Writing in The Bulletin of Atomic Scientists in 1950, the British physicist John Cockcroft lauded the ‘increasing command over the forces of nature’ won by scientists since the discovery of nuclear energy during ‘the Renaissance of Physics’ which had occurred during the early twentieth century. With cheap electricity produced by atomic power stations slowly becoming a realistic prospect, the possibility now existed for nuclear technology to shed its military legacy and instead power global economic growth. Exploited properly, Cockcroft wrote, one ton of uranium could release the same energy as burning three million tons of coal , creating excellent initial prospects for this vast new supply of power. And yet for all their optimism, these thoughts were also tempered by an awareness of several significant obstacles looming on the path ahead. For the scientist, Cockcroft warned, a demanding new field had opened up; for the engineer, the challenge now was to harness nuclear forces safely and profitably, while for the politician, the important task remained of organising the international cooperation necessary to provide a world in which this new technology could be developed securely.1
Such concerns were certainly credible. The twentieth century witnessed an expansion of research effort that brought with it, to borrow historian Jon Agar’s phrase, a ‘bewildering array of new phenomena’ with which to confound physicists.2 Among these, few discoveries prompted as much excitement and controversy as that of atomic fission, the control of which would afford a colossal military and industrial advantage to whichever nations could harness it successfully. The atomic bombings of Japan in August 1945 had underlined the power of nuclear weapons, and acquiring the new hardware rapidly became as important for would-be global powers as controlling its proliferation was for states already established in the nuclear domain. Debarred by Congressional edict in 1946 from continuing the wartime partnership with Washington that had successfully produced the atomic bomb, London consequently increased its military spending and built independent national nuclear establishments manned by a large state research corps.3 Determined to restore technical exchanges across the Atlantic and to fight for every possible concession of information and materials from its erstwhile partner, Whitehall thus ensured that its domestic atomic effort would be fraught from the outset by continual diplomatic wrangling.
Against this backdrop of technological advance, a second great change was underway. In Europe, the political situation had become dangerously unstable as a result both of internal forces and of external pressures wrought by tensions between the two post-war superpowers. An artificial schism divided democratic West from authoritarian East, while the need to reconstruct key industries and housing weighed heavily on bankrupt war-torn economies. The ascendancy of the United States to the rank of sole nuclear power and the ever-present danger of espionage were also of primary significance, providing a volatile and challenging environment in which to develop sensitive atomic technology. And yet despite these obstacles, the modernistic appeal of civil nuclear energy was soon seized upon by numerous actors who identified the technology as a tool capable of fostering European unity by both promoting economic growth and encouraging transnational cooperation in a research field whose demands would stretch the resources of any one state. Appreciating these positive aspects of civil nuclear energy and tying them to their vision for a united continent, these influential lobbyists therefore quickly succeeded in binding the question of nuclear development inextricably to that surrounding Europe’s future. Here, then, was the duality of atomic technology laid bare: atomic bombs could fuel a third world war as easily as nuclear plants could power the recovery necessary to help Europe resist communism .
This book will examine the travails of British scientists, diplomats and politicians as they sought to develop civil nuclear energy in the UK during the difficult early post-war years. In particular, it will analyse how the new technology was deployed as a diplomatic tool during a period of intense debate about the future shape of Europe, an argument characterised by division between those states favouring traditional intergovernmental cooperation and those demanding that national governments subject first specific industrial sectors and later their entire markets to supranational regulatory bodies. Beginning with the formation of the European Coal and Steel Community (ECSC ) in 1950, the drive towards European integration was consistently opposed in London, where policy makers sought instead to use Britain’s best assets as collateral to promote intergovernmental cooperation. Among the most attractive resources in Britain’s armoury was its impressive array of technological competences, in particular its civil nuclear capabilities which by 1953 had grown to the point that Britain had surpassed even the United States to become the world’s leading power in the sector. This in turn presented British scientists and diplomats with the challenge of maintaining Britain’s technological lead while simultaneously exploring those opportunities where international cooperation could reap financial, political or scientific benefits for their nation. Accordingly, this book will examine closely the impact made by Anglo-European nuclear diplomacy on the political decisions taken during the period 1945–1962, and will analyse the reasons for Britain’s failure to use its leadership of a crucial new technology to negotiate a future more in tune with its own desires.
