Soon after Pam broke up with Gianni, she began another relationship. Cynthia Gladwyn in her Diaries recalls an incident when she was lunching at the British Embassy in Paris where the Duke of Windsor was a guest. When the Duke accidentally spilled his coffee over one of the ladies he made profuse apologies, and was relieved to discover that she was a Rothschild and could therefore afford another dress. In an attempt to cover his gaffe he asked her brightly: ‘Can you tell me which is the Rothschild with whom Pamela Churchill is having an affair?’ The woman replied: ‘Sir, that’s worse than the coffee. That’s my husband!’32
For Churchill, who was eighty years old in November 1954, those few years of his last administration were anything but golden: the lives of all his children, except Mary, were in acute disharmony. Worshipping his Clemmie as he still did, and in the peace and happiness he always enjoyed at Chartwell, it was a puzzle beyond his understanding how the children could fail to make happy marriages for themselves.
Nor were family troubles his only ones. Carrying an immense load as Prime Minister, he half decided to celebrate his birthday, then retire the following April, standing down at the forthcoming general election. But having made this decision he immediately became truculent and complained that he was being hounded out of office by Eden. The truth was that he could not bear to contemplate the end of his career – he had made some spectacular comebacks, but he knew that when he stood down this time there was no coming back. It was Christopher Soames who finally persuaded him that it was in the best interests of the country that he hand over the problems and stresses of office to younger men.
At times now he would be bad-tempered and fractious – ‘like a spoilt and naughty child,’ his daughter Mary said. But whereas his colleagues made allowances for his outbursts, Clementine was just as critical as she had always been when he behaved rudely, and ‘would burst forth as soon as they were in private…But for all that he sometimes deserved her scoldings,’ Mary wrote. All the same, ‘there were periods now when she really harried him too much’.33 These quarrels never lasted long and were invariably followed up with an affectionate note: ‘Darling, Fondest love. I am so sorry I was awkward at dinner. My heart was full of nothing but love, but my thoughts were wayward. Your ever devoted, W.’34 Other touching notes would tell her about his pets – he kept pets throughout his life and he was devoted to them – how ‘the little cat’ was sitting on his papers as he worked, and how his pet budgie Toby, which he even took with him on his constant travels, would sit on the rim of his glass, then hop across his desk as he worked. Sometimes he enclosed a tiny yellow feather – ‘a present from Toby’. But Clementine too was under pressure – simply looking after Winston and enabling him to carry on required greater effort than ever. Furthermore, she was in constant pain from the neuritis that afflicted her throughout those years, and earlier that year she had lost the closest member of her own family when Nellie died of cancer.
Winston’s eightieth birthday celebrations were a triumph, however. No. 10 was deluged with flowers and tributes. To mark the occasion, Winston had set aside £25,000, a large sum for those days (worth over £570,000 today), towards the founding of a new Cambridge college which was to bear his name.* That day he addressed the House of Commons: ‘I have never accepted what many people have kindly said: namely that I inspired the nation,’ he said in a confidential tone. And then, raising his voice, ‘It was the nations and the race dwelling all round the globe that had the lion’s heart.’ A pause, then an apparent afterthought: ‘I had the luck to be called upon to give the roar.’ It was a supreme performance, and later, as the cheers died down in a crowded Westminster Hall, blue curtains were pulled back to reveal the gift of both Houses of Parliament – a full-length portrait of Winston by Graham Sutherland. Winston had been shown the painting two weeks earlier, and had hated it on sight. But he did not wish to spoil the occasion, so he looked at it for a second or two as though seeing it for the first time, then said pointedly, ‘This is a remarkable example of modern art.’ The assembled company hooted. Winston could still hold an audience, but although he could perform for great occasions he was ageing fast and he no longer had the physical resources to govern.
