FRANCE IS ON WINSTON S. CHURCHILL’S MIND

By Linda Lee Greene, Author & Artist.



Winston S. Churchill, Lake of the Snows, Canada, August 27, 1943 – Our reprieve from the clatter of war began three days ago with the end of my conference with Franklin Delano Roosevelt, that great and magnanimous human being who guides the mighty United States of America through this most perilous history. I was delighted with my American counterpart’s choice of Quebec as the location of our war-planning conference. I had seized the opportunity in the evenings of our four-day sail at the opening of the month from Scotland to Canada on the Queen Mary, now the Grey Ghost, to give forth to my wife and daughter on what I consider the copious charms and hallowed history of the ancient citadel of Quebec, at the gateway of Canada, overlooking the mighty St. Lawrence River. My wife and daughter indulged me, as they do always, and listened with great attention while I regaled them with the exploits of British Major General James Wolfe and his seize of Quebec from the French in 1759. Both Montcalm, the French commander, and Wolfe were mortally wounded in the battle. The outcome was France’s ceding most of its territory in eastern North America at the Treaty of Paris in 1763. It paved the way for Great Britain to emerge as the world’s leading colonial power and for Wolfe to be forever remembered by the British as the ‘Hero of Quebec.’ His immortal declaration reads: ‘Who at the Expence of his Life, purchas’d immortal Honour for his Country, and planted with his own Hand, the British Laurel, in the inhospitable Wilds of North America, By the Reduction of Quebec, Septr. 13^th, 1759.’ The time is nigh to plant the British Laurel once more, this time in Germany, at Hitler’s front door.

Britain’s defeat of France at Quebec in 1759 established the Anglophile as the ruling class, however, there is no denying that Quebec’s soul remains that of the Francophile. It is difficult to find any faction of life in Quebec in which the Catholic Church is not dominant. The French culture and language are similarly central. Quebec’s French spirit suffused our fortnight there and stood starkly as a metaphor of the cross the Allies bear toward the good people of France to free them of the Nazi specter that holds them in its yoke of terror. It is an obligation both heavy and inescapable. While the centuries have seen at times a trying relationship between France and Great Britain, we emerged as allies against Germany in the Great War and at the outset of the Second World War.

My thoughts are never far from the ‘Free French Air Forces’ or ‘Forces Aériennes Françaises Libres (FAFL)’, comprised initially of a few, brave, French airmen who undertook the dangerous flight from Bordeaux-Mérignac to England just five days before the signing of the terrible Franco-German Armistice. Some of them joined the Royal Air Force (RAF). During the following seventeen months, others escaped France as well as French North Africa and joined General Charles de Gaulle’s Free French Forces. South Americans volunteered additionally, swelling its ranks from 500 in July, 1940 to 900 in 1941. Under the Allied umbrella, it continues to grow and fight alongside us, to date in the Anglo-American campaign of North Africa and in Sicily.

            The French tricolor with The Cross of Lorraine at its center is ever before my eyes, and never more so than during the hours of my conference in Quebec with President Roosevelt. Our agenda’s primary feature was the cross-channel invasion of Nazi-held France in the coming spring. The collateral damage the French people are sustaining from our air raids over their cities and countryside for the reason of reducing the Nazi defenses among them before our invasion robs me of my sleep. God help them as they will be caught in the crossfire whence we storm their shores.

At the bidding of my Canadian friend, Colonel Clarke, whom had been attached to me by the Dominion Government during the conference, Clemmie and I are ensconced seventy-five miles outside of Quebec amid mountains and pine forests at the lovely ‘Lake of the Snows.’ We are assured that the largest trout are abundant, and here we will remain for a well-earned week of rest and relaxation and fishing. I have been invited by Canada’s great Prime Minister, W.L. Mackenzie King, to speak by radio broadcast to my Canadian brothers and sisters, and to all of the Allied world. It will be an opportunity to acknowledge their enormous sacrifices and involvement in the war effort.    

Upon our departure from this wondrous ‘Lake of the Snows’ and its generous trout, we will sally forth to the president’s family home at ‘Hyde Park’ in Upstate New York for a few days, and then to the White House in Washington D.C. There we will surrender ourselves further to the welcome smiles and open arms of our grand friend, Franklin. I dispatched to him my largest catch of yesterday. He sent word that he relished it. We will be glad to take up residence at the White House and submerge ourselves in the posh, air-conditioned suite in which Franklin will install us. It will be propitious for both me and my brother-in-arms to share the good reports we receive from our commanders on the progress of the Mediterranean Theater of the war.©

Note: The above is a work of historical fiction based on true events.



