Chapter 4
The Schuman Plan: Britain's First Great Refusal
On May 9, 1950, at a modest press conference, French Foreign Minister Robert Schuman made an announcement that would change everything. The Schuman Plan proposed the boldest fusion of resources between France and Germany Europe had ever seen. Coal and steel-the base materials of industrial economies and war machines-would be placed under a shared "High Authority" to which both nations would surrender sovereignty.
The plan addressed pressing economic concerns-France feared Germany's industrial recovery and cheaper steel production-but its primary purpose was political. By removing these elements of the war machine from national control, it would reduce the risk of another mainland war and cement Franco-German reconciliation.
Jean Monnet, the plan's true architect, was a tireless internationalist who understood how to transform Europe through practical economic integration rather than lofty rhetoric. His secret lay in combining creative and critical faculties, appealing to romantic idealism while offering realistic means. Making "Europe" was his driving dream, motivated by the experienced fact of war.
For Britain, the Schuman Plan faced preliminary obstacles beyond politics. Schuman himself was Germanic by origin and cultural sympathy, speaking little English and understanding Britain poorly. More significantly, Schuman, Adenauer and De Gasperi shared both German-speaking backgrounds and devout Catholic faith-a religious dimension that provoked instinctive British suspicion.
The manner of the Plan's announcement proved fatally alienating to Britain. Schuman kept his proposal secret from British officials while personally briefing American Secretary of State Dean Acheson. This calculated maneuver-what Monnet joyously called a "conspiracy"-enraged Bevin, who confronted Acheson in "a towering rage." The Cabinet's immediate concerns were both economic and political. Ministers feared disaster for the British steel industry and worried that public ownership of British coal and steel might be compromised within a community of private steelmakers. More fundamentally, they recognized the Plan threatened political sovereignty.
When Monnet arrived in London, he insisted that the treaty must be signed as a matter of principle before details were decided-and that principle required "the surrender of national sovereignty over a wide strategic and economic field." This precondition was intolerable to officials already resistant to the smallest revision of sovereignty.
An elaborate diplomatic dance ensued between London and Paris, more about allocating blame for failure than finding agreement. Britain formally told Schuman the French and Germans should start bilateral talks with British participation to "get a clearer picture," while France insisted Britain must first accept the scheme's principles.
The Cabinet's decision came in bathetic circumstances-Bevin hospitalized, Attlee and Cripps on holiday, and Herbert Morrison famously declaring: "It's no good. We can't do it. The Durham miners will never wear it." This decision cost Britain the leadership of Europe it had enjoyed since the war's end. Nine months later Bevin left office, dying shortly after, while the European Coal and Steel Community came into being on April 18, 1951, with Jean Monnet at its head.
Chapter 5
Russell Bretherton: The Sacrificial Agent
Europe's integration continued beyond coal and steel, with the European idea gaining momentum through the 1950s. When this logic next confronted the British Government, their response remained similar but with one telling difference: instead of a titan like Bevin representing Britain, they sent an obscure cipher. Russell Bretherton, a middle-ranking official, became the symbol of Britain's shifting attitude from mulish domination to disdainful alarm.
The Messina conference, attended by foreign ministers of France, Germany, Belgium, the Netherlands and Luxembourg in June 1955, produced an ambitious agenda to work toward "a united Europe by the development of common institutions, the gradual fusion of national economies, the creation of a common market and the gradual harmonisation of social policies." From the outset, Britain received special treatment accorded to no other non-member. Spaak showed the Benelux draft to British officials before even sharing it with Germany, France or Italy, determined not to be seen doing anything behind Britain's back. This consideration was poorly rewarded.
The Foreign Office approached the document as "woolly," "a hotch-potch," and "intangible." John Coulson, a senior official, declared "there can of course be no question of our entering any organisation of a supra-national character." Most officials believed nothing substantial would emerge from Messina, with Ambassador Gladwyn Jebb dismissing French positions as mere "double-talk."
Instead of sending Anthony Nutting, the Minister of State at the Foreign Office and one of the few genuine "Europeans" in government who "begged" to attend, Britain dispatched Russell Bretherton, an under-secretary from the Board of Trade. While Spaak and other European nations sent their First Eleven-foreign ministers and senior diplomats-Britain deliberately chose someone of lesser rank but relevant experience.
