Working with Winston

by Working

  Churchill would ask for ‘a background of the battle of something or some situation and they would type him up a history of whatever it was… He would look at it… From there his memory would seem to come to the fore… He would never use their things. He would then dictate his memory of what had happened.’ Churchill wrote the story of the war based on the minutes he had dictated himself during the actual war – minutes that he had kept and ‘interleaved into the narrative… with a lot of cutting and pasting of everything… a lot of klopping and tagging.’# Leather treasury bands held proofs and chapters together, and there were ‘things tied up with pink Treasury ribbons’. With so many inputs, organization was a huge administrative chore, usually managed by the (always male) Private Secretary on duty.

  As was the case with other secretaries employed by Churchill throughout his life, Gemmell’s workload was not confined to preparing speeches, helping with the memoirs and doing what might be considered chores of a secretarial nature. There were also a huge number of menial chores. Walking Rufus II** was one such. Churchill asked that Gemmell walk his dog last thing at night, so that Rufus could sleep through the night on the floor in Churchill’s bedroom. No one, not even Rufus, was allowed to interrupt Churchill’s sleep. After their walk, when she brought Rufus upstairs into the bedroom, Churchill asked her ‘Did the little dog do his duty?’ and when she answered ‘Yes’, Churchill said, ‘Oh good, you may go to bed now. Thank you very much.’

  Rufus II (and the detective following behind) always tagged along with Churchill as he toured his Chartwell garden, wearing his ‘garden hat with swan feathers sticking in it… And they’d feed the golden orfe [and] call out the swans.’ Sometimes he would visit the pig farm and say to the detective: ‘I’m going down to the pigsty. You come down in the car and pick me up. You’ll know me by my hat… It was funny every time he said it… You had to laugh, because he had such a puckish look on his face.’ Gemmell also recalled that ‘There was often a touch of humour in his expression, as if he had just said something funny – which he frequently did. We were very intent on work, so I didn’t exactly study his face a great deal. I certainly would say that he smiled quite a bit. But I never saw his teeth.’10

  Gemmell says that she was also asked to wash his paintbrushes at the end of a weekend, but in their oral histories other secretaries say the valet or detectives did that. Gemmell’s recollection included how she hated doing that assignment because it roughened her hands, so her version is likely correct. She might not have objected to cleaning brushes when the portrait painter Oswald Birley (the father of club entrepreneur Mark Birley) came around. He painted four portraits of Churchill and gave him painting hints when he visited Chartwell, and helped Churchill paint Gemmell’s portrait, a portrait Portal says Gemmell still has.

  Another chore that she disliked intensely was ‘to look after the tropical fish, seeing that the tank was clean’. Sturdee says, ‘Oh, poor ‘Chips’. She used to get so bored with it… we tried to encourage her, say it did look clean or [teasingly] “What went wrong this week? They’re not looking as clean.”’ And of course Churchill would be the first to point out that something was wrong with his beloved pet fish. Churchill often wrote to Mrs Churchill giving up-to-date news on his beloved black mollies, an intensely black fish.11 A five-year-old boy had once brought them to the door as a present for the prime minister’s birthday. (See Appendix 2.) As they were a tropical fish, Churchill called for experts to advise him and new tanks were ordered. ‘We had a lovely lot of them.’12 But when Churchill became prime minister in 1951 the fish in their special tanks were moved to Chequers into ‘the Hawtrey room which was lined with tapestries… [the] five tanks looked simply beautiful against this backdrop.’13 When he resigned as prime minister, he kept one tank and the remainder were donated to the London Zoo.

  He was nothing if not eccentric, with a sense of humour at times perhaps best appreciated by himself. A careful reading of the source material suggests that, like secretaries who preceded her and followed her into Churchill’s employ, Gemmell ‘did whatever had to be done’. It is difficult in this day and age to imagine any secretary being asked to do some of these chores, and, if asked, to agree. But this is now, that was then; Churchill was an imposing figure, jobs were scarce and other aspects of the job – excitement, travel, a sense of being part of his Secret Circle – were seen as powerful incentives to do as he asked.

