Winston Churchill and the Meaning of Christmas
The young Winston did not get much exposure to the spirit of the traditional family Christmas—his parents often absconded, leaving his mischievous boyhood talents to the care of others. Perhaps that was why as a parent himself he seemed determined to make up for lost times.
Christmases at Chartwell were noisy eruptions, as children’s laughter mingled with the sound of Winston’s own exuberant if uneven singing voice. The swimming pool was heated to steaming excess, charades were played, snowmen built, presents exchanged, and much of it captured in his sparkling paintings. My favourite is Bottlescape, a vast bottle of Christmas brandy surrounded by what he termed a “bodyguard” of lesser beings.
And, of course, moments by the roaring fire when he read, recharging his intellectual as well as his physical energies. He would have rejoiced in Winston Churchill’s African Adventure, the tale that David Freeman has penned with such pace and wit, and which wonderfully captures young Winston’s irrepressible, sometimes wayward nature. I hope you will enjoy reading it during this holiday season as much as I have done.
Yet at other times Winston was forced to spend Christmas apart from his loved ones, foraging for money in North America, or on wartime duty. Then, as now, there were so many wars.
If that first Christmas in Bethlehem was a moment of celestial magic, it was also a moment of threat. We glibly throw around promises of peace and goodwill, yet these were never gifts that Winston took for granted. It was on perhaps the most tumultuous Christmas of his lifetime, in 1941 when the United States had just entered the war and at last the free world could see a light glimmering in the dark, that he brought together both the enduring spirit of the season and the endless challenges of life.
On Christmas Eve he broadcast to the world from the White House, where he was visiting President Roosevelt. Winston bid us “make for the children an evening of happiness in a world of storm….Let the children have their night of fun and laughter, let the gifts of Father Christmas light their play.”
Beautiful words. Yet, as always, Winston found the deeper purpose: “Let us grown-ups share to the full in their unstinted pleasures before we turn again to the stern task and the formidable years that lie before us, resolved that, by our sacrifice and daring, these same children shall not be robbed of their inheritance or denied their right to live in a free and decent world.”
Winston and his words are as relevant today as they were then. That, of course, will come as no surprise to the readers of this magazine. The inspiration lives on.
Chapter One
London
The Colonial Office, WhitehallSeptember 1907
The chimes of Big Ben were striking 11 am when the vast double doors of the office of the Colonial Secretary opened and a private secretary emerged to say, “Lord Elgin will see you now, Mr. Churchill.”
Winston Churchill was still just thirty-two, but had already been a Member of Parliament for six years and a junior minister for nearly two. His dark red hair was now fast receding, but his frock coat fitted over a frame still slim enough to remind people that he had been a soldier not so very long ago. To some he was the Coming Man. Less kind observers thought him a pushy upstart.
Churchill stepped into the wood-paneled and marbled splendor of the office of His Britannic Majesty’s Secretary of State for the Colonies. An enormous globe dominated one corner of the room. At the far end behind a vast and highly polished walnut desk sat Lord Elgin, the personification of the British Empire, the nerve center of which he now controlled.
The 9th Earl of Elgin exuded the relaxed confidence of a man who knew his business. His manner, his grey shovel beard, and his own formal dress combined to project the strength of his position as the manager of colonies on every continent and in every ocean. Previously he had served as Viceroy of India when Churchill was stationed there as a mere subaltern of cavalry. If there were anything unusual about Elgin’s current position it was that he was a decidedly “conservative” Liberal in a Liberal government. But Prime Minister Sir Henry Campbell-Bannerman was a fellow Scot. “And auld Scotland counts ferrr something yet,” reflected Churchill, “especially when it came to solidarity among the haggis eaters of Westminster.”
Churchill himself had been a Conservative as recently as three years before, when, as a backbench MP wholly committed to Free Trade, he took violent exception to the decision by the Tories to adopt a system of protective tariffs. Churchill’s crossing of the floor in 1904 to join the Liberal opposition proved fortuitous. The following year, the government fell, the Liberals took office, and the new prime minister gave Churchill his first step up the ministerial ladder. There followed a smashing Liberal landslide in the General Election of 1906. Inevitably, tongues wagged to say that young Churchill was simply an opportunist on the make, just like his father! He was impulsive and impatient, a young man in a hurry—in a hurry to achieve a destiny that would lead to his becoming prime minister at the earliest possible age. Churchill, in truth, dreamed exactly that.
All this Elgin knew well. Nevertheless he had established a warm relationship with his under secretary. He also knew that Churchill had turned down Campbell-Bannerman’s offer of a more prestigious office precisely because the Colonial Secretary was a peer. This meant that Churchill was the only spokesman for the Colonial Office in the House of Commons, the true cockpit of legislative power. Although Churchill was not yet a member of the Cabinet, he had effectively become a front-bench speaker at the age of thirty-one.
