Nonetheless, on 6 May 1944 and after many vicissitudes the couple married, with just one member of Kick’s family in attendance, her elder brother Joe Kennedy Jnr who was serving with the USAF in England. Kick and Billy had just a few weeks’ honeymoon before Billy returned to his regiment for the D-Day offensive, plus another few weeks when Billy got some leave. In August Joe Kennedy Jnr was killed while flying a top-secret mission.* Kick immediately wangled a place on a military flight to the USA so as to be with her parents. It was while she was there that she received news that Billy had been shot and killed while leading his men in a charge in Belgium. She and Billy had spent only five weeks together since their marriage.
It was five months afterwards that Pam visited Kick at Palm Beach. When she heard the news about Murrow’s proposal, she was pleased for Pam. In the event, either Janet Murrow talked her husband round or when he saw her with their baby son he could not bring himself to ask for a divorce. About a week later, he sent Pam a cable which read simply, CASEY WINS.
But there is something in this account that doesn’t quite add up. It appears that Murrow had already made his decision back in October, shortly before Casey’s birth. Then he had written to Janet, apologising for taking her too much for granted, and (this was also written a few days before their tenth wedding anniversary) had added the words: ‘Let’s renew the contract…and I should like an indefinite option.’23
Pam, though, had evidently believed Murrow was serious when he asked her to marry him, for she had told her hosts about her engagement almost as soon as she arrived in Palm Beach, and her family knew about it too. So she was not only devastated to be abandoned by Murrow, but embarrassed. She left the Kennedys earlier than planned. But her visit had made more of an impact on them than she had realised at the time. She was a different person in 1945 from the plump eighteen-year-old they had met in London seven years earlier; she was now a beauty with an engaging personality, and as well as her Churchill connections she had acquired many important contacts in America, which made the Kennedy brothers regard her with renewed respect. Her relationship with the Kennedy family would provide one of the foundation blocks of her future life, but at the time Pam could think only of how cruelly she had been abandoned by Murrow.
When she arrived back in England she found Averell Harriman also there. He had recently ended his ambassadorial mission in Russia and Pam needed consoling. Within a fortnight their old relationship was reignited.
Mary, whom history would show to have been the real achiever of Winston and Clementine’s children, had what was afterwards often referred to as ‘a good war’. She began work in the Auxiliary Territorial Service quietly and without fuss, and she worked her way to the rank of junior commander (roughly the equivalent of major), never expecting or asking for advantageous treatment. Unlike Randolph she never traded on her father’s position; indeed it is likely her parentage was a disadvantage with her superiors, who hesitated to promote her lest it appear they were currying favour. She served in England and Belgium, and eventually in Germany; the personification of a pretty young Englishwoman – intelligent, well mannered and extraordinarily wholesome. After meeting her in her tailor-made uniform, Laura Charteris said that Mary could easily be the perfect model for an ATS poster. For a good part of the war she was stationed with the anti-aircraft gun site in Hyde Park, where Churchill would sometimes pay informal visits. Little Winston was also taken by his nanny to see this remarkable aunt who appeared to own four huge guns, and was thus to him a very important person indeed. Late in the war Mary’s unit was moved to the Kent coast with a battery charged with providing the first line of defence against the flying bombs.
Devoted to her parents, the last ‘kitten’ in the nest, she returned to Chequers whenever she had leave. Only once or twice did Mary cause her mother any concern, and that was when she was attracted to men Clementine considered unsuitable. One was an English aristocrat to whom Mary became briefly engaged; and the other a handsome young Frenchman. But she was never rebellious like Sarah, so her mother’s opinions were heeded instead of driving her in the opposite direction, and she quietly ended the relationships. When Clementine visited Russia for six weeks, to be thanked, fêted and decorated for the outstanding work she had done during the war as chairman of the Red Cross Aid to Russia Fund, she confidently left Mary in charge of Winston’s care.
