– 68 –

CHAPTER 3
The First Moves

ON 8 September 1939 it was announced that there would be a special force of volunteers to serve in and beyond New Zealand, the immediate target being 6600 men aged 21–35 years for the First Echelon (about one-third of the proposed expeditionary force). The three long-established military districts, northern, central and southern, sub-divided into sixteen areas, were each to supply according to its population a certain number of volunteers. Enlistments began on 12 September: by 9 pm that night they totalled 6655¹ and within a week reached almost 12 000.² Thereafter as the first mood of acceptance and excitement waned, recruiting became slower and slower, and by December it plainly needed gingering up to complete the Second Echelon. For instance the Otago area yielded 567 volunteers in the week ending 16 September, but only 7 in the week ending 11 November, while in the Canterbury area the scores were respectively 1130 and 21.³

For this sudden surge and the sharp decline there were many reasons, some practical, some emotional. A large number of men were ready to enlist at the first call, their motives various and often mixed. Some were moved by plain old-fashioned patriotism, or were adventurous, restless, bored; some wanted to see the world or get away from jobs or families that depressed them. Some, though hating war, felt soberly that Nazism was so bad, so contrary to their own values, that it outweighed other evils and only fighting could stop it. They themselves could not remain out of the fight. Some, sure that they would have to go sooner or later, preferred not to wait or to be pushed. Some saw that, for the first wave, the chances of interesting jobs matched those of dying a little sooner. These, and no doubt hundreds of individual reasons, lay behind those first 12 000 enlistments.

Having passed the medical examination (where a good many were halted for teeth, which at this stage had to be repaired at their own expense), they could not go straight into khaki—carpenters and other

– 69 –

tradesmen were busy extending camps at Ngaruawahia, Trentham and Burnham, clothing and equipment had to be assembled, officers and NCOs sorted out. Men were warned not to throw up their jobs until actually called. Officers and NCOs were summoned in the last days of September, and most of the rank and file of the First Echelon during the first week of October. Volunteers for the Second and Third echelons were still sought (by 2 October enlistments totalled 14 742⁴) but they would not be called up for two or three months. These necessary delays tended to check the enlistment snowball right at the start. There was time for a wait-and-see mood to grow.

Speechmakers and newspaper editors in the next few months commented often that there was not the wave of feeling, not the flocking to the colours, not the open-handed giving of money, not the serious war-mindedness of 1914; they usually concluded that the country needed a lead. But was this inertia surprising? The war was remote, confused, and not dramatic; life was unchanged and there was no smouldering backlog of military temper ready to flame up if skilfully stoked or poked. Rather there was a deep reluctance, especially amongst men of fighting age and their families, to go through the desolate business again. Behind this feeling lay the wounds of 1914–18, when about 100 500 New Zealanders (including 550 nurses) had gone overseas. Some 58 000 casualties had included nearly 17 000 deaths, from a population little in excess of 1 100 000.⁵ These wounds had been deepened by awareness that anxiety, poverty and failure had beset thousands of returned men, inadequately compensated for suffering and loss of opportunity, in a world that seemed no better for their sacrifice. Also, for three years before 1914 military training had been compulsory, producing a large body of young men already half-way into the Army, prepared to do what was expected of them and carrying others along with them; while very few guessed at the long grim stretch and the savage dirty fighting that lay ahead. In the years before 1939, by contrast, Territorial training was voluntary and not popular, nor was there complete acceptance of the soldier as a worthy figure—if many esteemed him, to others his uniform was an unwelcome symbol. The war itself was accepted without protest. Almost everyone declared loyalty but dull resentment was widespread, expressing itself almost unconsciously in forgetting the war as much as possible and, for many, in feeling that it was primarily the concern of a vague ‘they’, presumably the government; if ‘they’ wanted an army, let them conscript it, not expect a man to volunteer.

– 70 –

This absence of enthusiasm, mixed with foreboding and remembered pain, showed at the railway station farewells to the First Echelon contingents both when entering camp early in October and when returning from final leave just before New Year. Bands did their best, there was the usual banter, the soldiers themselves were cheery if set-faced (‘the real feelings of the Troops were for the moment hidden under a mask of cheerful indifference’⁶) but there were few cheers, some crowds were notably silent and women wept. At Napier and Hastings, for instance, it was the opinion of several old soldiers that the attitude of the people towards the war was reflected in the atmosphere of restraint: ‘There was no gloom, but the wild and hysterical enthusiasm witnessed during the Great War was absent.’ It seemed that no one present welcomed the war but that all were determined to see it through now that it had started.⁷

Further, the slowness of the war in the west gave time for second thoughts. It is now known that the German command thought and hoped at first that Britain and France did not really mean to fight, that their war would be a fire of straw and a peace could be patched up for a year or two more. This was not known to the Allies, but it was clear that the peace so far from peaceful had been followed by war much less warlike than expected. The careful imprecision of the British government's stated war aims contributed to the sense of uncertainty. During November the Opposition wanted sharper definition of war aims than defence of freedom and democracy, and to some there seemed still a chance of avoiding a big fight; Fraser in London pressed on both these points.⁸ In New Zealand it is hard to guess how many, and with what urgency, asked ‘What are we fighting for?’ Apart from pacifists and Communists, there were a good many Labour supporters who had been very uneasy about Chamberlain's pre-1939 course and who were troubled now that New Zealand's government had identified itself completely with the British government's purposes.⁹ Could the men in Britain and France whose judgments had been so wrong be trusted now for wisdom and integrity? Such people felt that the war was slipping into a likeness of the imperialism of 1914–18, that it might crumble into an ill-advised Chamberlain peace or somehow, especially after Russia attacked Finland, be switched against Russia. All the years of secret diplomacy and faits accomplis favoured these doubts. Some West Coast trade unions in December passed critical resolutions about this imperialist war; writers in Tomorrow, including a few members of

– 71 –

Parliament,¹⁰ were worried about war aims, convinced that others less articulate were also worrying, and some urged that the first duties of politically conscious New Zealanders were to protect civil liberties and guard against the excesses of war-mindedness and against Fascism at home: the non-political could defeat it abroad. Tomorrow spoke for only a very thin slice of New Zealand, but such people were not alone in feeling a lack of purpose and direction—for instance Rodney Coates, farmer of Otamatea and no leftist, declared, ‘There is a spirit abroad that is anti-British. People are so ignorant of the position they are asking, “What are we fighting for?” All are asking for a lead.’¹¹ He laid this bewilderment at the door of the government, but a larger despair was expressed by a writer to the Hawke's Bay Daily Mail who on 8 April wrote that lately a returned soldier had asked why, after he had gone through hell for years, his sons were required to go through it all again. The peoples of the Empire, the letter continued, were for the most part going into the war in a spirit of dazed fatalism. ‘Having no real understanding of the propaganda game, they are just marching out once more, thinking that since we're “in it” there is no way out but to stumble and blunder further in.’