  What was most exasperating to Gemmell was Churchill’s capacity to put off work or chores he didn’t want to do. He hated signing copies of his books and had schemes and ploys to avoid doing that, such as marking in his very own ‘shorthand “Top of Box” or “T of B”, which meant he didn’t want to do it now… He would get around to it.’ She recounts that Emery Reves, his literary agent, gave him one of a series of paintings of Charing Cross Bridge by Monet and in return expected that Churchill would sign multiple copies of his books for Reves to send around. Churchill refused to inscribe the books, despite Gemmell’s pleading with him to do so. At times, he could delay signing by picking up one of his own books, reading in it, and saying appreciatively, ‘He’s very good, you know,’ about his own words.

  Occasionally, she would be asked to go up to London from Chartwell for the day to help in a crisis, so she would have to bring Rufus back from London on the ‘Green Line bus’, if Churchill wanted Rufus with him. One day she and the dog got off the Green Line bus, walked up the hill towards Chartwell and noticed a large American car parked by the side of the road. The occupants were peering over the wall into the gardens. She and Rufus went into the house and

  shortly after the doorbell rings… Here is this chauffeur, and he said, ‘Excuse me, I am driving Mr Spencer Tracy, the actor, and he is a great admirer of Mr Churchill’s. Would it be possible to come in and look at the grounds a little?’ Ham [Hamblin] wasn’t there to run and ask. I am sure if I had said to her, she would have said yes… I thought… suppose they wander around the grounds and they run into Christopher Soames?… I’ll get the blame if Christopher does not approve. And so I said, ‘I am terribly sorry… it is a private house.’

  If Churchill had seen the Spencer Tracy film State of the Union (1948), in which Tracy plays an industrialist considering a run for the presidency and Katharine Hepburn his wife and conscience when difficult compromises present themselves, he might well have invited the star in for a drink. Gemmell, who knew how much Churchill enjoyed films, regretted not having the authority to allow Tracy to tour the grounds.

  She felt badly, too, when one of the films she selected for viewing by the Churchills and their guests did not meet with approval, even though it had been sent by film-maker Alexander Korda’s office. On one occasion, she or one of the other secretaries, or perhaps Churchill himself, chose 49th Parallel (1941), a film in which several Germans who are trying to infiltrate the United States through Canada are killed off, one by one. She recalls: ‘On this occasion two German prisoners of war who stayed on at Chartwell after the war as farm workers had been invited to the movie… After it was all over, the Old Man went up to them and said: “I’m so sorry. Forgive me for inviting you to this movie”… Incredible… The Old Man apologizing for any embarrassment.’ His magnanimity in victory extended even to German farm workers.14

  Churchill, as is well known, loved the theatre as much as films. Gemmell recounts the famous story of Churchill going to see Richard Burton play Hamlet. Sitting in the front row, Churchill recited the lines as Burton said them – she thinks ‘Burton found it rather off-putting.’15 And after the play ended, Churchill went back to see Burton in his dressing room and said to the actor: ‘My Lord Hamlet, may I use your bathroom?’ She must have heard this story from the other staff members or from someone who was present: there is no record of Burton’s reaction in his diaries.

  There may have been many chores, not all pleasant, odd hours, demanding standards, and at times sharp mood swings. Gemmell recalls that once, when she was talking to General Pownall, they g
ot ‘on to the topic of suicide’. When Churchill heard, he erupted and said, ‘ “Shut up, shut up… Don’t talk like that”… This was something he didn’t like to hear people talking about.’ He had once said he worried about standing too close to the edge of a railway track, perhaps afraid of what he might do, although his zest for life, curiosity and his love for his wife would have precluded any such action. Significantly, his black dog depression generally only lasted as long as he was not in office – working hard set him back on his usual upbeat energetic mood.

  Against these negatives must be set not only the excitement of working for Churchill, but the many perks, such as going to the races with Churchill, although Gemmell recalls some moments of unease.

  I was supposed to only go as far as the race course and then I was to go back to London, but I think he relented and said I could go to the races… He said, ‘I am going to Lord Derby’s box. You can’t come there’… glaring at one… When there was an awkward situation and you didn’t quite know what to do, he fixed on the terrible glare. You got the point that you just had to fix something else up… I think we [she and Detective Evan Davies, called ‘Bish’] went to the Jockey Club dining room and watched the Derby from there.

