Pavol Jakubec Navigating Relationships in Exile Norway, Czechoslovakia, Poland and Small Power Diplomacy in Second World War London This research project was supported by: Helge Axelsson Johnson Foundation (Helge Ax:son Johnsson stiftelse) Per Lindenkrantz Fund (Per Lindencrantz-fondet) Doctoral thesis in History Department of Historical Studies, University of Gothenburg Edition for the viva (disputationsupplaga) © Pavol Jakubec, 2024 Cover Photo ‘United Nations Day – King George and Queen Mother’, The Times, 14. 06. 1942 © The Times / News Licensing (left to right): Haakon VII (Norway), Petar II (Yugoslavia), King George VI, Pres- ident Władysław Raczkiewicz (Poland), Queen Elisabeth, President Edvard Beneš (Czechoslovakia) Back Cover Illustrations London ‘blue plaques’ © Spudgun67, Wikimedia Commons, NENMÄRK VA E Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 4.0 International licence (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/deed.en) Trycksak Typeset: Thomas Ekholm 3041 0234 S T To my Parents, in gratitude for their trust and patience. PREFACE AND ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS My original plans lay far off from what follows. Pressing circumstances solved the Norwegian-vs-Greek dilemma. Ill-surprised by Latin basics, I parted with the Middle Ages. I chose to study the modern history of two regions where linguistic ties often defy borders. Second World War governments-in-exile proved to be one engaging connection between them. Sadly, current events have repeatedly attested to the timeliness of my project. The 2015 refugee wave reminded us of large-scale migrations and the 2020–22 COVID-19 pandemic of human fragility. In February 2022, Russia invaded Ukraine—issues like sovereignty, representation, or peace-making started intriguing non-experts, too. Suddenly, Reuters was calling to ask about the logic of and the precedents for the Kyiv government’s data transfer contingency plans: a move into exile, perhaps?1 Admission to the University of Gothenburg opened a thrilling research en- vironment for me. Many thanks to Carl Holmberg, Anders Ottosson, Norbert Götz (Södertorn University, Stockholm), and Izabela Dahl (Örebro University) for leading me through all the twists and turns! Led successively by Göran Malm- stedt, Heléne Whittaker, and Henrik Janson, with Ingela Wiman, Cordelia Hess, and Lars Hermanson in charge of PhD affairs, the department accommodated the practicalities. I was affiliated with the National Graduate School of Histor- ical Studies, administered by the History Department at Lund University. The School is a beautiful place, connecting aspiring and versed historians, and I have enjoyed exchanges with Martina Böök, Gustaf Fryksén, Jenny Gustafsson, Lise Groesmeyer, Hans Hägerdahl, Martin Johansson, Oscar Nygren, Ida Scherman, Maria Sjöberg, Yvonne-Maria Werner, Ulf Zander, and many others. Kudos to Kajsa Weber, Cecilia Riving, Hanne Sanders, Maria Småberg, Barbro Bergner, and Ariadne Eleni Fioretos for running it all! At the University of Gothenburg Department of Historical Studies, I have learned much from debates with friends across disciplines. Malou Blank, Paul Borenberg, Jens Carlesson Magalhães, Anna Gustavsson, Lars Hansson, Martina Hjertman, Maja Hultman, Magnus Jernkrok, Wojtek Jezierski, Beñat Elortza Larrea, Anna Rylander Locke, Pia Lundkvist, Mari Malmer, Roddy Nilsson, Ulrika Lagerlöf Nilsson, Frida Espolin Norstein, Christina Reimann, Avigail Rotbain, Robin Rönnlund, Irene Selsvold, Erik Sjöberg, Denis Sukhino-Khomenko, Sofia Tolmachova, Frida Wickström, and Daniel Zackrisson deserve a cheer. At the Centre for European Studies (CERGU), I had the privilege of a dialogue with the Social Sciences and Law, notably with Mats Andrén, Linda Berg, Ettore Costa, Klas Grinell, Marius Hentea, Adrian Hyde-Price, Ann-Kristin Jonasson, Andreas Moberg, Jens Norrby, ‘Angie’ Sohlberg, and Katarzyna Wojnicka. Many thanks to Sari Nauman and Andreas Åkerlund (Södertorn University) for all the advice offered at my Final Seminar and after, and to Anna Gustavsson for getting the Swedish summary of this thesis into a good shape. 1 ‘Ukraine prepares potential move of sensitive data to another country’, Reuters.com, 10 Mar. 2022, https://www.reuters.com/world/europe/exclusive-ukraine-prepares-potential-move-sensi- tive-data-another-country-2022–03–09/ Memories go to Vladimír Nálevka (Charles University, Prague), who invited me to academia and caught me off-guard, insisting on Nordic history. I thank Helge Pharo for affiliating me with the Forum for Contemporary History at the University of Oslo. After Professor Nálevka passed away, Helge was my teacher. Many thanks for carving an international historian out of me! One historian has been sharing friendship and invaluable insights with me for an eon. I met Jan Jacek Bruski (Jagiellonian University, Cracow) as a daring high school kid. His trust kept me working. Seminars at the Norwegian Nobel Institute, Oslo, with historian Geir Lundestad and political scientist Asle Toje as chairs, introduced me to the academic discipline of International Relations. The Institute houses a marvelous library; I am indebted to its staff, especially Bjørn Vangen, for help. In Oslo, I have benefited from advice from Sven Holtsmark, Hans Olav Lahlum, Even Lange, Iver Neumann, Åsmund Svendsen, Iselin Theien, Marta Stachurska-Kounta, Hilde Henriksen Waage, and Carl Emil Vogt. Visiting London and its environs, as far as Godalming and the River Cam, in 2018, I found Tony Insall, Joe Maiolo, Tomasso Piffer, David Redvaldsen, and Patrick Salmon warmly encouraging. Martyn Rady and the UCL School of Slavonic & East European Studies historians welcomed me at their AWs at the Royal National. Martin D. Brown, Thomas Bottelier, Noé Carnago, David Clayton, Karen Gram-Skjoldager, Pierre Grosser, Gunnar Hatlehol, Guri Hjeltnes, Haakon Ikonomou, Talbot Imlay, Paweł Jaworski, Matthew Kott, Jana Lainto, Juraj Marušiak, Thorstein Børring Olesen, Srđa Pavlović, Peter Postma, Peter Romijn, Giles Scott-Smith, Dušan Segeš, Emil Eiby Seidenfaden, Kacper Szulecki, Silvia S. Tschopp, Zdeněk Vašek, Michael Wintle, and Radosław Paweł Żurawski vel Grajewski, helped with advice or otherwise. Dušan and Talbot shared with me files from their queries. Martin Fahlén forwarded me a digital copy of his grandfather’s, Norwegian foreign policy-maker Arnold Ræstad’s diary. Ondřej Buddeus, Jiří Friedl, Ján Ičo, Petr Kaleta, Jana Krupová, Barbara Kwinta-Połomska, Miroslav Michela, Andrej Paľa, Michaela Sitiarik Štefančíková, and Peter Skokan would add a spark to my Central European life. I felt myself at home in multiple archives and libraries (listed in the Bibliogra- phy section). Thanks to university libraries in Gothenburg and Oslo, particularly to their Inter-Library Loan staff. Through the years, I have had opportunities to ‘grow’ by putting my views to the test. Many thanks to Karen Gram-Skjoldager, Dino Knudsen, and Haakon Ikonomou (2nd New Diplomatic History Conference, Copenhagen, November 2016), to Pasi Ihalainen and Pertti Ahonen (5th Associ- ation for Political History PhD Conference, Jyväskylä, June 2017) for convening inspirative venues. I am indebted to Tom Kristiansen for invitations to participate in A World at Total War: Norway, 1940–45 project conferences (Trondheim, June 2018, and Narvik/Tromsø, June 2022), and to present my views of the Norwe- gian government-in-exile in Tromsø (March 2020). As a Kjell and Märtha Beijer Fund stipend recipient, I introduced my project at Swedish History Days (Visby, October 2018). I was invited by Jana Čechurová and Pavel Horák to share my findings with Czech scholars (Prague, September 2019). Haakon Ikonomou kindly engaged me in a project on Scandinavian internationalist diplomacy, with himself and Martin Conway as commentators on my papers at workshops in September 2020 and March 2021, respectively. I had the privilege, in February 2022, to dis- cuss her ‘London Moment’ project with Julia Eichenberg, upon invitation from the Europe & International Cooperation research group at the Centre for Modern European Studies, Copenhagen. In April 2023, I did not have to travel for my presentation at the European Social Science History Conference (ESSHC). In June 2023, prompted by Vendula V. Hingarová and Hans Otto Frøland, I joined the Summer School on Nordic and Central European Contemporary History in Prague to convey my views to its participants. A scholar’s life prompts a social profile in many places. In Oslo, I found friends willing to share moments of their lives with me and to lend a hand. Rasmus Chris- tensen, Jan G. Fredriksen, Geir Gundersen, Pål H. Johansen, Barbara and Ståle Johnsen, and Hanna Nicolaysen must be mentioned. In Gothenburg, I have had the pleasure of the company of Leila El Alti, Yuri Bizzoni, Stergios Chatzykiriakidis, Linnéa Gunnarsdottir-Koré, Herbert Lange, and of my housemates and ‘friends of the house’, Ana Benedecić, Samuel Eriksson, Riccardo Gnudi, Dominik Göbel, Arno Humal, Anna M. Näslund, Andrea Nes Caddeo, Sandra Persson, and Hans C. Rosén. I am indebted to the Catholic Congregation of Christ the King, admin- istered successively by Fr Tobias Unnerstål, Fr Johan Lidén OP, and Fr Per-Anders Feltenheim for the cozy home of mine, and to Fr Adam Piasecki OFM Cap for developing conversations. Funding is a prerequisite for research. At the stage that had proceeded this project it originated from my affiliation with the Institute of World History, Charles University, Prague (2009–12). Trips to Oslo were funded by the Scheme for Norwegian Studies Abroad Semester Grant (Norwegian Centre for International Cooperation in Education, Bergen, 2010), and by the Intern Grant Scheme of the Faculty of Arts, Charles University, Prague (2011). I learned an awful lot at the Forum for Contemporary History, University of Oslo, as the Research Council of Norway Yggdrasil Young Researcher (2011–12). Significant funding came from the National Graduate School of Historical Studies (2015–20). Pär Lindencrantz Fund facilitated a two-month trip to London (2018). Helge Ax:son Johnson Foundation awarded me a grant (2021) after my fix-term employment had expired. I am grateful for support from so many quarters. Yet no historian could wish himself a better community than my family has been, believing that I have a mis- sion to aspire to. A study in history is always born in a community. Its conduct and final edition, however, remain an individual performance and any deficiency of this thesis is my responsibility. Gothenburg 2024 TABLE OF CONTENT List of Articles [xi] List of Abbreviations [xii] Maps [xiv] Tables [xvi] 1. Aims, Scope, and the Outline of the Study 1 1.1 Research Questions 2 1.2 Delimitation 2 1.3 Outline of the Thesis 4 2. Governments in Second World War Exile: State of the Art 7 2.1 Norway: On the Margins of Historical Narrative 9 2.2 Czechoslovakia, Poland: From Contestation to Recognition 11 2.3 Biographies and the History of Wartime Exile in London 17 2.4 Concluding Remarks 20 3. Representation in Exile and the Craft of Relationships 21 3.1 International Society: A System of States 21 3.2 Equal and Unequal: Size, Power, Hierarchy 22 3.3 Wartime Exile: The Political Displacement 25 3.4 Governments in Second World War Exile: Acting Like a State 26 3.4.1 External Recognition 27 3.4.2 Legitimacy, Identity, and Trauma 30 3.5 Relationships in Exile: Recognition and Status 33 4. On Sources and Method 38 5. Small and Sovereign in Inter-War International Society 44 5.1 The New Europe 44 5.1.1 Newcomers to the Game 45 5.1.2 The Art of Making Friends and Its Boundaries 46 5.1.3 The International Society: The Mirage of Governance 49 5.2 Actors in Inter-War Europe 50 5.2.1 Norway, a Reluctant Internationalist 51 5.2.2 Czechoslovakia: The Gravity of the Centre 54 5.2.3 Poland, a Republic of Many Nations 56 5.3 Between Changes at Home and a European Crisis (1935–8) 59 5.4 Poor Relations: Norway and Central Europe 66 5.5 Into Exile: All Roads Lead to London (1938–1940) 70 5.5.1 The ‘Fog of Peace’ (October 1938 – August 1939) 70 5.5.2 Czechoslovakia, “The Fall and Rise of a Nation” 72 5.5.2.1 Into the Wide Open 72 5.5.2.2 Who Has the Say? 75 5.5.2.3 Stocktaking and War Cries 77 5.5.3 Poland: No Miracle on the Vistula 78 5.5.3.1 First to Fight 79 5.5.3.2 Who Takes the Lead? 80 5.5.4 Exile in France (October 1939 – June 1940) 83 5.5.5 War Comes to Norway 89 6. Concluding Remarks 93 Bibliography 98 Sammanfattning 123 Article 1 125 Article 2 147 Article 3 169 LIST OF ARTICLES Article 1 Pavol Jakubec, ‘Reading the Signs of the Times: Norway, Slovakia, and the Recognition Puzzle, 1939–40’, Diplomacy & Statecraft 33:3 (2022), 474–92, DOI 10.1080/09592296.2022.2113256. Article 2: Pavol Jakubec, ‘Together and Alone in Allied London: Czechoslovak, Norwegian and Polish Governments-in-Exile, 1940–45’, International His- tory Review 42:3 (2020), 465–84, DOI 10.1080/07075332.2019.1600156. Article 3: Pavol Jakubec, ‘Norwegian Internationalism and World War II Exile Diplomacy in Print’, Diplomatica 5:2 (2023), 282–300, DOI 10.1163/25891774-bja10105. All articles were published in Open Access under Creative Commons licenses. LIST OF ABBREVIATIONS Archives & Libraries AAB Arbeiderbevegelsens arkiv og bibliotek (The Norwegian Labour Movement Archives & Library), Oslo AMZV Archiv Ministerstva zahraničních věcí České republiky (Archives of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs of the Czech Republic), Prague HIA Hoover Institution on War, Revolution and Peace, Stanford IPMS Instytut Polski i Muzeum im. Gen. Sikorskiego – Polish Institute & Sikorski Museum, London LSE London School of Economics MÚA Masarykův ústav a Archiv Akademie věd České republiky (Masaryk Institute & Archives of the Academy of Sciences of the Czech Republic), Prague NAČR Národní archiv České republiky (The National Archives of the Czech Republic), Prague NB Nasjonalbibliotek (The National Library), Oslo NNI Det norske Nobelinstitutt (Norwegian Nobel Institute), Oslo RA Riksarkivet (The National Archives of Norway), Oslo SSEES University College London, School of Slavonic & East European Studies, London TNA The National Archives, Kew, Surrey Collections A.12 Ambasada Rzeczypospolitej Polskiej w Londynie (Embassy of the Republic of Poland, London) AHR Archiv dr. Huberta Ripky (Dr Hubert Ripka Archive) EB Edvard Beneš papers ED Board of Education and Ministry of Education FO Foreign Office KUD Kirke- og undervisningsdepartementet (Ministry of Cult & Education, Norwegian) LA Londýnsky archiv (London Archive) LA-D Londýnsky archiv – důvěrný (London Archive – Confidential) LIS Karel Lisicky papers MSZ Poland: Ministerstwo Spraw Zagranicznych, 1919–1947 (Poland: Ministry of Foreign Affairs) PRM Prezydium Rady Ministrów (Presidium of the Concil of Ministers, Polish) UD Utenriksdepartementet (Royal Ministry of Foreign Affairs, Norwegian) Dictionaries, Encyclopedias ANB American National Biography, 24 vols & 2 supplement vols (Oxford, New York, 1999–2005) DČ Jindřich Dejmek et al., Diplomacie Československa, vol. 2 (Prague, 2013) NBL1 Norsk biografisk leksikon, 1st ed., 19 vols (Oslo, 1936–1983) NBL2 Norsk biografisk leksikon, 2nd ed., 10 vols (Oslo, 1999–2005) ODNB Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, 61 vols (Oxford, 2004) PSB Polski Słownik Biograficzny, 55 vols (Cracow; Warsaw, 1936–) USZ Urzędnicy Służby Zagranicznej Rzeczypospolitej Polskiej 1918–1945. Przewodnik biograficzny, ed. Krzysztof Smolana 2 vols (Warsaw, 2020–2022) Documentary Collections ČSVDJ Československo-sovětské vztahy v diplomatických jednáních, 1939–1945. Dokumenty (Prague, 1998) DDB Documents diplomatiques belges, 1920–1940. La politique de la securité extérieure (Brussels, 1964–1966) DBFP Documents on British Foreign Policy, 1919–1939, 3rd Series (London, 1949–1961) DČZP Dokumenty československé zahraniční politiky, řada B (1939–1945) (Prague, 1999–) DDF Documents diplomatiques français 1932–1939, 2e série, 1936–1939 (Paris, 1963–1987) 1939–1944, 5 vols (Berne, 2002–) DGFP Documents on German Foreign Policy, 1918–1945, Series D (1937–1941), 13 vols (Washington, 1949–1964) FRUS Foreign Relations of the United States (Washington: Government Printing Office, 1861–) HC Deb. House of Commons Debates (Hansard) PDD Polskie Dokumenty Dyplomatyczne (Warsaw, 2005–) PPRM Protokoły z posiedzeń Rady Ministrów Rzeczypospolitej Polskiej (Cracow, 1994– 2008) SDFP Soviet Documents on Foreign Policy, 3 vols (New York, 1978 [1953]) UND United Nations Documents 1939–1945 (London, 21946), ZSČV Zápisy ze schůzí československé vlády v Londýně, 5 vols in 7 bk (Prague, 2008– 2016) Other anon. anonymous Mgr Monsigneur rev. revised s.d. undated s.l. no place of publication given MAPS map 1: Europe 1938, as Seen in Summer 1941 (Axis, Allies, Neutrals, Occupied) map 2: Second World War Representations in Exile (Governments-in-Exile, Free Movements, Activists of Lesser formal Standing) map 3: Cold War Europe as of 1955 (‘The West’ (NATO), Neutrals/Non-Aligned, ‘The East’ (Soviet-led)) TABLES table 1: Heads of State and Selected Government Positions, 1935–45 Heads of States Key Government Positions Prime Minister Foreign Minister CS1 NO PL CS1 NO PL CS1 NO PL 1935 T.G. Masaryk Haakon VII I. Mościcki M. Hodža J. Nygaards- F. Sławoj- E. Beneš H. Koht J. Beck vold Składkowski2 1936 E. Beneš F. Sławoj- M. Hodža Składkowski3 K. Krofta 1937 1938 J. Syrový 1939 E. Hácha R. Beran F. Chvalkovský E. Beneš4 W. Raczkie - E. Beneš5 W. Sikorski Š. Osuský5 A. Zaleski 1940 wicz E. Beneš6 J. Šrámek6 J. Masaryk6 H. Koht 7 1941 > T. Lie E. Raczyński8 E. Beneš J. Šrámek J. Masaryk T. Lie 1942 (H. Ripka)9 1943 S. Mikołajczyk T. Romer 1944 T. Arciszewski 1945 Z. Fierlin- A. Tarnowski ger10 table 2: Norway, Czechoslovakia, Poland: Diplomatic Representation, 1935–45Norway <-> Czechoslovakia Norway <-> Poland Norway Czechoslovakia Norway Poland Prague London Oslo London Warsaw London Oslo London N. Chr. Ditleff1 n/a V. Hur- n/a 1935 N. Chr. Ditleff n/a W. Neuman n/a ban2 1936 V. 1937 Kučera2 1938 1939 1940 I. Smith-Kielland3 L. Szath- H. Chr. Berg3 W. máry4 1941 Neu- man O. Tostrup3 L. Szathmáry 1942 1943 W. Günther-Schwarz- 1944 burg I. Smith-Kielland 1945 Tab. 1 Heads of State and Selected Government Positions, 1935–45 Notes 1 Nominal office holders in the Protectorate of Bohemia and Moravia (March 1939 – May 1945) are not included. 2 The ‘strongman behind the government’ was Marshall Józef Piłsudski (1867–1935). 3 Informal collective leadership, Prime Minister Sławoj-Składkowski in a subaltern position. 4 Acting, as a member of the Czechoslovak National Committee (October 1939 – July 1940). 5 As a member of the Czechoslovak National Committee (October 1939 – July 1940). 6 Representing the Czechoslovak ‘Provisional’ Government-in-Exile (July 1940 – July 1941). 7 Foreign Minister Koht resigned in November 1940, formally on leave until March 1941; Lie Acting. 8 Acting. 9 State Secretary Ripka effectively in charge of the Foreign Ministry (Foreign Minister Masaryk frequently absent). 10 Czechoslovak Government-in-Exile en route to liberated Czechoslovakia (March – April 1945) Tab. 2 Norway, Czechoslovakia, Poland: Diplomatic Representation, 1935–45 Notes 1 Side-accredited, Minister-Resident to Poland. 2 Side-accredited, Minister-Resident to Sweden. 3 Chargé d’affaires. 4 Chargé d’affaires ad interim. 1. AIMS, SCOPE, AND THE OUTLINE OF THE STUDY Between 1936 and 1941, up to fifteen, chiefly European states were absorbed by Germany, Italy, and the Soviet Union. Save for the Soviet-annexed Baltic republics, they were all to be restored after the Second World War. Meanwhile exile politicians had represented them, most of the time as a part of the Unit- ed Nations coalition. In 1940, Germany became the hegemonic power on the continent. Many of those wishing to fight on for their states in a liberal international order crossed the English Channel. By 1942, the governments of 1 Belgium, Czechoslovakia, Greece, Luxemburg, Norway, the Netherlands, Poland, and Yugoslavia, and multiple ‘free movements’, such as the Free French, had settled in London.1 Recognised by their host and allies, and by some neutrals, as legitimate state representatives, wartime governments-in-exile retained legal authority and international agency and were able to work for restoration, for joint victory, and for what they considered the basis of a durable peace. While in close contact with the Allied great powers, they constituted something of a society of their own. Relationships among exile representations mattered for policy-making, geared towards the present as well as the post-war future. London became a hub2 where politicians were socialising, collaborating, and learning about and from each other. My aim is to map and assess the management of inter-state relationships by small state policy-makers in Second World War exile. Physical proximity opened new avenues of contact between nations, encounters of which had been infrequent, such as Norway on the one side and Czechoslovakia and Poland on the other. Focusing on communication and socialization, this study of the Norwegian, Czechoslovak, and Polish diplomatic efforts advances a nuanced perspective on the actors involved, the nature of relations they cultivated, and the value of exile diplomacy as a resource of agency and legitimacy. Thus, it falls within international history but also converses with the discipline of Interna- tional Relations, particularly the subfield of Historical International Relations.3 1 The Greek government arrived last (September 1941) and left first (March 1943); P. Papastratis, British Policy towards Greece during the Second World War (Cambridge, 1982), 12, 72–4. 2 Expats affiliated with exile political representations were active in many places. Yet, the impor- tance of London as the site of political action was paramount; C. Holmes, ‘British Government Policy towards Wartime Refugees’ in Europe in Exile: European Exile Communities in Britain, 1940–45, eds. M. Conway, J. Gotovitch (New York, 2001), 12–7. See also J. Eichenberg, ‘Legal Logwork: How Exiled Jurists Negotiated Recognition and Legitimacy in Wartime London’ in Crafting the International Order: Practitioners and Practices of International Law since c. 1800, eds. M.M. Payk, K.C. Priemel (Oxford, 2021), 162–90; W. Webster, Mixing It: Diversity in World War Two Britain (Oxford, 2018), ch. 4. 3 ‘International history’ differs from what is conventionally referred to as ‘diplomatic history’ in that it works with a broader concept of international relationships, interactions, and actors— the state remains central if not necessarily the dominant actor, greater emphasis is laid on multilateral relations and transnational phenomena—and in that it mobilises a “wide plurality of practices” within its toolkit. Nevertheless, it would be unjust to discuss these contrasts in simplistic evolutionary terms. See P. Finney, ‘Introduction: What Is International History?’ in Palgrave Advances in International History, eds. P. Finney (Basingstoke, 2005), 1–36, esp. aims, scope and outline 1.1 RESEARCH QUESTIONS To comprehend the management of inter-state relationships in Second World War exile, I examine their constitutive elements. I analyse on what ground reciprocity was constructed through recognition and what factors prompted or inhibited this process (Article 1, ‘Reading the Signs,’ partly Article 2, ‘Together and Alone’). Further, I expound on how these relationships generated agency and what aspects of government-in-exile operations they affected (Article 2, ‘To- gether and Alone’, partly Article 3, ‘Norwegian Internationalism’). Relationships 2 emerge from communication. Thus, I examine specific means of communica- tion inter-connecting foreign policy elites within the United Nations coalition (Article 3, ‘Norwegian Internationalism’). By scrutinising this combination of threads of national representation in action, I seek to do justice to the diplomatic capacity of the Second World War governments-in-exile. Scholars studying these governments have emphasised their domestic dimension and, in British historian Joe Maiolo’s words, applied “a single-national diplomatic perspective … without an explicit conception of international politics.”4 Such an angle marginalises the place of sociability, value proximity, and status construction in foreign policy-making. Once precedence is given to the international, the role of relationships in exile operations becomes readily intelligible. 1.2 DELIMITATION For this study, foreign policy features, marking similarities and contrasts, guided the selection of the Czechoslovak, Norwegian, and Polish governments-in-exile. Unlike other governments-in-exile in London, these three acted on behalf of states that had emerged as sovereign polities less than two generations before the Second World War. In wartime exile, the Czechoslovak, Norwegian, and Polish elites were still establishing their networks of international relationships. It became evident during the Second World War that these three states were to be restored as neighbours of the Soviet Union, the dominant European power in the making. This was new for Czechoslovakia and Norway, and even Poland’s relationship with Moscow changed. Exile policy-makers had to ponder how to adapt to emerging strategic sceneries that they expected to come to navigate in search for security. Only Norway came out of the war unharmed by Soviet expansion. Soviet–Czechoslovak borders were in the offing, but the de facto Soviet annexation of Sub-Carpathian Ruthenia incited insecurity among the exiles. Poland lost ample eastern provinces in exchange for the bulk of German Pomerania, Silesia, and East Prussia. The nature of Soviet control restricted the liberated Poland’s international agency. Norway, too, faced Soviet ambitions late 2–4, 10–5. For Historical International Relations, see B. de Carvalho, J. Costa Lopez, H. Leira, ‘Historical International Relations’ in Routledge Handbook of Historical International Relations, eds. B. de Carvalho, J. Costa Lopez, H. Leira (London, New York, 2021), 1–13. 4 J.A. Maiolo, ‘Systems and Boundaries in International History’, International History Review 40 (2018), 577. aims, scope and outline into the war. That it declined to concede to them did not make Foreign Minister Trygve Lie any less viable a candidate for the United Nations Secretary-Gen- eral at the onset of the Cold War.5 In wartime exile, Moscow’s increasing role in world politics prompted Norwegian interest in Central European affairs. Czechoslovakia and Poland pursued unalike Soviet policies. Thus, Norway’s relationships with these two states became more relevant than ever as a source of information and expertise. There is a consensus among historians that the Second World War integrated Norway with the international community.6 Yet, differentiation is in order. Nor- 3 way had long been participating in world trade, primarily through the ties with Britain, illustrated by the success of its shipping firms, or by entrepreneurship ‘on the coattails of Empire’.7 The Second World War, however, occasioned an expansion of Norway’s political relations and a re-evaluation of the dominant foreign policy outlook—the path from neutrality to a full-fledged alliance was far from plain. Still, the 1940 German invasion severely compromised the hitherto widespread isolationistic overtones. With the primacy of the Anglo–Norwegian relationship irrevocable, three sectors of Norway’s foreign relations saw significant evolution—inter-connectivity with the great powers, including the adverse Soviet Union; partnerships with the Western European monarchies (Belgium, Luxemburg, and the Netherlands); and, finally, the built-up of relationships with Czechoslovakia and Poland. This last part was an effect of the wartime exile. Before that, incentives for dedicated contacts, let alone cooperation, had been rare, and putative partners were too unalike. Norway, ethnically uniform and with a consolidated territory, was situated in a safe, remote corner. However, multi-ethnic Czechoslovakia and Poland operated in the centre of Europe, replete with tensions that Norwegian policy-makers would seek to avoid. Similar characteristics applied to Norway concerning the Western European small powers and to Norway and the Balkan states. Yet, wartime exile did not impact these relationships much. Inter-war connections 5 S.G. Holtsmark, ‘The Limits to Soviet Influence: Soviet Diplomats and the Pursuit of Strategic Interests in Denmark and Norway, 1944–7’ in The Soviet Union and Europe in the Cold War, 1943–1953, eds. F. Gori, S. Pons (London, 1996), 106–24; E.J. Ravndal, In the Beginning: Secretary-General Trygve Lie and the Establishment of the United Nations (Bristol, 2023), 23–8; V. Smetana, Ani vojna, ani mír. Velmoci, Československo a střední Evropa v sedmi dramatech na prahu druhé světové a studené války [Neither Peace, Nor War: Great Powers, Czechoslovakia and Central Europe in Seven Dramas on the Threshold of the Second World and Cold Wars] (Prague, 2016), ch. 5. 6 H.F. Dahl, Norge inn i verden. En kort historie om andre verdenskrig (Oslo, 2020); O. Riste, ‘Ideal og egeninteresser: Utviklinga av den norske utanrikspolitiske tradisjonen’ in Motstrøms. Olav Riste og norsk internasjonal historieskrivning, eds. S.G. Holtsmark, H.Ø. Pharo, R. Tamnes (Oslo, 2004), 57–65; J. Sverdrup, Inn i storpolitikken (Oslo, 1996), esp. 343–9. 7 E. Ekberg, E. Merok, ‘Partners in World Trade. Anglo–Norwegian Shipping Networks, 1855–1905’ in Britain and Norway: Special Relationships, eds. H.Ø. Pharo, P. Salmon (Oslo, 2012), 73–98; M. Stachurska-Kounta, ‘On the Coattails of Empire: Norway and Imperial Internationalism in the Times of the League of Nations’, Journal of Modern European History 21 (2023), 492–509. aims, scope and outline between Norway and the Benelux countries8 were transferred to Second World War London, and Norway’s interactions with Greece and Yugoslavia remained marginal.9 1.3 OUTLINE OF THE THESIS The study comprises a synthesis (‘kappa’) and an appendix with research articles. The following section outlines the content of these two parts. 4 After the aim, the scope and the structure of this thesis have been presented (ch. 1), an exposition of the previous research on the Czechoslovak, Norwe- gian, and Polish governments-in-exile (ch. 2) demonstrates how it has been conducted as a part of national projects of the processing of the wartime and its consequences. It shows that the functioning of the governments-in-exile as international actors and the diplomatic practices adapted to the condition of exile have been inadequately addressed. The ‘international society’ as the locus of inter-state relationships and exile as a condition defining them in Second World War London serve as central coordinates of this thesis. Concepts like legitimacy, recognition, representation, and status were operationalised, and tools like the media and public diplomacy employed to construct and manage relationships through identity and foreign policy were communicated. While they have all been thoroughly studied by social scientists in general and in a variety of particular settings, their place in exile foreign policy-making begs for elaboration (ch. 3).10 A note on sources and on how they were interrogated, follows (ch. 4). An overview of Norway’s, Czechoslovakia’s, and Poland’s record in inter-war international society (ch. 5) helps situate exile policy-makers’ outlooks, as well as their paths into wartime exile. Research articles are organised in chronological order. They show some overlap; it was necessary to introduce the governments-in-exile under scrutiny and their foreign policy realia to the international expert community. Article 1, ‘Reading the Signs of the Times: Norway, Slovakia, and the Recog- nition Puzzle, 1939–40’, has two layers. The March 1939 application from Slo- 8 G. van Roon, Small States in Years of Depression: The Oslo Alliance 1930–1940 (Assen, Maas- tricht, 1989). 9 Norway’s Second World War history has its Yugoslav pages, though. German authorities sent more than 4,000 Yugoslav prisoners-of-war there as labourers. The survivors helped establish a cordial post-war relationship, reinforced by Yugoslavia’s opt-out from the Soviet orbit; T. Dulic, ‘‘De plågade oss som om de vill döda oss’. Jugoslaviska fångar i Norge under andra världskriget i ljuset av nytt källmaterial’, Historisk tidsskrift (se) 131 (2011), 745–71; M. Durovic-Andic, ‘De glemte forbindelsene. Forholdet mellom den norske og jugoslaviske arbeiderbevegelsen i perioden 1946–1965’, Arbeiderhistorie 37 (2023), 80–100. 10 Research on exile movements often prioritizes their internal dynamics. See, e.g., A. Iwańska, Exiled Governments, Spanish and Polish: An Essay in Political Sociology (Cambridge, MA, 1981); Y. Shain, The Frontiers of Loyalty: Political Exiles in the Age of the Nation-State (Middletown, 1989). aims, scope and outline vakia supplies a rare case study of the inter-war Norwegian recognition practice.11 Slovakia emerged due to the Germany-triggered dissolution of Czechoslovakia and swiftly applied for admission into the society of states. Extant foreign min- istry files offer insight into the assessment, decision-making (data collection, analysis, evaluation), and communication with foreign partners. Contextualised concerning the early peace initiatives, the case shows how a small power foreign ministry was coping with volatility and in- formation cacophony on the eve of and during a major conflict. Echoes of Slovakia’s application revibrated in wartime exile, impeding the Czechoslovak exiles’ struggle for the recognition 5 of their representative claim and the territorial integrity of their country, in borders predating the great power Munich summit (September 1938). The case attested to a changed approach to recognition. Before direct involvement in the Second World War, Norway followed the so-called declaratory theory (recognition confirms that a polity fulfils criteria of statehood); in wartime, it came closer to the competing, so-called constitutive theory (recognition creates a polity a state). Forgotten after a change of Norwegian foreign policy leadership, the affair was revisited in exile, illustrating the awareness of social peril stemming from an ‘illicit’ international relationship. Article 2, ‘Together and Alone in Allied London: Czechoslovak, Norwe- gain, and Polish Governments-in-Exile, 1940–1945’, discusses the cooperative but hierarchical multilateral environment that emerged in London during the Second World War. The Czechoslovak, Norwegian, and Polish experiences are scrutinised in general, and Norwegian perceptions of the Central European exiles are, in particular, against the backdrop of the expansion of Norway’s foreign relations. The article holds that the collective identities of exile representations, and with them the individual features of the leading personalities, formed the bedrock of socialization for state representation and, in the Czechoslovak and Polish cases, for maintaining sovereignty. Attention is paid to international legal position and status—an asset in the struggle for peer recognition and a source of legitimacy and agency. Foreign policy discussions and initiatives, as attempts to adapt to the modified regional strategic sceneries and the vestiges of a great power-propelled international order in the making, attest to the potential of the built-up exile relationships—here, Norway’s relationships with Czechoslo- vakia and Poland—as a resource for the refinement of foreign policy-making craftmanship. The three government’s unalike Soviet policies, particularly the Norwegian, deliver compelling examples. However, the limits of Norway’s relationships with the Central Europeans are also indicated. Article 3, ‘Norwegian Internationalism and World War II Exile Diplomacy in Print’, differs from the other two articles in that it zooms in on a specific domain of Norwegian exile operations—efforts to generate reciprocity, status-propel- ling goodwill as well as awareness of Norway’s plight, views on the emerging international order and desired future role through publicity. The article uses 11 For a similar case, see E.I. Megeli, ‘A Real Peace Tradition? Norway and the Manchurian Crisis, 1931–34’, Contemporary European History 19 (2010), 17–36. aims, scope and outline hitherto overlooked source material to propose a perspective on foreign policy communication. It claims that partners were proactively approached through designated channels. International publicity enriched Norway’s diplomatic toolkit in a situation when the media would serve as deliberative platforms. The content transmitted reflected Norwegian self-perceptions of identity, the changing policy agenda, in-group and Inter-Allied relationships, and the ex- press turn of Norwegian internationalism towards a ‘realist’ comprehension, recognising that interdependence was to be regimented by great powers acting 6 in accord. The bi-monthly The Norseman offers the geography of Norway’s prospective post-war partnerships. Finally, wartime publicity can be seen as a point of departure for Norway’s post-war cultural diplomacy. 2. GOVERNMENTS IN SECOND WORLD WAR EXILE: STATE OF THE ART Second World War unceasingly attracts scholarly attention, channelled toward military, political, civilian, or humanitarian issues, often related to genocidal policies. Governments-in-exile occupy a modest place here. Reifying displace- ment and separation from constituents, they have long been studied as a legal and only then as a political or sociological subject.12 If they get in focus, two major organising scripts render the primacy of the national—either disparate 7 cases are introduced, or one of them is detailed, with scant references being made to others.13 The exceptional 1977 London conference—where foreign speakers discussed the Second World War governments-in-exile per se, those British their relationships with the host—could have inaugurated some internationalisation of the subject—had more than three of the presented papers been published.14 International state-of-the-art surveys of Second World War history show some, if slight, evolution. In A Companion to Second World War, only Central European governments make other than marginal appearance, in essays with a regional or national scope.15 1937–1947: Le Guerre-Monde fares better. Alya Aglan has acknowledged the exiles’ presence in the resistance ‘universe’, in some cases as guardians of state continuity, yet she treated the Greek, the Luxemburg, and the Norwegian exiles rather cursively. Laurent Jeanpierre has presented war-propelled mobility, also concerning the exiles.16 Governments-in-exile feature in the Cambridge History of the Second World War. Most mentions stress 12 M. Flory, Le statut international des gouverments refugies et le cas de la France Libre, 1939–1945 (Paris, 1952); A. Koberg, Die Exilregierung im Völkerrecht. Eine Untersuchung ihrer rechtlichen Klassifikation (Frankfurt/M., 2005); A. Iwańska, Exiled Governments, Spanish and Polish: An Essay in Political Sociology (Cambridge, MA, 1981); K. Marek, Identity and Continuity of States in Public International Law (Geneva, 1964); S. Talmon, Recognition of Governments in International Law: With Particular Reference to Governments in Exile (Oxford, 1998). 13 Europe in Exile: European Exile Communities in Britain, 1940–45, eds. M. Conway, J. Gotovitch (New York, 2001); Exile in London: The Experience of Czechoslovakia and the Other Occupied Nations, 1939–1945, eds. V. Smetana, K. Geaney (Prague, 2017); Governments-in-Exile and the Jews during the Second World War, eds. J. Lániček, J. Jordran (London, Portland, 2013); Rządy bez ziemi. Struktury władzy na uchodźstwie [Lackland Governments: Structures of Government in Exile], ed. R.P. Żurawski vel Grajewski (Warsaw, 2014). 14 R. Clogg, ‘The Greek Government-in-Exile, 1941–1944’, International History Review 1 (1979), 376–98; V. Mastný, ‘The Czechoslovak Government-in-Exile during Second World War’, Jahrbücher für Geschichte Osteuropas NF 27 (1979), 548–63; S.K. Pavlowitch, ‘Out of Context: The Yugoslav Government in London, 1941–1945’, Journal of Contemporary History 16 (1981), 89–118. 15 S. Lehnstaedt, ‘Resistance in Eastern Europe’ in A Companion to Second World War, eds. T. Zeiler, D.M. DuBois, 2 vols (Chichester, 2012), ii. 618–37; M.A. Peszke, ‘Poland’s Military in Second World War’, ibid., ii. 792–812 (the essay ventures far beyond military affairs). 16 A. Aglan, ‘Les résistances en Europe ou les États-nations à la épreuve’ in 1937–1947. La guerre- monde, eds. A. Aglan, R. Frank, 2 vols (Paris, 2015), i. 1179–250; L. Jeanpierre, ‘Géographies culturelles de la guerre’, ibid., ii. 2103–49. governments in second world war exile cooperation with resistance movements, but some international agency has been accorded to them.17 Second World War governments-in-exile risk going unnoticed by international history scholars—as long as they have not entered a great power orbit of interest. Even so, consider the so-called Polish Question, featuring the territory of a state to be restored and the legitimacy of its post-war government: discussions of actions of the government-in-exile and of its Soviet-backed competitors feature in virtually all studies on Second World War diplomacy and on the road to 8 the Cold War, but specialist research remains much of a Polish domain. Other governments-in-exile received far less attention, albeit their London sojourn—a chapter in national histories, in Second World War history, in the history of diplomacy, in the history of international relations—invites an “international history set in different national contexts”, history “both international and na- tional”, a desideratum in the field.18 Most writings on the subject come from historians who mainly address national audiences. Few have studied these governments’ foreign relations from a multilateral perspective.19 Here, histo- rians of war crimes, prosecution, and human rights20 should inspire historians of politics and diplomacy to acknowledge international connections that have become more explicit and, regarding policy-making, more productive than ever. 17 See P. Clavin, ‘International Organizations’ in The Cambridge History of the Second World War, eds. E. Mawdsley et al., 3 vols (Cambridge, 2015), ii. 139–61; W.I. Hitchcock, ‘Collaboration, Resistance and Liberation in Western Europe’, ibid., ii. 412–35; G. Krajnc, ‘Collaboration, Resistance and Liberation in the Balkans, 1941–1945’, ibid., ii. 461–86; D. Reynolds, ‘The Diplomacy of the Grand Alliance’, ibid., ii. 301–23. See also Y. Khan, ‘Wars of Displacement: Exile and Uprooting in the 1940s’, ibid., iii. 277–97. 18 T.G. Otte, ‘The Inner Circle: What Is Diplomatic History? (And Why Should We Study It): An Inaugural Lecture’, History 105 (2020), 12. 19 T. Grosbois, ‘L’action de Józef Retinger en faveur de l’idee européenne, 1940–46’, European Review of History 6 (1999), 64–79; A. Polonsky, ‘Polish Failure in Wartime London: Attempts to Forge a European Alliance, 1940–1944’, International History Review 7 (1985), 576–91. 20 J. Eichenberg, ‘Crossroads in London on the Road to Nuremberg: The London International Assembly, Exile Governments and War Crimes’, Journal of the History of International Law 24 (2022), 334–53; eadem, ‘Legal Logwork: How Exiled Jurists Negotiated Recognition and Legitimacy in Wartime London’ in Crafting the International Order: Practitioners and Practices of International Law since c. 1800, eds. M.M. Payk, K.C. Priemel (Oxford, 2021), 162–90; A.J. Kochavi, Prelude to Nuremberg: Allied War Crimes Policy and the Question of Punishment (Chapel Hill, 1998); K. van Lingen, ‘Epistemic Communities of Exile Lawyers at the UNWCC’, Journal of the History of International Law 24 (2022), 315–33; eadem, ‘Legal Flows: Contributions of Exiled Lawyers to the Concept of ‘Crimes against Humanity’ during the Second World War’, Modern Intellectual History 17 (2020), 507–25; eadem, ‘Setting the Path for the UNWCC: The Representation of European Exile Governments on the London International Assembly and the Commission for Penal Reconstruction and Development, 1941–1944’, Criminal Law Forum 25 (2014), 45–76; J. Winter, ‘From War Talk to Rights Talk: Exile Politics, Human Right and the Two World Wars’ in European Identity and the Second World War, eds. M. Spiering, M. Wintle (Basingstoke, 2011), 55–74. governments in second world war exile 2.1 NORWAY: ON THE MARGINS OF HISTORICAL NARRATIVE The Cold War affected the study of the recent past to a much lesser extent in Norway than in countries under Soviet control. Considering the role of the government-in-exile, there has been a continuity from the 1940s to the present.21 However, the Nygaardsvold ministry is as good as absent from the studies on the processing of wartime22, reduced to a ‘brick in British warfare’.23 This situation resulted from the post-Cold War decline of scholarly interest in things military or diplomatic, declared responsible for the deficit of knowledge about the international in the country’s wartime.24 9 Inter-state relationships in exile deliver an illustration. Norwegian histo- rians have paid little attention to their government’s contacts with the gov- ernments of states not situated in Norway’s vicinity. The Central European perspective is different.25 The role of the exiles as the bearers of contested state continuity accorded every international relationship they cultivated some historical value as a testimony to their unceasing efforts and to their prowess. The study of bilateral relationships has a weak standing in Norway. Hence, the Norwegian–Polish relations in exile were presented by a Polish scholar, Magda Gawinecka-Woźniak26; those Norwegian–Czechoslovak remain unaddressed, save for one contribution by the literary scholar Jan B. Michl, who was able to integrate wartime cultural contacts with his interest in the writer and small nations advocate Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson.27 Before it became a subject of scholarly inquiry in Norway, selected aspects of wartime exile had been presented in multiple official histories. These pub- 21 S. Corell, Krigens ettertid. Okkupasjonshistorien i norske historiebøker (Oslo, 2011), ch. 2. 