`I sometimes wonder what on earth I am doing here, being a man without ambition." So wrote Sean Lester in his diary when Deputy Secretary-General of the League of Nations in 1937. He had just spent two fraught years as High Commissioner for the free port of Danzig - now Gdansk - resisting as best he could the bullying tactics of the increasingly confident Nazis. A former journalist and diplomat in the fledgling Department of External Affairs, he was entering the final decade of a career which was to conclude with what must have been one of the most extraordinary jobs in twentieth-century politics: sitting in behind the Secretary General's desk at the League of Nations throughout the second world war. That he kept "the flag flying at Geneva," as Anthony Eden put it, showed up Hitler's "hollowness and transience " and had a moral and political significance "which could perhaps only be accurately measured if you were ever obliged to haul it down."
Lester himself expected no thanks. But he reckoned that "the value of this little side show" in the war could not be determined until the war concluded. Decisions might be taken later that would give the League's work "an air of past futility"; on the other hand, "the damaged ship may come in damned useful," and Lester would never regret the personal sacrifice "in the years which have seemed stolen out of my life." He had sent his wife Elsie and their three daughters home to Dublin before the war broke out, and their visits to him during the war were fraught with difficulty. It was generally assumed that while the Germans would have gladly allowed him out of Geneva, they would have blocked his return.
Although there are times when he presumes too much knowledge on the part of his readers, Douglas Gageby has performed a considerable service to Irish history in rescuing Lester - his father-in-law, incidentally - from oblivion. Born in Carrickfergus, educated at Methodist College in Belfast, Lester was a convert to Sinn Fein - an Ernest Blythe convert. He left a senior editorial post in the Freeman's Journal to join the fledgling Department of External Affairs. In time he became Ireland's permanent representative at the League of Nations. Gageby might have further explored Lester's relationship with Iveagh House. There seem to have been enemies of promise there, reluctant to give Lester the option of returning to his host department. Lester found "most chilling" what he called "the shiver with which this suggestion has always been received in Dublin." But his skills seem to have best suited him to the role of international civil servant.
Meanwhile his insights on Irish politics - as confided to his diary - remained sound. He faults Fine Gael for what he saw as their opportunism in opposing de Valera's foreign policy positions in the 1930s. They had "tried to rally all our abysmal ignorance of foreign affairs against him." Lester was not a supporter of Irish neutrality. He did not believe in neutrality at all but rather in collective security. But he did understand how circumscribed were de Valera's choices and believed that if Ireland had decided early on to enter the war on Britain's side, "she would in the circumstances have been doing something utterly exceptional and amazingly generous and heroic." It made him "rather tired" to hear lectures from those who thought Ireland should have entered the war in 1939. Had they not heard of the Black and Tans?
The chapter in his diary about the visit of James Joyce and his family en route to Zurich in December 1940 is excellent. Lester's detailed description of this meeting reads as if he himself were preparing a book of memoirs. Gageby wisely stays aloof and allows Lester's first-person account to stand. On Joyce, incidentally, there is further proof here of his interest in listening-in to what must have been fairly crackly reception from Radio Eireann. Did Joe Linnane know as he presented Question Time on Sunday nights during the war that he had such distinguished and attentive overseas listeners? Lester and Joyce were both familiar with the programme, enjoying the "screamingly funny" replies of "the three girl-typists " who had competed on the Sunday before their meeting. And a week earlier, Joyce was chuffed when a contestant named him correctly as the winner of a literary prize. Lester noted: "Joyce said that when the Dublin labourer gave this reply, which was correct, he stood up and bowed to the receiver."
Lester faults Churchill for his "frivolous and bitter " attack on de Valera in his victory broadcast on VE Day. Lester thought he could have been a little more statesmanlike with an eye to the future. And he recognised statesmanship in de Valera's response. Being by now thoroughly international in his intellectual outlook, he describes de Valera's compliment to Churchill for resisting the temptation of invading Ireland as "one of the most important initial steps in the establishment of a basis for international peace." He sees a dimension in this which has escaped other commentators, crediting de Valera with giving "a guiding line" to those involved in the setting-up of the United Nations - and not least to those "who may in a short time be facing a violent controversy on America's participation in the coming world peace."
He was noting these comments while in San Francisco at the inaugural meeting of the United Nations when the war had ended in Europe. The status of his invitation was unclear. Gageby faults him for being too tolerant. The three-man League delegation was shabbily treated: lodged in a third-class hotel; one seat only for the opening session (and that in the gods); on the second day three tickets for the back row of the dress circle; and on the third day, with no seat allocated, Lester found himself walking around the foyer while the dress circle was "crowded by San Franciscans from the age of ten upwards."
But when it came to winding up the League in Geneva he had a finer hour. Fortunate was the League that his predecessor Joseph Avenol had departed at the beginning of the war. Lester oversaw the disbursement of the League's considerable assets: appropriately, the United Nations and its agencies inherited the buildings and the archives. More than that - even if they did not always appreciate it - they inherited a tradition of service to the international community. The League had not failed: rather had the members - and those who should have been members - failed it.
Lester's exit was not without some honour. He was paid handsome tributes by those who returned to Geneva to witness the League's demise. None of the speakers spoke more eloquently than the principal British delegate, Philip Noel-Baker, who wondered whether any institution had more exactly the leader required in its hour of difficulty. "Calm, patient, unambitious, resolute and brave," Lester had every quality that was needed. "I like to think of him in 1940, when he assumed his charge, his staff scattered across the oceans, his budget cut by 75 per cent, a few scores of helpers beside him in this once busy place, the enemies of the League, with the Continent already at their feet, the Nazis preparing to storm the last stronghold of liberty and peace, their armies across the lake, on the Saleve, ten minutes up the road along the Jura. I like to think of Sean Lester at that moment, and when I do, the words of Seneca come into my mind: `with nothing to hope for, he despaired of nothing.' The assembly and the United Nations have justified his great courage and his hope."
John Bowman is a broadcaster and historian