But even now, he hated the thought of retirement. Anthony Eden, his friend and trusted colleague during the Thirties and Forties, had long been promised the premiership. Now, Churchill regarded Eden as looking at the top post with ‘hungry eyes’ (hardly surprisingly, given that he’d been in the wings so long and was ageing himself). He became resentful of Eden. He had earlier promised him he would go after his birthday, but Eden then heard that Winston had confided in Nehru’s sister that he wouldn’t go until he dropped down dead. That Winston knew very well what effect these changes of mind were having on Eden is nicely illustrated in an exchange with Colville, who suggested that Winston go to Marrakech for that year’s Christmas holiday. He replied: ‘No. If I’m going to be a dog in the manger, I’d better stay in the manger.’35
It was a tricky situation and even Colville, who admired and loved Churchill, was torn:
He could still make a great speech…indeed none could rival his oratory or his ability to inspire. But he was ageing month by month and was reluctant to read any papers except the newspapers…the preparation of a Parliamentary Question might consume a whole morning…and yet on some days the old gleam would be there, wit and good humour would bubble and sparkle, wisdom would roll out in telling sentences and still, occasionally, the sparkle of genius could be seen in a decision, a letter, a phrase. But was he the man to negotiate with the Russians and moderate the Americans? The Foreign Office thought not; the British Public would, I am sure, have said yes. And I, who have been as intimate with him as anybody during these last years, simply did not know.36
By spring 1955 Eden had become extremely bitter, not helped by Randolph (who had long been jealous of Eden’s place in his father’s affections) taking pot shots at his abilities in newspaper articles. Randolph was to continue this hate campaign – mainly in the Evening Standard – even after Eden became Prime Minister, always implying that his leadership was weak and ineffective. And because Randolph was a good writer, it did Eden a good deal of harm at the time and has arguably affected his reputation today. However, when it looked as though Churchill might once again change his mind, Eden behaved with impeccable good manners in public, despite complaining privately in a cold rage to Colville.
Eventually, though, what Eden had waited so long for had to come. On 4 April 1955 the Churchills held a retirement dinner at Downing Street for fifty guests including the Queen and Prince Philip, which was a signal honour. Anthony and Clarissa Eden were there. No. 10 would become theirs the following day – assuming, Colville reflected privately, that the PM did not change his mind yet again overnight. At one point Randolph took Clarissa aside and told her frankly, ‘I suppose you know I am against the new regime.’ Winston told the Queen that she was ‘right to put complete confidence in Anthony Eden’. After the other guests had left, Jock Colville went upstairs to find Winston sitting on his bed wearing the Garter decoration, the Order of Merit and court knee-breeches. ‘For several minutes he did not speak and I, imagining that he was sadly contemplating that this was his last night at Downing Street, was silent. Then suddenly he stared at me and said with vehemence: “I don’t believe Anthony can do it.”’ Colville could only reflect uneasily that Winston’s prophecies, all too often, had been borne out by events.37
The following day Winston presided over his final Cabinet meeting. Then, dressed in the frock-coat and top-hat he always wore to royal audiences, he went to the Palace to tender his resignation formally. The Queen offered him a dukedom. It was no surprise; he had been approached about it some days before. He had been deeply touched by the compliment, and had thought hard about it. On the one hand it would give him parity with his illustrious forebear John, 1st Duke of Marlborough, and it would be a fitting crown to his sixty-year career. But on the other, he reasoned (almost certainly
with Clementine’s input), there was insufficient money to support a dukedom, and furthermore he wished to remain a member of the House of Commons until age – or his constituents – prevented it. He declined the Queen’s offer, and said to Colville later: ‘What good would a Dukedom be to Randolph? It might ruin his and little Winston’s political careers.’38
26
1955–63
Safe Harbour
On 5 April 1955 Winston left Downing Street quietly and unobtrusively for Chartwell. He had requested no fuss; it would have been more than he could deal with emotionally. Within days he, Clementine, the Prof and Jock Colville were in Sicily, but it was not a happy time for any of them. It rained every day, Winston was in low spirits, and Clementine was having to inject herself with pethidine to cope with the pain from the neuritis in her right shoulder and arm.1