22 For an exception, see Corell, Krigens ettertid, esp. 43–53, 109–26, 163–8. 23 T. Pryser, Klassen og nasjonen (1935–1946) (Oslo, 1988), 491–501. 24 ‘In a World of Total War: Norway, 1939–1945’ (T. Kristiansen, A. Pető, 28 Sep. 2018), 12:40ff, https://podcasts.ceu.edu/content/world-total-war-norway-1939–1945 (19 Apr. 2024). 25 E.g., M. Hułas, ‘The Two Governments in Exile in London’ in Poland and the Netherlands: A Case Study of European Relations, eds. D. Hellema, R. Żelichowski, B. van der Zwan (Dodrecht, 2011), 79–107; G.G. Kagge, To små land i stormaktenes krig. En tematisk sammenlikning av Norges og Nederlands eksilregjeringer under den annen verdenskrigen, med vekt på de to landenes alliansepolitikk (MA diss., Oslo, 1990); S. Sklenářová, Diplomatické vztahy Československa a Nizozemska v  letech 1918–1948 a jejich představitelé [The Diplomatic Relations between Czechoslovakia and the Netherlands, 1918–48, and Their Representatives] (České Budějovice; Hradec Králové, 2010), 58–69; M. Sovilj, ‘Beginnings of the Czechoslovak and Yugoslav Exile Governments in London in WWII: Expectations, Possibilities, and Reality’, Czech Journal of Contemporary History 8 (2020), 5–28. 26 M. Gawinecka-Woźniak, Stosunki rządu polskiego z rządem norweskim na emigracji w Londynie w latach 1940–1945 [Relations between the Polish and the Norwegian Governments-in-Exile in London, 1940–5] (Torun, 2008). I abstain from referring to studies on Polish Second World War history situated in Norway (and vice versa). 27 Björnson a Československo. Aspekty lidství, norsko-československé vztahy 1907–1948 [Bjørnson & Czechoslovakia: Aspects of Humanity, Norwegian–Czechoslovak Relations, 1907–48], ed. J.B. Michl (Brno, 1992). See also A. Keel, Bjørnson i kamp for Europas undertrykte folk (Oslo, 2010), ch. 4. I abstain from referring to studies on Czech and Slovak Second World War history situated in Norway (and vice versa). governments in second world war exile lications may serve as chronicles of events and technicalities—their zeitgeist credited most episodes of suffering and liberation efforts with mention.28 The multi-authored Norges krig 1940–1945 discussed the government-in-exile and its interplay with King Haakon VII in some detail, in chapters penned by high-ranking government associates.29 The principal study of the govern- ment-in-exile appeared in the 1970s30 when historian Olav Riste mapped military and administrative evolutions, the quest for consensus with the home resistance, and Norway’s relations with the great powers, with Britain in the 10 first place. 31 Riste’s opus has made a definite impression—in a recent survey of Second World War Norway, the chapter on the government-in-exile experience still relies on it.32 The ministry has been discussed in inquiries into Norway’s wartime foreign relations. Multiple authors have canvassed its policies as a stepping-stone towards transatlantic security, most notably Jakob Sverdrup.33 The Cold War ebb and access to Soviet files helped Sven Holtsmark detail the Soviet factor in Norwegian threat perceptions, discuss Soviet policy planning, and indicate the limits of Norway’s cooperation with European small powers.34 Holtsmark, Knut E. Eriksen, and Klaus Misgeld have rendered Norwegian geopolitical debate.35 Øystein Horntvedt analysed the views on the promises 28 Den Norske regjerings virksomhet fra 9. april 1940 til 22. juni 1945. Departementenes meldinger, 6 vols (Oslo, 1946); Norges forhold til Sverige under krigen 1940–45. Aktstykker utgitt av det Kgl. Utenriksdepartementet, 4 vols (Oslo, 1947–1950); J. Nygaardsvold, Beretning om den norske regjeringsvirksomhet fra 9. april 1940 til 22. juni 1945 (Oslo, 1947); Regjeringen og Hjemmefronten under krigen. Aktstykker utgitt av Stortinget (Oslo, 1948). 29 S. Steen et al., Norges krig 1940–1945, 3 vols (Oslo, 1947–1950), ii. 7–260. 30 O. Riste, London-regjeringa. Norge i krigsalliansen, 1940–1945, 2 vols (Oslo, 1973–1979). Journalist Nils Morten Udgaard’s study of Norway’s ‘bridge-building’ included its Second World War ‘prehistory’ and predated Riste’s, yet it relied on published sources; N.M. Ud- gaard, Great Powers Politics and Norwegian Foreign Policy, November 1940 – February 1948 (Oslo, 1973). 31 This relationship permeates the military side of Norway’s Second World War history. See Britain and Norway in the Second World War, ed. P. Salmon (London, 1995); T. Insall, Secret Alliances: Special Operations and Intelligence in Norway, 1940–1945 (London, 2019); F. Kersaudy, Vi stoler på England 1939–1949 (Oslo, 1991); C. Mann, British Policy and Strategy towards Norway, 1941–1945 (Basingstoke, 2012). 32 O.K. Grimnes, Norge under andre verdenskrig, 1939–1945 (Oslo, 2018), 253–302 = Norway in the Second World War: Politics, Society and Conflict (London, 2022), ch. 10. 33 J. Sverdrup, Inn i storpolitikken (Oslo, 1996). 34 Holtsmark, A Soviet Grab for the High North? USSR, Svalbard and Northern Norway, 1920–1953 (Oslo, 1993); idem, ‘Atlantic Orientation or Regional Groupings: Elements of Norwegian Foreign Policy Discussions during the Second World War’, Scandinavian Journal of History 14 (1989), 311–24; idem, Enemy Springboard or Benevolent Buffer? Soviet Attitudes to Nordic Cooperation, 1920–1955 (Oslo, 1992); idem, Great Power Guarantees or Small State Cooperation? Atlanticism and Foreign Policy, 1940–1945 (Oslo, 1996); idem, Høyt spill. Svarbald-spørsmålet 1944–1947 (Oslo, 2004); idem, Om Den røde hær rykker inn i Norge... Spørsmålet om sovjetisk deltakelse i frigjøring av Norge, 1941–1944 (Oslo, 1994). See also Holtsmark et al., Naboer i frykt og forventning, Norge–Russland 1917–2014 (Oslo, 2015). 35 K.E. Eriksen, ‘‘Vi hører jo sammen her oppe i Norden.’ Martin Tranmæls utenrikspolitiske syn 1940–1945’, Arbeiderhistorie 2004, 5–31; K. Misgeld, Die ‘Internationale Gruppe demokratischer Sozialisten’ in Stockholm 1942–1945. Zur sozialistischen Friedensdiskussion während des Zweiten Weltkrieges (Stockholm, 1976), 48–53, 62–73. governments in second world war exile and challenges that the emergent United Nations Organization seemed to have in store. Norbert Götz has questioned the country’s activist legacy in the organization and drew attention to a remarkably low profile held by Norway in the process of its creation.36 This retrospective shows that the Norwegian government’s-in-exile relation- ships with the Allied great powers and with the home front were at the centre of scholarly efforts probing its experience. Norway’s participation in creating the United Nations Organization, the pinnacle of inter-state socialization in the emerging international order, falls under these first subject headings. A 11 direct effect of the wartime exile, the built-up of Norway’s relationships with other occupied small powers, such as Czechoslovakia and Poland, remains un- derstudied. Still, it was due to these relationships that the Second World War London became the site where Norway’s network of foreign relations expanded and the diplomatic toolkit developed. 2.2 CZECHOSLOVAKIA, POLAND: FROM CONTESTATION TO RECOGNITION Central European governments-in-exile have been subject to numerous probes. Their wartime and post-war situations differed from those of the Norwegian government. In exile, they acted as the defenders of sovereignty and ethnic survival. No semblance of statehood was installed in the occupied Polish Lands; the Protectorate of Bohemia and Moravia, while it allowed a (declining) degree of self-rule was considered a component of the Reich. However subordinated to German authorities, Norwegian collaborationists were permitted, at a later point even induced to stage statehood. To Germany, Norway was not a land of conquest.37 After the war, Central Europe, unlike Norway, underwent gradual Sovietization—wartime exiles became politically disenfranchised, scholarly communities divided at home and abroad, and the governments-in-exile a subject of discursive battles over the genealogy of the pending, celebrated, or abhorred political order.38 In Czechoslovakia, the legacy of President Edvard Beneš and the govern- ment-in-exile was disputed. Beneš had been one of the architects and symbols of the inter-war republic, now being defamed. To Slovak historians’ upset, he had been unwilling to recognise the Slovaks as a nation.39 In the 1960s, historian Jan 36 N. Götz, ‘The Absent-Minded Founder: Norway and the Establishment of the United Na- tions’, Diplomacy & Statecraft 20 (2009), 619–37; Ø. Horntvedt, Norge og opprettelsen av FNs sikkerhetsråd. Norske oppfatninger om de allierte stormakters vetorett og faste plass i Sikkerhetsrådet, 1941–45 (Oslo, 2002). 37 C. Bryant, Prague in Black: Nazi Rule and Czech Nationalism (Cambridge, MA, London, 2009); T. Emberland, M. Kott, Himmlers Norge. Nordmenn i det storgermanske prosjekt (Oslo, 2013); M. Mazower, Hitler’s Empire: Nazi Rule in Occupied Europe (London, 2008), ch. 7. 38 See The Sovietization of Eastern Europe: New Perspectives on the Postwar Period, eds. B. Ápor, P. Ápor, E.A. Rees (Washington, 2008). 39 A. Hudek, ‘Images of Edvard Beneš in Slovak Marxist and Nationalist (Ludák) Narratives’ in Edvard Beneš: Vorbild, 247–56; V. Sommer, ‘Edvard Beneš in Czech Party Historiographical Writing in the 1950s and 1960s’ in ibid., 221–33. governments in second world war exile Křen published two studies on wartime exile and acknowledged Beneš’s realism as akin to Roosevelt’s.40 The Warsaw Treaty Organization invasion (1968) halted the study of the subject in Czechoslovakia. When a rare addition appeared, Slovak journalist-turned-historian Ján Čierny walked in Křen’s footsteps, without ever referring to him. Crediting Beneš with the representation of Czechoslovakia, Čierny went further than Křen to dismiss its geopolitical and cultural positioning ‘between East and West’ as prompted by the desire to restore the ancien regime.41 The Prague regime quarantined émigré histories. Blocked writings often came 12 from Slovak nationalists, mostly apologists of Nazified Slovakia (see Article 1, ‘Reading the Signs’, 474–5), blaming Beneš for inviting an atheist hegemon.42 Second World War was not at the heart of the Czech and Slovak exile history writing, but it was not ignored either. However, save for Vojtech Mastny’s study of Soviet wartime foreign policy, in which he identified the roots of Moscow’s relationship with Beneš and its impact on Czechoslovakia’s status43, it features the single-national diplomatic perspective. Beneš’s principal secretary Edvard Táborský and diplomat Josef Korbel attempted to expiate his Soviet policy, but Josef Kalvoda dismissed it.44 Kalvoda’s study shows how émigré historians could confer ‘Eastern Bloc’ publications; at home, even scholars vetted by the regime had limited access to Western scholarship. Few Western were allowed into ‘Eastern Bloc’ archives. One of them, German historian Detlef Brandes, examined the internal cohesion, legitimacy, and policy-making of the Czecho- slovak, Polish, and Yugoslav governments, before the Tehran Conference (1943) radically recast their agency. That Brandes discussed their interplay and how the British treated them singles him out in the Cold War-era scholarly context.45 Because most Polish wartime politicians and activists chose not to return to their home country after the war, the bulk of the documentary record of the civilian and military authorities and numerous private collections were deposited in diaspora archives. Debates unfolding in exile journals propelled 40 J. Křen, Do emigrace. Západní zahraniční odboj 1938–1939 [To Exile: The Western Resistance, 1938–9] (Prague, 1963); idem, V emigraci. Západní zahraniční odboj 1939–1940 [In Exile: The Western Resistance, 1939–40] (Prague, 1969). 41 J. Čierny, Nová orientácia zahraničnej politiky Československa (1941–1948) [The New Orientation of Czechoslovak Foreign Affairs, 1941–8] (Bratislava, 1979), ch. 2 (quote at 7). 42 Hudek, ‘Images’, 256–9; J. Rychlík, ‘Slovenská exilová ľudácka historiografie a publicistika a její ohlasy na Slovensku’ [‘Slovak Ľudák Exile History Writing and Non-Fiction: Echoes in Slovakia’], Česko-slovenská historická ročenka 2014–2015, 163–5, 168. See also M. Mandělíčková, Historie v exilu. Československá exilová historiografie v letech 1948–1989 [Czechoslovak History Writing in Exile, 1948–89] (Olomouc, 2017). 43 Mastny, Russia’s Road to the Cold War: Diplomacy, Warfare and the Politics of Communism, 1941–1945 (New York, 1979). 44 J. Kalvoda, Czechoslovakia’s Role in Soviet Strategy (Washington, 1981); J. Korbel, The Commun- ist Subversion of Czechoslovakia, 1938–1948: The Failure of Coexistence (Oxford, 1959); idem, Twentieth-Century Czechoslovakia: The Meaning of Its History (New York, 1977); E. Táborský, President Edward Beneš between East and West (Stanford, 1981). 45 D. Brandes, Großbritannien und seine osteuropäischen Alliierten, 1939–1943. Die Regierungen Polens, der Tschechoslowakei und Jugoslawiens im Londoner Exil vom Kriegsausbruch bis zur Konferenz von Teheran (Munich, 1988). governments in second world war exile the study of the recent past, demonstrating its value for the protagonists and their heirs. Poland’s history writing landscape differed from Czechoslova- kia’s—the local regime did not impose an equally tight control on the public, and indigenous traditions of emigration and exile made intellectual isolation of the country unfeasible.46 Thus, most Socialist Poland scholarship on the government-in-exile was a stand in the discursive battle over the genealogy of its borders and constitution—as illustrated by Eugeniusz Duraczyński’s studies or Walentyna Korpalska’s Władysław Sikorski portrait, stressing purported mass support for the communists as a factor that the exiles either ignored or hoped to contain.47 13 In 1983, a fundamental study of Sikorski’s foreign policy appeared—in the United States. In it, Sarah M. Terry saw the wartime leader left with few alternatives for Poland’s post-war security; notably, she dismissed accommodation of Soviet wishes à la Beneš.48 Relationships with other exile political representations played a minimal role in Polish Cold War-era history writing on the government-in-exile. After communist regimes in Central Europe had fallen by the late 1980s, the Czechoslovak government-in-exile was first discussed against the backdrop of the post-war lapse from democracy. In the longer perspective, one can discern four avenues of study, addressing its ‘internal life’, the ‘undoing of Munich’ and the relationship with the British, the Czechoslovak–Polish relationship and integration plans, and the quest for a post-war role. Exacerbated by inter-ethnic tensions, in-group frictions intrigued histori- ans.49 Affecting its legal status, echoes of the 1938 Munich Agreement mould- ed the ministry’s psychological climate. Vít Smetana, while showing serious considerations for British restraint and unwillingness to rescind the treaty as 46 On Polish exile historians, see R. Stobiecki, Klio na wygnaniu. Z dziejów polskiej historiografii na uchodżstwie w Wielkej Brytanii po 1945 r. [Clio in Exile: From the History of Polish Exile History Writing in Great Britain since 1945] (Poznan, 2005); idem, Klio za Wielką Wodą. Polscy historycy w Stanach Zjednoczonych po 1945 r. [Clio over the Big Pond: Polish Historians in the United States since 1945] (Warsaw, 2017). See also A. Paczkowski, The Spring Will Be Ours: Poland and the Poles from Occupation to Freedom (University Park, 2003), 243-6, 249-55, 262-77, 292-311. 47 E. Duraczyński, Kontrowersje i konflikty 1939–1941 [Controversies & Conflicts, 1939–41] (Warsaw, 1977); idem, Między Londynem a Warszawą, lipiec 1943 – lipiec 1944 [Between London and Warsaw, July 1943 – July 1944] (Warsaw, 1986); idem, Z myślą o niepodległej i sprawiedliwej [Thinking Poland, Independent and Just] (Warsaw, 1980); W. Korpalska, Władysław Eugeniusz Sikorski. Biografia polityczna [Władysław Eugeniusz Sikorski, A Political Biography] (Wrocław, 1981). 48 S.M. Terry, Poland’s Place in Europe: General Sikorski and the Origin of the Oder-Neisse Line, 1939–1943 (Princeton, 1983). 49 J. Kuklík, J. Němeček, Hodža versus Beneš. Milan Hodža a slovenská otázka v zahraničním odboji za druhé světové války [Hodža vs Beneš. Milan Hodža and the Slovak Issue in Second World War Exile] (Prague, 1999); eidem, Proti Benešovi! Česká a slovenská protibenešovská opozice v Londýně 1939–1945 [Against Beneš! Czech and Slovak Anti-Beneš Opposition in London, 1939–45] (Prague, 2004); F.D. Raška, The Czechoslovak Exile Government in London and the Sudeten German Issue (Prague, 2002). governments in second world war exile ill-advised, has presented the drive for its renunciation.50 Legal historian Jan Kuklík has shown how Beneš and associates built the ‘Czechoslovak state machinery’ and struggled for recognition and how the exiles, frustrated by inter-war instability, were preparing a revolution.51 British historian Martin D. Brown bespoke Whitehall’s dilemmas in a relationship with a representation in a precarious legal position.52 Polish historian Radosław Żurawski vel Grajewski tackled the Anglo–Czechoslovak post-Munich relationship. Unlike Brown, he kept the discussion of its military aspects to a minimum and detailed instead 14 Inter-Allied relations and the reserved British views of the Czechoslovak exiles’ pro-Soviet leanings.53 Kuklík has elucidated the financial corollaries of the Anglo–Czechoslovak partnership and their long after-life.54 Responding to impulses from cultural history, Pavel Horák has presented performative aspects of Czechoslovakia’s representation in exile.55 The Czechoslovak–Polish relationship brings Czech, Slovak, and Polish historians in contact. Jiří Friedl has presented its military dimension. Dušan Segeš has shown how some Polish exiles used Czecho-Slovak squabbles to check Beneš’s and Sikorski’s authority.56 The Central European Federation project has fuelled debates primarily along national lines. The cause of disagreement is two-fold—the feasibility of integration and Beneš’s attitude to it. The ques- tion remains if the prime movers were the Central Europeans or the British; it requires a closer look at the interplay between ideas on regional security and the federalist moment in the Anglosphere.57 The failure of these plans prompts 50 V. Smetana, In the Shadow of Munich: British Policy towards Czechoslovakia from the Endorse- ment to the Renunciation of the Munich Agreement (1938–1942) (Prague, 2008). 51 J. Kuklík, Londýnský exil a obnova československého státu 1938–1945 [London Exiles and the Restoration of the Czechoslovak State, 1938–45] (Prague, 1998); idem, Vznik Československého národního výboru a prozatímního státního zřízení v emigraci v letech 1939–1940 [The Genesis of the Czechoslovak National Committee and of the Provisional State Machinery in Exile, 1939–40] (Prague, 1996). 52 M.D. Brown, Dealing with Democrats: The British Foreign Office and the Czechoslovak Émigrés in Great Britain, 1939–1945 (Frankfurt/M., 2006). 53 R.P. Żurawski vel Grajewski, Brytyjsko-czechosłowackie stosunki dyplomatyczne, październik 1938–maj 1945 [British–Czechoslovak Diplomatic Relations, October 1938–May 1945] (Warsaw, 2008). See also Brown, Dealing with Democrats, ch. 5. 54 Kuklík, Do poslední pence. Československo-britská jednání o majetkoprávních a finančních otáz- kách, 1938–82 [To the Last Penny: Czechoslovak–British Negotiations on Property and Financial Issues, 1938–82] (Prague, 2007). 55 P. Horák, Republika v exilu. Inscenování československé vlády v Londýně za druhé světové války [Republic in Exile: Staging the Czechoslovak Government in London during the Second World War] (Prague, 2022). 56 J. Friedl, Na jedné frontě. Vztahy československé a polské armády za druhé světové války [Allies: Czechoslovak–Polish Second World War Military Relations] (Prague, 2005); D. Segeš, Dvojkríž  v siločiarach Bieleho orla. Slovenská otázka v politike poľskej exilovej vlády za druhej svetovej vojny [The Double-Cross and the White Eagle: The Slovak Question and the Polish Government in Exile in Second World War] (Bratislava, 2009). 57 M.K. Kamiński, Edvard Beneš kontra gen. Władysław Sikorski. Polityka władz czechosłowackich na emigracji wobec rządu polskiego na uchodźstwie 1939–1943 [Edvard Beneš vs Gen. Władysław Sikorski: Czechoslovak Émigré Authorities Policy towards the Polish Government-in-Exile, 1939–43] (Warsaw, 2005); I.T. Kolendo, Unia polsko–czechosłowacka. Projekt z lat 1940–1943. Ukochane governments in second world war exile inquiries into Czechoslovakia and Poland as actors in international relations. Studying governments-in-exile from this angle, Smetana recognises the impact of perceptions and volatility in policy-making,58 where the main Czech account, Jindřich Dejmek’s Beneš biography, portrays a pre-scient, indomitable leader. Dejmek sometimes disapproves of Beneš’s views, yet his study is primarily a stand in the emotional debate about Beneš’s role in Czechoslovakia’s descent into the Soviet orbit. Coming from outside the Czech discourse, Beneš biog- raphies by Zbyněk Zeman and Antoine Marès are more balanced.59 Dejmek and Jan Němeček chartered the record of the Czechoslovak foreign ministry.60 15 Soon after the fall of the Communist rule, Polish scholars joined forces to present the state of the research on wartime exile.61 The narrative Historia Dyplomacji Polskiej (History of Polish Diplomacy) includes a Second World War volume—detailing the government’s dealings with the British and the Soviets against the backdrop of internal feuds, it says little about relationships with the small powers, with some exception of Czechoslovakia. It was recently supplemented by the wartime history of Poland’s foreign ministry.62 During the war, Polish exiles were reputed for squabbles. Multiple historians studied dziecko premiera gen. Władysława Sikorskiego [The Polish–Czechoslovak Union Project, 1940–3: Gen. Władysław Sikorski’s Beloved Brainchild] (Lodz, 2015); Němeček, Od spojenectví k roztržce. Vztahy československé a polské exilové reprezentace, 1939–1945 [Alliance to Rift: Czechoslovak and Polish Exile Representations, 1939–45] (Prague, 2003); Smetana, In the Shadow, 244–73; R. Žáček, Projekt československo-polské konfederace v letech 1938–1943 [The Czechoslovak–Polish Confederation Project, 1938–43] (Opava, 2001). For ‘outsider’ views, see Brown, Dealing with Democrats, ch. 6; H. Case, ‘The Strange Politics of Federative Ideas in East Central Europe’, Journal of Modern History 85 (2013), 845–57; V. Vasilenko, ‘The Polish–Czechoslovak Confederation Project in British Policy, 1939–1943: A Federalist Alternative to Postwar Set- tlement in East Central Europe?’, Canadian Journal of History 48 (2014), 203–23. See also O. Rosenboim, The Emergence of Globalism: Visions of World Order in Britain and the United States, 1939–1950 (Princeton, 2017). 58 Smetana, Ani vojna, ani mír. Velmoci, Československo a střední Evropa v sedmi dramatech na prahu druhé světové a studené války [Neither Peace, Nor War: Great Powers, Czechoslovakia and Central Europe in Seven Dramas on the Threshold of the Second World and Cold Wars] (Prague, 2016). 59 J. Dejmek, Edvard Beneš – politická biografie českého demokrata [Edvard Beneš: A Political Biography of a Czech Democrat], 2 vols (Prague, 2006–2008). A. Marès, Edvard Beneš. Un drame entre Hitler et Staline (Paris, 2015); Z. Zeman, The Life of Edvard Benes, 1884–1948: Czechoslovakia in Peace and War (Oxford, 1997). See also Kamiński, Edvard Beneš we współ- pracy z Kremlem. Polityka zagraniczna władz czechosłowackich na emigracji, 1943–1945 [Edvard Beneš at Work with the Kremlin: Foreign Policy of the Czechoslovak Émigré Authorities, 1943–5] (Warsaw, 2009). 60 Dejmek et al., Diplomacie Československa [Czechoslovakia’s Diplomacy], 2 vols (Prague, 2012– 2013), i. ch. 2; Němeček, Soumrak a úsvit československé diplomacie. 15. březen 1939 a českoslo- venské zastupitelské úřady [The Dusk and Dawn of Czechoslovak Diplomacy: 15 March 1939 and Czechoslovak Diplomatic Missions] (Prague, 2008). 61 Władze RP na Obczyżnie podczas II Wojny Światowej, 1939–1945 [Exile Authorities of the II Republic in the Second World War, 1939–45], ed. Z. Błażyński (London, 1994). 62 P. Ceranka, Urząd Minsterstwa Spraw Zagranicznych, 1939–1945 [The Ministry of Foreign Af- fairs, 1939–45] (Warsaw, 2021); W. Michowicz et al., Historia dyplomacji polskiej, 1939–1945 (Warsaw, 1999). governments in second world war exile stormy Polish politics in exile. Sikorski was often on trial and mainly positively assessed; his opponents’ views have also been studied.63 The successor, Stanisław Mikołajczyk, is presented as a realist vacillating between a rock and a hard place: with a regime change unfolding in Poland, the exiles, intransigent about sovereignty and legitimacy, were losing a foothold in the Whitehall.64 When Mikołajczyk resigned, Tomasz Arciszewski (1944–7) came to preside over the ministry of ‘national protest’ against what most Polish exiles saw as a betrayal by their Western allies. It carried little weight in Inter-Allied relations.65 16 Two relationships permeate Polish history writing on wartime: the Anglo– Polish and the Polish–Soviet. The 1939 British guarantees defined the former— Britain came to play a crucial role in Poland’s war effort and also as an ambiguous protector against Soviet advances. The Polish–Soviet relationship is a decisive domain in Polish wartime foreign policy.66 Its collapse eventually deprived the government of status and agency, something that historians of Poland’s foreign relations often relate with resentment. “By sacrificing to Soviet demands for security not only Poland but most of East Central Europe”, the moderate Piotr Wandycz argued, “the United States was jeopardising the whole concept of the European balance of power.”67 Most Polish historians contend that Britain—and the other Allied great powers as well—failed its original ally, having chosen to court the Soviets.68 Details of assessment depend on scholars’ ability to consider 63 E.g. Duraczyński, Rząd polski na uchodźstwie 1939–1945. Organizacja, personalia, polityka [Polish Government-in-Exile, 1939–45: Organization, Personalia, Politics] (Warsaw, 1993); M. Dymarski, Stosunki wewnętrzne wsród polskiego wychodźstwa politycznego i wojskowego w Francji i w Wielkiej Brytanii 1939–1945 [Internal Relations of Polish Political and Military Exile in France and Great Britain, 1939–45] (Wrocław, 1999); Hułas, Goście czy intruzy? Rząd polski na uchodźstwie, wrzesień 1939 – lipiec 1943 [Guests or Intruders? The Polish Government-in-Exile, September 1939 – July 1943] (Warsaw, 1996); E. McGilvray, A Military Government in Exile: The Polish Government-in-Exile, 1939–1945. A Study of Discontent (Solihull, 2010). Polish interest in party politics is exceptional. See A. Adamczyk, Piłsudczycy w izolacji (1939–1954). Studium z dziejów struktur i myśli politycznej [Pilsudskiites Isolated, 1939–54: A History of Political Movement and Ideas] (Warsaw; Bełchatów, 2008); R. Buczek, Stronnictwo Ludowe w latach 1939–1945. Organizacja i polityka [The People’s Party, 1939–45: Organization & Politics] (London, 1975); K. Kaczmarski, O Wielką Polskę na wojennym wychodźstwie. Stronnictwo Narodowe wobec rządu gen. Władysława Sikorskiego (1939–1943) [For a Great Poland in Wartime Exile: The National Party and the Gen. Władysław Sikorski Ministry, 1939–43] (Rzeszów, 2013); J. Rabiński, Stronnictwo Pracy we władzach naczelnych Rzeczypospolitej Polskiej na uchodźstwie w latach 1939–1945 [Christian Democrats and the Exile Administration of the Polish Republic, 1939–45] (Lublin, 2012). 64 Buczek, Stanisław Mikołajczyk, 2 vols (Toronto, 1996), i. ch. 9–18; Dymarski, Stosunki, ch. 4; J. Hanson, ‘Stanisław Mikołajczyk, November 1944 – June 1945’, East European Quarterly 21 (1991), 39–73; A. Mason, British Policy towards Poland, 1944–1956 (Basingstoke, 2018), ch. 2; Paczkowski, Stanisław Mikołajczyk (Warsaw, 1991). 65 Dymarski, Stosunki, ch. 5; Michowicz et al., Historia dypłomacji, ch. 8. 66 See, e.g., Michowicz et al., Historia dypłomacji, ch. 5–7; W. Materski, Na widecie. II Rze- czypospolita wobec Sowietów, 1918–1943 [On the Watch: II Republic and the Soviets, 1918–43] (Warsaw, 2005); A. Prażmowska, Civil War in Poland, 1942–1948 (Basingstoke, 2004). 67 P.S. Wandycz, The United States and Poland (Cambridge, MA, 1980), 304. 68 E.g., B. Berska, Kłopotliwy sojusznik. Wpływ dyplomocji brytyjskiej na stosunki polsko-sowieckie w latach 1939–1943 [A Troubled Ally: British Diplomatic Influence on Polish–Soviet Relations, governments in second world war exile Britain’s deteriorating position or the lack thereof. Some British historians credit Polish criticism with substance.69 Anglo–Soviet–Polish dilemmas refer to an international order in the making. Few addressed Poland’s perspective on this process explicitly. Andrzej Brzeziński outlined its views on security proposals, Antoni Polonski an initiative to align European small powers.70 2.3 BIOGRAPHIES AND THE HISTORY OF WARTIME EXILE IN LONDON Wartime exile was a peculiar chapter in often distinguished professional and 17 public lives—peculiar also because, more than ever, it featured international affairs. By extension, the protagonists’ backgrounds and assumed roles were unprecedentedly diverse. This mix prompted the biographers’ interest in wartime. There are so-called academic biographies, such as those of Beneš and Sikorski mentioned above—attempts at an interpretation of one’s life as a part of a scholarly quest to understand and explain an epoch, an ideology, or a personal evolution. Yet, many lapse into storytelling if one resting upon, to an uneven degree, an extant documentary record. Multiple Norwegian wartime exiles have full-length portraits: King Haakon, Crown Prince Olav, Prime Minister Johan Nygaardsvold, Defence Minister Oscar Torp, Justice Minister Terje Wold. Biographies of Foreign Minister Halvdan Koht or Speaker of the Storting Carl J. Hambro, whose opinions were rarely seconded in the government, have a slightly partisan tinge. Canvassing the lives and oeuvres of two leading personalities of the inter-war Norwegian foreign policy debate, they address international politics, unlike most other specimens of the genre.71 A scholarly biography of the chief wartime policy-maker, Foreign 1939–43] (Cracow, 2005); G.V. Kacewicz, Great Britain, the Soviet Union and the Polish Government in Exile (1939–1945) (The Hague, Boston, London, 1979); Prażmowska, Britain and Poland, 1939–1943: The Betrayed Ally (Cambridge, 1995); J. Tebinka, Wielka Brytania dotrzyma lojalnie swojego słowa. Winston S. Churchill a Polska [Britain Will Loyally Keep Its Word: Winston S. Churchill and Poland] (Warsaw, 2013). For Poland’s relationships with other great powers, see M. Gmurczyk-Wrońska, Polska – niepotrzebny aliant Francji? (Francja wobec Polski w latach 1938–1944) [Poland, an Ally France Did Not Need? (French Policy towards Poland, 1938–44)] (Warsaw, 2003); R.C. Lukas, Strange Allies: The United States and Poland, 1941–1945 (Knoxville, 1978). 69 Buczek’s tirade (Mikołajczyk, i. v-xxvii) is telling. See also D. Carlton, Churchill and the Soviet Union (Manchester, 2000); M.H. Folly, Churchill, Whitehall and the Soviet Union, 1940–45 (Basingstoke, 2000); M. Kitchen, British Foreign Policy towards the Soviet Union during the Second World War (London, 1986). 70 A.M. Brzeziński, Kwestia powojennej organizacji bezpieczeństwa w polityce zagranicznej Rządu RP na uchodźstwie 1939–1945 (Lodz, 1999); Polonsky, ‘Polish Failure’. 71 H. Berntsen, I malstrømmen. Johan Nygaardsvold, 1879–1952 (Oslo, 1991); T. Bomann-Lar sen, Haakon og Maud, 8 vols (Oslo, 2002–2019); V. Eng, Terje Wold. En terrier fra nord (Tromsø, 2013); J. Hambro, C.J. Hambro. Liv og drøm (Oslo, 1984); H.O. Lahlum, Oscar Torp. Politisk biografi (Oslo, 2006); T. Rem, Olav V, 3 vols (Oslo, 2020–2022); S. Skard, Mennesket Halvdan Koht (Oslo, 1982); Å. Svendsen, Halvdan Koht – veien mot framtiden (Oslo, 2013); I. Theien, Fra krig til krig. En biografi om C.J. Hambro (Oslo, 2015). governments in second world war exile Minister Trygve Lie, is absent, though.72 Lie’s lieutenants Wilhelm Keilhau, Finn Moe, Arne Ording, Arnold Ræstad, Alf Sommerfelt, or Jacob S. Worm- Müller have not fared better. The same applies to Norway’s diplomats. Despite the great popularity of the genre, personalities with a decisive impact on the management of Norway’s international relationships have attracted minimal biographic attention. Multiple Polish personalities responsible for their country’s foreign rela- tions have found biographers—among those, Foreign Minister August Zaleski 18 (1939–41), Sikorski’s chief foreign policy aide Józef Retinger, and the well-con- nected Socialist Adam Ciołkosz who, in turn, often criticised Sikorski and his associates, are perhaps those most relevant ones for this study.73 There are fewer Czech and Slovak biographies of prominent Second World War exiles other than Beneš.74 Journalist Hubert Ripka, who became the deputy foreign minister and Beneš’s closest collaborator on foreign policy, has recently attracted much attention.75 The biography of an Allied celebrity, Foreign Minister Jan Masaryk, is missing76, as is that of Zdeněk Fierlinger, the country’s controversial Moscow 72 A fellow-Canadian’s failed candidacy for the UN Secretary-General has marred the lens of James Barros. Ellen Ravndal has not discussed Lie’s early career; J. Barros, Trygve Lie and the Cold War: The UN Secretary-General Pursues Peace, 1946–1953 (DeKalb, 1989); ch. 1; E.J. Ravndal, In the Beginning: Secretary-General Trygve Lie and the Establishment of the United Nations (Bristol, 2023). 73 M.M. Drozdowski, Władysław Raczkiewicz, 2 vols (Warsaw, 2002); A. Friszke, Adam Ciołkosz. Portret polskiego socjalisty [Adam Ciołkosz, A Portrait of a Polish Socialist] (Warsaw, 2011); K. Kania, Edward Bernard Raczyński, 1891–1993 – Dyplomata i polityk [Edward Bernard Raczyński, 1891–1993: A Diplomat and a Politician] (Warsaw, 2014); B. Podgórski, Józef Retinger, priwatny polityk [Józef Retinger, A Private Politician] (Cracow, 2013); T.P. Rutkowski, Stanisław Kot, 1885–1975. Biografia polityczna [Stanisław Kot, 1885–1975. A Political Biography] (Warsaw, 2008); B. Szubtarska, Niezwykłe misje… Tadeusz Romer (1894–1978) – Dyplomata RP w świecie dyktatur i wojen [On Special Missions: Tadeusz Romer, 1894–1978: A Polish Diplomat in a World of Dictatorships and Wars] (Piotrków Trybunalski, 2014); Wandycz, Z Piłsudskim i Sikorskim. August Zaleski, minister spraw zagranicznych w latach 1926–1932 i 1939–1941 [With Piłsudski and Sikorski. August Zaleski, Foreign Minister, 1926–32 & 1939–41] (Warsaw, 1999); I. Wojewódzki, Kazimierz Sosnkowski podczas II wojny światowej. Książe niezłomny czy Hamlet w mundurze? [Kazimierz Sosnkowski in Second World War: Prince Unaltering or Hamlet in Uniform?] (Warsaw, 2009). 74 Horák, Bohumil Laušman, politický životopis. Riskantní hry sociálnědemokratického lídra [Bohumil Laušman, A Political Biography: Risky Games of a Labour Leader] (Prague, 2012); O. Koutek, Prokop Drtina. Osud československého demokrata [Prokop Drtina: A Czechoslovak Democrat’s The Reckoning:] (Prague, 2011); S. Michálek, Diplomat Štefan Osuský, 1889–1973 (Bratislava, 1999); M. Trapl, K. Konečný, P. Marek, Politik dobré vůle. Život a dílo msgre Jana Šrámka [A Politician of Good Will: Mgr Jan Šrámek, His Life and Work] (Prague; Olomouc, 2013). 75 V. Goněc, Hubert Ripka, un europeén (Brno, 2006); D. Pavlát, Novinář a politik Hubert Rip- ka. Člověk, který nemlčel [Journalist and Politician Hubert Ripka: A Man Who Was Not Silent] (Prague, 2019); J. Pernes, Hubert Ripka – tragédie demokrata. Život bojovníka za Československou republiku [Hubert Ripka, A Democrat’s Tragedy: A Life of a Warrior for the Czechoslovak Republic] (Brno, 2018). 76 Cf. Zeman, The Masaryks: The Making of Czechoslovakia (London, 1991), 164–213. governments in second world war exile ambassador and its first post-war prime minister; by contrast, Czechoslovakia’s diplomatic representative to Norway, Ladislav Szathmáry, has been portrayed.77 This overview over biographies of Czechoslovak, Norwegian, and Polish exile foreign policy actors illustrates the marginal place of women in the annals of Second World War London. Women were still unusual on the diplomatic scene, although the United States and the Soviet Union had posted female heads-of- mission in Northern Europe between the wars.78 Politicians and intellectuals active in governments-in-exile and the diplomatic community surrounding them were men, and few women played other than secretarial roles. Often 19 middle-class politicians’ and diplomats’ wives helped in charities or aided bonding as hosts, performing what political scientist Ann Towns describes as ‘unpaid diplomatic labour’79—unpaid if one does not consider the diplomat wife status a desired reward. A few female foreign correspondents, academics, or London socialites, including members of the European royalty, could join world affairs discussions—at some distance from the foreign ministries.80 The same applies to the few female Members of Parliament and junior ministers who actively supported the exiles (yet, it has been noted, mainly from a humanitarian standpoint).81 As historian Charlotte Faucher has shown, women partook in cultural diplomacy—in subordinate positions, not enjoying diplomatic status.82 Historian Jan Stöckmann draws a similar picture in his study of the inter-war academic discipline of International Relations: Women were allowed to partake in reflections on international affairs—as advocates of particular causes, such 77 Segeš, ‘Ladislav Szathmáry. Vyslanec, ktorý sa nebál povedať ‘nie’’ [‘Ladislav Szathmáry, A Minister Not Afraid of Saying ‘No’’] in S. Michálek et al., Muži diplomacie. Slováci na vysokých postoch československej zahraničnej služby [Men of Diplomacy: High-Ranking Slovaks in Czechoslovak Foreign Service] (Liptovský Mikuláš, 2018), 285–316. 78 H. McCarthy, Women of the World: The Rise of the Female Diplomat (Cambridge, 2014); P. Nash, ‘A Woman’s Place in the Embassy: American First Female Chiefs of Mission’ in Women, Diplomacy and International Politics since 1500, eds. G. Sluga, C. James (Abingdon, 2016), 222–7. 79 S. Erlandsson, ‘Kvinnor och genusperspektiv i ett splittrat forskningsfält. Modern diplomati- historia’, Historisk tidsskrift (se) 141 (2021), 553–63; A.E. Towns, ‘‘Diplomacy Is a Feminine Art’: Feminised Figurations of the Diplomat’, Review of International Studies 46 (2020), 574. See also Erlandsson, ‘Off the Record: Margaret van Kleffens and the Gendered History of Dutch Second World War Diplomacy’, International Feminist Journal of Politics 21 (2019), 34–7; K. Weisbrode, ‘Vangie Bruce’s Diplomatic Salon: A Mid-Twentieth Century Portrait’ in Women, Diplomacy, 240–53. 80 J. Edwards, Women of the World, the Great Foreign Correspondents (Boston, 1988), ch. 6–7; G. Field, Elisabeth Wiskemann, Scholar, Journalist, Secret Agent (Oxford, 2023); Rosenboim, Emergence of Globalism, 142–57. See also H. Channon, The Diaries, ed. S. Heffer, 3 vols (London, 2021–2022), ii. 194–1050, iii. 1–278. 81 S. Cohen, Rescue the Perishing: Eleanor Rathbone and the Refugees (London, Portland, 2010); M. Perry, ‘Red Ellen’ Wilkinson: Her Ideas, Movements and World (Manchester, 2014), ch. 7–8. See also B. Harrison, ‘Women in Men’s House: Women M.P.s, 1918–1945’, Historical Journal 29 (1986), 639. 82 C. Faucher, ‘Women, Gender and the Professionalization of French Cultural Diplomacy in Britain, 1900–1940’, English Historical Review 136 (2021), 1513–41. governments in second world war exile as disarmament or as commentators, but not as ‘architects’.83 The situation in Second World War London can be glossed over identically. 2.4 CONCLUDING REMARKS Second World War governments-in-exile have been studied through the lens of their relationships with the Great Powers—their limited resources and ca- pabilities made the exiles dependent on powerful partners, such as their British 20 hosts. Likewise, despite all communitarian rhetoric, the emergent international order was parading asymmetries of power, which small powers policy-makers might have wished to mitigate with the help of good relations with one, but preferably multiple great powers. Another dimension that caught the historians’ eye was the internal climate and cohesion of the exile communities, of which the governments were political pinnacles. That the record of the Central European governments was continuously subject to discursive duels attests to their role of ‘national guardians’. Inter- rogations of the recent past often had genealogical ambitions—to reconstruct and interpret the paths leading to the current juncture. This feature persists in Central European research, displaying a retroactively emancipatory tinge—it (re)inserts the governments-in-exile, and through them the entire nations, into the European democratic tradition, on trial throughout the region by the late 1930s, silenced by the late 1940s.84 Polish primacy in this regard conveys the exiles’ determination to serve the country’s survival as a resourceful belligerent and pursue an active foreign policy. To sum up. Few scholars investigated Second World War governments-in-exile as subjects in multilateral relations. The Classical formula of narrative topoi85 helps place their focus on who performed foreign policy, on when and where he did it, and on what was happening to him, as a protagonist, in the biographical sense. As a result, the history of the Second World War governments-in-exile remains predominantly a history of events. The question of why actors made specific decisions may incite hindsight polemics, which, indirectly, open for a history acknowledging the role of practices. Our knowledge of how and by what means exiled policy-makers acted is incomplete if their mutual interactions evade attention. 83 J. Stöckmann, The Architects of International Relations: Building the Discipline, Designing the World, 1914–1940 (Cambridge, 2022), 288–9. 84 P. Bugge, ‘Czech Democracy, 1918–1938: Paragon or Parody?’, Bohemia 47 (2006/2007), 3–28; idem, ‘Longing or Belonging? Czech Perceptions of Europe in the Inter-War Years and Today’, Yearbook of European Studies 11 (1999), 111–29. 85 L. Pernot, Rhetoric in Antiquity (Washington, 2005), 224. 3. REPRESENTATION IN EXILE AND THE CRAFT OF RELATIONSHIPS Their number, physical concentration, and agency made Second World War London-based governments-in-exile a singular case in history. Despite displace- ment and severely limited resources to exercise the mandate they claimed to possess, they were able to operate as full-fledged political representations of the occupied nations. Endowed with executive powers and legal personality, they fought the enemy as allies and partook in the construction of the post-war world. 21 This was only possible because these governments established and cultivated relationships with their ‘peers’, i.e., other sovereign governments, based on mutual recognition of legal and political attributes and value-proximity accentuating liberal views. Thus, they were not mere symbolic social movements with elusive constituencies, as Polish–American sociologist Alicja Iwańska suggested.86 On the contrary, they built up and manifested status through continuous presence in the international arena. The coalition of which they were a part, the United Nations, formed an international society opposing a Darwinist version of inter- national relations as a perpetual struggle for life.87 Instead, it sought to restore the international order based on respect for freedom, the rule of law, universal social norms, and institutions as vehicles of negotiation and deliberation (cf. Article 3, ‘Norwegian Internationalism’, 289).88 3.1 INTERNATIONAL SOCIETY: A SYSTEM OF STATES According to the British theorist Martin Wight, a leading personality of the English School of International Studies, international law provides “the most essential evidence for the existence of an international society.”89 States benefit from a legal personality—public international law accords them rights, lays out norms of equal treatment before its principles, and defines mutual respon- sibilities to be applied and honoured. In this way, it serves as an instrument of governance. “[S]tates keep commitments,” the assumption goes, “because they fear that any evidence of unreliability will damage their current cooperative relationships and lead other states to reduce their willingness to enter into 86 A. Iwańska, Exiled Governments, Spanish and Polish: An Essay in Political Sociology (Cambridge, MA, 1981), 3–4. 87 M. Mazower, Governing the World: The History of an Idea (London, 2012), 181–7. 88 See ‘Inter-Allied Meeting held in London at St. James Palace on June 12, 1941. Resolution’ & ‘Joint Declaration by the President of the United States of America and Mr Winston Churchill, Representing His Majesty’s Government in the United Kingdom, Known as the Atlantic Charter’, 14 Aug. 1941 & ‘Inter-Allied Meeting held in London at St. James Palace on September 24, 1941. Resolution’ & ‘Declaration by United Nations’, 1 Jan. 1942, UND, 9–11. 