Suez 1956, page 7
Could it have worked? The compromise depended on mutual goodwill, of which there was a short supply. Zaghloul and King Fuad wanted more for their independence but were at odds on how to achieve it; the British were intent on giving less. As with so much else in the Middle East, a crisis was preceded by mindless violence. It came on 19 November 1924 around 1.30 p.m. The governor general of the Sudan and head of the Egyptian army, Sir Lee Stack, was shot and seriously wounded while his car was stuck in a Cairo traffic jam. His chauffeur, who was also wounded, drove him to the nearby residency where Allenby was lunching with an official guest. Stack was carried into the drawing room, where Allenby sat with him until the doctors arrived. Nothing could be done. Stack died the next day in the Anglo-American Hospital.
Mourning a close friend and upbraided by the Europeans in Cairo for being too soft on the Egyptians, Allenby could have been forgiven his sense of betrayal. But in overreacting the way he did, he wrecked any remaining chance of a lasting settlement under the 1922 Declaration and ended his own career as a soldier-statesman. Without waiting for approval from London, Allenby slapped an injunction on the Egyptian government demanding an apology, payment of a fine of £500,000 and a withdrawal from the Sudan of all Egyptian troops. It was too much for an ailing Zaghloul, who shortly resigned, giving way to a government willing to comply with British demands. For Allenby it was a short-lived triumph. Out of sorts with his masters in London, he resigned in June 1925. His successor was Lord Lloyd, a fervent Arabist but an imperialist of the old school, who, even if he had been of more liberal persuasion, could not have coped with the conflicting demands of his job.
As far as Lloyd could understand his mission his priorities were ‘a) to protect British and foreign interests at all costs and, b) not to interfere in the internal affairs of Egypt’. He concluded, not unreasonably, that ‘each one contradicts the other.’9 As he wrote to a friend, ‘Our present position is impossible. We cannot carry on much longer as we are. We have magnitude without position, power without authority; responsibility without control.’ He took comfort from the presence of the military, ‘which is in fact our sole remaining, effective argument’.10
The option of withdrawing British forces altogether was given barely a passing thought.
The position of Egypt is of such importance that without its control England can hardly expect to maintain her hold on India. Moreover, ‘Egypt is the center from which British imperialism can dominate the Sudan, Hedjaz and Arabia, Palestine and Mesopotamia, and from which, too, it can exercise an effective surveillance over the operation of French and Italian imperialism in northern and eastern Africa, to say nothing of the French Syrian Mandate’.11
A more pragmatic view was put by Sir Frederick Maurice, a retired general who became professor of military studies at London University.
The canal is commonly called in the British press ‘the vital artery of the British Empire’. That, like most catch phrases, is an exaggeration. The British Empire existed long before the Suez Canal was constructed and, if the canal were to disappear today the British Empire would not therefore collapse . . . It would be a matter of vital importance to Great Britain if in time of war a hostile fleet could come through the Suez Canal and the Red Sea to attack her communications across the Indian Ocean, but that would be prevented more certainly by a British fleet based upon Malta and the British possessions of Perim and Aden at the southern exit of the Red Sea than by a garrison in Egypt. If in war with a Mediterranean naval power the canal were to be closed to both belligerents, either by sabotage or by some other means, the loss to Great Britain would not be great, for with the modern large and fast steamers, troops could be sent to the East by the Cape route more rapidly than they could have been sent by the canal route when de Lesseps had completed his great work. Further, in the event of war against a Mediterranean naval power, the submarine for the employment of which the indented coasts of that Sea are admirably adapted, would almost certainly make traffic between Port Said and Gibraltar so precarious that it would have to be abandoned. For this reason we had during the latter part of the War to rely more and more upon the Cape route.12
Maurice concluded that Britain could, without risk, limit her involvement in Egypt to ‘a small garrison to protect the canal against sabotage’. A proposal on these lines would almost certainly have been acceptable to the Egyptian nationalists. But British politicians and military alike could not bring themselves to believe that anything but a strong presence would ensure good behaviour. In truth, there was little on the Egyptian scene to inspire confidence.
