First Lady

by Sonia Purnell

  It was, however, her appeal for the Red Cross Aid to Russia Fund – originally launched back in October 1941 – that was to become her greatest work (apart from Winston, of course). By Christmas that year she had already raised £1 million, and buoyed by this success she increasingly pushed herself forward to maintain the momentum over the difficult long haul. She recruited factory workers, millionaires and widows; she organised auctions, flag days and galas and persuaded celebrity musicians to give concerts. In 1943, she appealed directly to schoolgirls to knit gloves, scarves and hats for the Russian forces and rewarded them with effusive letters of thanks. Dorothy Southon – who had been evacuated from Folkestone to a school in south Wales – and her two friends sent ‘a large number’ of knitted items to Downing Street ‘for Mrs Churchill’. They were thrilled by her hand-signed response:

  Dear Gladys, Pamela and Dorothy,

  Thank you very much for your gift which I have just received. I am most grateful to you for the trouble you have taken to help the heroic Russians in their terrible but victorious struggle against the wicked invaders of their country.

  Your sincere friend,

  Clementine S. Churchill12

  She also presided over home nations football matches (internationals were otherwise suspended during the war) in aid of her fund. At the England v. Scotland game in January 1942 at Wembley, she was forced to excuse herself to the sixty-four-thousand-strong crowd, explaining that she had to hurry away to see ‘my husband’, who had just arrived back from his first trip to the White House. Standing on that hallowed turf in fur-trimmed hat and coat, while protective fighter planes soared overhead, she smiled gratefully as the spectators cheered. The next fixture, in February 1943, saw England triumph 5–3 over Wales and raised the bar for charity fundraising events to a new height, bringing in £12,500 in a single day. In all, the donations eventually totalled £8 million (some £300 million in today’s money).

  Clementine’s success demonstrated both people’s trust in her and their sympathy for the Russians. By late 1941, government polling had already revealed a striking increase in admiration for the Soviet Union – inspired by its resistance to the Nazi forces then surging eastward over the steppes and the stoic suffering of the Russian people in the face of appalling bloodshed. (Millions of Russians had already died; by the end of the war, the total would rise to an estimated twenty-seven million, compared to fewer than 450,000 Britons.) Clementine reported back to Winston from her street tours, as well as her mailbag, that many in Britain were ‘disturbed and distressed’ at their inability to do more to help the Soviets militarily. She suggested – and he agreed – that her fund might help assuage these feelings and head off potential trouble.

  The lack of British assistance was clearly a bone of contention with Stalin, who still bore a grudge towards Winston over the latter’s attempts to ‘strangle Bolshevism at birth’ by intervening on the side of the White Russians following the 1918 Armistice. It was vital to defuse this history of antagonism and keep a suspicious Kremlin onside. It would be disastrous if Moscow swapped sides again and sought peace with Germany, or became too close to Washington and moved to shut Britain out. So Clementine’s Aid to Russia Fund served yet another purpose – as both Winston and Eden saw clearly: it represented a critical show of solidarity at a time when Britain’s meagre military resources simply could not afford to be ‘bled white’ by the Soviet clamour for support.

  Soon hundreds of thousands of tons of medical supplies were on their way to Russia from a country itself struggling desperately with shortages. Meanwhile, Clementine worked closely with Agnes Maisky, the imperious wife of the Soviet ambassador, to resolve ‘conflicts of interest’. It was a meeting of two volatile and patriotic women and produced plenty of fireworks, but ultimately a useful strategic friendship was forged. In a show of solidarity, Mme Maisky gave Clementine a copy of War and Peace inscribed ‘1812–1942. We destroyed our enemy then, we shall destroy our enemy also today.’ A year later, in February 1943, Clementine returned the gesture by presenting Mme Maisky with another copy of the same work: ‘Here is a book for those who would penetrate the vastness and mystery of Russia.’ ‘Evidently,’ Ambassador Maisky noted with satisfaction, ‘Tolstoy’s novel made a great impression on Mrs Churchill, leading her to see our people in a new way.’13 When the Maiskys were recalled to Moscow in September 1943 (Stalin deemed them to have become too pro-Churchill), Agnes thanked Clementine for her kindness.14

