed the women in the picture to join even if all their other conditions had been met. This attitude was not shared by the employers or indeed the more progressive unions and so the female welding workforce would continue to grow, not least due to the relative ease with which an ex-textile worker could switch from working power loom to using a continuous wire welder.

    The second option was the result of a very different conception of what mass production was, such variances in opinion being fairly common as mass production was a somewhat vague term that mostly described the result (a large number of things being produced) and not how this outcome was achieved. The Air Ministry, and so the aero shadow factories, had been set up as broadly Fordist in their approach to mass production; Everything that could be deskilled was through a large up front design effort, line work was simplified as far as possible and efficiency came from economies of scale and volume. In fairness this was a surprisingly common approach, to take the extreme examples both Nazi Germany and the Soviet Union had sent delegations to Detroit to study the Ford approach and to bring the knowledge back. That two such bitterly ideologically opposed states both implemented Fordism speaks to the hidden similarities between the two regimes and perhaps to the practical realities of Fordism; as preached by Ford it had a heavy emphasis on centralised planning and control, heavily suppressed change or deviation from the plan, and relied upon a small managerial and technical elite overseeing the unskilled masses on the lines. For obvious reasons these concepts found favour in Berlin and Moscow and, more domestically, were also popular with the AEU and it's sister unions in the UK; they entrenched the status and bargaining power of the skilled artisans of the tool room, while the unskilled line workers were never considered as potential members anyway. Leaving aside any philosophical objections to this vision of mass production one clear issue was it's obsession with economies of scale, if volume was the only way to lower cost then the largest producer would always be cheapest. It should therefore not be surprising that it's greatest rival was developed as a way to achieve similar efficiencies and cost savings at low production volumes. Flow production, or Woollardist production as it became known, was developed in the mid 1920s by Frank Woollard in his time as the General Manager of Morris Engines. The details and principles of his system need not detain us at this point, in summary the approach was to ensure smooth 'flow' along the system of production all the way from initial design to customer but without the intense capital spending and inflexibility of the Fordist approach. For our purposes the key difference was in the approach to the workforce, automation and tooling were ways ensure quicker cycle times and smooth flow not aims in themselves, so tasks were simplified but not necessarily deskilled. In addition one of the key principles of Woollardism was continuous improvement and fixing issues on the line, which required an engaged and involved workforce. As a result on a flow production line staff could expect to rotate around through various stations, both for the variety and so they could see how they connected together, an understanding that prompted many improvements. All of this meant an increased requirement for semi-skilled staff, but a dramatic reduction in the need for skilled tool room and line repair workers. There was an strong track record to support this option, not just in the civilian world but within the broader shadow factory/government factory scheme. When Lord Beaverbrook had been assembling his team at the Ministry of Production prior to the outbreak of the Abyssinian War, Woollard had been one of his first hires. The catalyst had been the anaemic production estimates coming out of the Royal Ordnance Factories (ROFs), figures Beaverbrook found unacceptable and which prompted him to look for an expert in mass production. As Woollard had quite literally written the book on it, his Principles of Mass and Flow Production would become a seminal text in the field, Beaverbrook recruited him to completely re-organise the ROFs and their suppliers. The resulting leap in efficiency and production output was crucial in keeping the Army supplied in the early weeks of the war once they had burned through the inadequate pre-war stocks and the wartime production had not got into gear. With this example of the dramatic changes that were possible it was suggested that the Air Ministry switch over to this system for their shadow factories and push it out into the supply chain.

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    The Morris Motor Company's engine factory in Coventry, it was the first site where Woollard had the chance to implement flow production. Lord Nuffield had acquired the factory from Hotchkiss after they had insisted that it was impossible to produce more than 300 engines a week without an impracticably vast capital injection. After the purchase Woollard was installed as manager and switched the factory over from batch to flow production, within a year he had doubled production and he repeated the feat in the following year, after which production hit 1200 engines a week, all achieved without large scale plant investment. Woollard himself would have a falling out with Lord Nuffield and departed Morris in acrimonious circumstances at the start of the Great Depression, blacklisted in the motor industry his wartime work for Beaverbrook propelled him back into prominence.

