been warning about catastrophe all along, but it was breathtaking to hear it from Churchill, too. The bastard knew he was going to lose.
All I ask now is that you should proclaim non-belligerency, which would mean that you would help us with everything short of actually engaging armed forces. Immediate needs are, first of all, the loan of forty or fifty of your older destroyers .. .
There followed a long begging list that pleaded for old ships and new aircraft, financial credits and diplomatic support. When at last he looked up, he found Churchill staring at him.
"Joe, we haven't always seen eye to eye," Churchill began, 'but I know your heart stands true." This was nonsense, they both knew it, and his words couldn't wash away the antipathy they felt for each other, but such deceits were all part of the game. "This is a message of the greatest importance. In the last few months your President and I have exchanged numerous messages, but none has been as fateful and urgent as this. I ask you to ensure that it is forwarded to the President immediately. Tonight. There is not an hour to waste."
"Sure, Prime Minister." It was the first time he had addressed Churchill by that title. It stuck in his throat. Then I'd better get out of here." He rose and was almost through the door when Churchill called after him.
"Never forget one thing, Joe," Churchill cried. "We shall fight on, alone if necessary. And we shall win."
"Sure, Prime Minister."
Colville saw him to the door. As they walked out into a clear and starlit night, Kennedy paused and waved the paper in his hand. "Jock, you heard it here first. There's just no way that Roosevelt can come out to play on this one. He's got a nominating convention in July, an election in November and a bunch of voters who'll go to hell before they watch American kids die in France once more. You understand me?"
Colville nodded gloomily.
"And one more piece of advice, Jock, friend to friend. Stop the old man drinking." And Kennedy was gone.
Later he was to write, less than eloquently:
I couldn't help but think as I sat there talking to Churchill how ill-conditioned he looked and the fact that there was a tray with plenty of liquor on it alongside him and he was drinking a Scotch highball, which I felt was indeed not the first one he had drunk that night, that, after all, the affairs of Great Britain might be in the hands of the most dynamic individual in Great Britain but certainly not in the hands of the best judgement in Great Britain. He was frankly worried about the situation but, as usual, he was clinging to the theory that, regardless of anything, we will never be beaten .. . I would say that a very definite shadow of defeat was hanging over them all last night.
Henry Chichester was in his early forties. Secure job, steady income, and extremely well turned out for a man who'd been without a wife for so long. He took pride in his appearance and in the tidiness of the life around him; it was his way of showing that he could survive perfectly well on his own. Sadly for him, he failed to understand that it was precisely these qualities that attracted so many women to his congregation.
They brought their troubles to him, believing he would understand. Some of their difficulties were philosophical -was it a sin to instruct children to lie if strangers asked them for directions? Some were purely theological should they pray for the souls of German dead? But mostly they were intensely personal. A young parishioner had turned up at his door that morning, sobbing in distress and wanting to know whether she would be condemned if she gave herself to her boyfriend before he went off to war. The vicar had offered her a cup of tea, a clean handkerchief and a homily about how it would be wrong to put aside personal morality simply because of the war. It seemed to help.
Later that morning, a sad-eyed pensioner had taken the wedding ring from her finger and pressed it into his hand, begging him to
All I ask now is that you should proclaim non-belligerency, which would mean that you would help us with everything short of actually engaging armed forces. Immediate needs are, first of all, the loan of forty or fifty of your older destroyers .. .
There followed a long begging list that pleaded for old ships and new aircraft, financial credits and diplomatic support. When at last he looked up, he found Churchill staring at him.
"Joe, we haven't always seen eye to eye," Churchill began, 'but I know your heart stands true." This was nonsense, they both knew it, and his words couldn't wash away the antipathy they felt for each other, but such deceits were all part of the game. "This is a message of the greatest importance. In the last few months your President and I have exchanged numerous messages, but none has been as fateful and urgent as this. I ask you to ensure that it is forwarded to the President immediately. Tonight. There is not an hour to waste."
"Sure, Prime Minister." It was the first time he had addressed Churchill by that title. It stuck in his throat. Then I'd better get out of here." He rose and was almost through the door when Churchill called after him.
"Never forget one thing, Joe," Churchill cried. "We shall fight on, alone if necessary. And we shall win."
"Sure, Prime Minister."
Colville saw him to the door. As they walked out into a clear and starlit night, Kennedy paused and waved the paper in his hand. "Jock, you heard it here first. There's just no way that Roosevelt can come out to play on this one. He's got a nominating convention in July, an election in November and a bunch of voters who'll go to hell before they watch American kids die in France once more. You understand me?"
Colville nodded gloomily.
"And one more piece of advice, Jock, friend to friend. Stop the old man drinking." And Kennedy was gone.
Later he was to write, less than eloquently:
I couldn't help but think as I sat there talking to Churchill how ill-conditioned he looked and the fact that there was a tray with plenty of liquor on it alongside him and he was drinking a Scotch highball, which I felt was indeed not the first one he had drunk that night, that, after all, the affairs of Great Britain might be in the hands of the most dynamic individual in Great Britain but certainly not in the hands of the best judgement in Great Britain. He was frankly worried about the situation but, as usual, he was clinging to the theory that, regardless of anything, we will never be beaten .. . I would say that a very definite shadow of defeat was hanging over them all last night.
Henry Chichester was in his early forties. Secure job, steady income, and extremely well turned out for a man who'd been without a wife for so long. He took pride in his appearance and in the tidiness of the life around him; it was his way of showing that he could survive perfectly well on his own. Sadly for him, he failed to understand that it was precisely these qualities that attracted so many women to his congregation.
They brought their troubles to him, believing he would understand. Some of their difficulties were philosophical -was it a sin to instruct children to lie if strangers asked them for directions? Some were purely theological should they pray for the souls of German dead? But mostly they were intensely personal. A young parishioner had turned up at his door that morning, sobbing in distress and wanting to know whether she would be condemned if she gave herself to her boyfriend before he went off to war. The vicar had offered her a cup of tea, a clean handkerchief and a homily about how it would be wrong to put aside personal morality simply because of the war. It seemed to help.
Later that morning, a sad-eyed pensioner had taken the wedding ring from her finger and pressed it into his hand, begging him to
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