  In March 1943, thanks to the strain of Winston’s illnesses and her own onerous workload, Clementine developed a painful boil. Her doctors, as so often, prescribed respite from her husband; on this occasion at the seaside. Unusually she obliged, guiltily deserting Winston, and taking his brother Jack as company, for ten days at the Royal Hotel in Weymouth. She found it ‘curious’ and ‘delicious’ to be out of the thick of it, but it was not merely the helpings of Bird’s custard at every meal that quickly bored her. Life with Winston, at the centre of world events, may have stretched her to breaking point – she was fond of quoting a line of Swinburne’s poetry: ‘even the weariest river winds somewhere safe to sea’ – but theirs was a colourful and thrilling existence. The Weymouth trip reminded her again that the alternative was insufferably ‘dull’.

  Arriving back in London in early May she found Winston preparing for another trip to Washington to plan the Allies’ next move. Tidings from North Africa, as he steamed across the Atlantic, were cheerier than the previous year, with General Alexander reporting that British Forces were now ‘masters’ of the coast. Clementine wished she was with Winston ‘in this hour of Victory . . . so that we could rejoice together & so that I could tell you what I feel about your North African Campaign’.15 She understood his craving for adulation, and as a result was assiduous in applauding his every success. This time the King also sent his congratulations, prompting Clementine to write to Queen Elizabeth – a rare royalist sally – that she had ‘cried with joy’ at Winston’s receipt of such recognition. Yet she did not allow her happiness (or her brief exile in Weymouth) to blind her to her concerns about his forthcoming meeting with Roosevelt. ‘I’m so afraid the Americans will think that a Pacific slant is to be given to the next phase of the War,’ she warned. ‘Do re-assure me that the European Front will take 1st place all the time.’16

  Upon arriving in Washington, Winston observed that the First Lady was not on hand to attend to the President but was ‘away practically all the time’. Even when she was around, it became clear that Roosevelt was less than forthcoming with his wife, failing to inform her, for instance, that Winston and his entourage would be staying at the White House until shortly before they arrived. Though Eleanor was ‘offended’ she rallied herself admirably, leading Winston to comment that ‘no-one could have been more friendly than she was during the two or three nights she turned up’.17 But she could not help venting her exasperation at her husband in her column, bemoaning the fact that ‘it had not occurred’ to him that she needed time to prepare the rooms. ‘Before all orders were finally given, it was 10am and I was half an hour late for my press conference,’ she told the world.18 Roosevelt was thoroughly displeased at her indiscretion. By contrast Clementine never even hinted publicly about her private disagreements with Winston. But then he kept nothing from her.

  Roosevelt had been closing parts of his life to Eleanor ever since his affair with Lucy Mercer more than twenty years previously. But his increased reticence with her after the war broke out became such that she often had little real inkling of what was going on, referring to her new reduced role as that of ‘plain citizen’.19 This feeling of redundancy depressed her. ‘What you think or feel seems of no use or value so I would rather be away,’ she wrote to her daughter Anna; she preferred to ‘allow the important people’ to take the decisions. Winston was aghast at this lack of trust. ‘You know I tell Clemmie everything,’ he told the President over drinks at the White House one evening. Roosevelt replied: ‘Well, I don’t do that with Eleano
r because she writes a column and she might confuse what should be said and what shouldn’t be.’20

  Curiously, for all her formidable intelligence, Eleanor considered herself in any case unqualified to advise her husband. ‘One can never be certain that one’s advice is correct,’ she once explained, being circumspect about the entire concept of what she called ‘petticoat government’.21 This left her in what she felt to be the lesser role of agitator, most productively on behalf of black servicemen, who at the time were segregated, with few senior black officers (only two in the whole US Army in 1940), and received little if any combat training. She also lobbied – albeit often with little success – on behalf of European Jews seeking asylum in the United States and against Roosevelt’s internment of Japanese Americans. According to her friend Joseph Lash, her semi-exclusion was the consequence of Eleanor being ‘too independent, too strong, ethically too unrelenting to provide him with the kind of relaxed, unjudging company he wanted’.22

  There was something of Violet Asquith in Eleanor. Both were of immense intelligence but with a propensity to pursue an argument so vehemently that in Violet’s case ‘she would advance on her prey unrelentingly and drive him back into the fireplace’. (Jock Colville was just one victim who had the back of his trouser legs ‘badly singed’ as a result.23) Such unleavened bluntness would not have suited Winston at all; nor did it suit the equally egotistical Roosevelt.