Monarch and ministers, forever in conflict, were liable to invoke the evil British whenever it could help them score over their rivals. Self-interest took precedence over national interest. ‘When in power they [the politicians] looked upon the state and its administrative apparatus as a bowl of soup from which to sup themselves, and to feed followers and clients.’13
By the time the search for a compromise was resumed there was an added complication. British nervousness at the prospect of leaving Egypt to its own devices had been heightened by the rise of the fascist powers and their undisguised greed for territory. The immediate threat was from Italy, where Mussolini was thumping the imperial drum. His conquest of Abyssinia (now Ethiopia), the only non-colonial, independent state in Africa, was warning enough of his ambitions. But he was also known to have set his sights on Egypt, reasoning that the Suez Canal was Italy’s best exit from the Mediterranean and thus a vital link with the rest of the world. In 1935 the military presence in the Italian colony of Libya was increased substantially and work started on a trans-Libyan coast road that was to bring Egypt within easy fighting distance. These developments gave a sense of urgency to the Anglo-Egyptian negotiations, both sides recognising that they might have a problem in common. The only serious obstacle was King Fuad, who was more at home in Italy than in Britain, but with his death in April 1936, the way was clear for serious talks.
On the Egyptian side negotiations were led by Nahas Pasha, prime minister and popular leader of the Wafd. A sturdily built man who made no secret of his peasant origins, he had a disfiguring cast in one eye so that, according to one diplomatic observer, ‘when he looked at you with his good eye the other kept rolling wildly in its socket, apparently searching the farthest corner of the room and failing to find what it sought there’.14 If this were not disconcerting enough, he was given to unpredictable bursts of wild rhetoric, suggesting to his listeners that he might be having some sort of fit.
By August, however, the business had been done. The occupation was to end. British troops, no longer the oppressor but the forces of an allied power, reduced to a strength of 10,000, would withdraw to the Canal Zone. Other more modest concessions allowed Egyptians unrestricted entry into the Sudan and renounced British protection of foreign privileges in Egypt, thus ending certain tax and legal exemptions that had infuriated the nationalists. Subsequent negotiations with the Suez Canal Company allowed for the canal tariff to be fixed in Egyptian money and for Egypt to share in the company’s profits.
The Anglo-Egyptian Treaty was signed in London. Representing Britain was a young politician who had joined the cabinet as minister responsible for League of Nations affairs. In December 1936, at just thirty-seven, Anthony Eden, noted for his matineé-idol looks and feline charm, had advanced to be foreign secretary. Putting his signature to the treaty, Eden would have been less than human if he had not seen it as the first of many diplomatic triumphs. What he could not have guessed was that the document contained within it more than a hint of the finale of his political career. The agreed period for the entitlement of the British military to remain in Egypt was to end in 1956.
5
Greeted as a once-and-for-all settlement, the Anglo-Egyptian Treaty inspired extravagant praise and mutual congratulations. Nahas Pasha, who returned to Cairo to a hero’s welcome, described the agreement as ‘a sincere understanding achieved in a spirit of peace’, while Anthony Eden, who had impressed his visitors with his knowledge of Islamic history and his ability to speak Arabic, was portrayed on an Egyptian postage stamp, a unique distinction for an Englishman. But it was not long before disenchantment set in. Much of the problem had to do with appearances. After nearly fifty years of exercising power at all levels of Egyptian life, the British community could see no good reason to change its ways. Though demoted from high commissioner to ambassador, Sir Miles Lampson (later Lord Killearn), ‘an old-fashioned, straightforward, robustly patriotic imperialist’1 who was unable to suffer lesser mortals gladly, contrived to act as if he were heir to Lord Cromer. Evelyn Shuckburgh, who was shortly to join the embassy in Cairo in his first diplomatic posting, felt that the tone was all wrong. ‘We make a treaty, give them independence, leaving the same man in the same building, one of the grandest in Cairo, and the same flag flying, and the same big motor car with outriders and whistles blowing, as before. I think that was a grave mistake and was bound to have an effect on the young Egyptian officers . . . we should have been more imaginative.’2 Lampson’s lead was followed by wealthy expatriates whose enjoyment of the good life in exclusive clubs and restaurants depended on a large but unacknowledged class of subservient gofers.
