A Very Private Celebrity (10 page)

In his letter, Freeman told Driberg that, in his private view, the Burmese had to be granted independence after elections, otherwise ‘we should be gradually and ignominiously expelled, probably with casualties. From the soldiers' point of view, the politician must avoid an anti-British crisis.'
19
This comment was obviously an answer to Churchill's speech in the Commons earlier in December. In response to the Labour government's plans to make Burma the first independent ex-colony, he had exploded: ‘This haste is appalling; “scuttle” is the only word that can be applied.'

Driberg and Freeman shared a belief in Burmese independence that was vindicated the next year when power was successfully transferred. It became a model for policies elsewhere and was one of Attlee's proudest achievements. In fact, Freeman played an important part in this. In August 1947, he led a defence mission to Burma, which agreed, after much argument, to send a combined task force from all three armed services to build up an adequate army, navy and air
force. Freeman described the mission in an article for the
New Statesman
seven years later:

Out of earshot of the shore, Tin Tut explained the Burmese suspicion of the colonial British, and Freeman, panting and spluttering, advanced the true cause of Clement Attlee and his socialists. They attained a degree of candour and from then on the talks changed for the better: ‘This episode must, I should think, rank as one of the more bizarre diplomatic occasions. Certainly, what with shortage of breath, a near certainty of typhoid, and my dark suspicion that there were crocodiles in the lake, I still reckon it among my most hazardous public duties.'
20

Freeman's mission was judged ‘an important practical step' in a
Times
leader. The transfer of power officially took place three months later. It is now, wrote the historian Peter Hennessy, ‘a long-forgotten but highly significant imperial disposal'.

Two months before, in June, Freeman and several other government ministers had been sent letter bombs by the Stern Gang, an Israeli terrorist organisation. The number one target was Foreign Secretary Ernest Bevin, whose policy to block the creation of an independent Jewish state in Palestine – to be called Israel – was considered anti-Semitic by many Jews. The mini bombs were intended as the first of a huge strike of twenty-one bombs to be sent to every member of the Cabinet, and others. Chancellor of the Exchequer, Sir Stafford Cripps, was only saved when his secretary threw the fizzing parcel into a bucket of water. Years later, Freeman came face to face with his assailant. He told Catherine at the time: ‘I bumped into a former member of the Stern Gang recently who told me that he had been deputed to kill me. He had red hair too.'

In 1947, Freeman was appointed vice-president of the army council, of which Field Marshal Montgomery of Alamein, Chief of the Imperial General Staff (CIGS), was a member. No respecter of politicians, and increasingly out of sorts with peacetime Britain, Montgomery accused Freeman of being rude to a senior officer when visiting a regiment, and undermining discipline by discussing policy with other ranks. Freeman denied this vehemently. It obviously did him no political harm though, because the next year Attlee consulted him about Montgomery's successor as CIGS. He suggested Field Marshal Slim, and this was acted on.

Freeman did not forget. Monty may have called him ‘the best brigade major in the Eighth Army' but this cut no ice. In the 1960s, Freeman used Monty's opposition to the common market to put in the military boot:

In 1947, John Freeman and his wife Elizabeth separated. She remained at Marsham Street and he moved into a flatlet in Threeways – a substantial house on Wellgarth Road at the edge of Hampstead Heath. This was the lively and chaotic home of the remarkable Hubback family. David Hubback had been at Westminster School with Freeman. In fact, David and his mother Eva had visited Russia in 1932 with a party of Fabians, including the headmaster of Westminster, Hugh Dalton and Naomi Mitchison. David went on to fight in the Western Desert before joining the civil service in 1946, where he helped to shape the New Britain. It was Eva, however, living with her son and his family, who had an inspiring effect on Freeman. Now her plaque in mosaic is outside Morley College in south London, where she was principal in the 1920s. She was a member of London county council and an ardent believer in citizenship. Prior to that, she had been a suffragette, a feminist, a eugenicist and the founder of the Townswomen's Guild. According to Eva's daughter, Diana Hopkinson, in her last years after the war (when John was living with the Hubbacks) ‘she habitually woke at 6 a.m. and sat outside, even on chilly mornings, considering the philosophical and religious interpretations of existence. She suffered from all the uncertainties about life and death which can beset the bravest of agnostics.'
22
I see Eva's spirit hovering over Freeman's shoulder in the BBC studios while he conducted his many interviews on those same subjects.

