Randolph’s political ambitions were forcibly put on hold towards the end of 1936, leaving him, as his friend Freddie Smith remarked, ‘unbowed, but bloody as usual’. One reason was the death of Lady Houston (who, together with Amy Guest, in backing the Schneider Trophy races was directly responsible for the development of the Spitfire*); and with her death went also Randolph’s source of electioneering finance. For the next few years he would use his position as reporter for press barons Lords Rothermere and Beaverbrook to promote his political agenda, which – like his father’s – took the form of constant but largely unheeded warnings about German rearmament. During a visit to Munich in September 1937 he tried to persuade his cousin Unity Mitford to introduce him to Hitler, for she was then one of the favoured few with access to the German leader. Randolph was cross when – always protective of the Führer – she refused to help him.
As Spain became engulfed in a civil war, the family were startled to hear that Esmond Romilly had run off to join the International Brigade and fight against the Fascist regime. To Churchill’s dismay, Esmond publicly announced that he was a member of the Communist Party. Among the upper classes at that time Communism was more feared than Fascism. Indeed, some supported Hitler simply because they regarded him and his Nazi troops as a bulwark against encroaching Communism from Eastern Europe. Esmond’s contacts in the public school old-boy network enabled him to get a few commissions for newspaper articles about the fighting in Spain, with headlines such as ‘Winston Churchill’s Nephew sends Graphic Message’.
During 1937 the Churchills’ finances had evidently recovered to the extent that Winston was able to suggest to Clementine that they provide Sarah and Vic with a flat below Randolph’s in Westminster Gardens. While Clementine was away Winston lived quietly, often visiting Blenheim or the homes of friends. But the cost of running Chartwell was a constant worry and in February he wrote to her that he had been told by an estate agent of a buyer looking for such a property. ‘If I could see £25,000 I would close with it,’ he confided. ‘If we do not get a good price we can quite well carry on for a year or two more. But no good offer should be refused, having regard to the fact that our children are almost all flown, and my life is probably in its closing decade.’28
Winston did not appear depressed when he made this comment. On the contrary, his life was fuller than ever: he was producing some of his best writing and art, but he had always assumed he would die young and now he was approaching his mid-sixties. With no sympathetic indications from the Prime Minister, it was reasonable for him to suspect that his political career was winding down. Stanley Baldwin, he knew, was determined to resign after the coronation of George VI, and his place as leader of the party would be taken by Neville Chamberlain. There would be no support for Winston from this direction either. Winston spoke frequently in the House, invariably against Germany, but still nobody took notice. MPs on both sides would often pointedly leave the Chamber when he rose to speak. In a conversation with Bernard Baruch, who came to England at the request of President Roosevelt to learn what he could about German rearmament, Winston told him: ‘Well, Bernie, the big war is coming. You will be in the forefront in America while I will be in the sidelines here.’29
His ‘star’, as he called it, in which he had always believed – and the great destiny that his mother had foretold for him – appeared to have been permanently eclipsed by the Dardanelles disaster. No one could have guessed at that point the great challenge that still lay ahead for this ageing man, one that would cement Churchill’s reputation in British history as ‘the greatest Briton’ and surpass even the exploits of his most illustrious ancestor.
20
1938–9
Towards Armageddon
The Anschluss in the spring of 1938 merged Austria with Germany. The British government under Neville Chamberlain was now committed to rearming, but far too slowly for Churchill. When in September that year Hitler publicly promised to help the Sudeten Germans, who lived in parts of Czechoslovakia, by giving them Lebensraum (literally, room to live), the danger that Churchill had foreseen years earlier at last became transparent to others. France had a treaty that obliged her to aid the Czechs if they were attacked, and Britain was pledged to support France, which effectively meant that unless some diplomatic agreement could be reached, another major European conflict was inevitable.
Suddenly London was making ready for war. Trenches were dug in the parks, and air-raid shelters constructed. Over the next few months the civilian population was supplied with gas masks to combat what everyone now assumed was a fait accompli in the event of war – a chemical warfare attack from the air.