In fairness, Churchill had turned out to be no mere placeholder. He threw himself into the heavy business of managing the colonies and had just successfully negotiated agreements with the old Boer Republics of South Africa that transformed them into self-governing elements within the empire. Churchill himself had fought the Boers in 1899. He had even been taken prisoner by them, and it was his sensational escape that had finally catapulted him into Parliament. He had now proven that he could beat his sword into a ploughshare and make peace with old adversaries. That being achieved, Churchill was prepared to face fresh challenges.
“Good morning, Churchill. Please take a seat,” said Lord Elgin.
“Good morning, your lordship,” replied Churchill.
The private secretary withdrew, closing the door behind him while Churchill moved across the immense room to the chair positioned to the right of the Colonial Secretary’s desk. On the other side of the desk, a small dog bed lay on the floor. Curled up in this and snoring loudly lay a pug, the name of which Churchill well knew, although he pretended ignorance when in Elgin’s presence.
“I wanted to speak with you before you begin your travels during the autumn adjournment,” said Elgin. “You have given yourself a heavy schedule I see.”
“Yes sir,” Churchill responded, “the French army manoeuvres this month and then on to Italy, Malta and Cyprus.”
“All of which is simply a prelude to your grand tour of East Africa,” Elgin gently commented. The Colonial Secretary understood that part of his responsibility was to keep the overly eager young Churchill firmly in check. He was not altogether reluctant to have his busybody assistant out of the country for an extended period of time, but worried that the notoriously impulsive Churchill might do something to cause an incident that would embarrass the government. It was partly to caution Churchill about this that he had summoned him to his office.
“The Royal Navy has agreed to place at my disposal HMS Venus, one of the Eclipse-class cruisers,” said Churchill. “I shall embark at Valletta and travel from there to Cyprus. From there….”
“Do nothing to encourage the Cypriot nationalists,” interrupted Elgin. “Their desire for union with Greece cannot be viewed by His Majesty’s Government as being consonant with our ability to maintain peace in the Levant.”
“No, sir,” Churchill dutifully agreed. “I propose to take the line that we will be more impressed by the sound of argument than by flag-waving.”
“Sound, indeed,” said Elgin.
Having disposed of that point, Churchill continued, “From Cyprus we shall travel through the Suez Canal into the Red Sea. I propose to visit Aden and Northern Somaliland before finally disembarking at Mombasa to begin the overland portion of the tour.”
“And from there it is to be simply a holiday of big game hunting for you, is it?” Elgin asked in such a way to convey that this was more of a directive than a question. Already the Colonial Secretary was sensing that Churchill’s tour was looking more and more like a Royal Progress, instead of the private venture originally proposed. And at this point, Churchill had yet to depart London.
“There will be the usual formalities at Nairobi, Entebbe, Khartoum, and Cairo, sir,” Churchill allowed, “but beyond the business of inspecting a guard of honour upon arrival at each capital and attending a reception dinner afterwards, there is nothing official on our itinerary. I will be travelling with my late father’s brother-in-law Lt. Col. Wilson of the Horse Guards. We are both anxious to engage in the sort of shooting offered nowhere else in the world but Africa.”
“And yet your private secretary is going with you?” Elgin persisted.“Merely to coordinate the formalities, sir,” Churchill replied. The colonies seldom receive visits from officials at our level of government, and Edward Marsh knows the department better than anyone. He will handle only the professional matters. My man Scrivings will look after all of my personal needs. His wife will be keeping house for my brother while we are away.”
All this Elgin accepted without comment. Churchill had committed himself. If anything irregular transpired during his undersecretary’s “holiday,” Churchill would have to do the explaining to the prime minister. Elgin had his own defence secured. Nevertheless, he now shifted slightly in his seat knowing that he was about to take the conversation into new and potentially treacherous waters.
“We have started to receive reports of some unusual activity in the region of the Ankole Kingdom of southern Uganda,” said Elgin. Churchill raised his eyebrows, and Elgin continued, “Reports from Hesketh Bell, the governor in Entebbe, are sketchy and difficult to credit. It could be something; it could be nothing. One can never tell from a distance just what is happening deep in the interior of Africa.”
“Just what has Entebbe reported, sir?” queried Churchill.
“That there are wild rumours about unusual activities near the point where the Alexandra Nile forms part of the border between our Uganda Protectorate and German East Africa.” Elgin stood up and walked Churchill over to the globe to point out the locus in quo. “As you can see,” Elgin continued, “the region is as remote as anything can possibly be. Goodness knows how the border was ever agreed upon. The river only makes up a small stretch of it before it is relieved of the task by this parallel out to Lake Victoria.”
