Lady Clementine

by Marie Benedict

  Nodding, I answered by offering my gratitude for his invitation and wonderful reception and handing him a gift. “From the Churchills.”

  As the Russian leader unwrapped the case containing a gold fountain pen, I said the exact words Winston urged me to stay to Stalin.

  When I was done speaking, he stared at me in complete silence for a long minute. My nerves started to overtake me, thinking about all the horrific rumors of torture at the Kremlin that we’d heard for years. I watched as he put the gold pen to one side of his desk and finally said, “I have my own writing utensil.”

  What did this vaguely ominous sentence mean? I surmised that relations between Moscow and London had deteriorated even further since I received my last missive from Winston, who, in any event, was severely limited in his reports because my mail was monitored. Fear began to set in. The Russians might be our Allies in these last days of the war, but they most certainly were not our friends. I did not respond, as I had no idea what to say, and I wondered what the future would hold for Britain and Russia.

  “Thank you for your visit, Mrs. Churchill,” Stalin finally said tersely, then he nodded to his guard, who promptly escorted me from the room.

  His guards shepherded me out and delivered Grace, Mabel, and me directly into a waiting, well-equipped train that would take us across Russia to see firsthand the sites benefiting from our funds, beginning in Moscow and traveling to Leningrad. Although my interaction with Stalin had chilled me to the core, the cheers of the Russian people and their gratitude for the Aid to Russia Fund warmed me as we left the station. I could not make sense of the disparity between the two, other than Stalin’s feelings toward my husband.

  As our train made one of its many stops in locales both urban and rural over the next few weeks, we visited the devastated city of Stalingrad. We drove through a vast public square with a towering obelisk at its center, and I asked Mrs. Kislova, the interpreter assigned to us from the All-Union Society for Cultural Relations with Foreign Countries, about its significance, assuming that it was a historical treasure of some sort. “It is called the Brothers’ Graves, and it marks a huge common grave for the thousands of citizens who died defending our city against the Nazis,” she explained as we passed by houses that were no more than hovels that families had dug out of piles of rubble, and then she announced, “We are here.”

  Our planned visit for the afternoon was a children’s home where, Mrs. Kislova had informed us, we would see mounds of equipment and supplies that our fund had financed. Grace, Mabel, and I stepped over debris to reach the imposing doors of the bullet-scarred hospital that, Mrs. Kislova told us, had been marked as a special target by the Luftwaffe bombers.

  Her eyes wide, Grace, usually quiet, asked, “The Nazis intentionally targeted a children’s hospital?”

  Our interpreter gave us a matter-of-fact nod and answered, “To break our spirits.”

  When we entered the hall, children lined the halls of the foyer and wards. Wounded eight-year-old boys who’d fought with the partisans stood alongside scarred six-year-old girls who quaked at the sight of an unfamiliar face. Children without limbs, children with wracking coughs, children with oozing wounds, and children without eyes or ears. And that was the children who were capable of standing. Many more children lay in row after row of beds, most of them listless or unresponsive.

  “Most of these children would not be alive without the aid you provided,” Mrs. Kislova interpreted for the hospital warden. “Especially because most of their parents are dead.”

  Tears streaming down my cheeks, I stared directly at the worst casualties of war, for whom our supplies and medication could only stanch their unfathomable injuries.

  Grace, Mabel, and I were still reeling from our visit to the children’s hospital when our train pulled into the next station, and I saw Mr. and Mrs. Molotov standing on the platform. What on earth were they doing here? Suddenly, my heart began beating wildly. Had something happened to Winston? Surely the British ambassador or Averell would have come if that was the case, I told myself.

  Their aide, a Russian military officer, boarded our train first and had an animated conversation with our interpreter. They reached some kind of agreement, and then the Molotovs stepped onto the train. Mrs. Kislova nodded deferentially to them as they passed, and I stood up and greeted them warmly as they entered my car. But Mr. Molotov’s face was morose. “We come with bad news, Mrs. Churchill. President Roosevelt is dead,” he said.

  Roosevelt? Dead? It seemed incomprehensible, even though Winston had told me that he looked quite ill at the Yalta Conference with a grayness about his face and eyes. While I’d harbored misgivings about the American leader for some time, I was grateful for the role he played alongside us in this awful war, and I could not fathom the new world order without him. How is Eleanor faring? I wondered. More importantly for me, how was Winston?

  I consoled Winston over a telephone call at our hotel later that day, and together, we scripted a letter for him to send to Stalin, which he hoped would also appear in the Russian newspapers. But nothing could dull the shock and distress he felt, I knew. No matter Roosevelt’s recent machinations, Winston’s loyalty had remained intact. He urged me to continue the tour, as every effort must be made to mend the British-Russian relationship, so we continued.