Images: Canada Prime Minister, W.L. Mackenzie King; US President, Franklin Delano Roosevelt; and Great Britain Prime Minister, Winston Spencer Churchill, and the flag of Free France, 1940–1944, made up of the tricolor with a Cross of Lorraine at center field.



Recommended reading: Memoirs of the Second World War by Winston S. Churchill.

CLEMENTINE CHURCHILL, the Biography of a Marriage by Mary [Churchill] Soames.



Books by Linda Lee Greene are available for purchase in eBook and soft cover at Amazon.com and other booksellers.

THE PRIME MINISTER GETS AN EARFUL FROM A YOUNG CANADIAN

By Linda Lee Greene, Author & Artist.



The Citadelle, Quebec, Canada, August 23, 1943 – Over our afternoon tea break, the prime minister was noticeably reflective. I had grown accustomed to the great man’s assorted dispositions. However, his mood today was solemn in a way I had not witnessed in him. Mrs. Churchill had retired to her room, leaving him and me alone at table. The idea flitted across my mind that perhaps Mr. Churchill’s somber tone reflected a concern over his wife’s health. He patted his mouth with his napkin and studied my face as if weighing whether or not to trust me with conversation I felt sure was about to commence, and one that would have to do with matters outside the Second World War business in which both he and I were involved. I was assigned to him as an Attaché from the Canadian government during his war-planning conference with Mr. Roosevelt, President of the United States. It goes without saying that I was flattered that the prime minister had invited me to join him for tea, although it was well-known that he made a practice of doing such as this for the purpose of gaining the perspective of the young people who worked for him. I think he also enjoyed the openness of individuals decades younger than himself.   

Moisture rimmed his eyes. I was horrified that tears would spill down his cheeks, but he got hold of himself and raised his napkin to his face and wiped it. “My Clemmie and I are putting every good effort into distracting our minds from the death of our little daughter, Marigold twenty-two years ago today,” he said. I hadn’t the faintest idea that he and his wife had endured such tragedy. I was at the same time amazed at the personal character of his statement and hadn’t a clue as to how to respond. But then I realized there was no appropriate reply, and I sat back quietly against my chair. I understood then Mrs. Churchill’s low spirit. I was surprised when Mr. Churchill spoke about Marigold further. “Our little ‘Duckadilly’s greatest delight was in serenading us in song in her sweet, true voice: ‘I’m forever blowing bubbles, pretty bubbles in the air…’” In a falsetto voice, he trilled the words of the song and twirled his hand in the air in accompaniment. His hand dropping to his lap, he continued, “Even as she lay dying, she asked Clementine to sing it to her. I wrote to Clemmie in a note at the time, ‘…It is a gaping wound – whenever one touches it and removes the bandages and plasters of daily life.’ The wound wounds evermore!”

His splendid head lowered and his hand rose to his heart. And then he looked around the room as if in search of an answer to life’s cruelties. He turned his face to me again and said, “This has been a year of difficulties for our family, not the least the illnesses that struck down both my wife and me. You are no doubt unaware that I was sent to bed for several days in late February for ‘convalescence.’ I suffered a roaring fever and sore throat, diagnosed finally as pneumonia. It kept me less of my normal self for many weeks. Overcome with concern for me, and exhaustion from these many years of the conflagration that holds the blade at our throats, as well as her demanding duties, Clemmie developed a painful affliction. It required her to endure seemingly endless treatments. She too was ordered to rest and managed to organize a nice seaside retreat for several days. She rallied and we were comforted with the assurance that she would be hale and hearty for this trip. But alas, she has suffered wearying sleeplessness throughout our voyage to Canada. Am I so selfish to wish her near me on these long journeys to foreign lands while I conduct the business of the war?”

I was startled by his inquiry, and of course, confounded by it. Did he expect me to respond? But then, I realized that in reality he was talking to himself, and that his question was a rhetorical one. I hesitated in the response I wished to interject in our exchange and nearly kept my council. But then I felt I would be doing him a disservice. After all, he had confided in me and perhaps hoped I would offer some contrast that might help him through his darkness. “Sir, mightn’t we allow our spirits to be rallied by the excellent progress of the Mediterranean Campaign of the war,” I suggested to him. “Mussolini has been removed from power and a new government set up in Italy. It began negotiating for peace with us immediately. The news that the Sicilian campaign came to an end just nine days ago with U.S. General Patton’s aggressive push into Messina puts the whole of Sicily under Allied control.” 

His brow relaxed and he sat back in his chair for a moment. And then he moved forward, reached into his cigar box on the table and commenced the fascinating ritual of lighting a cigar. He said in response to me, “It had been decided that Britain’s General Montgomery and his Eighth Army would take the lead in the siege of Messina, but his army was bogged down by German forces at Catania. He had no other choice than to send a message to Patton to go ahead with the offensive. A few days later, Patton and Montgomery met there and posed for photographs, staged for the good of the Allied cause. Montgomery looked none too happy in them. He had courted High Command for the job of taking Messina, and had won the assignment, much to the chagrin of Patton and his comrades. What a great disappointment it was to Montgomery to lose to Patton the honor of taking Messina.”