Chamberlain flew to Germany for discussions with Hitler, and concluded the infamous Munich Agreement in which Britain and Germany agreed not to go to war with each other and Hitler promised not to occupy the Sudetenland. Foolish as it appears with hindsight that Chamberlain believed Hitler, most historians agree that whatever else Chamberlain achieved or did not achieve at Munich, he gained a year of peace during which Britain made up for lost time in rearming herself and preparing for war. Neither Prime Minister Chamberlain nor any of his staff spoke German, so he was wholly reliant on an interpreter provided by the Germans. ‘The impression left on me was that Herr Hitler meant what he had said,’ he reported to the Cabinet. ‘My view is that Herr Hitler is telling the truth.’1
Churchill was livid; his daughter Mary recalls that he ‘throbbed with anger and emotion’. Lord Moyne,* Brendan Bracken, Robert Boothby, Duff Cooper and J.L. Garvin, editor of the Observer, were among his guests at Chartwell when on 29 September news was received of what Churchill regarded as Chamberlain’s ‘capitulation’. Lord Moyne recalled the scene: ‘Winston ranted and raved, venting his spleen on the two government ministers present and demanding to know how they could support a policy that was “sordid, squalid, sub-human and suicidal”.’2
A few weeks later during the Munich debate, Churchill made what was arguably the most powerful speech of his parliamentary life to date. He began by outlining why he believed that the Munich Agreement was an unmitigated defeat, rather than the triumph the government were claiming. Hitler had not been made to retract anything, and the terms that Chamberlain had achieved could have been made by ordinary diplomatic channels at any time during the previous few months. ‘Silent, mournful, abandoned, Czechoslovakia recedes into the darkness,’ he intoned sombrely. ‘She has suffered in every respect from her association with the western democracies.’ Britain and France had merely acceded to Hitler’s demand for self-determination for the Germans in the Sudetenland. But while liberal Western democracies such as Britain and France were entitled to talk of self-determination, he said, ‘such talk comes ill out of the mouths of those in totalitarian states [who refuse] the smallest element of toleration to every section and creed within their bounds’.3 He forecast that Czechoslovakia would eventually have no alternative, with her banking, her industries and her infrastructure already in chaos, but to allow herself to be engulfed by the Nazi state.
When I think of the fair hopes of a long peace which still lay before Europe at the beginning of 1933 when Herr Hitler first obtained power, and of all the opportunities of arresting the growth of the Nazi power which have been thrown away, when I think of the immense combinations and resources which have been neglected or squandered, I cannot believe that a parallel exists in the whole course of history.4
He listed the lost chances in those years when Hitler was testing the mettle of other nations as he pushed against the Versailles Treaty and found no objectors. Churchill now set out what he feared was their true position. The House listened intently to this inspired monologue, and when the MPs voted, thirty Conservative members refused to vote with their party in support of Neville Chamberlain.
However, although Winston’s oratory swayed some MPs, the majority, like most other people in the country, were relieved that they were not being plunged into an immediate war. There were public celebrations. Tory
MP Sir Henry ‘Chips’ Channon wrote in his diary, ‘The whole world rejoices; only a few malcontents jeer.’5 Consuelo from her chateau in France was one of those celebrating ‘peace’ she wrote to Winston that she could not agree with him, for she wholeheartedly supported the spirit of the Munich Agreement.
But many of the malcontents referred to by Chips Channon had been making their way to Chartwell from the mid-1930s onwards, where Churchill had been creating an informal war dossier from information supplied to him from various knowledgeable sources. From these, as well as military intelligence from Europe, he was also kept advised of the activities of the two Mitford sisters, Diana and Unity, who had regular access to Hitler.