89 M. Wight, Power Politics, eds. H. Bull, C. Holbraad (Leicester, 1978), 107. See also B. Buzan, An Introduction to the English School of International Relations: The Societal Approach (London, 2014). displacement, representation, and relationships future arrangements.”90 Operating in contact with other, even distant polities, states form a pluralistic society that, by contrast to most societies, comprises a small number of heterogeneous members. States—and, to some extent, non-state actors endowed with legitimacy and diplomatic agency—build up relationships, negotiate, and, sometimes, deliberate. Their leaders concur on some issues but often diverge in what they lay out as their primary or ‘national’ interest. Therefore, they cooperate or compete as they see fit. Unlike states, in- ternational society is anarchical—it has no effective centralised authority. Thus, 22 it relies on institutions and norms sustained by relationships, constituted by connections and interactions with states and their representatives as agents.91 When positioning themselves to others, states may apply different, often pro- foundly rooted scripts. International Relations theorist Alexander Wendt has conceptualised three distinct ‘cultures’ of interstate relationships: ‘Hobbesian’ enmity (suspicion, bellum omnia contra omnes), ‘Lockean’ rivalry (competition, but also respect for sovereignty and restraint at war), and ‘Kantian’ friendship (shared institutions and norms, nonviolent conflict resolution).92 As a nucleus of a globalised world, the United Nations were based on the principle of great power accord. Still, as an international society, they were inspired by ‘Kantian’ ideas, implying moderation of great power superiority.93 It was thus rational for Allied policy-makers in general and, given their small power status, for those exiled in particular, to seek to maintain relationships that would nurture this culture in the short and long run. 3.2 EQUAL AND UNEQUAL: SIZE, POWER, HIERARCHY International society is structured and stratified primarily regarding ‘power’, i.e., the ability to secure desired foreign policy outcomes.94 Writing in the af- termath of the Second World War, Wight observed that it had “enhanced the diplomatic and legal pre-eminence of the Great Powers.”95 This evolution was propelled by the vastly asymmetrical burden-sharing of the Allied war effort 90 J.W. Downs, M.A. Jones, ‘Reputation, Compliance and International Law’, Journal of Legal Studies 31 (2002), S91–114 (at S96); H. Koh, ‘Why Do Nations Obey International Law?’, Yale Law Journal 106 (1997), 2599–659; Y. Onuma, ‘International Law in and with Interna- tional Politics: The Functions of International Law in International Society’, European Journal of International Law 14 (2003), 105–39. 91 H. Bull, The Anarchical Society: A Study of Order in World Politics (Basingstoke, 1977), 13–6, 24–7, 37–8, 41–51, 67–74; I. Clark, The Hierarchy of States: Reform and Resistance in the International Order (Cambridge, 1989), ch. 1–2; M. Wight, Power Politics, 101–12. 92 A. Wendt, Social Theory of International Politics (Cambridge, 1999), esp. ch. 6. 93 J. Morris, ‘From ‘Peace by Dictate’ to International Organization: Great Power Responsibiity and the Creation of the United Nations’, International History Review 35 (2013), 517–23, 526. For a contemporary Kantian echo, see C.J. Friedrich, ‘The Ideology of the United Nations Charter and the Philosophy of Peace of Immanuel Kant, 1795–1945’, Journal of Politics 9 (1947), 10–30. 94 Bull, Anarchical Society, 8–20, 41–6; M. Barnett, R. Duvall, ‘Power in International Politics’, International Organization 59 (2005), 45–57; Clark, Hierarchy, 25. 95 Wight, Power Politics, 144. displacement, representation, and relationships that put inequalities in power within the United Nations on display and, by extension, singled out Great Britain, the United States, and the Soviet Union. In most respects, wartime governments-in-exile occupied the other end of the scale. In October 1943, Ambassador Edgar Michiels van Verduynen of the Netherlands voiced, in a conversation with Sir Alexander Cadogan, Permanent Undersecretary at the Foreign Office, his government’s opinion that small powers must participate in the work of the European Advisory Commission, a body projected to deliberate on diverse political problems, expected to arise in the process of the liberation throughout the Continent. Cadogan noted in his diary: 23 These little Powers are inclined to get on a high horse—and it gives them a lot of satisfaction to do so—but in the end, it’s the Great Powers that carry the burden. After all, the contribution that Holland has made to the winning of the war is in the order of .0001%. Some others are almost a minus quantity…96 This quote exemplifies the impression that the Norwegian exiles did not want to inspire when communicating with great power audiences (cf. Article 3, ‘Norwegian Internationalism’, 293, 296). Cadogan’s irked attitude reflected the hierarchy within the Allied community and the tension between the principle of sovereign equality—soon to be recognised in the critical declaration of the Moscow Conference (1943)97—and the significantly uneven distribution of power within international society, including the United Nations. One may accept international law as evidence for the existence of an international so- ciety. Still, its deficiency as an instrument of governance is apparent—states alone can enforce compliance with its principles. Thus, the preferences of a few great powers with massive capabilities profoundly influence any international society—they define its values and recast existing equilibriums. As an ordering principle, power often correlates with size. Scholars seek to subdivide the class of states with comparatively modest capabilities, conventionally referred to as ‘small powers’. Yet the result of the decades-long debate is more fragmentation, not consensus: discord prevails about the cut-offs, feasibility, and about the meaningfulness of a ‘small power’ definition, for size and the capabilities it conditions manifest themselves contrasted to those of the other participants in the given situation.98 96 The Diaries of Alexander Cadogan, OM, 1938–1945, ed. D. Dilks (London, 1972), 571 (28 Oct. 1943). See also Van Kleffens to Loudon (Washington), 28 Oct. 1943, DPBN, vii. #135, 223; B. Kuklick, ‘The Genesis of the European Advisory Commission’, Journal of Contemporary History 4 (1969), 189–201. 97 ‘Moscow Conference, October 19–30, 1943. Declaration of the Four Nations on General Security’, UND, 13–4. 98 G.R. Berridge, International Politics: States, Power, and Conflict since 1945 (Brighton, New York, 1987), 7–22; S. Kruizinga, ‘Introduction’ in The Politics of Smallness in Modern Europe: Size, Identity and International Relations, ed. S. Kruizinga (London, 2022), 6; M. Maass, ‘The Elusive Definition of the Small State’, International Politics 46 (2009), 65–83; T. Long, ‘It’s Not the Size, It’s the Relationship: From ‘Small States’ to Asymmetry’, International Politics 54 (2017), 144, 147–50; B. Thorhallsson, ‘Introduction’ in Small States and Shelter Theory: Iceland’s External Affairs, ed. B. Thorhallsson (Abingdon, 2019), 2. displacement, representation, and relationships The United Nations case invites a non-stringent angle on international stratification. Thus, I define an Allied small power as one not represented at the major summits, and not accorded a permanent seat in the United Nations Security Council.99 I tag Belgium and the Netherlands as ‘small powers’, although their governments controlled vast overseas territories and had global interests, if not always for the entire wartime.100 I further posit that the difficulties of exile reduced the capacities commanded by the governments-in-exile so much that, in quantitative terms, they brought the represented nations much closer to one 24 another. Contemporary sources indicate that the notion of ‘smallness’ vis-à- vis Allied great powers was widely, if not unanimously, shared as a common denominator by the exiles.101 This does not mean that the Second World War exile policy-makers ignored comparative inequalities among their states and exile communities or that they refrained from deriving status from the formers’ pre-war capabilities if it seemed reasonable. Thus, Poland surpassed Czechoslovakia and Norway in most quantitative hierarchies by leagues—for example, in October 1940, there were 27,700 Polish, 4,720 Czechoslovak, and 2,113 Norwegian soldiers in exile in Britain102—and its foreign policy elites did not hesitate to aim at a primus inter pares place among the London-based governments-in-exile. These ambitions have never come to fruition (cf. Article 2, ‘Together and Alone’ 473–4). In fact, instead of aiding status construction, they were impairing Poland’s cooperation potential, leaving the country in an obscure position of an ‘almost great power’. “It was a tragedy for Poland,” an initiated observer noted in the 1920s, “to have been reborn too weak to be a power, and strong enough to aspire to more than the status of a small state”.103 The Second World War experience seems to corroborate this proposition. 99 For the less evident great powers, see G. Heimann, ‘What Does It Take to Be a Great Power? The Story of France Joining the Big Five’, Review of International Studies 41 (2015), 186–206; B. Loke, ‘Conceptualizing the Role and Responsibility of Great Power: China’s Participation in Negotiations toward a Post-Second World War Order’, Diplomacy & Statecraft 24 (2013), 209–25. 100 See, however, Kruizinga, ‘A Small State? The Size of the Netherlands as a Focal Point in Foreign Policy Debates, 1900–1940’, Diplomacy & Statecraft 27 (2016), 420–36. 101 I. Ducháček, Deníky 1939–1945 [Diaries, 1939–45], eds. P. Horák, R. Vašek (Prague, 2022), 430 (23 Aug. 1943); C.J. Hambro, ‘Norge i krig’ (15 Jul. 1941) & ‘De små allierte’ (9 Feb. 1943) in idem, Taler i krig (Oslo, 1945), 23–4 & 74–85; ‘Majesteit, U kent het werkelijke leven niet’. De oorlogsdagboeken van minister van Buitenlandse Zaken Mr. E.N. van Kleffens [‘Her Majesty Does Not Know the Real Life’: Wartime Diaries of Foreign Minister E.N. van Kleffens], ed. M. Riemens (Nijmegen, 2019), 214 (31 Dec. 1943), 254 (17 May 1944); Válečné deníky Jana Opočenského [Jan Opočenský Wartime Diaries], eds. J. Čechurová et al. (Prague, 2001), 348 (27 Apr. 1944) 102 O. Riste, London-regjeringa. Norge i krigsalliansen, 1940–1945, 2 vols (Oslo, 1973–1979), i. 42. 103 P.S. Wandycz, France and Her Eastern Allies, 1919–1925: French–Czechoslovak–Polish Relations from the Paris Peace Conference to Locarno (Minneapolis, 1962), 383. displacement, representation, and relationships 3.3 WARTIME EXILE: THE POLITICAL DISPLACEMENT Governments assembled in London by mid-1941 claimed to be speaking for countries conquered and occupied by the Axis powers, mainly by Germany. Military defeat meant that legitimate governments—often reflecting the vote in free, general elections—were ousted from effective power. Regimes installed to supplant them in the aftermath differed from one another but usually fea- tured national-conservative collaborationists, professing world-view affinity with the new hegemon. Leaders of these countries—monarchs, government members, officials, politicians—mostly opted for exile.104 This choice equated 25 to the decision to continue the fight against the invaders and to represent the respective country as sovereign. Some governments perceived the last part of the ‘mission statement’ more acutely than others. Unlike occupied countries in Western Europe, Czechoslovakia, Poland, and Yugoslavia had been declared to have ceased to exist, and their territories and social and economic structures had been dismantled.105 Representation in exile in the name of state continuity was a way of protesting, even counteracting this development. Advanced by a leading legal theorist of the era, Hans Kelsen, the surmise that “a state exists legally only in its relations to other states”106 epitomised the impact of relation- ships on the prospects of exile operations. Early into the Second World War, exile of constitutional governments was— unlike exile of deposed monarchs or defeated political activists107—quite an unconventional, new phenomenon. Its origins go back to the First World War: When, in 1914, Germany violated Belgian neutrality, France invited the de Broqueville ministry to reside in Le Havre. Two governments-in-exile emerged in 1916—the Serbian, evacuated first to Brindisi, then to the Greek island of Corfu and, finally, to Salonika; and the Montenegrin, transferred to France and ultimately accommodated in the Parisian suburb of Neuilly-sur-Seine. 104 Yet, King Leopold III of Belgium chose house arrest, thus complicating the re-constitution of the government in exile. See T. Grosbois, Pierlot, 1930–1950 (Brussels, 2006), 117–74. 105 Cf. ‘Erlass des Führers und Reichskanzlers über das Protektorat Böhmen und Mähren’, 16 Mar. 1939, in ‘Reichsprotektorat Böhmen und Mähren’, Osteuropa 14 (1939), 487–9, §1; ‘Proklamation des Generalgouverneurs’, 26 Oct. 1939, in Nazi Occupation ‘Law’ in Poland: Selected Documents, ed. K.M. Pospieszalski, 2 vols (Poznan, 2019 [1952–1958]), ii. 50–1. See also Mazower, Hitler’s Empire: Nazi Rule in Occupied Europe (London, 2008), 53–102, 184–99, 203–4. 106 H. Kelsen, ‘Recognition in International Law: Theoretical Observations’, American Journal of International Law 35 (1941), 609. See also B. Fassbender, ‘Hans Kelsen (1881–1973)’ in The Oxford Handbook of the History of International Law, eds. B. Fassbender, A. Peters (Oxford, 2012), 1167–72. For a possibility that a state may continue to exist without territory, through its relationships with other states, see E. Allen, M. Prost, ‘Ceci n’est pas un État: The Order of Malta and the Holy See as Precedents for Deterritorialized Statehood?’, Review of European Community & International Environmental Law 31 (2022), 171–81. 107 e.g., S. Aprile, La siècle des exiles. Bannis et proscrits de 1789 à la Commune (Paris, 2010); E. Chinyaeva, Russians outside Russia the Emigré Community in Czechoslovakia 1918–38 (Munchen, 2001); M. Isabella, Risorgimento in Exile: Italian Émigrés and the Liberal International in the Post-Napoleonic Era (Oxford, 2009); Monarchy and Exile: The Politics of Legitimacy from Marie de Médicis to Wilhelm II, eds. P. Mansel, T. Riotte (Basingstoke, 2011). displacement, representation, and relationships These governments enjoyed almost universal recognition until the close of the war when Serbia absorbed Montenegro into what was becoming Yugoslavia. Protesting Montenegrin authorities went on to operate in exile, at first from Paris, then from Rome. Yet, they soon faced the gradual extinction of their limited agency and, eventually, dis-recognition.108 Dispersed as they were, these three governments-in-exile had little contact. The situation a quarter of a century later was different. 26 3.4 GOVERNMENTS IN SECOND WORLD WAR EXILE: ACTING LIKE A STATE Second World War governments-in-exile styled themselves as identity bear- ers of their nations, as “the true depositaries of the state authority, the ‘true’ country”.109 While their ability to exercise power at home was minimal, they claimed to represent the occupied populations, deprived of free expression, in the international arena and, in doing so, to provide them with a political presence and with a specific, subjectively positive normative meaning within the framework of the ongoing global conflict110 that became Manichean (cf. Article 3, ‘Norwegian Internationalism’, 288).111 They aspired to and achieved recognition, declaring that other governments considered them legitimate executives of states and members of international society and that they were willing to maintain corresponding relations with them (cf. Article 1, ‘Reading the Signs’, 474–5, 477; Article 2, ‘Together and Alone’, 469–70).112 Ousted from their ‘natural habitat’, the demarcated state territory, they reconfigured their sovereignty in the spatial sense. They temporarily transferred their cap- itals to London—to the premises of diplomatic missions and, less formally, to those made available to them as seats of affiliated institutions or as venues for occasional functions.113 As legal persons, with their diplomatic immunities 108 S. Talmon, Recognition of Governments in International Law: With Particular Reference to Governments in Exile (Oxford, 1998), 286–7. See also M. Dumoulin, L’entrée dans le XXe siècle (Brussels, 2010), 153–70; A. Mitrović, Serbia’s First World War, 1914–1918 (London, 2007), ch. 4; Š. Rastoder, Crna Gora u egzilu, 1918–1925 [Montenegro in Exile, 1918–25], 2 vols (Podgorica, 2004), esp. i. 43–66, 191–397. 109 S. Dufoix, ‘Les légitimations politique de l´exil’, Genèses 34 (1999), 53. 110 Cf. S.B. Hall, ‘Introduction’ in Representation: Cultural Representation and Signifying Practices, ed. S.B. Hall (London, 1997), 3; M. Saward, ‘Authorization and Authenticity: Representation and the Unelected’, Journal of Political Philosophy 17 (2009), 6; idem, ‘The Representative Claim’, Contemporary Political Theory 74 (2006), 298–302; A. Vasanthakumar, ‘Exile Political Representation’, Journal of Political Philosophy 24 (2016), 283–4. 111 The Second World War anticipated a central Cold War intellectual tenet which has lasting effects; C. Kennedy, ‘The Manichean Temptation: Moralising Rhetoric and the Invocation of Evil in US Foreign Policy’, International Politics 50 (2013), 623–38; D. Kirby, ‘Divinely Sanctioned: The Anglo-American Cold War Alliance and the Defence of Western Civilization and Christianity, 1945–48’, Journal of Contemporary History 35 (2000), 385–412. 112 Cf. Talmon, Recognition, 23–33. 113 J. Kłusek, ‘‘Our Second Capital on the Banks of the Thames’: The Evolution of Anglophilia of Czechoslovak Exiles in Britain during the Second World War’, Central Europe 20 (2022), 37. Cf. T. Øksnevad, ‘Norge i London’, 3 May 1944, in idem, Det lå i luften (Oslo, 1946), 338–41. displacement, representation, and relationships sometimes limited by agreement, Second World War governments-in-exile would meet legal, financial, and political obligations, legislate norms, conduct foreign relations, and execute transactions concerning state property or the protection of nationals.114 These governments’ performances thus ventured beyond the rehearsal horizon, applied by the geographer Fiona McConnell in her study of the Tibetan Government-in-Exile as a ‘state-like non-state’, primarily preparing for the holding of the reins of power after restoration. Thus, as McConnell had proposed earlier, they should be studied as ‘states-in-exile’.115 27 3.4.1 External Recognition There were two interlocked primary realms where the Second World War governments’ in-exile work of representation and government was unfolding as an ongoing process—warfare and international politics.116 Having mobilised most nationals under their jurisdiction, the London-based governments-in-exile mustered armed forces that allowed them to join the Allied war effort. Thus, to the extent permitted by the exigences of exile, they exercised the supreme authority in the legitimate use of violence, i.e., a mo- nopoly accorded to a sovereign state executive. For most of the wartime, they were doing so in places far from their national territories, such as the Middle East and North Africa, which was an inevitable consequence of the exile con- dition.117 Belligerency represented the entire nation (cf. Article 3, ‘Norwegian Internationalism’, 296)—particularly for states declared non-existent by the enemy, who controlled their territory. Apart from issuing the government in question a testimony of managerial prowess—a symbolic bargaining chip in prospective post-war legitimacy duels—active participation in military campaigns demonstrated a willingness to share the burden of the war effort and, by extension, commitment to the common cause. Reciprocity, a defining aspect of a relationship, was constructed this way. The contribution of exile, primarily Czechoslovak and Polish aviators, to the defence of Britain, makes a paramount example.118 114 See Talmon, Recognition, ch. 4, passim. 115 F. McConnell, ‘Governments-in-Exile: Statehood, Statelessness, and the Reconfiguration of Territory and Sovereignty’, Geography Compass 3 (2009), 1903; eadem, Rehearsing the State: The Political Practices of the Tibetan Government-in-Exile (Chichester, 2016), 2–3. 116 There were still other domains where the governments-in-exile were active as executives, governing the exile communities, for example, their welfare and educational affairs, or plan- ning the practicalities of liberation and the post-war reconstruction. See the accounts by the respective Norwegian ministries in Den Norske regjerings virksomhet fra 9. april 1940 til 22. juni 1945. Departementenes meldinger, 4 vols (Oslo, 1946), i. 103–60, 225–307. 117 M. Weber, ‘Politics as Vocation’ in From Max Weber: Essays in Sociology, eds. H.H. Gerth, C.W. Mills (London, 2009 [1948]), 78. See also E. Čejka, Československý odboj na Západě [Czecho- slovak Resistance in the West] (Prague, 1997), ch. 5; H. Kochanski, The Eagle Unbowed: Poland and the Poles in the Second World War (London, 2012), 221–4, 228–31. The Norwegians could engage in Allied warfare close to home, in a culturally and linguistically akin environment in Iceland and on the Farœs; Riste, London-regjeringa., i. 33–4. 118 A.C. Brown, Flying for Freedom: The Allied Air Forces in the RAF, 1939–45 (London, 2011). displacement, representation, and relationships Yet, the primary domain of state representation in Second World War exile was political. To activate it, the exiles needed to prove their representative claims. A critical moment, preconditioning—in the following order—recogni- tion, reciprocity, and agency was the given government’s-in-exile international legal position. It was often based on international legitimacy, i.e., a consensual acceptance of the government’s membership in the international society, de- rived from recognising its right to govern the state it claimed to represent.119 London-based governments-in-exile all claimed that they possessed a clear 28 constitutional mandate. How they argued for legitimacy behind it differed from case to case. It has been observed that, in modern times, parameters of legitimacy are not considered static but negotiable and that, in major wars, they are a subject of contestation.120 Of the three governments discussed here, the Norwegian was in an ad- vantageous position (cf. Article 2, ‘Together and Alone’, 468). The Labourite Nygaardsvold ministry, a product of parliamentary bargaining (1935), had its mandate confirmed in general elections (1936). Shortly after the German invasion, it transformed into a national unity government, obtained broad authorisation from the Storting (April 1940)121 , and, when the Allies decided to evacuate Norway, it was transferred to Britain in toto (June 1940). After it arrived in London, King Haakon VII fended off attempts to make him abdicate in favour of Crown Prince Olav (future King Olav V)—or of his grandson Harald (future King Harald V)122—or have him dethroned as unconstitutional (July 1940). In this way, he bolstered his status, the status of the dynasty and that of the government.123 Although a historian who cared to consider the legal basis of several Lon- don-based governments-in-exile claimed similarity between the Norwegian and Polish cases124, a closer look, venturing beyond the fact that both governments could refer to constitutional mandates, reveals that the Polish case was more intricate in the legal as well as in the political sense. The 1935 constitution allowed the president to delegate his office should an emergency force him out of the country. This was what happened (20 September 1939)—the an- nouncement was antedated to appear as issued in Poland and not in Romania, where the Polish dignitaries had been interned. A ‘national unity’ government emerged from the negotiations between the representatives of the inter-war 119 Cf. Wight, ‘International Legitimacy’, International Relations 4 (1972), 1. 120 I. Clark, Legitimacy in International Society (Oxford, 2005), 13–4. 121 An emergency legislation, this authorization was not legalistically flawless, and its constitu- tional status was to be debated after the war; B.H. Borge, L.-E. Vaale, Grunnlovens største prøve. Rettsoppgjøret etter 1945 (Oslo, 2018), 28–32, 160–7. 122 Berlin clearly wished to maintain a semblance of legitimacy in Norway. It has arguably been considered that the royal house had originated as a side-branch of the German princely house of Oldenburg; T. Bomann-Larsen, Haakon og Maud, 8 vols (Oslo, 2002–19), vi. 57, 152–75, 202–3; H. Koht, Norway: Neutral and invaded (London, 1941), 137–45. 123 See C.E. Vogt, Heltekongen Haakon. Symbol i krig og fred (Oslo, 2021), esp. 65–76. 124 G.V. Kacewicz, Great Britain, the Soviet Union and the Polish Government in Exile (1939–1945) (The Hague, Boston, London, 1979), 46. displacement, representation, and relationships regime and the France-backed opposition by the end of September 1939 through compromise: Władysław Rackiewicz, a second-tier regimist, became the president, and Gen. Władysław Sikorski, the prime minister. Bipolarity in the highest places and the arrangement rested partly on the Constitution that most government associates had opposed from its inception as undemocratic heralded conflicts. Another caveat stemmed from the circumstance that one major political party, the conservative National Democrats, supported but nominally did not participate in the government—their role became yet more opaque when the rift between the party and Prime Minister Sikorski deepened, 29 for the arrangement with the Soviets (July 1941) did not entail guarantees of Poland’s integral restoration, including the territories conquered by the Soviet Union in 1939.125 Czechoslovak exiles faced more challenges when arguing for their inter- national legitimacy than their Norwegian and Polish counterparts. President Edvard Beneš resigned after the Munich Conference (September 1938) and left the country, which swiftly underwent a constitutional shift towards feder- alization but, by mid-March 1939, disintegrated under pressure from Berlin. Germany installed a protectorate for the Bohemian Lands—the incumbent cabinet remained in place, retaining some, if questionable, representative agency and legal personality126—Slovakia declared independence to become a German satellite, and Subcarpathian Ruthenia, Czechoslovakia’s easternmost province, was absorbed by Hungary (see Article 1, ‘Reading the Signs’, 476, 478). The exiles rallied themselves around Beneš and around the notion that the dismantling of Czechoslovakia was illegal, a breach of the Great Power Munich Agreement. From Czechoslovakia’s point of view, even the legality of this treaty was problematic—the country was not a party to it, and when its government accepted its terms, it was coerced to transgress the limits of its constitutional mandate. It could thus be argued that every following action of that government and Beneš’s abdication had resulted from coercion and was invalid, along with other consequences of Munich. This position was long not universally shared, though.127 The credentials of the Czechoslovak exiles in general, and of Edvard Beneš in particular, were contested. They had to start 125 Kacewicz, Great Britain, the Soviet Union, 29–32, 36–44, 92–110; K. Kaczmarski, O Wielką Polskę na wojennym wychodźstwie. Stronnictwo Narodowe wobec rządu gen. Władysława Si- korskiego (1939–1943) [For a Great Poland in Wartime Exile: The National Party and the Gen. Władysław Sikorski Ministry, 1939–43] (Rzeszów, 2013); P. Wieczorkiewicz, Historia polityczna Polski 1935–1945 [Poland’s Political History, 1935–45] (Warsaw, 2005), 111–28, 227–39. See also ch. 5.5.4. 126 The international legal position of protectorates was precarious. K. Marek, Identity and Continuity of States in Public International Law (Geneva, 1964), 292–303, renders the con- temporary discussion regarding the Protectorate of Bohemia and Moravia. 127 The Czechoslovak exiles’ position was laid out in E. Táborský, The Czechoslovak Cause: An Account of the Problems of International Law in Relation to Czechoslovakia (London, 1944), published after Britain and France had renounced the Munich Agreement (1942). On this process, see J. Kuklík, J. Němeček, J. Šebek, Dlouhé stíny Mnichova. Mnichovská dohoda oči- ma signatářů a její dopady na Československo [Munich’s Long Shadows: The Munich Agreement through Its Signatories’ Lens and Its Effects on Czechoslovakia] (Prague, 2011), 146–93. For a displacement, representation, and relationships their operations as a ‘national committee’, not a government-in-exile. Conse- quently, they were upset by their formally unequal position, for example, in the negotiations with the Polish government-in-exile.128 Only after the fall of France (July 1940), Britain, seeking allies, granted the exiles’ recognition as a ‘provisional’ government, thus prompting Foreign Minister Jan Masaryk to ask whether Czechoslovak casualties in the Battle of Britain were “provisionally dead.”129 There were protocolar corollaries regarding hierarchically ordered status manifestations. When the Foreign Office was determining Beneš’s place, 30 it concluded that he “must for political reasons be treated no less favourably than the fully recognised Heads of the Allied States.” A note explained: “Dr. Benes’s position is not comparable to that of King Haakon [Norway], Queen Wilhelmina [The Netherlands], and President Raczkiewicz [Poland].”130 Only the 1941 German invasion of the Soviet Union brought Czechoslovakia’s gov- ernment full recognition.131 3.4.2 Legitimacy, Identity, and Trauma Emphasis on international law implies that the postulated representative claim depended greatly on external recognition. Separation from their constituents did not allow the governments-in-exile to seek authorisation. The relationship between the governments and the people back home—often tainted by wide- spread frustration, considering the leaders ‘complicit’ in military defeat—was intricate. The governments could not control the shape of the Resistance. In countries declared extinct, like Czechoslovakia and Poland, the need for a leadership situated far from the enemy’s reach in great measure mitigated the situation in favour of Beneš and Sikorski.132 However, the position of the Nygaardsvold ministry was complicated by the tendency of the most influential resistance group (Kretsen, The Circle) to differentiate distinctly between the King and the government and to argue that the incumbent Storting, the basis of the prominent early critique of the Munich Agreement’s legality, see Q. Wright, ‘The Munich Settlement and International Law’, American Journal of International Law 33 (1939), 12–32. 128 Beneš to Slávik, instruction, 11 Jan. 1940, in DČZP, #173, i. 348. 129 ZSČV, i. 337 (21 Feb. 1941); R.H. Bruce Lockhart, Comes the Reckoning (London, 1947), 118–9; Kuklík, Vznik Československého národního výboru a prozatímního státniho zřízení v emigraci v letech 1939–1940 [The Genesis of the Czechoslovak National Committee and of the Provisional State Machinery in Exile, 1939–40] (Prague, 1996). 130 ‘Immunities and privileges for the Heads of Allied states in the United Kingdom and their Personal retinues’, memo, s.d. (26–28 Feb. 1941), TNA, FO 371/26428, C.2062/84/62. 131 V. Smetana, In the Shadow of Munich: British Policy towards Czechoslovakia from the Endorse- ment to the Renunciation of the Munich Agreement (1938–1942) (Prague, 2008), 174–95. 132 One of Sikorski’s biographers, Olgierd Terlecki, an exile ex-combatant associated with Socialist Poland’s official publicity, saw him as the last and possibly the greatest ‘legend’ in the country’s history; O. Terlecki, Generał ostatniej legendy. Rzecz o Gen. Władysławie Sikorskim [The Last Legend General: A Word on Gen. Władysław Sikorski] (Chicago, 1976), 314. See also R. Küpper, ‘Führer des nationalen Widerstandes und ‘Volksfeind Nr.1’. Inoffizielle und offizielle Bilder Edvard Benešs im Protektorat Böhmen und Mähren‘ in Edvard Beneš: Vorbild und Feindbild. Politische, historiographische und mediale Deutungen, eds. R. Küpper, O. Konrad (Göttingen, 2013), 117–8. displacement, representation, and relationships government’s constitutional legitimacy, was compromised after its Presidency had induced the King to abdicate. The relationship was somewhat remedied when the ministry coopted a Resistance emissary (September 1941)133, but it was never to become harmonious. In the case of the Second World War governments-in-exile, the game of legitimacy, i.e., the complementarity of its internal and external dimensions, catered for a ‘vicious circle’ situation. Successful international representation was likely to help them consolidate and even recover their standing in domestic political landscapes. To be able to proceed with it, the exiles needed to fend 31 off doubts about their support back home and to circumvent the ‘democratic deficit’ that emerged from the impossibility of having their representative claim validated, for example, by holding elections, and that—despite recognition that the governments-in-exile had achieved—was challenging their agency even in foreign policy-making. For instance, in October 1942, Charles Kingsley Webster, an international historian and adviser to the Foreign Office, remarked that, while the Western European governments-in-exile had advanced the idea of regional security cooperation, they were “not in a position to commit their countries finally … until their respective legislatures had granted their assent.”134 Thus, Second World War governments-in-exile were prone to exhibit informal legitimization through as regular contact with the home resistance and the diaspora as only the circumstances—and the communications—per- mitted.135 The advocates of alternative versions of national interest seized the public space they had had to vacate. These would deny the exiles the right to have their views conveyed to the home country population and, attempting to replace them irreversibly, style them as ‘national disloyalists’—sponsored by foreign, hostile powers, incompetent, and yet—unlike the majority of their countrymen—living in abundance.136 In the German-sponsored Slovakia, 133 Cf. ‘Promemoria’, 27 Aug. 1941, in Regjeringen og Hjemmefronten under krigen. Aktstykker utgitt av Stortinget (Oslo, 1948), #6, 49 & N.N. to Worm-Müller, 28 Oct. 1941, #10, 70; P. Hartmann, Bak fronten. Fra Oslo og London, 1939–1945 (Oslo, 1955), 36–9; Riste, Lon- don-regjeringa, i. 95, 121–2, 125–30. 134 Webster, ‘The Question of an Atlantic Security System’, 12 Oct. 1942, §6, LSE, Webster pa- pers 8/12, 38v. See also G.N. Clark (rev. M.E. Chamberlain), ‘Webster, Sir Charles Kingsley (1886–1968)’ in ODNB, lvii. 882–3. 135 Vasanthakumar, ‘Exile Political Representation’, 285. Regarding communication with the home front, the neutral countries’ intermediary function was critical. The Norwegian government was privileged, able as it was to operate, despite restrictions, in the neighbouring Sweden. See, for example, Dokumenty z historie československé politiky 1939–1943 [Documents on the History of Czechoslovak Politics, 1939–43], eds. L. Otáhalová, M. Červinková, 2 vols (Prague, 1966), v. ii.; Regjeringen og Hjemmefronten. For the Norwegian press service in Sweden, see O. Aas, Norske penneknekter i eksil. En beretning om Stockholm-legasjonens pressekontor under krigen (Oslo, 1980). See also W. Grabowski, Polska tajna administracja cywilna 1940–1945 [Polish Underground Civilian Administration, 1940–5] (Warsaw, 2003), esp. ch. 2; J. Kopecký, Ženeva. Politické paměti 1939–1945 [Geneva, A Political Memoir, 1939–45], ed. J. Němeček (Prague, 1999), ch. 3. 136 Y. Shain, The Frontiers of Loyalty: Political Exiles in the Age of the Nation-State (Middletown, 1989), 25, 32, 34, 42; Vasanthakumar, ‘Exile Political Representation’, 278–9, 288–90. displacement, representation, and relationships this othering included prominent exiles being tried and sentenced on charges of high treason. Seeking to manifest its ‘effective rule’ in Norway, the local collaborationist regime launched an inquiry into the complicity of the mostly displaced inter-war elites’—including the Royal House and the Nygaardsvold ministry—in an alleged pro-Allied conspiracy against Norway‘s neutrality early in the Second World War, arguably provoking the German invasion.137 The tension between the ‘inside’ and the ‘outside’ was easily amplifiable on charg- es that the exiles wished to restore a reportedly failed, ‘old’ order. Domestic 32 political landscapes disintegrated in wartime and saw many legitimacy duels, especially at its later stage. In a study of the Western European scenery, histo- rians Peter Romijn, Martin Conway, and Denis Peschanski argue that, save for the ‘Free French’, ‘phantom’, internally split governments-in-exile joined only on the eve of liberation, and only by agreement with the home resistance.138 This claim implies the limits of external recognition, preconditioning agency in the international arena, as a source of domestic legitimacy. Yet, singling out one exile representation without justification hardly accounts for the diversity and the performances of the London-based governments-in-exile. A reitera- tion of criticisms once widespread with the pro-Axis activists implies that they succeeded quite in othering competitors. Speaking for their occupied nations, Second World War governments-in-exile were propagating them as peaceful, democratic, liberal, and truly European, in demise of a Nazi-propelled ‘Neuropa’ project.139 While the concept of ‘collective identity’ can be criticised as merely being imposed on constituents by governments140, I posit that identity is embedded in and around a govern- ment-in-exile, a small group of people bound together by culture and cause. A sense of identity is crucial for the coherence of exile communities, of which governments are political pinnacles, not the least because it provides the basis of the much-needed coping mechanisms. With the exile condition putting mani- fest emotional strain on those living it, it was critical to armour this experience 137 O. Podolec, ’IN ABSENTIO (Súdne procesy s predstaviteľmi politickej emigrácie v rokoch 1939–1945)’ [‘IN ABSENTIO: Slovak Exiles on Trial, 1939–45’] in Slovensko a svet v 20. storočí. Kapitoly k 70. narodeninám PhDr. Valeriána Bystrického, DrSc. [Slovakia and the World in the 20th Century: Essays Presented to PhDr. Valerián Bystrický DrSc on the Occasion of His Seventieth Birthday], ed. B. Ferenčuhová (Bratislava, 2006), 147–62; N. Dalaker Steenberg, ‘Det her er noe som ikke stemmer’. Granskningskommisjonen av 1943 (MA Diss., Oslo 2017). See also Küpper, ‘Führer des nationalen Widerstandes’, 109–25. 138 M. Conway et al., The War on Legitimacy in Politics and Culture, 1936–1946 (Oxford, New York, 2008), 95. 139 Mazower, ‘Hitler’s New Order, 1939–1945’, Diplomacy & Statecraft 7 (1996), 23–53. 140 R.N. Lebow, National Identities and International Relations (Cambridge, 2016), esp. 7, 47. For the wider debate, see F. Berenskoetter, ‘Identity in International Relations’ in The International Studies Encyclopedia, ed. R.A. Danemark, 12 vols (Malden, 2010), vi. 3595–611; W. Bloom, Personal Identity, National Identity and International Relations (Cambridge, 1990), 79–85; V.M. Hudson, B.S. Day, Foreign Policy Analysis: Classic and Contemporary Theory (Lanham, 32020), 131–41; D.W. Larson, ‘How Identities Form and Change: Supplementing Constructivism with Social Psychology’ in Psychology and Constructivism in International Relations: An Ideational Alliance, eds. V.W. Shannon, P.A. Kowert (Ann Arbour, 2012), 57–75. displacement, representation, and relationships with meaning. To this end, history was activated and instrumentalised. The Norwegians, historian Svein Ivar Angell shows, set out to narrate Free Norway through the story of how “the country’s inherited traditions became a source of [the 19th Century] national revival, political democratisation, and national independence.”141 In this way, they underscored their demise of the pending authoritarian reconfiguration of Norway’s society and culture in the Germano- sphere as something genuinely imported. The Central Europeans would refer to their precursors in suffering, protesting foreign rule. The plights from the past echoed in the present—17th Century Czech and Slovak Protestants chose 33 exile to live in harmony with their creed and conscience; the ‘Great Emigra- tion’ in the aftermath of the ‘November Insurrection’ (1830–1) did so in order to sustain the dream of a once and again sovereign Poland.142 Moreover, the legacy of the successful First World War exile activists was at hand. They had managed to solicit recognition as Entente belligerents and representatives of the emancipating nations and nation-states yet to emerge.143 Some of these activists operated in Second World War London, like Czechoslovakia’s Edvard Beneš and Poland’s August Zaleski, foreign minister, 1939–41. Facing an ontological emergency, the exiles incorporated such references into their states’ biographical narratives.144 Coalesced around conflicts that had ejected them from home, they lived as ‘Odyssean’ beings—bound to return and be restored, together with their states and political preferences. References to the homecoming as an act of justice reverting endured wrongdoings145 would cement the collective ethos with romantic, heroic, and even eschatological self-perceptions. 3.5 RELATIONSHIPS IN EXILE: RECOGNITION AND STATUS Inter-Allied relations in Second World War London were cultivated in an am- biguous environment featuring both rivalry and amity. Governments-in-exile were cooperating at war, in the quest for security. At the same time, they were accumulating trade-offs vis-à-vis each other, seeking status to enhance chances to safeguard their vital interests. Attributed rather than engineered, status rests on a government’s ability to establish a collective belief among other governments, its ‘peers’ in the inter- 141 S.I. Angell, ‘Imaging Norway by Using the Past’, Scandinavian Journal of History 47 (2022), 671. 142 P. Dabrowski, Poland: The First Thousand Years (DeKalb, 2014), 319–22; E. Winter, Die tschechische und slowakische Emigration in Deutschland im 17. und 18. Jahrhundert. Beiträge zur Geschichte der hussitischen Tradition (Berlin, 1955); R.P. Żurawski vel Grajewski‚ ‘Polskie emigracje, 1831–1918’ [‘Polish Emigrations, 1831–1918’] in Historie Polski XIX wieku [His- tories of Poland in the 19th Century], ed. A. Nowak, 4 vols (Warsaw, 2013–15), ii. 117–229. 143 H. Lauterpacht, Recognition in International Law (Cambridge, 1947), 163–4, 381; Talmon, Recognition, 25–6, 77–9. 144 B.J. Steele, Ontological Security in International Relations: Self-Identity and the IR State (London, New York, 2008), 2–10, 71–3. 145 Cf. M.L. Hauner, ‘Edvard Beneš´ Undoing of Munich: A Message to a Czechoslovak Politician in Prague’, Journal of Contemporary History 38 (2003), 563–77, esp. 563–4. displacement, representation, and relationships national society, that it possesses attractive capabilities to further its own or shared interests. It is often, at least in part, based on reputation, a result of its partners’ previous experience with the representatives and policies of the state in question. Status is positional. It orders states hierarchically, more often in groups than in ranking or, as political scientist Jonathan Renshon points out, in ranking within a group where such ordering makes a meaningful reference, a ‘status community’—with a focus on a chosen variable or an aggregate of several. In terms of policy-making, it may either signal the potential of ongoing and 34 future cooperation or deter from estrangement. By extension, it can produce influence and authority, making it a sought-after asset.146 Subjective—and, thus, political scientist Jonathan Mercer argues, illusory—as they are, status perceptions by foreign observers need not be congruent with a national elite’s self-perceptions, especially when it is prone to use prestige, i.e., public recog- nition of importance, as currency.147 Once foreign policy-makers establish that such a dissonance exists, they may consider measures that, in their view, would reduce or, ideally, eliminate it. In other words, state representatives are likely to wish to alter their partners’ beliefs to achieve what International Relations scholarship denotes as ‘thick’ recognition—an acknowledgement of respect for attributes and qualities that they understand as central when conceptualising their state identity themselves (as contrasted by ‘thin’ recognition of presence as an autonomous entity).148 Low status brands a state as ‘incapable’ and restricts its policy choices. Thus, political scientists Iver B. Neuman and Benjamin de Carvalho view status as the “key driver in the policies of the small states in the everyday life of international society.”149 Given their exposed, much-dependent situation and their resources and capabilities being quantitatively clearly inferior to those of the Allied great powers, the London-based exiles constituted a ‘status community’—or, as a 146 M.G. Duque, ‘Recognizing International Status: A Relational Approach’, International Studies Quarterly 62 (2018), 578; D.W. Larson, T. V. Paul, W.C. Wohlforth, ‘Status and World Order’ in Status in World Politics, eds. T.V. Paul, D.W. Larson, W.C. Wohlforth (Cambridge, 2014), 7–19; J. Mercer, ‘The Illusion of International Prestige’, International Security 41 (2017), 133–68; J. Renshon, Fighting for Status: Hierarchy and Conflict in World Politics (Princeton, 2017), 3–5, 22, 33–9, 43, 47. 