The prime minister’s summary was not new to me. These events were discussed and celebrated at the conference. He went on to say, “That seaside city will be our launching point for our invasion of the toe of Italy. I fear we lost needless time in the back and forth over Montgomery vs Patton in the Messina situation. Montgomery and his Eighth Army will lead the charge across the Straits of Messina and onto Italy’s shore, a decision of which Patton is unaware.” The prime minister took a deep draw on his cigar and then knitted his brow. “Eisenhower is conflicted over Patton, as are all of us. Nobody does his job better than Patton. In fact, he is the Anglo-American Allies best general, but he is a disciplinary thorn in our sides. Two recent incidents in which he slapped hospitalized soldiers suffering from nervous exhaustion whom he accused of cowardice have created a firestorm of protest against him. ‘I can’t help it, but it makes my blood boil to think of a yellow bastard being babied,’ Patton said in defense of his actions. Surely Eisenhower will sideline him.”

I felt emboldened by the prime minister’s willing acceptance of the shift in our conversation and pressed a point that exercised me. “Sir, with all due respect, has High Command considered that our success in the Allied North Africa campaign was due in perhaps the greatest part to General Patton’s stepping in and taking the situation in hand? Likewise, in my view, it is difficult to deny that our victory over Sicily must be credited mainly to General Patton. Montgomery has served the war effort well, but he is also not the picture of congeniality. This competition between the British and the Americans gives me pause. Does it truly matter who wins the bragging rights for gaining victory on any battlefield of the war?” The prime minister rose to his feet, heavily. I saw without question that I had trod on sacred ground. Nobody dares to argue against the supremacy of the British Empire upon which the sun never sets. Our tea was over! I pushed out of my chair, saluted him, made my way to the door of the room, and said under my breath, “If you didn’t want to hear the truth, you shouldn’t have invited a young Canadian to your table.”©

   

Note: The above is a work of historical fiction conjured by its author from Mr. Churchill’s actual journey to Quebec, Canada in August, 1943.



Image: Winston S. Churchill with his daughter, Mary, Quebec, Canada, August, 1943



Recommended reading: CLEMENTINE CHURCHILL, the Biography of a Marriage by Mary [Churchill] Soames.

A DAUGHTER’S TALE by Mary [Churchill] Soames.



Books by Linda Lee Greene are available for purchase in eBook and soft cover on Amazon.com and by request at other booksellers.

“VICTORY HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH JUSTICE.”

 By Linda Lee Greene, Author & Artist.



“Victory has nothing to do with justice,” noted author George Orwell in reference to the power of the imagination to rise above physical hardship and to find hope in living. This writer sees in it a fitting association with Franklin Delano Roosevelt (FDR), President of the United States before and during World War II. Historians and biographers of FDR have noted the president’s almost supernatural optimism against the worst of odds, and his uncanny serenity when all around him unceasing tempests raged. Whether or not he was born with those facilities we do not know. But certainly, latent or not, he earned them in coming to terms with polio that struck him in his prime, the affliction that could not be cured, and that derailed what was regarded as his route in the upward trajectory of his career, as well as his life.  

Jaunty and eager behind the steering wheel of his Jeep, Mrs. Roosevelt and his closet personal advisor, Harry Hopkins accompanying him, FDR was parked at the entrance of the long drive that gained access to Hyde Park, his family retreat in Upstate New York. He awaited the arrival of Prime Minister of Great Britain, Winston S. Churchill and his daughter, Mary. In just a few balmy August, 1943 days, the president and the prime minister would convene a war-plans conference in Quebec, Canada. This sojourn at Hyde Park was a short getaway prior to the intense work that faced them. Exhausted from the journey to Canada from England several days before, Mrs. Churchill remained in Quebec, ensconced at the Citadelle, Great Britain’s King George VI’s residence that ranged a high cliff above the St. Lawrence River.

Convinced of the power of his personality to influence the outcome of World War II and subsequent world affairs, FDR was flushed with anticipation at hobnobbing with his British friend once more. Mr. Churchill was similarly as strong in ego and opinion as was Mr. Roosevelt. How fascinating it would have been to have had an ear in on their discussions. Mary’s noncommittal assessment of them was summed up in seven words: “Papa and he (FDR) are an interesting contrast.”