On the other hand, in the Transport Worker, which generally backed the government and held that the prime and proper concerns of trade unions were the wages and working conditions of their members, a writer asked what would happen if Germany won. Would New Zealand be taken over? Would his own life, liberty and standard of living be preserved? He did not want to know what Chamberlain said to Hitler, or what the British did in the Boer War 40 years ago. ‘Whether the Treaty of Versailles was wrong or not is not as important to me as what occurs to my carcase just now, and the necessity of a commonsense decision of supporting the New Zealand Government in its war effort.’¹²

These are sample views, individual perceptions of war aims or lack of them, each, it may be presumed, held by a number of people; doubtless there were many others. Of those above, the clearest reason given for fighting the war was to prevent Germany from winning. Withal, the feeling that plain men did not know the real purposes and maneouvres of governments behind their fronts of words induced caution. For instance, the Southland Times on 6 October remarked that First Echelon men were merely going into camp for three months, after which they would receive orders to hold themselves in readiness

– 72 –

while back in civilian work, or to remain on military duty here, or to go overseas. In the camps, gossip ran that troops would not be going overseas, they would have three months' training and return to their jobs. Such talk could well deflect men from enlisting when a break in employment could check promotion or even lose a job, let alone the three months' drop in pay.

Newspapers yield a few letters from young men saying why they did not volunteer. They were bitter that war had arrived for them, who had had no part in making it. Without enthusiasm, they accepted that it was necessary to fight the Nazis. They felt that conscription would come sooner or later and they might as well wait for it. With the bleak days of the Depression only a little behind, men who had known relief camps and pannikin bosses had no zest for more mud or for Army sergeants; men who had secured good positions at £5 or £6 a week had no mind to give them up for 7s a day any sooner than they must; men still on relief had little urge to fight for the country that had given them so little. Unemployment was waning, but jobs were still eagerly sought—thus at Christchurch and Dunedin where papers at first published the names and addresses of volunteers, employers were embarrassed by applications for jobs before their present holders were even medically examined.

In one newspaper, for instance, a questioning young man wrote that a travelling companion on a train had asked him what young men today thought about the war. ‘Some, of course, don't think about it at all, but the ones who do, I am convinced, think it is a scandalous thing.’ They did not, he went on, disagree with Britain's policy, but war was so different from the ideals they had been brought up with.

Unlike Germany, the war psychosis is not an integral part of the young New Zealander's make-up…. Every year when at school, and perhaps after that, we marched with the returned soldiers to the Cenotaph to commemorate those who had laid down their lives for democracy—the war to end wars; and today with this second Great War upon us, looking back it seems all so farcical…. Despite these thoughts, since September war has been our policy, to give freedom to the oppressed people of the world, and if war it must be then every young man in this country is prepared to do his part. Most of us are marking time and waiting, waiting silently, for the time to come when we will be conscripted, and I think that that time should be now. We have known for years the way the wind was blowing in Europe, and I think that conscription or compulsory military training should have been brought in… two years ago. It is the only fair way and… the general physique would have been at a higher standard. There is no doubt that Hitler is a madman, and if we are

– 73 –

to meet force with force every man should be asked to do his duty and should be prepared for it.

When this war starts in earnest thousands can be expected to suffer. But for what? Will the world be a better place when it is all over? We hope so and will give our lives in that cause, yet still the doubt remains.¹³

A 23-year old, well read in the last war, said that he was holding back not from cowardice or pacifism, but because he could not see why he should be mutilated or blinded while others of his age waited for conscription; instead of leaving the decision to the individual, let the government's register and ballot decide whether one should be called up in two days or two years.¹⁴

Another thought that thousands would be willing to serve under conscription, without the moral responsibility of volunteering to kill; wanting both British victory and a clear conscience, he would destroy his fellow men if directly chosen to do so by lawful authority, with the rightness or wrongness of it resting upon the government, not on himself.¹⁵

A 33-year-old man wrote to the Press on 10 October: One realises what one is sacrificing in giving up a hard-earned situation to enlist—for what? Some of us don't forget that a few of the best years of our lives were spent in camps at 10s a week. Some of us have seen pictures of acres of white crosses in France, and in the ears of some of us still ring the echoes of the tragedies of last war. Sacrifice and die for one's country! Yes and again yes; but let it be done in a fair way, and what more fair way could there be than conscription…. I am quite content to hold my job until John Bull whistles me up through the conscription list. Then I shall fall in and march into the fog of duty… my step will be no less brisk because my life is conscript to my God and my country's need.

Another reported that when he discussed service with married men they said, ‘It's not my job, I've a wife and kids’, while single men said, ‘If they want me they can come and get me’, or ‘I've a job worth six quid a week, I would be a mug’.¹⁶ Yet another wrote that he was quite willing to go under conscription but not willing to give up his job to ‘some scrounger who won't volunteer’, and that he knew plenty of others who were waiting for ‘a written invitation from Mr Savage’.¹⁷ A fencer was quite willing to fight for the

– 74 –

country but was not giving up a good job at £1 a day while ‘Jack So-and-So remains in the bank and John Someone-Else in the county office’.¹⁸

Certainly a large part of the young men's reluctance to immolate themselves ahead of others was fear that being away at the war would cripple them economically for the rest of their lives. The recruiting air was full of promises, but they knew how promises can become vague and shrunken. Savage on 7 January pledged that they would not return to ‘an unseemly struggle for the right to live’. Again on 3 March, in his last broadcast speech, he said that this time New Zealand could and must do more than before; to reabsorb thousands back into civilian work would be a full-sized job for the government and the community; the government was taking steps and would welcome suggestions.

No government getting a war under way could reasonably be expected to have its rehabilitation cut and dried, but people, equally reasonably, were dubious of promises not backed by statutes. A first step was made on 14 October with a regulation obliging employers to reinstate employees at the end of their military service, but this was not strongly publicised till later. Many officials less responsible than Savage promised quite as much as he did on behalf of the government—for instance, the deputy-mayor of Wellington declared that returned men or the dependents of the dead would ‘have no call to make on the Government that will not be fully met’, they would lose nothing, apart from the accidents of war; he himself would undertake as far as was in his power that Wellington would do its share to make the pledge good.¹⁹ Fine words uttered freely and vaguely on all sides begot more doubt than confidence. At Auckland the RSA, sharply aware of last time's meagreness, said that the government must remove some pension anomalies before it would urge young men to enlist.²⁰ Newspapers carried a trickle of letters contrasting the soldiers' 7s a day plus danger and discomfort with the ‘carry on as we are’ attitude of the rest of the community. One said:

It is rather amusing to witness the attempts being made to entice men to enlist. Wash it all out and get down to facts. Let the various bodies who are doing the most shouting come out in the open and declare themselves ready to protect the vital interests of the men…. All the mortgages, monetary interests, big businesses, shares, insurances etc., won't be worth the paper they are

– 75 –

written on if the tide goes the other way and we are beaten…. Start a crusade for the protection of the men who protect wealth and I'm sure conscription will never come.²¹

An example of the situation was provided at Stratford where the Mayor and the RSA called a meeting to encourage recruiting. Most of the young men were at a swimming carnival but 74 other persons, while supporting a motion for conscription, firmly defeated a proposal to first levy one per cent on all capital over £500 for a fund to rehabilitate men after the war.²² Again, at Palmerston North, when the Junior Chamber of Commerce recommended conscription of both men and wealth, the senior Chamber urged conscription of manpower as in 1917, but opposed subsidising soldiers' pay out of taxpayers' money, suggesting instead that the government should, if necessary, increase the allowance for wives and children.²³ Some local bodies considered subsidising their employees' Service pay to civilian level but decided it was not practicable.