147 Duque, ‘Recognizing International Status’, 581; A. Faizullaev, ‘Diplomacy and Self ’, Diplomacy & Statecraft 17 (2006), 499; Mercer, ‘Illusion of International Prestige’, 134–45; S. Wood, ‘Prestige in World Politics: History, Theory, Expression’, International Politics 50 (2013), 387–411. 148 P. Allan, A. Keller, ‘Is a Just Peace Possible without Thin and Thick Recognition’ in The International Politics of Recognition, eds. T. Lindemann, E. Ringmar (Boulder, 2012), 76–8; Wendt, ‘Why a World State Is Inevitable’, European Journal of International Relations (2003), 511–2. 149 I.B. Neumann, B. de Carvalho, ‘Small States and Status’ in Small States Status Seeking: Norway’s Quest for International Standing, eds. B. de Carvalho, I.B. Neumann (London, 2015), 1–2. For a telling example of how size need not confer status, see the case of inter-war China as ‘once and a future great power’, e.g. A.A. Kaufman, ‘In Pursuit of Equality and Respect: China’s Diplomacy and the League of Nations’, Modern China 40 (2014), 607, 612–5, 621–6. See also Renshon, Fighting for Status, 24. displacement, representation, and relationships contemporary observer put it, “a league of their own.”150 For them, status had severe psychological and domestic implications. A record of prowess in the in- ternational arena, it entailed a welcome dose of social esteem, or respect, which, in turn, consolidated self-esteem and self-mobilization to combat trauma and insecurity.151 The exiles’ ideational coherence was expected to appeal to those compatriots back home who did not identify themselves with the occupiers and their helpers.152 Internal squabbles, in turn, threatened to erode their credibility in dealings with partners, above all, with the great powers and in the eyes of the public opinion. They were, therefore, to be avoided as an unnecessary ‘specta- 35 cle’.153 For example, in April 1943, a British observer warned the Norwegian government that “the general status” of the governments-in-exile “might be called in question rather more seriously than hitherto in both British and American quarters.” The Polish–Soviet rift in the aftermath of the German discovery of the mass graves in the Katyń Forest brought the governments-in-exile under the spotlight and, so the anonymous author of the memo, the public opinion was being “left with the impression that the ‘exiled’ Allied governments [were] in general [original emphasis] internally divided, insecure in status, and out of touch with opinion in their home countries.” Yet there was some good news: while the Norwegian government would not be exempted from this coming probing of status, it arguably was in an exceptionally advantageous position, equipped with a set of persuasive arguments in its favour.154 Mastering similar challenges can be understood as a precondition of a suc- cessful diplomatic representation, for it is “a process where the comparatively small selves mediate between the ‘larger selves’ of states”, as Uzbek scholar Alisher Faizullaev points out.155 Thus, operationalising their representative claims, some exile policy-makers were overly status-concerned.156 Based on recognition, status emerges from relationships.157 It can be accrued or lost over time, depending on the dynamics that relationships experience at a given juncture and transmit more broadly in an international society. Under international relationship, I understand the complex of reciprocal recognition—in its legal, but also in its social sense—and communication that 150 H.R. Madol, The League of London: A Book of Interviews with Allied Sovereigns and Statesmen (London, 1942), 6. 151 Duque, ‘Recognizing International Status’, 581; Larson, Paul, Wohlforth, ‘Status and World Order’, 19; Renshon, Fighting for Status, 48; R. Wolf, ‘Respect and Disrespect in International Politics: The Significance of Status Recognition’, International Theory 3 (2011), 105–42. 152 D. Joly, ‘Odyssean and Rubicon Refugees: Toward a Typology of Refugees in the Land of Exile’, International Migration 40 (2002), 3–23, esp. 9–15; Shain, Frontiers, 14, 23; P. Tabori, Anatomy of Exile: A Semantic and Historical Study (London, 1972), 25–38. 153 See, for example, Zaleski to Sikorski, 31 Jul. 1941, PDD 1941, #213, 471. 154 Anon., ‘Status of Allied Governments in Great Britain’, 27 Apr. 1943, AAB, Nygaardsvold papers, Box 13. For the Katyń massacre of 14,500 Polish prisoners-of-war, see G. Sanford, Katyn and the Soviet Massacre of 1940. Truth, Justice and Memory (London, 2005). 155 Faizullaev, ‘Diplomacy and Self ’, 513. Cf. Wood, ‘Prestige in World Politics’, 391. 156 Renshon, Fighting for Status, 61. 157 Duque, ‘Recognizing International Status’, 589. displacement, representation, and relationships generates platforms for and is actualised through interactions. These actualis- ations are diverse performative acts conducted primarily by state representatives. In Second World War London, those would be government-in-exile members and affiliates on the part of the European exiles, officials, and political class members on that of their British host. At the same time, the representatives of more distant partners—Soviet, American, or neutral—would interfere oc- casionally. The intensity with which a relationship is operationalised depends on an array of circumstances, for example, on the presence or absence of value 36 proximity, shared culture and interests, strategic and economic incentives, or interpersonal compatibility of those in charge of external representation. Thus, an international relationship is a perpetual negotiation about long-term or mo- mentaneous concords and divides affecting both or multiple parties’ interests as members of international society and their mutual exchanges. It is also a platform where a state’s agency is expressed. Owing to the networked nature of international relations158, a state establishes and cultivates a multitude of relationships with other states and international organizations simultaneously.159 Some are essential—for example, those with the great powers and neighbours— others optional, or at least not automatic and more dependent on socialization, such as small powers relationships in Second World War London (cf. Article 2, ‘Together and Alone’, 469–70). To pursue its interests, a government must navigate a network of heterogeneous relationships. In other words, it needs to manage international relationships. Due to diplomacy’s polysemic nature, it is difficult to define it neatly. Yet, most specimens reference the conduct of relations between sovereign states and the processes and skills by which this conduct is sustained.160 Therefore, diplomacy can be understood as an institution and a repertoire of practices empowering that institution. At its core lies the management of, primarily, inter-state relationships, which makes diplomacy indispensable in government operations. 158 See Z. Maoz, Networks of Nations: The Evolution, Structure, and Impact of International Net- works, 1816–2001 (Cambridge, 2009), esp. ch. 3. For studies operationalizing diplomatic representation networks, see Duque, ‘Recognizing International Status’, 582–9; Renshon, Fighting for Status, ch. 4. 159 M. Herren, Internationale Organizationen seit 1865. Eine Globalgeschichte der Internationalen Ordnung (Darmstadt, 2009). Religious corporations, such as the Catholic Church, may also be included as transnational; R. Frank, ‘Religion(s): Enjeux internationaux et diplomatie religieuse’ in R. Frank et al., Pour l´histoire des relations internationales (Paris, 2012), 407–35. 160 ‘diplomacy’ in G.A. Berridge, L. Lloyd, A. James, The Palgrave Macmillan Dictionary of Diplo- macy (Basingstoke, 2012), 97–8; ‘diplomacy’ in Oxford English Dictionary, 10 vols (London, 1888–1928), iv. 696; ‘diplomatie’ in Grand Larousse de la Langue française en sept volumes, eds. L. Guilert, R. Lagane, G. Niobey (Paris, 1989), ii. 1306; ‘Diplomatie, die’ in Digitales Wörter- buch der deutschen Sprache, https://www.dwds.de/wb/Diplomatie (1 Feb. 2024); C. Jönsson, M. Hall, Essence of Diplomacy (Basingstoke, 2005), 25; H. Nicolson, Diplomacy (London, 1939), 13–4; E. Satow, A Guide to Diplomatic Practice (London, New York, Toronto, 31932 [1917]), §1; P. Sharp, Diplomatic Theory of International Relations (Cambridge, 2009), 13; A. Watson, Diplomacy: The Dialogue between States (London, 1983), 13. displacement, representation, and relationships As the seat of nine sovereign governments, i.e., of His Britannic Majesty’s Government and the eight European governments-in-exile—to which at least some of the so-called ‘free movements’, such as the Free French could be appended—Second World War London became a diplomatic node. The concentration of state representatives and the complex agenda on the table inspired some innovative elasticity and expansion of the diplomatic field. For example, mid-ranked civil servants, unlikely to meet foreign parties at home, became part of the scenery. So did many activists in semi-official capacities or in the emerging public diplomacy, the purpose of which it was, in order to 37 promote the respective country and its exiled elite’s views on foreign affairs, to approach, and to converse with a much broader pale of the Allied and the neutral societies than it would have customarily been considered beneficial. Consequently, socialization for representation has become more multifaceted than ever (see Article 2, ‘Together and Alone’ 467, 468 & Article 3, ‘Norwegian Internationalism’). Thus, in the Norwegian case, a turn towards techniques conceptualised as the so-called soft power was inaugurated, in part precon- ditioned by the comparative scarcity of more tangible resources (cf. Article 3, ‘Norwegian Internationalism’, 290) but also—and more so—because the necessity to operate within a greatly expanding diplomatic field catered for a fuller appreciation of the meaning of attraction in terms of culture and ideas for international relationships. 4. ON SOURCES AND METHOD The structure of the present study, comprising this introduction and three re- search articles, reflects on the choice of the source base and approach in each of these two parts. There is some common ground, however. The 1930s and 1940s are probably two of the most researched decades in modern history, and the volume and diversity of accessible scholarship and published historical sources require thorough contextualisation of sources newly discovered or probed from 38 a different angle. To paraphrase the oft-cited Renaissance poet John Donne, no document “is an island, entire of itself.”161 The remaining part of this synthesis (ch. 5) is a narrative history of Norway’s, Czechoslovakia’s, and Poland’s record in inter-war international society. A comparative analysis of three hitherto uncorrelated small power international actors has merits in its own right. Yet, its primary objective is to introduce diverse foreign policy outlooks among Second World War exiles through their genealogies, in a manner accessible to multiple, not necessarily interconnected expert communities—historians of modern Nordic countries and Central Eu- rope, historians of the Second World War, historians of diplomacy and inter- national relations. Considering the methodological framework, it differs from the articles that follow. It is based mainly on the perusal of a broad portfolio of research literature, biographies, and published sources, such as memoirs, diaries, or ‘official’ collections of diplomatic documents, such as Dokumenty českoslo- venské zahraniční politiky (Documents on Czechoslovak Foreign Policy, DČZP) or Polskie Dokumenty Dyplomatyczne (Polish Diplomatic Documents, PDD), that have originated at, or in cooperation with, the respective foreign ministries (and to which there is no Norwegian equivalent).162 Unpublished sources from Norwegian, Czech, and British diplomatic archives were occasionally utilised to elucidate subjects yet cursively or not at all addressed by historians, such as Norwegian–Czechoslovak contacts or Norwegian reflections on exile following Poland’s military debacle.163 Attention is paid to the geopolitical and material preconditions of a given state’s foreign policy and to the personalities responsible for state representation. Published in outlets aiming primarily at international readership, research articles in this study convey a certain amount of background information (esp. Article 1, ‘Reading the Signs’ & Article 2, ‘Together and Alone’) based on the perusal of academic literature. Still, they revolve around interrogation of unpublished primary sources. 161 J. Donne, ‘Meditatio XVII’ in Donne’s Devotions (Oxford, 1841), 195. 162 The purpose of Kilder til moderne historie 1. Norsk utenrikspolitikk, eds. K.E. Eriksen, G. Lundestad (Oslo, Bergen, Tromsø, 1972) was purely educational, not scholarly. 163 Chapter 3, which laid out this study’s theoretical framework, presents situations and messages illustrating how the discussed concepts functioned in the diplomatic environment under scru- tiny. The source base of Chapter 3 was comparable to that of Chapter 5: research literature, published sources (official and correspondence, minutes, diaries, memoirs, journalism, and debate), and occasionally unpublished British memoranda. sources and method Article 1, ‘Reading the Sings’, originated in a discovery in the Norwegian Foreign Ministry files, deposited at the National Archives, Oslo, of a dossier detailing the processing of the 1939 recognition application from Slovakia. By contrast, no corresponding records were found in the Slovak Foreign Ministry files deposited at the Slovak National Archives, Bratislava. The reconstruction of the case, including the identification of junctures where its dynamic changed, was simple. With the casework (saksbehandling) serving as a critical filing unit, the bulk of relevant correspondence has been assembled in a few designated dossiers. The Norwegian Foreign Ministry files 39 also provided insights into closely related contemporary matters (private peace feelers, discussions at the Nordic foreign ministers’ conferences, wartime internal investigation of the effects of the Slovak application), mediating the volatile, from the information point of view insecure, complex climate in which the affair was unfolding. Its echoes, preserved in the Edvard Beneš papers, depos- ited at the Masaryk Institute and the Archives of the Academy of Sciences of the Czech Republic, Prague164, include memoranda of conversations between Foreign Minister Halvdan Koht and the Czechoslovak exile representatives in London. The extant documentary record is incomplete, however. After the war, Norway’s experience with neutrality and the prehistory of the German invasion were subjects of public interest. Thus, some details and contexts of the scrutinised case can be found in memoirs and scholarly literature. The Second World War saw multiple state formations—and multiple recognition applications. Thus, it was possible to set that Slovak on a comparative foot- ing. Yet, at its core, this granular study pinpoints recognition as a not always easy-to-establish base for reciprocity. Article 2, ‘Together and Alone’, focuses on Norway’s perceptions of its two Central European partners in Second World War London and on how Norwe- gian policy-makers interacted with their Czechoslovak and Polish colleagues. This central tenet underscores the meaning of recognition for constructing an international, intergovernmental relationship. Moreover, it demonstrates how such a relationship was operationalised to generate and further agency and status in a multilateral environment. Article 2, ‘Together and Alone’, proceeds from the general to the particular. Familiarity with the modern histories of Norway, Czechoslovakia, and Poland cannot be expected among international historians—even less so regarding the London-based governments-in-exile. Therefore, the study situates these governments in Second World War history, British and international alike, as a group of actors particularly inviting investigations that would venture behind 164 This collection contains copies of both diplomatic reporting and confidential correspondence addressed directly to Beneš. Regarding the government’s bilateral relations, these records appear to be more complete than their pendant in the ‘Confidential’ section (i.e., subject to a stricter circulation protocol) of the so-called London Archive of the Foreign Ministry, deposited in the Archives of the Foreign Ministry of the Czech Republic, Prague. One may assume that senior members of the Czechoslovak exile administration, including diplomats, sometimes ignored formal routines and communicated with Beneš through his chancery. sources and method “a single-national diplomatic perspective … without an explicit conception of international politics”.165 In this sense, it converses with ‘The London Moment’ project, with the German historian Julia Eichenberg as the Principal Investi- gator, underscoring the role of international law as a resource of legitimacy and agency in exile.166 Elements of the conceptual framework discussed in the previous chapter (ch. 3) were briefly introduced and illustrated in the contex- tual sections of this article. Naturally, it is not a wholesale, narrative account of the Norwegian government’s-in-exile interactions with its Czechoslovak 40 and Polish counterparts. Focus was laid on episodes manifesting, from the Norwegian perspective, different experiences—regarding the formulation of the foreign policy guiding principles against the backdrop of the debates on post-war security architecture, status competition (in light of Polish primus inter pares ambitions among governments-in-exile), contrasting relationships with the Soviet Union as a rising Continental power—that informed unalike dynamics in the Norwegian–Czechoslovak and Norwegian–Polish relations and that, at the same time, produced foreign policy-making knowledge that the Norwegian policy-makers found useful. In sum, this article demonstrates the Norwegian style of navigating international relationships in wartime exile. It included scrutiny of their partners’ foreign policy styles that established a particular preference for one—i.e., Czechoslovak and not Polish, in this case—as a template to be tailored to the Norwegian policy-makers’ priorities. Article 2, ‘Together and Alone’, utilises a broad repertoire of scholarly literature to situate and contextualise scrutinised actors and processes, some of which may be reasonably known in the Norwegian, Czech, Slovak, Polish, and even British expert communities (cf. ch. 2) but have never been studied as interconnected. Norwegian, Czechoslovak, and, if in marginal measure, Polish diplomatic documents167—mostly memoranda of conversations, which abounded in Second World War London—were interrogated as sources on small power relationships. Pertinent observations were found in the private papers and diaries of two close collaborators of Norway’s Foreign Minister 165 J.A. Maiolo, ‘Systems and Boundaries in International History’, International History Review 40 (2018), 577. 166 ‘The London Moment: About’, https://exilegov.hypotheses.org/about (9 Feb. 2024). I had the privilege to discuss her project with Dr Eichenberg at a working seminar held at the Centre of Modern European Studies, Copenhagen University, on 9 February 2023. I thank the Europe & International Cooperation in the 20th Century research group for the kind invitation. 167 None of the principal repositories of the Polish government’s-in-exile documentary record (Polish Institute & Sikorski Museum, London; Hoover Institution on War, Revolution & Peace, Stanford) preserves anything other than scanty collections addressing the Polish– Norwegian exile relationship. See, for example, HIA, MSZ, Box 6, Folder 3, https://www. szukajwarchiwach.gov.pl/jednostka/-/jednostka/2111492 (10 Feb. 2024). Unfortunately, I have not had the opportunity to consult papers of Władysław Neuman, Poland’s minister to Norway, 1930–43, deposited at the Polish Institute of Arts & Sciences in America, New York. On Neuman, see T.W. Lange, ‘Ekstraordinær sendemann. Władysław Neuman, Polens sendemann i Norge 1931–1942’, Folia Scandinavica Posnaniensia 8 (2004), 129–36; ‘Neuman Władysław’ in USZ, i. 284–6 sources and method Trygve Lie—Arne Ording and Jacob Stenersen Worm-Müller—deposited at the Manuscript Division of the National Library, Oslo.168 Since Article 2, ‘Together and Alone’, is no narrative history of Norway’s wartime relationships with Czechoslovakia and Poland in exile, the variance of density and content of pertinent Norwegian sources over time did not create a particular challenge. The number of extant documents that the respective foreign ministries and the diplomatic representatives they accredited to other governments-in-exile have produced varies from case to case but, overall, is limited. There are multiple practical explanations. Exile, foreign relations ad- 41 ministrations, were small and understaffed—for example, Norway’s diplomatic representatives to Czechoslovakia, Olav Tostrup and Ingvald Smith-Kielland, continued to work at their incumbent Foreign Ministry (Service) posts simulta- neously.169 Even the United States Legation, later Embassy to the London-based governments-in-exile was no exception in this regard—a wartime expediency in the strictest sense, it had no military attaché, and its chief, Anthony J. Drexel Biddle Jr., had to rely on occasional help from the attaché serving with the United States Embassy to Britain.170 Moreover, while the diplomatic field has expanded (ch. 3.5), it also became spatially concentrated around, in historian Martin Conway’s words, “certain squares in Central London.”171 This meant that physical distances, separating foreign ministries under normal circum- stances, evaporated in practice, and—frequenting and socialising with each other—policymakers could converse directly. Thus, the demand for diplomatic reporting had diminished. Finally, the climate in Second World War London was cacophonic (cf. Article 3, ‘Norwegian Internationalism’, 289), and a certain amount of information circulated as a ‘word of mouth’. Czechoslovak diplomatic representative to the Norwegian government-in-ex- ile, Ladislav Szathmáry, must be mentioned as an avid rapporteur. Two cir- cumstances might have been responsible for his performance. For Szathmáry, a junior diplomat between the wars, this appointment meant an unexpected career peak. In May 1939, he joined Slovakia’s Foreign Service, allegedly inspired by a French colleague, Maurice Dejean (future ‘foreign minister’ of the Free 168 K.E. Eriksen, ‘Arne Ording’ in NBL2, vii. 170–1; A. Kirkhusmo, ‘Jacob S. Worm-Müller’, ibid., x. 58–9. 169 Smith-Kielland, Counsellor at the Norwegian Legation in London (1938–41), served with the Czechoslovak exiles twice—as a chargé d´affaires (1940–1) and as a minister (1944–8). He did not mention the first period in his brief memoirs. Neither did Foreign Ministry head archivist Reidar Omang; I. Smith-Kielland, ‘Glimt fra mitt arbeid som diplomat’, Norsk militært tidsskrift 146 (1976), 313; R. Omang, ‘Smith-Kielland, Ingvald’ in NBL1, xiv. 88–90. See also Šejnoha to Nosek, 15 Oct. 1940, AMZV, LA, č.j. 243/dův/40, Box 99–10. 170 The United States and the Soviet Union operated diplomatic missions that covered the gov- ernments-in-exile collectively. Biddle’s request for assistance implies that he considered their military affairs worthy of a career officer’s attention. Before his London mission, Biddle had served as the United States minister to Norway (1935–7) and Poland (1937–41); The London Obsever: The Journal of General Raymond E. Lee, 1940–1941, ed. J. Leutze (London, 1971), 262–3 (1 May 1941). See also T. Russell, ‘Biddle, Anthony Joseph Drexel’ in ANB, ii. 727–8. 171 M. Conway, ‘Introduction’ in Europe in Exile: European Exile Communities in Britain, 1940–45, eds. M. Conway, J. Gotovitch (New York, 2001), 3. sources and method French)172, to be appointed minister to Poland. When the Second World War broke out in September, Szathmáry publicly decried Slovak participation on Germany’s side. This intermezzo compromised Szathmáry among the fellow exiles, but the scarcity of diplomatic personnel played into his hands. Since October 1940, he came to serve as Czechoslovakia’s chargé d´affaires and, since March 1941, minister to Norway. Rapid promotion despite contestable credentials was likely to induce him to seek validation by performance. The first ever Czechoslovak resident diplomatic representative to Norway (cf. ch. 42 5.4), Szathmáry produced and transmitted knowledge on the country of his appointment to largely uninitiated colleagues.173 Yet, his reporting must be read with caution. Possibly driven by the desire to prove himself, he was not shy of deceit. One such situation is discussed in Article 1, ‘Reading the Signs’ (477). Another case occurred in October 1943, when Szathmáry attempted to halt the publication of a piece by a former Czechoslovak senior diplomat and an opponent of Edvard Beneš, Štefan Osuský174, in the Norwegian ‘high-brow’ international review, The Norseman (cf. Article 2, ‘Together and Alone’, 476). Szathmáry’s triumphalist report of his intervention reads in contrast to the diary notes of the other participant, Worm-Müller, the journal’s editor-in-chief. The unalike type of sources put aside—a bureaucratic document designated for superiors, a diary—the fact that the contested article appeared in print lends the Worm-Müller version credibility.175 Article 3, ‘Norwegian Internationalism’, is a ‘blueprint’ study, an attempt to mobilise an overlooked source material—press publicity for an international audience—for two interconnected purposes. One is to advance a better, com- plex understanding of the media environment in which the Second World War governments-in-exile operated. To this end, the Norwegian experience was contrasted to that of the Czechoslovak and Polish exiles. A combination of memoirs, diaries, and printed sources of bureaucratic provenience offered insights into the evolution of the Allied media landscape in London. Further- more, the article examined the Norwegian government’s-in-exile communication with its foreign partners, including other London-based governments and the 172 S. Davieau-Pousset, ‘Maurice Dejean, diplomate atypique’, Relations Internationales 162 (2015), 79–94, esp. 80–2. 173 D. Segeš, ‘Ladislav Szathmáry. Vyslanec, ktorý sa nebál povedať ‘nie’’ [‘Ladislav Szathmáry, A Minister Not Afraid of Saying ‘No’’] in S. Michálek et al., Muži diplomacie. Slováci na vysokých postoch československej zahraničnej služby [Men of Diplomacy: High-Ranking Slovaks in Czechoslovak Foreign Service] (Liptovský Mikuláš, 2018), 285–316. 174 J. Kuklík, J. Němeček, Proti Benešovi! Česká a slovenská protibenešovská opozice v Londýně 1939–1945 [Against Beneš! Czech and Slovak Anti-Beneš Opposition in London, 1939–45] (Prague, 2004), 110–29, 297–300; S. Michálek, Diplomat Štefan Osuský, 1889–1973 (Bratislava, 1999), 118–78. 175 Szathmáry to Ripka, 11 Nov. 1943, č.j. 8258/dův/43 & 16 Nov. 1943, č.j. 8263/dův/43 & 23 Nov. 1943, č.j. 8544/dův/43, AMZV, LA-D, Box 92; Worm-Müller, ‘Dagbøker’, NB, Ms. fol. 2653, viii. 52–3 (22–23 Nov. 1943); S. Osusky, ‘Double Standard of Morality’, The Norseman 2 (1944), 19–28 sources and method expanding Anglophone public opinion.176 Its basic premise is that—in a multi- lateral, information-rich setting—actors were competing for attention to solicit social capital and, potentially, tangible assets that would aid the liberation and reconstruction of their occupied countries. A chronological survey of diverse publications revealed how the Norwegian government was adapting to the unprecedented situation and how Norwegian press outputs—and, especially, outlets such as The Norseman review—changed from acts of representation to channels of diplomatic signalling. Thus, they would bring messages that the government wished to transmit concerning Norwegian identity—to be restored 43 after the war together with the government—its pending plight and post-war visions of the domestic and international spheres. Besides, they conveyed the changing nature of Norwegian internationalism that acquired, in the Interna- tional Relations theory vocabulary, a distinctively ‘realist’ nature. The analysis of the contributors’ cohort of The Norseman, addressed in the article selectively, was construed as an experiment in mapping the social context of the review and of the Norwegian government-in-exile. As a whole, the presented study is based on a close, contextualised reading of a broad variety of sources pertinent to the Norwegian government’s-in-exile relationships with its Czechoslovak and Polish equivalents—official, bureaucratic and private, published and unpublished, originating with the exile political representations under scrutiny as well as with their primarily London-based foreign partners. Given its structure, this study offers no exhaustive, narrative account of these relationships; rather, it underscores their value as foreign policy-making assets, in the first place for the Norwegian practitioners whose experience with foreign policy-making was mostly limited. Even those few among them who had engaged with foreign affairs between the wars, such as Jacob Stenersen Worm-Müller or Arnold Ræstad (foreign minister, 1921–2)177, had done so in circumstances that—given Norway’s somewhat detached in- ternational profile (cf. ch. 5.1.1, 5.3.1)—differed significantly from those in wartime exile, let alone in the post-war world where multiple ‘Londoners’, not the least Foreign Minister Trygve Lie, were bound to continue their inter- national careers. Consequently, tracing the evolution of the management of Norway’s international relationships—from the inter-war international society to the advent of the bipolar international order—highlighted the importance of the Second World War London as the ‘laboratory’ where the most substantial changes have originated. 176 As it was observed already in 1940: “There is now also a Penguin-reading public—a large and important class that has rather suddenly come to maturity”, which implied interest in and some comprehension of foreign affairs; Toynbee, ‘Research Topics: In What Form Should They Be Produced?’, 22 Apr. 1940, LSE, Webster papers 8/5, 6. 177 H.F. Dahl, ‘Arnold Christopher Ræstad’ in NBL2, vii. 470–1; M. Fahlén, Sädeskorn for freden. En bok om Arnold Ræstad ([Kungsälv], 2023). 5. SMALL AND SOVEREIGN IN INTER-WAR INTERNATIONAL SOCIETY Second World War governments-in-exile assembled in London had a common agenda: To fight with all resources at hand to restore their states and legitimate forms of government. Autopsy of inter-war international society affected how they saw themselves and each other and how they were able to construct and manage relationships. The exiles would use their lifetime, the First World War 44 and the following efforts in building a safer world, as a key to interpreting current events. In Second World War London, retrospection played a complex role: Not only were recent traumas being processed through communication, sharing rear-view mirror perspectives helped exile policy-makers cross-fertilise their expertise when pondering paths to victory and sustainable peace. Addressing the international audience on the pages of The Norseman review (cf. Article 3, ‘Norwegian Internationalism’, 294–5), Norway’s top diplomat, Ambassador Erik Colban, demonstrated this expressly: I cannot tell whether the time has now come when a new attempt to achieve the ideal, which inspired the Covenant of the League of Nations, may promise to give better results than the previous one. But if, as I firmly believe, the ideal is good in itself, it is also worth working for. … We must try again what we tried in 1919.178 Czechoslovak, Norwegian, and Polish inter-war experiences articulate diversity. So do the personalities assembled in Second World War London. The versed diplomat Edvard Beneš was leading a movement protesting German aggression that dismembered and erased Czechoslovakia. King Haakon VII of Norway was representing a country that had invited him to the throne, restored after many centuries. A guest to British relatives, he was assisted by a Labour-led ministry that had shown only limited interest in world affairs. The ‘long’ First World War had made Poland’s Władysław Sikorski a general; the Second World War saw him holding the reins of the civilian and the military power and navigating the nave of the state through scarcity and discord. But the following account of Czechoslovakia, Norway, and Poland as actors in inter-war international relations goes beyond Allied diversity or the leaders’ leanings. It facilitates insights into how the exiles’ foreign policy outlooks evolved, whether they were prompting or discouraging interaction. A retrospective also illustrates and explains Norway’s poor relations with Central Europe before the wartime meeting in London. 5.1 THE NEW EUROPE Losing the First World War, the Austro-Hungarian, the German, the Russian, and the Ottoman empires disintegrated, in part or altogether. Even Britain, a victorious power, had to acquiesce the birth of the Irish Free State. Nationalism 178 E. Colban, ‘Why the League of Nations Failed–How to Start Again’, The Norseman 1 (1943), 255. small and sovereign was the driving force, the right for self-determination its slogan, and President Woodrow Wilson its champion, expecting self-determination to ignite a tele- ological advent of democracy. The Bolsheviks advertised self-determination, too, on the road towards a universalist utopia. A host of new states emerged, including Czechoslovakia and Poland.179 Norway had appeared on the map as a sovereign state less than a generation earlier. Still, Czechoslovak, Norwegian, and Polish elites saw their states as re-born—or, in one historian’s term, as ‘in- carnations’ of past polities—the Kingdoms of Bohemia (1620–27/1836) and Norway (1380/1537), and the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth, known as 45 Rzeczpospolita (1795).180 The last case for continuity was articulate: one would refer to inter-war Poland as II Rzeczpospolita or Polska Odrodzona (Polonia restituta). Domestically potent, such figurative shortcuts were of little use in the international arena. 5.1.1 Newcomers to the Game The Norwegians had a certain experience with being in charge of their affairs. The Napoleonic Wars emancipated them from Denmark to end up in an asym- metrical union with Sweden. Norway was to enjoy self-rule, which, towards the end of the 19th century, included parliamentary democracy as the form of government. Some prerogatives had to be ceded to a Swedish monarch, though. Significantly, foreign policymaking was denied. This exclusion eventually accel- erated the drive for sovereignty. When it was reclaimed in 1905, few diplomats of Norwegian descent were ready to help start the new ministry. Personnel with adequate experience was scarce.181 Embedded in empires for centuries, modern histories of the Poles, the Czechs, and the Slovaks saw nothing in kind. Elites providing representation came from respective dominant nations—rare exceptions in high Austro-Hungarian politics did not generally open the foreign service for the Slavs.182 During the First World War, lobbying in elite circles assisted Czechoslovakia’s and Poland’s birth. In Second World War London, leaders like Czechoslovakia’s President Edvard Beneš or August Zaleski, Poland’s foreign minister, 1939–41, who had partaken in these operations, recognised the impact of public opinion on international affairs, and the necessity to win it over (cf. Article 3, ‘Norwegian 179 B. Chernev, ‘The Brest Litovsk Moment: Self-Determination Discourse in Eastern Europe before Wilsonianism’, Diplomacy & Statecraft 22 (2011), 367–89; A. Lynch, ‘Woodraw Wilson and the Principle of ‘National Self-Determination’: A Reconsideration’, Review of International Studies 28 (2002), 419–36; A. Roshwald, Ethnic Nationalism and the Fall of Empires: Central Europe, Russia and the Middle East, 1917–1923 (London, 2001). 180 T. Kamusella, The Un-Polish Poland: 1989 and the Illusion of Regained Historical Continuity (Basingstoke, 2017), 3, 11. See also E. Bakke, ‘Czechoslovakism in Slovak History’ in Slovakia in History, eds. M. Teich, D. Kováč, M.D. Brown (Cambridge, 2011), 249–50, 258. 181 I.B. Neumann, H. Leira, Aktiv og avventende. Utenrikstjenestens liv 1905–2005 (Oslo, 2005), 22–69; R. Omang, Norsk utenrikstjeneste, 2 vols (Oslo, 1955–1959), i. 53–163; B. Stråth, Union og demokrati. Dei sameinte rika Noreg-Sverige 1814–1905 (Oslo, 2005). 182 W.D. Godsey, The Aristocratic Redoubt: The Austro-Hungarian Foreign Office on the Eve of the First World War (West Lafayette, 1998), 124, 152–5, 160–1. small and sovereign Internationalism’, 284–5). The actions of the Czechoslovak National Council (Československá národní rada) in Paris were limited in scope but well-aimed. Volunteer legions it mustered generated status; on the Eastern front, they aided Allied intervention in the Russian Civil War. Polish elites in each partition hired agents to promote the scenario they deemed desirable—especially those from the Lausanne-and later, Paris-based Polish National Committee (Komitet Narodowy Polski) were to staff the foreign ministry.183 Certain social groups prevailed in the new foreign policy bureaucracies—academics and journalists 46 in Czechoslovakia, nobility and landowners in Poland. Former legionaries assumed vital positions in the Czechoslovak foreign ministry. That Polish was militarised late in the 1920s.184 One common denominator applied to the inter-war Norway, Czechoslovakia, and Poland: In a profession where personal wealth was a traditional prerequisite, few of the diplomats they sent out enjoyed the habitus of their great power colleagues and, as one historian put it, their elitist ‘sense of social kinship’. In time, some managed to adapt to an environment yet informed by aristocratic culture, replete with in-group behavioural codes and aesthetic expectations to be met by the state representatives, with their self-acclaimed eminence.185 5.1.2 The Art of Making Friends and Its Boundaries When, in 1905, Norway emerged as a monarchy, the choice of Prince Carl of Denmark was strategic: his wife, Maud, the youngest daughter of the British monarch, Edward VII, helped evolve the Anglo–Norwegian commercial, shipping-led relationship into a political one. No alliance followed—Norway chose detachment from European politics, trusting that Britain would guard its security anyway.186 Germany had long been influencing local culture. Berlin 183 On Czechoslovak Legions, see Roshwald, Ethnic Nationalism, 147–9. For exile activism, see D. Clark, Passion and Restraint: Poles and Poland in Western Diplomacy, 1914–1921 (Montreal, Kingston, 2022), 41–64, 70–5, 77–82; J. Dejmek, Edvard Beneš. Politická biografie českého demokrata [Edvard Beneš, A Czech Democrat’s Political Biography], 2 vols (Prague, 2006–2008), i. 130–214; M. Ksinan, Milan Rastislav Štefánik: The Slovak National Hero and Co-Founder of Czechoslovakia (New York, 2021), ch. 4; A. Marès, Edvard Beneš. Un drame entre Hitler et Staline (Paris, 2015), ch. 2; J. Sibora, Dyplomacja polska w I wojnie światowej [Polish Diplomacy in World War I] (Warsaw, 2013); P.S. Wandycz, ‘August Zaleski and His Times’, East European Quarterly 24 (1991) 412–4; Z. Zeman, The Masaryks: The Making of Czechoslovakia (London, 1991), 68–116. 184 J. Dejmek et al., Diplomacie Československa [Czechoslovak Diplomacy], 2 vols (Prague, 2012– 2013), i. 27–39; Sibora, Dyplomacja, ch. 6. 185 Z. Steiner, ‘Elitism and Foreign Policy: The Foreign Office before the First World War’ in Shadows & Substance in British Foreign Policy, 1895–1939: Memorial Essays Honouring C.J. Lowe, eds. B. McKercher, D.J. Moss (Edmonton, 1984), 19–24. See also Dejmek et al., Diplomacie, i. 25–37; M. Kingston de Leusse, Diplomate. Une sociologie des ambassadeurs (Paris, 1998), 29–38; P. Łossowski, Dyplomacja polska, 1918–1939 [Polish Diplomacy, 1918–39] (Warsaw, 2001), 30–1, 70–1, 161–3; Omang, Norsk utenrikstjeneste, ii. 82–8, 371–2, 561–4. 186 R. Berg, ‘‘Det land vi venter hjælp af ’. England som Norges beskytter, 1905–1908’ in For- svarsstudier IV, ed. R. Tamnes (Oslo, 1985), 121–4, 136–9; E. Ekberg, E. Merok, ‘Partners in World Trade. Anglo–Norwegian Shipping Networks, 1855–1905’ in Britain and Norway: small and sovereign timidly acknowledged Norwegian emancipatory endeavour, welcoming its monarchical outplay. The French presence in Norway was primarily financial— all state bonds were subscribed in Paris. Russian connections were limited to trans-border commerce in the High North that sustained the local economy. Norwegian–Russian inter-state relations started with a low profile.187 Save for Norwegian foreign policy thought, featuring isolationism and respect for international law, the United States were a distant power. While the status of the Svalbard archipelago prompted multilateral negotiations, US–Norwegian concerns were consular.188 47 The Central Europeans adopted the political order of their arch-ally, France, with which they had had continuous cultural contact. Poland and France shared myriad historical personalities and ‘anonymous’ migrants. Native noble republicanism invited the sovereign nation idea into the 1791 Constitution. Franco–Czech and Franco–Slovak relations got momentum in the final third of the 19th Century—elites sought education in Paris and labourers livelihood throughout the country.189 Without Russia as an ally, Paris sponsored an alliance system in the East. Poland and Czechoslovakia joined it and made the French struggle with their rivalries, different political cultures, and borderland clashes, as in the coal-rich Teschen Silesia. To end this conflict, the Council of Ambassa- dors—the instance enacting the Peace Conference motions after it had ceased to convene—partitioned the region, by then mainly under Czechoslovak control. The persistent Polish narrative renders the endgame bitterly: Czechoslovak foreign minister Edvard Beneš won the day, and Poland had to reconcile with its neighbours in return for materiel to fight the Bolsheviks.190 The traumatic impact of this argument on bilateral relations cannot be overrated. It did echo in Second World War London (Article 2, ‘Together and Alone’, 472, 475). Special Relationships, eds. H.Ø. Pharo, P. Salmon (Oslo, 2012), 73–98; P. Salmon, Scandinavia and the Great Powers, 1890–1940 (New York, 1997), 67–70. 187 Berg, ‘’Det land’’, 115–21, 124–35; idem, Norge på egen hånd, 1905–1920 (Oslo, 1995), 127–30; E. Danielsen, Norge–Sovjetunionen. Norges utenrikspolitikk overfor Sovjetunionen 1917–1940 (Oslo, 1964), 30–9; Salmon, Scandinavia, 43, 49, 69–70, 93. 188 Berg, ‘Norway, Spitsbergen and America, 1905–1920’, Diplomacy & Statecraft 28 (2017), 20–38; T.L. Knutsen, H. Leira, I.B. Neumann, Norsk utenrikspolitisk idéhistorie, 1880–1940 (Oslo, 2016), 125–9, 133–5. 189 J. Hnilica, Les nouvelles élites tchécoslovaques. Une formation française (1900–1950) (Paris, 2015); J. Lukowski, Disorderly Liberty: The Political Culture of the Polish–Lithuanian Commonwealth in the Eighteenth Century (London, 2010); J.-Ph. Namont, La Colonie tchécoslovaque. Une histoire de l’immigration tchèque et slovaque en France (1914–1940) (Paris, 2011); J. Ponty, Polonais méconnus. Histoire des travailleurs immigrés en France dans entre-deux-guerres (Paris, 1988); S. Reznikow, Francophilie et identité tchèque (1848–1914) (Paris, 2002). 190 I. Davion, Mon voisin, cet ennemi. La politique de securité française face aux relations polo- no-tschéchoslovaquies entré 1919 et 1939 (Brussels, 2009); Wandycz, France and Her Eastern Allies, 1919–1925: French–Czechoslovak–Polish Relations from the Paris Peace Conference to Locarno (Minneapolis, 1962); idem, The Twilight of French Eastern Alliances, 1925–1936: French–Czechoslovak–Polish Relations from Locarno to the Remilitarization of the Rhineland (Princeton, 1988). small and sovereign The Central Europeans’ contacts with Britain were poorer. Despite Poland’s outlet to the sea, seen from London, their region was peripheral.191 By the mid-1920s, the Foreign Office abandoned the idea of a Prague ‘observatory’, or—anticipating Czechoslovak self-perceptions—of a ‘bridge’ to Russia.192 Low British regard might have stemmed from cultural distance—initiated individu- als, such as historian Robert W. Seton-Watson, were rare.193 In Czechoslovakia, Anglophilia was only emerging, historian Johana Kłusek notes.194 Polish efforts to foster affinity with Britain were unreciprocated.195 In wartime London, the 48 Central Europeans could not rely on a vivid image of their countries or on allusions to racial kinship, like the Norwegians (cf. Article 2, ‘Together and Alone’, 471). Poland had had informal ambassadors early in the 20th Century, such as the pianist Ignacy Jan Paderewski—Prime Minister, 1919–20, Speaker of the National Council (Rada Narodowa), 1939–41—who, promoting the country within the contemporary Western culture, won the acclaim compara- ble to that of Norway’s playwright Henrik Ibsen, or explorer Fridtjof Nansen; Czechoslovakia was less privileged in that regard. Overall, the British imperial perspective mistrusted emancipating small nations as liable to chauvinism or deficient governance.196 When pondering European borders in the making at 191 G. Bátonyi, Britain and Central Europe, 1918–1933 (Oxford, 1999); Dejmek, Nenaplněné naděje. Politické a diplomatické vztahy Československa a Velké Británie od zrodu První republiky po konferenci v Mnichově (1918–1938) [Hopes Unfulfilled: Czechoslovak–British Political and Diplomatic Relations from the Birth of the First Republic to the Munich Summit, 1918–38] (Prague, 1998); R. Franke, London und Prag. Materialien zum Problem eines multinationalen Nationalstaates, 1919–1938 (Munich, 1981); M. Lojkó, Meddling in Middle Europe: Britain and the ‘Lands Between’, 1919–1925 (Budapest, 2006); M. Nowak-Kiełbikowa, Polska – Wielka Brytania w dobie zabiegów o zbiorowe bezpieczeństwo w Europie, 1923–1937 [Poland, Great Britain, and the Struggle for European Collective Security, 1923–37] (Warsaw, 1989); eadem, Polska – Wielka Brytania w latach 1918–1923. Kształtowanie się stosunków politycznych [Poland – Great Britain, 1918–23: An Evolution of Political Relations] (Warsaw, 1975). 