Darkest Hour

by Anthony McCarten

  When eventually he did decide to get dressed, exorbitant bills were run up at Army & Navy stores thanks to Winston’s insistence that only the finest pale-pink silk underclothes would do, on account of his delicate skin. Jock Colville, one of Winston’s private secretaries, remembers they made him look ‘just like a rather nice pig’. Silk vests were paired with gloriously ostentatious silk dressing gowns embroidered with dragons or flowers. The legend of his lavish tastes and eccentric habits even spread to Berlin, where Joseph Goebbels noted in his diary: ‘A book on Churchill reports that he drinks too much and wears silk underwear. He dictates messages in the bath or in his underpants, a startling image which the Fuehrer finds hugely amusing.’

  It can’t have hurt Churchill to have the Nazis consider him a joke – for it is no bad thing to be underestimated by one’s enemy. But those who knew him maintain that he was not a drunk. He had been drinking alcohol for so long that his tolerance was remarkable – with just an occasional slip. When asked once how he managed to drink during the day his reply was simply ‘Practice.’

  So what was his actual drinking regime?

  He would have his first, albeit very weak, whisky and soda around an hour after finishing his morning tray of bacon and eggs. During the war, his hatred of condensed milk was so strong that he stopped drinking tea as a traditional accompaniment to breakfast and replaced it with a glass of sweet German white wine: not, then, the usual breakfast tray. A bottle of Pol Roger champagne would be consumed at lunch, and another bottle at dinner, chased by a fine port or brandy digestif into the wee hours. He would maintain this regime every day throughout his long life, with few exceptions. How could such a man guide the country through its most perilous hours in this state, you might well join the Nazis in asking?

  This iconic image of a cigar-chomping poet with a glass of scotch always in one hand – one Winston himself did much to promote – may seem amusing now, but on Sunday, 12 May 1940, his spotted reputation was no laughing matter. To his Conservative colleagues he was a different kind of joke – one whose last military campaign had ended with disaster in the Dardanelles, and one who surrounded himself with courtier friends from ‘raffish worlds’. With this in mind, Lord Hankey, Minister Without Portfolio, wrote to fellow appeaser Sir Samuel Hoare to tell him how upon visiting the Admiralty:

  I found complete chaos this morning. No one was gripping the war in its crisis. The Dictator [Churchill], instead of dictating, was engaged in a sordid wrangle with the politicians of the left about the secondary offices. NC [Chamberlain] was in a state of despair about it all. The only hope lies in the solid core of Churchill, Chamberlain and Halifax, but whether the wise old elephants [Chamberlain and Halifax] will ever be able to hold the Rogue Elephant [Churchill], I doubt.

  Churchill was conscious of how dangerous these opinions could be. His every move was being scrutinized, and if he was to remain as Prime Minister he would have to find a way of winning over the dissenters.

  Public support for him was extremely strong. It was almost a year since the newspapers had begun calling for his inclusion in the Government and posters appeared around London stating: ‘What price Churchill?’ But he needed more than the support of the nation to succeed. Charm offensives had been launched the previous day with his gracious letters to Chamberlain and Halifax upon succeeding to the premiership. After all, Chamberlain was still leader of the Conservative Party and so, in spite of Labour opposition, Lord President of the Council.

  Another kindness to Neville was the Churchills’ decision not to move immediately into No. 10 Downing Street. Instead, Winston would stay at the Admiralty for another month to enable Mr and Mrs Chamberlain to move themselves out gradually. Churchill did everything he could think of to smooth over fractious party relationships, especially as he was scheduled to speak to the House of Commons for the first time as Prime Minister the following day, 13 May.

  General Ismay recalled how:

  two or three days after he became Prime Minister, I walked with him from Downing Street to the Admiralty. A number of people waiting outside the private entrance greeted him with cries of ‘Good luck, Winnie. God bless you.’ He was visibly moved, and as soon as we were inside the building, he dissolved into tears. ‘Poor people,’ he said, ‘poor people. They trust me, and I can give them nothing but disaster for quite a long time.’