  And while at the races she spotted Lord Ismay at the rails, smiled and said hello to him. ‘He looked straight through me and I thought it’s not the place to – perhaps he didn’t see me… I thought: a lesson learned.’ Meaning she knew her place and so did Lord Ismay, who in other places and at other times was ‘far more approachable than most of the British officers.16 I must say that no other recollection of General Ismay’s character supports this type of arrogance. More characteristic of the general was that he sometimes before dinner would bring glasses of sherry into the office for the personal staff – amid many giggles.’17 Marston had a similarly positive recollection of Ismay when she worked with him at Potsdam, just prior to the meeting of the Big Three in July 1945. She reported that General Ismay, ‘unlike other attendees, appreciated how much they had slaved… to get the place ready. The rest of the delegates assumed the Russians had done it all.’18

  Even though she was privy to all the highest and most important secrets of the land, Gemmell could not breach the class barriers of the Britain of her day. She rarely was invited to dine with the Churchill family. On one occasion when the separation was breached, Gemmell was seated next to Randolph, famous for his rudeness to staff – even when he needed them to do some chore like taking dictation. Gemmell says, ‘I thought I should make conversation. He wasn’t talking to me for a very good reason. He probably wished we weren’t there. [I said to him] “We are going to Monte Carlo tomorrow. I have never been to Monte Carlo.” That was the end of our conversation.’ No surprise. When he was twenty-one, Maxine Elliott, who often welcomed Churchill to the Chateau de l’Horizon, her villa in the south of France, described Randolph

  as handsome as a matinee idol… an arrogant young man… convinced that he would… be prime minister by the time he was twenty-five… but he failed to take into account an Englishman’s natural distaste of bumptiousness. He was heartily disliked… He lacked his father’s humanity and… common sense.19

  Another observer, a historian, describes Randolph’s behaviour as a young man visiting America with his father a bit floridly, but not inaccurately, according to the secretaries who later worked with his father: ‘An Etonian Old Boy fully eighteen years of age and a student at Christ Church College, Oxford, Randolph had the facility for elevating his nose to heights considerably more lofty than are deemed physiologically feasible and then looking down at what he regarded as upstartism and impertinence.’20

  No surprise that Randolph was all of the secretaries’ – and many others’ – least favourite person, as ‘there was always chaos when he came, chaos because he just rubbed them [the Churchills] both up the wrong way… He had a very good mind. He was just very difficult.’ Another irritating presence was Duncan Sandys, whom Churchill’s eldest daughter Diana married in 1935; they were divorced in 1960. Gemmell says Sandys was around much of the time, but that

  he exasperated Churchill very often… I remember once it was my early night. I was having a bath in the servant’s wing [and I was] hauled out because Duncan wanted to dictate… He was so bad and he changed his mind constantly. After about half an hour, Churchill came shuffling down and [asked], ‘Well, my girl, what have you done?’ I read what he [Duncan] had dictated: ‘The Council of Europe’, and then I think there were two more sentences. The Old Man was beside himself [with laughter. Duncan] sort of put his foot into it and wasn’t very sensitive to Churchill’s reactions. Sarah was another matter. Everyone liked her.

  In part, because Sarah opened up to some of the older secretaries about her troubled life.

  Class distinctions were made not only between the Churchills and their staff. Intra-staff differences also mattered, especially to Mrs Churchill. On one trip to Marrakesh, Mrs Churchill ‘thought it was not proper for the secretaries to have to have their meals with the personal servants, which is sweet of her… She said, “You girls don’t have to sit with Walter [Churchill’s new Swiss butler]. Walter can have his meals in his room.”’ When Churchill heard about this he was ‘very upset’, saying in a mocking tone of voice, ‘Poor Walter, poor Walter. Meals in his room.’ Churchill pleaded with them, ‘I suppose Walter couldn’t have his meals with you, could he?’ And so Walter did, breaching one of the fine class distinctions that were applied to the staffs of the upper class. Not quite a case of upstairs, downstairs. More a case of in-house servants ranking below professional secretarial staff.