Before the end of the war Freeman had met Mima Kerr, a journalist writing for
Le Figaro
and a Free French publication based in Whitehall. She was married with a daughter (Lizi, born in 1942), but
had separated from her husband soon after Lizi's birth. During the war and after, Lizi lived with a nanny in Hove, while Mima remained in London and began a love affair with John. After the war, Mima was appointed royal reporter for
Picture Post
magazine. She continued to visit Paris frequently, as she always had done since she had been to finishing school there, and enjoyed skiing in Switzerland.

Lizi remembers her first meeting with her future stepfather: ‘John and Woodrow [Wyatt] came down to Hove. I remember them taking me to the beach and I remember asking myself, “Is one of these men going to be my dad?” And I was very relieved that it was John.'
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Elizabeth Freeman sued for divorce, and Lizi recalls the secretary John shared with Mima, Joan Harper, arranging for him to spend the necessary night in Brighton to provide evidence of adultery: ‘He was somewhere completely different the night before and had to get over there. He said, “I couldn't be more displeased.”' Elizabeth was granted a divorce on 19 January 1948 on the grounds of John's adultery.

John and Mima (an acronym for her maiden name, Margaret Ista Mabel Abbott) were married at Folkestone registry office on 23 March 1948. The certificate states that she had obtained a divorce from her first husband and John was a ‘journalist and advertising copywriter' – a curious deceit. Did he want to put off press interest or was it second nature to avoid giving away more about himself than absolutely necessary? After all, he was an under-secretary of state in the Labour government. After the wedding, the Freemans and Lizi moved briefly into a small flat in Spanish Mansions off Marylebone High Street, before moving back to the Hubbacks'. Not long afterwards, they set up home at 8 Heath Mansions in Hampstead, where John would live for seventeen years.

Mima was a tall, stylish 31-year-old, with a taste for hats and elegant clothes: ‘My God, she knew how to shop for clothes,' says Lizi.
‘A wardrobe of black, navy and camel would suggest best quality, and all one needed was a simple, elegant line. She would buy a new hat before it appeared in
Vogue
.' But she was a hopeless mother:

An unexpected perspective.

On 7 October 1947, Freeman was appointed parliamentary secretary at the Ministry of Supply – a post he was to hold for the next four years, working for the minister George Strauss. Strauss was a Jewish intellectual, a founder of
Tribune
magazine in the 1930s. He was on the left of the Labour Party in government and was also a friend of Tom Driberg – all of which ought to have commended him to Freeman. Nevertheless, for Freeman this was an increasingly frustrating appointment, because Strauss would not delegate but left him with the rubbish – almost literally. A search of Hansard 1947–50 reveals eloquently how excruciatingly boring Freeman's work at the Ministry of Supply must have been. In 1948, he made three speeches in the Chamber – on conveyor belting; dumped radio equipment; and disabled ex-servicemen's cars. He provided a large number of written answers on such topics as: electric light bulbs; bicycle rear lamps; pig iron; zinc prices; and the aircraft establishment at Farnborough. The next year his speeches were up to eleven – aircraft sales (abroad); surplus equipment (handling); stores disposal in Egypt – while his
written answers continued in the same vein – hearing aids; Tudor aircraft [?!]; flying boats. No wonder he sought the company of Tom Driberg! Was this what the ‘Battle of the New Britain' was all about?

In February 1950, the Labour Party was returned to power after the general election, and Freeman retained his position at the Ministry of Supply. His work continued to be deeply unsatisfying. The following January, he unburdened himself to Dalton on a Sunday afternoon walk in Battersea Park:

In fact, only weeks later Strauss
did
give Freeman his opportunity. He asked him to ‘wind up' the iron and steel nationalisation debate that would bring into effect the bill that had been passed, in principle, in November 1949 (although its implementation had been postponed until after the general election). The Conservative Party decided to make a rearguard fight of it, and the result was a cliffhanger – Labour won by only ten votes. By all accounts, Freeman made up for lost opportunities: ‘Mr Freeman made one of the outstanding speeches of recent years. Labour MPs roared with delight at the spectacle of this red-headed, pink cheeked young minister infuriating the Tories with a stream of brilliant but barbed shafts.'
26

‘I thought we might easily lose,' said Dalton. ‘John Freeman wound up very well, and I hope this has renewed a little of his personal reputation.' (7 February 1951)