    The possibility of a fight with the AEU over the euphemistic 'modernisation of working practices' had gone straight to cabinet, the civil service very keen to avoid such an obviously political question. In contrast the actual modernisations of working practices in the ROFs had been pushed through by Beaverbrook with barely a mention in cabinet and the consideration of extending the scheme was mostly confined to the depths of the civil service. It might be expected that the Air Ministry would resist the change on principle as it came from outside the department, in this case from a mix of the War Office (which nominally owned the ROFs), the Treasury (which had inherited Beaverbrooks short lived Ministry of Production and Development post-war) and the Ministry of Defence Co-ordination (which could be relied upon to always stick it's nose into any inter-departmental fight) and to an extent this happened. However the Air Ministry was beginning to have second thoughts about it's embrace of Fordism, primarily due to growing doubts about the economies of scale, or lack of them, within their plans. In their losing rear-guard action against the shadow factory scheme the Society of British Aircraft Constructor (SABC, the aircraft industry trade body) had argued that aircraft changed too rapidly for mass production to be appropriate. The Air Ministry, looking at the thousands of aircraft required by the defence plans and rearmament schemes, had dismissed this as self serving and disregarded it. Subsequent experience proved that SBAC may have had a point, to take the example of the Bristol Blenheim factory mentioned previously it was setup to produce the Blenheim Mk.I using Bristol Mercury VIII engines. As we saw in Chapter CL Bristol were hard at work on the 100 octane powered Mercury XV engine throughout 1937 and, with an eye on Far Eastern operations, a prototype Mk.II with larger fuel tanks for greater range would fly scant weeks after the grand opening of the shadow factories. For a Fordist factory this pointed to a number of disruptive changes and expensive re-tooling exercises that would preclude the hoped for economies of scale, yet the idea of deliberately producing obsolete aircraft just to get said scale seemed far worse. In contrast Woollard believed that in Flow Production change should be celebrated, because it meant a new efficiency had been found or a better final product would be made, any of which would improve the flow from design intent to final user. More practically the costs, both financial and in time and efficiency, of adapting to any change were significantly lower due to the greater flexibility of a Flow production line. As the Air Ministry reviewed the previous years and looked to the future they found themselves agreeing with Heraclitus that 'change was the only constant', in which case a flexible production system seemed not merely a wise precaution but positively vital.

    With the cabinet firmly against another major industrial dispute and reluctant to cut the pace of rearmament, they were almost as keen to agree the option as they were to not put any effort into understanding the implications, it was after all an Air Ministry internal decision that had only been escalated to cabinet because of it's impact on the wider skills shortage. A more technocratic government may have discussed the matter and considered the pros and cons of the various methods, but then a more technocratic government would never have got into this particular problem, though only because it would have gotten into a different but doubtless far larger one somewhere else. In any event the decision was made to make a phased transition away from Fordism and towards Woollard's approach, the first stage would be putting Woollard's team in charge of the still under-construction second wave of aircraft and engine factories, on the reasonable grounds that such facilities would operate better if laid out correctly from the start. The just completed first round factories, including the many Bristol Mercury around Coventry, would be left under their current management and organisation, at least until a decision had been made on the Mercury and indeed the Blenheim, both of which had less than certain futures since the formation of Strike Command. If the Air Ministry hoped that starting with the second round incomplete factories, rather than the already operational factories, would ease relationships with the motor industry they would be bitterly disappointed. One of the second round facilities handed to Woollard to re-organise would be the Castle Bromwich Spitfire factory, which had been earmarked for Lord Nuffield's Morris Motors to equip and manage, the same Lord Nuffield that had very publicly sacked and blackballed Woollard only a few years earlier. While progress had been made on the skills problem, the problems of the Air Ministry's industrial strategy and relations with industry were far from over.

    ---
    Notes:
    Another slightly larger than intended chapter, but one that easily could have gone very badly off course. I think I've kept it (mostly) on the straight and narrow and not gone off any egregiously unrelated rabbit holes and I would argue there is a bit of plot in this one.

    The 1937 UK economy is a very different thing from OTL, no big dip/slight recession due to the 1937 US recession (the Butterfly world is a bit less US connected, with stronger Empire/Sterling Area links covering the difference) but instead a booming economy mostly weaned off a wartime sugar rush and hitting various structural limits. This was a big concern in the OTL rearmament period, there was factory space and machine tools (just about) and mostly the raw materials were present (a few odd cases as we shall see) but it was skilled labour that was the problem, particularly in the aero sector. Outside of that though, there is a sense that the war that was brewing has happened (Abyssinia) and now Versailles has been revised surely Germany will be reasonable, so therefore it's time to make up for lost time. This is tragically wrong but I feel it's what would have happened.

    The Shadow Factories have been mentioned before and are mostly OTL but a bit faster due to wartime rushing, as said the phrase was a bit vague and even in the 1930s (and during WW2!) there were NIMBY problems that only got solved by the judicious application of Crown Authority to just get stuff done. I worried I'd been too loose in using it, but honestly so is/was everyone so that at least was correct.

    Frank Woollard was an OTL figure who in the 20s/early 30s was absolutely seen as a guru on mass production, the Morris improvements and books are OTL but after falling out with Nuffield and failing to find another automotive job he mostly got mostly forgotten. His Flow Production was functionally identical to the system Toyota developed post WW2 and is recognisably similar to modern Lean Manufacturing, but for a range of reasons he never got recognised and his system got forgotten and had to reinvented. The Ford approach really was popular in the USSR and Nazi Germany, which should have made those involved a bit more doubting about it but apparently not. In any event the Air Ministry got infected quite badly with it and got into learning curves and scale factors and all sorts of such things as it planned vast production lines, but it was always a bit schizophrenic as they positively encouraged new models and new variants to keep on the cutting edge, which is the exact opposite of what you should do in the Fordist model. Beaverbrook brought in outside help in OTL when at Aircraft Production, so in Butterfly when he's looking at shipping and the Army (mostly the Army as they were in the worst shape) it seemed reasonable he'd bring in Woollard as the expert on mass production and point him at the ROFs, things spread from there.

    Finally it was Roald Dahl who came up with the idea of a Chocolate Revolution in the 1930s and dubbed 1937 an excellent year, the recently demolished Earls Court centre did indeed open in September 1937 with that show and I thought it a good way of showing how the country is definitely choosing butter (chocolate) over guns.
     
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