Bretherton was no mere bureaucrat. An Oxford economist who had taught at Wadham College for seventeen years (where Harold Wilson had been his student), he was described by colleagues as intellectually formidable. Peter Thorneycroft called him "one of the most brilliant officials I've ever had the privilege of working with" and "a real believer in the European cause."
Arriving in Brussels, Bretherton quickly recognized the disconnect between London's expectations and European reality. While Whitehall believed the Messina process would fail due to conflicting national interests, Bretherton's first report painfully disabused them of this notion, reporting "firm determination to implement the Messina proposals" and that the project was "predominantly political."
Bretherton found himself in an impossible position. If he engaged actively, it might imply British commitment; remaining silent would allow "unpleasant" proposals to advance unchallenged. This dilemma-whether to engage and risk being drawn in or stand aside and lose influence-would characterize Britain's European relationship for decades.
Surprisingly, Treasury economists had concluded that joining a European customs union would benefit Britain more than maintaining Commonwealth preferences. Yet the Mutual Aid Committee instructed Bretherton "not to imply, in saying that certain features of the proposals would make it very difficult for the UK to join, that we would join if our points were met"-effectively undermining any negotiating leverage he might have had.
The decisive moment came when Spaak called a meeting for November 7, proposing to consolidate all work into a single report under his direction. Bretherton, following written instructions from London, read out a statement emphasizing that the Spaak committee's work duplicated existing institutions, particularly OEEC. Spaak erupted: "Well, I am astonished and very hurt at this. You are just sticking to your guns. England has not moved at all, and I am not going to move either."
Looking back years later, R.A. Butler offered a revealing confession about Britain's failure. His world-weary admission conveyed London's fundamental lack of serious interest in European integration: "It was a mistake. But I wasn't blamed at the time at all. And I have not been blamed very much in history."
Chapter 6
Harold Macmillan: From Skeptic to Supplicant
The Treaty of Rome, establishing a common market and "an ever closer union" of European peoples, was signed on March 25, 1957, despite British diplomatic efforts to impede its creation. This moment coincided with the aftermath of the Suez crisis of November 1956, creating a pivotal historical conjunction that would shape Britain's political identity for decades to come.
For France, Suez reinforced the case for European union. The fiasco generated a new wave of "Europeanism" in France, strengthening the belief that only through European unity could France regain power and independence. For Britain, however, the lesson of American abandonment didn't lead to a European pivot. Despite Washington's cold withdrawal of financial support during the sterling crisis that forced Britain to abort the Suez operation, British leaders reacted primarily by seeking to remake the American relationship.
Suez ended Eden's premiership, and Harold Macmillan emerged as his successor. Macmillan's European credentials were complex. The First World War profoundly shaped his worldview-he was an internationalist who had written in 1939 that Western civilization's survival required "an organisation, economic, cultural and perhaps even political, comprising all the countries of Western Europe." Yet Macmillan was also a man of Empire, sometimes ruminating on developing "the Empire into an economic unit as powerful as the U.S.A. and the U.S.S.R."
As the Treaty of Rome took shape, Macmillan devised Plan G, a proposal for a European Free Trade Area offering "all the trade and none of the politics." This alternative would include the Six at its core but with wider membership and no common customs barrier. Unlike the EEC, it would preserve Britain's Commonwealth trading links and exclude agriculture entirely.
On January 1, 1958, the European Economic Community became reality, dramatically shifting power dynamics. Britain's free-trading tradition clashed with protectionist France, particularly regarding agriculture. De Gaulle's return to power in May 1958 further complicated matters, bringing negotiations to an abrupt close. When Macmillan visited Paris after de Gaulle's installation, he made a desperate plea, comparing the Common Market to Napoleon's Continental System and warning it could lead to conflict. De Gaulle rejected this appeal, forcing Britain to establish a smaller European Free Trade Association of Seven (Austria, Denmark, Norway, Portugal, Sweden, Switzerland, and Britain).
By December 1959, Macmillan acknowledged the painful truth to his Foreign Secretary: "For the first time since the Napoleonic era, the major continental powers are united in a positive economic grouping... which may have the effect of excluding us both from European markets and from consultation in European policy." The Common Market was here to stay, and Britain needed to "live with the Common Market economically, and turn its political effects into channels harmless to us."