  Top of the list of favourite perks were foreign trips. It was very rare for young working women of the day to have an opportunity to travel abroad. It would have been beyond their financial reach, unless accompanying an employer and his family in a serving capacity; in most cases sufficient vacation time was not available, and there were questions of the propriety of single young women travelling alone. It was even rarer for young working women to travel abroad as part of the entourage of perhaps the most famous man in the world. Even if there would be little time off from taking dictation, a foreign trip was a cherished perk.

  In the summer of 1949 Gemmell travelled with Churchill’s party to Lake Garda in northern Italy, landing at an old airbase to ensure Churchill’s privacy, and staying at the Grand Hotel Gardone Riviera. Gemmell and Marston had arranged for twelve rooms and for special telephone lines to be installed. But Churchill’s arrival could not have been much of a secret as the Ferrari company had arranged for a fleet of cars to collect the party at the private airport. Suddenly

  The Old Man was pushed into a very sleek Ferrari car and whizzed off to the hotel… and they had gone apparently at 160 miles an hour… Wonderful picture of him probably with his cheeks all flattened while speeding. And we went in another one… a bright red model… I’ve never driven so fast in my life… He got out frightfully shaken and said, ‘Never again. Now I’ll have the hotel car.’

  Detective Sergeant Davies (‘Bish’) must have had another tense moment when on a boat trip to an island for dinner, a motorboat crammed with photographers almost ploughed into the Churchill’s speedboat. Bish was able to threaten them enough that they sped off. It must have been an incongruous sight: Churchill travelling incognito as ‘Mr Smith’, in a ten-gallon hat and smoking a big cigar, looking like ‘a little old man from Texas’ fooled no one.

  Escaping the heat, the party travelled to Carezza in the foothills of the Dolomites, where Churchill found ‘the most paintable scenery’.21 It would be interesting to know how and why Carezza was chosen. Did a staff person scout for possible locales for him to paint? There, Churchill was disturbed by the sound of cowbells. ‘He summoned the manager of the hotel and said that he simply could not work with all the tinkling of the cowbells. So all the cows were driven away… one terrible hour… and the most ghastly sound as all the cows were chased away with their bells clanging up into the moun
tains and then there was peace.’ The bells were only one problem. Either because she measured it incorrectly or her measurements were garbled when transmitted to Lettice Marston, one of Churchill’s Alpine paintings did not fit in a frame he had asked her to order. Churchill, accustomed to having his orders carried out correctly and instantly – and in addition impatient to see his painting properly framed – was deeply disappointed. He called his mortified secretary a ‘bloody fool’. As usual, all was soon forgotten – but not by Gemmell, who seems to have had a vivid recollection of the incident some six decades later.

  From there the entire entourage moved on to Monte Carlo, to stay, first, at the Hotel de Paris and later at La Capponcina. Churchill was ‘incorporating the final new material for Volume III… working hard to “meet the deadlines” on his war memoirs.’22 Life magazine, which was to serialize the memoirs, and (Gemmell says) the Daily Telegraph paid for the entire trip,†† so she and Detective Davies decided ‘to work our way through the wine list… They picked up the bills and you could have what you liked. It was carte blanche’ at the Hotel de Paris, where Churchill’s party was staying. Such largesse was either a foolish move on Time-Life’s part, or a tribute to the bargaining power of the author they were funding. On a work/play trip just two months earlier, Churchill had reflected the same disrespect for expenses as he did when dealing with his own money. The editor of the magazine later reported that Churchill had claimed $60,000–$70,000 (between $550,000 and $650,000 in today’s money) ‘on those trips to work on the book… These were very lavish trips. … He had the best in food and hotels… and the last expedition to Marrakesh presented an expense account I wouldn’t want anyone to peer into.’23 Little wonder that Gemmell and her colleagues regarded the terms of their trip as a wondrous perk, its cost not noticeable on expense sheets submitted to Henry Luce, the very wealthy owner of Time and Life magazines. Assuming, of course, Churchill’s staff had the time to enjoy it.