192 Bátonyi, Britain and Central Europe, ch. 15. See J. Korbel, Twentieth-Century Czechoslovakia: The Meaning of Its History (New York, 1977), 168–9. 193 H.W. Steed (rev. R.J.W. Evans), ‘Watson, Robert William Seton- (1879–1951)’ in ODNB, lvii. 657–61. 194 J. Kłusek, ‘‘Our Second Capital on the Banks of the Thames’: The Evolution of the Anglophilia of Czechoslovak Exiles in Britain during the Second World War’, Central Europe 20 (2022), 33–4. 195 T. Piszczkowski, Anglia a Polska 1914–1939 w świetle dokumentów brytyjskich [Britain and Poland, 1914–39, in the Light of British Documents] (London, 1975); T. Pudłocki, Ambasadorzy idei. Wkład intelektualistów w promowanie pozytywnego wyzerunku Polski w Wielkiej Brytanii w latach 1918–1939 [Ambassadors of Idea: Intellectuals’ Contribution to the Promotion of Poland’s Positive Image in Great Britain, 1918–39] (Cracow, 2015). 196 P. Fjågelsend, R.A. Symes, The Northern Utopia: British Perceptions of Norway in the Nine- teenth Century (Amsterdam, 2003); A. Orzoff, Battle for the Castle: The Myth of Czechoslovakia in Europe, 1914–1948 (Oxford, 2011), 171–2; C.E. Vogt, ‘A Darling of the British Elites: Fridtjof Nansen’s British Connection – From Polar Hero to Humanitarian Leader’ in Britain and Norway: Special Relationships, 99–128; M. Wells, ‘How Ibsen Became a Part of English Cultural Life, between 1906 and 2006’ in ibid., 129–56; A. Zamoyski, Paderewski (London, 1982), ch. 4–7; J. Zorach, ‘The British View of the Czechs in the Era before the Munich Crisis’, Slavonic & East European Review 57 (1979), 56–70 small and sovereign the Paris Peace Conference, British expert and future author, politician, and theorist of diplomacy Harold Nicolson noted on what he projected as a nas- cent Euro–Asian ‘Slavic bloc’: “Les Scythes ont conquis le monde.”197 Devices to mitigate such attitudes were not readily available. Academia was considered one. Established in 1915, the School of Slavonic and East European Studies included a chair of Central European history (1923). The chair of Russian studies eclipsed it, however.198 5.1.3 The International Society: The Mirage of Governance 49 In the aftermath of the First World War, there was a general belief that peace had to be managed and inter-state intercourse moderated. To this end, an inter- governmental organization, the League of Nations, was founded and established in Geneva. With the ‘World Organization’ idea germinating in Second World War London, the League became an oft-discussed topic. The awareness of the international had risen in the late 19th Century. During the First World War, legions of activists called for a more equitable international order, pacific settlement of disputes, and democratic control of diplomacy. Do- mestic and international politics becoming more entangled, the peacemakers consented and downgraded the secretive ‘old’ diplomacy, with its purely national reasoning, in favour of a ‘new’, more participative version.199 Its Covenant in- serted into the peace treaties, the League should firm the new order. Yet, there is a consensus among historians that the divorce from the traditional diplomatic practices was not radical and that the inter-war international order started as a refined, more integrative great power ‘concert’.200 The Covenant’s central articles enshrined the balance-of-power principle, prohibiting the signatory powers to wage war against one another. Article 16 prescribed mutual assistance: the League members were to ostracise aggressors and support the besieged state. Still, the application of the sanctions system has become subject to debate.201 The League changed international politics. It created an ‘umbrella’ for net- working human activities and the figure of an international public servant who was required to ignore national loyalty. To disseminate liberal values, the League 197 H. Nicolson, Peacemaking, 1919 (London, 1933), 316 (25 Apr. 1919). See also T.G. Otte, ‘Nicolson, Sir Harold George (1886–1968)’ in ODNB, xl. 887–91. 198 I.W. Roberts, History of the School of Slavonic and East European Studies, 1915–2005 (London, 2009). 199 M. Abbenhuis, The Hague Conferences and International Politics, 1898–1915 (Basingstoke, 2015); C. Bouchard, Le citoyen et ĺ ordre mondial. Le rêve d’une paix durable au lendemain de la Grande Guerre en France, en Grande-Bretagne et aux États-Unis (Paris, 2008), 29–80. 200 E.g., P.O. Cohrs, The New Atlantic Order: The Transformation of International Politics, 1860–1933 (Cambridge, 2022), ch. 11–12; R.S. Greyson, Austen Chamberlain and the Commitment to Europe: British Foreign Policy, 1924–1929 (London, Portland, 1997), ch. 4; O.A. Hathaway, S.J. Shapiro, ‘International Law and its Transformation through Outlawry of War’, International Affairs 95 (2019), 49; K. Weisbrode, Old Diplomacy Revisited: A Study in Modern History of Diplomatic Transformation (Basingstoke, 2014), ch. 3. 201 I. Brownlie, International Law and the Use of Force by States (Oxford, 2002 [1963]), 55–65, 228–30; Hathaway, Shapiro, ‘International Law and its Transformation’, 51–7. small and sovereign courted public opinion through the League of Nations Union and the Institute of Intellectual Cooperation, both with national branches.202 However, without the United States and Soviet Russia (after 1922, Soviet Union) not as universal as intended, the League had to adapt to initiatives from outside its framework, such as the Briand–Kellogg Pact (1928), postulating complete abstention from war.203 In the 1920s, the League helped settle territorial disputes—in Scandinavia (Åland Islands, 1921), in the Balkans (Greek–Bulgarian border, 1925), and the Near East (Mosul, 1926). In 1931, though, it failed to halt Japan’s invasion of 50 the Chinese province of Manchuria. Japan strove to justify its doings before it left Geneva (March 1933). Germany followed soon, disagreeing with the proceedings of the Disarmament Conference, which was then ongoing. Soviet accession to the Covenant (1934) did not remedy the damages already incurred on the League’s agency.204 Even so, historians Holger Nehring and Helge Pharo argue, the League “generated publicity and norms for negotiating peace, [if not] a system of governance.”205 It gave international politics a framework—through its annual Assembly sessions and regular meetings of the Council. Foreign policy elites were convening more frequently than ever, in a networking climate that, with established diplomatic practices as means of communication, helped overcome the distance of physical geography and cultural origin. Minor power representatives benefitted from an arena to broker international norms. Some rose to eminence, such as Edvard Beneš (Czechoslovakia) and Nikolaos Politis (Greece). Yet, it has been observed, emerging small powers were more attracted by formal enfranchisement through the League than those established.206 5.2 ACTORS IN INTER-WAR EUROPE Anchored in the respective government’s perceptions about itself and its rela- tionships with other governments, wartime exiles’ foreign policy outlooks were sieved through the traumatic lens of defeat and flight and based on projections of their inter-war experiences. Foreign policy-makers in Second World War London, mostly strangers to each other, could rely on some ‘image’ of their partners. Czechoslovakia, Norway, and Poland had distinct profiles as members 202 G. Sluga, Internationalism in the Age of Nationalism (Philadelphia, 2012), ch. 1–2. 203 Brownlie, International Law and the Use of Force, 235–47; Hathaway, Shapiro, The Interna- tionalists: How a Radical Plan to Outlaw War Remade the World (New York, 2017), 115–30, 161–2. 204 Hathaway, Shapiro, Internationalists, 155–62; F.S. Northedge, The League of Nations, Its Life and Times (Leicester, 1986), 77–8, 105–7, 111–2, ch. 7; Steiner, The Lights That Failed: Eu- ropean International History, 1919–1933 (Oxford, 2005), 122, 355–6, 358–9, ch. 11, 13–4; eadem, The Triumph of the Dark: European International History, 1933–1939 (Oxford, 2011), 36–45, 74–5. 205 H. Nehring, H. Pharo, ‘A Peaceful Europe? Negotiating Peace in the Twentieth Century’, Contemporary European History 17 (2008), 287. 206 M. Stachurska-Kounta, Norway and the League of Nations, 1918–1939: A Small State’s Quest for International Peace (PhD Thesis, Oslo, 2017), 72. Cf. G. Keown, First of the Small Nations: The Beginnings of the Irish Foreign Policy in the Interwar Years, 1919–1932 (Oxford, 2016); B.F. Pereira, A diplomacia de Salazar (1932–1949) (Lisbon, 22012), 36–8, 49–58, 155–6. small and sovereign of the inter-war international society. Norway’s relationships with Poland and, especially, with Czechoslovakia—both managed by its diplomatic representative to Poland—were limited but intertwined on the eve of, as well as during, the Second World War (see Article 1, ‘Reading the Signs’; Article 2, ‘Together and Alone’, 469–70). 5.2.1 Norway, A Reluctant Internationalist When, in 1940, the Blitzkrieg forced an unheard-of number of patriots across the English Channel, Norway was in disrepute. One-time defence minister 51 Vidkun Quisling “has achieved the rare distinction of putting his name in the dictionaries of the world”, a British courtier noted, as the synonym for traitor (cf. Article 3, ‘Norwegian Internationalism’, 287).207 The Norwegian Campaign in Britain’s strategic backyard ended disastrously. It also coined a novel word— Winston Churchill repeatedly mentioned the possibility of “being namsos(s)ed” in reference to a catastrophic Allied evacuation of the coastal town of Namsos in early May 1940. Notoriety was new to Norway. To say that, politically, Norway interacted with the wider world only reluctantly is no hyperbole. Unlike many inter-war states, Norway was ethnically as much as uniform. Ethnic minorities, living mainly in the country’s northernmost provinces, plus resident foreign nationals amounted to c. 2 per cent of the population.208 Nor- way’s consolidated territory was guaranteed by the 1855 and 1907 treaties, with Britain as the principal protector. The latter treaty was abrogated in the 1920s, on Norway’s request—the British guarantee became implicit.209 The notion of safety came from two facts—Norway had survived the First World War as a neutral, and the tumults of 1917/18 did not challenge its constitutional regime. The communisant moment of Social Democracy had evaporated by the time the Soviet state was granted recognition (de iure, 1924); later, the Soviet mod- ernist project echoed in intellectual and artistic life.210 The sparsely populated High North remained a strategic liability. Disputes had to be settled, and the indigenous population, perceived as susceptible to either Soviet or Finnish advances, was targeted by cultural homogenisation policies.211 Two foreign policy concepts came to the fore. First, Norwegians were a small nation, detached from power politics. Second, receptive to religious pacifism, they saw themselves as an exemplary, law-abiding ‘peace nation’. Purported small nations’ predisposition to pursue peace was the pillar of Norwegian exceptionalism, supported by the bestowment of the right to award the Nobel 207 King’s Counsellor: Abdication and War. The Diaries of Sir Alan Lascelles, ed. D. Hart-Davis (London, 2006), 59 (26 Sep. 1942). 208 Folketellingen i Norge, 1. desember 1930, 10 vols (Oslo, 1932–1935), i. 3*, iv. 3*, 14*; E. Niemi, J.E. Myhre, K. Kjellstadli, I nasjonalstatens tid, 1814–1940 (Oslo, 2003), 331–8, 344–7. 209 Berg, Norge på egen hånd, 71–97; N. Bjørgo, Ø. Ryan, A. Kaartvedt, Selvstendighet og union. Fra middelalderen til 1905 (Oslo, 1995), 199–203, 284–7; Salmon, Scandinavia, 71–82, 184–5. 210 Berg, Norge på egen hånd, 215–28, 245–56; S. Holtsmark et al., Naboer i frykt og forventning, Norge–Russland 1917–2014 (Oslo, 2015), ch. 1, 7–8; O. Riste, Norway’s Foreign Relations: A History (Oslo, 1996), ch. 5. 211 Holtsmark et al., Naboer, 75–85, 101–11, 123–35. small and sovereign Peace Prize on the Storting.212 Thus, Norway did not rush to accept the League of Nations invite. It did so, eventually, to avoid the risks of being excluded from international affairs. A straightforward demise of a project where Britain was going to be a key player appeared inopportune, challenging the political bond between the two countries that the Norwegian elites had striven to consolidate when entering the international arena as the representatives of a newly sovereign state.213 Norway managed to support peace through the League operations without 52 compromising its isolationist outlook, often aligned with other Nordic coun- tries.214 Fridtjof Nansen was Norway’s most noted representative. A charismatic leader, if not always a successful organizer and fund-raiser, he fought famine and displacement that the First World War and its aftershocks had produced. Efforts for the stateless inaugurated refugee protection—a provisional international, so-called Nansen passport earned him the Nobel Peace Prize.215 Justice Paal Berg joined the expert ranks of the International Labour Organization to chair its Governing Body in 1938–9. Justice Francis Hagerup advanced international arbitration. Diplomat Eric Andreas Colban, one of the founding members of the League Secretariat, managed the Minorities and the Disarmament sections.216 The leading Norwegian in the 1930s Geneva was Carl Joachim Hambro, the conservative Speaker of the Storting. He had rallied against Norway’s accession into the League but evolved into an internationalist and an ardent advocate of small power agency. As the 1939 League Assembly president and the seasoned President of the League Supervisory Committee, Hambro spent most of the wartime in the United States among the League’s ‘guardians’. Prominence in the Genevan organization made him the only Norwegian politician reputed on both sides of the Atlantic. However, Hambro rendered outstanding service to his country’s propaganda (cf. Article 3, ‘Norwegian Internationalism’, 287–9) on his own rather than on the government-in-exile terms. His stubborn defence of small power sovereignty in the emergent international order was seldom seconded by the London-based Norwegian policy-makers who would care not to strain Norway’s relationships with the Allied great powers, for example, by 212 Knutsen, Leira, Neumann, Norsk utenrikspolitisk idéhistorie, ch. 5–6. 213 Stachurska-Kounta, Norway and the League, ch. 1. 214 N. Götz, ‘On the Origins of ‘Parliamentary Democracy’: Scandinavian ‘Bloc Politics’ and Delegation Policy in the League of Nations’, Cooperation & Conflict 40 (2005), 263–79. 215 B. Cabanes, The Great War and the Origins of Humanitarianism, 1918–1924 (Cambridge, 2014), ch. 3; N. Götz, G. Brewis, S. Werther, Humanitarianism in the Modern World: The Moral Economy of Famine Relief (Cambridge, 2020), 52–6, 190–1; A. Roversi, ‘The Evolution of the Refugee Regime and Institutional Responses: Legacies from the Nansen Period’, Refugee Survey Quarterly 22 (2003), 21–35; Vogt, Nestekjærlighet som realpolitikk. Fridtjof Nansens humanitære og internasjonale prosjekt 1920–1930 (PhD Thesis, Oslo, 2010). 216 K. Gram-Skjoldager, H.A. Ikonomou, T. Kahlert, ‘Scandinavians and the League of Nations Secretariat, 1919–1946’, Scandinavian Journal of History 44 (2019), 454–83; P.E. Hem, Megleren. Paal Berg, 1873–1968 (Oslo, 2012), 350–1, 362–5, 371–5; H.A. Ikonomou, K. van Leuwen, M. Rasmussen, ‘‘Calculate the Limits of the Possible’: Scandinavian Legal Diplomacy, Diplomatic Arenas and the Establishment of the Permanent Court of International Justice’, Diplomatica 5 (2013), 225–47. small and sovereign calls to bypass the realities of asymmetry of power within the United Nations coalition in favour of a more ‘egalitarian’ arrangement (Article 2, ‘Together and Alone’, 476; Article 3, ‘Norwegian Internationalism’, 293–4, 296).217 Norway’s League of Nations record is ambiguous. If Norway entered the political stage, its objective was to lay low and be mindful of trade interests.218 In the 1930s, the declining prospects of disarmament, a cause advocated by Hambro and by Christian Lous Lange, a liberal associated with the Nobel Committee and a Nobel Peace Prize laureate (1921), incited Foreign Minister Johan Ludwig Mowinckel to start pondering measures allowing a return to 53 neutrality.219 The devaluation of the League as a security factor meant Norway’s further detachment from European politics. In 1937, British minister Sir Cecil Dormer glossed over the general foreign policy outlook in Oslo as based on “the necessity for collective action against aggressors, so long as Norway does not need to join in it herself.”220 Norway’s foreign policy was far more articulated in its vicinity, instigating conflicts with the country’s implicit protector, Britain. Closing lengthy nego- tiations, the 1920 Nine-Power Treaty codified Norwegian sovereignty over the Svalbard Archipelago at high latitudes. It also stipulated that every treaty party be entitled to economic exploitation, which Britain was quick to claim. Nor- wegian expansion into unchartered territories continued with the annexation of the isolated Jan Mayen Island (1929) in the Arctic waters and of the Peter I (1927) and the Bouvet islands (1931) off Antarctica. Closer to the mainland, a controversy with Britain over the demarcation of Norway’s coastal fisheries vitally affected local economies. Only in 1951 did the International Court of Justice sanction Norway’s claim.221 In the inter-war years, Norway’s foreign policy was affected by nation-build- ing, triggered by the notion of naval greatness and the legacy of the medieval ‘Realm of Norway’. This seaborne empire would comprise, at different junc- tures and through different bonds of suzerainty, Norway, several of Sweden’s Western provinces, Greenland, Iceland, the Faroes, and the Northern Isles. The exclusion of the Faroes and Iceland from the 1814 transfer of sovereignty 217 K. Gram-Skjoldager, ‘Taming the Bureaucrats: The Supervisory Commission and Political Control of the Secretariat’ in The League of Nations: Perspectives from the Present, eds. H.A Ikonomou, K. Gram-Skjoldager (Aarhus, 2019), 42–4; I. Theien, Fra krig til krig. En biografi om C.J. Hambro (Oslo, 2015), 20–2, 67–86, 178–89. 218 Cf. E.I. Megeli, ‘A Real Peace Tradition? Norway and the Manchurian Crisis, 1931–34’, Contemporary European History 19 (2010), 17–36, esp. 26–30. 219 K.E. Haug, Folkeforbundet og krigens bekjempelse. Norsk utenrikspolitikk mellom realisme og idealisme (PhD Thesis, Trondheim, 2012), ch. 7–10; Knutsen, Leira, Neumann, Norsk uten- rikspolitisk idéhistorie, 147–53; Stachurska-Kounta, Norway and the League, 165–202. 220 Dormer, ‘Norway. Annual Report, 1937’, §43, TNA, FO 491/31. 221 Fure, Mellomkrigstiden 1920–1940 (Oslo, 1996), 77–109, 132–48; V. Ingimundarson, ‘The Geopolitics of ‘Future Return’: Britain’s Century-Long Challenges to Norway’s Control over the Spitsbergen Archipelago’, International History Review 40 (2018), 896–8; T. Mathisen, Svalbard i internasjonal politikk, 1871–1925 (Oslo, 1951), 159–71; Riste, Norway’s Foreign Relations, 115–9, 123–6. small and sovereign over Norway to Sweden has echoed in some quarters of the public. In 1931, a private yet government-backed expedition annexed a few East Greenland pockets for Norway. Brought before the Permanent Court of International Justice, the dispute with Denmark was resolved in 1933, and Norwegian claims were discarded. The affair illustrated how issues of national identity were apt to divide Nordic neighbours.222 Norway was economically integrated with the outside world through its large merchant fleet, and local politicians valued predictability.223 When the 54 Depression hit international trade, Mowinckel initiated cooperation between the Nordic and the Benelux economies, resulting in an agreement on a freeze of tariffs and quantitative restrictions (1930). The so-called Oslo group that emerged also served as a foreign policy consultation forum. Consisting of states wary of the League of Nations obligations, it marked the limits of Norway’s stand on European integration. Proposals to proceed with it, such as the Briand Plan (1929–30), failed in Norway. Isolationist leanings put aside, some feared that a similar initiative might disturb the relationship with the United States and the Soviet Union; expectations that Britain would pass weighted no less.224 5.2.2 Czechoslovakia: The Gravity of the Centre Czechoslovakia emerged from the vision of the exiles around the philosophy professor Tomáš Garrigue Masaryk, who, to comply with the imperative of self-determination, morphed Czecho–Slovak cultural ties into the idea of a nation.225 The state originated in the Paris Peace Settlement and the Entente’s need for a stable advocate of the resulting arrangement in the geographical centre of Europe. By 1926, the republic—an industrial economy with comparatively high standards of living—was a rare new democracy. Its construction had been complicated—Bohemia and Moravia were well-defined, but borders of the once-Hungarian Slovakia and Sub-Carpathian Ruthenia had to be settled. A prolonged, defensively demanding shape of the country226 came to be both an opportunity and a challenge for policy-makers. Czechoslovakia became a bulwark of free elections. Though President Masaryk was only equipped with a modest set of prerogatives, his authority stood firm, and he resolved many issues at informal meetings with the leaders of the major political parties. Masaryk lacked authoritarian leanings, yet the fluence of his heterogeneous social orbit, ‘The Castle’, challenged the image that Prague in- 222 Dahl, De store ideologienes tid (Oslo, 2000), 190–4; Fure, Mellomkrigstiden, 118–32; Riste, Norway’s Foreign Relations, 119–23. See also R.B. Wærdahl, The Incorporation and Integration of the King’s Tributary Lands into the Norwegian Realm, c. 1195–1397 (Leiden, 2011). 223 Fure, Mellomkrigstiden, 149–80; Stachurska-Kounta, Norway and the League, ch. 5; G. van Roon, Small States in Years of Depression: The Oslo Alliance 1930–1940 (Assen, Maastricht, 1989). 224 N.A. Røhne, Norwegian Attitudes towards the Briand Plan (Oslo, 1991); Stachurska-Kounta, Norway and the League, 219–26. 225 Bakke, ‘Czechoslovakism’, 247–68. 226 D. Perman, The Shaping of the Czechoslovak State: Diplomatic History of the Boundaries of Czechoslovakia, 1914–1920 (Leiden, 1962), is still the only complex overview available. small and sovereign tended to transmit. Extra-legal checks thwarting radicalism, it has been noted, were “sufficiently authoritarian … to enable Czechoslovakia’s survival as Central Europe’s bastion of democracy”.227 Multi-ethnicity was Czechoslovakia’s crux from its inception. According to the 1921 census, Germans amounted to 23.3 per cent, Hungarians to 5.6 per cent, and East Slavs to 3.4 per cent. The concept of Czecho–Slovak ‘nation’ was to establish a two-thirds majority. The Habsburg-era nationalities hierarchy was reversed, and declarations of intent to pursue a Swiss-modelled ethno-linguistic order not honoured, to the Germans’ and the Hungarians’ dismay. A settlement 55 with the former emerged soon and lasted until the rise of Nazism.228 Czech– Slovak tensions featured linguistics and religion. For many a Czech patriot, the farewell to Vienna meant the demise of Catholicism—Bohemian statehood had de facto vanished once the Habsburgs defeated the revolting local, mostly Protestant Estates (1620), instituted the hegemony of the Roman creed and imported loyal elites. Thus, originating in the 19th Century, Czech victimisa- tion narratives saw in the new state a teleological juxtaposition of Protestant heritage and modernity. Freedom of religion has not been compromised, but Catholicism was on the defensive, and the Catholic Slovaks’ self-identification with the state weakened. Still, separatism was rare until the late 1930s.229 Czechoslovakia was situated on old campaign roads.230 Negative stereotypes and territorial controversies marred relations with Poland but not with Austria, and Prague helped restore it fiscally. An arrangement with Germany followed the Locarno settlement (1926). Neighbourhood conversations were low-key and correct until the Depression. Yet, strategy urged Prague to seek alliances. The Little Entente, a treaty system uniting Czechoslovakia, the Kingdom of the Serbs, the Croats and the Slovenes, and Romania in defiance of Hungarian revisionism, sponsored manifold cooperation. Most critically, an alliance with France was concluded in 1924 for the republic’s security.231 With Edvard Beneš at the foreign ministry, Czechoslovakia supported the League of Nations and the Versailles order as the guarantee of its survival.232 The self-affirmation of ‘Europeanness’ proved helpful in transmitting the country’s 227 P. Bugge, ‘Czech Democracy, 1918–1938: Paragon or Parody?’, Bohemia 47 (2006/2007), 3–28; G. Capoccia, Defending Democracy; Reactions to Extremism in Inter-War Europe (Balti- more, London, 2005), ch. 4; F.G. Campbell, ‘Central Europe’s Bastion of Democracy’, East European Quarterly 11 (1977), 171. 228 J. Kuklík, R. Petráš, Minorities and Law in Czechoslovakia, 1918–1992 (Prague, 2018), 25–50, 67–78. 229 H. Agnew, The Czechs and the Lands of the Bohemian Crown (Stanford, 2004), ch. 6; J.R. Felak, ‘At the Price of the Republic’: Hlinka’s Slovak People’s Party, 1929–1938 (Pittsburgh, 1995). 230 Agnew, Czechs, 72–5, 84–6, 95–7. 231 R.L. Rothstein, Alliances and Small Powers (New York, 1968), ch. 4; Wandycz, ‘The Little Entente: Sixty Years Later’, Slavonic & East European Review 59 (1981), 548–64. 232 D. Jetel, Eine zwiespältige Beziehung. Der Völkerbund und die Sicherheit der Ersten Tschecho- slowakischen Republik, 1919–1938 (PhD Thesis, Zurich, 2017). small and sovereign democratic, Western image.233 Cementing its French connection, Czechoslovakia cautiously welcomed the Briand Plan. Beneš, however, remembered to warn that such initiatives could not succeed unless the Soviets participated. When Briand’s successor, André Tardieu, suggested Danubian integration to remedy regional grievances, Czechoslovakia was positively inclined.234 After France, the Soviet Union was the great power most interested in Central Europe. Situated between inimical Poland and Hungary, Czechoslovakia, with its Pan-Slavic traditions, was exceptional. During the First World War, Masaryk 56 and Beneš had shown a pragmatic affinity towards Russia—the former had spent a few months there amidst the revolutionary turmoil. The vast country was a critical theatre for the Czechoslovak movement, and its exit from the war was a challenge. Czech and Slovak inter-war Russophilia harboured sympathy for both non-communist refugees and the new civilisation. If wary of the Soviet subversive agenda, Prague wished to erect a political and commercial ‘bridge’. Recognition was long in waiting, but once the Soviets, after the rise of Hitler, seemed to be seeking coexistence with capitalist states, Czechoslovakia endorsed their socialization in the international society.235 5.2.3 Poland, a Republic of Many Nations Poland was the heavyweight among wartime exile communities, surpassing Norway and Czechoslovakia in area and population. It was also the country where the Second World War started and which, after Germany’s previous invasions into the Rhineland (1936), into Austria (1938), and Czechoslovakia (1938, 1939)236 had provoked little effective opposition, was the first to fight the Nazis and, as the exiles duly reminded their partners, arguably did not produce any ‘Quisling’.237 Poland’s size and ‘moral mandate’ seemed to be singling its government-in-exile out in Second World War London. Active in Inter-Allied relations, it aspired to a primus inter pares position (cf. Article 2, ‘Together and Alone’, 473). However, its policy-makers had to struggle with strategic constraints 233 C. Reijnen, ‘A Castle in the Center: The First Czechoslovak Republic and European Coop- eration’ in Neutrality in Twentieth-Century Europe: Intersections of Science, Culture and Politics after the First World War, eds. R. Lettevall, G. Somsen, S. Widmalm (New York, London, 2012), 189–92; Bugge, ‘Longing or Belonging? Czech Perceptions of Europe in the Inter-War Years and Today’, Yearbook of European Studies 11 (1999), 111–29. 234 Dejmek, Beneš, i. 524–6, 528–9; Steiner, Lights, 773–5, 777–84; Wandycz, Twilight, 220–9, 339–40. 235 S. Johnson, ‘Communism in Russia Exists Only on Paper’: Czechoslovakia and the Russian Refugee Crisis, 1919–1924’, Contemporary European History 16 (2007), 371–94; A. Ko- cho-Williams, Russian and Soviet Diplomacy, 1900–39 (Basingstoke, 2012), 109–12, 119–24; Lukes, Czechoslovakia, 9–22, 36–41; Wandycz, Twilight, 177–8, 211, 359, 367, 378; Zeman, The Masaryks, 63–6, 71–3, 76–84, 86–7, 94–105. 236 Briefly, Steiner, Triumph of the Dark, 136–55, 360–5, 552–657. 237 E.g., DPSR, #51, Polish Government to Roosevelt and Churchill (memo), 26 Nov. 1943, ii. 84; PDD, 1941, #68, Sikorski to Roosevelt (memo), 20 Mar. 1941, 140–1. For prominent collaborationists, see M. Kunicki, ‘Unwanted Collaborators: Leon Kozłowski, Władysław Studnicki and the Problem of Collaboration among Polish Conservative Politicians in World War II’, European Review of History 8 (2001), 203–20. small and sovereign embedded in Poland’s geopolitical setting, especially once the Soviet Union had joined the Allies, and with the uncollaborative international reputation that the inter-war, authoritarian ruling elite had earned between the wars (cf. Article 2, ‘Together and Alone’, 473–4; Article 3, ‘Norwegian Internationalism’, 296). Before 18th Century Partitions, Poland had controlled most of its today’s territory plus ample areas in Ukraine, Lithuania, Belarus, and even in Western Russia. Two significant visions of Poland evolved before the First World War. While, referring to the primaeval realm of the Piast dynasty, the right-wing Roman Dmowski foresaw a state based in the western regions with a Polish 57 majority, Józef Piłsudski, a socialist, wished to restore the Early Modern com- monwealth, strong enough to fend off German and Russian military power, with the Poles as somewhat messianic partners of the local East Slavs, the Balts, and the Jews. In territorial terms, Dmowski and Piłsudski, prone to condone emancipatory processes that had taken place in the ‘long’ 19th Century, aimed at Poland in its 1772 borders. During the First World War, their clash went beyond dissenting views on the desirable future. Representing the pro-Entente Polish legions, Dmowski’s exile group had earned diplomatic status in Novem- ber 1918, but Piłsudski, feted as a hero after his return from German captivity, was better equipped to take control on the ground. Much of the territory that both leaders saw as an integral part of Poland was being claimed by neighbours. Thus, they needed to evade a civil war.238 Poland’s geographical definition emerged by military means. Peace with Soviet Russia was concluded in 1921. In 1923, the Council of Ambassadors placed Eastern Galicia under Polish sovereignty. The result was a multi-ethnic republic. In 1931, the Poles recorded a two-thirds majority. East Slavs 17 per cent, Jews 8.6 per cent, Germans 2.3 per cent, Czechs, Slovaks, Armenians, and Tartars followed. Most Poles and Armenians were Catholic; many Germans were Protestant, Tartars Moslem, and East Slavs Catholic or Orthodox.239 Po- land had many neighbours—and many territorial claims. The capture of Vilna (1920) antagonised Lithuania to the point of long-term absence of diplomatic relations; Upper Silesian partition (1922), Poland’s outlet to the sea and its rights in the Free City of Danzig ired Germany; disputes in the Carpathians put at odds Poland and Czechoslovakia.240 A Central European power with a penetrable landscape, Poland was vul- nerable. Its elites invested in foreign policy. Efforts to form a Baltic security community failed, but an alliance with France was concluded (1921). Its con- dition depended on whether parties relied on each other vis-à-vis Germany. 238 J. Böhler, Civil War in Central Europe, 1918–1921: The Reconstruction of Poland (Oxford, 2018), 24–5, 29–30, 38–45; Sukiennicki, East Central Europe, ii. 790–818, 832–52, 935–45; Wandycz, ‘Poland’s Place in Europe in the Concept of Pilsudski and Dmowski’, East European Politics & Societies 4 (1990), 451–68. 239 Böhler, Civil War, esp. ch. 3. 240 A.M. Cienciala, T. Komarnicki, From Versailles to Locarno: Keys to Polish Foreign Policy, 1918– 1925 (Lawrence, 1984), ch. 5; B. Conrad, Umkämpfte Grenzen, umkämpfte Bevölkerung. Die Entstehung der Staatsgrenzen der Zweiten Polnischen Republik 1918–1923 (Stuttgart, 2014). small and sovereign Not teaming up with the Little Entente due to Czechoslovakia’s leading role in it, Poland hardly lived up to the French expectations. The 1930s Soviet entry into European politics strained this partnership further.241 A bicameral parliamentary democracy, Poland saw fourteen cabinets in less than eight years—a testimony to unstable political culture, retarding recon- struction. Yet another issue was the inclusion of ethnic minorities. Organised chiefly in left-wing parties, the Jewish population was exposed to right-wing populist outrage—preconceived ties to atheist Bolshevism amplified anti-Ju- 58 daic prejudices. Bellicosity culminated in December 1923: Poland’s president, the minorities-backed Gabriel Narutowicz, was assassinated days after he had assumed office. Political conflicts kept undermining the subscription for democ- racy. In 1926, the army-led opposition staged a coup; Piłsudski soon reasserted his cult-like authority. Democracy was not formally abolished. Instead, it was bypassed—though not even ‘rigged’ elections gave the winner a clear majori- ty—in favour of a movement rallying the public behind Piłsudski’s version of the national interest—decrying what he viewed as politicking, adoring unity, and promoting the military and the technocrats.242 Poland’s relationship with the League of Nations was ambiguous; Genevan affairs had a bearing on its status. Warsaw partook in reconstruction or collec- tive security initiatives. Still, Poland’s relations with the Free City of Danzig and minorities issues troubled the overall climate, especially after Berlin, with its status reclaimed by the mid-1920s, chose to advocate for the minorities. In Warsaw, many wished to balance Germany’s rise. An ambition to obtain a permanent Council seat failed—Poland was granted the right to be re-elected instead.243 The prospects of supranational initiatives, such as the Briand Plan, were bleak due to persistent fears of German hegemony.244 Independence ac- quired a quasi-sacramental value. Posited between Germany and the Soviet Union, Piłsudski’s priority was Poland’s security and regional power status. Stability in the vicinity was to be achieved by arrangements with the basically hostile great powers.245 In July 1932, the prolonged negotiations with the Soviets concluded with a non-aggression 241 Wandycz, France; idem, Twilight. 242 P. Brykczynski, Primed for Violence: Murder, Antisemitism and Democratic Politics in Interwar Poland (Madison, 2016); A. Polonsky, Politics in Independent Poland, 1921–1939: The Crisis of Constitutional Government (Oxford, 1972), ch. 2–4, 7. 243 Cienciala, Komarnicki, From Versailles, ch. 3, 6–7, 10; P. Korzec, ‘Polen und die Minder- heitenschutzvertrag, 1919–1934’, Jahrbücher für Geschichte Osteuropas NF 22 (1974), 515–55; Wandycz, France, ch. 9, 13; idem, Twilight, 36–40. 244 A. Barabasz, ‘Polska wobec koncepcji integracji europejskiej w latach 1918–1939’ [‘Poland and the European Integration Idea, 1918–39’], Przegląd Zachodni 3 (2007), 229–51. 245 M. Kornat, ‘‘Polityka równowagi’ i polski bilateralizm, 1934–1939’ [‘‘Equilibrium Politics’ and Polish Bilateralism, 1934–9’] in idem, Polityka równowagi 1934–1939. Polska między Wschodem a Zachodem [Equilibrium Politics, 1934–9. Poland between East and West] (Cracow, 2007), 21–59; K. Rak, Piłsudski między Stalinem i Hitlerem [Piłsudski between Stalin and Hitler] (Warsaw, 2021), ch. 7–9. small and sovereign treaty.246 Hitler, in turn, sought partners to corrode French European supremacy. Both leaders thus had reasons to opt for conciliation. As Polish inquiries in Paris about readiness to invoke the anti-German alliance brought vague reactions, Hitler’s offer proved tempting. The quite direct road to a non-aggression decla- ration (26 January 1934) took roughly two months. The parties were willing to settle disputes but did not venture beyond a ‘good neighbour’ regime. The news of the declaration was still ill-received in the Kremlin. Once the negotiations were concluded, Foreign Minister Józef Beck set out for Moscow to assuage the adverse effects; the Soviet–Polish non-aggression pact was extended, but 59 the bilateral climate was not all clear.247 5.3 BETWEEN CHANGES AT HOME AND A EUROPEAN CRISIS (1935–8) The year 1935 saw Czechoslovak, Norwegian, and Polish politics change. Those in high offices by its end were to hold them for the rest of the interbellum. The inter-war international order crumbled, but many foreign policy practitioners remained active in Second World War London. In March 1935, Norwegian Labour formed a minority government with the backing of the national-conservative Agrarians (Bondepartiet) to become the leading, at times hegemonic, political party for decades. Foreign affairs were entrusted to Halvdan Koht, an internationally reputed historian. Koht shared the isolationist leanings of the Norwegian majority discourse yet disagreed on technicalities. He was a self-confident minister trusted by Prime Minister Johan Nygaardsvold and had an authoritative managerial style (cf. Article 1, ‘Reading the Signs’).248 In May, Poland’s Marshall Józef Piłsudski died. Collective rule was instituted. Its ostensibly united members consolidated each his own portfolio. Factionalism was the result. The mounting European crisis conferred a strong position on Beck, promoting Poland as a regional great power.249 In Czechoslovakia, President Masaryk’s era ended in December. Unlike Piłsudski, Masaryk had been promoting his closest disciple, Edvard Beneš, as a dauphin, and he abdicated after he had secured parliamentary backing for Beneš’s election.250 By 1935, Beneš had become a versed diplomat, reputed for his sense of compromise and agility. In time, he internalised an original perspective on what he believed to constitute the scientific conduct of international politics 246 B. Budurowycz, Polish–Soviet Relations 1932–1939 (New York, 1963), ch. 1–2; Rak, Piłsudski, chs. 12–3, 16, 18, accounts for the dynamics of the negotiations. 247 Rak, Piłsudski, ch. 34–6; B. Wiaderny, Hans Adolf von Moltke. Eine politische Biographie (Pa- derborn, 2016), ch. 7. 248 Knutsen, Leira, Neumann, Norsk utenrikspolitisk idéhistorie, 141–7; Riste, Norway’s Foreign Relations, 135; Å. Svendsen, Halvdan Koht – veien mot framtiden. En biografi (Oslo, 2013), 56–8, 78–82, 97–102, 130–140, 219–21, 237. 249 Polonsky, Politics, 392–412, 449–58; P. Wieczorkiewicz, Historia polityczna Polski 1935–1945 [Poland’s Political History, 1935–45] (Warsaw, 2005), 1–32. 250 Dejmek, Beneš, i. 623–31; Marès, Beneš, 231–41; Zeman, Benes, 105–16; Orzoff, Battle, 105–13, 119–32. small and sovereign and, abbreviated as Dr Beneš in the media, an academic self-image. Beneš’s command over the Foreign Ministry was unassailable—an early commentator referred to the “autocratic direction of Czechoslovakia’s foreign policy’’.251 His move to the Castle meant little change. The ministry briefly went over to Milan Hodža, a heavy-weight politician with diplomatic skills. Yet, the person in charge was Beneš’s confident, historian Kamil Krofta.252 Thus, in wartime London, Beneš was the only small power policy-maker present in international politics for over two decades.253 His resignation in the wake of the great power 60 Munich summit (September 1938) had significant legal effects that had to be dealt with (cf. Article 2, ‘Together and Alone’, 468). Yet, the interlude was short enough to allow Beneš to style himself and others to fashion him as a ‘wise man’ of high politics.254 In May 1935, the Franco–Soviet and the Soviet–Czechoslovak alliances were concluded, crowning Beneš’s efforts to enrol Moscow for the Versailles order.255 In June, he visited the Soviet Union. He was an enthusiastic guest. Shortly after he had departed, the British chargé d´affaires in Prague commented: “Dr. Beneš has made up his mind that in Russia and not in France lies Czechoslovakia’s hope for active assistance against the German danger”.256 Strategic choices that he advocated in exile (see Article 2, ‘Together and Alone’, 474) support this assertion. Yet, when Beneš was about to take over as Czechoslovakia’s president, inter- national politics focused elsewhere: the Italo–Ethiopian conflict, in the offing since November 1934, escalated into a full-fledged war. The League of Nations adopted sanctions against Italy, but support for Ethiopia was inadequate, and the country fell by mid-1936.257 Poland, detached from the region, held a low profile. Czechoslovakia, in turn, had a seat in the League Council. Presiding over the 1935 Assembly meeting, Beneš arguably facilitated a delay, allowing the Assembly to be still in session when Italy attacked and to condemn this act promptly. Still, Beneš devised Czechoslovakia’s position as neutral; in fact, 251 P.E. Zinner, ‘Czechoslovakia: The Diplomacy of Eduard Beneš’ in The Diplomats 1919–39, eds. G. Craig, F. Gilbert (Princeton, 1953), 101–7 (at 105). See also R. Crampton, ‘Edvard Beneš’ in Mental Maps in the Era of Two World Wars, eds. S. Casey, J. Wright (Basingstoke, 2008), 135–56; Dejmek, Beneš, i. 62–88, 470–4, 490, 505–6; Steiner, Lights, 297–9, 301–2, 354–5, 405–6. 252 Dejmek, Beneš, ii. 9; ‘Hodža, Milan’ in DČ, 88–91; ‘Krofta, Kamil’, ibid., 126–8. 253 Some monarchs—Haakon VII of Norway, Wilhelmina of the Netherlands—make an excep- tion here. Their involvement in international politics was not as full-fledged, though. 254 Cf. E.B. Hitchcock, ‘I Built a Temple for Peace’: The Life of Edward Beneš (New York, London, 1940), xi-xii, or, in a less exalted prose, idem, Beneš, the Man and the Statesman (London, 1940), 7. See also H.R. Madol, The League of London: A Book of Interviews with Allied Sovereigns and Statesmen (London, 1942), 7. 255 Lukes, Czechoslovakia, 40–51; Steiner, Triumph, 71–7; Wandycz, Twilight, 356–70. 256 Dejmek, Beneš, i. 608–12; Hanak, ‘The Visit of the Czechoslovak Foreign Minister Dr Edvard Beneš to Moscow in 1935 as Seen by the British Minister in Prague, Sir Joseph Addison’, Slavonic & East European Review 54 (1976), 586–92; Lukes, Czechoslovakia, 52–5; Marès, Beneš, 224–6. 257 Northedge, League of Nations, 221–45; Steiner, Triumph, 77–81, 100–36. small and sovereign Prague had stopped arms exports to Ethiopia months before the war. Before the year was over, the intercepted Anglo–French scheme to resolve the conflict in Rome’s favour (the Laval—Hoare Plan) meant the by-passing of the League. Beneš closed ranks with his great power partners and assisted in curtailing the Ethiopian delegation’s room for manoeuvre.258 The Italo–Ethiopian crisis accelerated two significant processes in Norway’s foreign policy: the resurgence of what historian Marta Stachurska-Kounta has coined ‘dormant neutrality’ and the entry of internationalist-minded Labour intellectuals, bound to play key policy-making roles in wartime exile. 61 Unlike preceding Norwegian foreign ministers, Koht, a leading figure in the Norwegian liberal discourse on international affairs for decades, had a distinct conception of foreign policy—peace promotion through disarmament, medi- ation, and conciliation.259 To him, the League of Nations was a platform where his foreign policy concept could be applied. At the 1935 Assembly meeting, Koht stated that the pending crisis tested the organization’s ability to secure peace through collective security. While it supposedly was not Koht’s inten- tion, he set his country in an effectively internationalist position with these words. Norwegian public opinion supported the League’s sanctions against Italy, although their possible costs were discussed and feared. The news of the Laval—Hoare Plan revived the traditional Norwegian mistrust in the great powers, Britain included.260 Koht has innovated Norway’s foreign relations in one particular regard. In April 1936, he toured Central and Eastern Europe, stopping in Prague, Vien- na, Bucharest, Budapest, Warsaw, and Moscow—the initiative originated in his academic activities. Koht recalled meeting his Czechoslovak counterpart, fellow historian Kamil Krofta, in Prague—his journal further mentions other historians and Norway’s consular officers.261 Inquiries in the Czech Foreign Ministry archives revealed no record of Koht’s visit. This confirms its unofficial, non-political nature. Yet, reporting to the Storting, Koht admitted that he had conceived the trip as a fact-finding mission, somewhat provoked by the Rhineland Crisis (March 1936).262 To Norway, Central and Eastern Europe had long been a periphery. Still, recent developments indicated its rising importance—and the increasing value of familiarity with its realia and locally dominant foreign policy outlooks. Back in Oslo, Koht highlighted the veil of insecurity curtailing the 258 G.W. Baer, Test Case: Italy, Ethiopia and the League of Nations, 1935–1936 (Stanford, 1976), 79, 121–5, 135; Dejmek, Beneš, i. 620–3; A. Skrzypek, ‘W kręgu koncepcji Międzymorza i taktyki balancowania (maj 1935 – wrzesień 1938)’ [‘Under the Sign of Intermarium and Balancing, May 1935 – September 1938’] in Łossowski et al., Historia Dyplomacji, 504–7. 