A moment or two of silence followed the sobering words.
“Nor is this all,” continued Whitfield. “Bernhardi goes so far as to call it Germany’s acknowledged right to secure the ‘proud privilege’ of initiating war. He says it is incumbent on Germany to strike the first blow.”
“Does he say where such a blow will come?” asked Morley Redmond.
“Where else?” replied Whitfield. “France. France must be completely crushed, he says.”
“At least his sights are not set on us,” laughed Beauchamp uneasily.
“Not in the first attack, but certainly thereafter.”
“He doesn’t think the Germans would dare cross the Channel?” said Westcott, still heated.
“Not now, perhaps. But the Germans are building ships even as we speak. The Anglo-German naval race is no secret. Where better for the kaiser to prove his supremacy than by conquering the Channel. You’ve heard of the development of their new generation of submarines.”
“The U-boat—it will never be a threat,” insisted Westcott. “England’s shores are safe. Germany will never be a naval power.”
“Don’t be too certain, James,” replied Whitfield soberly. “Imagine, a fleet of Germans lying off the coast, completely invisible. It gives one pause.”
25
Private Confidence
Again the discussion fell silent.
“It does make one think, indeed, Whitfield. And I for one would like to hear what Sir Charles thinks about what the rest of you have been debating,” said a new voice, whom none had seen approach as the discussion grew serious.
All heads turned to see a distinguished man walking into the circle whom every one of the number knew well enough.
The home secretary of the U.K. shook hands with everyone around the small circle.
“Nice to see you again, Sir Charles,” said the gravelly voice.
“And you, Winston.”
“We all miss you in the capital.”
“As I said to Max a few moments ago, I am certain the country is in good hands.”
“Still, as the others have been telling you, these are worrisome times.”
As he spoke, Churchill gently nudged his former Liberal colleague away from the others. None of the rest of the group was inclined to object. Everything Winston Churchill said or did seemed somehow imbued with an authority few thought to question.
“You’ve risen far since we first met, Winston,” said Charles as they walked slowly away. “I read about you often in the Times.”
“Meaning no ounce of disrespect, Sir Charles,” rejoined the home secretary, “but I wish I could say the same of you. You might have been my prime minister now instead of Henry Asquith.”
“I doubt that,” laughed Charles.
“Don’t be too sure. You were the clear leading candidate. When Campbell-Bannerman retired in 1908, your name would have been top on the list. I have not the slightest doubt you would have risen even higher than I had you remained in Parliament.”
“I suppose we shall never know. In any event, those days are behind us. I made my decision and have never regretted it.”
“Those days may be behind us,” Churchill said when they were alone, “but new ones are ahead—dangerous days.”
“You share Baron Whitfield’s concerns about Germany?”
Churchill nodded. “If anything I would say Max understates the gravity of the situation.”
“A strong statement coming from the home secretary.”
“I am genuinely concerned, Sir Charles. It is a changing world, and I am not certain England is ready for it. We rule the seas, to be sure, but Germany’s army and navy are growing more rapidly than I like. And Whitfield is right about Bernhardi’s book—”
“You were listening?” said Charles.
“I like to eavesdrop awhile before I enter a conversation,” smiled Churchill. “I’ve learned enough in my brief years in politics to keep my mouth closed until there is something important to say. In any event, the book is positively chilling. I only finished it two days ago.”
“And you consider it significant, I take it?”
“Germany’s so-called Weltpolitik represents the wave of the future—world politics, they call it. They would say it indicates only a new, forward-looking, and broader world outlook. Others maintain its design is military,” replied Churchill. “Bernhardi certainly does nothing to counter that view.”
“And your thoughts?”
“Both are probably accurate. Germany is a new nation on the world stage. I cannot fault them for desiring to be a major player on that stage. But the buildup of their armaments, and Kaiser Wilhelm’s obvious expansionary interests—these ought to concern us deeply. And with the Balkans so tenuous . . .”
Churchill paused and sighed.
“It is a frightening situation, Sir Charles,” he went on.
“What can be done?”
“Preparedness is our only hope.”
“What about diplomacy?” asked Charles. “There have been many crises during the last ten or fifteen years, all successfully averted.”
“Because one party has always backed down. But when the time comes when no one is willing to do that—as it surely will—what then?”
“Will not reason prevail?”
“Reason is hardly the operative position between bullies. And if the kaiser has shown anything since coming to power, it is that he relishes playing the bully. Bismarck possessed raw power, and wielded it with dexterity, even a certain caution. Wilhelm II, however, as I see it, will be only too glad to provoke hostilities as soon as he feels in a position to win.”
“What about Norman Angell’s book? There is one I have read.”
“The Great Illusion is itself an illusion,” chortled Churchill. “The premise—the proof, he calls it—that war is impossible by virtue of the financial and economic interdependence of nations . . . it’s absurd. It is based on a faulty thesis altogether, that reason dominates a nation’s actions. Much as we might hope such to be true, the fact is, when situations and crises arise, usually reason does not dictate action.”
