Lord Halifax Steps Out

The U. S. has never had a clear impression of Lord Halifax. A Tory and fox-hunting gentleman, Britain's Foreign Secretary at the time of Munich, he seemed out of place in Britain's War Cabinet. Thus he appeared to U. S. citizens like the hero of one of those old-fashioned silent movies, where one man played two parts and was always capturing himself. He arrived dramatically, as Ambassador to the U. S., on Britain's biggest battleship, dropped after his first visits into diplomatic obscurity while the Lend-Lease Bill was being argued. Last week Lord Halifax came out of that obscurity, visited Manhattan, made his first public U. S. speech, gave the U. S. a slightly better idea of what kind of human being he was.

Lord Halifax's first formal speech to the U. S. (at a postponed dinner of The Pilgrims, Anglo-American society) was not the kind of speech that Americans eat up. It seemed careful, vague, not so much impersonal as depersonalized. As a statement of Britain's war aims it was neither as stirring nor as plain as Winston Churchill's words, which always have enough tabasco in them to remind Americans that Winnie is half-American himself. Nevertheless, though Lord Halifax was obviously not the kind of man who ever could or ever would quite clear his throat of British phlegm, by last week the U. S. had begun to appreciate British understatement, of which the Ambassador was a 6 ft. 5 embodiment. Observed Lord Halifax: "Therefore it must be our aim in the present war to convince the people of Germany that these traditional ambitions and methods do not pay."

Even the isolationist Chicago Tribune hailed the frank, dignified tone of the speech. But next day some 20 Manhattan reporters gave the Ambassador a going-over for 50 minutes. What about India? What about Palestine? What about U. S. troops? In long, patient, gnarled sentences the Ambassador labored out a careful reply to each. He did not let it appear that he knew he was being needled.

What happened afterwards made U. S. citizens realize how Wendell Willkie must have looked to Englishmen. Lord Halifax saw the towers of Manhattan from the Empire State Building (it was his first trip to New York City) with Al Smith, was whisked from conference to luncheon to conference, preceded by screaming motorcycles bearing U. S. and British flags, crossed the Hudson to New Jersey, received 100 presents (including one package, thought to contain a bomb, which turned out to be a big metal statue of Winston Churchill, thumbs up), conferred with one archbishop, three bishops and several clergymen. He opened a clubroom for British seamen, roared with them "Are we downhearted? No!" with thumbs up, for the benefit of cameramen.

After three days of this, he went foxhunting on a Pennsylvania estate (where he turned up in brown jodhpurs and black boots among spick & span U. S. fox hunters in long-buttoned pink coats). Then he returned to Washington, to get on with his diplomatic calls, his conferences with State Department officials, his talks with the Embassy staff and members of British missions, and to go on at night with his reading of Sandburg's Lincoln and Freeman's Lee.

On the whole the U. S. liked the glimpse it had had of Lord Halifax. As for Lord Halifax, he was clearly going to continue giving the U. S. his most careful consideration.

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