  Not until we made our final return into Moscow did I feel a tug to return home once more, this time for more jubilant reasons. The British embassy sent over a representative to my hotel with the news that Mussolini had been captured and executed by anti-fascists and that this was followed by the suicide of Hitler. When Germany finally surrendered on May 7, the tug to go home became a firm pull. Despite the fact that I couldn’t make it back to London in time for Victory in Europe Day, or VE Day, a fact that upset me greatly, I made fixed plans to return to London and Winston.

  In a surreal way, I did spend VE Day with Winston after all. On May 8, Grace, Mabel, and I gathered at the British embassy with the ambassador, his wife, Averell, and the diplomatic staff, and we heard my husband’s voice broadcasting victory and freedom over the radio from London. Even though we were thousands of miles apart, even though I could not watch him make his victory statement to the House of Commons, even though I could not be there to see thousands cheer him on in Parliament Square, I felt my fingers link with his in celebration of our victory.

  But as we walked out onto the Moscow streets afterward and I talked about the victory with the Russian diplomats and our interpreter, I began to understand how very divergent their views on the war and the armistice were from our own, and I marveled at how dissimilar the same event can appear to different people. How distinct are the lenses through which we each perceive the world, I thought. I prayed that the citizens we’d helped with the Aid to Russia Fund and the connections we’d made on this visit might serve as a bridge between Britain and Russia, if and when the differences in our perspectives divided us even further, as Winston was already predicting.

  * * *

  I take the final step off the plane and onto the tarmac, smiling back at Grace, who’s been such a trusted secretary and friend these long years of the war. Winston waits for me on the edge of the runway, his arms brimming with several bouquets’ worth of flowers and a wide, ebullient smile on his lips. Simultaneously, we walk forward until we meet in the middle, wrapping our arms around each other. The vibrant flowers are pressed within the folds of our embrace.

  “Cat, how I’ve missed you,” he whispers into my ear. Then he suddenly pulls back and looks me up and down. “You are still wearing your Red Cross uniform,” he declares, as if I’ve forgotten.

  I smile but do not comment. I’m delighted that he’s noticed without me having to draw attention to my attire. I want him to view me in uniform as I’ve come to view myself in uniform. As one who’s served her country well.

  We separate reluctantly but link arms as we stroll toward Winston’s re
d Napier. “We have peace, Pug. You made this happen,” I say to him with a wide grin and a loud guffaw. My joy is unbridled at this news, no longer new, because I am in his presence; it almost hadn’t seemed real until I could say the word aloud to him.

  “No, Clemmie, we did this. It is our peace,” he replies with a squeeze of my hand.

  The sun sets in swaths of shimmering gold against the sharp line of the horizon where sky meets land, and as it descends, I feel an unfamiliar tranquility descend upon me as well. All the strain and struggle that have comprised my life—my lonely and strange childhood, the wild swings of my unusual marriage, my struggle with motherhood, my compunction to constantly prove myself worthy, the tumult of two wars, even my pervasive sense of otherness—seem to fall away. In the vacuum of calm, I see with unexpected clarity that, without my unique hardships and failings, particularly with my children, I could not have become the Clementine who forged this path through politics and history, and without me, my husband could not have become the Winston who helped deliver peace to this broken world.

  As we walk, I experience the most unusual sensation, as if we are passing into history at this very moment. Not later, when future generations have had their chance to dissect our actions and reconsider our decisions, but right now, as we stare out at the glow of the sunset on the landscape. When the successors to our time appraise Winston and this awful war, as they surely must, I know that they will see Winston’s hand on the pen that scribes history. But, I wonder, will they see that my hand has also been on the pen all along?

  Author’s Note

  The ubiquitous cigar. The Homburg hat. The pugnacious spirit. The famous speeches. The V for victory sign. These recognizable emblems of Winston Churchill instantly evoke the famous British icon credited with leading his country to victory in World War II. I encountered the legendary statesman and his pervasive symbols over and over again as I researched my novel The Only Woman in the Room, which takes place, in part, during World War II. But, as often happens when I’m down the rabbit hole of research, I began to wonder about the women—in this case, one woman in particular. Did Churchill undertake his famous work alone? Where was his wife of more than three decades during the fabled events of World War II? What was she like? These questions began to plague me, and I became intrigued by the idea of Clementine Churchill.

  I took a short detour in my research about Hedy Lamarr to investigate Clementine Churchill. From the moment I dipped into her unusual background and read about the first time she met Winston, I was hooked by this bright, complicated, loyal, bold, and sometimes contentious woman. Her legacy was important yet largely unknown, and I knew I needed to tell my version of Clementine’s story next.

  As I followed her life and her relationship with Winston through the research, I realized that Winston wasn’t alone during World War II—even though he’s always pictured that way—but that Clementine was standing by his side all along, guiding him in his decision-making, influencing governmental leaders toward their shared goals, helping him navigate the tricky landscape of colleagues and staff, raising their children, and ensuring his well-being. I learned that she shared the burden of leadership not only during World War II, but in World War I as well, and she bolstered him all the years in between. Lady Clementine explores the tumultuous relationships and life of Clementine Churchill and hopefully brings out from the shadows into the light of modern day her potentially world-changing contributions.