Another factor checking enlistment was uncertainty about ‘reserved occupations’. Farmers were assured that their highest duty was to work their land—‘Farm or fight’ was a slogan—but did this hold for their skilled labourers? Some farmers believed that they had no right to intrude on the decisions of their men; others pressed their claims on the Labour Department and Army authorities, to the chagrin of enlisting musterers or shepherds, who might be passed fit then told to go back to their jobs. Skilled technicians, too, were held at the employers' requests, for the government had no wish to disrupt industry. There were protests against the hidden contrivings of some employers and demands that reserved occupations should be publicly listed; the government, feeling its way through new problems, was anxious not to commit itself. Enough uncertainty existed for some waverers to claim that they were not allowed to enlist, and for others to distrust this claim.

Right from the beginning there were demands for a national register and for conscription. Wars are usually fought within the framework of the previous war, and in 1916 conscription had been brought in, though volunteering continued along with it till the end, resulting in nearly 92 000 volunteers and 32 000 conscripts and some feeling between the two. In the reasons now advanced, fairness stood first: why should the burden and risk be borne by the willing, while the slack and selfish stayed in safety and took the jobs? Efficiency demanded that men keenly needed for food production or for essential industry should not disrupt these things by disappearing into

– 76 –

the Army. Conscription also saved the personal ordeal of deciding between the claims of country, family and business obligations. Many of these demands came from National party circles, from farmers' organisations, Chambers of Commerce, the newspapers and the RSA, some closely and calmly reasoned, some smacking more of political attack on the government. A steady trickle of newspaper letters spoke of fairness and efficiency, some were of the direct ‘I have two sons in the Army. Why doesn't the Government bring in conscription’ type, others more complex, discussing for instance the relationship of the State, the individual, and the good of the nation.

The government was highly sensitive on this point. Labour had decried the 1914–18 war as an imperialist struggle wherein workers were duped and exploited for privilege and money power, and five Cabinet ministers had been gaoled for opposing conscription or the war itself. This war, for the protection of workers and democracy everywhere, was, they explained, quite different, but it was no light matter to make an about-turn on conscription, and they hoped to avoid it. Surely, with their own Labour government and a high standard of living to defend, which would certainly be lost if Britain were defeated,²⁴ workers would volunteer in such generous numbers that conscription would not be needed. For the first three months there was no real recruiting campaign: military plans were uncertain, and it was a task for which most Labour members felt a natural reluctance. Those in the House most for it were Nationalists, and the left-wingers Lee and Barnard for whom the government did not desire prominence. Moreover, many people thought that massed infantry had given way to aerial combat and it followed that expeditionary forces were unnecessary.

The statement by Savage in June 1938 that if conscription came it would begin not with men but with money was now established Labour doctrine, placating traditional feeling within the party and fending off conservative pressures.²⁵ Conservatives however were apt to retort that as recent legislation had already conscripted wealth, manpower should follow. For instance a letter in the Press of 21 November 1939 said that there was a catch-phrase often heard, ‘If wealth is to be conscripted, men should be conscripted as well,’ adding that only an ignorant savage or a cold and finished scoundrel could weigh a man's life against a bag of money. Another writher, not a lone voice, expressed a less emotional view: ‘It may be assumed that the

– 77 –

majority of those called up for service would return from the war uninjured. They would merely sell their services to the State for a short period. Wealth conscripted would be seized without payment and would never be returned’; one class would not only give its men but be robbed of its property also.²⁶ The impracticability of conscripting wealth was repeatedly explained.²⁷

The first rush of volunteers was reassuring, and until arrangements about the use of New Zealand troops were made with Britain during Fraser's November–December visit, urgency was lacking. But with Freyberg²⁸ appointed as General Officer Commanding and the First Echelon due to sail early in January, while not nearly enough men were available for the Second, a national recruiting campaign was launched just before Christmas 1939 for 10 000 volunteers by 12 January, for the Second Echelon and the nucleus of the Third. Higher overseas pay rates were announced, colonels rising by 17s 6d a day to 42s 6d and privates by 6d to 7s 6d; while teeth would be repaired by the Army. There were large newspaper advertisements and posters: ‘Your pal is in the First Echelon. Enlist today’, ‘The Spirit of Anzac calls you. You will be proud to be among the first Ten Thousand’. Recruiting officers were to visit remote pockets of manpower such as public works camps, sawmills and mines, with attendant doctors to give medical examinations on the spot. Local bodies, the RSA, Territorial Associations, patriotic councils, Red Cross societies and the like were asked to help.

Many of these people and groups believed in conscription, and with divided minds they pumped out their speeches. As the Press put it: ‘They co-operate; but they do not agree.’²⁹ Probably those near the apex of affairs accepted more readily than those less elevated the need to subdue their own convictions, support government policy and work up volunteers. Thus Colonel P. H. Bell,³⁰ commanding the Southern Military District, told the RSA that despite all private opinions the idea of conscription must be abandoned and the appeal for volunteers supported;³¹ Adam Hamilton declared ‘The duty of the National Party is to assist the Government to the fullest extent

– 78 –

in making the voluntary system effective. If conscription is unduly stressed it will undermine the Government's efforts and no member of the National Party wants that.’³² Many local leaders however were less willing to stifle their feelings. The Mayor of Ashburton, for instance, when only 100 people came to farewell the district's 34 soldiers, said that he had been asked to appeal for recruits but would prefer a ‘spot of conscription’.³³ The Otago Farmers' Union, though it would ‘willingly co-operate’ in this drive for the Second and Third echelons, declared that universal military service was the only fair and democratic basis for an overseas force.³⁴ The Waipa County Council thought likewise, but while government policy was for volunteers it would give what support it could; one councillor asked how they could back what they knew to be wrong: ‘The Government's attitude is absurd and they are asking us to stump the country.’³⁵ At Te Aroha a patriotic spokesman held that voluntary enlistment had failed if civilians were expected to go round telling young men they should go to war and he thought the young men wanted conscription.³⁶ Some local bodies declared themselves in favour of conscription, but on 26 January Fraser said that Cabinet was taking no notice of such resolutions.

It is probable, however, that others took notice. In Dunedin, where from October to March enlisting was slow, the Mayor, entraining recruits for the First Echelon on 6 October, had hoped there would soon be conscription, while the local RSA spoke firmly for it and not until pressed by headquarters did the president appear on recruiting platforms.³⁷ At Christchurch, where enlistment also dragged at first, the recruiting committee was very active but at least one member, Sidney Holland, made it clear that he was doing his duty against his better judgment.³⁸

The Prime Minister broadcast, appealing to sense and sensibility; the generals and mayors made speeches; the final parades of the First Echelon at Auckland, Wellington and Christchurch were vigorous rallies. The Observer of 10 January said briefly what other papers were saying at more length: it deplored the volunteer system but congratulated the government on greater energy—‘At last some

– 79 –

attempt is being made to kindle patriotic fervour. Last week's parades were memorable events. Those long columns of eager young soldiers provided a splendid inspiration.’