  With the task of forming a Government out of the way, Winston’s thoughts now turned to what he could offer not just his fellow politicians, but also the nation in its darkest hour.

  MONDAY, 13 MAY 1940

  GERMAN TROOPS INVADE FRANCE THROUGH THE ARDENNES FOREST

  DUTCH QUEEN WILHELMINA FLEES TO ENGLAND

  6. Blood, Toil, Tears and Sweat

  It had been just over two days since Winston Churchill had ‘kissed the King’s hand’ and assumed his role as Prime Minister. Despite having a war to run and a Government to assemble, there was another pivotal task looming: his maiden speech to the House of Commons as the new PM.

  Despite the triumph of taking office, Winston had found himself on shaky ground during the preceding days. The speech needed to silence the critics in Whitehall and generate some desperately needed support. It had, in short, to be a beauty.

  And he knew it.

  The House had not sat since the drama of the Norway debate on 9 May and the following day’s invasion of the Low Countries, and a large number of Conservative MPs were feeling deeply remorseful about their actions. Many who had voted against the Government did so out of frustration and to vent their anger, not quite realizing that it would lead to the fall of Neville Chamberlain. It was this same group of penitent and distrustful individuals who now, experiencing a version of ‘buyers’ remorse’, looked down upon their new Prime Minister as he entered the Chamber. His reception was muted, with some thin cheers from the Labour and Liberal benches but little applause and even stony silence from the Conservatives.

  The House of Commons had been in a state of chaos for days. Chips Channon described the atmosphere in his diary:

  Absurdly dramatic and very Winstonian: first of all we were summoned by a telegram signed by the Speaker, and asked not to mention the meeting. But as both Houses were summoned, over 1300 telegrams must have been sent, and must have been seen by literally thousands of people.

  I arrived at 2.15 and found an atmosphere of confusion and embarrassment. No-one knew who had been re-appointed, dropped or changed. It was ‘Crazy Week’; I joined a group of bewildered Ministers . . . They chattered, amused, apprehensive, uninformed.

  Neville entered with his usual shy retiring little manner, MPs lost their heads; they shouted; they cheered; they waved their Order Papers, and his reception was a regular ovation.

  Just as there had been upheaval at home, reports on the war front the past weekend had revealed a progressively worsening situation across Holland, Belgium and France. The tension in the House was palpable. It was now up to Winston to attempt to allay this ‘confusion and embarrassment’, and disarm members’ fears with words, words alone.

  Churchill couldn’t have designed the moment better himself, and to some extent, of course, he had.

  At 2.54 p.m. he rose to his feet, stood in front of the despatch box and began to speak:

  I beg to move,

  That this House welcomes the formation of a Government representing the united and inflexible resolve of the nation to prosecute the war with Germany to a victorious conclusion.

  So far so good – a little wordy, but unquestionably stately. His serve had landed in and the rally had begun . . .

  On Friday evening last I received His Majesty’s commission to form a new Administration. It is the evident wish and will of Parliament and the nation that this should be conceived on the broadest possible basis and that it should include all parties, both those who supported the late Government and also the parties of the Opposition. I have completed the most important part of this task. A War Cabinet has been formed of five Members, representing
, with the Opposition Liberals, the unity of the nation. The three party Leaders have agreed to serve, either in the War Cabinet or in high executive office. The three Fighting Services have been filled. It was necessary that this should be done in one single day, on account of the extreme urgency and rigour of events. A number of other positions, key positions, were filled yesterday, and I am submitting a further list to His Majesty tonight. I hope to complete the appointment of the principal Ministers during tomorrow. The appointment of the other Ministers usually takes a little longer, but I trust that, when Parliament meets again, this part of my task will be completed, and that the administration will be complete in all respects.

  I considered it in the public interest to suggest that the House should be summoned to meet today. Mr. Speaker agreed, and took the necessary steps, in accordance with the powers conferred upon him by the Resolution of the House. At the end of the proceedings today, the Adjournment of the House will be proposed until Tuesday, 21st May, with, of course, provision for earlier meeting, if need be. The business to be considered during that week will be notified to Members at the earliest opportunity. I now invite the House, by the Motion which stands in my name, to record its approval of the steps taken and to declare its confidence in the new Government.