Consuelo and Jacques returned to France briefly soon after Paris was liberated. Their Paris house, which had been used by German officers, was now loaned to the British government as a rest house for British servicewomen. The chateau at Saint Georges-Motel was filled with several hundred displaced persons, who caused more damage in those few months than the Germans did during the entire war. But it was only cosmetic; the chateau and most of its furnishings and artwork – almost miraculously, it seemed – were preserved. Consuelo’s biographer24 suggests that this was mainly thanks to the Balsans’ former major-domo, Basil Davidoff, a White Russian who before the war had run all their properties including the one in Paris and Le Seuil.* He ensured that everything ran smoothly and luxuriously for family and guests, and no bedroom was ever without the favourite flowers or soap of the guest occupying it; bridge or golfing partners of his or her level were always available to a visitor, no request was deemed too outlandish. A fierce supporter of the Tsar, Davidoff had himself been displaced by the Bolsheviks, and he hoped the Nazis would succeed in their attack on Russia. Meanwhile, he was happy enough to remain at the chateau, continuing to keep it running for the Luftwaffe officers who moved in within days of the Balsans leaving. He won their confidence and even dined with them. However, he remained totally loyal to his employers and his chief aim throughout the Occupation, aided by Hoffman the butler who hailed from Luxembourg and spoke fluent German, was to preserve the chateau intact for the Balsans return. Although Hoffman was once accused of being a spy,* no activities he might have engaged in affected the running of the house. The German occupants, many of whom were aristocrats or upper-class, were not disposed to allow it to be pillaged. Hermann Goering visited, and though he was notorious for picking up works of art he left Saint Georges-Motel empty-handed.
It is difficult to know what Consuelo expected, but she was deeply upset by her first postwar visit to France. Initially she refused to see the chateau, which must have disappointed Davidoff and Hoffman. She was never able to forget the way she and Jacques had had to leave it, and, she told her niece Diana Guest (daughter of Winston and Sunny’s cousin Freddie Guest), she could never rid herself of the thought of ‘jackboots in the corridors and Germans living in the rooms that she and Jacques had so lovingly furnished’.25 She now had her favourite pieces removed from the chateau and shipped them to the USA, while a Renoir, La Baigneuse, was sold to aid poor and orphaned French children. She never returned to live at Saint Georges-Motel and it eventually passed to Diana Guest.† Consuelo and Jacques spent their remaining years in the USA, moving between their houses in New England and Palm Beach, each of which, decorated throughout in French chateau style, was like a small piece of France; they invariably spoke French to each other and to their servants.
Consuelo’s son Bert, the 10th Duke, was often described as having stepped from the pages of a P.G. Wodehouse novel. Essentially the product of an Edwardian upbringing, he dressed, acted and spoke accordingly, often adding ‘What, what?’ to the end of his sentences. Unlike his father, however, he made a very stable marriage, and the palace was filled during his stewardship of it with laughter and children playing. At the end of the Second World War the Ministry of Works provided a redecoration service, repainting and reflooring to repair the ravages of Blenheim’s wartime occupation. When Bert and Mary began to entertain again, post-war rationing would not allow over-lavishness, and Noël Coward recalled that when he visited he was frozen the whole time because no coal was available for fires in the guest rooms. However, the main problem – for which the Ministry of Works abdicated responsibility – was the roof, which was so decrepi
t in places that rain poured into the attics. The southeast tower was also badly damaged. The estate could not afford the necessary repairs, and so the options available seemed to be either to hand the palace over to the National Trust (who could not afford it, either), or to sell it to the highest bidder.