It did Mrs. Roosevelt’s heart good to see her husband so thoroughly energized by the company of his two friends, as well as the prospect of the conference. Mr. Roosevelt was often quite worn down by his immense responsibilities—much more so than in earlier days of his long presidency. Encouraging his good mood, Mrs. Roosevelt set her agenda to coincide with the Churchill’s visit and joined her husband as solicitous and sunny hosts to their guests. Their lengthy marriage had narrowed in its conjugal aspects. Incompatibility in their personalities and infidelity and maybe simply attrition had altered its character, but still there was genuine friendship, devotion, coupled with a sincere eagerness for each other’s happiness and purpose. And of course, both of them were consummate patriots and would do whatever their country called upon them to do.

Mr. Roosevelt had given up fighting his leg braces and wheelchair and Mrs. Roosevelt had ceased battling to stay in the role appointed to her by tradition. She had moved beyond her position as a wife and mother, and in her case, her mother-in-law’s compliant daughter-in-law. She had stepped forward when her husband was struck down. She had learned to be his legs, his voice, and his heart in the public realm, and in the process, had found her own true self, and once found, she was not about to relinquish it! If she could no longer occupy his bedroom, she took to showing up in his office, or at table when he took his meals, or wherever she could gain access to his ear, because now, she had ideas and opinions of her own. And there in one of the new roles she carved out for herself in their marriage, she laid her concerns about the country at her husband’s feet. It was well known that he received her graciously and with interest and was inclined to accept her views, on occasion. He was more tight-lipped with her, though. As put forth by Mary in her book CLEMENTINE CHURCHILL, the Biography of a Marriage, because Mrs. Roosevelt traveled so much and made copious speeches, as well as wrote a daily newspaper column, Mr. Roosevelt was afraid she would forget and let something “secret,” slip out.      

While Mr. and Mrs. Roosevelt and Mr. and Mrs. Churchill bore much in common: all of them hailed from the aristocracy of their nations; they were all classically educated and erudite; they were the leaders of their countries; and the thirty-eight-year Roosevelt marriage was prolific in the number of children it had brought into the world, as was the long marriage of the Churchill’s. The prime minister and his wife were soon to celebrate their thirty-fifth wedding anniversary.

With all their similarities, they couldn’t have been more different, however, and possibly most notably, in the nature of their marriages. The chasm between the Roosevelts was not a factor in the Churchill relationship. Mrs. Churchill never had a cause nor a desire to find fulfillment outside her marriage. Projects held no interest for her. Her husband was her project for the entirety of their nearly six decades together. Shared with readers by their daughter in the above noted book, Mr. Churchill said to his wife on the occasion of their thirty-fifth anniversary, “I love you more and more each year.”

Conditions within the borders of both the United States and Great Britain were dicey. Domestic politics was a tangled web for Mr. Roosevelt, and the Nazi threat was only a narrow body of water separate from Mr. Churchill’s island nation of Great Britain. Its cities were being bombed and its people maimed or dying. But word from the battlefields of the war was encouraging. The Germans and Italians were routed from North Africa. Sicily was well on its way to being conquered. The Allied assault on the mainland of Italy was on the near horizon. In North Africa, American troops were training for that impending campaign. Mussolini and his Fascist Italian government were toppled and a new and friendly government was in its place. Russia, the Allied partner, was on the offensive against Germany in the east. The Nazi submarine menace in the Atlantic was reduced severely. The Allies had destroyed nearly one-third of German U-boats at sea. In the Pacific Theater, the United States had turned back the Japanese at Midway, Guadalcanal, and the Solomon Islands. The tide was changed in both the European and Pacific Theaters of the war in the Allies’ favor.

Both Mrs. Roosevelt and Mrs. Churchill knew that the realities could, and more than likely would, wreck the best-laid plans, on the battlefield, and elsewhere. There was no better teacher in life of that fact than marriage to a politician. Both of their husbands were high with accomplishment and heady with their power. In their unique ways, both women sought to shield their husbands from their inevitable emotional crash when bad news filtered in. For the moment though, the four of them were content in the status quo—once again, and in particular, events were bearing out Mr. Roosevelt’s supernatural optimism. He had a vision of himself in his soul, and despite his broken body and improbable route to his stake as the 20^th century’s greatest US President and one of the greatest persons of his time, he brought his vision into being.©

Note: the above is a work of historical fiction based on actual events.



Image: Franklin Delano Roosevelt on the campaign trail.



Recommended Reading:

CLEMENTINE CHURCHILL, the Biography of a Marriage by Mary [Churchill] Soames.

A DAUGHTER’S TALE by Mary [Churchill] Soames.

THE ROOSEVELT PRESENCE, The Life and Legacy of FDR by Patrick J. Maney.



Books by Linda Lee Greene are available for purchase in eBook and soft cover at Amazon.com and by request at other booksellers.