Britain's conversion toward Europe began with economics, not politics. Officials, rather than politicians, first recognized the changing landscape. The Treasury and Foreign Office gradually pushed for "near-identification with the Common Market." Macmillan received this proposition with considerable pain, asking if Britain must abandon all hope of a simple industrial free trade area. Yet by discussion's end, he concluded that near-identification and full membership were "so similar that one might lead to the other."
What emerged was a political formula that would haunt Britain's European approach ever since: insisting the move was absolutely essential for British interests while simultaneously claiming nothing whatever would change in British governance or way of life. This fundamental contradiction would be inherited by Wilson, Heath, Thatcher, and Major.
Macmillan's announcement to Parliament on July 31, 1961 was nervously delivered, emphasizing negatives rather than positives, doubts rather than exhilaration. He highlighted "the most delicate and difficult matters" requiring negotiation, while avoiding discussion of sovereignty implications. When briefly addressing sovereignty, he dismissed it as "perhaps a matter of degree" and only rejected the extreme possibility of federation.
Chapter 7
Hugh Gaitskell: The Commonwealth Romantic
The opposition to European membership was not devoid of reason. Earnest debates erupted about economic output, trade balance, food costs, and the Atlantic alliance. But overshadowing reason was the mighty power of sentiment-sentiment about the past supporting an incorrigible complacency about the present and future. The case against Macmillan was irredeemably soft-headed, failing to acknowledge Britain's realistic economic prospects outside Europe while resting heavily on the Commonwealth.
Hugh Gaitskell, Labour's leader, approached the Europe question with initial indifference. "A bore and a nuisance and it has always been so," he told a friend-a posture that would become common among Labour politicians facing European questions. Having just weathered fierce party battles over Clause Four and nuclear disarmament, Gaitskell was reluctant to face another divisive issue.
Gaitskell's position vacillated considerably. Through 1960-62, he was variously seen as a cautious supporter of entry, an elaborate agnostic, and a fierce skeptic. In May 1962, he dismissed fears that joining would mean "the end of an independent Britain" as "rubbish," while acknowledging that staying out risked Britain becoming "nothing more than a little island off Europe." Yet when Jean Monnet attempted to convert him with appeals to faith in Europe, Gaitskell coldly replied: "I don't believe in faith, I believe in reason."
The fundamental question facing Euro-sceptics-"But what is the alternative?"-was one Gaitskell deeply resented. His daughter Julia noted that "nothing annoyed him so much" as this challenge. While Gaitskell initially maintained a position of "waiting-and-seeing," the broader sceptical opposition focused not on articulating alternatives to membership, but on cataloging the "manifold horrors" and "treacheries on history" that would supposedly follow from joining.
For Gaitskell, sovereignty initially took a backseat to economic considerations and Commonwealth obligations. Born to an Indian Civil Service father and influenced by the imperial connection, Gaitskell had absorbed a sense of global duty. The Commonwealth represented political correctness within Labour-"one of the great progressive manifestations of the history of mankind."
Yet the Commonwealth's economic reality was increasingly at odds with British nostalgia. Some members were already looking elsewhere-Canada to the United States, India and Ghana to the Soviet Union, and others toward the Common Market itself. Conservative MP Peter Smithers cut through the illusions, asking how a nation of 50 million could provide for a Commonwealth of 600 million, insisting the supposed choice between Europe and Commonwealth was "entirely false."
Gaitskell's Brighton speech against European membership received unprecedented acclaim, uniting the party momentarily in opposition to the Common Market. The speech, though containing some factual content and hard questions about the EEC's direction, was more emotional than intellectual. While questioning whether all political unions were inherently good, Gaitskell primarily appealed to British tradition and independence, manipulating emotional connections to the past rather than addressing strategic questions about the future.
Though many pro-European colleagues were disappointed, friendships survived, and the party achieved rare unity as the left supported Gaitskell. His leadership on Europe, however, lacked prophetic insight. He never coherently articulated an alternative to EEC membership, avoiding discussion of Britain's economic challenges. His emphasis on Commonwealth ties proved spectacularly wrong as subsequent events showed.