It was Bert himself, Wodehousian caricature or not, who came up with a solution that suited the mid-twentieth century: he would open up the palace to the public. It would become a tourist attraction, and the half-crowns paid would help to keep the fabric of the palace in good repair. ‘In such a way alone,’ Consuelo wrote, ‘could taxation be met and the upkeep of so large a house assured.’ In the event it was almost five years before the property was restored to a state suitable to effect this plan, but it was a success from the start. Over a hundred thousand tourists visited Blenheim in the opening year. By the end of the twentieth century half a million visitors a year came to view the treasures that had once awed the young Churchill wives such as Jennie Jerome and Consuelo Vanderbilt. Part of it remains the home of the Marlborough family and the extended Churchill family.
Amidst feverish anticipation in Britain on 1 May 1945 that victory would be proclaimed at any minute, Jock Colville recorded in his diary that Churchill was dining that evening with Max Beaverbrook. ‘In the middle of dinner I brought in the sensational announcement, broadcast by Nazi wireless, that Hitler had been killed today at his post in the Reich Chancellery in Berlin.’26 At this moment of high excitement, Winston had a few family problems that he could only share with Clementine by letter, as she was still in Russia. First, he was upset and worried about his brother Jack, who had collapsed with a heart attack while visiting Weymouth Yacht Club with his son Peregrine. Second, Nellie had been to see him ‘in deep anxiety about Giles’, who with the other prominenti had been removed from the prisoner-of-war camp in Germany a few hours before the liberating Americans had arrived and taken to an unknown destination, no doubt as hostages. ‘There is nothing to be done,’ Winston wrote to Clementine. ‘It would add to their danger if we show we minded.’27
By the following week it was discovered that Giles was safe, but although Jack was making some progress and Winston was able to spend time with him most days, he was still ‘very ill’, Winston reported, ‘and the next few days are critical and possibly decisive’. This is almost certainly the reason behind his comment: ‘It is astonishing that one is not in a more buoyant frame of mind in public matters. During the last three days we have heard of the death of Mussolini and Hitler; Alexander has taken a million prisoners of war; Montgomery took 500,000 additional yesterday and more than a million today…I need scarcely tell you that beneath these triumphs lie poisonous politics and deadly international rivalries.’28
Hostilities in Europe formally ceased on 8 May, which was declared Victory in Europe Day. Clementine had not been able to leave Russia to return as quickly as she had wanted to, much as she longed to be with Winston on this day of days. She had to content herself with a cable which read: ALL MY THOUGHTS ARE WITH YOU ON THIS SUPREME DAY MY DARLING STOP IT COULD NOT HAVE HAPPENED WITHOUT YOU.
At three o’clock that afternoon Winston broadcast to the nation from Downing Street, then drove to the House of Commons through the dense crowds who had gathered in their tens of thousands to see him and celebrate the victory. His open car had no need of its engine that day, propelled as it was by the pressure of the jubilant throng. Everyone wanted to shake his hand. He beamed, enjoying every minute. Just as he was about to leave Westminster to drive to the Palace he sent his detective scurrying back to Downing Street to get him a cigar. He did not wish to smoke it, he said, but he must have one – ‘They expect it.’29 Before climbing into the car he paused and lit it, while the crowds cheered themselves hoarse. After visiting the King he returned to Downing Street and appeared on the balcony at the Ministry of Health, where he told the roaring mass, ‘This is your victory’, then conducted them while they sang ‘Land of Hope and Glory’. They could not get enough of him.
Later, when his car could not get through the crowds he ignored his detective’s advice and walked to Whitehall, mobbed every step of the way until finally he had to climb on to the roof of a car. Later he appeared on the balcony once again. It was dark now, but even after he had delivered an impromptu speech to them the crowds would not let him retire. He had an inspiration. Signalling for a lull, he told them: ‘Listen, I am going to recite a verse of “Rule, Britannia!” and then you are going to sing it.’ Then he raised his arms and spoke the first lines. The crowd sang their hearts out, and as they finished Winston raised his hand in a V sign and retired. Theatre, yes; and Winston was as moved as anyone present.