“What does, as you see it?”
“Pride, arrogance, nationalism, fear, belligerence . . . and the bully mentality—calling another’s bluff, assuming he will back down. It is no way for nations to behave with one another, but sadly such is the case. Nations are run by men, and men are fallible, egotistical, and often unreasonable by nature. The situation between Serbian nationalists and Austria is an explosive one. And with the kaiser feeling more powerful by the day . . . eventually, Sir Charles, I tell you, we are going to find ourselves in a predicament from which no one will back down. In my view, it is inevitable. It is only a matter of time.”
“So I take it, you are making plans for such a crisis?”
“To the extent I am able,” replied Churchill. “But England is asleep. Even within our own government, within the cabinet, within the military itself, there remains such an attitude of disbelief that the peril is genuinely serious. The army and navy are devising plans without even talking to one another. The leadership of the navy in particular is ill equipped for what faces us.”
“Are you . . . making your views known?”
“When the appropriate time comes, believe me, I fully intend to make my voice heard. I may be dismissed from my post altogether, but I love England too much not to speak out.”
“You have always been plainspoken,” smiled Charles.
“A virtue or a vice, as the case may be, of which I might also accuse you.”
“I hope you are right,” rejoined Charles.
“That is one of the reasons I wanted to discuss these matters with you . . . alone,” said Churchill, now lowering his voice. “We are not what would be called close friends. But I have been watching you through the years, Sir Charles. Not only are you plainspoken, you are a man whom I judge to be completely trustworthy. I would not hesitate at this moment to place my very life in your hands.”
“I appreciate that confidence.”
“Perilous times lie ahead,” Churchill went on. “I need men who will tell me what they think without fear of the consequences. And I need men I can trust. On both counts, I have no doubts concerning you.”
“What are you asking, Winston?”
“I am asking if you might consider coming out of retirement and getting involved again? The country needs men like you.”
“Are you talking about politics . . . my standing again for the Commons? If so, I’m afraid—”
“I don’t mean Parliament specifically. I don’t mean anything specifically at this point. I have no post as such to offer you. If I did,” he added, casting Charles a shrewd sidelong smile, “I have the feeling you would turn it down anyway.”
Quickly he became serious again. Charles returned his smile with a nod, as if in indication that the home secretary knew him very well indeed.
“I simply have the feeling,” Churchill went on, “that I might find myself wanting to call on you at some time in the future.”
They strolled away from the crowd a few moments in silence. Charles saw Jocelyn ahead of them by the edge of the pond where dozens of ducks and geese swam about. He had already left her alone far too long and wanted to rejoin her.
“I don’t exactly know what to say, Winston,” he said at length. “You have caught me, to say the least, unexpectedly.”
“Say that you will think about it,” replied Churchill, “and I will be satisfied.”
“Then I can say that I will pray about it,” rejoined Charles. “I love my country too . . . but I have higher allegiances.”
26
Memories of a Happy Day
I’m ready to go home, Mrs. Rutherford. How about you?”
Jocelyn glanced up and smiled. “Do you think the new king and queen and all their admirers can do without us?”
“I think they just might be able to at that,” laughed Charles.
“I’m glad you had a nice visit with your old friends. It was good to hear you laugh.”
“Yes, I enjoyed it. But I don’t miss that world, though I do miss a few of the people who are in it.”
“Did you want to visit Timothy Diggorsfeld again before we left the city?”
“I thought it might be nice,” Charles replied. “But this took longer today than I anticipated. I’m glad we were able to have dinner and a good long visit last evening. I’ll post him a letter or call him as soon as we get home.”
He took her hand and they made their way back to the field where Charles’ Peugeot was parked along with the other automobiles present. They would drive to Southampton this afternoon, where they would spend the night at an inn, before continuing on to Devon tomorrow.
An hour later they had passed the western reaches of the metropolis and were motoring leisurely through the countryside. The coronation and reception had reminded them distinctly of their trip to London fourteen years earlier for Queen Victoria’s sixty-year Jubilee where Charles was knighted. Now as they drove, both husband and wife fell into a melancholy and reminiscent mood.
“I still laugh,” said Charles, “whenever I think of Amanda looking up to Victoria and telling her she was going to be prime minister one day.”
Jocelyn smiled at the memory.
“I was so timid and afraid back then,” she said.
“I almost had to drag you to come with me!”
“I’m glad you did. I’ll never forget the queen’s lovely eyes. The look she gave me was so tender.”
Jocelyn sighed and grew pensive. “So much has changed since then,” she said.
“That’s when it began to change,” rejoined Charles, “—the ride to the Jubilee, the ruckus I got into, then the walk the next day . . . and meeting Timothy Diggorsfeld, learning about the Lord for the first time. How could I ever forget that day? How could I have imagined back then that a young pastor whom I encountered passing out anti-evolution leaflets would become my best friend!” Charles added with a chuckle. “You’re right, Jocie—everything’s changed, and that’s when it began.”