  Despite their candid conversation about their respective wives, Winston came away from Washington a reduced figure in Roosevelt’s eyes. Now that American money, forces and firepower were flooding into the war, the President saw himself as the senior partner in the alliance and expected to have his way. Some of Roosevelt’s closest aides recognised that he was ‘jealous’ of Winston’s legendary status and thought it not ‘just’ that Winston should take ‘all the credit as leader of the Free World’. He no longer looked forward to the Prime Minister’s visits to the White House,24 and neither did he share Winston’s conviction that the future of the world depended on a ‘fraternal association’25 of the English-speaking peoples.

  Like many Americans of the time, Roosevelt tended to be more suspicious of British imperialism than of Russian totalitarianism. Moreover, the Red Army was no longer in disarray, as it had been until autumn 1942; after ‘astounding’ victories in the Caucasus and Stalingrad, it was now seen as a mighty military force, particularly in comparison to the British. So while he was pouring on the charm for Winston at Shangri-La (the presidential retreat now known as Camp David) in May, Roosevelt was simultaneously petitioning Stalin for a secret meeting in July that would specifically exclude him. To Winston, word of this attempted deception came as a bitter personal blow.

  Nonetheless, after a month in the US Winston arrived back in London on 5 June feeling revitalised. With the victory in North Africa, a lull in the bombing, and his concept of an invasion of Sicily gaining American support, overall the war was moving in Britain’s favour. The consequent lifting of the strain, however slight, permitted the Churchills a little time for entertainment. They played bezique, at which the strategically minded Clementine roundly beat him, and they went to the theatre, taking in two new plays by Noël Coward: This Happy Breed and Present Laughter. As soon as the couple were spotted, the audiences erupted in applause, while Coward received them in his box after the first act. Later he would make occasional visits to Chequers, sometimes finding Clementine alone while Winston was shut up in meetings. During these precious hours, Clementine and Coward played croquet, gossiping deliciously about the theatre and high politics.

  A couple of months later, in August 1943, Winston set off to Quebec for yet another conference with Roosevelt. By now the Allies had successfully invaded Sicily, causing panic among the Italian fascists and precipitating, on 25 July, the forced removal from power of Mussolini himself. With the Axis seemingly in retreat, Winston and the President were to discuss the imminent landings on mainland Italy, and to plan what would become the D-Day invasion of northern France. This time, though, there was to be a novel addition to the two-hundred-strong British entourage. Hoping to impress Roosevelt and thus enhance Anglo-American relations, Clementine broke with the all-male tradition at such events by accompanying her husband. Indeed, the summit became something of a family affair, as Mary was given special leave to act as the Prime Minister’s special assistant, or aide-de-camp (ADC), during the trip.

  Upon receiving word from Winston that Clementine and her daughter would be attending, the President cabled back, ‘I am perfectly delighted,’26 although, in truth, the news raised awkward questions regarding Eleanor’s possible involvement. Roosevelt answered such questions by dispatching his wife to visit US troops in the Pacific and asking his cousin Daisy Suckley – who could be relied on to proffer uncritical ‘smiling homage’ – to act as hostess in her stead. Sensing his influence over Roosevelt was waning, Winston hoped that Clementine would charm the President just as she had previously made supporters of Winant, Hopkins and Harriman.

  On 10 August the Churchills arrived in Canada on board the Queen Mary and were taken to the Citadel, the fortified royal residence on the cliffs above the Saint Lawrence river. That evening Clementine gazed out across Quebec and, after four years of blackout, marvelled at the sight of twinkling lights, although she felt too dog-tired to enjoy it for long. As even Colville now observed, being married to Winston was exhausting in the extreme: ‘The claims on her energies were incessant’ and the ‘trials imposed’27 on her gargantuan in scale.