259 Knutsen, Leira, Neumann, Norsk utenrikspolitisk idéhistorie, ch. 6; N. Ørvik, Sikkerhetspoli- tikken 1920–1939 – fra forhistorien til 9. april 1940, 2 vols (Oslo, 1960–1961), i. 237–48. 260 Fure, Mellomkrigstiden, 197–202; Haug, Folkeforbundet, 415–8; Riste, Norway’s Foreign Re- lations, 135–6; Stachurska-Kounta, Norway and the League, 261–5. 261 H. Koht, diary, NB, Ms. 4°3859, vii. 127–8 (7–9 Apr. 1936); Koht, For fred og fridom i krigstid, 1939–1940 (Oslo, 1957), 43. 262 Storting, closed meeting minutes, 4 May 1936, 2 in Stortingssarkivet, Møter for lukkede dører. Stortinget, 1925–1939 (CD-ROM, 2000). small and sovereign policy-makers’ horizons; regarding his collaborative foreign policy conception, he believed to have found a partner in Poland’s foreign minister, Józef Beck. Beck was no League of Nations enthusiast, though. He gradually came to advocate a small state alternative to the authoritarian regimes on the one hand and the Western democracies—which did not reward Polish status claims and, in Beck’s eyes, were tainted by fraternisation with the Soviet Union—on the other. This small powers group, with Poland as an apparent leader—an ambi- tion that resurfaced in the Second World War London—would constitute a 62 neutralist ‘Third Europe’ by virtue of being situated in-between the Baltic, the Black, and the Mediterranean Seas, also known as ‘Intermarium’. Norway was a geographical outlier in this design, but historians concur that Beck sought close contact with the Nordic countries. Koht did not believe in alliances. Still, Beck’s demise of militant ideologies probably resonated with him.263 While Koht hoped to rehabilitate Geneva264, Norway’s League of Nations moment ebbed abruptly. The drive for greater autonomy regarding the sanc- tions system application started a relaxation of Norway’s ties with it—the aim was to stay in the League but to be the sole arbiter on whether or not to follow its lead. This process evolved into a de facto return to neutrality. The debate had many instalments, in the Storting and in the press. Foreign policy heavy-weights—Foreign Minister Koht, his predecessor Mowinckel, Speaker of the Storting Hambro—all propagated neutrality265, though they were less united about implementation. Where Mowinckel advocated isolation, Koht and Hambro saw Norway marshalling small state solidarity in the League. Keeping the country aloof but selectively solidarist became a balancing act. Unchallenged in the government, Koht showed a complete understanding of the realities of power asymmetry. Hambro, in turn, was staunchly advocating the small power right for unrestricted sovereignty. A new generation of foreign policy actors emerged in the Norwegian Labour Party by the late 1930s. Activists in their late thirties, early forties, such as Finn Moe or Arne Ording—chief collaborators of Foreign Minister Trygve Lie in wartime exile (cf. Article 2, ‘Together and Alone’, 473; Article 3, ‘Norwegian 263 Poland’s minister in Oslo attempted to tame Beck’s optimism concerning the Polish–Norwegian rapprochement; Norway’s minister in Warsaw did not welcome Polish approaches; B.K. Zyśk, ‘Norwegia wobec ‘Trzeciej Europy’ Józefa Becka’ [‘Norway and the ‘Third Europe’ of Józef Beck’], Polski Przegląd Dyplomatyczny 3:3 (2003), 87–99, 104, 107. See also P. Jaworski, Polska niepodległa wobec Skandynawii 1918–1939 [Independent Poland and Scandinavia, 1918–39] (Wrocław, 2001), 64–7; M. Kornat, M. Wołos, Józef Beck. Biografia polityczna [Józef Beck, A Political Biography] (Cracow, 2020), 467–71; Ørvik, Sikkerhetspolitikken, i. 250–2. On the ‘Third Europe’ in general, see Kornat, Poland and the Origins of the Second World War: A Study in Diplomatic History, 1938–1939 (Frankfurt/M. 2021), 83–103. 264 Riste, Norway’s Foreign Relations, 136; Stachurska-Kounta, Norway and the League, 269, 272. The Manchurian and Ethiopian setbacks provoked calls for the League to reform; S. Obiya, ‘Between ‘Coercive League’ and ‘Consultative League’: A Reappraisal of Debates Surrounding the ‘Reform’ of the League of Nations’, International Relations of the Asia–Pacific 21 (2021), 79–86. 265 Ørvik, Sikkerhetspolitikken, ii. 163–4. small and sovereign Internationalism’, 295–6)266—saw an antidote against authoritarian regimes, especially Nazism, in a merger of antifascism and internationalism. They demand- ed tight cooperation with the Western democracies and the Soviet Union and a concerted effort to strengthen the League of Nations. Three factors empowered this dissent against Koht’s neutralist leanings. The French–Soviet–Czechoslo- vak alliance highlighted Moscow’s cooperation with Western democracies; the mass-medialization of foreign affairs made it possible for journalists to mould public opinion, and, finally, the rise of the International Relations discipline in Norway generated expertise. The ‘internationalists’ did not succeed between the 63 wars. The Labour leadership relied on Koht’s experience, dictating a pragmatic stand.267 It is worth noticing that this position was shared by Lie, his wartime successor. In the meantime, the ‘internationalists’—together with the influ- ential Labourite activist Martin Tranmæl, responsible for the principal party press outlet, Arbeiderbladet—exerted a profound influence on public opinion throughout the Spanish Civil War (1936 –9) or the Munich Crisis (1938), arguing that, in a European civil war, no society was entirely immune from fascism.268 Koht’s caution aside, Norway got into conflicts with two great powers. The first case originated in the June 1935 decision to grant asylum to Leon Trotsky, a Bolshevik leader once believed to succeed Lenin who, however, had lost his bid for power by the mid-1920s. While the Norwegian immigration regime was far from welcoming269, asylum was granted on condition that Trotsky, who had a significant international following, would refrain from activities endangering Norway’s foreign relations. This became unfeasible once he was charged in a Moscow show trial (1936) as an instigator of a fabricated conspiracy to murder the Soviet Union’s dictatorial leader, Stalin. Norway was directly ‘implicated’ in a sequel show trial (1937) where one of the defendants 266 Coming from the opposite political strand and still younger than Moe or Ording, Edvard Hambro (son of Carl J. Hambro) too belonged to the rising cohort of Norwegian IR experts; B.A. Steine, Fred, forskning og formidling. Internasjonale studier i Sverige og Norge, 1897–1940 (PhD Thesis, Oslo 2016), 418–23, 446–8. 267 Svendsen, Koht, 231–4; Ørvik, Sikkerhetspolitikken, i. 275–88, ii. 68–70. The so-called Olav Tryggvasson affair (1937) is illustrative. Koht put forth a motion to send out a minelayer to assist Norwegian vessels in Spanish waters by means short of opening fire. When he failed in the Storting, he was about to rescind the motion and resign, but his government colleagues regarded him as indispensable. The situation repeated itself when Koht suggested that Norway should recognise General Franco’s ‘nationalist’ government as the legitimate government of Spain (1938); Fure, Mellomkrigstiden, 290; Pryser, Klassen og nasjonen, 210–1; H.O. Sandnes, ‘Olav Tryggvason-affairen’. Spørsmålet om norsk marineskip til spanske farvann våren 1937 (Oslo, 1997); Svendsen, Koht, 237–9. 268 Fure, Mellomkrigstiden, 288–9, 291–2; T. Pryser, Klassen og nasjonen (1935–1946) (Oslo, 1988), 206–8; Riste, Norway’s Foreign Relations, 136; Svendsen, Koht, 234–6. Norwegian Labour’s relationship with Communism was complicated. The ‘Great Terror’ blurred the Soviet progressive image. However, while the radical Left fully adopted the Moscow line, even more moderate observers seemed to give it a well-willing chance—not the least in the name of anti-fascism; E. Wik Sundvall, Gerhardsens valg. Arbeidetspartiets tunge avskjed med Sovjetunionen, 1917–49 (Oslo, 2016), 91–102. 269 See Niemi, Myhre, Kjellstadli, I nasjonalstatens tid, 463–9. small and sovereign ‘confessed’ that he had flown there to confer with Trotsky. The Nygaardsvold ministry ventured far to contain Soviet attacks by curtailing Trotsky’s conditions of exile. After refusing to pledge to inactivity, he was expedited to Mexico by the end of the year. That his sojourn in the country has become a political controversy, mobilising voters against the ruling Labour, was yet another ag- gravating circumstance.270 The other conflict occurred when the Norwegian Nobel Committee con- ferred the 1936 Peace Prize on Carl von Ossietzky, an incarcerated German 64 peace activist. The Committee was independent of the Norwegian government. Still, Koht and Mowinckel had long been serving in it, which made Berlin see it as demonstrating against Germany on behalf of Norway. In fact, Koht and Mowinckel had left the Committee before the decision was met, fearing repercussions. They were correct. The anti-Norwegian campaign—echoed by Norway’s national-conservatives—ceased eventually, but the bilateral relation- ship would never recover.271 These confrontations attested to the mounting tensions in international politics and the declining predictability on which Norway’s shipping-domi- nated economy, and with it the fiscal revenue, depended. Germany’s drive for the strongest possible position in European affairs included the annexation of Austria (March 1938), the mobilization of the German minority in Czecho- slovakia and, belatedly, the pressing demand to integrate Danzig, a principally German-populated city-state under the League of Nations auspices, with Ger- many. These developments culminated in a crisis threatening Czechoslovakia’s existence and bringing Europe to war—provided the alliance mechanisms in place would be applied. They were not, for the rearming France and Britain were not yet in a position to match German capabilities. Their public opinion was not prepared to go to war—it had not recovered from the mental toll of the ‘Great War’, which in Western Europe, with a possible exception of Alsace, was not seen as emancipatory, as it was in Czechoslovakia and Poland. Tensions were resolved at the summit in Munich (28–29 October). With no Czechoslovak representative present, Neville Chamberlain, Édouard Daladier, and Benito Mussolini agreed to accommodate Adolf Hitler’s demands, including a transfer of Czechoslovakia’s chiefly German-populated provinces.272 Poland, not invited to the conference, rushed to claim the part of Teschen Silesia and a few borderland areas in the Carpathians which it had not acquired 270 Fure, Mellomkrigstiden, 269–73; O.K. Høidal, Trotsky in Norway: Exile, 1935–1937 (DeKalb, 2013), esp. 283–90. See also S. Kotkin, Stalin, 3 vols (London, 2014–), ii. 330–3. 271 Fure, Mellomkrigstiden, 278–81; E. Thue, Nobels fredspris – og diplomatiske forviklinger. Tysk- norske forbindelser i kjølvannet av Ossietzky-saken (Oslo, 1994), 8–30. 272 The historiography of the Munich Crisis is immense. Telford Taylor’s mammoth Munich: The Price of Peace (New York, 1979) is still useful. For recent, British-centred accounts, see R. Crowcroft, The End is Nigh: British Politics, Power, and the Road to the Second World War (Oxford, 2019), 114–36; D. Reynolds, Summits: Six Meetings that Shaped the 20th Century (New York, 2007), ch. 2; Steiner, Triumph, 552–657. On French complexities, see Y. Lacaze, France and Munich: A Study of Decision Making in International Affairs (Boulder, 1995). small and sovereign after the First World War. This action had two objectives. Poland, a would-be regional great power, protested its exclusion from the Munich negotiations. Presenting expansion as a mend of historical injustice, the regime demonstrated its assertiveness and intransigence concerning the issues of sovereignty, identity, and status to the domestic audience. There was no actual coordination between Berlin and Warsaw, but the timing and the fact that, to most observers, the bilateral relationship seemed explicitly cordial triggered the image of a predatory Poland in Germany’s fold.273 In the Second World War, Poland had fought for its territorial integrity, 65 including the 1938 acquisitions. An exile administration that would admit concessions, especially during its formative period, would endanger its legitimacy gravely in the eyes of those whom it aspired to represent and on whose contribu- tions to its operations it would be decisively relying. Thus, while the inter-war oppositionists—who had not been complicit in Beck’s foreign policy—took the upper hand in the government-in-exile, they found themselves defending their predecessors’ choices, unpopular with Winston Churchill and other Allied leaders and enraging Czechoslovakia’s Edvard Beneš, who was expected to be their close partner in London exile.274 Most importantly, the distinction between the authoritarian inter-war Poland, willing to cultivate good relations with the Nazis, and the democratic Poland that the exiles aspired to represent and to project for the post-war was seriously marred. Too reminiscent of Beck’s ‘Third Europe’ design, Polish federalist programmes further reinforced the perceptions of this undesired continuity (cf. Article 2, ‘Together and Alone’, 473). Norway was a distant observer of these developments. Still, Koht attempted to win his Nordic colleagues over for a conciliatory appeal as he attended the League of Nations annual Assembly meeting in Geneva in September 1938. He did not succeed, not the least because they considered the scenery too volatile. Koht’s efforts to make the League a party to the resolution of the Munich Crisis stranded, but the great powers bypassed it altogether. This episode shows that three years into his tenure as Norway’s foreign minister amidst a European crisis, Koht has not yet lost all hope to pursue his ‘active peace politics’ through the 273 Beck’s German policy and decisions during the Munich crisis remain disputed. While Marek Kornat, a leading historian of Poland’s inter-war foreign relations, considers them sanctioned, Stanisław Żerko, an expert on the Polish–German relations in the 1930s, disagrees; Kornat, Poland and the Origins, 204–7; S. Żerko, Stosunki polsko-niemieckie 1938–1939 [Polish–Ger- man Relations, 1938–9] (Poznan, 1998), 74–86, 95–101, 462–5. See also K. Pryt, Befohlene Freundschaft. Die deutsch-polnische Kulturbeziehungen, 1934–1939 (Osnabrück, 2010), esp. ch. 2. 274 E.g., W.S. Churchill, The Second World War, 5 vols (London, 1948–1952), i. 252, 271, 272; I. Ducháček, Deníky 1939–1945 [Diaries, 1939–45], eds. P. Horák, R. Vašek (Prague, 2022), 116 (19 Sep. 1939); E. Raczyński, In Allied London (London, 1962), 7–10 (20 Oct. 1938); M. Sokolnicki, Dziennik ankarski [The Ankara Diaries], 2 vols (London, 1966–1974), i. 482 (5 Apr. 1943). See also Gilbert, Churchill, v. 1005; Němeček, Od spojenectví k roztržce. Vztahy československé a polské exilové reprezentace, 1939–1945 [From Alliance to Rift: The Relations of the Czechoslovak and the Polish Exile Representations, 1939–45] (Prague, 2003), 53, 95, 98–9, 120–4. small and sovereign Genevan organization despite his interest in coordinated neutralist policies. The outplay of the Munich Crisis was condemned by personalities bound to play important, if not always complementary, roles in Norwegian foreign policy-making in exile, such as the conservative President of the Storting Carl Joachim Hambro, the liberal history professor Jacob Stenersen Worm-Müller, or the Labourite ‘internationalists’, such as Finn Moe.275 It also suggested that neither an internationalist stature nor alliances guarantee a small power’s security. Consequently, neutralist overtones earned a yet stronger foothold in 66 Koht’s foreign policy outlook. The late 1930s saw a lively debate on foreign policy in Norway. It, however, remained essentially Koht’s policy. 5.4 POOR RELATIONS: NORWAY AND CENTRAL EUROPE When the Central European states emerged, Norway was in a position to grant recognition to them. It did so in 1919, first to Poland (May), then to Czech- oslovakia (October), i.e., 7–12 months after independence had been declared and recognition granted by the Entente.276 The slow pace is understandable in times when many state formations were short-lived. The succession of Norway’s acts of recognition implies the precedence of Poland over Czechoslovakia. Rzecz- pospolita was in Norway’s wider vicinity; its Baltic outlet prompted shipping contacts277, but Czechoslovakia was a land-locked, distant power. None of the two Central European countries played a substantial role in Norway’s foreign exchange, most of which occurred in the Anglo–German–Nordic triangle. There was one short-lived exception to this ‘rule’, though. The juncture of high prices and the 1926 ‘Great Strike’ in Britain demonstrated the need to diversify Norway’s coal imports. Poland was ready to expand; the tariff war with Germany (1925–9) had stripped its mining industry of the traditional markets. Thus, the value of Polish imports to Norway rose exponentially. Britain was to recover its position in this sector, but Poland remained a significant player.278 Diplomatic representation reflected Norway’s low interest in Central Eu- rope—which Czechoslovakia, if not Poland, appears to have reciprocated—and Poland’s priority over Czechoslovakia as a prospective partner. Poland opened a legation in Kristiania/Oslo in 1919 and entrusted it to Czesław Pruszyński, a young diplomat and son-in-law of Nicolai Prebensen, 275 Ørvik, Sikkerhetspolitikken, ii. 210–11, 214–6. See also A. Kirkhusmo, ‘Jacob S. Worm-Müller’ in NBL2, x. 58–9. 276 Příručka o navazování diplomatických styků a diplomatických zastoupení Československa v cizine a cizích zemí v Československu 1918–1985 [Czechoslovakia’s Entrance into Diplomatic Relations, Its Diplomatic Missions, and Foreign Diplomatic Missions in Czechoslovakia, 1918–85. A Handbook] (Prague, 1985), 132; J. Szymański, ‘Etablering av diplomatiske forbindelser mellom Polen og Norge i årene 1919–1923’, Folia Scandinavica Posnaniensia 9 (2006), 295, 297. 277 M. Gawinecka-Woźniak, Stosunki rządu polskiego z rządem norweskim na emigracji w Londynie w latach 1940–1945 [Relations between the Polish and the Norwegian Governments in Exile in London, 1940–5] (Torun, 2008), 33–8. 278 Salmon, ‘Polish–British Competition in the Coal Markets of Northern Europe, 1927–1934’, Studia Historiae Oeconomicae 16 (1981), 217–43. small and sovereign former Norwegian minister to Russia. Norway, in turn, sent out the prominent industrialist Sam Eyde.279 The appointments indicate an optimistic outlook for prospective relations. Their evolution probably left much to be desired—both diplomats were recalled or transferred soon. Poland as much as closed its mis- sion down in 1921, leaving a low-rank diplomat in an informal capacity while Poland’s ministers to Denmark and Sweden were, at different times, accredited in Kristiania/Oslo.280 The bilateral relationship intensified only after chargé d’affaires Nils Christian Ditleff and minister Władysław Neuman had arrived in Warsaw and Oslo (1926 and 1930, respectively).281 67 Operating a minimalistic diplomatic network, Norway did not establish a station in Prague, and it accredited its representative to Poland there as well instead. Czechoslovakia had only limited interests in the Nordic countries—it accredited its minister to Sweden in Norway, too, with the provision of posting a charge d’affaires in Kristiania/Oslo. The completion of diplomatic relations between the two countries dragged on. Only in June 1926 did chargé d’af- faires Ditleff present a letter of credence in Prague. Czechoslovakia wished to elevate its mission to a standard legation in the late 1920s282, yet the official Norwegian–Czechoslovak relations remained low-key. Consular missions were advancing commercial contacts, and the political relationship was animated by occasional visits of their diplomats to the respective capitals. The League of Nations was an alternative contact interface. It has undoubtedly channelled some image of the ‘other’, yet little strictly political cooperation appears to have been linking Norway and Central Europe. Poland, for example, failed to solicit Nordic support for its permanent seat Council ambitions.283 One League agenda concerning Czechoslovakia and Poland had a ‘Norwegian connection’—minorities protection, entrusted to Erik Andreas Colban. Thus, Colban had more regular contact with Czechoslovakia than any other Norwe- gian politician or civil servant. In his memoirs, he assessed local inter-ethnic relations positively and was on friendly terms with Beneš. The Polish situation was complicated, but Colban did not blame Warsaw for any lack of goodwill. Still, most of his experience pertained to the parliamentary era before inter-ethnic tensions escalated in the 1930s.284 279 ‘Pruszyński Czesław’ in USZ, i. 312–3; O.K. Grimnes, ‘Sam Eyde’ in NBL2, iii. 41–2; Omang, ‘Prebensen, Nicolai’ in NBL1, xi. 169–74. 280 Chargés d´affaires often acted as heads of both missions in the 1920s. RA, Ditleff papers, Box F1, ‘Kongelige embetsutnevnelser’. See also H. Sokolnicki, In the Service of Poland: Memoirs of Diplomatic and Social Life, Chiefly before and during Second World War, in Poland, the USSR and Scandinavia (Helsinki, 1973), 65–7; Szymański, ‘Etablering’, 306–11. 281 T.W. Lange, ‘Ekstraordinær sendemann. Władysław Neuman, Polens sendemann i Norge 1931–1942’, Folia Scandinavica Posnaniensia 8 (2004), 129–36; ‘Neuman Władysław’ in USZ, i. 284–6. 282 Note pro domo, 20 Mar. 1930, AMZV, I. sekce, č.j. 42736/30, Box 81. 283 Jaworski, ‘Polish Experiences with Scandinavian Activities in the League of Nations’, Scandi- navian Journal of History 40 (2015), 8–11. 284 E. Colban, Femti år (Oslo, 1952), 79–101, esp. 93–4, 97–8. small and sovereign Czechoslovakia had an asset that Poland lacked in its relationship with Nor- way—cultural affinity. Two elements were prominent—President Masaryk’s Reformation-informed progressive views and the Norwegian author Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson’s advocacy of ethnic rights for the Slovaks in Austria–Hungary. In June 1907, mandatory Hungarian classes were introduced in elementary schools, and those Slovak curtailed. In October, ecclesiastical authorities forbade a popular cleric to consecrate a church. The locals protested, tensions mounted, and the gendarmerie fired. Czech activists brought both causes up for Bjørnson, who 68 publicised them internationally. A Slovak–Norwegian connection was set. In 1925, a delegation paid respects at Bjørnson’s grave; a memorial project in Slo- vakia was abandoned, though.285 The connection was mentioned when Slovak representatives pleaded for the Norwegian recognition of the quasi-independent Slovakia (1939–40) and the Czechoslovak government-in-exile (1940) alike (cf. Article 1, ‘Reading the Signs’, 480; Article 2, ‘Together and Alone’, 470–1). In wartime exile, the Czechoslovak–Norwegian Day was celebrated on Bjørnson’s birthday (8 December) to promote reciprocity, respect for freedom, and small power solidarity (Article 2, ‘Together and Alone’, 471). Bjørnson also spoke on behalf of the Polish language rights in the German partition but castigated the Poles for oppressing East Slavs in Galicia through the “old Polish devil” of individualism and adventurism. This episode brought him at odds with Polish luminaries of the era; it too was remembered in the inter-war years.286 Bjørnson’s attitude mirrored yet another difference between Czechoslovakia and Poland in the Norwegian perspective. Rzeczpospolita was handicapped because it made a point of reference. A one-time, if not contemporary, great power, Poland was too big and too assertive to comply with Norwegian notions of a small, peaceful nation. Moreover, Poland was an exemplary Catholic country, while not even the modernist breakthrough disrupted the Lutheran fabrics of the Norwegian state, codified in the Constitution (1814).287 Rare reminiscences of past solidarity with Polish patriots could not balance an imagery of religious alienation.288 Finally, Polish legacy had a negative lexical connotation in the ex- pression polsk riksdag. An allusion to unruly Early Modern politics, as a national character stereotype it, would imply the disability of rational reasoning. Polsk riksdag is a calque of polnischer Reichstag, a German trope alluding, together 285 A. Keel, Bjørnson i kamp for Europas undertrykte folk (Oslo, 2010), ch. 4. See also AMZV, ZÚ Stokholm, inv.č. 477, Box 14. 286 R. Hanssen, ‘Et sammenstøtt mellem Bjørnson og Sienkiewicz’, Edda 32 (1932), 423–8. 287 L. Bliksrud, G. Hestmark, T. Rasmussen, Vitenskapens utfordringer (Oslo, 2002), 193–200, 245–69; K. Norseth, ‘Arousing Anti-Catholic Sentiments on a National Scale: The Case of Marthe Steinsvik and Norway’ in European Anti-Catholicism in a Comparative and Transna- tional Perspective, eds. Y.M. Werner, J. Harvard (Amsterdam, 2013), 149–61. 288 For the legacy of the 19th Century Polish uprisings, see R.H. Bang, Norge og den polske fri- hetskamp (Oslo, 1937), esp. xvii–xlviii. When Koht wrote about the 1936 Warsaw visit in memoirs, he stated that he “could not recall any particular sense of amity between Norway and Poland.” Still, according to the Polish press, he did refer to the 19th-Century upisigs; Jaworski, Polska niepodległa, 77; Koht, For fred og fridom, 43. small and sovereign with polnische Wirtschaft (Polish management), to civilisational inferiority ne- cessitating ‘correction’ from outside.289 Czechoslovakia, a small, newly-emancipated ‘nation’ with Protestant herit- age and Masaryk’s progressive image, was ‘safe’ in symbolic terms. Academia served as a conduit of promotion. Nordic literatures had won an audience, and irregular university courses on Nordic subjects had been organised in Prague since the belle epoque. An institutional foothold of the Nordic studies was in the making.290 One local enthusiast, translator Emil Walter, joined the Czechoslovak foreign service in the early 1920s.291 A Nordic travelogue by an 69 eminent Czech writer and member of the ‘Castle’ milieu, Karel Čapek, enjoyed, and continues to enjoy, some popularity; the author’s Norwegian travels feature prominently in it.292 The cultural exchange worked the other way around as well. Two Norwegian philologists studied Czech and Slovak philology in Prague in the 1930s. They contributed to the mutual relationship: Trygve Tonstad, the author of a posthumously published account of Bjørnson’s ‘Slovak affair’293, and Olav Rytter, who also served as a Norwegian lecturer in Prague (1928–31) and in Warsaw (1933–5). Rytter also introduced Norwegian academia to the national revival of the Slavs and translated a tract on Austria-Hungary, its dis- solution and its aftermath by Kamil Krofta, a senior foreign ministry official and reputed historian. Active at the Norwegian Nobel Institute and in the Norwegian Broadcasting Service (Norsk rikskringkastning, NRK)294, Rytter advanced invaluably the dissemination of knowledge on Central Europe. In 1937, Czechoslovakia’s Minister of Education and Public Enlightenment, Emil Franke, visited Oslo, and the Norwegian–Czechoslovak cultural treaty was signed at Czechoslovakia’s behest. While this instrument had appeared already in the 19th Century and had enjoyed remarkable popularity throughout the interbellum295, this was Norway’s first treaty in kind. It opened for the bilateral student exchange, focusing on language and culture. It was instrumental in organising an exhibition of Czech and Slovak book art in Oslo (1938) and 289 J. Leerssen, ‘The Poetics and Anthropology of National Character (1500–2000)’ in Imagology: The Cultural Construction and Literary Representations of National Characters. A Critical Survey, eds. M. Beller, J. Leerssen (Amsterdam, New York, 2007), 63–75: G. Skommer, ‘Polsk riksdag eller Polen gjenspeilet i norsk fraseologi’, Folia Scandinavica Posnaniensia 9 (2006), 29–31. 290 J. Lainto, ‘Arnošt Kraus, A Czech Dane in Prague’ in Arnošt Vilém Kraus (1859–1943). Wis- senschaftler und Kulturpolitiker, eds. S. Höhne, V. Petrbok, H. Březinová (Cologne, Weimar, Vienna, 2021), 239–54; M. Liška, ‘Kraus als Begründer der Prager Skandinavistik’ in ibid., 169–88, esp. 170–4; O. Vimr, Historie překladatele. Cesty skandinávských literatur do češtiny (1890–1950) [Translator as History: The Roads of Nordic Literatures into Czech, 1890–1950] (Příbram, 2014). 291 Walter’s last posting was that of the Czechoslovak minister to Norway (1946–8); Vimr, Historie překladatele, 102–7; ‘Walter, Emil’ in DČ, 261. 292 K. Čapek, En reise til Norden, trans. M. & K. Blekestad (Oslo, 1995 [1936]). 293 T. Tonstad, Bjørnson og slovakene (Oslo, 1938), the postscript by O. Rytter (at 237–8). 294 Dahl, ‘Olav Rytter’ in NBL2, vii. 466–8; ‘Krofta, Kamil’ DČ, 126–8. 295 B.G. Martin, ‘The Birth of the Cultural Treaty in Europe’s Age of Crisis’, Contemporary Eu- ropean History 30 (2021), 301–17. small and sovereign of its Norwegian equivalent in Prague (1939).296 These events led to a public diplomacy initiative establishing a Norwegian–Czechoslovak Committee. The idea must have been stalled after the dissolution of Czechoslovakia in March 1939.297 Official cultural exchange was meaningful. Neither Czechoslovakia nor Poland could count on much support from Norwegian-based expatriates, primarily students or missionaries serving the tiny Catholic community.298 Finally, the Norwegian–Czechoslovak cultural treaty was the basis for post-war cooperation.299 It was also a part of the Czechoslovak input when, in 1943, 70 the Conference of Allied Ministers of Education started pondering cultural conventions as stimulants of international cooperation in education and as a tool for the promotion of the global citizenship idea, included in the post-war reconstruction ideological portfolio.300 5.5 INTO EXILE: ALL ROADS LEAD TO LONDON (1938–1940) The genesis of the Second World War exile policy-making community in London spanned over twenty turbulent months between October 1938 and July 1940. At its end, politicians and activists with limited previous contact were sharing refuge, practical challenges, and a programme. Representing sovereign nations, the governments-in-exile jointly claimed to have transferred their capitals. Yet, the situation of each one of them was different. This chapter discusses how displaced, disenfranchised Czechoslovak, Norwegian, and Polish elites mobilised resources and morale in the early struggle that led them to London. Separate starting points explain diverse foreign policy outlooks among the exiles, as they were on the road towards a community more tightly knit than the League of Nations used to be. 5.5.1 The ‘Fog of Peace’ (October 1938 – August 1939) “The Second World War was destined to break out on October 1st, 1938”, Gri- gore Gafencu, Romanian Foreign Minister, 1939–40, wrote in his memoirs.301 It did not; the Munich Agreement lent international affairs a semblance of stability. Yet, this rear-view mirror observation pinpoints a fact: while we can date initial hostilities of the Second World War with clinical precision, their advent, pregnant with confrontation ‘short of war’, was prolonged. For example, 296 RA, KUD, 1. Skolekontor, En, Box 857, Folder 1–3; N. Hjelmtveit, Vekstår og vargtid (Oslo, 1955), 62–4. 297 Kučera to Foreign Ministry, 1 Mar. 1939, AMZV, ZÚ Stokholm, inv.č. 934, č.j. 1225/39, Box 25. 298 AMZV, ZÚ Stokholm, inv.č. 742, Box 20; E. Olszewski, Polacy w Norwegii 1940–2010 [Poles in Norway, 1940–2010] (Torun, 2011), 34–5. 299 RA, KUD, 1. Skolekontor, En, L0857, Folder 4. 300 See the correspondence in TNA, ED 42/21. See also D. Mylonas, La genèse de l´Unesco: La Conferénce les Ministéres Alliés de l´Education (1942–1945) (Brussels, 1976); Sluga, Internation- alism, 81-8; E. Teige, ‘Citizenship Education and the Rebuilding of Europe after World War II: The Case of Norway’, Vierteljahrsschrift für wissenschaftliche Pädagogik 87 (2011), 422-38. 301 G. Gafencu, The Last Days of Europe: A Diplomatic Journey in 1939 (London, 1947), 13. small and sovereign upheavals following the conclusion of the Munich Agreement prompted many Czechs and Slovaks at odds with it to observe the descent into war not from home but from abroad.302 Few exiles could turn patriotic zeal into action at once. Still, they were already at war with Germany—mobilising to fight for the restoration of free Czechoslovakia and of the legitimate form of government in it—months before the Wehrmacht assaulted Poland, France, the Nordic, the Benelux, or the Balkan countries. As historian Ewan Mawdsley has noted, the start date of the Second World War differed for each state and nation involved.303 Discussing the 1938–9 European scenery, British historian Zara Steiner 71 wrote of a ‘fog of peace’. With a war just averted, both democratic and author- itarian regimes were accelerating their military build-up to bolster deterrence or, conversely, to prepare for a confrontation.304 Central Europe saw a massive projection of German power, culminating in Czecho-Slovakia’s dismember- ment in mid-March 1939305, an act contradicting the Munich settlement.306 On 7 April, Italy annexed Albania and forced King Zog into exile.307 Soon, the German–Polish good neighbour relationship became history, too. When negotiations did not establish common ground, Warsaw intensified its ties to London, and Hitler denounced the 1934 German–Polish non-aggression declaration and the 1935 Anglo-German Naval Agreement.308 Thus, defence spending and military preparedness permeated public de- bate—even in Norway, where the ruling Labour Party preferred to hold the military at bay.309 Chances for non-belligerency were to be helped by the relaxation of the country’s international ties. One notable exception was the coordination of neutrality policies in Norway’s vicinity.310 By contrast, Poland’s topflight partook in the crisis of 1939. Situated ‘between Germany and Russia’, it would seek to minimise threat levels through balancing, but, representing a ‘regional great power’311, it would also oppose any allusion to sovereignty concessions. Ultimately, the country found itself in a conflict with Germany and, slightly later, the Soviet Union. France and Britain could not yet render practical assistance—Poland’s defences collapsed by late September. In April 302 Another example are Austrian post-Anschluss (March 1938) exiles. See H. Schwager, Die österreichische Emigration in Frankreich, 1938–1945 (Vienna, Cologne, Graz, 1984), ch. 2. 303 E. Mawdsley, ‘General Introduction’ in The Cambridge History of the Second World War, eds. E. Mawdsley et al., 3 vols (Cambridge, 2015), i. 4. 304 J. Maiolo, Cry Havoc: How the Arms Race Drove the World into War, 1931–1941 (New York, 2010), ch. 13; Steiner, Triumph, 671. 305 ‘Czecho-Slovakia’ refers to the post-Munich arrangement in the Bohemian Lands, Slovakia, and Sub-Carpathian Ruthenia, ‘Czechoslovakia’ to the pre-Munich state and to its represen- tatives in exile. 306 Steiner, Triumph, 683–9, 727–9. 307 B.J. Fischer, King Zog and the Struggle for Stability in Albania (Boulder, 1984), 272–88. 308 Kornat, Poland and the Origins, esp. 221–32, 240–60; A. Prazmowska, Britain, Poland and the Eastern Front, 1939 (Cambridge, 1987), 32–9, 46–71; Żerko, Stosunki, ch. 3–4. 309 Ørvik, Sikkerhetspolitikken, i. 90–5, 107–17, ii. 95–7, 105–15. 310 Fure, Mellomkrigstiden, 202–10; Riste, Norway’s Foreign Relations, 140–2. 311 I.B. Neumann, ‘Poland as a Regional Great Power: An Interwar Heritage’ in Regional Great Powers in International Politics, ed. I.B. Neumann (London, 1992), 121–50. small and sovereign 1940, Germany assaulted Norway. The Allies retaliated, but in two months, Norway’s lot resembled Poland’s: The King and his council set sail for Britain. France fell only days later, after Belgium, Luxemburg and the Netherlands. Thousands of patriots from these countries crossed the English Channel im- mediately. Still others were to arrive. 5.5.2 Czechoslovakia, “The Fall and Rise of a Nation” The 1938 Munich crisis ruined Czechoslovakia, morphing it into a satellite of 72 Germany. Edvard Beneš stepped down from the presidency on 5 October to be succeeded by lawyer Emil Hácha.312 Resentments of betrayal inspired the demise of democracy.313 The multi-ethnic state eroded as Slovak and Sub-Carpathian autonomists seized the initiative. In between, the two provinces had to hand their southern districts over to Hungary. Poland, too, claimed Teschen Silesia and a few Carpathian pockets. In the quest for regional supremacy, Germany induced Slovakia to secede on 14 March 1939 and made it a satellite which, however, applied for recognition as a subject of international law (see Article 1, ‘Reading the Signs’). On 15 March, the Wehrmacht marched into Prague. Hitler proclaimed the Protectorate of Bohemia and Moravia, formally at Há- cha’s behest—he remained in office with the obscure title of a state president. Carpatho-Ukraine proclaimed independence to subdue instantly to Hungary.314 5.5.2.1 Into the Wide Open A host of Czechoslovak activists chose exile after Munich. A strong cohort headed to France and Great Britain, and a smaller one also to Scandinavia. The some- what elitist outfit of the Czechoslovak exile evaporated when the Protectorate emerged. Patriots of various backgrounds, primarily young men—historian Peter Heumos arrived at a sum of 42,000—were fleeing to join the Allies and the representatives of the ‘Czechoslovak cause’ fighting along with them. They travelled mainly via Poland and, after the war broke out, via Slovakia and neutral Hungary either to the Adriatic ports or the Levant.315 Only a few thoroughly vetted Communists departed for the Soviet Union—many followed the main exile stream on party orders.316 Some early exiles were to play critical roles in 312 Dejmek, Beneš, ii. 180–2, 185; Zeman, Benes, 139–40, 143. 313 M. Hauner, ‘Introduction’ in Beneš, The Fall and Rise of a Nation: Czechoslovakia, 1938–1941, ed. M. Hauner (Boulder, 2004), xiii-xxii; J. Křen, Do emigrace. Západní zahraniční odboj 1938–1939 [To Exile: The Western Resistance, 1938–9] (Prague, 1963), 90–103. 314 V. Bystrický et al., Rozbitie alebo rozpad? Historické reflexie zániku Česko-Slovenska [Split-Up or Dissolution? Historical Reflexions on Czecho-Slovakia’s Fall] (Bratislava, 2010); T. Prochazka, The Second Republic: The Disintegration of Post-Munich Czechoslovakia, October 1938 – March 1939 (Boulder, 1981). 315 P. Heumos, Die Emigration aus der Tschechoslowakei nach Westeuropa und dem Nahen Osten, 1938–1945. Politisch-soziale Struktur, Organization und Asylbedingungen der tschechischen, jüdischen, deutschen und slowakischen Flüchtlinge während des Nationalsozialismus (Munich, 1989), ch. 2. 316 J. Křesťan, Zdeněk Nejedlý, politik a vědec v osamění [Zdeněk Nejedlý, A Politician and Scholar in Solitude] (Prague, Litomyšl, 2012), 270–2; B. Laštovička, V Londýně za války. Zápasy o small and sovereign the Czechoslovak government-in-exile. One of them was a moderately left-wing journalist, Hubert Ripka. A critic of the surrender to the Munich terms, he was at odds with Beneš yet left for the West with his approval in October 1938.317 Ripka expected an apt birth of an exile movement. He moved to London and, well-connected with the press, published a detailed account of the Munich crisis and its aftermath. The dispersion of the Czechoslovak exiles enabled Ripka to run an information network.318 Landing in London on 22 October 1938, Edvard Beneš received a lukewarm welcome—the Foreign Office advised him strongly to refrain from politics. 73 Mindful of convalescence319, Beneš only talked with confidents like Ripka or Jan Masaryk, President Masaryk’s son and a long-time minister in London.320 Beneš started a chain of confidential ‘Messages to Homeland’ (‘Vzkazy do vlasti’). For Czechoslovakia to be restored, he recognised that a major war that Germany would lose was necessary.321 Czecho-Slovakia’s dismemberment sent out a clear message: Hitler had breached commitments; appeasement policies did not work. It prompted Beneš, a visiting scholar at the University of Chicago, to discard considerations for the Prague government that he arguably had born in mind and to interna- tionalise Czechoslovakia’s cause. On 16 March, the ‘former president’ lodged a protest against the German aggression. He asked the great powers to withhold recognition of its effects and enunciated the birth of an exile movement. The United States and the Soviet Union condemned German actions outright.322 Great Britain and France protested and declared the understanding that the Munich Agreement had instituted ruined. Paris and London came to recognise changes in Central Europe de facto when they approached the German Foreign Ministry with exequatur applications regarding consulates in the Protectorate. novou ČSR, 1939–1945 [In Wartime London: Fight for a New Czechoslovakia, 1939–45)] (Prague, 1978), 19–20. 317 Ripka to Beneš, Prague, 7 Oct. 1938, in E. Beneš, Paměti [Memoirs], ed. M. Hauner, 3 vols (Prague, 2008), #81, iii. 261–2; D. Pavlát, Novinář a politik Hubert Ripka. Člověk, který nem- lčel [Journalist and Politician Hubert Ripka: A Man Who Did Not Keep Quiet] (Prague, 2019), 38–9, 50–3, 74–80, 94–100. 318 H. Ripka, Munich: Before and After (London, 1939); Pavlát, Novinář, 104–10, 112–6. Ripka’s Norway correspondent was Roman Jakobson, a prominent Russian-born linguist, in Oslo since May 1939. For his messages, see NAČR, AHR, sign. 1–5-29. See also K. Pomorska, ‘Roman Jakobson (October 11, 1986 – July 18, 1982)’, Polish Review 29 (1984), 46–7. 319 For Beneš’s pitiful shape, see The Diaries of Sir Robert Bruce Lockhart, ed. K. Young, 2 vols (London, 1973–1980), i. 404–5 (22 Oct. 1938), 411 (29 Nov. 1938). 320 ‘Masaryk, Jan’ in DČ, 155–7. 321 Beneš to Klofáč, London, 10 Nov. 1938, in Beneš, Paměti, #84, iii. 266–70. See also idem, Fall and Rise, 26–8; Dejmek, Beneš, ii. 190–1, 195–7; Marès, Beneš, 295–8. 322 Beneš to Roosevelt, Chamberlain, Daladier & Litvinov, Chicago, 16 Mar. 1939, ibid., #1, i. 51; Soviet Protest against Occupation of Czecho-Slovakia, Moscow, 18 Mar. 1939, SDFP, iii. 322–3; US Protest against Occupation of Czecho-Slovakia, Washington, 20 Mar. 1939, FRUS, 1939, i. 56; V. Smetana, In the Shadow of Munich. British Policy towards Czechoslovakia from the Endorsement to the Renunciation of the Munich Agreement (1938–1942) (Prague, 2008), 127–35. small and sovereign The Foreign Office, however, held that this did not imply recognition of the legality of German actions.323 German thrust against Czecho-Slovakia mustered the transatlantic diaspo- ra behind Beneš.324 This community had played a vital role in the genesis of the republic, and the bulk of it was displeased to see it fall. Beneš sketched a programme based on the continuity of Czechoslovakia—including the theory of ethnic unity of the Czechs and the Slovaks—and the nullity of the Munich Agreement ab initio. Beneš knew that owing to the evolution of Slovakia from 74 province via self-rule to nominal sovereignty, his postulates could not win instant support. He recognised that signs of discord in the exile ranks would discredit him in the eyes of prospective partners.325 In May 1939, Beneš repeated his complaint, this time addressing the League of Nations. The Council did not accept it as a foundation for any further action on the ground of Beneš being a private person.326 This episode heralded uncer- tain times for the exile movement. There was no reason for despair, though. “Unlike during the First World War”, historian Antoine Marès argues, “while establishing new institutions in exile, Beneš had an advantage of experience with international life, of networks, of a diplomatic service, loyal to a degree, and of the support of numerous groups.”327 Thus, the movement managed to maintain the ‘Czechoslovak cause’ on display in the United States. Despite German pressure and practical difficulties, Czechoslovakia’s World Fair pavilion opened in New York in May. It operated for a few months. This was a propa- ganda success—the exiles had no formal representation, but those diplomats who refused to hand their missions over to Germany, such as the minister in Washington, Vladimír Hurban. Identical efforts of the Spanish Republican government came to nought.328 Even the part of Marès’s assessment regarding the value of the First World War experience for Beneš is correct. The successful endgame was critical for his strong self-perception as a person able to overcome hardships and assess situations precisely. Beneš would keenly share his views. For example, in a conversation with a Labour parliamentarian, Phillip John Noel-Baker, on 22 September 1939, he “not only believed he thought, he knew [emphasis in original] that … no secret agreement for the partition of Poland” had been a part of the German–Soviet Non-Aggression Pact (23 August 1939); he also 323 HC Deb., 5th Series, cccxlviii. 