The Shadow of War (3 page)

Winston Leonard Spencer-Churchill has been First Lord of the Admiralty for two and half years. Only thirty-nine years old, but a seasoned veteran of politics, war and controversy, he has always been a ‘young man in a hurry'. Since his schooldays, he has been convinced that, like his prestigious ancestor John Churchill, the 1st Duke of Marlborough, it is his destiny to lead his nation to glory.

Winston has crossed the Channel on the Admiralty's yacht,
HMS
Enchantress
, to spend a couple of days with his wife, Clementine. Heavily pregnant with their third child and having left her young children behind with their nanny in London, she has been staying with her mother, Lady Blanche Hozier, in Dieppe. Lady Hozier's home is a commonplace, bourgeois house in a narrow street close to the centre of Dieppe. Divorced from her husband, Sir Henry, she has sought refuge in Normandy, well away from the opprobrium caused by her reputation as a notorious gambler and a woman of dubious virtue.

As Clementine gets ready for dinner, in between sips of champagne, Winston is pacing up and down the First Lord's quarters rehearsing his latest speech.

‘ “I say this to you all, to the good people of this ancient land and to the people of our glorious Empire, we must take the measures I have outlined in order to protect our noble heritage. If we do not consider these threats to our future security, we will face grave consequences.

‘ “I say this to you now …” '

Clementine
would have preferred a quiet dinner alone with her husband but, as usual, he has made sure that the
Enchantress
's wardroom table will be full.

‘Pig, why have you invited so many to dinner? I see F. E. Smith is here. He might be a brilliant lawyer and a good friend, but he encourages you to drink too much.'

‘Darling Cat, don't fuss. FE has the sharpest mind in that dreary profession, and he amuses me with his very droll stories. He told me one this morning. Apparently, a friend of his, a very senior judge, was recently presiding over a case involving some very inappropriate behaviour by a senior civil servant and asked FE, “Could you tell me, what do you think one ought to give a man who allows himself to be buggered?” FE replied, without any hesitation, “Oh, thirty shillings or two pounds; whatever you happen to have on you.” '

‘Really, Pig, that's disgusting! I hope he doesn't repeat it at dinner.'

‘I'm sure he won't, darling, not with the Mayor of Dieppe there. Mind you, as you have the best French among us, if he does, you will have to translate.'

Clementine's face breaks into a smile for the first time as she gives her husband a playful slap on the back of the hand. ‘Clemmie', as she is known, is ten years younger than Winston. Sharp featured with warm, gentle eyes and wavy russet hair, she captivated Winston as soon as they met. They dote on one another.

Clemmie places her hand on Winston's cheek.

‘Winston …'

‘Oh dear, if it's “Winston”, I fear a reproach is imminent.' He adopts a thespian pose. ‘The dark clouds of doom hover above me; an awesome bolt of lightning is about to strike a poor defenceless soul.'

‘Stop playing the fool! You're right; here's the bolt you fear. Despite your promise, I hear you have been flying again.'

Winston
deliberately adopts a boyish docility.

‘Only once.'

‘Twice! I have my sources, you know.'

Winston abandons the theatricality.

‘So you do. Well, twice then. But you've heard me say it many times: in the future, wars will be fought in the air as much as they're fought on land and at sea.'

‘That's as maybe, Winston, but you won't be fighting in them. You will soon be forty; your days as a soldier are over.'

Winston suddenly looks forlorn. He knows Clemmie is right, but does not want to admit it.

Sensing that she has touched a nerve, she continues her onslaught.

‘We will soon have a third child. I cannot support myself on my own, let alone with four mouths to feed. Dearest mother is practically living in penury, and my father has disowned me.'

Clemmie's eyes begin to fill with tears. Winston melts at the sight; he cannot bear to see his beloved cry.

‘Darling, I'm so sorry. I know how difficult it has been for you.'

‘Winston, I must insist, you are
not
to fly. You are First Lord of the Admiralty, not a serving officer!'

Winston looks at her closely. He sees that her ultimatum is absolute.

‘Very well, no more flying.'