The First Echelon marches were undoubtedly moving. At Auckland on 4 January the Herald reported a steady stream of volunteers at the Drill Hall, some obviously straight from jobs, in aprons, minus coat or wash; and on the 10th the steady stream yielded 97 men. At Wellington the total for 5 January was 105, and 114 on the 8th—a record. The Evening Post, interviewing recruits on 4 January, wrote that the ‘call of adventure and the roving spirit’ seemed the main motives—though men do not necessarily speak their hearts to reporters. Said one: ‘When I saw three of my pals in the march yesterday I realised for the first time that they are really in for a trip round the world and I wanted to be in the swim too.’ A good job and obligations had kept a 36-year old from joining sooner but when he saw the troops in the city he simply had to go. Another said, ‘It's well worth the risk to be in the swim with the other boys’, and the next that soon a man would have to be in uniform to get a girl.

The enlistment rate quickened sharply. On 30 December volunteers numbered 18 858, but by 6 January there were 20 541,³⁹ and by 27 January there were 25 140⁴⁰—some 6000 in four weeks. Various devices were used:.vans with loud speakers toured Auckland streets, and outside recruiting booths brightly dressed girls on lorries did tap and Highland dances. In Auckland, Dunedin, Christchurch and Hamilton low-flying aircraft rained paper ‘bomphlets’ (‘If this were a bomb, where would you be? Enlist today’) on Friday night shoppers. Wellington and Auckland tried to sing men into the Army with community sings plus recruiting speeches. At Westport it was proposed that prominent citizens should make speeches at picture theatres, and the clergy of the Buller district were asked to mention volunteering in their sermons.⁴¹ At Christchurch during a football match troops marched round the grounds with gaps in their ranks and 22 joined in ten minutes.⁴² There were parades of weapons, of bands, Territorials and returned men; there were speeches and more speeches. Still there was talk of conscription, rumours that it would be introduced soon, rumours which, it was feared, would shrivel the drive to enlist. For instance a major, recruiting at Wellington, said that he had been given fifteen different dates for its introduction,⁴³

– 80 –

and Dunedin people in February heard that conscription cards were being printed and would be issued in March.⁴⁴

While recruiting activity grew, those who enlisted and their families began to feel hostility to the others who inevitably appeared as selfish job-holders. Families in which several sons had enlisted looked askance at those which had yielded none. The first call was for single men, but some men with sizeable families enlisted, and if their wives consented they were accepted,⁴⁵ though some citizens regarded this as economic folly or even criminal evasion of responsibility.⁴⁶ Under recruiting pressure some men doubted if a wife and one or two children justified remaining. ‘I am beginning to feel that perhaps I am shirking,’ wrote one. ‘If conscription was introduced I would have no difficulty—I would know that my time would come eventually.’⁴⁷ Another newspaper column held this heart-cry:

Today my husband enlisted. We are very proud of him and at the same time very sad. I have a small son four years old…. My friends say my husband is foolish and ask why he did not wait for conscription. Why give up a position with £6. 10s. per week for a soldier's pay. Yes, Sir, this is what the people are thinking. Why doesn't the Government wake up. Conscript the men; also conscript the money. Give everyone soldiers pay; then men will enlist. Why should my boy be separated from his daddy when there are single men left behind…. My husband is only 29, his best years are ahead of him. We were married in 1934, had two years on relief, and now when his country called he has answered, but there are too many men who don't mind how loud or long the country's bugle calls…,⁴⁸

White feathers appeared, but not widely; the National Council of Women disapproved, quoting the Queen who hoped there would be none.⁴⁹ In the House, Sidney Holland, whose military service in 1914–18 was beyond question, exhibited a feather he had received, declared that they were being sent to other returned soldiers, and hoped that it would be made a heavily punishable offence.⁵⁰ Another feather was sent to the redoubtable ‘Starkie’, hero of Robin Hyde's Passport to Hell.⁵¹ A few newspaper letters and articles⁵² condemned

– 81 –

the senders as impertinent and presumptuous. A colonel who said that conscription would not be needed if decent women refused to dance or play tennis with non-volunteers was firmly rebuked by an editorial and letters in the Christchurch Press.⁵³ Truth also reproved.⁵⁴ In Taranaki a man who received white feathers went into the Army, leaving his mother, sick father and two young brothers on a 200-acre farm. The 11-year-old boy drove the lorry to the factory, as his mother could not drive and she ‘was told all would be OK’. However, she was taken to court and fined for aiding and abetting her son to drive while he was under-age to hold a licence. This led to the elder son's release from camp.⁵⁵

The claim, strongly advanced by the RSA, that rejected or waiting volunteers should be distinguished by a badge was recognised by Cabinet in February,⁵⁶ though it was not until mid-June that these badges were issued. Many ex-soldiers joined or rejoined the RSA, some not having been members for 15–20 years. This increase, begun before August 1939 and intensified with the war, was more than 7500 in the first year, giving a total membership of 30 496 by September 1940.⁵⁷ They joined partly from general interest and to identify themselves with a body knowledgeable and important at the time; partly to avoid, by use of the Association's badge, misunderstandings and the attentions of the distributors of white feathers.⁵⁸

While leaders of the community busily worked for volunteers, conscription and anti-conscription movements were developing. The RSA and Chambers of Commerce had advocated compulsory national service since 1939, farmers considered it necessary if production were to be increased and the Defence League, very quiet since the beginning of the war, at the end of January 1940 wrote to 317 local bodies urging compulsory national service, with all citizens allotted suitable tasks. Of 224 replies, 89 declined giving an opinion, 30 thought it the government's business, 2 opposed the idea, and 103 favoured it— 63 of these speaking for bodies and 40 as individual conncillors;⁵⁹ a few councillors were sharply critical of the League and its purposes.⁶⁰ The League's proposal was echoed by at least

– 82 –

one private person who called himself'a democrat, an anti militarist, an ex-serviceman and a socialist', who scorned as hypocritical and inconsistent the many supporters of the volunteer system who cheered the volunteers, saw the glorious side of war, believed it to be unavoidable, never missed a parade, and ‘let George do it’; surely to allot tasks to every serviceable person would be more efficient, democratic and wholesome than the ‘obnoxious campaigning of the recruiters whose stereotyped jingo phrases and methods are sickeningly reminiscent of the last war to end war’.⁶¹