In fact Diana made frequent visits to Germany on behalf of her husband Oswald Mosley’s British Union of Fascists (BUF) in the hope of gaining financial support for the organisation. Unity appeared to be a mere sensation seeker, making outrageous statements in the press in which she uncritically praised Hitler and his ideology. Diana was different: politically shrewd, she was the only person who knew both Hitler and Churchill at a personal level. It may seem surprising that she was still in touch with the Churchills and still regarded as part of the family even though she was a supporter, even a friend, of Hitler and senior members of the Nazi Party. Following her divorce from Bryan Guinness and her marriage to Mosley the previous year she was persona non grata as far as most of Churchill’s friends were concerned, yet she was invited to Chartwell and to dine at Morpeth Mansions, where on one occasion she was joined by Lord Ivor (Consuelo’s younger and favourite son) and Sarah Churchill. Sarah recalled that they all questioned her about Hitler and were ‘simply fascinated, of course’ by what she had to say. She suggested to Winston that he should meet him. ‘Oh no,’ he replied firmly. ‘No!’6
Another Mitford sister had hit the headlines that year when seventeen-year-old Jessica (‘Decca’) eloped to Spain with Esmond Romilly, the family black sheep. In fact Winston and Clementine had not set eyes on Esmond for almost two years, since he defected from school at the age of fifteen. The elopement story was front-page news for several weeks in the UK because of the couple’s connections and their ages (Esmond was slightly younger than Decca). In Germany, Hitler censored the story out of consideration for Diana and Unity, but at home the Mitford, Churchill and Romilly families were treated to a crop of headlines such as ‘Peer’s Daughter Elopes to Spain’, ‘Another Mitford Anarchist’, ‘Mixed Up Mitford Girls Confusing Europe’. Eventually the runaways were reported to be in Bilbao, and the Foreign Secretary Anthony Eden was persuaded to fire off a cable to the already beleaguered Consul there (who at the time had rather more on his plate than a couple of spoilt runaway aristocrats): FIND JESSICA MITFORD AND PERSUADE HER TO RETURN. The Consul knew only too well where Decca was, because she and Esmond were hanging around his offices waiting for her visa to be issued. When tackled, Esmond himself composed a reply for the Consul to send: HAVE FOUND JESSICA MITFORD IMPOSSIBLE PERSUADE HER TO RETURN. Next, the pair coolly hitched a lift on a British Navy* destroyer to Bayonne where they thought they could marry hurriedly, only to find that their age (both under eighteen) was against them without parental permission.
Decca’s mother Lady Redesdale travelled to Bayonne, where she found her daughter already noticeably pregnant. She decided she could do nothing other than arrange a quiet wedding, and Nellie Romilly drove down to join her to watch their children marry.7 Esmond and Decca returned to England after a winter living rough in France. Tragically, their infant daughter was to die of measles in May 1938.
The year 1938 was a bad one for Clementine’s health. She spent most of the summer in France taking a cure at a spa, and when she felt better she joined Winston, in Paris on an official visit. There she broke her toe when she stumbled against a chair. She was already in low spirits on account of all the family troubles as well as the disturbing situation in Europe, so that when she was invited to cruise the Caribbean during that winter of 1938–9 aboard Lord Moyne’s yacht the Rosaura she accepted with alacrity. Again, Winston was too busy to join her. He wrote to her on 19 December:
It seems an age since you left. Yet vy little has happened that matters. I have been toiling double-shifts at the English S.P.s† & our score tonight is 180,000 [words], or 30,000 above the tally of 1,000 a day from Aug. It is vy laborious: and I resent it, & the pressure…My life has simply been cottage‡ & book…& I have only been to London for occasional Parl’t Debates…Mary & I go to Blenheim on Saturday [Christmas Eve]…then I return here and think to stay until the middle of the month. I do not think war is imminent for us. Only further humiliations, in wh I rejoice to have no share. Darling do always cable every two or three days. Otherwise I get depressed – & anxious about you & yr health. Probably when this reaches you it will be in warm sunshine – How scrumptious.8
Ten days later Diana gave birth prematurely and easily to a baby daughter whom she called Edwina. ‘The baby is tiny but perfect,’ Winston reported, ‘and by my latest news, thriving.’ He and Mary had not overstayed their welcome at Blenheim and he had enjoyed playing bezique with Duchess Mary. ‘Randolph made himself very agreeable all round…I have practically finished the brick-work of the cottage…I continue to lead my routine mechanically, reading the papers and letters, eating, building, correspondence, sleeping, dining and finally dictating until three o’clock in the morning.’ There was news of Clementine’s former fiancé, Sydney Peel, who had died suddenly, one of several of their contemporaries who died that winter, and the news had made Churchill feel old. ‘It is quite astonishing to reach the end of life & feel just as you did fifty years before,’ he added in a postscript. ‘One must always hope for a sudden end, before faculties decay…I love to think of you in yr Sunshine. But I hope & pray that some solid gains are being made in yr poise and strength.’9
These letters never seemed to catch up with Clementine, who wrote to Winston almost daily. At each port she looked for letters from him, in vain. She gave him news of all the islands, reported that they had heartily cheered his name in Jamaica, and from Antigua she wrote about English Harbour:
Rodney, Hood & Nelson all were here. It is not deep enough for modern ships and the Navy gave it up about 50 years ago – Nelson served here as a young Captain of 25…To while away the time he married a young Widow who lived in the neighbouring Island of Nevis. He re-visited Antigua in 1805 to refit his Ships after chasing Villeneuve across the Atlantic – He then chased him back all the way home & got him at Trafalgar.