While the Colonial Secretary had been droning on, Churchill wondered to himself yet again if the rumour he had heard back in India were true: that Elgin started each day with cold porridge and prayer. Churchill pulled himself up just in time to ask, “And does Entebbe have any theories about the cause of the rumours?”
“Disease is one,” replied Elgin. “Sleeping sickness has decimated the coastal populations of the lake. The Tsetse fly requires water and abundant flora to flourish. The same conditions obviously exist along the river.”
“But perhaps there are other,” Churchill hesitated slightly, “more sensitive possibilities?”
“It has been less than ten years since the Fashoda Incident, as you well know, Churchill,” Elgin stated as he walked his protégé back to the desk. When the Colonial Secretary sat back down, the pug made a loud snort and resumed snoring.
“I gave an entire chapter to the subject in my book The River War,” Churchill said as he also sat, having waited for his alleged mentor to do so first.
“Precisely,” said Elgin.
“Have you inquired about this with the Germans, sir?” asked Churchill, “If it is disease, their side of the river should be equally affected.”
“Or not,” said Elgin. “There seems to be little population at all on their side. I did have a quiet word with the German ambassador during the reception for their revolting Crown Prince at Buckingham Palace last week. After waiting a sufficient number of days, he sent me a private message to say that he had checked with Berlin, which claims to have heard no such rumours at all.” A silence ensued.
“But...,” said Churchill.
“But…,” Elgin replied, “the Kaiser’s government is not altogether to be trusted. Well, you have met the man.” Churchill nodded. “It was only thirteen years ago that the Germans stole a march on the Belgians to secure control of the northwest corner of their portion of East Africa. That is just upriver from where these rumours originate.”
“What would you like me to do, sir?” Churchill had been anticipating this moment but did not want to break in too soon. “Make inquiries while in Uganda?”
“Just so,” replied Elgin, only slightly put out by his underling’s taking control of the conversation. But the Colonial Secretary had become used to this by now: he had more than a year of half of experience with Churchill already. “Ask a lot of questions while you are in Entebbe. You’re good at that; they will expect it. I want to know about the sources of information. How reliable are they? What has been done to investigate the claims? But be discreet. At all costs, we do not want to do anything to alarm the Germans. They may well be telling the truth, and we do not want to be seen provoking an international incident ourselves.”
“Very good, sir,” replied Churchill. He had his marching orders.
Rising now to indicate the conversation was over, Elgin said, “You can cable your findings to me when you reach Khartoum. That way Hesketh Bell does not sense I am not completely satisfied with his reports.”
Churchill nodded, shook hands with Elgin, and took his departure. In doing so, he privately mused, “My idea of hell would be having to lead a Scottish regiment, representing a Scottish constituency, and being made to marry the daughter of a laird. Aye, perrrrish the thought.”
After Churchill shut the door behind him, Elgin resumed his seat. The pug finally awoke and walked over to his master. “And is it snack time, my boy?” asked Elgin. He reached onto his desk and removed the lid of a small jar, from which he withdrew a biscuit. This he handed to the pug with the words, “There you go, Winston.”
Chapter Two
A Letter Home
Aboard HMS VenusAt sea near Aden19 October 1907
Dearest Mamma, We shall reach Aden tonight and so I take the opportunity to write. Uncle Gordon and Eddie Marsh met us at Malta, where we boarded this magnificent ship. I have been given a cabin with two splendid rooms, the larger of which includes a balcony overlooking the waves.
Uncle Gordon is very much excited about the shooting prospects we shall soon be facing. He is determined to bag “his” lion and talks of little else. I sense he is not altogether saddened to be away from Aunt Sarah for such an extended period of time, but you will know Papa’s sister better than I do.
I am so glad that you have now reconciled yourself to Eddie continuing with me. When you first asked me to dismiss him due to his circle of friends and their known propensities, I felt torn. He is quite the best man the Colonial Office have on staff, which is why I chose him. Certainly he has more than vindicated my decision, proving invaluable even when we spent fourteen hours preparing reports about Cyprus under the sultry sun of the Red Sea. I simply cannot do without him.
I trust that Mrs. Scrivings is looking after Jack’s domestic arrangements as well as her husband is presently looking after mine. I have taught Scrivings bezique to pass the time on our voyage. He is learning rapidly and I fear will soon surpass my own playing, so the exercise could prove to have been a costly investment.
We should arrive in Mombasa by the end of the month. I will write from East Africa to tell you of our triumphs on the hunt.
Ever your loving son,Winston
Chapter Three
Mombasa
Churchill stepped from the gangplank of HMS Venus onto the terra firma of British East Africa smartly dressed in a dark two-piece suit with a narrow bow tie, a pith helmet atop his head, and a walking stick in hand. Col. Wilson, also in pith helmet, and Edward Marsh, with a large valise in one hand and a smaller one in the other, followed behind. Churchill’s valet, George Scrivings, came next, carrying some large baggage and directing a small army of porters bringing along the rest.