Newspapers, in editorials, news reports and correspondence columns, lost no opportunity of assuring the public that the public considered the voluntary system neither efficient nor fair. How far newspapers suppressed or diminished the views of those opposed either to the war itself or to conscription in particular can only be guessed—and perhaps only by those who have tried to express other opinions opposed by those newspapers⁶² —but a few appeared. Some⁶³ said that men who followed their consciences in refusing to fight needed as much courage as soldiers and should be respected. Others held that those who would not have to go were the most avid for conscription, and hoped that in a referendum only those of military age or their parents could vote;⁶⁴ some pointed out that conscription propaganda was inimical to volunteering.⁶⁵ A few suggested that older men should enlist or be conscripted, urging the value of maturity and previous training, or that young men, who had no responsibility for the war, should not be the first to go—‘the economy of drafting off the broken-mouths and retaining the two-tooths is obvious. As a fighting force a body of matured men will, under modern conditions, be superior to one composed of youths in every respect except perhaps mobility.’⁶⁶

Some thought that the government should know the real need, and that there were enough volunteers. An Otago man complained of the slogan ‘equality of sacrifice’:

Believe me, there is no equality of sacrifice under conscription or any other form of recruitment…. If two men are fit for war service of whom one is engaged in an essential industry and the

– 83 –

other goes to fight, where in the name of common sense is the equality of sacrifice. Hoping to see in the future more appeals to the intelligence of the people than to their stupidity….⁶⁷

Leftists held that all men would be needed here if New Zealand were invaded and that self defence was the first duty. Britain was involved in Europe, all kinds of surprises were possible, conscription would not be needed to get New Zealanders to defend their own country, but the government should make sure that they had the necessary weapons. This view was shared by the Roman Catholic Church, with the New Zealand Tablet of 25 October declaring that there were several ways in which New Zealand could pull its weight, but wholesale conscription would not be a reasonable service to the Empire, ‘and it would be a traitorous disservice to our own country’. Communists, of course, who opposed the whole war at this stage, opposed conscription vigorously, in the People's Voice, in leaflets, and in any unions where they had influence.

Some Labour bodies passed resolutions urging the government to stand firm against pressure for conscription, pressure from Labour's political enemies. Thus a deputation from the Labourers' Federation went to the Minister of Defence on 14 November 1940, and on 7 February a stop-work meeting of 1000 Wellington watersiders by a large majority opposed conscription; as did the Rotorua Labour Representation Committee.⁶⁸ The Union Record (of the Carpenters and Joiners Union)⁶⁹ in communist-tinged phrases demanded ‘stern unbending refusal’, and held that conscription would be unnecessary if New Zealanders were positive that the troops would be used only against the Nazis and not for policing India or for any other imperialist activity.⁷⁰ The New Zealand Railway Review (of the New Zealand Amalgamated Society of Railway Servants) warned against the constant talk of conscription—‘It is just the old idea that if you say a thing often enough and convincingly enough you will change the opinion of the next person’; New Zealand had a big enough job feeding Britain without worrying about conscription.⁷¹

– 84 –

The People's Voice, which would surely have reported all the anti-conscription motions it heard of, recorded only a handful: the Auckland Carpenters and Ruawai Left Book Club (issue of 19 January); Dunedin Furniture and Related Trades (16 February); New Plymouth Watersiders (8 March); Otago Labourers (28 March); Ngauranga Freezing Workers (12 April).

Labour authorities, while holding firmly to the voluntary system, were cautious. On 19 December Langstone, when asked directly if there would be a referendum before conscription were introduced, replied, ‘We have been elected. A referendum was taken at the last election.’⁷² The Standard repeatedly reproved debate about conscription: ‘If the issue ever arises it will be time enough to start agitating for a referendum.’ The government opposed conscription and ‘it is a certainty that conscription will not be introduced here except in an extreme emergency.’ Meanwhile the best way to counter propaganda for conscription was to give full support to the voluntary system.⁷³

Labour's rank and file was, of course, in difficulties: conscription was right against the traditional grain, but to agitate against it betokened lack of confidence in their leaders. The outspoken Union Record voiced the suspicions of the section of the movement not silenced by the fear of embarrassing its own government.⁷⁴ Meanwhile, in mid-January, pacifists and a wide range of leftists at Wellington started the Peace and Anti-Conscription Council,⁷⁵ urging New Zealand to withdraw from the war, oppose all conscription and protect civil liberties. Branches appeared in Christchurch, Auckland, Palmerston North and Nelson.⁷⁶ At least some of its meetings were well attended—about 1000 crowded the Wellington Trades Hall on 18 January⁷⁷ after the Mayor had cancelled its Town Hall booking;⁷⁸ and the Evening Post reported more than 800 at a Miramar meeting on 4 February.

In December the West Coast Trades Council had condemned the war as imperialist,⁷⁹ with consequent furore among its affiliates.⁸⁰ Although it was rescinded on 10 February,⁸¹ this anti-war expression,

– 85 –

plus other anti-conscription activities, led to a joint conference of the executives of the Labour party and the Federation of Labour, which on 21 February made a statement on war policy. It was an interesting statement, floodlighting Labour's image of itself. In well-rounded party-rallying phrases, it condemned Nazi aggression, and stressed that New Zealand's high standard of living, won by democracy and trade unionism within the British Commonwealth, depended on that Commonwealth. The British government was at last standing for collective security, as New Zealand had repeatedly advised; it would now be ‘politically irresponsible or worse’ if New Zealand Labour did not give Britain fullest support. The six peace aims of British Labour were endorsed: no revengeful peace, but restitution to victims; right of all nations to self determination; the outlawing of war; rights of minorities; an effective international authority; an end to colonial exploitation and trade monopoly. Recalling that the labour movement had stated its opposition to conscription on 13 July 1939, sure that there was no need for it, that young men would rally willingly to the defence of freedom, the statement continued

We now unconditionally reaffirm that statement…. in our opinion there is no good reason for either conscription or anti-conscription movements in New Zealand. There is no conscription in New Zealand, and there will be no conscription whilst Labour is in power. The best possible guarantee against conscription therefore is to participate in the work of the Labour and Trade Union Movements, to help to keep Labour in power, and to support the Government's voluntary recruiting campaign.

Social Security registration forms were now being used for a national register (this had been announced on 13 February), but it was for organising economic and industrial life, not for conscription. Freedom of speech was upheld, with some rather vague qualifications.

It is hard to think that the men who compiled this statement⁸² did not realise that conscription would come sooner or later, but they were running politics. Savage, whose personal hold was very strong, was dying (though this was firmly denied till early March); there was the dissident pull of the left wing and they were concerned to hold the party steady. (For instance, a series of mass demonstrations of Labour solidarity and confidence in the Prime Minister and the government had been planned in December and January, the first to take place at Auckland on 10 March,⁸³ but Savage's sinking health made them obviously unsuitable.) It was not a time for

– 86 –

unwelcome changes. ‘No conscription’ was so deeply graven on many stalwart Labour hearts that to depart from it during this mild and muddled phase of the war might well have shaken faith in the leaders. Moreover, if the rumours of impending conscription were scotched, enlistment would quicken.