On 18 May Churchill wrote to Clement Attlee, who had been Deputy Prime Minister during the last three years of the war, asking him to preserve the coalition government until the war in Japan was won. Three days later Attlee replied, refusing the request: he had no desire to continue in peacetime under an autocratic Churchill, any more than Winston wanted to enter once more into the knockabout of adversarial party politics where all too often nothing is achieved. Five days later Winston went to the Palace and tendered his resignation. The King then recalled him and asked him to form a Conservative government while a general election was called. There can be no question that Churchill was not only immensely popular and trusted, and viewed as the saviour of Britain – he was virtually idolised by more than half the population. But as leader of the Conservative Party he represented a way of life that was out of step with the times. The war had changed lives and expectations dramatically, and the working-class majority now believed that the Labour Party was more likely to provide them with a greater share of the good things in life than the old public-school class who led the Tory Party. Some voters did not even realise that by voting for a local Labour candidate they were voting Churchill out of office.
The country went to the polls on 5 July, but because many men and women were still serving abroad in the armed forces, three weeks were to be allowed for their votes to be returned for counting. Meanwhile Winston ran the country as before, now trying to win the peace. In June he replied to President Truman who had written complaining about de Gaulle, agreeing with him that ‘after five long years of experience’ of the belligerent Frenchman ‘I am convinced [he] is the worst enemy of France in her troubles…I consider General de Gaulle is one of the greatest dangers to European peace. No one has more need than Britain of French friendship, but I am sure that in the long run no understanding will be reached with General de Gaulle.’30
Every pundit forecast that the Conservatives would win by between fifty and a hundred seats, and in confident frame of mind Churchill took Clementine and Mary, Jock Colville and Lord Moran on holiday to Hendaye in the South of France, near the Spanish border. They stayed at the luxurious seaside villa of Brigadier-General Brutinel, who owned the Château Margaux vineyard and had somehow managed to remain in France throughout the Occupation. Churchill spent the two weeks bathing from the sandy beach, Colville records, floating ‘like a benevolent hippo in the middle of a large circle of French policemen who had duly donned bathing suits for the purpose’,31 and painting, while the rest of the party visited the local sights at St-Jean-de-Luz, Biarritz and Bayonne. The Duff Coopers joined them for a few days.
After attending what was to be the final meeting of the Big Three (the USA represented this time by Truman)* at Potsdam, with Mary in attendance, Churchill flew back to London on 25 July. When he, Mary and Clementine dined en famille at the Downing Street annexe he was low-spirited and anxious. Early next day he woke suddenly, ‘with a sharp stab of almost physical pain,’ he wrote. ‘A hitherto subconscious conviction that we were beaten broke forth and dominated my mind.’ In that moment he sensed that ‘the power to shape the future would be denied me’.32
By the time he joined Beaverbrook and Brendan Bracken in the map room at the annexe, where arrangements had been made to flash up the election results on to a screen, the first result
s were already coming through. It was at once evident that the votes of those in the armed forces had veered left, giving an unexpected landslide victory to the Labour Party. Even Attlee was taken by surprise: he had expected, even hoped for, at best a Tory majority of about forty. Churchill retained his own seat, of course – the result was one of the first in – but Clementine immediately scented danger when his majority was reduced to 17,000, for she knew his opponent to be a very ineffectual man. Randolph and Duncan Sandys lost their seats at Preston and Norwood respectively – they embodied the type of MP that the working classes no longer wanted as their parliamentary representatives. Friends and family began arriving at the annexe looking ‘dazed and grave’. Mary recalls the ‘Stygian gloom’ in which they lunched, everyone forcing their food down, including Brendan Bracken who had just learned he had lost his seat, and Sarah looking beautiful and distressed. Clementine ‘maintained an inflexible morale’ Winston was ‘robust and controlled’ as he ‘struggled to accept this terrible blow…not for one moment in this awful day did Papa flinch or waver. “It is the will of the people,”33 he replied to anyone who attempted to commiserate.’
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