After the holiday Winston fought another general election and was returned again as the Member for Woodford, with a huge majority. In July the Edens invited them to luncheon at No. 10, but Clementine was unable to accept. ‘She sounded terribly flat and piano on the phone,’ Clarissa wrote in her diary, ‘in pain all the time, and no hope of anyone curing her.’ Winston attended alone. Now there was no longer any rivalry, his old affection for Anthony had returned in full. Clarissa, though, noted a ‘great deterioration’ in her uncle.2
Having been in agonising pain for months Clementine took herself off to St Moritz for a series of spa treatments, which gave her some relief, and Mary was able to join her there. Winston wrote to her often, sometimes in his ‘own paw’, tender notes, often with a small sketch of a pig or a dog, to boost her. He had taken up A History of the English-Speaking Peoples again, the four-volume work he had begun in the Thirties and put aside when war was declared, then put aside again when he became PM for the second time. Now he found solace in this work, and in his painting; it would occupy him for the remainder of the year despite his suffering two small ‘spasms’ (minor strokes). Clementine read the manuscript and was thrilled with it, writing to him that it would encourage people to read about history.
In September they went together to Max Beaverbrook’s villa at Cap-d’Ail. It was a good time for them both. Even though Clementine usually found life on the Riviera cloying she greatly enjoyed this holiday. Winston had cheered up, and her obvious happiness added to his own. But he knew that Clementine did not like accepting hospitality from people of whom she did not approve (in particular she feared that Winston might be compromised), and it was probably the success of this holiday that gave him the idea that she might be prepared to spend more time on the Riviera with him if they had their own villa. He could then look forward to spending every winter painting in the sunshine he loved, with Clementine at his side. It seemed the best of all worlds. After she left for London, leaving Winston to paint, he began a search for a suitable property.
The idea filled Clementine with dismay, in fact, for although she could cope with a short holiday there now and then for Winston’s sake, she disliked the South of France and its glitzy society. But worse, she never lost her fear of poverty, and even now, with all Winston’s success, she genuinely feared that with three homes to keep up they might run out of money. To her, the only favourable aspect of such a scheme was that Winston would no longer be reliant on the generosity of others. He could, of course, have afforded to stay in the best hotels, but he was of a generation and a class to which hotel life was acceptable only for short visits; he enjoyed the life one experienced in a well run and well staffed private home. Furthermore, he was too famous to have been able to stay comfortably in any public place.
The topic of ‘the villa’ would provoke heated discussions for several years, involving the whole family; eventually, Mary concluded that ‘Clementine made too much of the difficulties, and it was easy to sympathise with Winston’s wish for a holiday home in the sun.’3 Winston forged ahead with his plan anyway, and spent much time reconnoitring suitable properties. Any visiting family member was roped in on these jaunts. In a letter Sarah wrote to Clementine while she was staying with her father she mentioned that they had been ‘villa hunting’, then hastened to assure her mother that she was confident Winston would not buy anything without her, Clementine’s, approval. ‘I don’t think he even wants to [buy] really,’ she consoled, ‘but he does love the sun so.’4 Clementine, though, could never quite forget that Winston had bought Chartwell without telling her.
In January 1956 Winston paid what would be the first of ten long visits to La Pausa at Roquebrune-Cap-Martin, on the Côte d’Azur between Menton and Monaco. The magnificent white marble villa had been built in the 1920s by Bendor, Duke of Westminster, for his mistress Coco Chanel, and it was bought in 1954 by the millionaire publisher and art collector Emery Reves. Set among olive groves and lavender fields in Haute Provence, La Pausa was the epitome of luxury and hedonism, and in the hands of Reves and his stunning blonde Texan mistress Wendy Russell* (a former Vogue model) it quickly became a hub of Riviera society. Apart from Churchill and various members of his family, other guests included Greta Garbo, Prince Rainier and Princess Grace of Monaco and the Duke and Duchess of Windsor.† Reves owned one of the finest collections of Impressionist and post-Impressionist paintings in the world, as well as a famed collection of Renaissance jewellery. It was not a huge house, but well proportioned and surrounded by lawns and simple landscaping. Once inside, the iron gates were locked to create an utterly private world. Every visitor to La Pausa had the soles of their shoes cleaned by the major-domo as they entered the house, and women had to remove their shoes.
