Art. 9.-THE CENSORSHIP OF THE PRESS.

1. Indiscretions of the Naval Censor. By Rear-Admiral Sir Douglas Brownrigg, Bart. Cassell, 1920.

2. The Press in War Time, with some Account of the Official Press Bureau. By Sir Edward Cook, K.B.E.

Macmillan, 1920.

3. German Spies at Bay. By S. T. Felstead. Hutchinson, 1920.

NEVER, perhaps, has any institution in the course of a career so brief been the object of so much misunderstanding and misrepresentation as the Official Press Bureau. It was represented by the cartoonists as a collection of old women of incredible ineptitude, their heads bound up in red tape. Nothing could be further from the truth. We should be the last to deny that, especially in the early days of the war, just cause for offence was given by the censoring of the Press. But the Press Bureau was not only continually blamed during its existence for exercising the censorship upon lines which were demonstrably correct, but it was also taken to task over grievances with which it had nothing whatever to do. It was confused with the Postal, the Commercial and Field Censorships. And long after it had ceased to exist, the imaginary Mandarins of Whitehall continued to be abused for imaginary mystifications, and for delays really due to a war-worn telegraph system.

It was the correct policy of those responsible for the application of the Press Censorship never to answer attacks in the Press, except through the mouth of a Minister. For to answer meant to explain; and explanation would involve the revelation to the enemy of those very secrets which it was the whole object of the Censorship to prevent. Now, however, two volumes have appeared which throw a vivid light upon the mental attitude, as well as upon the difficulties, of those who were responsible for the thankless task of censoring the Press at home, and afford an opportunity for a brief survey of the whole subject. The lucid exposition of the late Sir Edward Cook, and the very discreet Indiscretions' of Rear-Admiral Sir Douglas Brownrigg, leave the impression that, silent and maligned, the Press

Censorship was conducted, on the whole, with rare good sense and ability. It could have asked for no finer epitaph than that wrung from Count Bernstorff: 'The Press Bureau in its efficiency and imaginative powers has never had its equal in the history of the world.' So far as those responsible for the actual working of the Censorship were concerned, there was, it appears, none of that deliberate obscurantism with which they were charged. Both Rear-Admiral Brownrigg and the Directors of the Press Bureau claim to have used their influence freely in the cause of publicity. Let us learn what we can from the enemy,' said Mr Balfour very wisely, 'let us teach him only what we must.' But it was possible for the Navy to be too silent, and the War Office too retiring, if left to consult their own predilections. The nation could not be roused to its highest endeavour, or persuaded to make such unprecedented surrenders of its liberties as the acceptance of conscription and rationing, if it were perpetually assured that All's well, and lights burning bright.'

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To the countrymen of Prynne, Defoe, and Milton, nothing can be more repugnant than the idea of official restrictions upon the Press. But on the need of censorship in war-time, the Crimean, the Franco-Prussian, and the South African wars had taught lessons which no responsible person could ignore. Lord Raglan, writing from 'before Sebastopol' in 1854, had called attention to the perilous disclosures made by W. H. Russell in the Times' of details, the knowledge of which must be invaluable to the Russians, and in the same degree detrimental to H.M.'s troops.' In 1866 the Austrian concentration on the Bistritz had been revealed to Berlin by a telegram vid London. And in 1870, the movements of the French Army, deduced from hints furnished by the descriptions of British correspondents, communicated to Moltke, had enabled him to win Sedan. Such experience was enough. But other factors rendered the imposition of a Press Censorship peculiarly necessary in 1914. We were entering upon a war in alliance with a nation which had suffered terribly through former leakages of military information. We were fighting in an age when the rapidity of communication had developed beyond all previous experience, and when, therefore, the

danger of newspaper indiscretions was proportionately increased. We were taking the field against an enemy of overwhelming military strength. To concede him any advantage would have been sheer madness, as well as treachery to our Allies.

As for ourselves, we were not only not a military nation, but, outside the circle of a small professional army, we were supremely ignorant of military affairs. The very excellence and enterprise of our Press, therefore, rendered it the more dangerous. For while the demand for news was sure to be unexampled, the organisation for supplying it was never more complete, never more brilliantly served. Competition is keen in the newspaper world; how keen, it is difficult for the outsider to realise. But apart from any reckless yielding to temptation arising from such competition, the significance of the information they might be supplying to the enemy was not easily understood by journalists untrained to

What seemed self-evident to Continental peoples, of whom nearly every man had received military training, was often incomprehensible to the British Public. It is now a commonplace that the achievement of tactical or strategical surprise must be the aim of every Commander-in-Chief; and conversely, it must be the endeavour of the Intelligence Section of any army to learn what the enemy is going to do. The whole art of war,' the Duke of Wellington observed, 'consists in getting at what is on the other side of the hill.'

