Welsh Journals

THE GREAT WAR OF WORDS: Literature as Propaganda, 1914-18 and After. By Peter Buitenhuis. Batsford, London, 1980. Pp. xviii, 199. £ 8.95 paperback. This book is chiefly concerned with the history of the propaganda which was first developed at Wellington House under my father, C. F. G. Masterman, who engaged authors to promote the allied cause. The work of such men as H. G. Wells, Arnold Bennett, John Buchan and Ian Hay are quoted amd, often with some justice, severely criticised. Their propaganda (Buitenhuis argues) ignored the suffering of those doing the fighting; it whitewashed the faults of their own side and blackened those of the enemy; it demanded total victory rather than a compromise peace. Indeed, at times Buitenhuis is so critical of the British that he comes near to writing a propagandist book for the Germans. Only Bertrand Russell meets with his unqualified approval. Should writers have involved themselves at all (he asks) in such literary work in wartime? The title of the book, however, is somewhat misleading. There is no real 'war' in his discussion as only one side of the conflict is given, very little being said about the words and deeds of the Germans who are treated with considerable indulgence. Indeed, his approach lacks an adequate historical background. No attention is paid to the stress produced by the apparently inexorable conquering invasion of Belgium and northern France and the almost universal view that the enemy had to be driven back. He seems to imply that a Lansdowne compromise peace was there for the asking, ignoring the still dominant position of the German armies or the views of Britain's allies with their territories still occupied. Lloyd George, seen here as the super 'Hawk', is uniquely condemned for sabotaging such a peace. Buitenhuis is much better at describing the disillusion, sometimes the sense of guilt, experienced by many of these authors after the conflict was over. Even Rudyard Kipling, driven to a frenzy of hatred after the death of his son, began to mellow. 'The old patriotism, based on dreams of Britain's imperial greatness and the collective soul of the unit-whether it be the school, the ship, or the regiment-gave way under the impact of personal grief to the recognition of the subtler and deeper bonds of love, of religion, of art, of fellowship.' One of the disillusioned books discussed, Lord Raingo by Arnold Bennett (1926), is of special interest to Welshmen. Not only in Andy Clyth does it give a vivid picture of Lloyd George as war leader, but Lord Raingo is partly derived from another Welshman, D. A. Thomas, Lord Rhondda. Buitenhuis relates 'how Beaverbrook told Bennett about Rhondda's concern for his mistress who was a suicide, his hypochondria, and his much publicised death, all of which is incorporated into the novel'. He is as critical of the leading figures in Britain's war effort as he is of the propagandist authors whom he also blames for covering up their defects. Nevertheless, he makes an exception of my father, 'a brilliant and remarkable individual who has not yet been accorded his place in history' and who incidentally sought to prevent distortion in presenting the British case. Buitenhuis hints that it was