“Do you ever wonder, Charles . . . you know, if we did do something wrong with Amanda—if what she is now going through is our fault?”
“Of course, Jocie—I wonder that all the time. Sure, I think I did so many things wrong with her. I was not nearly sensitive enough to what she was feeling at the time.”
“But you didn’t know.”
“Neither of us knew how negatively she was reacting to our attempts toward spirituality. But as I look back, I see many areas where perhaps I should have given her more rope, more trust, and not tried to force her.”
“You never tried to force the children to see everything exactly as you did. I sometimes thought you gave them too much liberty.”
Charles laughed, though without a great deal of humor in his tone. “It does get confusing,” he said. “Did I really change that much when I became a Christian? I tried so hard to teach them independence of thought. Yet Amanda now thinks I forced her into my own personal framework of belief. It is so hard for me to understand what happened, because I never wanted to do that at all. The very thing I wanted so badly to accomplish with my children, it would seem I failed at.”
“Timothy would say we weren’t forcing them. We were doing our best to train them according to biblical principles. All three were young at the time. Wasn’t it still our duty to teach and train and instruct them?”
Charles nodded. “Timothy is a staunch believer in personal responsibility for one’s choices and actions. If he were listening, he would say that Amanda is accountable for her own decisions, and that we are not to blame for what she has done. He would say the same of George and Catharine. They are following our beliefs, at present Amanda is not. But I feel tremendous guilt sometimes, thinking of all the ways I perhaps did not—I don’t know—be all as a father to her that I might have . . . that perhaps I should have been.”
“So do I,” rejoined Jocelyn. “But don’t forget, we were new Christians at the time.”
She paused thoughtfully for a moment. “That’s the trouble with parenthood,” she went on, “—you don’t get second chances. You fumble through, do the best you can. Before you know it your children are grown up, and you can’t go back. And, Charles, we did do our best, at least the best we knew at the time.”
“And you know what Timothy would say to that?”
Jocelyn nodded. “That no parent can do more than their best.”
“And that parental imperfection is something God built into the human relational equation.”
Charles sighed. “I say the words,” he added. “I know in my brain that God doesn’t expect perfection from me. He doesn’t now, and he didn’t then. Yet my mind is constantly searching out the past . . . wondering, doubting, reliving incidents, trying to think what I might have done differently so as not to have alienated Amanda. But I always come to the same place in the end—I don’t know . . . I just don’t know. And not knowing makes the grief all the harder to bear. Over and over I say to myself that I have to put it behind me, that I must stop thinking about it, stop talking about it all the time. Yet I can’t help it. Something inside me is compelled to try to understand.”
It fell silent for a few minutes as they both gazed out over the passing countryside. Slowly Jocelyn began to cry.
“Oh, Charles,” she said at length, “I miss her!”
“I know, Jocie . . . so do I.”
“I haven’t seen our daughter in three years. Sometimes I think my heart is just going to break for aching to see her and hold her again.”
“We’ve got to be realistic, Jocie,” said Charles. “That day may not come for a while.”
“I want to write her, pour out my heart, tell her I love her, even ask if I can come visit her.”
“There’s nothing I want more than to wrap my arms around her and hold her to me like I did when she was a little girl. But it’s nothing we can make happen ahead
of its time. She is a grown woman. Now more than ever, whatever the future holds between us has to be Amanda’s choice.”
“That day when we all came into London together—that was our old life, before we knew what it meant to walk with God. And yet that was also the last time we had a good relationship with Amanda. I don’t understand it, Charles. Sometimes it weighs me down so. How could giving our lives to the Lord create such pain and division in our own family?”
“I don’t know, Jocie,” sighed Charles, shaking his head. “It puzzles me too. All we can do is pray for the Lord to accomplish his purposes . . . in our hearts as well as Amanda’s.”
Jocelyn quietly wept at the words she knew were true, yet were nonetheless painful.
Charles slowed and pulled off the dusty dirt road at the next opportunity. He stopped the car, then pulled Jocelyn close and stretched his arm around her. She continued to cry softly. They sat for five or ten minutes in silence. Gradually Charles began to pray.
“Lord,” he said, “wherever our dear Amanda is at this moment, whatever she is doing, whoever she is with, whatever she is thinking, we ask that you would be there beside her, inside her—speaking, wooing, luring her to your heart. Again we pray, as we have so many times, that you would send brief arrows of light into her heart, pleasant reminders and fond memories. And, Father, in your time and in your way, we ask you to please restore the friendship that once existed between Amanda and us. Remind her of the happy times, the long talks, the laughter. In the meantime as you carry out that silent, invisible work, give us patience, give us hope. Give us fortitude and courage to trust you to be Amanda’s Father in our place. O God, be a tender, caring, loving Father to our daughter. Watch over her, protect her, and accomplish your perfect will and perfect desire in her life.”
“And in ours,” added Jocelyn softly. “As painful as this separation is, dear Lord, we ask you to perfect your will in us through it.”
27
Heathersleigh Hall
Wayward Winds Page 11