Winston had known Emery Reves since 1937, when the two men were introduced by Austen Chamberlain.* Reves, a Hungarian Jew, then known by his original name Imre Revesz, was the owner of Cooperation, a European magazine with an anti-Nazi stance, founded four years earlier. Revesz published a number of Winston’s articles at a time when Winston needed a voice in Europe. During the war Winston used Revesz’s multilingual abilities and important contacts in a number of Intelligence projects, and to disseminate favourable propaganda, especially in the United States.5 By the end of the war Revesz had anglicised his name and in 1945 wrote an acclaimed book The Anatomy of Peace, which was endorsed by Albert Einstein.
Already a rich man, Emery Reves made further millions in commissions from the sale of the foreign publishing rights of Churchill’s war memoirs† and his other books. Knowing well how Winston blossomed in the sunshine, Reves now invited his best client to stay at La Pausa. Winston went out alone that January, intending to look at villas for rent while he was there – a compromise arrived at with Clementine in lieu of his proposal that they should buy a property. Clementine had arranged to go cruising around Ceylon in February with a friend, Sylvia Henley,‡ but meanwhile she went into hospital to be treated for a recurrence of the neuritis. While in hospital she caught an infection and was so ill for several weeks that she could not even write to Winston. When she did, her letters were addressed, as ever, to ‘My darling one’, as were Winston’s to her, suggesting that their disagreement concerning a Riviera villa was not a serious one.
In his letters Winston tried to keep Clementine informed and entertained: ‘Reves and Wendy are most obliging,’ he informed her. ‘They ask the guests I like and none I don’t. A few people have written, & so we had last night Daisy Fellowes & her young man Hamish Edgar. Daisy was vy sprightly…She is wonderfully well-maintained & kept us all agog.’6 It was Daisy who, as a young woman, had unsuccessfully attempted to seduce Winston at the Ritz in Paris in 1919, later marrying his first cousin Reggie Fellowes (a former lover of Consuelo). Daisy had also been Duff Cooper’s lover for a while, and though she was sixty-six when Winston mentioned her in this letter she was still able, evidently, to captivate a room. She lived on minute helpings of grouse, iced carrot juice and vodka, and still thought nothing of spending thousands on a single dress. Conversation about mutual acquaintances was likely, with Daisy, to be maliciously amusing (one friend reported that sh
e was afraid to leave the room for fear of what might be said about her in her absence).7 Winston enjoyed Daisy’s company in small doses.
In his next letter, on 17 January, he advised that ‘Randolph brought Onassis (the one with the big yacht) to dinner last night. He made a good impression upon me. He is a vy able and masterful man & and told me a lot about whales. He kissed my hand!’8 Aristotle Onassis (who insisted on being called ‘Ari’) would become a good friend, one of Winston’s best in those sunset years, although the cultivated Reves privately considered that the Greek millionaire was vulgar.
‘I spend the days mostly in bed [working] & get up for lunch and dinner,’ Winston wrote, and he related that when he was up and about Reves instructed him about modern art by showing him around his collection of Impressionists. ‘Also they have a wonderful form of gramophone wh plays continuously Mozart…on 10-fold discs.’9 He tried to persuade Clementine to come out and be pampered by Wendy, or to join him aboard the Onassis yacht Christina – named after Ari’s daughter – to and from which Winston was ferried by a Piaggio amphibian plane.* But Clementine did not like the sound of all this, and replied:
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