The Munich Pact of September 30, 1938, opened the floodgates, bringing, not the “peace in our time” of the unsophisticated Neville Chamberlain, but the bloodiest war of all. I was twenty at the time, old enough to feel the shame of a deal at the expense of the helpless Czechs and Slovaks, but a long way from knowing the reasons for the shame. I do remember that the cinema in which I saw the newsreel of the returning Prime Minister, waving the “piece of paper, signed not only by Herr Hitler but myself,” was greeted with boos from the audience.
It has been said, in Chamberlain’s defense, that if the war Hitler was planning had come in 1938 instead of 1939, the Battle of Britain might have been a walkover for the Luftwaffe. Perhaps. In any case, Munich was the logical culmination of the Depression years, and appeasement of the Fascist and Nazi dictators was the logical refuge of the supine politicians of that period, in France as well as in Britain, who were reluctant to believe what “Herr Hitler” had written in Mein Kampf.




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