The Splendid and the Vile: A Saga of Churchill, Family, and Defiance During the Blitz

“The decision might cost the country some lives,” he wrote. “But if we persist in the warnings we shall probably pay a higher price in lives through the impairment of our aircraft production.”

“Division of authority is what is preventing improvement.”

Churchill turned to Thompson. “You know why I’ve been to Buckingham Palace,” he said. Thompson did, and congratulated him, but added that he wished the appointment had come sooner, and in better times, because of the immensity of the task that lay ahead. “God alone knows how great it is,” Churchill said. The two men shook hands, as solemn as mourners at a funeral. “All I hope is that it is not too late,” Churchill said. “I am very much afraid that it is. But we can only do our best, and give the rest of what we have—whatever there may be left to us.”

Coveting power for power’s sake was a “base” pursuit, he wrote, adding, “But power in a national crisis, when a man believes he knows what orders should be given, is a blessing.”

“I know, as you do, that the wind has been sown, & that, we must all reap the whirlwind,” she wrote. “But you will ride it—instead of being driven before it—Thank Heaven that you are there, & at the helm of our destiny—& may the nation’s spirit be kindled by your own.”

The effect, Brooke observed, was “like the beam of a searchlight ceaselessly swinging round and penetrating into the remote recesses of the administration—so that everyone, however humble his rank or his function, felt that one day the beam might rest on him and light up what he was doing.”

But Churchill’s notion of what constituted an office was expansive. Often generals, ministers, and staff members would find themselves meeting with Churchill while he was in his bathtub, one of his favorite places to work. He also liked working in bed, and spent hours there each morning going through dispatches and reports, with a typist seated nearby.

It struck Churchill that the time had come to make a direct plea for American assistance. In a secret cable to President Roosevelt dispatched that day, he told the president that he fully expected England to be attacked, and soon, and that he was preparing for the onslaught. “If necessary, we shall continue the war alone, and we are not afraid of that,” he wrote. “But I trust you realize, Mr. President, that the voice and force of the United States may count for nothing if they are withheld too long. You may have a completely subjugated, Nazified Europe established with astonishing swiftness, and the weight may be more than we can bear.”

The speech set a pattern that he would follow throughout the war, offering a sober appraisal of facts, tempered with reason for optimism. “It would be foolish to disguise the gravity of the hour,” he said. “It would be still more foolish to lose heart and courage.”

Tom Harrisson, director of Mass-Observation’s network of social observers, sent a special message to his many diarists: “In the case of air raids observers will not be expected to stand about…it will be entirely satisfactory if observers take shelter, so long as they are able to take shelter with other people. Preferably with a lot of other people.” The opportunity for observing human behavior at its most raw was just too perfect.