‘As of today? And you will keep your promise this time?'

‘Yes and yes, darling Cat, for you and the kittens.'

Clemmie dabs the tears from her eyes and kisses Winston on the cheek.

‘How is the fiancée of that poor man who was teaching you, the man who was killed flying across the Channel?'

‘Airlie Hynes, dear old Gilbert Lushington's girl?'

‘Yes, that's the one. Poor girl!'

‘I
believe she is as well as can be expected. Lushington wrote to me on the morning of the day he died. I sent the letter on to her with a note from me. She wrote me a very sweet letter by return.'

‘That was thoughtful of you. But her sad loss makes my point. It could so easily have been you, Pig.'

‘I know, Cat, I know.' Winston gently places his hand on his wife's swollen belly. ‘How's kitten number three?'

‘Being a little beast; it's never still.'

‘Then let's feed you and the brute, and see if another glass of
Pol Roger
will put it to sleep.'

The First Lord of the Admiralty adjusts his favourite black polka-dot bow tie, gives Clemmie his arm and strides the three of them off to dinner with his usual purposeful gait.

HMS
Enchantress
is a nautical oddity. It is a naval sloop, but powered by steam, resembling a cross between a sleek tea clipper and a stout cross-Channel steamer. The elegant lines of its gleaming black hull and lofty masts and rigging are ruined by a huge grey funnel amidships. Nevertheless, it serves as the Admiralty's showcase yacht and, at 320 feet, with a complement of 10 officers, 186 men and armed with four 3lb guns, it makes a splendid sight at sea and a stylish abode in harbour.

Winston has made
Enchantress
his personal domain and has spent a total of eight months on board during the previous year and a half. In fact, the frequency of his occupation and the large numbers of family and friends he invites on board for dinner, weekends and longer visits, including cruises around the Mediterranean, has caused questions to be asked in Parliament. But Winston is undaunted, pointing out that all the on-board hospitality is paid for out of his own pocket.

Not that his pockets are very deep. He is constantly in debt, his lavish lifestyle significantly outstripping his income.
It is only his copious writing, as a renowned author and journalist, which keeps him afloat, quite apart from the fact that he is notoriously lax in paying his bills.

A formal dinner in the
Enchantress
's wardroom is a spectacular sight. The decor is a blend of polished mahogany and gleaming brass, the table glows with burnished silver and sparkling porcelain, and the officers look immaculate in their navy-blue uniforms and gold braid.

Tonight's gathering is highly convivial, even by Winston's standards. F. E. Smith tells stories, mainly of the bizarre happenings in Britain's courtrooms and the eccentric lawyers who inhabit them, while Winston holds forth about the most pressing issues of the day. Although on opposite sides of the House of Commons, F. E. Smith (the Conservative) and Winston (the Liberal) are very close.

A self-made lawyer from humble middle-class origins on Merseyside, FE failed the examination to get into Harrow and had to climb the academic and social ladder slowly and diligently. Winston, on the other hand, is aristocratic and able to move with nonchalance in the highest circles. Their origins have little in common. However, they both have an astonishing gift for words, boast a rapacious appetite for the good things in life and possess unquenchable ambition. They recognize the qualities each has, and they revel in one another's company.

Wardroom etiquette usually demands that three subjects are taboo: politics, religion and women (which means sex). But with Winston and F. E. Smith present, such taboos are futile.

Two officers at the far end of the wardroom table have spent most of the evening talking about Winston.

‘You know, one of the most remarkable things about him is his rapport with the men. They all know he's a toff and can be very abrupt, but he has a way with him that they take to. Have you noticed, his voice does not have the cut-glass edge of the aristocracy? His accent is more middle-England.'

‘You're
right; that never occurred to me. Do you think he has cultivated it deliberately?'

‘I suspect not. He's just different from the rest of us; a complete original, infuriatingly irresistible. He appears to sees no barriers between people and is just as comfortable talking to a stoker as he is to a member of the Cabinet. People sense that, and respond in kind.'

‘You mean he talks down to both? And tells them what to think!'

‘Yes, something like that.'