Chapter 8
Edward Heath: The Triumph of Will
Britain's reluctant binding to Europe displays many common political features: vacillation, concealment, progress followed by regress, questions of national pride and popular will, and genuine uncertainty about consequences. Timing played a crucial role, particularly regarding Charles de Gaulle. Had he come to power earlier than May 1958, the Treaty of Rome might never have existed. More significantly, de Gaulle's departure coincided with Edward Heath becoming Britain's Prime Minister-a fortuitous conjunction that produced decisive results.
Heath stands as the nodal figure in Britain's European story, bringing exceptional single-mindedness to the pursuit of European integration. Unlike Macmillan's anguish or Wilson's dissembling, Heath saw a vision of blinding clarity where every prospect led in one direction. His performance was a textbook exercise in governance, resulting in the complete attainment of a political objective.
Heath's European credentials began with his birth in Broadstairs, Kent, facing the continent. Though from humble origins-his father a carpenter, his mother a maid who had traveled with employers to Europe-the family's cultural horizons extended beyond England. At fourteen, Heath visited Paris on a school trip, falling in love with travel and developing an appreciation for French literature. During university vacations, he practically lived on the continent, especially in Germany, drawn there by both music and politics.
His Oxford years brought political engagement through the Conservative Association and continental adventures that shaped his European destiny. In summer 1938, he witnessed fascism firsthand in Spain, spending days in conversation with anti-Franco fighters. Most remarkably, he toured the Third Reich, attending the Nuremberg rally where Hitler "almost brushed my shoulder," meeting Himmler ("soft, wet, flabby handshake") and Goebbels ("pinched face white and sweating-the personification of evil"). These experiences cemented his opposition to Chamberlain's appeasement policy.
His early parliamentary career reflected these formative experiences. His maiden speech in 1950-delivered after returning from a tour of Germany-argued passionately that Britain must join the Schuman Plan for a coal and steel community, both to bind Germany into Europe and to avoid economic isolation. Unlike Churchill and Eden, who made similar arguments for purely oppositionist reasons, for Heath European integration was an article of faith that would remain his singular political focus throughout his career.
The negotiations that began in July 1970 were paradoxical in nature. Though immensely complex and lasting until January 1972, they were in many ways secondary to the fundamental imperative: Britain must join Europe to "restore our position at the centre of European affairs." This candid assessment came from Con O'Neill himself, Britain's chief official negotiator, in his secret 300-page Foreign Office history of the negotiations.
O'Neill's account reveals the stark reality Britain faced: "None of its policies were essential to us. Many of them were objectionable." Yet they had to be accepted for the larger purpose. Britain confronted some 13,000 pages of European law with the Community's principle being "swallow the lot." This inflexibility stemmed not from malice but from the fact that every Community policy represented a delicate compromise between member interests-reopening any issue risked unraveling everything.
The Pompidou-Heath summit on 19-20 May 1971 was the decisive moment that secured British entry into the European Community. While the negotiators had been industrious, they lacked the power to make the necessary concessions. The two leaders settled everything in twelve hours of private talks.
The summit was arranged with extraordinary secrecy, with Pompidou insisting that even the French Foreign Minister should be told nothing about it. Heath came with unique credentials-a personal relationship with Michel Jobert, Pompidou's private secretary, whom he'd met by chance on a Spanish beach in 1960. Through this connection, Pompidou had read Heath's Harvard lectures and concluded: "This shows that Heath is European."
The triumphant press conference took place at 9 p.m. on the second evening in the Salon des Fetes at the Elysee Palace-symbolically, the same room where de Gaulle had announced his veto in 1963. Pompidou declared: "It would be unreasonable now to believe that an agreement is not possible," effectively laying the ghost of de Gaulle to rest. Heath later described it as "one of the greatest moments of my life."
Chapter 9
Margaret Thatcher: From Pragmatist to Rebel
For eleven of Britain's first seventeen years in the European Community, Margaret Thatcher set the tone and made the policy, giving Europe unprecedented prominence on her agenda. Unlike her predecessors who were either preoccupied with domestic survival or trying to fend off European matters, Thatcher transformed Britain's relationship with Europe through a fundamental contradiction: she took Britain further into Europe than anyone except Heath while simultaneously stoking opposition to this very integration. As Robert Armstrong, her Cabinet Secretary, observed, she uniquely combined principled anti-European rhetoric with pragmatic pro-European policies. This contradiction would eventually lead to confusion, calamity, and her own downfall.