Existing works on Anglo-European civil atomic relations habitually follow three main axes; assessing either Britain’s stance towards European integration, the role of science and technology in promoting continental cooperation or, lastly, the part played by civil nuclear power specifically in fostering such collaboration. Beginning with the first of these, Britain’s refusal to join the Netherlands , Belgium , Luxembourg , West Germany , Italy and France (the so-called ‘Six’) in integrating their coal and steel markets under the European Coal and Steel Community (ECSC ) in 1950, along with its non-participation in the 1955 Messina Conference and the 1957 Treaty of Rome (the cornerstone events in the formation of the European Economic Community (EEC ) and Euratom , the combined atomic agency of the Six) have formed the nexus of a historiographical debate over whether British recalcitrance represented a ‘missed opportunity’ to steer the integration process at an early stage. This discussion has been divided by historian Oliver Daddow into three eras; a period of orthodox criticism of British ministers during the 1960s, a revisionist surge in the 1980s and, finally, an emerging body of ‘post-revisionism’.4 Typical of the first approach is the work of Miriam Camps, who derided London’s ‘misjudgement’ in ignoring Messina , blaming it partly on national pride.5 Similarly, Elisabeth Barker has criticised British ‘egotism’ in spurning the Six, although she has generously allowed that Whitehall was distracted at the time with animating the North Atlantic Treaty Organisation (NATO ) and tackling its other Cold War commitments.6 Finally, Max Beloff has condemned Britain’s self-exclusion from Euratom, arguing that it left UK exports exposed to a competitor whose progress became unexpectedly rapid.7 Literature of this school, then, derides Whitehall’s ministers as short-sighted and conservative.
Among revisionists, the economic rationale determining London’s refusal to integrate is well-established: post-war Britain, as Alan Milward has stated, needed to liquidate its diminishing advantages to secure an international arrangement which would guarantee its security and prosperity. Within this ‘national strategy’, Whitehall pursued a ‘one-world’ policy which would maintain Britain’s influence in Europe, Washington and the Commonwealth simultaneously by establishing a trading system conducive to these aims.8 Supranationalism under such circumstances remained inconceivable, however, placing British ministers increasingly in conflict with American officials who nurtured the integrationist impulse planted by French ministers in 1950. Pursued with cross-party consensus throughout the 1940s and 1950s, the strategy was lauded by Milward as a rational response to Britain’s relative decline, even if the gambit eventually failed due to ministerial unwillingness to reconsider the role of the Commonwealth .9 These notions have been developed by Wolfram Kaiser, who has highlighted how London attempted initially to construct an intergovernmental ‘British Europe’ which prioritised trade liberalisation. Within this framework, Whitehall would undertake economic and military cooperation through the Organisation for European Economic Cooperation (OEEC ) and the North Atlantic Treaty Organisation (NATO ), eschewing the integration demanded by the ECSC and the unsuccessful European Defence Community (EDC ). At most, Kaiser notes, London could accept a loose customs union binding Commonwealth producers to continental manufacturers, a notion explored by Foreign Secretary Ernest Bevin in 1947 before its rejection by the Treasury.10
Additionally, John Young has railed against notions espoused by Camps that Whitehall’s indifference represented a ‘lost opportunity’ to assume leadership of a continent desperate to accommodate Britain. Instead, Young charges that ministers underestimated the commitment of men like Belgian Foreign Minister Paul-Henri Spaak and West German Chancellor Konrad Adenauer to integration: without embracing the supranational concept itself, Young argues, there was in fact no such opportunity and Whitehall could never have taken control on it...