  To form an Administration of this scale and complexity is a serious undertaking in itself, but it must be remembered that we are in the preliminary stage of one of the greatest battles in history, that we are in action at many other points in Norway and in Holland, that we have to be prepared in the Mediterranean, that the air battle is continuous and that many preparations, such as have been indicated by my hon. Friend below the Gangway, have to be made here at home. In this crisis I hope I may be pardoned if I do not address the House at any length today. I hope that any of my friends and colleagues, or former colleagues, who are affected by the political reconstruction, will make allowance, all allowance, for any lack of ceremony with which it has been necessary to act. I would say to the House, as I said to those who have joined this Government: ‘I have nothing to offer but blood, toil, tears and sweat.’

  We have before us an ordeal of the most grievous kind. We have before us many, many long months of struggle and of suffering. You ask, what is our policy? I can say: It is to wage war, by sea, land and air, with all our might and with all the strength that God can give us; to wage war against a monstrous tyranny, never surpassed in the dark, lamentable catalogue of human crime. That is our policy. You ask, what is our aim? I can answer in one word: It is victory, victory at all costs, victory in spite of all terror, victory, however long and hard the road may be; for without victory, there is no survival. Let that be realised; no survival for the British Empire, no survival for all that the British Empire has stood for, no survival for the urge and impulse of the ages, that mankind will move forward towards its goal. But I take up my task with buoyancy and hope. I feel sure that our cause will not be suffered to fail among men. At this time I feel entitled to claim the aid of all, and I say, ‘Come then, let us go forward together with our united strength.’

  After speaking for just seven minutes, Churchill resumed his seat.

  His closing appeal for unity and strength had not been powerful enough for his opponents to rush to support him, and Channon noted in his diary that the speech – widely regarded now as one of the greatest ever given by a politician – ‘was not well received’. While the House was not assuaged, Lloyd George wished to pay his respects to the new PM:

  I congratulate the country upon his elevation to the Premiership at this very, very critical and terrible moment. If I may venture to say so, I think the Sovereign exercised a wise choice. We know the right hon. Gentleman’s glittering intellectual gifts, his dauntless courage, his profound study of war, and his experience in its operation and direction – perhaps the reverse . . . He is exercising his supreme responsibility at a graver moment and in times of greater jeopardy than have ever confronted a British Minister for all time.

  This high praise from a former wartime Prime Minister caused Churchill to weep, and according to Harold Nicolson MP he ‘mop[ped] his eyes’, but in this speech, and in the ones that followed, Channon noted that ‘only references to Neville raised enthusiasm’.

  Diary entries from the day are more generous. Nicolson described Churchill’s speech as ‘[v]ery short . . . but to the point’; Jock Colville called it a ‘brilliant little speech’; and Channon noted, ‘The new PM spoke well, even dramatically . . . ’ But none were confident enough to acknowledge the real power of what is now considered as masterful a display of political rhetoric as the Gettysburg Address.

  Churchill’s disappointment is understandable. He had worked hard on the speech, knowing that history was listening. He had refined the text again and again, weighing, with a poet’s sensitivity, phrase and metre and word. He even slipped the key phrase – the one by which the speech is now known – into earlier conversations during preceding days to test its impact. Malcolm MacDonald, one of the ministers whom Winston had appointed earlier that day, recalled how:

  I entered the presence. The great man was striding up and down the Chamber with his head thrust forward in deep thought on his massive shoulders and his hands gripping the lapels of his jacket, as if he were making a speech in the House of Commons.

  He looked round, caught sight of me, and said rather oratorically without halting his pacings, ‘My dear Malcolm, I’m glad to see you. I’ve nothing to offer you except . . . ’ For a moment he hesitated deliberately in his utterance. I felt disappointed, thinking he could have no more senior office to give me than that of Postmaster General or some similar minor job. Then he continued, ‘ . . . blood and toil, tears and sweat.’

