German Spies in England: An Exposure

The actual truth regarding Germany's secret and elaborate preparations for a raid upon our shores has not yet been told. It will, however, I venture to think, cause considerable surprise.

A few curious facts have, it is true, leaked out from time to time through the columns of the newspapers, but the authorities—and more especially the Home Office, under Mr. McKenna—have been most careful to hide the true state of affairs from the public, and even to lull them into a false sense of security, for obvious reasons. The serious truth is that German espionage and treasonable propaganda have, during past years, been allowed by a slothful military administration to take root so deeply, that the authorities to-day find themselves powerless to eradicate its pernicious growth.

Unfortunately for myself—for by facing the British public and daring to tell them the truth, I suffered considerable pecuniary loss—I was in 1905 the first person to venture to suggest to the authorities, by writing my forecast "The Invasion of England," the most amazing truth, that Germany was secretly harbouring serious hostile intentions towards Great Britain.

The reader, I trust, will forgive me for referring to my own personal experiences, for I do so merely in order to show that to the grievous, apathetic attitude of the Government of the time the present scandalous state of affairs is entirely due.

I had lived in Germany for a considerable period. I had travelled up and down the country; I had lived their "home life"; I had lounged in their officers' clubs; and I had indulged in the night-life of Berlin; and, further, I had kept my eyes and ears open. By this, I had gained certain knowledge. Therefore I resolved to write the truth, which seemed to me so startling.

My daring, alas! cost me dearly. On the day prior to the publication of the book in question, Sir Henry Campbell Bannerman, then Premier, rose in the House of Commons and—though he had never had an opportunity of seeing my work—deliberately condemned it, declaring that it "should never have been written" because it was calculated to create alarm. Who, among the readers of this book, would condemn anything he had not even seen? Now the last thing the Government desired was that public attention should be drawn to the necessity of preparing against German aggression.

Once the real fear of the German peril had taken root in our islands, there would instantly have been an irresistible demand that no money should be spared to equip and prepare our fighting forces for a very possible war—and then good-bye to the four-hundred-a-year payments to Members, and those vast sums which were required to bribe the electors with Social Reform.

In the columns of the Times I demanded by what right the Prime Minister had criticised a book which he had never even seen, and in justice to the late Sir Henry Campbell Bannerman I must here record that he apologised to me, privately, for committing what he termed a "political error."

Political error! If there had been no further "political errors" in this dear old country of ours, we should have no war to-day.

The Government was bent upon suppressing the truth of my earnest appeal; hence I was held up to derision, and, in addition, denounced on all hands as a "scaremonger."

Now, at the outset, I wish to say that I am no party politician. My worst enemy could never call me that. I have never voted for a candidate in my life, for my motto has ever been "Britain for the British." My appeal to the nation was made in all honesty of purpose, and in the true sense of the patriotism of one who probably has the ear of a wide public. The late Lord Roberts realised this. Our national hero, who, like myself, was uttering words of solemn warning, knew what pressure the Government were endeavouring to place upon me, and how they meant to crush me; therefore on November 29th, 1905, he wrote the following:—

"Speaking in the House of Lords on the 10th July, 1905, I said:—'It is to the people of the country I appeal to take up the question of the Army in a sensible practical manner. For the sake of all they hold dear, let them bring home to themselves what would be the condition of Great Britain if it were to lose its wealth, its power, its position.' The catastrophe that may happen if we still remain in our present state of unpreparedness is vividly and forcibly illustrated in Mr. Le Queux's new book, which I recommend to the perusal of every one who has the welfare of the British Empire at heart."

But alas! if the public disregarded the earnest warnings of "Bobs," it was scarcely surprising that it should disregard mine—especially after the Prime Minister had condemned me. My earnest appeal to the nation met only with jeers and derision, I was caricatured at the music halls, and somebody wrote a popular song which asked, "Are we Downhearted?"

Neither the British public, nor the authorities, desired the truth, and, ostrich-like, buried their heads in the sand. Germany would never dare to go to war, we were told, many wiseacres adding, "Not in our time."