In order to secure surprise, the 'fog of war' must be created and maintained-a dense fog upon the battlefront and behind the line, and a fog almost as dense stretching back over communications to the factories and depots at home. Some of the liveliest and most highly trained brains of a nation must be employed in learning and tabulating the numbers and resources of the enemy, and the disposition and movements of his troops, his Order of Battle in the field. Every descriptive hint is of importance for this purpose. 'The published report of a street accident,' Admiral Sir Cyprian Bridge tells us, has led to the localisation of an important foreign force.' And yet, though the enemy, if not gratuitously informed, must endeavour to obtain such information by the expenditure of blood and

treasure, how large a part of the British public regarded the excision of details, which would have revealed the disposition of our troops, as mere official ineptitude! The phrase 'Somewhere in France' was long popularly regarded as meaningless camouflage.

Further, when valuable information has been obtained, the fact must be concealed. To know is important; it is almost equally important not to let the enemy know that you know. For, if he attempts a surprise which, being prepared against, fails, it is equivalent to a defeat. Thus we were well aware of the existence of the German Spy School at Rotterdam, but we refrained, as Mr Felstead tells us, from advertising our knowledge, both for other reasons, and because we preferred to watch the careers and communications of their unsuspecting pupils.'

On the Home Front, the cloud of war shrouds the recruiting of troops and their destination, the construction and movements of ships, and the invention and production of military equipment. Now, information as to numbers and movements of the enemy is obtained, generally speaking, in two ways-by spies, and by captures on the battle-field leading to the identification of units through prisoners' kit and correspondence. Night and day, throughout the war, men's lives were sacrificed to obtain the shoulder-strap of a private or the letter of a lover to his sweetheart. The identification of a regiment by such means may indicate the presence of a brigade, the brigade that of a division. But unguarded publication in the Press of an obituary notice, a soldier's letter home, or an apparently harmless photograph would convey such information gratis. The concealment of mechanical inventions and details of production of war material is equally necessary. Suppose, for instance, that the Germans had learned of our first invention of Tanks, or, later, that we were building the faster and lighter whippet-tanks.' Actually, we secured a deadly surprise with the first, and the Germans, vainly trying to outdo us, proceeded to make heavier and clumsier ones. But suppose that, when they broke through in 1918 and the road was practically open to Paris, they had been able to launch a fleet of swift, light tanks to widen and extend the gap! It might almost have turned the scales of the war.

Fortunately our naval and military secrets were extraordinarily well kept. The outstanding achievement of the Censorship was, that it managed to keep the Germans guessing on innumerable vital points. That was both its object and its justification. One need only refer, by way of example, to the dispatch of ships to the Falkland Islands; the device of tanks and anti-submarine measures; the Pomeroy bullet and other air defences; aeroplane construction; the Stokes mortar; the 'hush' ships; Foch's reserve; the rushing of Allied troops to Italy after Caporetto, and a thousand other movements of troops; or, finally, the prolonged preparation for the attack on Zeebrugge. The latter involved the removal of the Liverpool ferry boats, Iris and Daffodil, a fact known to millions in the north. And yet, so little were the principles of military secrecy grasped by the public or the Press as a whole, that after many months of war a journalist could be found to collect, and an editor to print, in perfect good faith, details of naval construction at the ports, which the Admiralty held to be of priceless value to the enemy. The editor, it is to be observed, justified himself on the ground that what he published was well known locally. He apparently assumed, therefore, that it must be known to the Germans. How successful we were in keeping the Germans in the dark, is still one of the facts about the war least realised. The extent of our success in that direction was, indeed, difficult even for those to believe who were responsible for it and could perceive the indubitable evidence thereof. The rounding-up of the German Spy system at the outbreak of the war, and the subsequent arrests of incipient spy organisations, combined with a careful and informed censorship of Press, of cable and postal communications, were responsible for this achievement.

When war broke out, there was not even the nucleus of a censoring staff in existence. Some attempts had been made after the South African war to proceed by way of legislation towards the censorship of the Press in war-time. These attempts failed, but a Joint Consultative Committee of the Admiralty, the War Office, and the Press had been set up about a year before the