1786–7 (19 Jun. 1939). 324 Beneš, Fall and Rise, 31–3, 37–8, 41–4; Dejmek, Beneš, ii. 205–7, 213–18; Křen, Do emigrace, 449–59. 325 Beneš to Ripka, Chicago, 21 Mar. 1939, DČZP, #8, i. 61–4. 326 Beneš to Bonnet, Halifax, Molotov, Avenol, Pittsburgh, 13 May 1939, DČZP, #30, i. 95–6; ‘Question of the Communication to the Council of a Telegram of Dr. Beneš’, League of Nations Official Journal 20 (1939), 248. 327 Marès, Beneš, 308. On uncertainty, see Dejmek, Beneš, ii. 210–12. 328 I.M. Castro, ‘El pabellón español de 1939: Un projecto frustrado para la exposición internacional de Nueva York’, Archivo Español de Arte 83 (2010), 213–34; S. Michálek, ‘Česko-Slovensko na svetovej výstave v New Yorku roku 1939’ [‘Czecho-Slovakia at the New York Expo, 1939’], Historický časopis 52 (2004), 649–51. small and sovereign ruled out the chance of the Soviet Union aiding the German war effort. Finally, Beneš claimed to have organised a well-armed resistance movement, “up to ten million” conspirators, i.e., as much as the entire Czech and Slovak population; it had allegedly been “quite a simple matter to recreate the machinery” that he had established and operated during the last war.329 All these claims were false. Beneš had no way of knowing the arcana of the German–Soviet arrangement, yet—probably pitching his value as an ally—he seemed to have wished his partners to believe otherwise. Considering that Noel-Baker, a well-connected internationalist who had worked together with Nansen330, was likely to have a 75 realistic idea of Czechoslovakia, the eccentric home resistance claim was more of a statement of Beneš’s organizational prowess and not necessarily an indication of available manpower. When, in June 1939, Beneš returned to London, the local political climate was changing, and criticisms of Chamberlain’s policies were finding still more receptive listeners. To capitalise on this development, Beneš had to refresh his acquaintances. Churchill, who had proposed Beneš for the Nobel Peace Prize, came to the fore.331 Yet, it seems the Soviets were more interested—letters were exchanged, and meetings with Ambassador Ivan M. Maisky took place.332 Envisaging France as the principal ally in the event of war, a group of Czecho- slovak exiles with Ripka and resident journalists—who played a critical role in launching Czechoslovak propaganda (cf. Article 3, ‘Norwegian Internationalism’, 286–7), persuaded Beneš to join them in Paris.333 5.5.2.2 Who Has the Say? Not all Czechoslovak exiles saw up to Beneš. Štefan Osuský, for two decades Czechoslovakia’s envoy in Paris, was the most serious contender. Osuský con- sidered the outplay of the Munich crisis a collapse of Beneš’s diplomacy. Later, he refused to hand his mission over to the Germans. The French respected this, and Osuský beheld diplomatic status while Beneš was a private person. French support was crucial, as the country hosted the most Czechoslovak expats in 329 Noel-Baker–Beneš, memo of conversation, 22 Sep. 1939, LSE, Dalton papers, 2/3/2, 39–40, 41. 330 D. Howell, ‘Baker, Sir Phillip John Noel-, Baron Noel-Baker (1889–1982)’ in ODNB, iii. 397–9. 331 Smutný, confidential note, London, 27 Jul. 1939, DČZP, #61, i. 164–6; Beneš, Paměti, ii. 93–7: Dejmek, Beneš, ii. 218–21; Smetana, In the Shadow, 107–15. See also ‘Nobels fredspris, forslag 1933–1953’, ad 1938, #93, NNI; Ripka–Dalton, memo of conversation, Paris, 3 Jun. 1939, DČZP, #53, i. 144–5. 332 Beneš, memo for the Soviet Government, New York, 1 Jun. 1939, DČZP, #41, i. 118–20; Beneš to Šámal & Rašín, Chicago, 22 Jun 1939, ibid., #47, i. 131; Beneš to Maisky, London, 2 Aug. 1939, ibid., #66, i. 172–3; Beneš–Maisky, memo of conversation, New York, 23 Aug. 1939, ibid., #73, i. 184–6; The Complete Maisky Diaries, ed. G. Gorodetsky, 3 vols (New Haven, London, 2017), ii. 601–3 (23 Aug. 1939). 333 Ripka (Paris) to Beneš, 6 Mar. 1939, ČSVDJ, #1, i. 40–1; I. Ducháček, Deníky 1939–1945, 38 (16 Mar. 1939); J. Hronek, Když se hroutil svět. Český novinář v emigraci, část první [As the World Was Falling Down: A Czech Journalist in Exile, Book 1] (Prague, 1946), 30; Pavlát, Novinář, 111–2. small and sovereign Europe. Osuský concurred with Beneš that Czechoslovakia had not ceased to exist. Yet, he placed legitimacy on the diplomats who remained in office, such as himself, Hurban in Washington, or Zdeněk Fierlinger in Moscow.334 Osuský acted as if he were a primus inter pares—no Czechoslovak diplomat could challenge his seniority. Beneš and Osuský disagreed on the most sensitive issue—the former had dismissed all effects of Munich, the latter welcomed Slovakia’s self-rule. The rivals overcame their differences after Beneš’s return to the continent. It did not mean that Osuský accepted inferiority to Beneš. 76 Historian Jan Křen pointed out that he appeared to have embraced an idea of a ‘consulate’ formed by Beneš and himself.335 Beneš’s position improved when two leaders of the Czechoslovak People’s Party (Československá strana lidová), Mgr Jan Šrámek and Mgr František Hála, arrived in London in August.336 Beneš’s orbit was left-leaning, to different lengths. Coming from the opposite political strand, Šrámek and Hála enhanced the exiles’ legitimacy. And yet, another challenger appeared. Unlike Beneš and Osuský, Gen. Lev Prchala operated close to home—in Poland. The main route for those wishing to fight for Czechoslovakia led via Poland. Starting in March 1939, the exiles were welcome to augment Poland’s defence. Soon, Czechoslovak diplomats worked in Warsaw; military training started near Cracow. In May, Polish authorities smuggled Lev Prchala, a senior Czechoslovak general, into the country as a prospective commander of a Czechoslovak legion. In theory, Prchala had what Beneš needed—the nucleus of an army. Unwilling to subordinate himself to Beneš, he refused to move to France, as his men were being transferred to the French Foreign Legion. He changed his mind on 31 August; his bid for leadership, if not his criticism of Beneš, was over.337 334 Hurban’s declaration, Washington, 17 Mar. 1939, DČZP, #4, i. 55–6; Osuský to Bonnet, Paris, 3 Apr. 1939, ibid., #16, i. 72–3; Michálek, Diplomat Štefan Osuský, 1889–1973 (Bratisla- va, 1999), 101–5; J. Němeček, Soumrak a úsvit československé diplomacie. 15. březen 1939 a československé zastupitelské úřady [The Twilight and Dawn of Czechoslovak Diplomacy: 15 March 1939 and Czechoslovak Missions Abroad] (Prague, 2008), 81, 82–9, 166–82; Smetana, In the Shadow, 147–50. Osuský’s concept resembled the actions of those Russian diplomats who had defied the effects of the Bolshevik Revolution and formed the so-called Council of Ambassadors, a mouthpiece of anti-Bolshevik resistance until the mid-1920s. Evidence of Osuský’s inspiration is absent, but the situation of Czechoslovak diplomats in 1939 was analogous, and he had been serving in Paris since the Peace Conference; Kocho-Williams, ‘“Embassy without Government”: The Council of Ambassadors and the Persistence of Tsarist Diplomacy after Russian Revolution’, Diplomacy & Statecraft 31 (2020), 469–86. 335 Křen, Do emigrace, 482–3, 528–32; Kuklík, Němeček, Proti Benešovi! Česká a slovenská pro- tibenešovská opozice v Londýně 1939–1945 [Against Beneš! Czech and Slovak Anti-Beneš Opposition in London, 1939–45] (Prague, 2004), 22–6; Michálek, Osuský, 106–12; Němeček, Soumrak, 121–37. 336 M. Trapl, K. Konečný, P. Marek, Politik dobré vůle. Život a dílo msgre Jana Šrámka [Politician of Good Hope: The Life and Work of Jan Šrámek] (Prague, Olomouc, 2013), 271–5. 337 For Czechoslovak–Polish relations in the advent of the Second World War, see J. Friedl, Na jedné frontě. Vztahy československé a polské armády za druhé světové války [For the Same Cause: Czechoslovak–Polish Military Relations in Second World War] (Prague, 2005), 39–126; Němeček, Soumrak, 271–4, 275–7, 283–7. See also Kuklík, Němeček, Proti Benešovi!, 52–77. small and sovereign 5.5.2.3 Stocktaking and War Cries Between October 1938 and September 1939, Beneš restored his position. Having concluded a truce in kind with his rivals, he established himself at the helm of the Czechoslovak exile, equipped with skilled, motivated, and loyal associates. His means were modest. The volatility of international life prompted the re-evaluation of the settlement that had cost Czechoslovakia its sovereignty; a major war would seem the most suitable vehicle for its restoration. When Germany attacked Poland, not only Hitler got his war, as one historian once glossed. Beneš did, too, for adverse reasons.338 77 Yet, there were caveats. It appears that the diplomat who took extensive notes on meeting Beneš in London was Soviet Ambassador Maisky. Czechoslovak exiles initiated most exchanges with the Soviets; the latter were ready to listen, even to lend a hand. Beneš had drawn a clear-cut lesson from Munich, historian Milan Hauner opined—accept the ‘Central European geopolitics of survival’ and gravitate toward the Soviet Union. Historian Vojtech Mastny wrote of a “prescient conclusion”, which included a readiness to cede Sub-Carpathian Ruthenia, the easternmost Czechoslovak province.339 The Soviet–German Non-Aggression Pact triggered a paradox. Beneš remained confident that the Soviets would be Czechoslovakia’s principal ally. “My general impression: they want war,” he commented on the conversation with Maisky on 23 August 1939, “they have been deliberately preparing themselves for it, and they conclude that neither Poland, Germany, nor England can go back and that there will be war.”340 Thus, Beneš and his lieutenants had more faith in their enemy’s friend than in France and Great Britain. Some rifts emerged also in the edifice of the Czechoslovak exile early on. Beneš managed to solicit support in the diaspora and among exile activists. Yet he had able rivals. Fortunately for Beneš, several of his confidants, like Ripka or Masaryk, entered the exile ranks. Czechoslovak exiles could but build their status on calamities that buried the inter-war order. Upon word of Britain’s going to war, Beneš cabled to Cham- berlain and proclaimed “Czechoslovak nationals” to be at war with Germany, too. On 9 September, Chamberlain addressed “[His] Excellency”: The sufferings of the Czech nation are not forgotten and we look forward through the triumph of the principle for which we had taken up arms for the release of the Czech people from foreign domination.341 338 G.L. Weinberg, The Foreign Policy of Hitler’s Germany, 2 vols (Chicago, 1970–1980), ii. 628. Cf. Message for the Home Resistance, London, 21 Aug. 1939, in Beneš, Paměti, #115, iii. 382–4. 339 M. Hauner, ‘“We Must Push Eastwards!” The Challenges and Dilemmas of President Beneš after Munich’, Journal of Contemporary History 44 (2009), 622, 627–8, 630; V. Mastny, Russia’s Road to the Cold War: Diplomacy, Warfare and the Politics of Communism, 1941–1945 (New York, 1979), 22. 340 Beneš–Maisky, memo of conversation, New York, 23 Aug. 1939, DČZP, #73, i. 185. 341 Beneš to Chamberlain, cable, London, 3 Sep. 1939 & Chamberlain to Beneš, cable, Lon- don, 9 Sep. 1939, DČZP, #83, i. 202–3; ‘“We Shall March with You”. Dr. Benes’s Message’, small and sovereign The Wilsonian oratory signalled: Beneš had become a partner. This was a significant step towards his reinstatement as Czechoslovakia’s president. From the diplomatic perspective, Chamberlain credited victimhood as a legitimate source of symbolic capital, constructing value-proximity between parties. Envisioning France as Czechoslovakia’s chief ally, Ripka et consortes asked ‘Mr President’ to move to Paris.342 Beneš authorised them to negotiate about establishing the Czechoslovak government military mission. In that govern- ment, Beneš was to be the prime minister and acting president, Osuský the 78 foreign minister, Gen. Sergej Ingr the defence minister, and Eduard Outrata, the ex-managing director of the Czechoslovak Arms Factory, the finance minister.343 If Paris recognised this quartet, Czechoslovak exiles would obtain a formal footing, Beneš’s prestige would recover and, with his ‘ambassadorial theory’ of Czechoslovakia’s continuity assuaged, Osuský would never be able to re-emerge as Beneš’s rival. Czechoslovak exiles had a rough time before the outbreak of the Second World War. Edvard Beneš started a movement protesting the dismemberment of their country. Multiple activists with diverse professional backgrounds joined him in this effort. The eruption of the major war allowed the exiles to become actors in international politics. 5.5.3 Poland: No Miracle on the Vistula In 1920, with Soviet revolutionary armies approaching Warsaw, many feared a finis Poloniæ. Yet Poland won the critical battle, the ‘Miracle on the Vistula’.344 In 1939, no reprise was in store. The news of the Anglo–Polish alliance (25 August) had halted the Nazi war machine, initiating a new exchanges over Danzig. Germany had lost the element of surprise but gained the complete state of mobilization before it attacked on 1 September. Slovakia duly engaged—and Norway’s Foreign Ministry deferred its recognition application (see Article 1, ‘Reading the Signs’, 481).345 No formal declaration of war followed, and German diplomats were instructed to style the onslaught as retaliation for alleged Polish attacks.346 Warsaw did not rush to declarations either. Norway was notified about the hostilities only in the afternoon.347 Manchester Guardian (5 Sep. 1939); ‘Mr. Chamberlain and the Czech Nation’, The Times (11 Sep. 1939). 342 Czechoslovak exiles in France to Beneš, Paris, 4 Sep. 1939, DČZP, #84, i. 203–5; Osuský– Ingr–Outrata, memo of conversation, Paris, 5 Sep. 1939, ibid., #85, i. 206. 343 Beneš to Czechoslovak exiles in France, London, 7 Sep. 1939, DČZP, #86, i. 206–7; Osuský– Ingr–Outrata, memo of conversation, Paris, 7 Sep. 1939, ibid., #87, i. 208. 344 See, for example, Steiner, Lights, 150–1. 345 H. Kochanski, The Eagle Unbowed: Poland and the Poles in the Second World War (London, 2012), ch. 3. 346 ‘Circular of the State Secretary’, 1 Sep. 1939, DGFP, vii., #512, 409. 347 Cf. Bull, note, 1 Sep. 1939, J.No. 17498/39, RA, UD, 38B1, Box 9044. small and sovereign 5.5.3.1 First to Fight As was evident to Warsaw experts and sympathetic foreign observers alike, Po- land was in no position to compete with Germany. Moreover, recent showcases of assertiveness—the seizure of Teschen (November 1938) and the forceful establishment of diplomatic relations with Lithuania (March 1939)—incited more dismay than acclaim internationally. Yet, Polish public opinion enthu- siastically embraced self-perceptions of power—allusions to deficient military preparedness were inadmissible.348 France and Britain declared war on Germany on 3 September, but little was 79 going on in the West for weeks to come.349 From the Polish perspective, the lack of engagement on the part of the Allies was critical. Inactivity was defying the central strategic premise—that Poland would only contain German attack for a few weeks until France and Britain mount resources to open a front on the Rhine.350 Polish diplomatic interventions led to an agreement stipulating the formation of a Polish army division in France.351 However, such assistance could yield no change on the battlefield. The enemy’s striking pace thrust Polish authorities out of Warsaw. The foreign ministry evacuated, on 5 September, to Nałęczów, approx. 160 kilometres southeast, and multiple diplomatic missions joined it.352 Other administrative branches, including the Supreme Command, moved eastwards too.353 The mixture of emergency and disarray prompted coup ideas. One name featured prominently in them—Gen. Władysław Sikorski, a side-lined distin- 348 E.D.R. Harrison, ‘Carton de Wiart’s Second Military Mission to Poland and the German Invasion of 1939’, European Historical Quarterly 41 (2011), 613, 615, 617; Wieczorkiewicz, Historia, 67–72. 349 Halifax to Henderson, cable, 3 Sep. 1939, DBFP, 3rd Series, #757, vii. 535; US Embassy to Halifax, 4 Sep. 1939, ibid., #766, vii. 539–41; Coulondre (Berlin) to Bonnet, cable, 3 Sep. 1939, DDF 1932–1939, 2e série, #409, xix. 410–2 & Bonnet to Noël (Warsaw), cable, 3 Sep. 1939, ibid., #412, xix. 415–6. 350 Prazmowska, Britain, Poland, 82, 102–3, 104, 144, 169; Wieczorkiewicz, Historia, 73–8. 351 Kennard (Warsaw) to Halifax, 2 Sep. 1939, DBFP, 3rd Series, #734, vii. 522; Corbin (London) to Bonnet, cable, 2 Sep. 1939, DDF 1932–1939, 2e série, #376, xix. 377; Noël (Warsaw) to Bonnet, cable, 2 Sep. 1939, ibid., #377, xix. 378; Noël (Warsaw) to Bonnet, cable, 3 Sep. 1939, ibid., #401, xix. 401–3; Łukasiewicz to Daladier, note, 1 Sep. 1939, PDD, 1939 (wrz- esień – grudzień), #3, 4–5 (cf. Łukasiewicz to Bonnet, 2 Sep. 1939, DDF 1932–1939, 2e série, #377, xix. 398–9); Foreign Ministry to Embassy London, cable, 4 Sep. 1939, ibid., #19, 16; Embassy London to Foreign Ministry, cable, 5 Sep. 1939, ibid., #31, 27; Embassy Paris to Foreign Ministry, cable, 5 Sep. 1939, ibid., #32, 28; Embassy Paris to Foreign Ministry, cable, 5 Sep. 1939, ibid., #33, 29; ‘Accord entre le Gouvernement polonais et le Governement français concernant la creation d´une division polonaise en France’, 9 Sep. 1939, ibid., #43, 37–8. See also The Diplomat in Paris, 1936–1939: Papers and Memoirs of J. Łukasiewicz, Ambassador of Poland, ed. W. Jędrzejewicz (New York, 1970), 272–3, 275–8, 280–326; Raczyński, In Allied London, 22–30. 352 P. Ceranka, Urząd Ministerstwa Spraw Zagranicznych, 1939–1945 [The Ministry of Foreign Affairs, 1939–45] (Warsaw, 2021), 35–43. 353 J. Beck, Dernier rapport. Politique polonaise 1926–1939, eds. J. Beck et al. (Neuchatel, 1951), 224–6; J. Szembek, Diariusz, wrzesień – grudzień 1939 [Diary, September – December 1939], ed. B. Grzeloński (Warsaw, 1989), 27–30 (5–6 Sep. 1939). small and sovereign guished officer who duly reported for duty.354 Though more of an administrator, Sikorski commanded in the Russo–Polish War of 1920. Later, in 1921–2, he led a ministry. After Piłsudski’s coup (1926), he found himself out of active service and moving between Warsaw, Paris, and Prague. In 1936, Sikorski joined forces with the Swiss-based ex-prime minister Józef Ignacy Paderewski in a centre-right opposition bloc.355 In September 1939, the supreme commander, Marshal Edward Rydz-Śmigly, was to decide whether Sikorski would be re-ad- mitted and assigned an adequate post. Before the matter could be cleared356, 80 the overall situation changed in Poland’s disfavour. On 17 September 1939, the Red Army invaded Poland. No declaration of war was issued. According to Moscow, its western neighbour had disintegrat- ed, and it wished to protect the populations of Poland’s Eastern Borderlands, uniting them with their ethnic confréres. Caught off guard, Poland’s ambassador refused to receive the note.357 Nothing had augured the abrogation of the 1932 non-aggression treaty. Ambassador Nikolai I. Sharonov evacuated with the for- eign ministry to Nałęczów and, at night from 6 to 7 September, to Krzemieniec (Kremenets, Ukraine), c. 160 kilometres east of Lwów.358 On 12 September, he asked for permission to make a phone call from the nearby Soviet territory. Once granted, he gathered his family and personnel and left Poland.359 The foreign ministry failed to see an omen in this. Minister Beck, historian Marek Kornat argues, did not believe in the mutual interest of Berlin and Moscow in having a common border and did not consider the Red Army capable of a big-scale offensive. Thus, he accepted Moscow’s reassurances of no hostile intentions towards Poland.360 Attention was focused on the west, yet another evacuation had to be organised. On 14 September, the foreign ministry and the accompanying diplomats of higher rank moved c. 40 kilometres to the east, to Kuty. The rest of the diplomatic personnel was sent to the townlet of Zaleszczyki, approx. 200 kilometres to the south, close to the Romanian border.361 5.5.3.2 Who Takes the Lead? Historian Paweł Wieczorkiewicz estimated that a reservoir of c. 80,000 Polish soldiers made it safely to Hungary, Romania, Latvia, and Lithuania.362 To continue their struggle, they needed effective leadership. 354 W. Korpalska, Władysław Eugeniusz Sikorski. Biografia polityczna [Władysław Eugeniusz Sikorski, A Political Biography] (Wrocław, 1981), 198–200. 355 See ibid., ch. 5–6. 356 ibid., 200–1. 357 Note to Polish Ambassador, Moscow, 17 Sep. 1939, SDFP, iii. 374. 358 Beck, Dernier rapport, 226, 228; Szembek, Diariusz, 31 (6 Sep. 1939). See also Ceranka, Urząd, 45–52. 359 Beck, Dernier rapport, 233–4; Szembek, Diariusz, 37 (9 Sep. 1939), 42–3 (11 Sep. 1939). 360 Circular, Warsaw, 23 Aug. 1939, PDD, 1939 (styczeń – sierpień), #457, 786: Kornat, Poland and the Origins, 363–4, 372, 375–9. 361 Szembek, Diariusz, 51–3 (14 Sept. 1939). 362 Wieczorkiewicz, Historia, 103–4. For a higher estimate, see Kochanski, Eagle, 204. small and sovereign President Ignacy Mościcki and Poland’s government had entered Romania on 17 September. The country was keenly seeking ways to stay out of the war and an equilibrium when neither Germany nor the Western democracies would dominate its internal affairs. Bucharest had issued a neutrality declaration on 6 September. Yet, with the Polish–Romanian alliance of 1921 in place, how- ever deteriorating during the 1930s363, Polish elites were expecting to enjoy free passage en route to France, where the government would remain in exile. However, the Red Army operating across the border escalated Romanian threat perceptions and the Călinescu ministry, amenable to German pressure, 81 interned Polish dignitaries and disrupted the government.364 At the same time, owing to French and British efforts—coordinated with Poland’s ambassador to Romania, Roger Raczyński—many Polish soldiers were permitted to leave secretly for France. Among them was the Francophile Sikorski and his allies. This development is often rendered as meddling in the internal affairs of an ally, amounting to a coup. Whether one suspects the Western allies to have selected their future Polish partners or, alternatively, is open to admit that it must have been easier to induce Bucharest to let slip ‘rank-and-file’ Poles than the official representatives, one cannot deny that the move defined the ‘pool’ from which the exile leadership was to emerge.365 Thus, at the time when Edvard Beneš had already claimed his primate in the Czechoslovak exile movement—if not yet an institutional footing in exile and, less still, broad international support for his theory of Czechoslovakia’s continu- ity—the Poles had to produce a credible exile leadership and, preferably, secure their country’s legal continuity as the fundament of their Allied status. Around 20 September, the only effective representatives of Poland were its ambassadors, working collectively, without a primus inter pares in Osuský style. This was, at best, a short-term solution. Thus, President Mościcki resorted to a provision in Poland’s 1935 Constitution that allowed the head of state, should they be obstructed in the execution of the office by virtue of having forcibly left the country, to delegate it to the person they deemed fit. In a decree backdated to suggest that it had been issued on Polish soil, he declared Gen. Bołeslaw Wie- nawa-Długoszewski, a prominent member of the Piłsudskiite milieu, serving as Poland’s ambassador to Italy, his successor. However, the French resolutely 363 See M. Leczyk, Polska i sąsiedzi. Stosunki wojskowe 1921–1939 [Poland and Its Neighbours: Military Relations, 1921–1939] (Białystok, 1997), 347–83; D.B. Lungu, Romania and the Great Powers, 1933–1940 (Durham, London, 1989), 178–9. 364 The initiative arguably originated with French Ambassadors Léon Noël (Poland) and Adrien Thierry (Romania), yet the evidence is inconclusive. Disliking Beck, Noël was unlikely to protest Romanian actions, which the Quay d´Orsay jurisconsult considered legal; M. Gmur- czyk-Wrońska, Polska – niepotrzebny aliant Francji? (Francja wobec Polski w latach 1938–1944) [Poland, an Ally France Did Not Need? (French Policy towards Poland, 1938–44)] (Warsaw, 2003), 178–82; Kornat, Wołos, Beck, 407, 409–10, 415, 805–6. 365 Beck, Dernier rapport, 239, 241, 243–6; Gmurczyk-Wrońska, Polska – niepotrzebny aliant, 182–3, 185–7; R. Haynes, Romanian Policy towards Germany, 1936–41 (Basingstoke, 2000), 105–6, 108–12; G. Kacewicz, Great Britain, the Soviet Union and the Polish Government in Exile (1939–1945) (The Hague, Boston, London, 1979), 29–32; Kornat, Wołos, Beck, 778–85; Lungu, Romania, 195–200; Wieczorkiewicz, Historia, 111–3. small and sovereign opposed this nomination(and were criticised in London for it). Three other, politically less exposed personalities appeared as alternative candidates—Car- dinal August Hłond, lawyer Władysław Raczkiewicz (Minister of the Interior, 1935–6), and former foreign minister August Zaleski—and Wienawa-Długo- szewski resigned from the designation. The matter was resolved by the end of the month, in negotiations to which Sikorski, in Paris since 21 September, was also a party—in the end, Raczkiewicz was selected.366 At the same time, the exiles held talks about the supreme command of Poland’s armed forces being 82 constituted in France and about the composition of a government-in-exile, which eventually led to a compromise. Former oppositionists took the upper hand in the ministry. Sikorski, the prime minister and supreme commander, was to hold the reins of executive power in both civilian and military domains, and Zaleski became the foreign minister again. Moderate Piłsudskiites, such as economy experts Adam Koc or Henryk Strasburger, were also co-opted.367 The formative stage of the Polish government-in-exile was crucial for its functioning in the long run. The fact that the French intervened in the exiles’ internal affairs twice during the first weeks of exile operations did not augur well for the agency of the Sikorski ministry, primarily but not exclusively in international affairs. As the legacy of the inter-war bilateral partnership was unsatisfactory, in its dealings with the Polish representatives, Paris made a distinct use of power asymmetry in the relationship, currently aggravated by Poland’s military defeat and the exiles’ dependency on sponsorship. Thus, it sought to secure an exile representation that not only loyally shared French foreign policy and military outlook but was also devoid of grandeur sentiments. Still more critical was political bipolarity in the highest places of the Polish exile representation, with the president representing the ‘ancien régime’ and the government in the hands of the pre-war opposition. Given the dissonant polit- ical mindsets of major stakeholders, the application of the 1935 Constitution, while necessitated by the pressing circumstances, was ominous. The majority of the government-in-exile viewed the Constitution as undemocratic from its inception. There were expectations that it would be annulled once Poland was liberated, yet for the quarters rallied around President Raczkiewicz it represented the basis for the legitimacy of the exile administration and the state continuity 366 Diplomat in Paris, 341–8, 350–7, 364–72; M. Dymarski, Stosunki wewnętrzne wsród polskiego wychodźstwa politycznego i wojskowego w Francji i w Wielkiej Brytanii 1939–1945 [Internal Relations of Polish Political and Military Exile in France and Great Britain, 1939–45] (Wrocław, 1999), 35–8; M. Hułas, Goście czy intruzy? Rząd polski na uchodźstwie, wrzesień 1939 – lipiec 1943 [Guests or Intruders? The Polish Government-in-Exile, September 1939 – July 1943] (Warsaw, 1996), 70–4; E. McGilvray, A Military Government in Exile: The Polish Government-in-Exile, 1939–1945. A Study of Discontent (Solihull, 2010), 40; Prazmowska, Britain and Poland, 1939–1943: The Betrayed Ally (Cambridge, 1995), 9–10. See also W. Szyszkowski, ‘Raczkiewicz Wladysław (1885–1947)’ in PSB, xxix. 607–14; M. Żywczyński ‘Hlond August (1881–1948)’, ibid., ix. 545–6. For Zaleski, see ch. 5.2.3. 367 More members were added slightly later; Dymarski, Stosunki wewnętrzne, 38–40; M. Hułas, Goście czy intruzy?, 73–4; Kacewicz, Great Britain, the Soviet Union, 36–40; Prazmowska, Britain and Poland, 10–2. small and sovereign as such. The president soon agreed to curtail his constitutional prerogatives368, but there was still ample room for conflict. 5.5.4 Exile in France (October 1939 – June 1940) During the approximately nine months preceding their move to Britain, Czechoslovak and Polish exile representations mobilised their resources as belligerents and political actors within the Anti-Axis coalition. Both parts required considerable organizational work, hopefully leading to full-fledged and operational administrations. In the process, Czechoslovak and Polish pol- 83 icy-makers resumed a dialogue, a possibility to reconfigure bilateral relations, overly tense after Poland’s actions following the great power Munich summit (cf. ch. 5.3). Historians have scrutinised Czechoslovak–Polish relations in exile thoroughly.369 This section thus draws attention to the selected aspects that had a bearing on their mutual relationship even in the multilateral setting of the Second World War London. The genesis of the government-in-exile was complicated, but the Polish exiles managed to secure the legal continuity of the state. In Sikorski, the government had a senior general at the helm, which appeared appropriate considering the circumstances in which it emerged. It resided in France, its long-standing if, in the view of Polish inter-war elites, somewhat troublesome ally. Owing to the traditional partnership, many Polish officials and officers had at least some command of French and some local contacts. The fact that France hosted the most populous Polish expatriate community in Europe (counting more than 400,000 individuals)370 was equally important—one of the government’s pressing tasks was to muster an army and sustain the French war effort. The First World War experience was recalled—among the government ministers was, since November 1939, Gen. Józef Haller, one-time commander of Polish volunteer legions originating in France and Sikorski’s political ally, who toured the transatlantic diaspora in search of volunteers between January and April 1940.371 The French period of wartime exile was the time of the establishment of an exile administration372, including the ministry of foreign affairs, since early 368 A. Friszke, Adam Ciołkosz. Portret polskiego socjalisty [Adam Ciołkosz, A Portrait of a Polish Socialist] (Warsaw, 2011), 230, 313, 325–6; Kacewicz, Great Britain, the Soviet Union, 40–4; S. Stroński, Polityka Rządu Polskiego na Uchodźstwie w latach 1939–1942 [The Politics of the Polish Government-in-Exile, 1939–42], ed. J. Piotrowski, 3 vols (Nowy Sącz, 2007), i. 167–75; Wieczorkiewicz, Historia, 122–5. 369 Friedl, Na jedné frontě; Kamiński, Edvard Beneš kontra gen. Władysław Sikorski; Němeček, Od spojenectví k roztržce; D. Segeš, Dvojkríž v siločiarach Bieleho orla. Slovenská otázka v politike poľskej exilovej vlády za druhej svetovej vojny [The Double-Cross and the White Eagle: Slovak Question and the Polish Government in Exile in Second World War] (Bratislava, 2009). 370 R. Schor, L´opinion française et les étrangers, 1919–1939 (Paris, 1985), 38, 143–5. 371 M. Orlowski, Generał Józef Haller, 1873–1960 (Cracow, 2007), 476–83. Military affairs fall beyond the remit of this study. For the ‘Parisian’ period, see, briefly, McGilvray, Military Government, 46–7. 372 Hułas, Goście, 74–7. For the organizational history of the government, see ibid., ch. 4. small and sovereign October 1939 entrusted to August Zaleski, Foreign Minister 1926–32 (cf. ch. 5.2.3). Besides the general scarcity of resources, including personnel, exile operations were impeded by two factors. Mistrust and echoes of past grievances threatened former oppositionists’ cooperation with the inter-war regime’s loy- alists—Zaleski, for example, was not on the best terms with the collaborators of his predecessor, Beck.373 Moreover, impossible to conceal, squabbles were eroding the government’s reputation. Separation of the military offices from the bulk of those civilian—since 22 November accommodated in Angers, ap- 84 proximately 300 kilometres west of Paris—was unfortunate from the practical perspective.374 Yet, a seat in Anjou was symbolic. Home to a once-powerful branch of the Capetian dynasty, which ruled Poland briefly in the 14th Century, Angers became its capital. The fact that the local magistrates readily helped and honoured their guests375 might have had some therapeutic effect on the exiles. The first months of government operations were dominated by the mobili- zation of resources, including those financial, by the launch of a propaganda apparatus to disseminate “the truth about the heroism of the army and civilian population”376 (cf. Article 3, ‘Norwegian Internationalism’, 285), and by the efforts to establish communications with the occupied homeland—so that the government could receive information, even execute some degree of effective control.377 At the same time, foreign policy proper was no less critical. Foreign Minister Zaleski rushed to organise a visit to London and contact his British counterpart, Lord Halifax. Thus, he set the tone for the active Polish foreign policy as a domain where agency for state representation was to be generat- ed—through state representation and through relationships in particular. The visit took place in due course and was followed, in November, by yet another one—an introduction of Sikorski, hitherto unknown on the other side of the English Channel, to Britain’s political elite, including King George VI.378 Good relationships were necessary for the conduct of foreign policy on the road towards Poland’s war aims. Formulated in November 1939, they featured the country’s restoration in borders that would give it a “wide and free” outlet 373 Ceranka, Urząd, ch. 2, esp. 135–50; Wandycz, Z Piłsudskim i Sikorskim. August Zaleski, minister spraw zagranicznych w latach 1926–1932 i 1939–1941 [With Piłsudski and Sikorski. August Zaleski, Foreign Minister, 1926–32 & 1939–41] (Warsaw, 1999), 162, 164–70. 374 Dymarski, Stosunki wewnętrzne 41–64; Wieczorkiewicz, Historia, 124–30. 375 Dabrowski, Poland, 43–6; L. Maucourt, Angers, Saint-Berthélemy-d´Anjou. Capitale de la Pologne 1939–1940 (S.l., 2004); Terlecki, Generał Sikorski, 2 vols (Cracow, 21981–1986), i. 191–3. 376 ‘Instrukcja Rządu dla kierowników placówek zagranicznych’ [‘Government Instructions for the Heads of Missions’], 10 Oct. 1939, in PPRM, i. 16; 7th Conference, 8 Nov. 1939, ibid., i. 65–6. 377 See, for example, 2nd & 3rd Conferences, 6 & 10 Oct. 1939, ibid., i. 3–30. See also Hułas, Goście, 200–1, 221–6 378 3rd Conference, 10 Oct. 1939, in PPRM, i. 11–2; B. Berska, Kłopotliwy sojusznik. Wpływ dyplomacji brytyjskiej na stosunki polsko-sowieckie w latach 1939–1943 [A Troubled Ally: Brit- ish Diplomatic Influence on Polish–Soviet Relations, 1939–43] (Cracow, 2005), 25–7, 30–1; Kochanski, Eagle, 93; Prazmowska, Britain and Poland, 17. See also D.J. Dutton, ‘Wood, Edward Frederick Lindley, first earl of Halifax (1881–1959)’ in ODNB, lx. 81–9. small and sovereign to the sea instead of the interwar ‘Corridor’. War aims guidelines also stated that Poland was fighting for an Eastern Central European arrangement that would restore free Austria and free Czechoslovakia, lend support to the Baltic states, and establish a consolidated belt of states stretching between the Baltic, the Black, and the Adriatic Seas, jointly opposing the German pressure on Slavic and other countries in the region as well as separating Germany from Russia.379 This early, preliminary formulation heralded Poland’s ambitions to have a dis- tinct say in regional affairs. Yet more importantly, while the dominant mindset 85 of the Polish government has become more liberal and cooperative in wartime exile, the geopolitical desiderata which it put forth converged to those of its predecessors—links to ‘Third Europe’/‘Intermarium’ designs (cf. ch. 5.3 & Article 2, ‘Together and Alone’, 473) could not be more obvious. Overall, however, Sikorski and his associates were not overly successful in the realm of Inter-Allied relations early into the war. Most notably, they failed to secure a seat in the Supreme War Council—their right to participate was limited to proceedings where ‘Polish affairs’, such as the prospective deployment of Polish forces, were on the agenda.380 Hence, recognised but greatly dependent on the support of its host, the Sikorski ministry was not treated as effectively equal to Britain and France. This was an undeniable blow to the status of the country that had fought Nazi Germany first, and that was enduring constant repression at the hands of the enemy. Upon receiving the news, Foreign Minister Zaleski instructed Ambassador Edward Raczyński381 to “investigate the reasons for ever less sympathetic British position on Poland’s participation in Allied cooperation.”382 Victimhood had helped Edvard Beneš and the Czechoslovak exiles earn social capital and support, yet it did not appear to be aiding the Polish cause in the same vein. Still, there was no other way for Sikorski and his government but to continue manifesting preparedness to fight. After the plans to assist Finland’s defence against the Soviet Union (December 1939 – March 1940) had been stranded383, the German invasion of Norway in April 1940 catered for another opportunity for the Polish exiles to perform on the 379 ‘Wstępne wytyczne w zakresie poglądów i dążeń rządu’ [‘Initial Guidelines of the Government’s Views and Aims’], n.d., in PPRM, i. 82. 380 13th Conference, 9 Jan. 1940, in PPRM, i. 152; Berska, Kłopotliwy sojusznik, 32, 37–8, 41–2; Prazmowska, Britain and Poland, 16–7. 381 Raczyński, a London School of Economics alumnus, spent most of his adult life in Britain; K. Kania, Edward Bernard Raczyński, 1891–1993 – Dyplomata i polityk [Edward Bernard Raczyński, 1891–1993: A Diplomat and a Politician] (Warsaw, 2014). 382 Zaleski to Raczyński (London), Paris, 29 Feb. 1940, PDD, 1940, #110, 182. 383 12th Conference, 2 Jan. 1940, in PPRM, i. 133; Kędzior, ‘Sprawozdanie z podpisania umów francusko-polskich’ [‘A Report Concerning Conclusion of Franco–Polish Conventions’], 4 Jan. 1940, ibid., i. 168–9; 16th Conference, 24 Jan. 1940, ibid., i. 188–90; 17th Conference, 26 Jan. 1940, ibid., i. 191–2; 19th Conference, 13 Feb. 1940, ibid., i. 201–2; 20th Conference, 1 Mar. 1940, ibid., i. 212–5; Berska, Kłopotliwy sojusznik, 36–40; Prazmowska, Britain and Poland, 23, 55–6. See also Salmon, Deadlock and Diversion: Scandinavia in British Strategy during the Twilight War, 1939–1940 (Bremen, 2012), ch. 7–9. small and sovereign battlefield. According to Raczyński’s report, it mandated at least occasional symbolic presence in the Supreme War Council.384 The challenges the Czechoslovak exiles faced in Paris were partly identical and partly different. By the time when their Polish counterparts were still talk- ing personalia, most Czech and Slovak activists had already accepted Edvard Beneš at the helm of their movement; opposition against him had never died out, but it was destined to linger on the margins of the Czechoslovak exile landscape.385 The fact that, despite Hitler’s unqualified breach of its provisions 86 and spirit, the French and the British considered the 1938 Munich Agreement valid and effective catered for multiple difficulties for the exiles struggling to restore Czechoslovakia as if Munich had never happened. Both Britain and France had recognised the German-sponsored, quasi-independent Slovakia de facto (cf. Article 1, ‘Reading the Signs’, 478) and have asked in Berlin for ex- equaturs allowing them to operate consular missions in Bohemia and Moravia.386 President Hácha was residing at Prague Castle, and the Czech or, technically, Protectorate government continued to convene and execute its powers, however significantly curtailed. That this government was no incidental assemblage of collaborationists but included several distinguished Czech public figures, para- doxically, provided Beneš and his associates with a gateway in kind—they could obtain information and even exert some influence long into 1941.387 From the diplomatic perspective, though, the existence of nominally legitimate political structures in the Protectorate and Slovakia’s quasi-independence undermined the exiles’ representative claim. Moreover, Beneš’s long tenure in international politics did not appear to be an asset. Like in the Polish case, French foreign ministry indicated in the most unambiguous terms that it preferred someone else to lead the Czechoslovak exile movement, for example, the diplomat Osuský or a general like Sikorski, but not Beneš. Yet, Beneš’s associates Ripka and Šrámek eventually managed to persuade the French Undersecretary for Foreign Affairs Auguste Champetier de Ribes de facto in charge of the Quay d’Orsay, that there was no credible alternative to Beneš and that, as Champetier de Ribes had requested, they had a Slovak general in their midst. On 17 October 1939, the Czechoslovak National Committee was established with French consent to represent the Czechoslovak nationals on Allied territories—primarily in France, where a populous expatriate cohort resided (c. 55,000 persons reported in April 384 Raczyński (London), cable, 27 Apr. 1940, PDD, 1940, #204, 350; 25th Conference, 26 Apr. 1940, in PPRM, i. 274, 277–8; Prazmowska, Britain and Poland, 20. 385 See, in great detail, Kuklík, Němeček, Proti Benešovi! 386 Gaus, pro domo, 20 Jun. 1939, in Deutschland und das Protektorat Böhmen und Mähren aus den Akten des Auswärtigen Amtes 1939–1945, ed. G. Mund (Göttingen, 2014), #160, 258–60; anon., pro domo, Jun. 1939, ibid., #163, 262–7; Weiszsäcker–Henderson, memo of conver- sation, 14 Jul. 1939, ibid., #170, 277–8. 387 Dejmek, Beneš, ii. 257–9; L. Feierabend, Politické vzpomínky [Political Memoirs], 3 vols (Brno, 1994–1996), i. 198–210; Marès, Beneš, 327–8, 332–3. small and sovereign 1940). Still, official recognition of the Committee by the French dragged on until mid-November 1939.388 The similarities in the constitutive processes of the Polish and the Czechoslovak exile representations—such as the distinct tendency of their host and patron, France, to intervene and secure partners to its own liking—can be ascribed to the exigences of exile. There were differences, too, and they had implications for the functioning of the exile representations for the rest of their ‘Parisian period’. Sharing the cause, sponsors, and refuge, the two entities were unequal in status. The Polish representation was a government immediately recognised 87 as such. Yet, the Czechoslovak was to operate as a national committee, i.e., a private corporation which could but need not be accorded executive preroga- tives—and when it was, their extent concerning the mandate the committee claimed to possess remained potentially open for reconsideration on the part of the governments recognising it. On the other hand, considering the effect of their interventions, the French were more successful in the Polish than in the Czechoslovak case. Three reasons may help explain this paradox. Predating the outbreak of the Second World War, the Czechoslovak exiles had fled to the West on their own, with minimal or no direct aid from their wartime allies who, consequently, had no control over the emerging ‘pool’ of available leaders. The exiles had largely resolved their leadership controversies before becoming effective Anti-Axis coalition constituents. Finally, the said ‘pool’, significantly smaller than its Polish equivalent, hardly provided any practical alternative to Beneš. Status inequality—or, from Czechoslovakia’s point of view, discrepancy389— affected the relationship between the Czechoslovak and the Polish exiles. As a new entity of a lesser formal standing, the Czechoslovak National Committee had to apply for recognition not only by the French and British governments but also by the Polish government-in-exile. At a time when exile communities were acutely traumatised by recent calamities, status sensitivity was high, exacerbated by the tense inter-war neighbourhood relationship.390 Even the Beneš–Sikorski relationship changed. Sikorski, ousted from politics and the military, used to be 388 Ripka–Champetier de Ribes, memo of conversation, 23 Sep. 1939, DČZP, #101, i. 226–7; Šrámek–Champetier de Ribes, memo of conversation, 27 Sep. 1939, ibid., #104, i. 230–2; Osuský–Beneš, memo of conversation, 10 Oct. 1939, ibid., #119, i. 254; Šrámek–Champetier de Ribes, memo of conversation, 14 Oct. 1939, ibid., #121, i. 255–8; Šrámek–Champetier de Ribes, memo of conversation, 16 Oct. 1939, ibid., #123, i. 261–3; Šrámek–Champetier de Ribes, memo of conversation, 17 Oct. 1939, ibid., #124, i. 263–5; Daladier to Osuský, 14 Nov. 1939, ibid., #146, i. 310; Halifax to Beneš, 20 Dec. 1939, ibid., #163, i. 338; Dejmek, Beneš, ii. 232–3; J. Kuklík, Vznik Československého národního výboru a prozatímního státního zřízení v emigraci v letech 1939–1940 [The Genesis of the Czechoslovak National Committee and of the Provisional State Machinery in Exile, 1939–40] (Prague, 1996), ch. 3–4; Marès, Beneš, 309–10; Namont, La Colonie tchécoslovaque, 346. For the British perspective, see Smetana, In the Shadow, 174–85. 389 E. Táborský, Presidentův sekretář vypovídá. Deník druhého zahraničního odboje [President’s Secretary Speaks: The Diary of the Second External Resistance], 2 vols (Zurich, 1978–1983), i. 455–6 (18 Dec. 1939). 