The declaration so assuaged the Canterbury Peace and Anti-Conscription Council, which had been very active issuing pamphlets and canvassing houses, that it decided to suspend all anti-conscription efforts.⁸⁴ The Wellington body continued its preparations for a general conference at Easter and the Labour party executive instructed that no Labour member might attend that conference.⁸⁵ About 100 delegates and observers attended, however, from trade unions, pacifist organisations, youth groups and women's movements. They held that the government should initiate a peace conference of workers as well as governments of all nations or, failing that, withdraw New Zealand from the war; they condemned the Emergency Regulations and the restrictions of civil liberties, denounced the compilation of the national register and called on the government to declare unconditionally against conscription.⁸⁶

At the same time the annual conference of the Federation of Labour heartily adopted the February Statement of War Policy, with only 28 (against 223) voting for a leftist amendment calling for immediate peace, disarmament, socialism, and national independence for Czechoslovakia, India, Ireland and Poland.⁸⁷

The concurrent Labour party conference severely condemned the Wellington Peace and Anti-Conscription Council as a political anti-Labour organisation, contrived by Communists, to whom all opposition to the war was widely attributed. Fraser recalled that when war was declared there was no opposition from anyone in the country, except the pacifist Ormond Burton, until Moscow gave orders. The conference adopted the war policy statement by 821 votes to 104. One speaker remembered that in 1935⁸⁸ Fraser had told conference that its decisions were only recommendations, not binding on the government. In fact, Fraser's 1937 statement was very close to what actually happened in 1940. He had said that motions of conference were expressions of opinion, not necessarily binding on the government, which would interpret them in the light of existing

– 87 –

circumstances; the final word lay with Cabinet, after consulting caucus and the national executive. ‘The Labour Party, as the Government, was now responsible for the welfare of the whole community not merely of its own supporters.’⁸⁹

But in March 1940 it was necessary to reassure conference of its own power. Fraser denied having said that conference decisions were not binding, only that the government could not accept decisions contrary to its election pledges; in such a case it would be necessary to call a special conference.⁹⁰ Here Fraser forecast, as he was later to claim, the special meeting that was called on 2 June, called to endorse, not to discuss, the change in government policy on conscription. Meanwhile several newspapers⁹¹ assured their readers that if conscription seemed necessary to fill the drafts, the question would first be considered by a Dominion-wide Labour conference.

Subsequently, several Labour branches expelled members who belonged to the Peace and Anti-Conscription Council.⁹² Only a few were involved, but this action was significant as part of the change taking place in the party. By inentifying these people with the discredited Communists, Labour's executive gave warning to other die-hard anti-militarists in its rank and file that Labour demanded full loyalty to its present self and was prepared to discard people and principles that clashed with its new task, the task of keeping Labour in power while running the war. It could be said that Labour adjusted itself to war, or that the need to fight the war changed Labour. This was already being shown by the Lee affair at this same Easter conference,⁹³ and by the silencing of pacificists; in due course conscientious objectors were to meet firm discouragement where, remembering an earlier Labour party, they might well have expected more tolerance.

Meanwhile the Auckland Carpenters Union⁹⁴ and the Auckland Builders and General Labourers Union in April decided to affiliate with the Peace and Anti-Conscription Council,⁹⁵ ‘pursuing the traditional policy of the Labour movement’ and recalling that in 1916 Peter Fraser had been national secretary of a body of that name.⁹⁶ The 1940 Peace and Anti-Conscription Council was soon effectively suppressed. Two prominent Australian members, K. Bronson and

– 88 –

N. Counihan, were quietly deported,⁹⁷ halls for meetings were not available or were cancelled at the last minute,⁹⁸ and on 30 June even the Trades Hall was permanently denied it by the police.⁹⁹

Labour's repeated reaffirmation that there would be no conscription did not put heart into enlistments. From 1–27 January, 6282 men enlisted, bringing the total to 25 140, and in each of the next three weeks about 1000 enlisted. But only 730 signed on in the week ending 24 February, and for the next three weeks, till mid-March, the weekly average was 571, with a low tide of 534 in the week ending 9 March. Some areas were brimming their quotas, notably Wairarapa–Hawke's Bay–Gisborne and Auckland,¹⁰⁰ but in several South Island districts quota figures loomed heavily above enlistments.¹⁰¹ The Minister of Defence on 14 March maintained that recruiting was quite satisfactory, but on the same day at Christchurch Sidney Holland had declared: ‘We are at our wits' end. We have had meeting after meeting. We have made speeches until we are sick of speaking. We have had demonstrations without end, and we still need 615 men.’ On 22 April Christchurch business and sporting men proffered such suggestions as: employers should let fit men without genuine reasons for holding back know that they would lose their jobs if they did not enlist; they should also let the men know that they themselves were sincere in their assurances that there would be places for them when they came back; appeal should be made to intellect as well as emotions; marching feet were the best recruiting sergeants in the world; school children should go home and ask their brothers why they had not joined up.¹⁰² One or two Press letters criticised recruiting methods. One, on 19 April, hoped that future efforts would avoid a ‘mixture of martial music and platitudes … an insult to our intelligence’; another thought that the recruiting committee, like a keen young salesman, had been ‘overselling’; if it were to cease activities for a few weeks the news from Europe would fill Canterbury's quota.¹⁰³ These instances may be taken as illustrative of not only Canterbury's difficulties, but probably those of many other districts where newspapers were less candid. Complaints of public apathy by perplexed mayors and other recruiting citizens were widespread; if there were real fighting going on, there would be real recruiting. ‘The thing to kick them along

– 89 –

would be to learn that the New Zealanders are in action. They would move quickly enough then,’ said an Otago footballer.¹⁰⁴

In the first fortnight of March Fraser, still Deputy Prime Minister, toured both Islands giving, as the Standard put it, an inspiring lead by frankly explaining the vital issues from platforms holding representatives of both political parties. Adam Hamilton assisted, appearing mainly at different towns, though Invercargill and Wanganui had the privilege of hearing the leaders of both government and Opposition give the same message from the same platform; Hamilton's photograph appeared in large advertisements— ‘Now is the time for service…. We have a high and sacred cause…. Young men … I appeal to you, you with the blood and traditions of your fathers, to spring to the side of your mates in the struggle today….’¹⁰⁵ Parades of troops and returned men garnished these political forgatherings, which some Nationalists viewed hopefully as a sign of approaching coalition.¹⁰⁶ The victorious HMS Achilles, having shared in destroying the pocket battleship Admiral Graf Spee at the River Plate in mid-December, returned late in February; her men were feted in their home towns and welcomed in the main cities with more parades and speeches. In the last half of March the Second Echelon went on special leave, carrying their khaki message even to remote places, and returned to give mass parades in provincial centres during April.

The impact of one such public appearance, the departure after final leave at Dunedin, with a band, returned soldiers' speeches, and hundreds of friends, was described by the Otago Daily Times with unwonted feeling:

Without ostentation or display, hundreds of farewells were spoken. Quietly, almost abstractedly, in the manner of those who say one thing while they are thinking of something else, the men filled the last moments before the troop train steamed away…. one realised how the sword draws its power from within itself, although in peace time it lies idly in the scabbard with hardly a soul to do it reverence. The scene was profoundly impressive….