  There was no question of her backing out of the summit so late in the day, but physically and mentally drained she feared she would let Winston down. She had counted on a sea voyage to give her a boost, but had found sleeping on board a busy ship difficult, arriving in Canada in a crumpled state and desperately in need of time alone. As a result, she turned down Roosevelt’s invitation to spend a few days before the conference at Hyde Park, his country estate over the border, instead staying behind at the Citadel under the concerned eye of the Canadian Prime Minister, Mackenzie King. Winston was bitterly disappointed, but Clementine judged that if she was to be of use during the conference proper, she would have to conserve her energy. Mercifully, by the time he and Mary returned to Quebec, she appeared to be back on form. Not even General Hastings ‘Pug’ Ismay, Winston’s devoted chief of staff, guessed at her condition, writing in his memoirs that her mere presence ‘was a great comfort’ in case the ‘PM got ill or was too naughty’. Mary was also a boon. ‘What other member of his staff could march into the PM’s bedroom and make him get up in time for his appointments?’28

  Roosevelt is also unlikely to have noticed anything remiss when he finally met her on 17 August 1943, although for her part Clementine was disappointed by the man whom her husband so adored. His easy charm usually won over detractors but had the opposite effect on her. His greatest crime appears to have been that he took the ‘liberty’ of addressing her as ‘Clemmie’, a privilege normally reserved for only the most deserving and long-serving friends. She was incensed at his ‘cheek’. Mary thought it amusing (after all, Winston referred to her as ‘Clemmie’ to the President), but it coloured her opinion of Roosevelt for good. It seems she treated him to a frosty stare. ‘My mother could be very critical and, at the same time, admire somebody very much,’ Mary explained. ‘That’s how she was with the President. She respected him enormously but she was also a sharp spotter of clay feet, and she thought he could be very vain.’29

  Over dinner one night Roosevelt was to transgress again when the names of Sarah Churchill and the President’s son Elliott cropped up in conversation. He leant over to Clementine and whispered conspiratorially: ‘Wouldn’t it be wonderful if something happened between those two?’ Bristling with rage (and somewhat hypocritically, considering the blind eye she had turned to Sarah’s affair with Winant), she drew herself up and retorted: ‘Mr President, I have to point out to you that they are both married to other people!’ ‘He met his match all righ
t,’ was Mary’s conclusion.30 But Daisy Suckley, a close confidante of FDR’s, wrote in her diary: ‘With all her charm of manner, Mrs C is so very English & reserved.’31

  This moralistic version of ‘Clemmie’ was never likely to appeal to Roosevelt. Far from her own turf and feeling over-stretched, Clementine was losing her all-conquering touch. It was also made clear that the Americans generally were in the driving seat and that for all the Churchills’ efforts, Britain’s leading role was now transparently over.

  After this most frustrating conference, the Churchill entourage decided to rest for a few days in the Laurentian Mountains. Having enjoyed a spot of trout fishing on Snow Lake, in canoes paddled by French Canadians, they repaired for the evening to luxurious log houses, with fires blazing and hot baths at the ready. ‘This quiet life is doing [Winston] good but he feels like he is playing truant,’ noted his doctor Lord Moran.32 In truth, nothing could dispel their general unease; no one could shake off persistent colds and lingering fatigue, especially not Clementine, who returned to Quebec early, frightening Mary with her excessive anxiety.

  The party eventually rejoined the Americans on 1 September at the White House where, despite his increasingly fragile health, nothing could prevent Harry Hopkins from rising from his sick bed to greet them. The Churchills were delighted to see their trusted old ally but nevertheless alarmed at how his influence over Roosevelt was ebbing away – in part because he was widely seen as their ‘lapdog’.33

  Fortunately, Clementine was more successful in winning over the American people than she had been in charming their President. On 2 September, she attracted generous notices for her first ever press conference. Drawing on her observations of Eleanor at work, ‘Mrs Winnie’ joked with reporters like an old hand. The Washington Times Herald was gushing: ‘A prettier piece of English womanhood you could not find . . . [with] engaging dimples.’ Hailed as ‘Winston’s greatest asset’, she was described as ‘witty, daring and direct’ and a ‘brilliant platform speaker’. Was England becoming dowdy in the war? she was asked. Dressed in shimmering black silk, she had not thought so, she replied, ‘until I came to America!’