There was rather a lot of luggage, and most of it belonged to the Under Secretary of State for the Colonies. None of it came inexpensively. Since assuming his first government office two years previously, Churchill had finally been paid a salary, unlike backbench MPs. Extended a handsome line of credit by the finest shops in London, Churchill, like his parents before him, quickly exhausted it. He bought his steamer trunks from J. W. Allen and his portmanteaus —made of sumptuous leather and specially ordered for this excursion—from F. Best & Co.
Scrivings was in a way a family heirloom, having previously served Churchill’s late father Lord Randolph. The family retainer now undertook the responsibility of transferring the younger Churchill’s impedimenta into a waiting wagon, while Churchill himself went to greet the local dignitaries who had gathered to meet him.
There stood, in tropical white uniform, the District Commissioner, whose responsibility it was to advise the native officials of the city and, just as often, to remind them of the meaning of “advice.” He greeted the newly arrived dignitary with, “Welcome to Mombasa, Mr. Churchill. I trust you had a pleasant voyage?” The commissioner behaved admirably throughout the under secretary’s time in the city, but Churchill never did learn his name. Turning to the tall officer next to him in the uniform of the King’s African Rifles, the commissioner said, “May I introduce Maj. Marley?”
“How do you do, Major?” said Churchill, whose turn it now was to make introductions. “This is my uncle, Lt. Col. Wilson of the Royal Horse Guards, and my private secretary, Mr. Marsh.” Introductions made, the men organized themselves into a line. Churchill took up a position between the commissioner and the major, Col. Wilson on the other side of the major, and Marsh just slightly away and a shade behind his four superiors. They all stood to attention to face a colour guard, and a small military band played “God Save the King.”
After the anthem, Maj. Marley said to Churchill, “We have only a small guard of honour for you to inspect, sir. The governor thought it best to hold off on a large ceremony until you reach Nairobi. He understands you may be tired after a long voyage.”
“Never too tired to answer the call of duty, Major,” said Churchill, who set great store in the observation of formalities. “Lead on.” The major escorted Churchill to where a file of a dozen soldiers stood to attention. “Present H’ARMS!” bellowed the NCO standing at the end of the line. Churchill stepped forward to pass down the file with Maj. Marley, sword in hand, discreetly following one pace behind. The dark black faces of the soldiers stood out against the sharpness of their uniforms. “Most impressive, Major,” Churchill remarked after completing the review. The NCO bellowed, “Order H’ARMS!” and marched off his detail. The formalities having been completed, Churchill shook hands with the commissioner and major with the promise of looking forward to the reception dinner that evening. He then turned to search for the transportation Scrivings should have readied by then to take his party to their hotel.
Churchill, Wilson, and Marsh made for the place where Scrivings was standing next to a carriage to transport the men and a wagon, now loaded, with the baggage. As Churchill made for the carriage, a white man in civilian dress approached him and said, “Welcome to Africa, Mr. Churchill. Michael Bishop of the East Africa Star.” Bishop had a noticeably Irish accent. “The arrival of the Colonial Under Secretary is big news.”
“How do you do, Mr. Bishop?” Churchill replied courteously before, for the second time in ten minutes, introducing his uncle and secretary. Turning back to the reporter, Churchill said, “I take it you would like to ask me a few questions, Mr. Bishop?”
“If you would be so kind, sir.” Bishop had an ingratiating way about him.
Churchill turned to Scrivings, “You go ahead to the hotel with the wagon and have my bath ready when I arrive.” Scrivings signaled his understanding and mounted the wagon. Churchill then turned to Marsh and, in a lower voice, said, “You had best go with him, Eddie. I trust you have our legionnaires?” Marsh quietly tapped the smaller valise still in his left hand and then got into the wagon with Scrivings.
Churchill turned back to Bishop. “Now there is room for you to join us in this carriage. You may ask what questions you can during the time it takes for us to reach the hotel.” Churchill, Wilson, and Bishop got into the carriage, the driver pulled off, and Bishop made his opening gambit with the inevitable question, “What is the main purpose of your visit, Mr. Churchill?”
“To get away from bloody Irish journalists,” thought Churchill to himself before speaking the platitudinous answer that Bishop knew was coming. “Officially I am here to inspect our East African territories and recommend to the government the best means of fostering their further economic development.” Churchill paused before continuing. “Privately, we are here to hunt game.”
The carriage took a small bump as it continued bouncing along the heavily rutted roads of Mombasa. Although it was still early in the morning, the equatorial sun was rising fast. Accustomed to it all, Bishop continued with the standard line of questions, “And what will be your itinerary?”
“From here we shall take the railway to Nairobi,” Churchill answered, believing he knew as well as Bishop how the conversation would go from beginning to end. “From there we shall go on to