In terms of respect, even common courtesy, the higher reaches of native society fared little better. The Egyptian military, though with an honourable record, was treated as a joke; promotion was said to depend on the size of an officer’s stomach. It didn’t help that the British army was still much in evidence. Work on new barracks in the Canal Zone, which the Egyptians had agreed to build, proceeded slowly. In the ever lengthening interval before construction was completed, British soldiers continued to parade down the main thoroughfares of Cairo and Alexandria just as in the old days. To the casual observer, nothing had changed. That said, it was a recurring irony of British–Egyptian relations that when Britain did try to make amends the results were counterproductive. It was a British initiative which opened the Military Academy in Cairo to those other than the offspring of the land-owning aristocracy. One of the first young talents to take advantage of this opportunity was the son of a postal clerk, Gamal Abdel Nasser, who might otherwise have followed in his father’s career. Instead, at his second attempt, he was accepted into the officer elite. Mixing with others of humble background, he emerged as their natural leader, a dedicated exponent of Egyptian nationalism, spiced by anti-British rhetoric. For Nasser, and others of his generation, military education was a means to an end of imperialism, monarchy and feudalism, an objective that was as much a threat to the Egyptian ruling class as it was to the occupying forces.
It might all have been quite different had there emerged an Egyptian leader strong enough to challenge British supremacy over the conventions of a static society. A royal was the likeliest candidate, but after the death of King Faid, more an intriguer than a visionary, the throne was occupied by his twenty-year-old son, Farouk. Not without ability, Farouk was schooled in a tradition familiar to royal families across the world, that whatever he did not wish to do himself, someone would be on hand to do it for him. Having mastered Arabic and English, he was sent to London, with a contingent of personal tutors, to round off his education at the Royal Military Academy at Woolwich. Sadly, he had been misinformed as to the entrance requirements. Faced with the examination papers, he waited for an aide to appear to fill in the answers. Had it not been for the call to return to Cairo to take up his inheritance, it would have been necessary to find a face-saving device, although doubtless it would have been no harder for an Egyptian prince to circumvent the rules than, say, the dim son of a British family with social connections.
It was not long after Farouk came of age in July 1937 that he began to assert his authority over the Wafd politicians, whom he suspected, with some justification, of intriguing against him. Nahas was dismissed and elections were called in which anti-Wafdist factions prevailed, allowing Farouk to divide and rule. He was less successful in bringing the British ambassador to heel. Sir Miles Lampson, who was 6 feet 5 inches tall and weighed 18 stone, overawed the young king, treating him as a petulant child who needed the occasional diplomatic smack to keep him in line. This served British interests well enough until the outbreak of war with Germany and Italy. Under the 1936 treaty, Britain had every right to send in an occupying force to protect Egypt and the canal from the threat of an Italian invasion across the Libyan border. But this was quite different from assuming, as Britain under the Churchill administration was inclined to do, that Egypt owed gratitude for its salvation. The reality was an underlying sympathy for the Axis powers.
Gaining in confidence and acquiring a hearty detestation of Lampson, Farouk surrounded himself with Italian advisers who fed him the anti-Semitic theme that promised a solution to the Palestinian problem. Then again, it was fondly imagined that a defeat for Britain, seen as well nigh inevitable after the reverses of 1940/41, would at last bring freedom from foreign interference. Unlikely though it may seem that the Italian and Germany military should have been cast in such a benign light, it only needed the argument to be turned round by the nationalists to see that any enemy of Britain should be rewarded with friendship. British forces did little to win hearts. Servicemen fresh to the country were quick to adopt the expatriate perception of the typical Egyptian as a ‘wily oriental’, or more familiarly a ‘bloody wog’. A favourite story of the time gives the flavour of misplaced British humour.