  But the more I learned about Clementine’s personality and the role she played in her relationship with Winston, the more I came to see that she was iconic in her own right. A woman with a natural, keen interest in political issues—in particular, women’s right to vote and the Liberal Party’s social and humanitarian issues—she was stymied by her era’s proscriptions on women’s overt involvement in the political realm. When she married Winston, with whom she shared a passion for politics, she plunged into his political world in a manner that was unprecedented for its time. Carving out a unique role both behind the scenes and, to a limited extent, before the public, she rose up and claimed a political space that society told her she could not do. In asserting her own power—even if it derived from Winston—she wielded it for the good of the British people in wartime and for women in general. We may still be reaping the benefits of her labors today.

  As Clementine assumed the mantle of leadership, she had to overcome her own hesitations and self-doubt to claim this opportunity and fulfill her long-held convictions about women’s rights and social issues, thereby serving as an inspiration on many levels. In light of this, I can’t help but wonder what more she might have ventured and accomplished had the strictures of her time been different. In an era more encouraging of women’s ambitions, might Clementine Churchill have been a highly visible political participant rather than a largely invisible but otherwise mighty force? I’ll leave that question to you now.

  Reading Group Guide

  1. Winston Churchill is one of the most recognizable figures of modern history. What did you know about his personal life before you read Lady Clementine? Did you have any understanding of his wife and children in particular, and did the book challenge any preconceived ideas about his private life?

  2. While Clementine’s ancestral background was aristocratic, she grew up in relatively reduced financial circumstances, carrying the additional burdens of a peripatetic childhood and the uncertainty of her paternity. How did her unusual upbringing affect her behavior and opinions? How, in turn, did her belief system and background affect Winston, if at all?

  3. Lady Clementine opens with Clementine describing herself as being “set apart” from the rest of society. How did this feeling manifest throughout the novel, and did it change throughout her life? How did this sense of otherness impact her relationship with Winston?

  4. Throughout the course of the book, Clementine is transformed from a bright but hesitant and sometimes self-doubting young bride into the formidable wife of the prime minister, with a power base of her own and an impressive list of initiatives. Did Clementine’s metamorphosis surprise you, particularly given the historical limitations of women in the political realm? How did Clementine’s relationship with Winston both further her growth and hinder it? What sacrifices did she have to make in order to become such an influential political wife?

  5. While motherhood was different in the time period of the novel and the class in which the Churchills operated, Clementine struggled with it. How would you characterize Clementine as a mother? Did she evolve as a parent over the years? Do you feel that she crossed the line of acceptability, even in the context of her time? How did her relationship with Winston impact her mothering? Compare and contrast modern motherhood with historical motherhood from this time, keeping in mind variations in class.

  6. What drew Winston and Clementine together, and how did that change over the decades? How did Winston’s political alliances impact their interactions? What goal united them when their political views weren’t precisely aligned?

  7. After she spends time with Eleanor Roosevelt, Clementine comes to a shocking realization about Winston’s view of her identity, or at least the way he presents her identity to the Roosevelts. What is the importance of female relationships in Clementine’s story and in the stories of other strong women?

  8. Which, if any, of the characters in Lady Clementine do you find yourself relating to the most? Did you connect with Clementine?

  9. What is the most surprising thing you learned about Clementine? Did it relate to her parenting? Her marriage to Winston? Her relationship with Terence Philip on the Rosauro? The amount of time away from her family?

  10. Discuss the ways in which Clementine’s life encompassed issues that were not only historic but modern as well.

  11. Winston Churchill left an enormous mark on history, and he is credited with saving Britain during World War II—but you now know that Clementine was a deeply influentia
l figure in Winston’s professional and personal life behind the scenes. Do you think he would’ve been as successful if he didn’t have Clementine supporting him? How would you characterize her legacy?

  A Conversation with the Author

  While her husband is an enormously famous figure, Clementine Churchill is often relegated to the margins of history. How did you first hear of her, and what about her made you want to lend her story a voice?

  During my time researching and writing books that—I hope—excavate important historical women from the shadows of the past and bring them out into the light of modern day, I feel as though I’ve developed an antenna for these women. As I was researching the onset of World War II for my novel The Only Woman in the Room, Winston Churchill, of course, figured prominently, and I couldn’t help but wonder about his family, his wife in particular. While I do not profess to be a Winston Churchill expert, I did find it peculiar that I knew nothing about the spouse of one of the most recognizable men in history. Who was she? What was she like? Where was she during all these world-changing events? So I went down the rabbit hole, as I often do when I’m intrigued, and I learned that Clementine Churchill was not only the quintessential woman behind the man, but also standing beside him—and often in front of him—helping him lead through some of the most critical moments in modern history. I knew hers was a story that deserved to be told.

  Lady Clementine relies on a great deal of research, from the minutiae of British politics to the personal lives of historical figures. What did your research process look like for this book?