In heavy type, the article made its conclusion: Surely more than anything else, such unrehearsed incidents in the progress of the war will awaken a higher realisation of the national peril and a higher resolve to see things through.¹⁰⁷

In the last week of March the weekly enlistment rate climbed to 726, at which figure it remained steady all through April. April

– 90 –

passed quietly, though on the 10th newspapers had inch-high headings, ‘Norway and Denmark Invaded’. Under the well-prepared lightning stroke, Denmark crumpled in a day. In Norway, although Britain had mined part of the coast two days earlier, the assault from Oslo to Narvik was so swift that it eluded the British fleet and secured crucial airfields. On 14 April British forces landed at several points but finding that they could not make headway quietly withdrew, except at Narvik where they continued fighting throughout May. They actually captured the town on 28 May but then, not being able to make anything of this gain, withdrew on 10 June.

New Zealand papers treated all this quite calmly. Denmark with her small army and undefended frontiers was an undersized easy victim—though her butter and cheese and bacon would be missed by Britain. Norway, relying on her neutrality, was also an easy kill, while the British withdrawals seemed inconspicuous but almost successful. To New Zealanders the fall of Norway and Denmark proved again that the Nazis were aggressive villains and that the ‘Fifth Column’ was a special danger; it did not follow that Nazi villainy could really threaten man-sized powers like Britain or France. A Press correspondent on 19 April wrote that the British propaganda machine made the Norwegian campaign ‘look like a fight between Joe Louis and one of the Dionne quins. One almost feels sorry for Germany.’ There was only a modest increase in recruiting though the age limit was raised from 35 to 40 years.¹⁰⁸ April yielded 2717 volunteers for the army, March had given 2462, and February 3779. By 27 April volunteers totalled 34 900; of these 15 636 had gone to camp (and overseas), and 6720 were available for posting; 1860 were in reserved occupations.¹⁰⁹

For Services other than the Expeditionary Force, enlisting was much keener. In February a special railway unit required 370 men and 1142 volunteered, while 600 offered for a forestry unit wanting 160.¹¹⁰ Early in October, when ordinary enlistments were slackening, 900 ground positions advertised in the RNZAF had drawn more than 2000 applications in five days.¹¹¹ Those volunteering as pilots, air gunners and observers greatly outpaced the selection committees. By mid-February 4300 had applied and 2000 had been interviewed;¹¹² by mid-April the Air Force numbered 387 officers and 3064 airmen, including educational and civilian staff, with 2096

– 91 –

awaiting selection interviews.¹¹³ Meanwhile, as the rate of intake was limited, many of those waiting to be called took preliminary mathematics courses—and sought volunteer badges to show their purpose. When the Navy in February asked for technicians and tradesmen, many hundreds applied, quenching the demand in a few days while more than 500 yachtsmen volunteered for the ten positions offered to them.¹¹⁴

During these first eight months, in fact and in feeling, New Zealand was getting used to its war. Khaki was making its impact. Relatives and friends of volunteers felt that they were in the war; those who gave to patriotic appeals, or entertained soldiers, or packed parcels, or made hussifs¹¹⁵ for the troops, felt they were doing their bit, though a bit that changed their lives very little. As yet no New Zealand soldiers had met the enemy, though there was, of course, the Achilles, and the RAF included some 400 New Zealanders who had joined before the war; from time to time their photographs appeared in New Zealand papers—decorated, missing, wounded, dead. The newspapers after mid-February also showed pictures of the Kiwis in Egypt. The Second Echelon was getting ready to go overseas. To the small towns soldiers came back on leave, the aura of here-today-and-gone-tomorrow about them, a hint of force and danger. In the cities near camps—Auckland, Wellington, Christchurch—hundreds appeared every weekend, some to be the private lions of their families or friends, a few to accept the hospitality of strangers or near-strangers, others to rove the streets and the places of entertainment, slowly augmented by Welcome Clubs, teas and socials and dances run by the churches, the YMCA, the YWCA and various clubs. They hoped for beer and girls and a bit of fun; often they found only boredom and beer of which they could not afford much. In the streets the sound of heavy black boots, moving in rapid groups, made heads turn with a tinge of awe, a self-conscious awareness of their protectors—or with disapproval if those protectors showed signs of drink. The soldiers swaggered a little; they were New Zealanders bound for overseas and they felt they were the All Blacks; they sang the old songs, they sang ‘Roll out the barrel’ and ‘We'll hang out our washing on the Siegfried Line’. The war was still far away, and there seemed to be no hurry about it.

– 92 –

New Zealand knew little of the storm that hustled the Chamberlain government from office as the sluggish war ended in the first days of May 1940, with the Allied retreat from southern Norway after a three weeks' campaign, reports of which had been pedestrian but optimistic. True, the dailies of 6 May briefly quoted the Manchester Guardian on shallow ministerial optimism and the Prime Minister's dangerous capacity for self-delusion, the Daily Mail's view that British leaders had been fooling themselves and the public, and the South African papers which charged the Ministry of Information with deceiving press and public. But that same day the Evening Post's war news column held that the set-back in Norway, apart from its implied reflection on the British government's conduct of the war, was not of vital consequence in the long distance strategy of the war.

Editorials in the New Zealand Herald (7 May) and the Press (9 May) complained about official secretiveness and evasion, of treating British people as if they had no reserves of moral courage, but the Evening Post (8 May) held that ministerial frankness should be qualified by strategic necessity. The Auckland Star on 6 May, however, said that through muddle and dissension in London many Anzacs at Gallipoli had died needlessly and in vain; some apparent errors in Norway were unpleasantly reminiscent of Gallipoli and it must ‘be made clear to the British Government that the Dominions would not permit their troops to be sent and sacrificed in any ill-conceived or badly organised adventure.’

Reports of the debate on Norway and the conduct of the war in the House of Commons on 7 and 8 May gave much space to the explanations of Chamberlain and Churchill, the former claiming that all was not yet lost in Norway and that the Germans had paid heavily for their gains. It was also clear that there was vigorous criticism of the government, both in the press and in the House. While some New Zealand papers printed more of these criticisms than others, there was general mention of attacks by two Conservative members, Admiral Sir Roger Keyes¹¹⁶ and Leo Amery.¹¹⁷ The Admiral declared that the Norway campaign was a shocking story of ineptitude, repeating the Gallipoli tragedy, and he expressed the frustration of the fighting Navy. There were restrained reports of Amery's censuring the lack of decisive consistent action and demanding a reformed government with fighting spirit in which the Opposition took a share of responsibility, but there was no stress on the

– 93 –

final Cromwellian thrust that helped to sharpen the mood of the House.¹¹⁸

The complaints of Attlee,¹¹⁹ Sir Archibald Sinclair¹²⁰ and others on muddling mismanagement were briefly noted. Lloyd George's¹²¹ call to Chamberlain to set an example of sacrifice by giving up the seals of his office was widely reported, as were the cries of ‘Resign, resign’ that greeted the vote in which the government's majority fell from about 240 to 81.¹²² But the second day's reports gave much space to Churchill's explanations, and the New Zealand Herald (10 May) declared, ‘Highest honours in a searching debate go to Mr Churchill.’ Many of the rebel Conservatives who insisted on coalition were named, and it was ‘understood’ that Labour leaders had told Chamberlain that they would not serve under him. Nevertheless the inevitability of Chamberlain's resignation was not sharply apparent. The Evening Post (9 May) saw the vote as the government's survival and a united shoulder to the wheel; the New Zealand Herald and the Dominion on 13 May saw Chamberlain's May 10 (British time) resignation, with a comfortable loyal majority, as unnecessary, but in the highest traditions of British statesmanship.