‘How far can he go, do you think?'

‘Good question; he'd probably make a great general or admiral.

‘I recently read his thoughts about Nelson. He called him our “greatest commander”. I could see him as a Nelson or a Wellington – or, of course, in the guise of his ancestor, Marlborough – but in politics, not much further than he is now. I don't think he's yet forty; he must drive the old boys to distraction, especially the Tories. He's too hot-headed for higher office, we'd be at war the entire time!'

Starved of the affection of both his mother and father, Winston had an unhappy childhood and did not enjoy school, where he was generally regarded as ‘troublesome'. However, despite his turbulent demeanour, physical frailties, bright red hair, baby-faced features and a marked speech impediment, he has an astonishing effect on all who meet him. His wit, energy and fortitude are overwhelming and, despite his noticeable lisp, he can command an audience with oratory that is universally admired. He has seen action in Cuba. He fought, was captured and escaped during the Boer War. He served on India's North-West Frontier and was at the heart of the fighting at the Battle of Omdurman, the last cavalry charge of the British Army. All his adventures reflect a single-minded and relentless pursuit of his determination to be a leader of men.

All
is good humoured at dinner until, in a momentary lull in the conversation – and to the horror of his commanding officer – a brazen young cadet speaks directly to the head of the nation's navy. He raises the most topical and divisive subject of the day: the continuing threats made by Sir Edward Carson, leader of the Ulster Unionists. The Unionists of the Protestant northern counties of Ireland are saying loudly and unequivocally that they will do all in their power to resist Irish home rule. They are adamant that they will take up arms to stay in the United Kingdom.

‘Sir, may I ask, why do you not agree with Mr Bonar Law and the Conservatives that, if the Ulster Protestants do not want to be part of an Irish Republic that pays homage to the Roman Papacy, they should be allowed to remain with us in Britain?'

Winston bristles, but he knows that the young man is fresh out of Dartmouth Naval College and so tempers his reply.

‘Well, sir, I never agree with Mr Bonar Law and the Conservatives as a matter of principle.'

Winston waits for the laughter to subside and hopes that the young man will be content with his flippant reply. But the boy is not satisfied.

‘Sir, my question is a serious one. Is not loyalty to Britain and the Empire to be admired?'

Winston takes a breath.

‘I was jesting, of course. Yours is a question of some merit, so let me attempt to answer frankly. With my good friend here, Mr F. E. Smith, I have spent many hours talking to the Unionists. They are a tenacious lot, but immensely loyal to Britain and the Empire and, if I may be so bold, to their own self-interests. I cannot fault loyalty and I understand self-interest, but where is the loyalty in forming a militia, armed with German rifles, to force the hand of the government at Westminster? Is that not taking self-interest into a corrosive dimension, young man?'

The
junior officer begins to respond, eager to grapple with Winston, but F. E. Smith interrupts him.

‘Sub Lieutenant, what do you think of the Montepulciano? Don't you think it's awfully good? I'm told the Pope is very fond of it.' He turns to Winston. ‘Perhaps we should send a case to Carson, marked “With the compliments of Pius X”?'

Most at the table are unable to stop themselves enjoying F. E. Smith's barbed remark and there are a few chortles of laughter. Chastened, the young officer realizes he is being asked to desist and lowers his head to hide his blushes.

Winston smiles at him.

‘Young sir, come and see me during our voyage back to Portsmouth and we will talk further about your laudable passion for Britain and the Empire.'

Clemmie places her hand on Winston's arm and whispers to him.

‘That was kind, Pig.'

Winston looks down at his empty glass. He seems suddenly pensive and leans towards Clemmie and FE, seated next to her, making sure that only they can hear.

‘Ireland has vexed us for years, but now it's the least of our problems.'

FE looks at Clemmie sympathetically. He recognizes the sudden look of melancholy on Winston's face just as readily as she does. He also knows what troubles his friend.

‘There is a diabolical mechanism being primed in Europe which fills me with dread. The Kaiser and his generals are fuelling it with men and weapons. And their enemies, especially the French and the Russians, are reciprocating.'