  I was taken aback, wondering whether he had created a new war-time Ministry, and was asking me to become Secretary of State for Blood, Toil, Tears and Sweat.

  He glanced at me to observe my reaction, stood still, and then in a voice suddenly changed to friendly informality remarked, ‘I want you to be Minister of Health in my government.’

  [Leo] Amery awaited me in the private secretary’s office . . . and then asked, ‘Did he also offer you blood and sweat and toil and tears?’

  I answered ‘Yes’; and Amery remarked that he had received the same proposition. ‘He must be rehearsing his speech for Parliament this afternoon.’

  It is in this account that we get a glimpse of the process and methods used by Churchill the orator – pacing around the room gripping his lapels, dummy-running his speech over and over again. Jock Colville remembered that ‘the composition of a speech was not a task Churchill was prepared either to skimp or to hurry’. Indeed, it was said that one hour’s work went into every minute of speech delivered. In this case, though the circumstances of the past four days had interfered with Churchill’s preparations significantly, they had not done so irreparably, for he had been preparing for this speech in actual fact his entire life.

  During his period of self-education in India in 1896, Churchill had studied myriad great thinkers and historians, but it was in the works of Socrates, Plato and Aristotle that one subject in particular caught his eye: the art of rhetoric. In an unpublished essay written a year later entitled ‘The Scaffolding of Rhetoric’, the 23-year-old Churchill wrote: ‘Rhetorical power is neither wholly bestowed nor wholly acquired, but cultivated. The peculiar temperament and talents of the orator must be his by nature. Their development is encouraged by practice.’ More than forty years of practice, in fact.

  We can trace the origins of ‘blood, toil, tears and sweat’ back to Cicero’s De Divinatione II (44 bc) and Livy’s History of Rome (c.29 bc), when ‘sudor et sanguis’ (sweat and blood) were first and frequently coupled together. Centuries later John Donne wrote in his 1611 poem ‘An Anatomy of the World’: ‘That ’tis in vain to dew, or mollify it with thy tears, or sweat, or blood’. In 1823 Lord Byron wrote: ‘Year after year they voted cent per cent, Blood, sweat, and tear-wrung millions – why? for rent!’; and
in Robert Browning’s poem ‘Ixion’ of 1883 are the words: ‘Tears, sweat, blood – each spasm, ghastly once, glorified now.’

  Speeches by politicians and military leaders influenced Churchill too. In 1849 the Italian revolutionary and patriot Giuseppe Garibaldi gave a rousing speech to his besieged soldiers in St Peter’s Square, Rome; one sentence of it translates as: ‘I offer neither pay, nor quarters, nor provisions; I offer hunger, thirst, forced marches, battles and death.’ Nearly fifty years later, Theodore Roosevelt’s speech to a naval war college in 1897 described how ‘Because of the blood and sweat and tears, the labor and the anguish, through which, in the days that have gone, our forefathers moved on to triumph.’

  ‘Amateurs borrow, professionals steal’ – as either Picasso or T. S. Eliot famously said, depending on who stole the line from whom.

  In 1900 Churchill began to ruminate on his own version when writing of his time spent in a Boer prisoner of war camp. In London to Ladysmith via Pretoria he confidently predicted British victory in the South African war as being ‘only a question of time and money expressed in terms of blood and tears’. Clearly pleased with the phrase, he used it again in a newspaper article for the Saturday Evening Post the same year: ‘It will all seem very sad and brutal in times of peace, but there will be less blood and tears when the next war comes.’

  That ‘next war’ turned out to be the First World War, about which Churchill wrote his five-volume history entitled The World Crisis. In the final volume, published in 1931, he described the devastation suffered on the Eastern Front and how the pages of his book will ‘[r]ecord the toils, periods, sufferings and passions of millions of men. Their sweat, their tears, their blood bedewed the endless plain.’ Two years later ‘follies in blood and toil’ appeared in his biography of the Duke of Marlborough; and in a 1939 article about General Franco’s war in Spain, he wrote of the ‘new structures of national life erected upon blood, sweat and tears, which are not dissimilar and therefore capable of being united’.