Churchill was warmly welcomed, the bulldog fit to meet the bull-like rush of the new war. On the day he took office as Prime Minister, 10 May, Germany launched its great attack in the west, first invading Belgium, Holland and Luxembourg. By 18 May startled New Zealanders were reading that the Germans had overrun Holland and were thrusting into France. In that week, along with details of Churchill's all-party cabinet, they also read Labour statements that there was no earthly reason for coalition in New Zealand: Britain was due for an election in 1940, but in New Zealand the government had a large majority, neither party wanted coalition, and lack

– 94 –

of it was not impeding the war effort.¹²³ They also read resolutions from chambers of commerce and farmers' unions, renewing their demands for conscription and an end to the 40-hour week, and many editorials on lack of leadership and inadequate war effort. Suddenly the remote, unreal war was high and threatening; dismayed New Zealanders felt that they must do something, and old discontents boiled up with new fervour. Some farmers' suggestions were far-reaching: thus in Hawke's Bay they wanted coalition including outsiders of ability, conscription of all wealth and manpower, a moratorium on debts, interest and rents, all males on Army pay, graded from private to colonel according to ability in farming and industry, and vigorous production of armaments.¹²⁴ At Gore they proposed a ‘fight or work’ policy, with a national register to maintain both the overseas forces and essential industry, and a British-style cabinet which would also include the presidents of the Farmers' Union and the RSA.¹²⁵

On 13 May Adam Hamilton urged that Parliament should be called immediately, but Fraser adhered to the date already set, 13 June. On 19 May Hamilton, finding that the National party, despite its restraint and co-operation in the past months and despite the British example, was not being invited to join a coalition, made a forthright attack on the government for this, for its ‘shilly-shallying’ war effort and the long silence of Parliament in its seven-month recession.¹²⁶

The same night, a Sunday, Fraser met the rising challenge with a singularly inept broadcast, quite out of touch with the urgency felt by many as they turned to their radios. The Prime Minister commended Britain's change of leadership, but found endorsement for his own government in Labour's victory at the by-election for Savage's old seat. He spoke of the German crimes against the Netherlands, of the pressing dangers to Britain and France. New Zealand was sustaining its part and the government was prepared for a long war. He announced a new plan for increasing home defence forces but otherwise presaged no major change. He told how the government was helping to replace enlisted farm workers by subsidies on housing and inexperienced labour and by a personal approach to men on public works. Men capable of bearing arms either at home or abroad should come forward now. The rest of the country could serve best by going about their daily tasks and working with a will. He commended the efforts of women and, with a final unlucky

– 95 –

touch, of watersiders who had loaded ships at the weekend, at overtime rates.¹²⁷

Hard upon this pedestrian statement came Churchill's sonorous promise to demand, in the coming battle, the utmost effort from all. ‘Interests of property and hours of labour are nothing compared to the struggle for life and honour, for right and freedom, to which we have vowed ourselves’. In its context, the contrast was disturbing, and during the next few days helped bring the general unease and restlessness to a quite remarkable pitch, not lessened on 23 May by news of the British Emergency Powers Defence Act, putting all manpower and property at the service of the government. Rarely except at the height of elections had so many people gone to so many meetings. It seems worthwhile to examine the several streams that together made a flood.

There was anti-alien¹²⁸ excitement. The Nazi ‘Fifth Column’ was prominent in Norway and the Low Countries; in Britain there were warnings about parachute landings and temporary wholesale internment of aliens. New Zealand could hardly expect paratroopers, but fear of a ‘Fifth Column’ sprang up overnight. On 15 May Wellington city councillors considered the possibility of enemy spies acting as saboteurs, and reviewed precautions about fires and water and electricity supplies.¹²⁹ The same day A. J. Moody,¹³⁰ a lawyer and chairman of the Auckland Hospital Board, declared that ‘every German national should be interned at once. The Government should know that the responsible section of the community is greatly concerned about the large numbers of Germans who are at present free.’ He would employ no German doctors at Auckland hospital; it was ‘monstrously unfair’ that they should practise in New Zealand while New Zealanders were fighting to make refugees safer in future, and enlisted doctors would return to find their work taken over. These views, he said, were being freely expressed in Auckland, and he uttered them not to criticise government officials, but to strengthen their hands.¹³¹ The Herald reported that there were 290 Germans in Auckland, only 11 of them interned. Fraser rapidly replied that the government had full information and was watching all aliens, that public vigilance was commendable but the circulation of alarms without foundation would be harmful and unhealthy.¹³² Moody's

– 96 –

lead proved popular, touching off newspaper editorials and a rain of letters on the theme ‘play safe and intern the lot’; a week later he spoke of receiving letters and telegrams of approval from all over New Zealand and saw public demand for stringent measures.¹³³ He was backed by Sir Carrick Robertson,¹³⁴ president of the Auckland BMA, who said, ‘We do not suggest that all or any of these aliens are spies, but what we do know is that their roots for generations have been nurtured on German soil, and it is difficult to believe that just because of their mass expulsion during a political upheaval they are not at the bottom of their hearts loyal to Germany.’¹³⁵

Of course less inflamed views were also expressed. Some Auckland university professors led in asking for discrimination among aliens, and warned that working up crowd hysteria damaged the war effort by diverting emotion and energy from constructive action,¹³⁶ while several people in various places wrote in strains similar to A. R. D. Fairburn:¹³⁷ ‘I find it difficult to imagine that any person past adolescence and not subject to chronic hysteria would regard the presence among us of a handful of Germans (most of them victims of the enemy we are fighting) as a potential menace to this small and remote Dominion. On the other hand, a good deal of undeserved suffering will be caused if the public sets about boycotting and persecuting German refugees. Trying as the times are, let us do our best to avoid stupidity and inhumanity.’¹³⁸ In Wellington, A. Eaton Hurley¹³⁹ and Edward Dowsett wrote that in Britain recent steps against certain categories of refugees were precautions against parachute or other invasion, but it could hardly be thought that New Zealand was in the same degree of danger. All refugees had been closely scrutinised by the authorities before coming here, many had suffered in German concentration camps such as Dachau or Buchenwald and, if they filled the positions of men in the forces, regulations made their tenure temporary. Any Fifth Column activities would be settled by competent investigation, not by wholesale accusations, and the writers believed that most refugees would welcome tribunals, as in England, to investigate their credentials. War against Nazi tyranny would be won by the morale of the Allies as much

– 97 –

as by military prowess, and the morale of people depended on the justice of their cause, not on the bitterness of their emotions.