King Farouk had been involved in a collision between his car and a British Army vehicle. At the Court of Inquiry the British Officer in charge called the lorry driver to give his evidence, which began as follows: ‘Sir, I was driving at 16.30 hours on the road in the direction of the Canal Zone when I saw a big sports car approaching with two wogs . . .’
‘Stop, close the court! Sergeant, take that man away; teach him how to give his evidence in a proper manner.’
When the inquiry reassembled the driver was recalled to give his evidence, having spent a full ten minutes under the earnest tuition of his sergeant who endeavoured to instil in the man the correct phraseology to be used. He began again: ‘Sir, I was driving at 16.30 hours on the road in the direction of the Canal Zone when I saw a big sports car approaching. This car was driven by His Majesty King Farouk of Egypt and another wog . . .’3
It was a significant though largely unnoticed sign of the times that Farouk was never so popular as when he was being insulted by British troops. For his part, the king was not averse to putting out feelers towards Italian and German emissaries, though he was not prepared to go as far as some of his young army officers, who made direct contact with Axis headquarters in Libya. One of these was El-Sadat, destined one day to succeed Abdel Nasser as president of the Egyptian republic. Warned that he and his co-conspirators were under surveillance, Sadat adopted a lower profile and was later interned, regretting ‘that if ill luck had not so dogged our enterprise, we might have struck a blow at the British, joined forces with the Axis, and changed the course of events’.4
The gathering of Axis strength on the Egyptian border, and further intelligence of anti-British plotting in Cairo, led to a decision that, whatever its short-term gain, reduced the Anglo-Egyptian relationship to its nadir. Events elsewhere in the Middle East further encouraged the use of strong-arm tactics to bring Egypt into line. In Iraq, independent since 1932, German sympathisers had mounted a coup. It failed, but not without a heavy response from British forces. Persia (now Iran) was also a dubious ally. For over thirty years it had been a shared sphere of interest between Britain and Russia. So it was that after the Soviet Union joined the Allies it was deemed wise for Anglo-Russian troops to carve out areas of control. But Egypt was different. A country that had so recently had its sovereignty acknowledged by solemn treaty might reasonably have expected Britain to observe the diplomatic niceties.
Not a bit of it. King Farouk was delivered an ultimatum; appoint a prime minister chosen by Britain or be forced to abdicate. Since the favoured nominee was the Wafdist leader, Nahas Pasha, whom Farouk had earlier dismissed, the king was faced with a double humiliation. A feeble effort at resistance consisted of a resolution signed by a cross-section of notables protesting that Lampson, the force behind the ultimatum, had ‘violated the treaty of friendship’ at a time when, ironically, ‘Great Britain in war is defending the democracy and liberty of nations’. Lampson was unmoved. When the deadline passed, the ambassador, with General Stone, the commander of British troops in Egypt, called for the embassy Rolls and drove to the palace followed by a convoy of tanks, armoured cars and military trucks. According to Stone,
The Ambassador and myself were admitted and conducted upstairs to the waiting room from which, after a few minutes, we were taken along the corridor to the King’s study where we found him with his Court Chamberlain Hassanein Pasha. We were invited to sit down with him at the table. After a few preliminary words the Ambassador read out his prepared statement.5
With ‘full emphasis and increasing anger’ Lampson made clear his conviction that ‘Your Majesty has been influenced by advisers who are not only unfaithful to the alliance with Great Britain but are actually working against it . . . Your Majesty has moreover wantonly and unnecessarily provoked a crisis making it clear that Your Majesty is no longer fit to occupy the throne.’6