But she was depressed at not hearing from Winston.
My Darling – Do you know that I am starved for a letter from you…& I am rather miserable. You telegraphed that you had posted a letter by Air Mail leaving by Dec: 20th – This should have reached me at Antigua before we left there. And even if I had received it, my Darling, I had left home 4 weeks before – Do you think you could dictate a few words every day to a Secretary & she could send it off twice a week – Never mind about writing yourself – I used to mind about that, but I’m accustomed to typewritten letters now, & would rather have them than nothing. I feel quite, quite cut off – Your loving but sad, Clemmie. Ps: Please don’t telegraph – I hate telegrams just saying ‘all well rainy weather Love Winston’.10
Clementine had seen the obituary in The Times of the man to whom she had once been engaged:
Suddenly there was Sydney Peel looking at me…– A young photograph, as I used to know him – I closed my eyes…I lived again those four years during which I saw him nearly every day – He was good to me and made my difficult rather arid life interesting – But I couldn’t care for him & I was not kind or even very grateful – And then my Darling you came, and in that moment I knew the difference – I am glad you wrote me about it, because at that moment I longed for you – I wanted to put my arms round you and cry and cry.11
By the time they made contact Winston was in the sunshine himself, staying with Maxine Elliott at Château de l’Horizon to escape the winter weather.
Also visiting were the Windsors, and before their arrival one evening for dinner there was much discussion among the other guests on the thorny question of whether or not to curtsey to the Duchess. Winston, still a supporter of the former king, reported: ‘All accounts show them entirely happy and as much in love with each other as ever.’ Later he would visit the Windsors at their lovely villa. ‘Everything [is] extremely well done and dignified. Red liveries, and the little man himself dressed up to the nines in the Balmoral tartan with dagger and jabot etc. When you think that you could hardly get him to put on a black coat and short tie when he was Prince of Wales, one sees the change in the point of view. I am to dine with him tomorrow night with only Rothermere.* No doubt to talk over his plan for returning home. They do not want him to come, but they have no power to stop him.’12
En route to the Riviera Churchill had stopped over in Paris, where, he told Clementine, he found the leading French politicians very anxious about Hitler and Mussolini; the general perception was that ‘these two ruffians will be moving again quite soon’. He was pleased to hear that Roosevelt was echoing his own point of view. He described the chaos in London arising from new ‘emergency’ installations that had resulted in waterlogged trenches, which the authorities could not fill in but did not know how to drain, and which had to be guarded round the clock to prevent children falling in and drowning. There was great dissatisfaction in the newspapers about the arrangements for air-raid precautions (ARP), when the minister responsible was reported to be away skiing in St Moritz. In short, Winston commented, there was a total lack of drive, and the worst of it was that Chamberlain was probably not even aware of the extent of the neglect over which he presided. Without any trace of gloating over Chamberlain’s growing unpopularity he added, ‘I do not think it would be much fun to go and take these burdens and neglects upon my shoulders, certainly not without powers such as they have not dreamed of according.’13
The Churchills Page 44