HENRY ‘CHIPS’ CHANNON, THE DIARIES: VOLUME 1, 1918-38
Channon’s reputation does not lie in his political achievements; he never rose any higher than MP for Southend and failed to obtain the peerage that he assiduously schemed towards. His open support for Neville Chamberlain and appeasement may well have stymied any further advancement, but there is also the suspicion that his baroque private life may not have helped, either. Nor did he achieve any distinction during his life as a writer. He published three books, two novels and a work of non-fiction, which were received coolly and have not lasted beyond his death in 1958. Instead, he is lauded and feted for what are believed to be the most indiscreet diaries ever kept by a British public figure. Knowing the dynamite that he was leaving behind him, Channon asked that they be kept under lock and key in the British Museum until 2018. Times change, and an expurgated selection was published in 1967, edited by Robert Rhodes James. Until this year, anyone who wanted to take stock of Channon’s life and work had to rely on this engaging but somewhat inconsequential selection, which offered some tittle-tattle but only tantalised readers as to why the well-connected would go white with fear when they learnt that Channon had kept a diary. But now, Simon Heffer has edited Channon’s diaries into three volumes, which will be released between now and next year. The first has been released to a blitzkrieg of hype, with serialisations and news stories, to say nothing of copious sales. Do they justify the build-up? The answer is ‘sort of ’. For historians of events such as the abdication (ahem), Channon offers an intimate and first-hand account of the goings-on behind closed doors that may not materially affect any of the information that we currently have, but adds interesting and relevant detail to the well-worn stories that many readers may feel that they know inside-out. He is fascinating on the events leading up to Chamberlain’s return from Munich with his worthless piece of paper in his hand; we are so used to viewing 1938 as a failure that it is salutary to be reminded that there were many who believed Chamberlain to be little less than a conquering hero. And there are countless telling portraits of the great and good (or not-sogreat and not-so-good) of the time. I especially enjoyed his description of Lady Beauchamp as ‘a sugary, well-bred demon encased in fat and privilege’, and HG Wells as ‘difficult and petulant… he betrays his servant origins’.
Edited by Simon Heffer (Hutchinson, £35)
I
n the annals of the twentieth century’s greatest diarists, the same names usually appear. Harold Nicolson, naturally. James Lees-Milne, if you must. And if you’re of a military disposition, Viscount Alanbrooke’s war diaries are fairly extraordinary. But the man who has been perennially cited as the best of all of them, an Anthony Powell character made scandalous, gossipy flesh, was the Conservative MP Sir Henry ‘Chips’ Channon. American by birth, he later repudiated his home country, calling it ‘a menace to the peace and future of the world’ and saying, ‘If it triumphs, the old civilisations, which love beauty and peace and the arts and rank and privilege, will pass from the picture’.
“Until this year, anyone who wanted to take stock of Channon’s life had to rely on an engaging but somewhat inconsequential selection, which offered some tittle-tattle but only tantalised readers as to why the well-connected would go white with fear when they learnt that Channon had kept a diary. But now, Simon Heffer has edited Channon’s diaries, released to a blitzkrieg of hype” 134
