XXIV
In October of 1921 I went to Russia for the purpose of making a report on the Famine to the Imperial Relief Fund.
Much as I disliked the idea of seeing the grisly vision of Famine after so many experiences of war and its effects, I felt that it was an inescapable duty to accept the invitation made to me. I was also drawn by a strong desire to see the conditions of Russia, outside as well as inside the famine area, and to get first-hand knowledge of the system of Bolshevism which was a terror to the majority in Europe, with some secret attraction, holy or unholy, among men and women of revolutionary or “advanced” views.
It was impossible to know the truth from newspaper reading. Stories of Russian atrocities and horrors arrived from Riga, Helsingfors and other cities on the border of the Soviet Republic, and were denied by other correspondents. Knowing the way in which “atrocities” had been manufactured in time of war, by every nation, I disbelieved all I read about Russia circulated by the “White” propaganda department, while doubting everything which came from “Red” sources. I think that was a general attitude of mind among unprejudiced people.
Even with regard to the Famine it was impossible to get near the truth by newspaper accounts. The Daily Mail said the tales of famine were vastly exaggerated. The Daily Express said there was no famine at all. The Morning Post suggested that it was a simple scheme for deluding Western nations in order to feed the Red Army. I wanted to know, and promised to find out and report impartially to the Imperial Relief Fund. The Daily Chronicle agreed to publish a number of articles written after my return from Russia (in order to avoid censorship), and I arranged to send an account to The Review of Reviews, of which I was the rather nominal editor.
A journalist friend of mine named Leonard Spray was also under instructions from The Daily Chronicle to go to Russia, for another line of inquiry, and much to my delight promised to wait for me in Berlin so that we could travel together. It would make a great difference having a companion on that adventure, for I confess that I hate the lonely trail.
It was a question of waiting for passports from the Soviet Foreign Office in Moscow. I had applied to the Russian Trade Mission in London and was recommended by an assistant to Krassin, an intelligent and well-educated young Russian who professed devoted adherence to Communism while doing himself remarkably well, I thought, with all the material pleasures of capitalistic luxury. After a couple of weeks my credentials arrived, my passport was indorsed with the stamp of the Soviet Republic, and I had in this way a talisman which would open the gate of Red Russia and let me enter the heart of its mystery. To some of my friends it seemed the free admission to a tiger’s cage.
In Berlin I was advised to buy blankets, cooking utensils, as much food as I could carry, and illimitable quantities of insect powder. I took this advice, and with Leonard Spray and a very useful lady who understood the German ways of shopping, we bought this outfit, remarkably cheap, reckoning in German marks which were then not quite 4,000 to the English pound.
Among other items we acquired an enormous Dutch cheese, round and red, which we wrapped up in a towel. It became our most precious possession, and, as I may tell later, came to an honorable and joyous end. A quantity of solid alcohol in tins somewhat in the style of the “Tommy’s Cooker” also bulged out our bags and were an immense boon by enabling us to heat up food and drink on our Russian journey.
Spray and I spent two solid days obtaining visas in Berlin for all the countries through which we had to pass on our way to the Russian frontier by way of Riga—those new Baltic States created at Versailles.