390 Němeček, Od spojenectví k roztržce, 46–8. small and sovereign the Polish politician with whom Beneš was able to reach some understanding, unlike with the inter-war ruling elite. Maintaining contact on the premise that support of Polish opposition was in Czechoslovakia’s interest, Beneš would be aiding Sikorski’s agency.391 Yet, Beneš, not Sikorski, had to fight for recogni- tion in Second World War Paris. For France and Britain, Poland was a ‘bigger power’, in peacetime theory as in wartime exile. Until Hitler’s move against Western Europe ejected the Netherlands into the war in May 1940, from the Franco–British perspective, Poland was the only ally worth mentioning. 88 Beneš does not appear to have taken these parameters much into account. It would seem that he considered himself placed in an equal, or even better position than Sikorski and that—as a paramount example of an exile, “the true depositary of the state authority”392—he would apply an identical logic to Poland and Czechoslovakia. Unlike Beneš, Sikorski’s international credentials were informal and confined to the Franco–Polish relationship. Moreover, Beneš was operating in a post-traumatic mode, seeking restitution for recent ill-treat- ment393, especially after, as one could argue, the post-Munich development proved him right. Thus, he insisted on the return of Teschen, seized by Poland in October 1938, to Czechoslovakia as a part of the post-war arrangement. Conversations in the first wartime autumn and early winter were framed in a constructive, conciliatory atmosphere. Yet, when Beneš expected Sikorski’s admission of Poland’s complicity in the dismemberment of Czechoslovakia to imply revocation of its respective acquisitions, he acted in a manner that was asymmetrical as regards the pending relationship parameters and ignorant of Polish political realities. Such a demand would have put Sikorski under significant pressure. Had he renounced the capture of Teschen at once, he would imperil the truce-like arrangement on which the exile cooperation with some sections of the inter-war regime rested. Like Beneš, Sikorski was working towards an integral restoration of his country. Territorial concessions would contradict the fundamental collective ethos behind his government.394 Thus, early into their exile sojourn, only a vague understanding was fea- sible between Beneš and Sikorski as representatives of Czechoslovakia and Poland. The impediments were concrete and considerable. The recognition of the Czechoslovak National Committee was so long in waiting that it did not come to materialise, even though the Polish exiles wished to discuss an array of far-reaching issues connected with what they promoted as a desirable security 391 Korpalska, Sikorski, 179; Němeček, Od spojenectví k roztržce, 37. In the 1930s, Czechoslovakia hosted some leading Polish oppositionists, cf. Korpalska, Sikorski, 178–9. 392 S. Dufoix, ‘Les légitimations politique de l´exil’, Genèses 34 (1999), 53. Beneš radiated an acute sense of responsibility, or ‘solitude at the summit of the state’, ascribed to early modern sover- eigns; L. Bély, Le société des princes (XVIe– XVIIIe siècle) (Paris, 1999), 537. For corresponding comments on Sikorski, see M. Sokolnicki, Dziennik ankarski, i. 290 (23 Dec. 1941); Terlecki, Generał Sikorski, ii. 22. 393 Cf. Hauner, ‘Edvard Beneš’ Undoing of Munich: A Message to a Czechoslovak Politician in Prague’, Journal of Contemporary History 38 (2003), 563–77, esp. 563–4. 394 Němeček, Od spojenectví k roztržce, 37–8. small and sovereign architecture of Central Europe.395 The formalisation of the bilateral relation- ship in the Second World War exile had to wait until France’s fall, the exiles’ transfer to Britain, and the new round of the ‘recognition ritual’ waiting for the Czechoslovak exiles in the stormy summer of 1940. This time, the Norwegian government was a party to the process and—given the Norwegian–Czecho- slovak–Polish diplomatic representation constellation of the inter-war era—it came to consult the matter with its Polish partners (cf. Article 1, ‘Reading the Signs’, 478–9; Article 2, ‘Together and Alone’, 469–70 & ch. 5.4). 89 5.5.5 War Comes to Norway Unlike those of the Central European governments, the road of the Norwe- gian to the Second World War London was short and, for most participants, straightforward—on board the British vessels heading for Scotland. By October 1939, Germany wholly subjugated Central Europe, but the Nordic countries remained the Continent’s seemingly ‘safe’ corner. Norwegian policy-makers opted for neutrality. Considering the country’s limited resources, they attempted detachment from the belligerents at the lowest possible cost. Their efforts eventually failed to yield the desired result. In April 1940, Germany invaded Norway. The Allies responded swiftly. Polish units and Czechoslovak volunteers in the French Foreign Legion partook in the campaign. Consonantly with their unalike formal status, the bravery of the Polish troops—and of Poland’s long-serving minister to Norway, Władysław Neuman—was acknowledged in Norwegian publicity for an international audience (cf. Article 3, ‘Norwegian Internationalism’, 288), the anonymous Czechoslovak contribution remains as much as undetected.396 Once the war was a fact, Norway’s imperative was to persuade the belligerents about its impartiality and ability to safeguard its territory. The government issued separate declarations concerning the state of war between Germany and Poland and the state of war between Germany on the one side and France and Great Britain on the other.397 The warring powers expressed readiness to honour Norway’s neutrality rules—only a Polish notification appears absent.398 395 Beneš to Slávik, instruction, 11 Jan. 1940, in DČZP, #173, i. 348; Kamiński, Edvard Beneš kontra gen. Władysław Sikorski, 26–35, 37–8, 44; Calculations of some Polish quarters with potential Czechoslovak alternatives to Beneš and his associates are beyond the remit of this study. See Kamiński, Edvard Beneš kontra gen. Władysław Sikorski, 21–2; Němeček, Od spo- jenectví k roztržce, 45–6, 51–2, 54–5, 59–62 and esp. Segeš, Dvojkríž, ch. 1. 396 For a rare account, see F. Tunák, S Cudzineckou légiou na Narvik [To Narvik with the Foreign Legion] (S.l., 1941). See also P. Kreisinger, ‘Válečné osudy Františka Tunáka (1919–1973). Příspěvek k nasazení Čechoslováků v řadách francouzských a polských expedičních sil u norského Narviku v roku 1940’ [‘František Tunák’s (1919–1973) Wartime Story: A Contribution on the Deployment of the Czechoslovaks in the Ranks of French and Polish Expeditionary Forces at Narvik, Norway, 1940’], Vojenská história 28 (2024), 52–60. 397 See Nordisk Tidsskrift for International Ret 10 (1939), 143–4, for English translations. 398 German aide-memoire, 2 Sep. 1939 J.No. 17574/39 & Memo of Conversation Koht–Dor- mer, 5 Sep. 1939 (copy), J.No. 17884/39 & French Legation to Koht, 5 Sep. 1939, J.No. 17836/39, RA, UD, 38B1 II, Box 9044. small and sovereign The overall climate was tense, though. Britain, the ‘implicit guarantor’ of Nor- way’s sovereignty, informed that it would consider any German action against it a direct threat. On 22 September, Minister Cecil Dormer reassured Foreign Minister Koht in writing that Britain would honour Norway’s neutrality—as long as Germany did so.399 The message was ominous. Explicit British readi- ness to intervene meant that Norway was in the crossfire, and its government, however determined to fulfil its neutrality commitments, depended greatly on the great power strategists. 90 One specific attempt to confirm impartiality deserves mention. When it became clear that Poland would fall, the matter of its government’s destiny appeared on the horizon of the Norwegian Foreign Ministry. States do not tend to rush to host exiles, and the Nygaardsvold ministry could recall the difficulties that the Leon Trotsky case had presented. Thus, the Foreign Ministry gravitated towards the position that entry and residence visas should be granted to Polish government members as private persons on the condition that they refrain from political activity. There was no sign of the Polish government’s intent to move on to Norway, Foreign Minister Koht noted400, yet these deliberations implied that Oslo would not put its credibility to the test. One traditional neutral acted differently. President Roosevelt invited his Polish counterpart, Mościcki, to the United States already on 1 September 1939; he would do so even on later occasions concerning other besieged heads of state.401 As far as Poland was concerned, Koht’s attitude was extremely cautious. The bilateral relationship was not severed, but Norway did not send Minister Ditleff to France to serve with the Sikorski ministry (cf. Article 2, ‘Together and Alone’, 469). A similar detachment was applied when, in November 1939, the Lithuanian minister to Norway investigated the possibility of having some part of the Polish refugee cohort residing currently in his country transferred to Norway. Declining the request, which was, in fact, a humanitarian appeal from a country small even by Nordic standards, Koht referred to the influx of Finnish refugees.402 399 Memo of Conversation Bull–v. Neuhaus, 15 Sep. 1939, J.No. 19263/39 & Memo of Con- versation Koht–Dormer, 16 Sep. 1939 (draft) J.No. 19195/39 & Dormer to Koht, 22 Sep. 1939, J.No. 19565/39 & Memo of Conversation Koht–Dormer, 22 Sep. 1939 (copy), J.No. 19719/39, RA, UD, 38B1, II, Box 9044. 400 Reusch, ‘Tysk advarsel mot mulig asyl til polske regjering’, 13 Sep. 1939, sine J.No. & Cast- berg, ‘Tysk advarsel mot mulig asyl til polske regjering’, 15 Sep. 1939 (draft), sine J.No. & Koht, minute, 23 Sep. 1939, RA, UD, 38B10, Box 9048. 401 L. de Jong, Het Koninkrijk der Nederlanden in der Tweede Wereldoorlog [The Kingdom of the Netherlands in the Second World War], 25 vols (’s Gravenhage, 1969–1994), ix/1. 12; R.C. Lukas, Strange Allies: The United States and Poland, 1941–1945 (Knoxville, 1978), 1–2. 402 While the Lithuanian minister operated with 100,000 refugees, surveys from early December 1939 to mid-January 1940 registered 18,000 to 35,000 Polish refugees. The League of Nations estimated Lithuania’s population at 2.45 million. The number of Finnish refugees in Norway oscillated in hundreds; Gylys to Koht, 27 Nov. 1939 & Koht to Gylys, 5 Dec. 1939 (draft), J.No. 27424/39, RA, UD, 38F7–39, Box 9074; Annuaire statistique de la Société des Nations – Statistical Year-Book of the League of Nations 1940/41 (Geneva, 1942), Tab. 2; T. Strømsøe, Solidaritet eller nøytralitet? Norsk Finlands-politikk og opinionen under Vinterkrigen 1939–1940 (Trondheim, 1997), 258; G. Surgailis, Uchodźcy wojenni i polscy żołnierze internowani na small and sovereign The heavy strain that a European conflict was putting on Norway was appar- ent. Thus, it was in Norway’s interest to examine possibilities for early cessation of hostilities. Consistently with his ‘active peace policy’ conception, Foreign Minister Koht registered a possible window of opportunity in mediation, a part of the so-called ‘good services’ that neutrals, mostly small powers having little to win in armed conflicts, offer as conjugation of their idealistic but realistic foreign policy motivations.403 Norway’s episodic use of neutrality is responsible for the lack of precedents. Still, Koht’s readiness—if not accompanied by any exuberant dose of optimism (cf. Article 1, ‘Reading the Signs’, 483–4) and 91 unreciprocated by several of his government colleagues—figured well in line with other neutrals.404 Norwegian efforts to stay out of the Second World War failed to yield the desired result.405 On 9 April 1940, Germany assaulted Norway and, in two months, conquered it. Unlike the German ‘Weserübung’, the Allied ‘Norwegian Campaign’—bringing together Norwegian, British, French, Polish, and, in small numbers and a convoluted manner, Czechoslovak soldiers—has become a synonym of failure.406 Still, the decision to continue the struggle for freedom in exile counted most for Norway’s future. King Haakon and the Nygaardsvold ministry arrived in London on 10 June; Foreign Minister Koht was forced to take a detour via the Farœs and rejoined his colleagues in London with a delay of a few days.407 The year 1940 did not have much positive in store for the Allies. Soon after the evacuation of Narvik, France fell and Germany acquired as much as a complete strategic control of the Continent. With the United States neutral, Britain was left with a specific group of allies—the European governments-in-exile. They were noted. As they were assembling in Britain, against the background of the rapidly deteriorating French situation, Prime Minister Winston Churchill declared in the House of Commons: “Czechs, Poles, Norwegians, Dutch, Belgians, all who have joined their causes to our own, shall Litwie w czasie Drugiej Wojny Światowej [War Refugees and Interned Polish Soldiers in Lithuania during the Second World War] (Warsaw, 2013), 50–3. 403 A. O’Donoghue, ‘Good Offices: Grasping the Place of Law in Conflict’, Legal Studies 34 (2014), 469–96, esp. 476–7. Though the research on neutrality as normative practice focuses on the Cold War, its central tenets are applicable to earlier periods. Cf. L. Goetschel, ‘Neutrals as Brokers of Peacebuilding Ideas?’, Cooperation & Conflict 46 (2011), 313–6. 404 H. Koht, Rikspolitisk dagbok 1933–1940, ed. S. Kjærheim (Oslo, 1985), 211–22 (incl. selected documents); B. Martin, Friedensinitiativen und Machtpolitik im Zweiten Weltkrieg 1939–1942 (Düsseldorf, 1972, 154–206; van Roon, Small States, 319–21. 405 For the neutrality experience, see, briefly, Salmon, ‘Norway’ in European Neutrals and Non-Bel- ligerents during the Second World War, ed. N. Wiley (Cambridge, 2002), 60–8. 406 See J. Kiszely, Anatomy of a Campaign: The British Fiasco in Norway, 1940 (Cambridge, 2017); T. Kristiansen, Otto Ruge, hærføreren (Oslo, 2019), 33–103; idem, Tysk trussel mot Norge? Forsvarsledelse, trusselvurderinger og militære tiltak før 1940 (Bergen, 2008); H.-M. Ottmer, ‘Weserübung’. Der deutsche Angriff auf Dänemark und Norwegen im April 1940 (Munich, 1994); Narvik 1940. Five-Nation War in the High North, ed. K. Rommetveit (Oslo, 1991). 407 Bomann-Larsen, Haakon og Maud, v. 524–55; vi. 15–24; Grimnes, Norway in the Second World War: Politics, Society and Conflict (London, 2022), 38–9 Riste, London-regjeringa, i. 17–8; Svendsen, Koht, 319–25. small and sovereign be restored.”408 Out of the ashes of a crushing defeat, something unexpected grew: a diplomatic hub where nine European governments could join forces in waging war and innovate their diplomatic toolkit—through reanimated and new relationships. 92 408 HC Deb., 5th Series, ccclxii. 60 (18 Jun. 1940). 6. CONCLUDING REMARKS In the presented study, Norway’s relationships with Czechoslovakia and Poland serve as a platform for examining the management of inter-state relationships by small state policy-makers during the Second World War exile. Multiple overreaching attributes—representation claim, separation from constituents, marginal effective control of the represented territory, international legal personality and agency, membership in a global military coalition, and shared place of residence—prompted exile policy-making elites assembled in 93 London to cultivate relationships. Still, how these relationships operated and what benefits they could bring—with the Allied victory becoming evident, also for the post-war future—depended on how the exiles, representing particular nations, interacted and what kind of encounters they chose to encourage or evade when socialising with their ‘peers’. As Norwegian political scientist Iver B. Neumann has remarked, “diplomacy is nested in the social.”409 If, analytically, diplomacy can be understood as an institution facilitating the conduct of relations between sovereign states within an international so- ciety and as a repertoire of practices empowering that institution (cf. ch. 3.5), in the non-military arsenal of the Second World War governments-in-exile it featured as a significant resource of agency and legitimacy, activated to defy multiple constraints, above all, those pertaining of contested sovereignty. This last part was evident in the Czechoslovak and Polish cases. Once the enemy had subjugated these countries, it declared their statehood non-existent. The Norwegian situation differed. The country’s sovereignty lingered in a sort of limbo. However, both the manner in which Norway was being administered and the plans which the Nazi elite had with it meant that it was severely cur- tailed—and that, in the event of the ultimate Axis victory, it was bound to remain so.410 Politicians and activists who chose to leave their homes to protest foreign interventions and the following societal transformations by continuous representation of their states needed to modify the notion of sovereignty, in the first place, to downplay demarcated territory as a defining aspect of a state and to operate Norway, Czechoslovakia and Poland as ‘states-in-exile’ (cf. ch. 3.4). Presence in the international arena was a constitutive part of this process, and it functioned through relationships. Reciprocal recognition of legal and political attributes serves as a threshold of an international relationship. Article 1, ‘Reading the Signs’, shows how the Norwegian Foreign Ministry followed the script of the so-called declaratory theory of recognition. Thus, it pondered whether the claimant polity, Slovakia, 409 I.B. Neumann, Diplomatic Sites: A Critical Inquiry (Oxford, 2013), 2. 410 R. Bohn, Reichskommissariat Norwegen. ‘Nationalsozialistische Neurordnung’ und Kriegswirtschaft (Munich, 2000); T. Emberland, M. Kott, Himmlers Norge. Nordmenn i det storgermanske prosjekt (Oslo, 2013); O.K. Grimnes, Norway in the Second World War: Politics, Society and Conflict (London, 2022), ch. 3–9, 11; D. Stratigakos, Hitler’s Northern Utopia: Building the New Order in Occupied Norway (Princeton, 2020). concluding remarks manifested attributes of statehood if it did or did not emerge due to actions at odds with the principles of international law and what prospects of survival it had in the volatile regional context. By contrast, in wartime exile, Foreign Minister Halvdan Koht initially probed the Czechoslovak exiles’ representative claim but tacitly chose to circumvent the issue. Norway’s 1940 recognition of the Czechoslovak government-in-exile was apparently motivated by political expediency—it was more advantageous for Norway to have one more small power partner in Second World War London than not to have it. That Koht 94 also referred to the previous Slovak recognition application in the process, which brought him closer to the so-called constitutive theory of recognition—Nor- way’s decision to recognise the Czechoslovak government-in-exile constituted Czechoslovakia as Norway’s ally. Thus, Koht affirmed the Czechoslovak exiles’ collective identity (cf. ‘thick’ recognition, ch. 3.5) and their entitlement to enjoy the privileges associated with the international legal personality despite lacking, or at best, marginal effective control of their state territory. The fact that, three years later, the matter was as much as forgotten at the Norwegian Foreign Ministry—as was its Slovak ‘prequel’—implies that the decision to resume diplomatic relations with Czechoslovakia, was essentially Koht’s, if to some extent affected by the not entirely favourable Polish position (cf. ch. 5.5.4).411 To become foreign policy-making assets, relationships between the Lon- don-based governments-in-exile had to be operationalised. Article 2, ‘Together and Alone’, demonstrates how the physical concentration of exile administrations catered for an environment where policy-makers, bureaucrats, and activists in semi-official positions could learn about each other and exchange views. In wartime London, the diplomatic field expanded considerably. Unparalleled in magnitude, the Second World War necessitated foreign policy considerations to outgrow the traditional regional framework early on, even more so when it became evident that it would recast the international order completely and endow it with a universalistic, conditionally communitarian character. Thus, the value of perceptions of one’s foreign partners and their international out- looks steadily increased. Norwegian foreign policy-makers did not hesitate to exchange views with the representatives of other governments-in-exile. At the same time, they did not rush toward far-reaching commitments but opted for manoeuvring within the limits of what they considered the parameters of the great power accord. When, in 1942, they launched their own Atlanticist initiative, they did so in order to draw the great powers’ attention and to fend off Swedish as well as Polish designs of regional security architecture412, deemed 411 See also Inter-Ministerial Political Committee, minutes, 30 Jul. 1940, IPMS, PRM 35, 86; President–Government consultations, minutes, 17 Aug. 1940, ibid., 89–98. 412 Poland continues to pursue and encourage regional integration in Central Europe. The contemporary infrastructure-centred Three Seas Initiative (TSI, 3Cs) bears a distinct geopo- litical resemblance to the inter-war ‘Intermarium’/‘Third Europe’ design (cf. ch. 3.3.5) and its Second World War echoes (cf. ch. 5.5.4). See M.G. Bartosiewicz, ‘Intermarium: A Bid for a Polycentric Europe’, Geopolitics 28 (2021), 795–819; P. Pizzolo, ‘The Geopolitical Role of the Three Seas Initiative: Mackinder’s ‘Middle Tear’ Strategy Redux’, Europe–Asia Studies, ahead-of-print, https://doi.org/10.1080/09668136.2023.2250106 (26 Mar. 2024). concluding remarks counterproductive. Aware of their own limited experience with managing the bilateral relationship with the Soviet Union, Norwegian policy-makers closely followed Poland’s and Czechoslovakia’s strategies as a potential resource of inspiration, if not lead. Article 3, ‘Norwegian Internationalism’, analyses the impact of a wartime innovation featuring media, cultural, and public diplomacy on the Norwegian diplomatic toolkit. It demonstrates how resourcefully the Norwegian exiles represented their occupied country—its pending plight and prospective place in the international order—in various print formats. Norwegian international 95 publicity served as a means of communication activated to approach a rela- tively broad, multilateral, and diverse audience through Norwegian, but also through British, American, and French publications. Yet, an initial perusal of the Czechoslovak and Norwegian principal ‘domestic’ outlets in wartime exile, Čechoslovák and Norsk Tidend, respectively413, revealed that the mediation of ‘the other’ exiles regularly took place on a bilateral basis, too. Later into the Second World War, Norwegian publicity for international audiences became a conduit of diplomatic signalling. Besides its obvious purpose of inserting the government-in-exile into the Inter-Allied conversations, it offered a possibility to test the political viability of its foreign policy views and ideas. An analysis of The Norseman revealed that a ‘high-brow’ review could serve multiple ends. Not only did The Norseman mediate an overly historicised image of Norway as a democratic, liberal country prepared for a wholesale post-war reconstruction, echoing universalistic values, but its contributors’ portfolio suggests that it also announced a geography of Norway’s prospective international partnerships, among which that with Czechoslovakia featured prominently. This observation underscores one particular tendency: in its relations with Norway, Poland had long more assets to convert into reciprocity than Czech- oslovakia. Norway’s minister to Poland was only side-accredited to Czechoslo- vakia; the Polish minister was a senior member of the Oslo diplomatic corps, and there was no Czechoslovak resident ‘opposite number’ (cf. ch. 5.4); the Polish minister accompanied the King on his flight to Northern Norway; Polish troops fought valiantly for Narvik. And yet, by the close of the Second World War, Czechoslovakia’s government-in-exile had much better contact with its Norwegian counterpart than the Polish government-in-exile. The present study shows that Norway was in a privileged position in Second World War London. Norway was approached with recognition applications, as in the case of Czechoslovakia. Norway, in turn, did not need to do so in any international relationship. Norway, again, decided when the diplomatic relations with Czechoslovakia and Poland were effectively resumed and what formal premises applied on that occasion (cf. ch. 5.5.5 & Article 2, ‘Together and Alone’, 469–70). The Norwegian elites had reclaimed full sovereignty of their country only thirteen years before the Czech, Slovak, and Polish national 413 Unfortunately, I have not yet had the opportunity to familiarise himself to a comparable extent with their Polish equivalent, Dziennik Polski. concluding remarks activists did so; Czechoslovakia and Poland surpassed Norway greatly in most quantitative hierarchies, and yet, in wartime exile, Norway was enjoying a higher status. Its sources were diverse—the long-established ‘special relation- ship’ with the British host; the monarchical constitution that catered for close inter-personal relationships of the Norwegian Royal House with all the heads of states in exile but the presidents of Czechoslovakia and Poland; geopolitical value for Britain; fiscal autarky. These assets, however, needed to be operation- alised in foreign policy-making. The fact that, when the complicated search 96 for the inaugural United Nations Secretary-General was over, the name of the compromise candidate read Trygve Lie implies that Norway’s status had been skilfully cultivated in wartime. It had, in fact, risen and was now allowing the country—to paraphrase United States President Obama’s much later observa- tion—to ‘punch above’ its expected ‘weight’ in international politics.414 Small power foreign policy-making in the Second World War exile was de- termined by its coalition setting. It can be epitomised as the protagonists’ craft of navigation between the imperatives of particular national interests and the parameters of the universalistic international order in the making being elabo- rated primarily by the Allied great powers. A successful reconciliation of these two poles was likely to help the states represented by the governments-in-exile attain the measure of security that would discourage foreign intervention. To this end, diplomacy was activated. The present study shows that under emergency conditions—combining scarcity of resources, displacement, ontological insecurity, and collective trau- ma—the governments-in-exile radiated a distinct need, maybe even greed for recognition. Recognition itself remained, as Norwegian political scientist Øyvind Østerud once put it, “an entry to the club.”415 Had the Norwegian, the Czechoslovak, and the Polish exiles not been accorded a full ‘United Na- tions’ membership but forced to operate in, say, a metaphorical ante-room of His Majesty’s Government in which historian Helene Maimann placed their Austrian counterparts416, it would have been difficult for them to represent their occupied states effectively. At the same time, recognition constituted a “narrow gate”, one that, for example, Italian antifascists did not manage to pass through, despite proven liberal credentials and reputed personalities in their ranks, failing as they were to present a sufficiently strong representative claim and lacking resources to aid the Allied cause.417 414 ‘Remarks Following a Meeting with Prime Minister Jens Stoltenberg of Norway and Exchange with Reporters’, 20 Oct. 2011, The American Presidency Project, https://www.presidency.ucsb. edu/documents/remarks-following-meeting-with-prime-minister-jens-stoltenberg-norway- and-exchange-with (7 Mar. 2024). See also J. Barros, Trygve Lie and the Cold War: The UN Secretary-General Pursues Peace, 1946–1953 (DeKalb, 1989), ch. 1. 415 Ø. Østerud, ‘The Narrow Gate: Entry to the Club of Sovereign States’, Review of International Studies 23 (1997), 167, 168. 416 H. Maimann, Politik im Wartesaal. Österreichische Exilpolitik in Grossbritannien, 1938 bis 1945 (Vienna, Cologne, Graz, 1975). 417 A. Varsori, Gli Alleati e l´emigrazione democratica antifascista (1940–1943) (Firenze, 1982); Østerud, ‘Narrow Gate’, 167–8. concluding remarks In Second World War exile, agency was generated by embracing an unprec- edented concentration of policy-makers and activists in contact with them. It offered an opportunity to cultivate a multitude of international relationships, bilateral and multilateral. This inquiry confirms what historians of international law have been drawing attention to recently, namely, that Second World War London was an arena where international norms were negotiated and bro- kered, with small power representatives sitting at the table and talking from the rostra.418 It demonstrates that a parallel process was unfolding regarding security and international organization. The participation of the small power 97 governments-in-exile in it, highlighted in this thesis, goes as much as unnoticed in historiography.419 And yet, it helped these governments retain international credibility and mitigate the asymmetry of power separating them from the superpowers.420 Such a manifestation of prowess came to legitimise the exiles, if to an uneven extent, in the eyes of their constituents in the occupied, and then liberated homelands. In exile diplomacy, one cannot overrate the role of communication with international partners. Besides growing familiarity with each other, where possible sustained by reference to amicable past encoun- ters, all three governments under scrutiny set out to convey their plights and foreign policy views and standpoints to broad international audiences. Public diplomacy was by no means a Second World War invention. Yet, its impact was clearly in the ascendant, and lessons learned would be applied after the war. Second World War London was a laboratory of foreign policy-making, and management of relationships its primary agenda. 418 See, e.g., J. Eichenberg, ‘Crossroads in London on the Road to Nuremberg: The London International Assembly, Exile Governments and War Crimes’, Journal of the History of Inter- national Law 24 (2022), 334–53; K. van Lingen, ‘Epistemic Communities of Exile Lawyers at the UNWCC’, Journal of the History of International Law 24 (2022), 315–33. 419 See O. Rosenboim, The Emergence of Globalism: Visions of World Order in Britain and the United States, 1939–1950 (Princeton, 2017). 420 W.T.R. Fox, The Super-Powers: The United States, Britain, and the Soviet Union – Their Re- sponsibility for Peace (New York, 1944). 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Tysk, italiensk och sovjetisk aggression under slutet av 1930-talet och bör- jan av 1940-talet tvingade åtta europeiska regeringar – däribland Norges, Tjeckoslovakiens och Polens – att kämpa för sina staters överlevnad i exil. Vid mitten av 1941 hade dessa stater etablerat sig i London, vilket gjorde staden till en unik diplomatisk knutpunkt där politiker umgicks, samarbetade och 123 lärde sig om och av varandra. I avhandlingen fungerar Norges relationer med Tjeckoslovakien och Polen som en analysplattform för denna unika historiska händelse. I exil förstärktes de mellanstatliga relationerna av den fysiska närheten mellan politiska ledare och aktivister. I kappan presenteras tidigare forskning om de tjeckoslovakiska, norska och polska exilregeringarna. Behovet av och möjligheterna till nya tillvägagångssätt i undersökning av deras historia identifieras. Vidare definieras det internationella samhället som arena för mellanstatliga relationer, och exil som ett villkor som definierar dessa relationer i London under andra världskriget. Norges, Tjeckoslo- vakiens och Polens situering i mellankrigstidens internationella samhälle, och exilpolitikernas internationella holkningar kartläggs. Artikel 1 är en fallstudie som vittnar om en snabb förändring i Norges inställning till diplomatisk erkännande. Ansökan från Slovakien, en satellit till Nazityskland, ger exempel på hur det norska utrikesministeriet hanterade ombytlighet i internationell politik. Ekot av detta återkom i krigstidens exil och hindrade de tjeckoslovakiska exulanternas kamp för erkännande som legitima företrädare för staten, vilket var en förutsättning för återupptagandet av de bilaterala förbindelserna mellan Norge och Tjeckoslovakien. Artikel 2 behandlar de norska, tjeckoslovakiska, och polska erfarenheterna i London under andra världskriget, med särskilt fokus på norska uppfattningar om de centraleuropeiska exilregeringarna. Artikeln visar hur exilregeringarnas kollektiva identiteter utgjorde grunden för socialisering med statlig representa- tion som syfte. Vidare visas hur relationerna med Tjeckoslovakien och Polen bidrog till att finjustera den norska utrikespolitiken. Artikel 3 fokuserar på norska insatser för att skapa medvetenhet om landets öde, medverkande i allierat krigsföring och föreställningar om position i efter- krigstidens internationella samhälle, såsom ömsesidighet och status. Genom internationell publicitet förmedlade den norska exilregeringen självuppfattningar om identitet, grupptillhörighet och interallierade relationer. Budskapet som sänds ut förmedlade de norska exilpolitikernas uttryckliga vändning mot en «realistisk» förståelse av internationalism, vilket speglade de pågående stormaktsdebatterna om internationell organisation. Dessutom signalerades riktningen för Norges framtida partnerskap inom den framväxande internationella ordningen, inklusive de med europeiska småmakter. Krigstidens internationella publicitet berikade Norges diplomatiska repertoar och påverkade insatsen inom efterkrigstidens kulturdiplomati. Denna avhandling visar hur och med vilka medel norska utrikespolitiska beslutsfattare bemästrade respektive omvandlade de utmaningar och möjligheter som följde med det expanderande diplomatiska fältet. Studien visar att Norge hade en privilegierade ställning i andra världskrigets London. Slutligen förklaras hur exilregeringar från småstater deltog i förhandlingar om efterkrigstidens säkerhet och internationella organisation och hur detta hjälpte dem att behålla 124 sin internationella trovärdighet, kringgå den rådande maktasymmetri och att manifestera sin skicklighet för den inhemska publiken. ARTICLE 1 ARTICLE 2 ARTICLE 3 DOCTORAL DISSERTATIONS FROM THE NATIONAL GRADUATE SCHOOL OF HISTORY/HISTORICAL STUDIES This doctoral dissertation was written demokrati i den svenska rösträttsrörelsens within the framework of The National diskursgemenskap, 1887–1902 History, Lund University 2007 Graduate School of Historical Studies Tommy Gustafsson, En fiende till civilisa- (Nationella forskarskolan i historiska tionen. Manlighet, genusrelationer, sexualitet studier) in Sweden (originally the Na- och rasstereotyper i svensk filmkultur under tional Graduate School in History). 1920-talet, History, Lund University 2007 The Graduate School was established Jesper Johansson, ”Så gör vi inte här i Sverige. Vi brukar göra så här”. Retorik och praktik i by Government decision in 2000 and LO:s invandrarpolitik 1945–1981, History, is located at Lund University. Through Växjö University 2008 the Graduate School, doctoral stu- Christina Jansson, Maktfyllda möten i medicins- dents are able to interact with other ka rum. Debatt, kunskap och praktik i svensk förlossningsvård 1960–1985, History, Lund doctoral students and academic staff University (Södertörn University) 2008 engaged in historical research at Lund Anne Hedén, Röd stjärna över Sverige. University, University of Gothenburg, Folkrepubliken Kina som resurs i den svenska Linnaeus University, Malmö Universi- vänsterradikaliseringen under 1960- och ty and Södertörn University. Subjects 1970-talen, History, Lund University (Södertörn University) 2008 included are History, Human Rights, Cecilia Riving, Icke som en annan människa. History of Ideas and Sciences, Ethnol- Psykisk sjukdom i mötet mellan psykiatrin ogy, Art History and Visual Studies, och lokalsamhället under 1800-talets andra Book History, Musicology, Historical hälft, History, Lund University 2008 Archaeology, and Classical Archaeol- Magnus Olofsson, Tullbergska rörelsen. Striden om den skånska frälsejorden 1867–1869, ogy and Ancient History. History, Lund University 2008 Doctoral dissertations from the Na- Johan Östling, Nazismens sensmoral. Svenska tional Graduate School in History/ erfarenheter i andra världskrigets efterdyning, History, Lund University 2008 Historical Studies written by doctoral Christian Widholm, Iscensättandet av Solsken- students mostly funded by the Grad- solympiaden – Dagspressens konstruktion av uate School: föreställda gemenskaper vid Stockholmsol- Stefan Persson, Kungamakt och bonderätt. ympiaden 1912, History, Lund University Om danska kungar och bönder i riket och i 2008 Göinge härad ca 1525–1640, History, Lund Ainur Elmgren, Den allrakäraste fienden. Sven- University 2005 ska stereotyper i finländsk press 1918–1939, Sara Edenheim, Begärets lagar. Moderna statliga History, Lund University 2008 utredningar och heteronormativitetens geneal- Andrés Brink Pinto, Med Lenin på byrån. ogi, History, Lund University 2005 Normer kring klass, genus och sexualitet i den Mikael Tossavainen, Heroes and Victims. The svenska kommunistiska rörelsen 1921–1939, Holocaust in Israeli Historical Consciousness, History, Lund University 2008 History, Lund University 2006 Helena Tolvhed, Nationen på spel. Kropp, kön Henrik Rosengren, ”Judarnas Wagner”. Moses och svenskhet i populärpressens representa- Pergament och den kulturella identifikation- tioner av olympiska spel 1948–1972, History, ens dilemma omkring 1920–1950, History, Lund University (Malmö University) 2008 Lund University 2007 Lennart Karlsson, Arbetarrörelsen, Folkets hus Victor Lundberg, Folket, yxan och orättvisans och offentligheten i Bromölla 1905–1960, rot. Betydelsebildning kring History, Växjö University 2009 Stefan Nyzell, ”Striden ägde rum i Malmö”. Martin Kjellgren, Taming the Prophets. Astrolo- Möllevångskravallerna 1926. En studie av gy, Orthodoxy and the Word of God in Early politiskt våld i mellankrigstidens Sverige, Modern Sweden, History, Lund University History, Lund University (Malmö Univer- (Malmö University) 2011 sity) 2009 Anna Rosengren, Åldrandet och språket. En Louise Sebro, Mellem afrikaner og kreol. Etnisk språkhistorisk analys av hög ålder och identitet og social navigation i Dansk Vestin- åldrande i Sverige cirka 1875–1975, Histo- dien 1730–1770, History, Lund University ry, Lund University (Södertörn University) 2010 2011 Simon Larsson, Intelligensaristokrater och Åsa Bengtsson, Nyktra kvinnor. Folkbildare och arkivmartyrer. Normerna för vetenskaplig politiska aktörer. Vita bandet 1900–1930, skicklighet i svensk historieforskning 1900– History, Lund University 2011 1945, History, Lund University (Södertörn Anna Nilsson, Lyckans betydelse. Sekularisering, University) 2010 sensibilisering och individualisering i svenska Vanja Lozic, I historiekanons skugga. His- skillingtryck, History, Lund University 2012 torieämne och identifikationsformering i Anna Alm, Upplevelsens poetik. Slöjdseminariet 2000-talets mångkulturella samhälle, His- på Nääs 1880–1940, History, Lund Univer- tory, Lund University (Malmö University sity 2012 College) 2010 Rasmus Fleischer, Musikens politiska ekonomi. Marie Eriksson, Makar emellan. Äktenskaplig Lagstiftningen, ljudmedierna och försvaret av oenighet och våld på kyrkliga och politiska den levande musiken, 1925–2000, History, arenor, 1810–1880, History, Linnæus Lund University (Södertörn University) University 2010 2012 Anna Hedtjärn Wester, Män i kostym. Prinsar, Andreas Tullberg,”We are in the Congo now”. konstnärer och tegelbärare vid sekelskiftet Sweden and the Trinity of Peacekeeping 1900, History, Lund University (Södertörn during the Congo Crisis 1960–1964, History, University) 2010 Lund University 2012 Malin Gregersen, Fostrande förpliktelser. Matilda Svensson, När något blir annorlunda. Representationer av ett missionsuppdrag i Skötsamhet och funktionsförmåga i berättelser Sydindien under 1900-talets första hälft, om poliosjukdom, History, Lund University History, Lund University 2010 (Malmö University) 2012 Magnus Linnarsson, Postgång på växlande Peter K. Andersson, Streetlife in Late Victorian villkor. Det svenska postväsendets organisa- London. The Constable and the Crowd, tion under stormaktstiden, History, Lund History, Lund University 2012 University (Södertörn University) 2010 Mikael Häll, Skogsrået, näcken och Djävulen. Johanna Ringarp, Professionens problema- Erotiska naturväsen och demonisk sexualitet i tik. Lärarkårens kommunalisering och 1600- och 1700-talens Sverige, History, Lund välfärdsstatens förvandling, History, Lund University 2013 University (Södertörn University) 2011 Johan Stenfeldt, Dystopiernas seger. Totalita- Carolina Jonsson Malm, Att plantera ett barn. rism som orienteringspunkt i efterkrigstidens Internationella adoptioner och assisterad svenska idédebatt, History, Lund University befruktning i svensk reproduktionspolitik, 2013 History, Lund University (Malmö Univer- sity) 2011 Maria Nyman, Resandets gränser. Svenska resenärers skildringar av Ryssland under Fredrik Håkansson, Standing up to a Multi- 1700-talet, History, Lund University national Giant. The Saint-Gobain World (Södertörn University) 2013 Council and the American Window Glass Workers’ Strike in the American Saint Kajsa Brilkman, Undersåten som förstod. Den Gobain Corporation in 1969, History, svenska reformatoriska samtalsordningen Linnæus University 2011 och den tidigmoderna integrationsprocessen, History, Lund University 2013 Christina Douglas, Kärlek per korrespondens. Två förlovade par under andra hälften Isak Hammar, Making Enemies. The Logic of av 1800-talet, History, Lund University Immorality in Ciceronian Oratory, History, (Södertörn University) 2011 Lund University 2013 Emma Hilborn, Världar i Brand. Fiktion, politik och romantik i det tidiga 1900-talets ungsocialistiska press, History, Lund Univer- Fredrik Egefur, Gränslösa rörelser för fred 1889– sity 2014 1914. Aktörskap, strategi och begreppsvärld Pål Brunnström, Ägare och kapital. Klass och hos socialistisk och liberal fredsaktivism, genus hos kapitalägare i Sverige 1918–1939, History, Lund University 2020 History, Lund University 2014 Marie Bennedahl, Fall in Line. Genus, Joakim Glaser, Fotboll från Mielke till Merkel kropp och minnena av det amerikanska – Kontinuitet, brott och förändring i support- inbördeskriget i skandinavisk reenactment, erkultur i östra Tyskland, History, Malmö History, Linnæus University 2020 University 2015 Kenth Hansen, Medeltida stadsaristokrati: Bonnie Clementsson, Förbjudna förbindelser. Världsligt frälse i de skånska landskapens Föreställningar kring incest och incestförbud städer, Historical Archeology, Lund Uni- i Sverige 1680-1940, History, Lund Univer- versity 2020 sity 2016 Fredrika Larsson, Conflict in Colours. A Com- David Rosenlund, History Education as parative Study of Republican and Loyalist Content, Methods or Orientation? A Study Murals in Belfast, History, Lund University of Curriculum Prescriptions, Teacher-made 2021. Tasks and Student Strategies, History, Jagger Andersen Kirkby, Sentiments of Segrega- Malmö University 2016 tion. The Emotional Politics of Apartheid in Kristoffer Ekberg, Mellan flykt och förändring. South Africa, c. 1948–1990, History, Lund Utopiskt platsskapande i 1970-talets alterna- University 2022.  tiva miljö, History, Lund University 2016 Peder Flemestad, Order and Adornment. The Robin Ekelund, Retrospektiva modernister. Om Role of Dress in Plutarch, Classical Archeol- historiens betydelse för nutida mods, History, ogy and Ancient History, Lund University Malmö University 2017 2022. Vahagn Avedian, Knowledge and Acknowledge- Johanna Thorelli, De tjänstvilliga vännernas ment. The Politics of Memory of the Arme- samhälle. Abraham Brahe och den svenska nian Genocide, History, Lund University eliten 1590–1630, History, University of 2017 Gothenburg 2023. Johannes Ljungberg, Toleransens gränser. Kristoffer Edelgaard Christensen, Governing Religionspolitiska dilemman i det tidiga Black and White - A History of Govern- 1700–talets Sverige och Europa, History, mentality in Denmark and the Danish Lund University 2017 West Indies, 1770–1900, History, Lund John Hennessey, University 2023.Rule by Association: Japan in the Global Trans-Imperial Culture, 1868– Josefin Hägglund, Demokratins stridslinjer: 1912, History, Linnæus University 2018 Carl Lindhagen och politikens omvandling, Björn Lundberg, 1896–1923, History, Södertörn University Naturliga medborgare. Fri- 2023. luftsliv och medborgarfostran i scoutrörelsen och Unga Örnar 1925–1960, History, Lund Martina Böök, Traditionella nyheter: Kläder, University 2018 ekonomi och politik i Virestads socken 1750- Emma Severinsson, 1850, History, Linnæus University 2023.Moderna kvinnor. Modernitet, feminitet och svenskhet i svensk Ingrid Dunér, Controlling Destiny. Julian Hux- veckopress 1920–1933, History, Lund Uni- ley’s Post-Darwinian Evolutionism and the versity 2018 History of Transhumanism, History of Ideas Katarzyna Herd, and Sciences, Lund University 2024.“We shall make new history here.” Rituals of producing history in Swedish Pavol Jakubec, Navigating Relationships in football clubs, etnologi, Lund University Exile: Norway, Czechoslovakia, Poland, and 2018 Small Power Diplomacy in Second World Martin Andersson, War London, History, University of Goth-Migration i 1600-talets enburg 2024. Sverige: Älvsborgs lösen 1613–1618, History, Södertörn University 2018 Bolette Frydendahl Larsen, Opdragelse og diag- nosticering. Fra uopdragelighed til psykopati på Vejstrup pigehjem 1908–1940, History, Lund University 2019