Thatcher's European journey evolved dramatically over her premiership. Initially, she was not the anti-European she later became. In the 1975 referendum campaign, she had urged Britons to vote Yes to Europe, appearing in a woolly jumper decorated with the flags of European countries. Her first European summit in June 1979 was conciliatory, with Thatcher adopting a "listening mode" and making no demands for special treatment. She even appointed pro-Europeans like Lord Carrington and Francis Pym to key Cabinet positions.
The turning point came with her battle over Britain's budget contribution. Thatcher believed Britain was being unfairly treated, paying far more into European coffers than it received back. "I want my money back," she famously demanded at the Dublin summit in November 1979. After five years of confrontation, she secured a substantial rebate at the Fontainebleau summit in 1984. This victory established her reputation as a formidable European negotiator but also set a pattern of antagonistic relations with European partners.
Paradoxically, Thatcher's greatest European achievement came in 1986 with the Single European Act-a measure that significantly extended European integration by creating a genuine single market. Thatcher enthusiastically supported this initiative, seeing it as the fulfillment of her free-market vision. Yet she failed to recognize that the single market would necessarily require more European regulation and majority voting-elements she would later rail against.
By 1988, Thatcher's European rhetoric had hardened considerably. Her Bruges speech that September marked a watershed, warning against "a European super-state exercising a new dominance from Brussels." Though the speech contained many positive references to European cooperation, its hostile tone and rejection of further integration established Thatcher as the champion of Euro-skepticism.
The final act of Thatcher's European drama came with the Exchange Rate Mechanism (ERM). Despite her instinctive opposition to fixed exchange rates, she allowed herself to be persuaded by her Chancellor, Nigel Lawson, and Foreign Secretary, Geoffrey Howe, that joining the ERM would help control inflation. When she finally agreed to join in October 1990, it was too late to save her premiership. Howe's resignation speech the following month, triggered by her European stance, fatally undermined her authority and led to her downfall.
Thatcher's European legacy was profound and contradictory. She had simultaneously advanced European integration through the Single Market while providing the intellectual foundation for opposition to further integration. Her rhetoric had legitimized Euro-skepticism as a mainstream Conservative position, yet her actions had taken Britain further into Europe than ever before. This contradiction would haunt her successors and eventually lead to the referendum that took Britain out of the European Union she had done so much to shape.
Chapter 10
Tony Blair: Leading from the Edge
John Major's departure in 1998 marked twenty-five years of Britain's EU membership - an anniversary that passed without celebration, reflecting the strained relationships he left behind. Britain's EU membership had largely been characterized by complaint rather than enthusiasm.
Blair's rise to Labour leadership in 1994 came when European matters were no longer contentious within the party. His own European credentials weren't deeply rooted - born in 1953, he was distant from World War II and the EU's founding events. His first political act was voting Yes in the 1975 referendum, reflecting progressive rather than passionate European conviction.
As leader, Blair advocated "constructive engagement" with Europe, wanting Britain "at the centre" while building alliances to increase influence. His 1997 landslide victory created an unprecedented situation: a pro-European government with a massive majority and little internal opposition.
The Amsterdam Treaty negotiations showed immediate improvement in relations, though without major integrationist advances. Blair promoted his "third way" approach to European socialists, presenting new Labour's ideas as a model for European social democracy, while maintaining some distance on specific EU policies.
The limits of Blair's Europeanism became evident in October 1997 when he decided against joining the monetary union. Despite his pro-European stance, he yielded to domestic pressures, particularly from Eurosceptic media. Chancellor Gordon Brown cited economic cycle differences to justify the delay.
As Britain's first explicitly pro-European Prime Minister, Blair faced the challenge of overcoming decades of resistance. His task was twofold: to demystify European issues through united government leadership, and to reframe the EU as advantageous to Britain. While he possessed the political capital and charisma to lead in Europe, his self-exclusion from the monetary union limited his influence on the continent's future direction.
Blair represented a new frontier-free mentality, aiming to reshape Britain's European outlook from defiance to engagement. His media savvy positioned him to help Britain approach European integration - from enlargement to economic management - with less anxiety and more constructive participation.
